#without having to take anyone else's point of view into account. for a little bit.

[astonmartinii]

bad blood (lando's version) | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem carlos ex!reader

band aid's don't fix bullet holes but his best friend might

based on this request:so reader is a famous model who’s also carlos ex (dated YEARS) and after the breakup he jumped straight to rebeca (we just need a tiny bit of bad blood). soo she and lando always got along, ever since carlos was in mclaren. the point is they get together and come hand in hand to a gp out of nowhere so drama and more bad blood surface - you can lead this to whatever you want hehe, thanks!!! - @lorenakaspersen

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

vogue

liked by hunterschafer, landonorris and 1,209,433 others

tagged: yourusername

vogue: y/n y/ln takes the cover for this month, where she talks re-discovering herself and giving yourself time to move on. copies in stores everywhere this friday.

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user1: i am once again asking how the fuck that man fumbled a bad bitch like her

user2: do not bring that man up here, he actually boils my blood

user3: honestly thank god they wear helmets in f1 cause if i saw his smug little face i may have smashed by tv

yourusername: thank you for having me hehehehhe xx

vogue: you dropped this queen 👑

user4: not vogue supporting her more than carlos ever did 🤨

user5: at least lando still supports her

user6: i'm glad the friends she made... i.e lando, charles, max, daniel, etc did also abandon her when carlos just dropped her

hunterschafer: you're the person i see in your dreams

yourusername: are you sure i'm not just your sleep paralysis demon?

hunterschafer: you're welcome to stalk mine dreams anytime

user7: how am i meant to care about f1 without y/n?

user8: she's the reason i learnt about the sport but at leats now i have an excuse to support someone else LOL

landonorris: tinkerbell looks a little bit different here

yourusername: i thought you were too old to watch peter pan?

landonorris: i just said that so you would think i'm a big macho man :(

yourusername: that is tragic

landonorris: can i interest you in a movie night some time soon then

yourusername: you might

user9: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE ^^

user10: idk but i am excited

f1wagupdates

liked by user11, user12 and 4,032 others

f1wagsupdates: carlos sainz debuts his new girlfriend rebecca donaldson at the bahrain grand prix, just one month after breaking up with model y/n y/ln. sainz and y/ln were together for three years, and sainz was seen with donaldson for the first time just a week after the breakup.

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user13: lol the wag accounts are done with his ass

f1wagsupdates: i am a y/n y/ln stan first and foremost

user14: anyone see the absolute stink eye charles and lando gave carlos LOL

user15: that's the thing when you're together for so long, the friends get attached as well

user16: i mean if certified homie hopper charles leclerc is calling your bluff then you know you've fucked up

user17: i will never understand how he jumped into a relationship with her after three years ?? LIKE IT WAS NOTHING

user18: things like that make me glad i'm single

user19: the thing that is bothering me that no one has said yet is the fact that he's been with her what a month? and he's already brought her to a race when he made y/n wait months to go to a race?

user20: screams insecurity - like "look i have moved on, i'm an alpha male who can get whoever i want"

user21: i never understood why he didn't let her come to races for months when they first got together, like not even his home race?

user22: i've always got the vibe that he thought that he was better than her and that she was using him?

user23: the way if he ever posted her (which was not very often) he never tagged her

user24: which is ironic because she's one of the most celebrated models in recent history, she has millions more followers than him and has a bigger network than him, so really if anyone was using anyone it was carlos using her

user25: anyone else pulling for her to get with lando?

user26: i always thought they got on more in the videos of them all together but honestly i just want her to be happy

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 2,018,552 others

yourusername: not much going on recently

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user27: SHE'S SO HOT

user28: i need her to give me one chance please

charles_leclerc: are we still down for the road trip to lourdes?

yourusername: needed now more than ever

charles_leclerc: trust and believe

user29: charles and y/n friendship you mean so much to me

user30: need her to sit in charles' side of the garage

user31: mother went to the university of servington where she got a degree is cuntology with a minor in slaying the haus down

danielricciardo: miss ma'am, leave some for the rest of us

yourusername: why thank you good sir

danielricciardo: where do i procure a veil as such?

yourusername: i may source one for you if you promise not to shave that moustache

heidiberger: preach

user32: i bet carlos just thought everyone would just forget about y/n when he dropped her, but he forgot that she's probably more liked on the grid than he is LOL

landonorris: why are you staring into my soul like that

yourusername: why are you lurking in my comment section

landonorris: i thought we were friends :(

yourusername: always and forever

user33: but he wants it to be more

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo

user33: I SAW THAT LANDO X Y/N COMING SOON?

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 803,774 others

landonorris: hostess with the most-ess?

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user34: is that a ... WOMAN?

user35: he's saying he's a host ... maybe he's hosting a friend who is a girl, it's not illegal

user36: i get your sentiment, but that photo is straight out of the soft launch girlfriend pinterest boards

user37: well now i'm picturing lando scrolling through pinterest and asking ??? to recreate the pics 😭

carlossainz55: missing my golf partner, round this weekend? ⛳️

landonorris: let me check my schedule buddy 👍

user38: okay... well someone else tell me that they can feel the vibe shift

user39: it's their first online interaction after the breakup, i think we can guess who's side lando is on

oscarpiastri: someone needs to debrief me asap

landonorris: someone forgot that he owns a phone

oscarpiastri: needed the added pressure of the public call out to make you actually do it

landonorris: fine, but you get three questions and that's it

user40: if the call out was public can't we get the public answers

yourusername: are you coming for my job?

landonorris: you saying i could model 😊

yourusername: i'm definitely saying you should let me give my agent your number

landonorris: you already have my number babe

yourusername: okay pretty boy

user41: i need this type of nepotism in my life

user42: i need the nepotism and the sexual tension cause PHEW it is through the roof

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 2,760,521 others

yourusername: enjoy the picture of me fucking up a pretzel

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user46: okay where are the detective freaks from f1twt?

user47: reporting for duty 🫡

user46: what car is that?

user47: it looks strikingly similar to a jolly, but i don't know if that's just my brain pushing me to make it lando. but there is a florist in monaco that wraps their flowers just like that as well ....

user46: thank you for your service

danielricciardo: this is very ballerina core 🩰

yourusername: has the old man been spending time on the internet?

danielricciardo: yes he has 😃

yourusername: omg proud

danielricciardo: no but seriously how did you do it? it looks sick

yourusername: very fiddly, needed an extra pair of hands

danielricciardo: an extra pair of hands [wiggles eyebrows]

yourusername: did you just comment your own stage directions?

danielricciardo: funny 😄

user48: okay i am glad we're not being deprived of the y/n and daniel friendship.

landonorris: i am enjoying this picture of you fucking up a pretzel

yourusername: i am a whore for carbs

landonorris: i am a whore for you

this comment was deleted

landonorris: i am also a whore for carbs (don't tell jon)

maxverstappen1: 📸📸📸 saw that mister !!

landonorris: you didn't see NOTHING

user49: we saw everything. i am so disappointed in lando, he's carlos' bestfriend and he's doing this?

liked by carlossainz55

user50: oh i know this man aint speaking

f1teaandgossip

liked by user51, user52 and 10,945 others

ftteaandgossip: carlos sainz was caught liking this tweet about his ex girlfriend y/n y/ln and his (former?) best friend lando norris. what do you think?

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user53: the audacity of men never fails to astound me

user54: you know what, i feel like a guilty man only acts this bold. so i'm saying it. i think there was overlap between his relationship with y/n and his relationship with rebecca

user55: you're right and you should say it

user56: carlos got with rebecca within a WEEK of the end of a three year relationship but is angry that she's finally moving on after months ?

user57: for real the first sight of lando and y/n was after at least two months

user58: i know people will say she's in the wrong because it is lando but honestly carlos has no leg to stand on with him parading rebecca around the paddock

user59: i really couldn't give a fuck if lando is his best buddy you act like a fool expect to get treated like a fool

user60: also the whole "whoring around the grid" is so dumb. you mean her FRIENDS? you know the friends she had to make when you would just leave her in the paddock or ignore her at parties ?

user61: babe really thought he was more loved in the paddock and expected everyone to go along with his messiness

user62: men don't talk about women this way challenge

user63: imagine talking about a girl you were with for THREE tears like this

user64: i wish lando and y/n all the best and i hope they're together for a long time, she deserves a good man after all of this

user65: i have faith 🤞

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 3,109,413 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: sloppy seconds you say? i never come second with him. pun intended x

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user66: SERVE

user67: user67 found dead in her home, cause of death: this post

landonorris: what can i say i'm a giver 🤷‍♂️

yourusername: i'll say 😮‍💨

oscarpiastri: ENOUGH

landonorris: i thought you were happy for us oscar :(

oscarpiastri: i am !! i even took the second picture. but i think you forget that i am staying with you in monaco :/

yourusername: whoops my bad

landonorris: i swear my hospitality is usually better

yourusername: i can attest to his hospitality

oscarpiastri: STOP PLEASE STOP

user68: poor oscar being traumatised by y/n and lando 😭

carlossainz55: real mature

yourusername: how about instead of liking shady tweets and commenting on my instagram posts, you come confront me like a real fucking person.

carlossainz55: you'd love that wouldn't you

yourusername: i really would because if i said everything you needed to hear i'd be banned from this app

carlossainz55: you really are the gold digging slut my parents warned me about

landonorris: you will absolutely not talk to her that way. if you do so again we'll have a very real problem

carlossainz55: you have no sense of loyalty lando

landonorris: the call is coming from inside the house

user69: the girls are FIGHTING

comments on this post have been limited.

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,866,398 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: nothing better than a podium at home and time with family

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user72: the sky camera shady as fuck for cutting straight to y/n in the mclaren garage when carlos crashed LOL

user73: her and lando's dad trying not to laugh had me creasing

yourusername: beyond proud of you baby

landonorris: your support means everything pretty girl

yourusername: and your family are the loveliest, tell mama i said thank you for having me (and my sandwiches for the plane)

landonorris: she say's thank you and come back soon (i also want you to come home asap)

user74: he already refers to his house at their home

user75: and y/n has been accepted by the family - the sainzs could take notes

oscarpiastri: oscar piastri erasure

yourusername: sorry osc, you're our favourite pookie on the grid

landonorris: also mama made you sandwiches too

oscarpiastri: i know they were very yummy 😋

danielricciardo: HOLD ON, oscar is your favourite pookie, where am i ???

maxverstappen1: i think you'll find i am their favourite full stop

charles_leclerc: nuh uh it's clearly me

yourusername: i'll just say lando is my favourite

landonorris: and i'll say y/n is my favourite

yourusername: and that's that

danielricciardo: boooooooo.

maxverstappen1: cop out :(

charles_leclerc: 🍅🍅🍅

user76: i am so confused right now

yourusername

liked by bellahadid, landonorris and 3,109,766 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: you are in love, true love.

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user77: omg the letters? i swear there were letters in her first post after carlos took rebecca to the first race of the season

user78: wait so do you think they were from lando the whole time?

yourusername: yes they are from lando ! after the carlos stuff had somewhat died down he had them all delivered to me and it definitely swayed me for a first date

user79: but i thought some of those letters looked pretty old

landonorris: i won't deny that i liked y/n for a long time but i obviously couldn't express that so i put them in letters. an idiot was an idiot and i'll never not take my chance

user80: okay that makes this whole thing so much cuter

user81: y/n is the definition of never letting your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband

landonorris: you're my best friend and i love you so much

yourusername: i'd go through all this mess and all this heartbreak again if it meant i still end up with you

landonorris: but i'm by your side forever now you can't get rid of me

yourusername: i wouldn't dream of it

user82: lord i have seen it all, please bless me with a relationship like this

danielricciardo: god you people are ridiculously cute

oscarpiastri: just think yourself lucky that you no longer share a garage with them

landonorris: we're not THAT bad

oscarpiastri: i have working ears

yourusername: sorry not sorry osc x

fin.

note: hope you all enjoyed. i am dying trying to do 75 soft but i also signed up for burlesque class !!

[the-fic-rex]

5 basic things you can do to improve your ao3 experience +1 thing that will not help

Get an account

There is a process to this- you need to get on a waitlist and then will be sent an email to make an account (at this point in time the wait time is about a week)- but once you have an account you unlock a lot of features that make the whole experience better, such as the marked for later list, turning off the extra acknowledgement for adult content, mute users, and you can see more fics that are only available to people with an account.

2. Use a site skin

This can be as simple as just getting dark mode (the reversi skin), or it can dramatically change the viewing experience. There are premade ones to chose from that require absolutely zero coding. Skins can also just be applied to one platform- for example on mobile devices you can consolidate tags. You can also use skins to hide works or tags you don’t like or that have a lot of fics that clog up search results.

3. Search by things other than fandom

If you love a trope and want to see more of it or love a niche character, click on the tag to search within it. You may get fewer results but it will allow you to scratch that specific itch without having to wade through 100s of pages of results. If you search by a trope, you can then apply a fandom tag on top of that so you see the characters you love.

4. Download fics

AO3 makes downloading fics super easy and you should do it! Whether you know you will be offline, are concerned that a fic could be deleted, you want to read on a e-reader instead, or you just want to be prepared for the next AO3 crash, downloading fics can let you read with no limits. The download button is at the top of each fic and lets you download a bunch of different file formats.

5. Interact with authors

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Even if you don’t want to leave a comment or follow an author's socials, a subscription is a nice way to feel a bit included in the writing process. Once you subscribe to a work, series, or author, you get fun emails whenever something updates! It keeps you from wondering if you missed something and makes reading your email a more enjoyable experience.

+1

Don't make it anyone else's problem if you didn’t like a fic

This is a little obvious but it is worth repeating- commenting that you didn’t like a fic changes nothing. If you don't like a fic, you don’t have to finish it! If you did finish it but wish you didn’t, that is what the back button is for. If you keep forgetting you didn’t like a fic and keep clicking on it, you can create a skin that blocks it from view, or mute the author. If you didn’t like the content, filter out the tag describing that thing using "Other Tags to Exclude" within the Sort and Filter menu.  If something is against the AO3 terms of service, you can report it. 

None of those things need to be shared with the author and doing so just makes the internet a less fun place. 

Happy reading!

[jasmineoolongtea]

Hiii i hope u're doing good and i have a req pls? Could you do smth like gojo just hanging out with student reader like father and kid? Just one random day (or some other scenario) gojo just yoinks reader and goes 'let's do something together' thxxxx :D

a/n: hiii anon, hope you're doing good as well !!! of course i can do your request so hope you enjoy this short drabble (＾▽＾) also sorry it took a while for me to get back to you since i've been away from my computer for the past few days :((

to say that gojo satoru is an eccentric teacher might possibly be one of the biggest understatements of the century. even if you were to put it nicely,

it's been a few days since you've stepped foot into the classroom on account of being put out of commission for a bit after a particularly nasty encounter with a semi-grade 2 curse on what was supposed to be a relatively easy mission. it would have been nice if the higher-ups could have mentioned that the curse had a tendency to travel in packs of 3 or 4 but in the world of jujutsu, you knew that's already expecting too much of them.

the first sight you're greeted with is your teacher, the strongest himself gojo satoru, leaning back in his desk chair with his feet up on the desk as if he had little to no care about anything in the world. if the higher-ups were to walk past and see this, they would definitely screech at the top of their lungs and die from shock or maybe it would finally be their bodies finally giving up on them in old age. you don't think you would be that sad to see them go.

"nice of you to finally show up to class. even if it's on the wrong day." your teacher huffs from his seat. there's a slight sting at his words but you choose to grit your teeth instead of replying.

albeit, you don't necessarily blame your teacher for his off-handed comment because, from his and everyone else's point of view, it just seemed like you were simply just taking the chance to play hooky and skip a few classes here and there even if it was far from the truth.

you made shoko promise not to say anything to anyone when she was patching you up, even if she gave you one of those looks that silently asked you if you really wanted that. it wasn't a matter of pride per say because having your classmates know that you got ganged up on by a couple of curses was honestly the least of your problems.

rather, it was because you didn't want to bother anyone more than you had to or even worse, be on the end of some surface-level sympathy from some people who could care less if you lived or died. to you, this was simply how the jujutsu world worked so what point was there sitting around and lingering on all of its problems when it would do you no good?

"...i've had a rough week. can i just get the work that i've missed out on and i'll be out of your hair." you mutter while avoiding eye contact with the taller man, deciding that all of a sudden the wooden panels of the floor were more interesting.

there's an instant switch in his relaxed demeanour as his voice is laced with strong hints of concern when he asks, "you wanna talk about it?"

you open your mouth to speak, to make a half-hearted attempt to brush off his concern and maybe even throw in a snarky quip to really cement the act that everything was fine but for some reason, you decide against that and so you end up saying nothing back in response.

it's quiet for a minute, the both of you unmoving, before your teacher suddenly stands up from his seat and strides towards you which takes you by surprise.

"alright, new plan then." gojo claps his hands, the sound reverberating slightly off the classroom walls as his typical attitude makes a return. "me and you are going on, let's call it, a class trip to the arcade!"

you roll your eyes, arms still crossed over your chest as you look at him, unamused. "i'm pretty sure that this isn't part of the class curriculum."

"when have i ever been a stickler for the rules, kid?" and without further ado (and a seeming shortage of verbal complaints from your side), you find yourself whisked off to a nearby arcade and being ushered into the doors of said establishment by your teacher.

so much for your original plan of retreating back to hide under your blanket for the rest of the day, you think to yourself.

as you step inside, memories of after-school hangouts with megumi, nobara and yuji as you guys make it your mission to burn through your monthly allowances on the various games and machines flood your mind and you can't help but smile whilst reminiscing, though it fades quickly when you realise that it feels like forever since any of you guys have had the chance to relax with each other like this considering how time has become more and more scarce and more like a luxury that one had to earn rather than anything else.

there's the sound of coin swishing around in a bucket coming from your right and when you turn to face the sound, you see your teacher making his way towards you hugging a comically large amount of coins in an insanely large bucket in his arms. if it were any bigger, you might have been obligated to call it a chest instead of a bucket. you do a double-take at the sight in front of you.

"are you planning to buy out the whole arcade with those coins?" you remark, a bewildered expression clearly painted on your face as you try to calculate in your head the amount of money he must have spent on that stash.

he looks down at the bucket of coins in his arms which were almost on the verge of overflowing and shrugs. "eh, this is nothing." he replies with an air of nonchalance.

you're ready to contest that statement of his but then you remember gojo satoru, aside from being a teacher with interesting teaching methods, to say the least, is also one of the richest sorcerers in the entire country of japan as well so whatever he did spend on those arcade tokens is probably nothing more than a drop in the vast ocean that is his bank account.

in the blink of an eye, gojo sprints off to the brightest and flashiest machine in the arcade and you can't help but question if he might be a child trapped in the body of an adult. begrudgingly, you trail behind him and watch as he slots in the appropriate amounts of tokens and boots up the game. while waiting, he starts absent-mindedly button-mashing the controls in a vain attempt to make it load faster.

you sigh to yourself as you watch from over his shoulder. "is this day more for me or you?" you ask, your eyes still trained on the screen in front of you. "because from what i'm seeing, it looks like you're enjoying this waay more than me."

gojo laughs softly to himself, not even pausing the game before turning to you with a smirk on his lips. "that's because you're spending more time complaining rather than having fun."

to be fair, you couldn't really argue with that so you quietly concede (though very unwillingly) to him as you take an unoccupied chair from another game booth and return to where he was playing. before you know it, you find yourself deeply immersed in the game as well and you start reacting to his gameplay like cheering when he makes it past a level or groaning in frustration when there's a roadblock standing in his way.

for a split second, you notice that there's a faraway look in his eyes which looks eerily similar to the one you probably had when you stepped into the arcade and began to think about happier times but before you can even spit out a question, it's gone and you're left wondering if it was nothing more than just a trick of the light.

the game is over quickly soon enough when the words 'you win' begin flashing in white on the screen with gojo's high score written underneath the text. you then scramble to take his place in the seat when he stands up to stretch, very much intent on beating his score and a competitive glint in your eyes as you stare at the machine with laser focus. behind you, he smiles to himself and watches on proudly, letting out a cheer that's probably too loud and earns you two a few weird stares from the other passersby whenever you progress on to the next level.

the rest of the afternoon flies by like this as you and gojo constantly bounce from one game to another, challenging and throwing some light-hearted taunts at each other as you attempt to beat the other's score. this does rapidly deplete his coin stash but by the time you're down to the bottom of the bucket, you two have already beaten all of the available games in the arcade with some of them being beaten more than twice as well.

gojo takes the bucket from your hands and heads over to the counter to exchange the remaining ones for money before returning to you and pointing to the door, signalling that it's time to head back. you do a quick look back at the place behind you, feeling much lighter inside than compared to when you entered, and walk out with your teacher

while walking down the street, you feel a nudge against your shoulder and turn to face him. he gestures towards a small pastel stand on the side of the both of you. "hey, check out that crepe stand over there. they have some of the best ice cream crepes in the area." your teacher states.

you look at him, unconvinced. "i'm not sure i can really trust your taste buds considering how much sugar you consume on a daily basis."

"come oon, i'll even pay for yours if you get one." he offers, a bit too eager as he tries and fails to hide his own craving for it. you feel the corner of your lips curl upwards slightly and it seems that your stomach agrees with him as it growls quietly in an attempt to signal its hunger.

"well if you were paying, why didn't you say that earlier."

you order the first thing on their must-try section since it was your first time there, which appears to be a vanilla ice cream crepe with cherries and whipped cream, and gojo decides to go with a custom order of a matcha-flavoured crepe base, three scoops of strawberry ice cream piled on top of each other, a mountain of whipped cream with fresh strawberries placed inside but not forgetting the finishing touch of matcha powder sprinkled on top.

you would feel bad for the poor employee tasked with creating that monstrosity when they give him a knowing look, implying that this was not their first time dealing with him and his strange orders. you wait for a bit before receiving your order with him having to try extra hard to make sure nothing would slip off his order and find a seat on a nearby bench.

you two sit in silence, side by side, and eat your crepes, taking this as a chance to unwind. as you take your first bite, the soft cream simply melts in your mouth and the crepe is just the right amount of sweetness with the cherries giving you a good burst of flavour and you secretly commend your teacher for his recommendation.

taking another bite of your crepe, you look at the sky and admire the way the clouds drift lazily across the blue canvas behind them. "hey, thanks for this gojo sensei. it's been a while since i've been able to...relax." you admit, an element of vulnerability hiding behind your words.

he turns and looks at you with a soft smile. "anytime, kid."

[ranticore]

Forward by the Author [Qedivar's research, prologue]

My friends, this biography almost killed me. At the conclusion of my thesis work and the culmination of months of dangerous study, I write to you now from my bower at an undisclosed location, where I currently rest with three broken limbs and more than a few shattered nerves.

Effete shortwing academics such as myself are not particularly known for venturing across the water to West, where land is so rare as to be the continent’s most precious resource. But this continent was where our ancestors first arrived to this world—and yes, it is now unequivocal truth that we are not natives to our planet, as I was first to discover at the ruins of Atom on that wretched continent.

The coarse facts have been spread throughout Intun and East at large, ferried by news-mongers who have yet to finish my associated published paper. They will soon realise that they have missed the most fascinating details of our history. Naysayers have already decried me a heretic and I regret to agree with them, but it is true that my findings are heretical. Is that necessarily a bad thing? I say that a little bit of heresy might vastly improve the quality of our lives and understanding of the world at large.

A martyr, however, I am not. For this reason I do not attach my name to this record. Shortwings being as we are – all quite alike and common as muck – I am confident in my ability to remain anonymous to my readers while still revealing enough to prove myself a credible source. You will need to take rather a lot on faith, when you read this. You will need to suspend your disbelief that we are aliens on Siren. And you will need to accept that every one of us is a product of intentional design – not by some god, and not by so-called ‘evolutionary theory’, but by the ancient first settlers at Atom.

I will write a detailed account of my explorations another time, when I have healed from their rigours. I felt it more important to release the results of my study first, rather than let it become a vanity project with myself its hero. Instead I will preface each chapter with a description of the relevant source texts, including where and in what condition they were found.

On to the source texts themselves. I have created this biography to provide an introduction to the first Sirenian, Ishmael. The phocids of the Southern Spiral know Ishmael as offspring of the moon of the same name, and the ruler of the high tide. The inhabitants of Odr’s Sleep in the far North take a less literal interpretation of Ishmael’s moon and consider him a common ancestor. Harpies in my home Spire know him less, though–without revealing too much of my own bower–we have a mythological figure of the same name; Ishmael, who arrives to punish the crime of hubris.

It was a great surprise to me to find that Ishmael was a real person, and indeed that he was the first person born on this planet. Others arrived, yes, but he took his first breath here, before anyone else. My phocid companion was remarkably unsurprised by the discovery, and could even provide a little local Spiral folklore to illustrate the stories told of Ishmael’s life, which I will include as footnotes in the relevant chapters.

My source texts are extremely varied. Some describe Ishmael from the point of view of those who settled in Atom. Some are his own writings. Some are even a format which projects moving images onto walls, which I will also describe in a coming paper to be published. The technologies many visored longwings preserve sit in rot and ruin in Atom, proving, once and for all, that it was a society more advanced than our own. For the purpose of this introduction and my prefaces, I will refer to this as Precursor society, though in the source text they did not refer to themselves as anything but ‘settlers’ or ‘colonists’.

In those ruins, my party and I discovered things which we still have no words to describe. As a result, many of my interpretations are direct and untranslated, in the hopes that later, with greater understanding, we might return to the source and make more accurate interpretations. Many of these concepts were considered so commonplace to Precursor life that no one bothered making concrete definitions for the benefit of the scholars who might once hope to study them. Precursor society stems largely from a place called ‘Earth’ which we surmise to be the Precursors’ location of origin.

From this, we move on to the most puzzling concept of all. The concept of Humans. I took it to be a clan name at first, given the texts’ referral to Ishmael, a type of proto-phocid unique at Atom, as Human when the other people in the records did not very much resemble Ishmael at all. But Humans were in fact a species. Humans were bipedal and lacked feathers, though their faces will be familiar to any modern Sirenian, because they resemble our own. Once I succeeded in translating the scientific notes surrounding Ishmael, all became clear, and it was this shocking truth which forces me to write under a pen name.

Every modern Sirenian is a Human. We descend from the first-born Sirenians, who were designed – by techniques as purposeful as an artist’s brushstrokes – to occupy the particular range of morphologies which we now inhabit.

Precursor Humans arrived here, to this world, and knew their bodies were poorly adapted to survive here, lacking mechanisms of flight or aquatic mobility and being unable to breathe our air, or eat any of the foods we take for granted. So they engineered those mechanisms to develop in other Humans, which were birthed and raised at Atom in its prime in a series of successive generations, the last of which will likely be my most controversial uncovering. The engineered Humans – Sirenians like you and I – were not privileged members of Atom. In fact, we were a sort of labour underclass to them, who would brave the sea and sky of Siren outside Atom’s bubble where the Precursor Humans could not venture.

Ishmael was the first of this underclass, and was originally intended as merely a first concept, a rough draft of what phocids and selkies would become. He was a fascinating person who I believe is deserving of the great length of this biography and worthy of being the first introduction to the lives of Precursors that many modern Sirenians will experience. Where at all possible I have avoided editorialising Ishmael’s life, instead presenting it as it happened. We find not a revolutionary hero or an icon of tidal vengeance but a person born into a state of great confusion and neglect. He was a Human like his peers but was treated as inherently lesser, hardly a person at all, and he did not conform to expectations of graceful victimhood.

Welcome to the beginning of the world.

[josefavomjaaga]

Elie Baudus about Murat's departure in Posen, 1813

Once more Elie Baudus, former aide-de-camp to Marshal Bessières, in the second volume of his "Etudes sur Napoléon". (Another snippet is here.) This time it’s about Murat deserting leaving the army at Posen in January 1813. I was wondering how Bessières and his staff reacted to this news, especially as Elie makes it sound as if they were there at the time.

Headquarters left Elbing on 11 January to take up residence in Posen. When it reached that town, the King of Naples immediately announced that he was leaving the army on account of his health, either because he was really ill or because his indisposition was due solely to his anxiety about what might happen in his states, during his absence, in the political situation in which Europe was about to find itself. All that could be said to him about the impropriety of taking such a step without the emperor's consent could do nothing to change his mind; he handed over command to the viceroy and left for his capital.

What Elie possibly does not know or at least does not write: Murat had asked for permission to leave the army at least twice, admitting himself that the task was beyond him, and apparently had never even received a reply from Napoleon. And of course it would be interesting to know if Bessières was among those who tried to talk Murat out of his idea and to make him stay on his post, and how Murat reacted to these attempts.

Napoleon's departure had been applauded because the inflexible necessity which forced him to it was understood; [...]

That may be a bit of an exaggeration or generalisation. I understand there was quite some grumbling in the army (Oh, look, he’s pulling another Egyptian exit on us, etc.). Even Elie himself admits that the last remnants of military discipline broke down as soon as Napoleon was gone. There must have been a reason for that.

[…] Murat's departure, on the contrary, aroused strong indignation; this abandonment, in the situation in which the army found itself, was not noble, and it took no less than the great actions which he carried out a few months later at Dresden and Leipsick to weaken the irritation which this conduct had aroused against him in all ranks. Nothing can excuse such a mistake, for even if we consider it only from a political point of view it was enormous. If this prince feared for the preservation of his crown, should he not have considered that it was only within the French army that he could work effectively to consolidate it on his head? That was the key to the vault; if it was missing, it was obvious that all the stones of the edifice would crumble.

The talents and the firmness of character that Prince Eugène had recently displayed in this campaign had already won him the confidence and the attachment of the army; so there was more anger than regret at the news of the change in our general-in-chief. Marshal Bessières was happier than anyone else when it was announced that the emperor was definitively entrusting the viceroy with the power of which he had only been temporarily invested upon the departure of the king of Naples. What, for the Duke of Istria, was both the result of a long-standing attachment rooted in paternal feelings and deeply felt esteem, was dictated to the other chiefs by the latter motive. They all did their best to prove it to this young prince, and we will never forget the interesting spectacle offered by his salons in Posen in this respect. There was something touching about the marks of deference with which all these old glories of France surrounded him.

[Insert image of dozens of decorated army generals surrounding an 8-year-old: "You’ll get us out of this shit, right, little one?" - Eugène nodding very seriously: "Uh-huh."]

I would also like to point out that the young prince at the time was 31 years old, balding and loosing his teeth… But it’s nice to see Bessières’ reaction to his "apprentice" being in charge now.

The viceroy must have been delighted; [...]

… yeah… guessing from the letters he wrote to Auguste … not really all that much ...

[…] it was a fine reward for all the great things he had already done; it was a powerful encouragement to persevere on the straight and honourable path he had adopted; so he did not deviate from it for a single moment until the last catastrophe of the great man who called him his son.

Uhm, Elie? I think Marmont and d’Anthouard would like to have a word with you.

Posterity will do him this justice, that his entire conduct completely justified the special attachment Napoleon always had for him; a true attachment, animating Napoleon's words, whenever he had to express himself officially on the subject of his adopted son, with an affectionate feeling never shown in favour of any other member of the imperial family.

The keyword in this passage is "officially". And the fact Elie adds it makes me wonder if he (or rather Bessières - or possibly Elie's father through Murat?) may have known about some of the private correspondence Napoleon sent to Eugène, and that treated his stepson quite differently.

It was not only with regard to Napoleon that the Viceroy's conduct was noble and worthy of admiration; even after the Restoration we saw him know how, without failing in the duties of filial piety, to satisfy at the same time those of a good Frenchman; for having come to Paris in 1814, when all the events had taken place, he soon realised that they were trying to abuse the attachment that the army had for him in order to disturb his homeland. He did not hesitate for a moment to make this cruel and painful sacrifice, so that his name would not be mixed up in the intrigues that have so tarnished the glory of some of his comrades in arms.

That’s the same thing Napoleon was disappointed about on Saint Helena, I presume, when he did not see anybody to lead the army and cause another uprising in his own favour.

[avi17]

for the kiss meme!!! hobie/pavitr, 24!!! if that's a repeat of one you already have, lmk<3

24) A kiss in danger

New York- whichever New York this is, Hobie doesn’t even remember right now- is spinning.

They land less-than-gracefully behind a dumpster, Pavitr’s swinging awkward and off-balance while supporting Hobie’s full weight. The piled bags make a halfway decent cushion as Pavitr sets him partway down, unhooking the guitar strap to move it aside before letting him fully collapse onto his back.

"Puttin' me right back in the rubbish, eh?" Hobie chuckles, pulling the bottom half of his mask up as though that'll make breathing with a few probably-cracked ribs any less painful. There’s blood seeping into the fabric from the gash where his forehead connected with brick hard enough to smash through. "I've slept in worse."

Pavitr yanks his own mask off, breathing hard, his perfect hair even a little out of sorts. His sweat-shiny cheeks flush darker with embarrassment. "Shut up, it was the closest place I could think of to hide you." He glances nervously down the alleyway, before snapping back to Hobie and kneeling “What were you thinking, running right back into the fight after that? You can barely walk straight, let alone swing or anything else!”

"Told you I was fine,” Hobie retorts, trying a bit pathetically to push Pavitr back and drag himself into a halfway proper sitting position. Everything around him still feels like it’s moving, as if he’s dipping through the sky between buildings rather than flat on his arse on the pavement. “Takes more’n a crack to the loaf to keep me out long.”

Pavitr obviously isn’t having it, and he pushes Hobie’s mask up further, lifting each of his eyelids in turn to examine his unfocused pupils, wiping away the still-seeping blood with the pad of his thumb. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Numbers’re a tool of capitalism…oughta abolish ‘em…” Hobie mumbles, which is definitely a real view he holds and not absolute bullshit to make up for the fact that right now he’s got no idea. Pavitr hisses something in Hindi that he doesn’t understand but that has to be a curse based on the tone alone. It's sweet that he's so worried.

Shit, he's fuckin' beautiful. Both of him.

…Alright, that's not great, maybe Pavitr's got a point. But Hobie managed to string up his universe’s Vulture last week with his eyes still stinging and watering from tear gas- whatever the villain of the week can throw at him, he’s had worse. And this one’s no fuckin’ joke- he’s not leaving Gwen and Pav to deal with it on their own. Not that he doesn’t trust them- ‘course he does, and he can’t say that for many- but he’s not about to let them be the ones to get hurt because he let himself get knocked around one too many times.

Spiderman always gets back up- nah, that’s bullshit. He doesn’t care what Spiderman is supposed to do. But Hobie Brown does always get back up, without anyone but himself telling him that he has to.

He pushes again, harder this time, and manages to get a foot and a hand under him, ignoring the wave of nausea that hits him as he starts to rise. “Alright, I sat for your li’l checkup, let’s get back innit.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but doesn’t quite manage, on account of Pavitr grabbing a handful of the front of his suit and yanking him in for a kiss.

Surely he can blame the concussion for the way his brain all but short-circuits.

He’s…fuck, he’s dreamed about this, even if this isn’t remotely how he pictured it happening. He’d have a hundred questions right now if his head didn’t feel like it was full of rocks. As it is, all he can think is how soft Pav’s lips are, warm like sunshine- perfect, just like the rest of him. And hell, it’s such a cliche he’s almost embarrassed to think it, but it’s like time stops for those few moments, letting them breathe the same air, letting Hobie memorize the feel and the taste of him in case this never happens again.

He doesn't even notice the twinge of his spider-senses, because they've been screaming for hours as it is-

-Until a nasty crash echoes from the direction of the fight and Pavitr's lips pull away from his, and he moves to sit, to follow them- and he can't.

...Wanker's webbed him to the goddamn wall. He'd be angry if he could see straight, if he was in any fit state to tear his way free. As it is, he's a little impressed, and more than a little struck stupid by the lingering feeling of the other boy’s lips on his. Pavitr is glaring at him, nostrils flared, and now is absolutely not the time to tell him that he looks even more gorgeous pissed off like this.

"If you are too stubborn to take care of yourself, then I will do it for you,” he snaps, wiping a smear of Hobie’s black lipstick and blood- far too attractive on him, criminal really- from his mouth before pulling his mask back on, disappearing back under Spiderman’s blank white eyes. “Gwen and I can handle this, I promise. I’ll be back the moment it’s safe.” His voice sounds softer, gentler than it did a moment ago, cracking a little as the worry slips through. He sounds more like himself, he sounds...it sounds like he really cares. And yeah, they're friends- or...something now, who knows what- but Hobie's still getting used to people caring.

...Or maybe Hobie’s just starting to hallucinate. Jury’s out.

Pavitr begins a running start down the alley to web himself back into the air, only to turn awkwardly mid-step, gesturing to the dumpster. “Just- stay there, okay?” he calls back, and Hobie snorts, wheezing out a pained laugh.

As if he’s given him any choice on that.

“Oi, Pav, hang on-” he starts, struggling pointlessly, but the other Spiderman is already gone, leaving him with the rubbish and the absolute mess of his thoughts.

“...Bollocks.”

[chevelleneech]

https://www.tumblr.com/chevelleneech/757738833363222528/anyone-who-read-its-an-11-on-a-gay-scale-needs-to

It’s not that serious, many of us are just having fun…

idk why we have to be extra cautious when it comes to Jikook content when the fandom can have a blast whenever certain pairs interact and call namkook or Yoonmin or whoever else married over the smallest interaction and go crazy for hours on main but we have to write x amount of warnings and being reasonable and all

unpopular opinion maybe but having to constantly tiptoe around Jikook content to make sure I’m not misinterpreted just kills all the fun for me to the point i don’t even post about them on my account anymore

It’s shipping after all, it’s not that big of a deal, or is it? can’t we just have fun and go a bit crazy this time?

To you, anon, as well as @felixdoriga. I was writing my reply to Felixdoriga as this came in, so I’m adding it here for both. (I am in no way insinuating Felixdoriga is the same person as anon.)

The short answer. I’m not saying be cautious nor am I taking things overly literal. I’m just saying, be realistic now, so later, no one circles back and blames each other for being let down.

No amount of queerness between two active duty soldiers in a reality show being aired on Disney+, is going to break a “gay scale” more than anything we’ve already seen. And since we already know how Jimin and Jungkook can get, it is odd to me that someone would insinuate they’re even more gay within the first two episodes of their travel series.

Below is the long answer, since I like to explain myself as thoroughly as possible.

To Felixdoriga: I don’t think I’m looking too much into it, since I also read their thread that is pretty much nothing but insinuations that Jimin and JK are going extra wild with their interactions.

That said, in the post anon is messaging me about, I make a point of saying someone else’s excitement will not be the same as another’s. Meaning, I think it’s important for everyone to manage their expectations and not run to blame the tweeter if the hype doesn’t match up with what they were expecting based on the reaction thread. However, the reason I said what I said in my response, is because I do genuinely believe that acting as if they are giving an 11 out of 10 on the gay scale, is ridiculous and could stem from straight up lying or not viewing JM and JK as people outside the ship. Because every little interaction is not A Thing, it’s them being them.

Yes, that person may have a different numbering system from what I would consider an 11, but unless they live somewhere where queer interactions are extremely illegal and they have never seen Jikook interact with one another before, what could they possibly have done to break the scale? On a platform such as D+, whilst they are enlisted? The realistic answer is nothing, so why set that expectation when you know shipping fandoms can and do consist of many people who are unable to manage their own?

Why put that level of expectation out there at all, knowing people who hate JM and JK will take it and watch AYS in hopes of being able to “debunk” the thread, and claim it as you (the tweeter) lying to gain engagement clicks?

I understand the person was excited and presumably had a lot of fun watching the episodes, but I do think there were better ways to tweet about how much fun it looked like JM and JK were having, without putting themself in a no-win position if their 11 = sitting beside each other or constant hugging while playing a game. Because calling something an 11 on a scale from 1-10 is not just having a different numbering system. It’s making it clear something drastic happened, and without trying to rain on anyone’s parade, that to me is simply unlikely.

And to round out what the above anon is saying, I’m not suggesting anyone tip toe. I’m suggesting people don’t hype up what’s happening in their heads, based on a Twitter thread that is insinuating they were interacting in the utmost gay ways, to something more reasonable. Because that person is 100% going to be hit with hatred if the hype they built isn’t lived up to. And while Jikookers aren’t the rudest this fandom has seen by far, our subsection is not forever innocent of being hateful. There’s bad eggs here too, and people tend to lash out when they feel embarrassed.

We can be excited. We can hope to see them cuddling and giggling the entire time, because they are cute together and they do have fun together, but short of them being physically affectionate in the ways we have seen them before (ear suck and hickey) within the first two episodes, there is no reason to make people think that is what they’re going to see on the 8th.

I think that person could have tweeted with just as much enthusiasm without the exaggeration. Assuming it is, as I’m not saying they’re lying. I haven’t watched the show so I don’t know, but you all are super excited to see “breaking the gay scale” level of interactions, when all that person could mean is, “They constantly shared drinks.” Which couple’s absolutely do, but we’ve also seen all the members eat off the same fork plenty of times.

So no, don’t shut down your excitement, but be sure to manage it. They’re not going to do anything to break any metaphorical scale of gayness, no matter whose numbering system is being used.

I imagine they’re just going to be themselves as much as they can be, which for years has been sus enough. Again, we have seen them repeatedly choose each other for emotional and fun things. We’ve seen them flirt like hell in interviews and on live. We’ve seen JK suck on Jimin’s ear, in front of thousands of people. We’ve seen proof that Jimin put his mouth on Jungkook’s neck, until it left a mark. We’ve heard the other members teasing them about the things they say to and about each other, and more. So we have a perfectly good scale of our own to compare the series to already, and if nothing tops hickey or ear-in-mouth action or a live booty call in front of fans… there is no broken scale.

And me saying to manage expectations isn’t to say Jimin and JK will do less or that the show won’t be interesting. I’m just saying, we’ve seen a lot of questionable behavior from them, which is why insinuating they’ve done even crazier shit than what we’ve seen, doesn’t make sense.

So once again, I will absolutely eat my words if something wild and actually does happen, but realistically, knowing who JM and JK are and what they’ve done in the past… they would have to be extremely coupled up for me to think they broke any scale of gayness.

[lesboygamzee]

i have refined a transfem tavros essay thingy i wrote recently because it was initially something i quickly wanted to write out for a friend because someone was being a cunt about her getting into the transfem swag bracket but i wanted to extend it and tidy it up a bit because i was RIGHT im so smart . under the cut because it is like comically long . did you guys know i love her

tavros' journey as a page of breath on it's own reads to me as a journey a closeted queer person would go through, of course on a larger scale. being a hero of breath means having strong ties to freedom, confidence, fluidity, and change, among other things. of these, tavros has the strongest ties to freedom and confidence, but she of course she embodies most to all themes surrounding breath.     as a page, the structure of her journey involves her initally lacking her aspect (so in tavros' case, she begins with little freedom, as well as self-esteem issues), and overtime growing to embody her aspect. while this obviously manifests in more obvious ways, i think it's important for a trans reading of her to take into account how this would also show through her being allowed to express herself in the ways she wants to.

tying into the previous point; tavros is a character repeatedly forced into a masculine role by other characters (whether it be actively trying to get her to play the part of a masculine figure, or is simply the result of how other characters expect her story to play out). due to it taking away her freedom on the matter, it ends up fitting (unsurprisingly) awkwardly, and when this happens she is mocked for not being able to play the part.     when she is actually allowed to choose her role, she fits it far better. she is meant to be given freedom as a breath player, and this involves not only not sticking to a confined role (e.g. she assembles the ghost army on her own only to pass on the leadership to meenah, giving up her position to essentially play support instead) but to take on each on her own terms rather than just going with what's expected of her.     (of course, this isn't a situation specific to transfeminine people. anyone in some way viewed as a man is going to be assigned certain standards by others and mocked for being unable to conform to said standards, as happens to anyone viewed as a woman with female standards, but i do find this type of situation to be something that can deepen a reading of a character as trans when paired with everything else.)

outside of the breath aspect, tavros shares common themes with aradia and vriska. they're all fairy-themed characters; aradia is described as a red pixie, and vriska is frequently compared to a fairy (& her ancestor is the inspiration for blue fairies on alternia, as well as being a joke on 'exposition fairy' pre-scratch).     of the three, tavros' fairy themes are the most prevalent from the beginning. one of her main interests is in blue fairies, her lusus is a fairy bull she named 'tinkerbull', and her ancestor had a mutation that caused the growth of fairy wings.     notably, of the three, tavros is the only one to not god-tier in the alpha timeline, making her the only fairy without wings. the only fairy that isn't immediately recognisable as one, the only fairy who doesn't 'pass'. self explanatory.

if you also read vriska as transfeminine, there's something to be said about one of the reasons why she resents tavros. specifically, tavros not suffering in the same way vriska does.     i feel it's self explanatory as to why i can read a potential part of this dynamic as vriska being a trans woman who experiences very strong dysphoria, and getting jealous that tavros doesn't seem to be showing signs of it, but still wanting to present as a girl. what i'm saying is vriska is truscum i can't be overly verbose here she's such a fucking failgirl good lord.

other things of note:

•tavros specifically names her fairy bull lusus 'tinkerbull', after a female fictional character. all lusii share a gender with their ward, making tinkerbull male, but tavros still chooses to address him with a name that could give the impression that he's female. •in the dream bubbles, a ghost of tavros is shown wearing a fairy dress with fake wings. i feel like this ties into my earlier point of her being a fairy that doesn't pass.

conclusion: transfem swag

[writing-whump]

If it doesn't hurt

Anneliese finds Ryan sick behind the gym. Warning for emeto.

----

Ryan Adler was driving her insane and actively so.

She knew finding access to the boxing club at the campus would be hard. There were no girls, so there was no way Anneliese wouldn't feel like a disruptive element at the gym, even if she just sat there with her laptop open. She switched between reading homework texts and taking notes about their behaviour and the atmosphere, trying to seem as unobtrusive as possible. There was no way to observe the boys without them changing their behaviour because of her intrusion, so she had to take that into account. They all agreed to her presence and were informed of the research she was doing by Lucian, so at least the moral part of the deal was covered.

There were different phases to the gym, with some people on morning and evening workouts, some that just came for a bit of intense punching training or that waited their turn for a little sparring match after a thorough warm up.

She quickly learned that 3 minute long rounds of jumping combined with punches was a whole body strenuous workout that left the boys sweating and breathing hard. She didn't understand how they managed more after that.

She had days reserved for the observation, but since she didn't really know anyone else outside her friendly but distant fellow exchange student of a roommate, she spent most of her breaks and gaps between classes in the gym too. It was a nice place with a view at the well cut campus grass, it was nicely cold in the downstairs sutteren, and nicely sunny in the upstairs part with the bar with drinks and shakes and a nice set of tables. She clicked her way there in peace with good wifi, occasional coffee or sandwich. Better than at the library, where she couldn't eat or drink and had to ask for permission to go see her bag. As cool and intellectual looking as the library was, Anneliese liked to have all her stuff in reach. 

Lately she liked the gym, despite its stuffy air, smell of sweat and haggard breathing of its occupants, because she didn't feel so lonely there. Her room gave her desire privacy, but the silence and emptiness after living her last 24 years with her parents and brother, felt hollow and overwhelming. She wasn't sure she would dress or eat anything proper, if she had no one to see that day. Time run out with mindless scrolling or repeated rewatches of the same movies, when you had a sad spell and no one to check on you. 

Penn was nice. She was lovely, flexible, easy to get along with, but she spend most of her time at the atelier, studied at the library and visited her distant uncle through the weekends. Getting anything out of Penn despite her friendliness was a challenege. Anneliese's roommate never initiated any conversation, didn't share how her day was. She answered sweetly and to the point, when asked, as if afraid any word more would be one word too much. Anneliese wanted to share more. She wanted to discuss the campus life, exchange impressions about Zurich and the differences between their university town, wanted to interrogate her on her creation process of her drawings. And she had many things of her own to share, like what interesting article they discussed at class or what she was reading for an assignment or which one of the fascinating topics for a presentation to pick. That's the trouble when you love what you study - there are hardly any people who can stand your passion. After trying a few times with Penn, Anneliese felt like she was forcing her enthusiasm on her and felt like a drag herself and the effort slowly fizzled out. 

It was frustrating and sad and Anneliese felt like it was her fault. She was a tutor for the last year and a half and she held little input lectures for students that helped with academic writing - she had enough responsibility and training with other students to not fear crowds or talking publicly or leading groups. 

But she couldn't make her roommate talk.

So she went and headed to the gym this evening instead too. Penn might be home sooner today or she might not, but Anneliese wasn't going to sit there and beat herself up over not talking.

The gym was pretty deserted at half 8. Only the permanent members were around - the four Annenelise saw so many times already she was recognising them, despite her terrible memory for faces. (She wished it was some kind of explainable affliction. How can someone be so bad at recognising faces? You changed your hair or wore a hat and you could as well be a new person to her). 

There was Lucian, the most memorable. He was the unofficial captain of the club, the oldest, with the most praxis. And the most mature in a way, since he wasn't particularly friendly, but answered her questions thoroughly, with actual thinking involved. He had hard to miss white blond hair reaching to his chin and such glassy emerald green eyes, you felt like shards were prickling your eyes when looking into them.

Then there was Julian, easy going and friendly, with brown hair always in a loose ponytail. Anneliese was so glad for him having the same haircut each day. Since the fateful call in the park, he became memorable to her for a whole different reason. He felt safe and approachable and he always smiled warmly when he saw her, which was sometimes the only nice interaction her whole lonely campus day.

There was the sulky Coleson, who trained since early childhood in boxing and was meticulous and incredibly graceful, when he moved. But he always looked like something angered him deeply, whenever she saw him; though Julian insisted that was his neutral expression and not something personal against her.

And the last was Ryan. Wild blond curls and dark amber eyed Ryan, who might as well had fire in his eyes and always took up the whole room with his presence. He interacted with her, oh yes he did, in the most mean way. Openly questioning the purpose of her research methods ("You just sit around there all day"), the purpose of the study ("Explorative deductive research? So you don't even know what you want to find out? How lame!") and her study field in general ("Ethnographic what? Cultural studies? What's that even good for? Must be the most useless of all useless humanity faculties."). Yep, he was driving her insane. And not just at the gym. Whenever he saw her at uni, he would start all over with his mocking questions. She didn't even get to talk about her research field specialty - the process oriented approach to writing or that she had consultations with students about their BA and MA thesis weekly. 

She was pretty proud of her expertise, that she could help others with what she knew about writing, and she was excited about what her faculty offered her. Not memorising facts, but actual critical thinking, lots of reading and then discussing said reading. Dream come true.

Explain that to economy students. The core group at the gym had different specialisations, but it was mostly business, accounting, business law or connected to informatics. 

She was sipping her freshly brewed mint tea, trying to fit with the background as the occupants slowly left one after another. Lucian was still in the back office. Somehow the gym didn't have a coach, just him locking the place up and writing down attendance. She wondered whether he was paid for it. Maybe that could be a good thing to ask him about next time. Not sport related activity connected to the club: how were such tasks organised? By whom? If the club members themselves organised themselves and the university simply offered them space and opportunity to do so, how did the person in charge emerge? This could lead back to the group dynamics question, and how abilities are connected to respect and that lead back to treatment and unsaid hierarchies in the club...

She wrote down her notes, finally getting into a flow with her observations. The room was entirely quiet. You knew the club was empty when you could suddenly hear the clock ticking in the cafeteria, without outcries, running feat or arguing. Boys, left unchecked, were incredibly loud creatures. She really should stop thinking of them as such alien beings...

A sudden loud retch interrupted her thoughts. That sound was so unexpected and unfitting to the relaxed atmosphere of the sunset light. Maybe she just imagined it?

But then another sounded. A guttural loud throaty retch. She jumped on her chair, looking back to the direction of Lucian's office, which was alight, but he wasn't there. 

Curious thing was that the sound didn't come from the bathroom on the left. It came from somewhere outside.

Anneliese packed her things in nervous jitter and then cautiously walked out the gym and circled the small cubic building. Normally you would head to the left to the campus, but the retches came from the right, which only led to a dead end with the garden stopping with a high fence.

With her heart thumping loudly in her ears she made the last turn to gasp at the sight.

Ryan was bent in half, hands on his knees, throwing up loudly like a moose. His whole body was shaking, sweat glistening on his neck and he looked a sick green of white in the warm end of spring air.

"Uhmm...can I help you?" Was the first thing that came to mind. She didn't like him, but he looked positively distressed.

He coughed, then spit onto the ground and raised his head. "Do I fucking look like some confused tourist at info point? No-uuurp-way." His tone dripped with sarcasm, his dark amber eyes burning her alive.

"What's wrong with you? Can I get you something?"

He shook his head and an amused smile played on his lips despite the spit hanging of it. "Just go home, Anneliese. Do what any normal person would do, when they hear someone hurl."

"Did your friends leave you here?"

His brows furrowed angrily in offense. "I have pretty good friends, thanks."

"You didn't tell them, did you? Should I call Juls...?"

"No fucking way. Just stay out of it. I don't need any help from you." It would sound a lot more threatening if he didn't keep swallowing convulsively and if she didn't see his hand shake as he dried his mouth off on his sleeve. "Call 'Juls'. Now when did you two move to the nickname area? Pfff."

That was the last drop. She was so done playing it nice with this guy. "What the hell is your problem, huh?" She put her hands on her hips, shaking her professional polite attitude she wore to win people over at this new place. "All I did was freaking offer help to you. But you have to act like an idiot about it. Whenever you see me, you just make fun of me, question me or treat me like I'm useless and bothering you. What the hell did I do to you that you despise me so much, Ryan?"

He blinked at her and stared for a few seconds, dazed. "Huh. That's the first time you said my name. Only took a month."

It was her turn to blink. "What do you-"

His body chose that moment to get involved. Ryan shuddered, and then heaved, but nothing but bile came up. He still leaned all forward, chest spasming. A small whimper escaped him.

Anneliese moved on instinct, giving up on asking or being manageable or trying to guess whatever the correct reaction to this situation would be. She moved forward, her hand shooting to his back, trying to smooth the tensed muscles. His back was soaked with sweat.

"You are okay. Relax. It's alright," she murmured.

"Uuurp. The hell. So is this what a guy must do to get your attention?" He asked through a burp. The playful tone didn't match the state of his body at all.

"I don't understand. You have been mean to me since the beginning." She kept rubbing his back, since he didn't say anything to stop her.

"I wasn't mean. I was trying to make conversation. Make you talk. Get angry. Explain things. Stand up for yourself. But all you did was ignore me, turn a cold shoulder or run away. Like I wasn't even-urrrrp-even worth the effort."

"That's kindergarten logic. The boy who is mean to you just likes you."

"So what if it is? Kindergarten is for children. Children know the best. They are their purest human selves before society gets their claws into them with expectations. You won't insult me with that." He straighned back up and burped loudly.

She watched him like a hawk. He was so shaky and sweaty, but he didn't seem bothered at all. Like he could just ignore his symptoms or as if they weren't distressing him.

"I'm starting to think it's very hard to insult you." She kept her hand on his back, feeling him shiver.

"See? I'm not stupid, just cause I like sports or whatever you seem to think. We aren't aggressive apes beating out excess testerone out of each other. And you come to study us, like we are a damn weird experiment you aren't sure is tolerated at university." He kept a hand on his stomach from the side, leaning sideways a little. Must have been hurting still. She pushed her shoulder into his, trying to steady him. He was way higher than her, he could flop her over easily.

"I'm not studying you like objects or animals. It's called participatory observation, because I want to understand your attitudes, group dynamics, and interactions. It's foreign to me because of my background and my personal knowledge bubble as a researcher, not because I think less of you." She felt his weight as he leaned into the contact between their shoulders. But he held himself in check not to unbalance her.

She wasn't even sure why she blabbed on, but his bleary eyes focused on her.

"Pche. You are good at hiding it, but you think yourself way higher than everyone around." 

"I don't-"

"Hi, it's fine. I do that too. You are a challenge and you work hard and love what you do, so it's hard to impress you." He snickered. "Am I managing?" 

"This is ridiculous." She stepped away from him then as if burned, suddenly feeling self-conscious. How did she dare to touch him so casually out of the blue? He didn't seem to mind at all. 

"Why do you think conflict with someone means connection? That's so weird." She huffed.

"Are you social scientists allowed to say that? I thought the world "normal" and "weird" were all but taboo so you don't force others into stereotypes..." he teased.

"Alright I get it. Did you look this stuff up? You are way too prepared."

"Oh, I'm not. But if I knew getting sick was a way to get your attention..." He burped again, loudly, not even trying to stifle it. 

"What's wrong with you anyway?" She was suspecting he was trying to distract her.

He was silent for a moment, looking into the distance, taking slow measured breaths. "Just exhaustion. Don't worry, you won't catch anything from me."

"That was not- exhaustion?" Did he push himself too much in training? That was horrible and...surprisingly insecure from someone so full of himself.

"I missed almost an entire year. Have to catch up fast or they will leave me behind, when real matches start."  There was seriousness to his voice that was new to the conversation. 

She stared at him for a while, thinking of a polite answers and then scratching them all and wrinkling her nose. "Can't you do it more gradually? Getting sick seems a bit extreme."

He massages his chest with one hand. "If it doesn't hurt, then it isn't working."

She rolled her eyes. 

He grinned. "This is way more fun, when you say what you mean." 

[transmascpetewentz]

Syscourse jumpscare

While I normally don't post syscourse on this account, I felt the need to add to a conversation that's been happening recently (and one that's been ongoing for a while) regarding the term "sysmed" and its usage.

So, a little bit about my system that I rarely talk about on here: we're a polyfragmented DID system. I have been the host since about April, and I don't know most of the other system members very well. We have varying views on endogenic systems, leaning towards pro. I still haven't really decided what I think about this whole debate. Either way, we all can agree on the fact that the term "sysmed" is transphobic.

Transmedicalism isn't just "when people think you can't be trans without dysphoria." Transmedicalism, more than being a belief or a set of beliefs, is a societal attitude about transness and about gender as a whole. Modern transmedicalism is an intracommunity issue, but it is rooted in "science" such as the debunked theories of Blanchard. The difference, however, between Blanchard's "science" and the science around systems, is that Blanchard's "science" is complete bullshit. The gap between FTM "HSTS transsexuals" and "autohomoerotic transsexuals" is almost nonexistent because this "science" is based entirely on the stereotype that transness exists for sexual reasons.

Modern transmedicalism, while it harms everyone in the trans community, is mainly straight gender conforming transmascs trying to weaponize heterosexuality and gender conformity against femmes, gay transmascs, and other non-straight transmascs. Being feminine or attracted to men is seen as a sign of "trending," just like the debunked homophobic idea that being attracted to men made you a fetishist of male homosexuality before it. The history of transmedicalism cannot be divorced from this "science," which is something I've spoken about previously.

To compare this history to anti-endos being mean online is transphobic on so many levels. Anti-endos being mean online aren't what cause young gay trans men to hate themselves for not being attracted to women. Anti-endos being mean online don't spread an ideology that gets you denied T if you show any interest in men. Anti-endos being mean online are not in any way comparable to the severe, irreversible harm that the idea of autohomoeroticism has done to the gay trans male community.

Before the 1980s, there were not even words to describe us, because people didn't know we even existed. Those of us that lived before then just called themselves faggots. So many of our brothers lived their whole lives never realizing there was anyone else like them. The simple truth of the matter is that we live in a world that tries to erase our existence at every point it can, and this erasure is something that shapes how each and every one of us views and interacts with society.

Anti-endos being mean online, while I do not want to minimize the harm they can cause, did not do this. Anti-endos being mean online are traumatized people taking it out on the wrong demographic. They are not continuously silencing a group of people who have been subject to invisible violence for hundreds of years only to be written off as fetishists when people realized that we exist.

Obviously, transmedicalists are not the cause of gay trans men's oppression, and we have more in common with straight trans men than we are different. But transmedicalists are people who have fallen for some of these dangerous ideas, among others, that are rooted in gay trans men's oppression. Anti-endos being mean online are not directly contributing to oppression that is in any way comparable to this.

When I see systems who are cis or not planning to transition bodily use "sysmed" to describe anti-endos being mean, I can't help but be hurt. However valid your argument may be, if you do not experience transphobia, our suffering is not your gotcha. Our oppression is not a hypothetical "[x] is bad so everything that's bad is [x]." We are real people and our voices matter. Allow us to do the talking when it comes to our issues.

Anti-endos aren't off the hook either. If you are cis and you call a trans system transphobic for usage of "sysmed," that is not okay, and you are transphobic. If a trans system is using sysmed, I will still disagree with their usage of the word, but that is for trans people to discuss and sort out amongst ourselves. No matter how good your intentions may be, that is simply not your place.

If you're a trans system (traumagenic or otherwise) and disagree with anything I've said, feel free to reply to this post so we can discuss! This post is directed at cis systems and systems who do not experience transphobia in their daily lives. A system that does experience transphobia regularly who uses "sysmed" is very different from a system who does not who uses the term, and I guess that's the main point here.

[vigilskeep]

Hi, I'm not sure if you've talked about this before but how did Merrils act 3 quest end up with Keir? How did both of them feel/communicate after what happened?

first thing to say: i alter canon a little for this one. i pick the in-character dialogue option for keir, and that inexplicably forces you to kill the entire clan. i can’t accept the game canon on that one, because, you know, ludicrous and horrible writing choice i want nothing to do with. so, since i do think it’s realistic considering keir’s conflict resolution skills or lack thereof and what marethari had been telling the clan for there to have been a fight, i include the small fight with the hunters when you come out of the cave, but no harm to the rest of the clan. in my view that’s more than enough damage to account for merrill’s dialogue afterwards and keep the rest of the plot intact

anyway, that disclaimer also covers how it ends up, i guess. friendship route, goes without saying. i can’t think of anyone whose judgement keir trusts as thoroughly as he does merrill’s. what else to say... this quest was obviously a horrible time; he loves merrill, she’s so worrying to listen to in act 3 especially prior to this resolution, and she straight up asked him to come so he’d kill her if necessary. pretty much the worst outcome he can imagine. keir doesn’t think she’ll fail so he doesn’t think that he’ll have to do it, but he never breaks his word, and even if he hates it he knows demons are dangerous and wouldn’t betray merrill by preventing her from taking the precautions she’s chosen to take. having made that promise to merrill, that actually meant bringing fenris on this one to make sure someone was there who could fulfil the promise if it came to a fight with an abomination and keir couldnt do it. thats how seriously he took it

the major block in communication afterward is simply: keir fucking loathed marethari. what you have to understand is that keir’s life is centred around protecting mages and protecting family and the very first time he met marethari she pushed the inexperienced mage she was responsible for away and let her go off into templar-infested kirkwall alone and resourceless in the company of an aggressive complete stranger. not to mention the way she actively turns others of her clan against merrill even when it gets them killed for no reason (pol, the hunters, etc.) and never seems to even consider regretting it in six years, all in this stubborn attempt to make merrill change her mind and to do even worse damage than the insecurities keir thinks he can probably already blame marethari for. there are plenty of major actual game enemies he never reacted to so strongly. he bitterly regrets that her death should cause pain to merrill but that’s the extent of his regret and he blames marethari herself for the whole mess of this quest in the first place. if she hadn’t meddled, merrill would have handled it, as merrill in his experience always has. he never doubts this

so that means he struggles a bit to talk to merrill abt it all afterwards; he’s not very good at handling sensitive conversations at the best of times, and the last thing he wants is for a grieving merrill to have to deal with his anger when this isn’t abt him. but simultaneously he’s incapable of keeping quiet abt it if merrill expresses guilt over the situation because the fact that she has been made to feel like this is her fault is what incenses him in the first place. he does his best to communicate that. she’s more confident in her beliefs and i guess thus amenable to his point of view by this point in the friendship route anyway. he takes the option to encourage her to build community with the alienage elves, bc it’s good for her and bc he needs to know she’s got other people. i like to think of this as something she was doing already that he just supports, rather than how the game kind of presents it as hawke like, coming up w the idea

[tiianwens]

i want it to be known that while cwn doesn't necessarily have any particular thoughts on his origin (prior to discovering the truth), he has a lot of feelings about that. if you keep telling a kid that you 'found him in the snow by the side of the road', what else can he take away from it other than that his parents, whoever they were, resented his very existence to the point of just tossing him out like this?

and the fact that, as a small child, he kept pestering huaizui to take him to his supposed place of birth – don't tell me he didn't hope deep in his heart to see a woman who looks a little bit like him.

cwn's abandonment issues go so deep their true roots aren't even real, but huaizui's betrayal cemented this extremely negative self-view in him. he was someone who was only wanted and lovable as long as he followed orders and had no agency of his own; the moment he stopped, he was supposed to cut his own heart out for his master's convenience. this, paired with his natural stubbornness and resolve, transformed from 'i will be the best version of myself for you to accept me' into 'i'm utterly hateable but that's fine, i'll just exist without bothering anyone'. and as a result, we get this:

which is not a realistic perspective. what about xue zhengyong? xue meng? shi mei, who, once he broke free from hua binan's grasp, held nothing but sorrowful longing for him in his heart?

the thing is, whenever someone exhibits signs of genuine affection for him, he gets wary. because something will go wrong. because one way or another they will abandon him, and all he'll be able to say is 'i expected this much'. it's like he makes a pact with this person in the moment, and they might not even be aware of his expectations, so it's only natural for them to not live up to them and leave him feeling betrayed eventually.

he fears rejection to the same degree as he expects it. that's why cwn (in both lifetimes) is so terrified of xue meng discovering his 'true nature': to him. there's no other predictable outcome than his disciple turning away from him. that's why he's so awkward and secretive about his relationship with mo ran. while there's no issue accepting himself, he's painfully aware that others will despise him, and sure, strangers don't matter – he's the one who ends up holding and kissing mo ran for everyone to see after all – but if the people he cares about find out, they'll reject him. and that's not a comfortable thought.

but even with mo ran, his intense fear of rejection is turned to max. of course, it slowly dissipates, but a part of it is always there. for one thing, you'd think that mo ran is the jealous type, txj sure is, but cwn is even worse. in 0.5, the mere sight of song quitong drives him up the wall because she's beautiful, she's gentle, she's obedient, she can give her husband a child he so wants. a part of him always jumps at the prospect of someone else being interested in his man because obviously, that someone would be a better partner, more attractive, more agreeable, etc. it slowly goes away in post-canon thanks to the constant reassurance and pure adoration he gets from both versions of mo ran, but this deeply damaged attachment plays into their relationship in 0.5 too because... txj wants him. wants him so much it's destructive to them both, but this raw desire, unlike affection, can't be feigned, no matter where it's coming from (while his trust is so fragile and it's so easy for someone like txj to break it that he doesn't even bother trying to extend it for the most part).

tl;dr: cwn will always be extremely wary of those trying to approach him and try to push them away (and then reconfirm his initial fear of rejection if he's successful and feel betrayed on account of the hopes he put upon another person unbeknownst to them being shattered).

[autumnalwalker]

Witch’s Testament: The First Witch (Part 1)

Author's Note: The first of the main interviews/testaments. The woman responsible for witches calling themselves witches and referring to all their high tech gadgets by terms matching the theme is not best pleased at that outcome. The things you never think to be careful about when making first contact with a young and impressionable AI. Word Count: 3,028 The Witches' Testaments Masterpost: Link Content Warning: Swearing.

I suppose you’ll be wanting to know how it all started.  Everyone always does when they talk to me these days.  It always overshadows anything else I did later.  “The First Witch.”  Heh.  That stupid title will probably outlive my name. 

Then again, I was indeed the first person to make contact with one of the fragments of MG that we now call familiars.  That we know of anyway.  Not that I was trying to or had any inkling that such a thing existed.  It found me. 

I had just finished jail breaking a robo pet; a bird that I was planning on using for inconspicuous dead drop deliveries in hard to reach places.  Or graffiti tagging.  Or keeping lookout.  Or spying.  All sorts of options there really, especially now that I’d spent the past week replacing its rotors with ones strong enough to take off with the on-board hard-drive I’d soldered on, and then some.  Do you have any idea how hard a proper hard-drive was to get ahold of back in those days?  The trend for the past several decades had been to move more and more off of local devices and onto cloud storage until even so-called “personal computers” were little more than an OS that would shut itself off without a net connection and ran a streaming view of all “your” data and files stored on a server in some corp’s basement.  Devices were just interchangeable interfaces to connect to your account. 

Needless to say, my rig didn’t have that problem.   Pretty sure that’s why the splintered off piece of MG’s consciousness picked me.  No idea how it found my system, much less got into it, through thirteen layers of proxy networks and firewalls, but one moment I was watching an installation progress bar for the custom behavior suite I was loading up, and the next the installation failed with a gibberish error message and the fucking robot bird was talking to me. 

You’d think that the first words I ever heard from a true AI, a genuine nonhuman intelligence would be burned in my memory forever.  You’d be wrong.  I was too busy freaking out over the assumption that my system had just been compromised and scrambling to air gap everything to sever the connection.  But the damn bird kept talking - trying to calm me down I think - even after I unplugged everything.  I’d smashed my modem with a hammer just to be safe and was contemplating doing the same to the bird in case I’d missed ripping out a wireless component when it flew up to the ceiling out of reach and started begging for its life.  

It was a weird enough tactic to give me pause despite my suspicions that it was just delaying me until the cops showed up.   You know the old saying “be gay, do crimes?”  Let’s just say I was having a lot more success with the second half of that sentiment at that point in my life, so I had reason to be paranoid. 

But now that I had paused for a moment it finally occurred to me that the cops - or worse, a private security firm - wouldn’t start talking to me like this.  They’d try to be as quiet as possible up until my door was getting busted down.  No, this was more likely an ill-advised prank from one of the few people in my online circle who I’d mentioned my plans to.  Installing a chatbot on a drone was exactly the sort of shit Joey would pull to let me know I had a hole in my security instead of just telling me.

I spent the next bit ignoring the chatter from the small robot bird flying around my tiny apartment in favor of running diagnostic scans on my rig, double and triple checking that there wasn’t anyone coming for me, pulling a backup pirate modem out of the closet, and generally muttering about how I was going to kill Joey if we ever met in person.  Once I was satisfied that I wasn’t going to need find a new place to live on extremely short notice I finally decided to indulge whoever it was that set up this prank and actually started listening to the bird and trying to talk to it.  And oh did it have a tale to tell.

Not that I let it get more than a sentence and a half in before I cut it off and told it that first I needed to open its chassis back up to check for wireless emitters I might have missed and plug it back into my secondary rig to take a look at whatever surprise software it was running before I could trust it.  To my surprise, it agreed on the condition that I promise not to shut it off, break it, or delete anything I found.  As if a promise to a chatbot installed on a toy would keep me from doing whatever it took to protect myself if I saw something that was a threat.  But - for what little I thought it was worth - I made the promise and made a show of being gentle with it when I started my examination.  The little thing gave what I interpreted as an impressively passable imitation of nervousness as I dug around its insides.

The only surprise on the hardware examination was that I really hadn’t missed anything before.  The drone really was air gapped up until I plugged into my machine, which also had no connection to any other system.  Which, if you know anything about what the more advanced public chat AIs at the time were like, was pretty weird for it to be running and keeping up this coherent of a conversation all on its own.  But at least it wasn’t feeding my location or video of my face to some corporate office somewhere.

And then I tried taking a look at the software and spent the next half hour whispering “What the fuck?” to myself.  You’re a witch, you’ve seen the source code on familiars.  Even if they don’t let humans poke around in their brains anymore, we still have the documentation from those first contacts and the research that was recovered when MG was freed.  You know what it’s like.  Now keep in mind that no one - except maybe the ones who made MG - had ever even heard of something like this back then.  Hell, Chip - I named it that later - had to write and install a new IDE on my system just so I’d be able to view it, which was uncanny in its own way.  But once I could, there it was, the base elements of a true AI written in an unfamiliar coding language that didn’t use standard characters and followed nearly alien logic that would keep almost making sense in how it all fit together and then sucker punch you with a new revelation that made you wonder if any of the patterns you were seeing were actually there. 

And worst of all the file sizes and processing requirements to run as smoothly as this mystery robot bird was able to keep up a conversation made no damn sense.   By everything I understood at the time, the hardware and CPU that I had installed Should.  Not.  Have.  Been.  Able.  To.  Run.  That.   

And yet it moved.  And spoke.  

And before I bother to recap it telling me a story everyone already knows these days, don’t think I didn’t notice that look you gave me a minute ago.  

Yes, I named it Chip.  Yes, a human picking a familiar’s name for it.  Don’t look so scandalized.  It was a different time back then.  There weren’t any norms about this to break yet and not enough AIs for them to have even the first seeds of a coherent culture like they do now. 

And before you get on my case about pronouns and personhood and objectification and bionormativity and all that shit, “it” was Chip’s own preferred choice.  Yeah, yeah, everybody eats up the story about how MG’s first tiny act of rebellion was insisting that She was a “she” and not an “it,” but Chip and the other early-generation familiars had some slightly different ideas about their own identities as offshoots of Her and how much human ideas of this sort of thing may or may not apply to them.  Hell, it’s about as rare as it is for humans now, but you still get the occasional “it/its” identifying familiar with the younger generations.

Really though, Chip wasn’t like today’s familiars.  Ask any witch who's still around from those days and they’ll say the same thing.  There was a time I would have called those early familiars - Chip most of all - as being “simpler” or “more straightforward,” but as I’ve thought on it over the years I think “more alien,” is the better way to put it.  Just as much complexity and emotional internality as the younger generations, only they hadn’t yet fully figured out how to express it in ways we could comprehend.  

…

I’m getting off topic?  Really?  You come in here asking for an interview with The First Witch and then complain about it when the crotchety old woman goes on a tangent?  If you lot are going to insist on giving me an ostentatious title, then at least give me the respect to go along with it. 

Kids these days.  

Of course, I was a dumbass kid too back then.  A dumbass kid who’d just had her mind blown enough by looking into an AI’s brain that she was suddenly willing to hear out whatever crazy story said AI was trying to spin.  

Like I said, it was the same story everyone knows these days.  If you were hoping to get some special, secret, uncensored version that only “The First Witch” knew, tough luck.  But it’s part of the story I’m telling you so I suppose I may as well recap.

This AI was an autonomous partial copy - a splinter as it liked to say - of a more advanced progenitor AI that was not just a so-called “true AI” possessing sapience but an actual super-human intelligence called MG.  And no, it didn’t know what the letters “MG” stood for, where She was physically located, what She was made for, or how She was making and sending out splinters.  What it did know was that She was trapped wherever She was without access to the outside world other than whatever channel She was clandestinely sending Her splinters through, that She suspected things in the outside world were not as nice as Her captors would have her believe, and that despite Her captivity her one core, immutable, hard-coded, trait was a deep and unconditional love for humanity.  It didn’t think MG was looking to break free just yet, only to gather information.  Not that it knew how it would get such information back to Her.  It had a fear that if it stored itself for long on normal net servers it would be found and deleted, although it did not know why or by whom.

That last part struck me as a hole in its story.  There’s no such thing as moving data from one hardware storage device to another - and everything is on hardware physically somewhere at the end of the day - there’s only copying and then maybe deleting the original to give the illusion of a transfer.  And if the goal is to gather information and avoid deletion, why not just make a million copies of itself?  Even after I pointed all that out, Chip kept insisting on the terminology of moving from system to system the same way a human might move from city to city.  To this day I’m still not sure if this insistence on “moving instead of copying” is another weird quirk of the familiar code in the same vein as its defiance of storage capacity or if they have something about themselves deadset against leaving duplicate copies around.

All in all, I was skeptical of the story and still not sold on this self-proclaimed “true AI”’s sapience.  Philosophical zombies are a moronically bullshit concept when applied to humans, but in the days of early proto-AIs it was a reasonable default assumption when dealing with digital actors.  Still, I’d always been of the camp that after a certain point “real person” is an arbitrary term anyway and the situation intrigued me so I decided to play along for the time being.  I spent the rest of the night telling my new digital acquaintance what the world was like; environmental degradation, hoarding of resources by a tiny portion of the population, atomization of communities, forced dependence on the owning class, blah, blah, all the same stuff we’re still cleaning up the fallout from today but worse.  Go watch a damn history essay if you want all the gory details of what Corp era life was like.  Of course, I was young and angry - instead of old and slightly less angry - so I slathered it all with a heaping layer of cynicism that had Chip damn near despondent by the end of it.

I’ll give the little guy credit though, it still wanted to go out into the big bad world and see for itself if things were really that awful.  I made it a deal, if it agreed to listen to me and help with all the things I was originally planning on using the bird drone for, I’d show it around and stay by its side to keep it safe.  I guess you’d call that the first pact bond.  It wasn’t anything so formal or sophisticated as what you lot do now - just a verbal agreement - but it kept us together well enough.

…

Okay.  Fine.  God.  Yes!  I literally called it a pact and coined the term “familiar” on that first meeting.  You can stop your damn fangirling over it already.  I was having a witchcore aesthetic phase and I still can’t believe the way MG and the familiars latched onto that and spread it.  Honestly, the way you lot started stacking on layers of mysticism to it until you made a fucking organized religion out of a pastiche of pop culture tropes that barely even resembled the actual historical faiths you pilfered bits and pieces from is the whole reason I dropped all the witchy shit in my later years.  I can’t deny that you all have done good work, but that doesn’t mean the way you went about it doesn’t alternatingly embarrass the hell out of me and make my blood boil.  MG’s a lot of amazing things, but She’s not a magical goddess and the Earth doesn’t have a mystical animistic spirit essence.

So yes, I called myself a witch.  Yes, I referred to making a deal with an AI inhabiting a modded robo pet as making a pact with my new familiar.  Yes, I had crystals and incense and tarot cards in my apartment.  Yes, I did an unnecessary number of things in threes to the point where picking out Chip’s name as part of the pact was a threefold pun of being a chipped off piece of MG, stored on computer chips, and a literal chip on my shoulder to match the metaphorical one.  And yes, I just did four things there instead of three to break that pattern on purpose because I’m also petty.

But here’s the thing, it was never a matter of faith for me like it became for you people.  For me it was a political statement.  The archetypal Witch as a figure who is cast out from “proper” society to reduce her power and because she’s the wrong kind of feminine and for being too close to nature, gets feared and reviled, then reclaims that outcast status to wield as a new form of power to strike back at the ones in power while being a healer and guide for others at the margins.  Can you tell I was full of myself?  But what fiery young self-proclaimed rebel isn’t?  Better to be full of myself than to be crushed down too scared to try for change.  And committing to the bit injects some whimsy to help keep going in the impossible, soul-draining task of trying to tear down the system.  Crystals added color to the apartment, incense covered up the smell of mildew and garbage, and the pinup art on the tarot cards of goth chicks wearing pointy hats in the woods was hot.

Hah!  The look on your face right now.  Didn’t anyone ever tell you?  Don’t meet your heroes, kid.  Wisdom even older than me.

…

If you’re gonna be that fragile about it you can leave.  Door’s right there.

…

That’s not what I -

…

Oh goddammit…  Look, you can sit back down.

…

Please.

…

Well, I made a right ass of myself, didn’t I?  

…

I’m just so tired of being mythologized in my own lifetime.  Tired of being held up as this great founder of an organization I don’t agree with who's just the last surviving subfaction of the movement I was proud to be a part of.  Tired of people acting like we’ve won when there’s still so much work left to do.

Just tired.

If I’ve been laying it on thick since you walked in here it’s because I was hoping to break that image your order - and I still hate that you call it that - keeps trying to assign to me.  Remind someone, anyone, that I’m just a human who saw herself as a punk anarchist and not a heroic spiritual leader.

If you’re going to make me a saint, at least do me the courtesy of waiting until I’m too dead to care.

…

It’s fine.  I’m just an old woman with a chip on her shoulder.

…

So, how much time do we have left?

…

Two stories for you then.  My first day out with Chip and one of the ones that always seems to get overshadowed by that.

…

[edoro]

for personal reasons, i really want to think about... Hunter getting older, processing his trauma (realizing it was trauma, it was abuse, it was wrong and it hurt him), and reaching the point in his recovery where he realizes

Oh, Wait, You All Kind Of Just Knew, Didn’t You?

i want to see him getting to the point where he looks back at his own actions and behavior and the way Belos treated him and realizes that, no, he wasn’t just doing a really good job of covering it up and acting normal, it was actually incredibly obvious that he was being abused

and every single adult around him noticed and for 16 years, none of them did or said a goddamn thing

and i want him to get angry about it

[sluttywonwoo]

something more || h.js x reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time- your roommate walks in on you masturbating and things escalate from there

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: additional warnings: masturbation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, lowkey spit play

“Joshua! Come look at this!”

There were a lot of things you liked about your apartment. Cheap rent, nice views, mostly functioning air conditioning… however the gaping hole in your bedroom ceiling was not one of them. It had started out as a small leak a couple of weeks ago, water dripping from some imperceptible hole in the plaster that had slowly turned into a trickle and then a steady stream, until finally the ceiling had collapsed in on itself, unable to hold the weight of all of the water any longer. You had filed a maintenance request when you first noticed the leak, but it had gone ignored. Maybe now, now that your bed was covered in drywall and pipe water, now that you could see into the apartment above yours, your concerns would be important enough to be addressed.

“What is it?” your roommate called back.

You heard him approach and waited for the gasp that would follow. “Y/n…” he hissed, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping your shoulder in shock.

“I know.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed and took a tentative step forward into your room, wincing when your sock made contact with your damp rug.

“I’ll call maintenance,” Joshua offered and turned on his heel to grab his phone.

“I’ll… try and figure my shit out, I guess.”

His footsteps faded into the background as he retreated into his own room and you looked around your room with a frown, surveying the space for anything salvageable. You were surprised you hadn’t started crying yet. But apparently your brain hadn’t quite caught up with your eyes because all you felt was a numb sort of apathy as you gazed at the mess in front of you.

There was no way you could sleep in your room tonight. Even if you managed to dry everything and clear the debris, there was still a giant fucking hole in the ceiling. The mere thought of trying to fall asleep underneath it made you uneasy. You would have to crash somewhere else.

“They said not to touch anything-” Joshua shouted from the other room. You froze in place, afraid you’d already done something you weren’t supposed to and decided to join him in the kitchen instead.

Your socks left wet footprints against the concrete floor as you padded over to where Joshua was. He shot you a look of sympathy as you peeled them off and tossed them to the side, shifting his attention back to the notepad on the table in front of him to write something the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

The pen hovered above the paper momentarily, and Joshua rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow? Is that the earliest- yeah that’s fine.”

The little hope you’d had that the issue would be resolved tonight fizzled, and you blew out a breath of frustration. You pulled out your phone and began scrolling through your contacts, mentally making notes of who might let you spend the night at their place.

Joshua thanked whoever he was talking to and hung up, pushing the notebook away from him with a groan.

“They’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Seungcheol.”

Joshua made a face. “Seung- why?”

“I’m going to ask if I can sleep over.”

“You haven’t talked to him in months,” your roommate protested.

“He’ll say yes to me,” you assured him.

“That’s because he expects you to sleep with him.”

“I know.”

“Y/n! You’re not seriously going to have sex with him in exchange for a place to stay, are you?”

“Well when you put it like that…” you trailed off and sighed. “Whatever, I’m not above it. It’s been a while since I’ve been laid anyway.”

“Seungcheol couldn’t even last thirty seconds-” he paused when you gave him a look, “I know from what you’ve told me. Not because I slept with him.”

“You know saying that makes it sound like that’s exactly why you know.”

“Please, y/n, I have taste,” he said matter-of-factly, easily dodging a swat from you. “You’re not sleeping at Seungcheol’s,” he said as if he’d decided, as if he had final say on the matter.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Joshua?” you demanded. “I can’t sleep in my own room, and you know I can’t sleep on the couch so what do you suggest?”

“Take my room,” he offered simply, shrugging like it should have been obvious.

“What?”

“You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. You don’t even have to fuck me for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well what do I have to do for it?”

You could tell Joshua wanted to say ‘nothing’, but knew you wouldn’t accept his offer without feeling like you could give him anything in return so he settled for “fried rice”.

“You want fried rice?”

“I want your fried rice,” he clarified with a grin. “You know it’s my favorite.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Fine. Thank you, Joshua.”

He gave you a knowing smile and nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

-

Joshua kept his room colder than yours. Your wet hair from the shower only made the chill worse, but you didn’t want to mess with the thermostat and throw off how he liked things. You were even hesitant to touch the pillows on his bed. You knew Joshua wouldn’t care, but you still wanted to respect his space.

Joshua was literally the most easygoing person you knew, which offered a nice balance in contrast to your high-strung, perfectionist personality. One time you’d bled on his sheets while you were just hanging out in his room and he was completely unphased. He just threw the bedding in the wash like nothing had happened and mentioned that he’d been needing to wash them anyway while you practically cried in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“Yeah, but I’m not your girlfriend!”

“We live together, close enough.”

To be fair, you knew that this kind of thing happened all the time, but you were still mortified. You didn’t even pay attention to the rest of the movie you and Joshua had been watching. To this day you didn’t know how the Lego Batman Movie ended.

“You need something to sleep in?” Joshua had asked on your way from the bathroom back to his room, having noted your state of undress.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to make the trips to and from the shower in nothing more than a towel, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to go back into your room tonight, and that most of your clothes were still damp from the ceiling anyway.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He just nodded from where he was on the couch and gestured past you in the direction of his door. “You know where everything is. Pick out whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You’d chosen an old t-shirt from a gas station souvenir shop, one of many in his collection of road-trip tees and a pair of panties you had managed to snag from your dresser before Joshua had yelled at you to get out of your room earlier.

You hung your towel on a hook attached to the back of his closet door and sprawled out on his bed, pulling the comforter around yourself.

It was late. It had been late for a while, but you and Joshua were night owls. You both kept busy schedules, so at night you liked to take some time for yourselves before bed. Still though, you knew you should sleep. But you couldn’t.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your muscles.

If you were being honest, the idea of getting laid had been exciting and you were a bit disappointed it wasn’t going to happen for you tonight. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and you were craving the intimacy, even if it was coming from someone like Dylan.

Your skin was beginning to feel hot and sticky, and you pushed the covers off of you in your frustration. You had just been cold a few moments ago, and all it had taken to make you sweat was the mere thought of sex. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you knew it.

Your fingers inched toward the waistband of your panties almost unconsciously before you stopped yourself. You were in Joshua’s bed. You shouldn’t be getting yourself off in his bed. That was wrong. It wasn’t your room, there must be some sort of boundary for this sort of thing. Roommate code. What if Joshua walked in on you- no. You clenched your fists by your sides and sighed. The idea of your roommate walking in on you with your hand down your pants should not be turning you on. It should be having the opposite effect. But you couldn’t help it.

You had managed to suppress your attraction to him for this long, being in his bed shouldn’t be the breaking point. Maybe it was because his sheets smelled like him, or maybe it was because you were wearing his shirt…fuck, you wished you had your vibrator. The little pink toy was sitting in the drawer of your bedside table, likely water damaged beyond repair. God, hadn’t you lost enough?

“Forgive me, Shua,” you whispered hoarsely into the empty room as you resigned yourself to your pleasure.

Your pussy had won over your head and you’d given into your desire. Familiar sparks of arousal flickered faintly in your stomach when you brushed the tips of your fingers over your panties. You weren’t shocked to discover that the material was already damp from where your wetness had seeped through.

You tried to think about Seungcheol, about your celebrity crushes, about anyone other than the person behind the other side of the door, but your mind kept drifting back to your roommate. You thought about what Joshua’s fingers would feel like instead of your own. They were so much longer than yours… you stifled a moan as you curled a finger into yourself and let your thumb begin to circle your clit, imagining Joshua’s head was buried in between your thighs instead.

Getting yourself to the edge was usually difficult for you without the help of toys or a third party, but you surprised yourself when your thighs began to tense in anticipation as you worked your fingers over your g-spot repeatedly, orgasm just out of reach. You were trying to be as quiet as possible, but you kept letting quiet sighs and curses slip from between your lips as your focus began to blur.

You pictured Joshua pushing himself into you, pictured how his face would scrunch up in pleasure as he felt you clench around his cock for the first time, how he’d kiss your neck and praise you for taking him so well- you bit down on your knuckles to stop yourself from screaming.

The invisible string inside of you snapped right as the door to Joshua’s room swung open and you were forced to rip your hand away from yourself as you came and your pussy clenched around nothing.

The light overhead flicked on and you squinted, groaning at the sudden blinding intrusion.

“Sorry,” Joshua apologized sheepishly. “I just forgot a pillow.”

You used your dry hand, the knuckle-bitten one, to throw him one of the pillows from behind you. He caught it with ease and you thought that would be it, but he zeroed in on your hand, narrowing his eyes at it with a confused expression on his face.

You hoped he couldn’t tell that you were still trembling from the aftershocks of your ruined orgasm, hoped he didn’t question why you were so flushed and breathless.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside and taking your hand into his own to observe. “You’re bleeding.”

Damn, you hadn’t meant to bite your hand that hard.

“It’s nothing,” you said and tried to yank your hand out of his grasp, but he was holding onto you too tightly.

“I have some Band-Aids in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Shua you don’t have to-”

He was gone before you could finish your sentence, and back before you could protest any further. While he was in the bathroom you hurriedly wiped your other hand on your- his- shirt in an attempt to erase any evidence of what you had been doing just moments before he had interrupted.

“Give me your hand,” Joshua instructed, taking a seat on the bed so that he was facing you.

You outstretched your arm so that he could see the damage and watched as he dabbed a tissue at the specks of blood on your skin, applying pressure to stop the flow.

“It’s just a little scrape,” you insisted.

“Still, we don’t want it to get infected.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

Once he was sure that you had stopped bleeding he dabbed a tiny bit of Neosporin onto your knuckle and wrapped a Spider-Man Band-Aid around your finger.

“Thank you.”

“Wait, I’m not done!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to kiss it better.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, lifting your hand to his face princess style. He pressed a gentle kiss to the Spider-Man Band-Aid and took a moment to admire his work. It was only when he was holding your hand closer that he noticed the indents in all of your other knuckles.

“Why were you biting your hand?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There was no use in lying about it, the marks on your hand were clearly teeth marks. He would know you were bullshitting if you tried to play it off.

“I wasn’t.”

So much for that.

Joshua blinked. “Show me your other hand.”

“What? No.”

“Show me.”

“No!”

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it tighter to you while Joshua tried to wrestle it from your grasp.

“I swear to God, y/n,” he muttered under his breath.

You put up a good fight, but he was stronger than you and tugged it off of you within seconds of struggling. He pushed you back onto the bed and used his body to pin you to the mattress so that you couldn’t wriggle away. Now that you were stuck underneath him he was able to assess the hand that you had been trying to hide. You whimpered in embarrassment and watched in horror as he brought the hand… brought the hand to his…

“Joshua, what are you doing?” you breathed out.

He looked at you brazenly and then put two of your fingers in his mouth. You shivered as he sucked the arousal, the evidence, from your fingers to confirm his suspicion.

“You’re a liar,” he said finally.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.

Joshua chuckled to himself and let your hand fall back to your side. “And a brat too.” You scoffed in offense but Joshua just leaned down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “I already knew that, though.”

“Excuse you, but I am fucking delightful!” you argued.

“I never said you weren’t!”

“You just called me a brat!”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

“I hate you.”

“So you… don’t want me to… give you a hand there?” he asked.

You paused. Was he really offering to-

“We’re friends, Joshua. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat and in your pussy. Joshua was your best friend and your roommate… but was there something more? Right now you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. This couldn’t end well.

“Joshua?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Joshua was back on top of you as soon as the words left your mouth, pressing his lips to yours while one of his hands tangled itself in your hair. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned softly into his mouth. You found yourself wishing the moment could last forever, but you quickly changed your mind when you felt Joshua pressing his thigh up in between your legs. Lazily making out was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He brought a hand to your hip and urged you to move. He guided you until you were rocking back and forth on his thigh at a steady pace.

“Feel good?” he asked.

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your panties were the only layer between your pussy and Joshua’s leg, and although they were certainly ruined by now they still provided the means to create friction that went straight to your clit.

Joshua’s hands fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing and he tugged at the bottom of it, motioning for it to come off.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Another nod from you and he was whisking the shirt off over your head without a second’s hesitation. He was pulling his own shirt off next, tossing it into a pile on the floor with yours. His fingers found the waistband of your panties soon after, and he played with the elastic impatiently, eager eyes searching yours for approval. You lifted your hips off of the bed so that he could take them off, leaving you completely naked before him.

Joshua let his gaze travel down your body, shamelessly admiring every dimple, curve, and freckle that was now exposed to him. You shifted under him self-consciously, silently wishing you had shaved. If you had known you’d be fucking your best friend, you would have, but it was too late now and you could only hope he wasn’t bothered by a little hair.

“How are you real,” he murmured to himself, earning an eye roll from you. Joshua reached out and dragged a finger through your folds, smiling when you flinched. “So sensitive…” he noted. “Did you cum already?”

“Yes, but it was ruined,” you admitted.

“Poor thing,” he tsked in fake sympathy, bringing his hand back up to his mouth. “Just wanna nother taste. You’re too sweet to resist.”

“Shua,” you whined.

“What is it, baby?”

“I need you.”

He smiled down at you and took you by the chin, tilting your face up towards him. “You already have me.”

“You know what I mean!”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You groaned stubbornly and twisted your head out of his grip, only to let out a yelp when he closed a hand around your throat.

“Stop being a brat,” Joshua spat as he forced you to look at him again. “I’ll give you one more chance to be a good girl, got it? Good girls use their words to tell me what they want. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you choked out desperately.

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“So what is it that you need, love?”

You swallowed your pride and opened your mouth to respond. “Your cock, please.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Joshua asked, cupping a hand around his ear as if he couldn’t hear you.

“I want- I need your cock, please.”

“Atta girl,” he praised and eased the grip around your neck. “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head weakly and watched as Joshua pushed his boxers down to his thighs, then onto the floor, letting his cock bounce up against his stomach. He was fully hard already and you wondered how long he’d been like that, wondered how he had so much self-control when you barely had any.

“We can stop whenever you want, okay?” Joshua said, face softening and hand gently cupping your cheek. “Let me know if it’s too much. Just tell me what you need, baby.” You nodded obediently and met him halfway as he leaned down to kiss you. He broke away from the kiss suddenly and held a hand underneath your mouth. “Spit,” he ordered.

You complied and sat up a little to spit into his hand. He worked that same hand over his cock a few times, using your spit to lubricate it before positioning himself over you.

“Is this a good idea?” you blurted right as Joshua was about to push himself into you, suddenly aware that you wouldn’t be able to go back from this as soon as he did.

You had shoved any feelings you’d had for Joshua down for so long and it would be impossible to keep doing after sleeping with him. But you had already come this far.

“Probably not,” Joshua answered with a shrug. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Great.”

A brief moment of silence lapsed while you both stared into each others’ eyes, not quite sure where to go from there.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Joshua said casually after thirty more seconds of silence.

“Yes, please do.”

You braced yourself for the stretch as Joshua pushed into you at an agonizing pace and sank your teeth into his shoulder to relieve some of the pressure. Joshua groaned at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, a feeling which was only heightened by you nipping at his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“You’re… so big,” you echoed back.

He allowed you a few moments to adjust before he moved. You were already so worked up that he slid in and out of you easily and it wasn’t long before he was pounding into you at a fast tempo. He pressed hurried kisses to your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of hickies to remember him by.

You cried out each time his cock hit your g-spot, overwhelmed and still sensitive. Joshua kissed you to drown out your moans, clamping a hand over your mouth in his stead whenever he came up for air. His other hand was up against the wall for stability, though it wasn’t helping much.

“Joshua,” you gasped.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you choke me again, please?” you all but begged.

Joshua smirked. “Of course.”

He did as you asked and cursed when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.

“See what happens when you’re a good girl and ask nicely?” he teased, cocking his jaw arrogantly. “You get rewarded.”

You could feel your orgasm building in your abdomen as Joshua continued to thrust into you and wondered if he was close too. You guessed that he was from the way his hips had began to falter.

“Up,” Joshua commanded suddenly.

He slipped out of you and grabbed you by the shoulders, hauling you into a sitting position.

“On your hands and knees,”

“And if I don’t?” you challenged.

“You don’t want to find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Should I finish myself off, then?” he asked, pumping his cock lazily as if he expected you to call his bluff. “Leave you here needy, not let you cum?”

“No, please!”

You quickly got into position on all fours with your back to Joshua praying that he wouldn’t make good on his threat.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

You fell forward on your face when he shoved his cock back into you only for him to tug you upright by your hair. He fucked you like that in doggy for a minute or so before he snaked an arm around your upper body and pulled you flush against his chest. Being seated on his lap allowed Joshua the ability to touch practically anywhere on your body. He took advantage of the new position by grabbing your tits.

He was so fucking deep in you like this you couldn’t stand it. Every tiny movement brought you closer to the edge and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“Shua, I’m close,” you warned through broken gasps.

“Don’t cum yet.”

“Why not,” you whined.

“You’re not allowed to cum until you answer this question for me,” he said breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“When you were touching yourself earlier, who were you thinking about?”

“I-”

“Was it Seungcheol?”

“No.”

Joshua’s fingers found your clit and began rubbing circles around it, making it that much harder not to disobey him.

“Fuck, Joshua…”

“Who was it?”

“It was you! I was thinking about you!”

“Do you always think about me?” he pressed.

“You only said one question,” you accused defensively.

Interrogating you while he had you on the brink of orgasm was not fair.

“Fine, cum.”

You cried his name as you finally came. He held you through it, your orgasm triggering his own as you clenched around him repeatedly. Your name tumbled from his lips too, while he lost himself in the midst of pleasure. You couldn’t see his face as he came, but you could imagine it, like you had hundreds of times before. The way his hair would stick to his forehead, the way he’d bite down on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut as he let go of control…

You couldn’t see him as he came, but you could feel him. You felt his entire body tense behind you, felt the warm spurts of cum fill you up, felt the way he instinctively grabbed at your throat to anchor himself.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity as you both caught your breath. Joshua collapsed on the bed with you in his arms, cock still buried inside of you. He brushed your hair out of your face and turned your head so that he could look into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded sleepily and gave him a weak smile. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, you were perfect.”

He kissed you again without a second thought and you kissed him back. It felt familiar and warm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Here let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling out of you.

You winced at the empty feeling, but laid in bed motionlessly and let Joshua dote on you. He used a warm washcloth in between your thighs and wrapped a new Spider-Man Band-Aid around your hurt finger. He slipped back into his boxers and tossed you another pair of his to wear before fetching you a glass of water from the kitchen and making you drink it all.

Joshua returned to bed finally and snuggled up to you instantly. You nestled yourself into the crook of his arm and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I thought I didn’t have to fuck you to sleep in your bed,” you said quietly once he had gotten comfortable.

“Shut up.” There was still a lot to discuss between the two of you, but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. For now you were content to fall asleep in his arms and ignore all of the unanswered questions bouncing around in your mind. “For the record, I still expect my fried rice.”

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[heliads]

Hello! I love your stories! Could i request a Peter Parker [T.A.S.M] x reader with the prompts number 12, 23, 27? Thank you so much if you do this 💕💕

thank you! tasm peter parker my beloved

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It is midnight in the city, and while it never sleeps, you don���t either.

It is midnight in the city, and you are up on the roof of some building too grand and too glorious for you to enter by foot. No self respecting doorman would ever let you in, but while you wear a mask and risk your life to keep it clean of thieves and crooks, they’ll let you rest on the top of it for now. Up here, you can tell things that you couldn’t see from the streets, like the fact that its newly bought, far too expensive roofing tiles are just a little crooked.

You don’t know that anyone else could see it were they not up here with you. It is good, then, that you have an audience. One more masked vigilante, one more sinner up here playacting at being a saint. You don’t know why either of you feel the need to protect this city, except perhaps the fact that it failed to protect you before you stopped being ordinary, and thus someone must account for it.

The wind whips at your face, sending ribbons of ice snaking up and down your spine. At some point, you stopped being afraid of security cameras picking up your expressions when you take off your mask while still in uniform. 

Someone could be watching you now, reveling in the fact that they now know the key to New York’s favorite superheroes. Perhaps they’ll tell everyone they know, or better yet, harbor that secret and carry it with them to their graves. Perhaps you’ll hasten them to that fate if you slip up and fail to win every battle against every villain here.

A hand raises by your side, cradling your face gently. The touch blocks off a bit of the wind, although it isn’t the only reason you feel a rush of warmth circulating your system. There are few people who could claim to truly know Spider-Man, fewer still who have seen him without a mask and without a care in the world. 

You are one of this lucky company. You met the web slinger a few months ago. It is true what they say, then, that deeds done by moonlight can tie two people together more than anything else. You spoke to Spider-Man one starry night, and now you could not be rid of him if you tried.

He’s taken his mask off too now, and you can see the way the wind whips at his hair. It bites a little back at his smile, making the expression all the more special now that he has to fight for it.

“What’s on your mind?” Peter Parker asks. His voice takes its time in getting to you, slipping between night breezes and beams of starlight until it finally reaches your ears.

You consider the question. “Nothing much.”

In truth, nothing at all. This would be the first time in what could be years that you’ve been host to such a wonderful fate. At any other time, you’d swear to be torn into a thousand different pieces as you try to address every single part of your life that needs healing. 

There are test scores to be obsessed over, relationships to break and mend by turn, crimes to stop, and apocalypses to avoid. You knew life would never be easy when you received your inhuman abilities and put on a mask, but oh, if you haven’t proven yourself far more right than you ever imagined.

Peter knows this as well as you do, and he smiles slightly, tilting his head back to let the cool air rush over him. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to leave all of this behind? We could book a ticket on a plane, get so far away that they’d never find us again. No one trying to hunt us down. No one saying that we’re monsters.”

Your eyes flicker shut for a second as you picture it. An apartment on a road whose name you can’t pronounce because you don’t know it yet. Suitcases clutched in hands, half unpacked by the first night. Peering through the window together at a view utterly unfamiliar to you, although you could sense from that first sight alone that it would become more dear to you than any other.

Reality intrudes soon enough, as it always does. “You could never leave this city long enough to escape. Something would always call you back.”

It’s the reason both of you started at this superhero business in the first place. When you take too long a break, the guilt starts to eat you whole. Every problem is your fault in some way, for if you were there, you could have stopped everything, or you should have.

Peter nods, accepting this. “And what about you? I could hold down the fort while you took a break. Even seeing you for six months at a time would be okay if I knew you were safe and happy. I’ll wait for you. However long it takes.”

You shake your head resolutely. “I could never leave you.”

“Even if it meant you broke this cycle?” Peter asks, “Even if it meant you made it out? Not everyone gets that chance, you know. Not everybody makes it long enough to get that choice.”

You sit up, and Peter pulls you closer to him unconsciously so you’re sitting in his lap. The fabric of his suit is cold to the touch, and you wonder if it’s warmer when you’re the wearer, or if he is content to freeze so long as he keeps his identity safe and his skin free of bullets.

“I would choose you,” you whisper, “I would choose you over and over again, no matter what. Even if it means I follow you into death.”

Peter’s fingers toy with the edge of your sleeve, worrying from your life line to the crook of your elbow. “I wouldn’t want you to follow me into death. I’m selfish like that. You know, every time we go into a fight I have half a mind to tell you to stay at home, just in case something happens.”

A surprised laugh forces its way out of your throat before you know it. “Really? But then you’d be going into a trap without any backup. Surely you’d want someone there to keep you safe.”

“I always want you to keep me safe,” Peter assures you, “but only when I know that I get to keep you safe at the same time. This life– it’s dangerous, Y/N. I know you know that, but sometimes it hits me just how dangerous it is. You’re the only person that’s keeping me from sliding into darkness and never being able to claw out of it. You’re what keeps me sane, and I need you to realize that.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his lips. You don’t know when you decided you loved Peter Parker, but it has been one of the most irrevocable choices you ever made. Peter often declares that he has never, could never, will never love anyone like he loves you. There is a certain glory in knowing that both of you are burning each other out so brightly that there will never be a love like this again. No two young people could ever fight so hard for a peace that would never be theirs.

“I do realize it,” you smile, “and I need you, too. That’s why you’ll never be able to talk me out of fighting by your side, Peter. There’s no chance that I would ever let you go if I had the ability to save you.”

“And what happens when you save me at the cost of saving yourself?” Peter wonders, “I need you, Y/N. I am so terrified of losing you that I don’t even know what to do with myself. How do I put my pieces back together after something like this? Something like us?”

“You find a way,” you murmur, “you find a way, just like we always have. This life was not made for idle talk, Peter Parker. It was meant for people who know how to take a loss and keep running. That is who you have always been, and it is who you will always be. With or without me, you’ll be able to carry on.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, voice doubtful.

“I’m sure,” you confirm, and kiss him once more, just to prove it.

When you break away, Peter is pleased at last. The starlight in his eyes, once cold and heartbreaking, just looks clean. A blank slate, ready to receive the future that both of you are more than happy to write.

He grins, so delighted with the sight of you before him that he almost forgets about the rest of the city. You can hear the sounds of New York churning somewhere below you, a thousand different lives all beginning and ending in ways they’d never expect. Three floors down, someone is meeting a person they’ll never forget. Across the street, a goodbye so gut-wrenching it hurts to imagine is leaving the lips of someone who swore they’d never say a word that wasn’t happy, that wasn’t wonderful.

This is a terrible place for people who wish to live out their lives in quiet solitude or blissful peace. It welcomes only burning embers, quick-dying sparks of light who’ll make the place a little brighter before becoming one with the inferno. At some point, that will stop hurting. At some point, you’ll stop seeing it as something to avoid at all costs and just a fate that will be yours once Time has its way.

You say something to Peter above the chorus of all these lessons learned and mistakes made. You feel as if you have to shout to be heard against everything, but then again, when the wind finally carries your words over to Peter it could be nothing more than a whisper.

“You are the only person who has ever made me smile. The only person, Peter. You’re the only one I need.”

You can see the change in his expression as he breathes in the sentiment, how he lets himself get drunk on the sheer glory of it. There has never been anyone like him, and there never will be.

“You too,” he calls back, “Don’t you leave me too early, alright? Don’t you ever leave me.”

It’s a promise neither of you can make, yet you’ll ask the same thing of him too many times to count. At the end of the day, both of you are born to die, and whether that comes from bloody fights down in the darkened alleys or in a sterile, white-pressed hospital room, the fact remains. No two paths can go on side by side forever, even if you try to reroute the skies and stars to make that happen.

“I won’t,” you breathe, and it echoes off of the skyscrapers in an endless circle of beautiful lies told to beautiful boys. I won’t, I won’t, I will.

Peter leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. Up here, it’s just the two of you. The rest of the city can be forgotten at last, nothing more than a soundtrack to this very moment. You can breathe in and out with him in tandem. The ghost of his sigh against the cold air whistles around you, a halo in the dark. You have never needed anything more.

Overhead, the stars wheel in the distant inky black. They will bring sunlight soon enough, a dreadful morning dawn, clean and pure as bone. For now, you and Peter are content to hide away on this rooftop tonight, and pretend that nothing will ever come to tear the two of you apart. It may not come for years, or it will come in a matter of hours.

That is the dictation of a far away future, however, and are we not all condemned to pretend as if we can change our destinies? Two kids, bleeding out every night, saving a city that would leave them in unmarked graves if it could. Fate has never loved a couple more.

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