#(it didn't need to be said actually but i just wanted to say it)

[pedroscurls]

touch starved (one-shot)

summary: logan agreed to go out with wade, having been promised a low-key night, but he should've known than to trust wade for his word. he didn't agree to spend his night at a strip club and he's just about ready to leave until he sees you. pairing: worst!wolverine x fem!reader content warnings: explicit smut (18+, mdni), porn without plot, lap dance, grinding / humping, striptease, one night stand (you take logan back to your apartment), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), cowgirl, reader takes charge (and logan's more than happy to let you take the lead), oral - m receiving, swallowing logan's release. basically this story is all about catering to logan and his needs 🙂‍↕️, reader description (only clothes and hair), no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: coming at ya with yet another one-shot of logan filth lol. my own headcanon is that logan / worst!wolverine is touch starved (just as much as he craves to be part of something bigger than himself). anyway, hope y'all enjoy - it's a spicy one 🤭 song: closer by nine inch nails

“You promised a quiet night out, Wade,” Logan snarls at the other man, hand gripping his glass of whiskey. It’s too loud in here, the music blaring from the speakers, the flashing dark red lights illuminating mainly the stage where women are performing. There are plenty of men surrounding the stage, alcohol in one hand and dollar bills in the other.

“I promised no such thing,” Wade grins. “I said let’s go out and you agreed.”

Logan’s jaw tightens and he looks at Wade with narrowed eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” 

Wade laughs. “Come on, peanut! Have some fun. Let loose. Just sit back and relax–”

“I’m leavin’,” Logan interrupts, downing his entire glass before slamming it on the table. He stands up and gets ready to turn on his heel when he catches a glimpse of you at the corner of his eye. He turns slightly and watches the way your smile meets your eyes. You don’t look like you belong in a place like this, the other women wearing too much make up and revealing so much that it leaves little to the imagination. But you… You look absolutely breathtaking and Logan feels like he can’t move, can’t tear his eyes away from you.

Your hair cascades past your shoulders, your make up remaining light and natural. You’re dressed in an all black sheer robe with a lace cuff and satin waist belt. The robe is loosely wrapped around your frame, giving Logan a glimpse of your sheer mesh bra, the top of your bra trimmed with lace and when you undo the belt of your robe to reveal your lower half, he feels his breath catch in his throat. Your panties – or rather, your thong – matches the same style of your bra. 

It’s so innocent in comparison to the other women in the strip club, and yet, Logan can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. It’s only when he hears Wade’s voice that he finally looks away, even though he’s yearning to just look at you again.

“Oh, someone’s caught your eye,” Wade grins, swaying in his seat. “Want a private dance, Mr. Wolverine?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. “Like I said, I was leavin’–”

“So soon?” you interrupt and glance between both men. You flash a smile in Wade’s direction who looks like he’s about ready to combust with excitement. He’s sipping his drink with a straw, grinning in your direction. Then, you glance over at Logan whose eyes stare directly into your own. 

“Actually,” Wade says. “How much for a private dance…” he trails, staring up at you as he waits for you to say your name.

“Kitty,” you finish for him. “You can call me Kitty.”

“Very fitting,” Wade winks. “Well, Kitty, it’s my friend’s first night out in a very long time and I figured I can treat him to a private dance.”

“That’s very nice of you,” you respond, but your eyes never leave Logan’s. You can see his eyes flit over your frame, lingering on your exposed skin.

“Listen, you ain’t have to and–”

“How about the first one’s on me?” you interject. 

“Sweetheart,” Logan mumbles. 

You bite your lower lip and gently reach up to rest a hand on his arm. You can feel the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, can feel him flex it underneath your fingertips. Logan inhales sharply as he looks down at your hand, clearing his throat at your soft touch. 

“His name’s Logan, by the way,” Wade chimes in, cutting through the tension with a quiet giggle. 

“But only if you want to, Logan,” you whisper, moving your hand down his arm and to his forearm. You bat your eyelashes up at him, trying to ignore the obvious attraction you feel towards him. Truthfully, you’d rather spend the rest of your night with him rather than give dances to other men in the club – men who didn’t look like Logan. 

Logan feels his resolve diminishing, but when he hears his name leave your lips, he nods slowly. “Y– Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, come with me.” You smile and gently take his hand in yours. He looks down at it, taking notice of the way his large hand encompasses yours and he allows you to lead him towards the back of the club and into a much more private room. 

Once inside, Logan hears the door shut and he turns to face you, his eyes lingering on your frame. He watches you walk towards him, hips swaying to the muffled sound of the music until he feels your hands rest firmly on his chest. 

“You’re a shy one,” you point out, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. 

“Not shy,” Logan mumbles. “Just bein’ respectful, sweetheart.” 

“Sexy and a gentleman?” you smile. “Mind if I keep you for the rest of the night?” you tease.

Logan feels a blush rise in his cheeks and lets out a quiet grunt when he feels you push him back against the large sofa. He stares up at you, eyes obviously now trailing your frame. He keeps his hands on his lap, though he yearns to reach out to touch you. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving your hands to rest on the backs of the couch as you lean in until your lips are mere inches from one another. You’re slightly bent over to be at eye level with him and you smile, catching the way he clears his throat. “If you don’t want to do this, all you have to do is say so, okay?” 

“Okay,” he responds quietly. 

You smile and gently press a soft kiss on his cheek, slowly pulling away to see that his eyes had fallen shut. You turn on your heel and walk over to the speaker to put on a couple of songs that you normally play when you give a private dance. Pressing play on the first song, you then turn around to face him once more. He looks so large in this room – his legs spread open on the sofa, broad shoulders and chiseled muscle beneath the fabric of the flannel he’s wearing. This was only ever a job to you, never finding anyone all that interesting or attractive, but Logan – well, you’d risk your entire job if it meant you can have him for one night. 

As the first song plays and filters the room, your eyes meet Logan’s who is staring at you with an anticipated look on his face. His eyes move along your legs, up to your midsection and then up to your breasts and back down. Slowly, you remove your robe and let it pool around your ankles as you strut towards him. Your hips sway with each forward step and Logan lets out a shaky breath. 

Once you’re standing in front of him, between his legs, you lean down and gently brush your lips against the corner of his lips. His facial hair tickles your lips and you pull back enough to stare into his eyes, lips slowly grazing his own. “You can touch me,” you whisper and move your hands onto his strong shoulders, slowly straddling his hips. “To be honest, I’d let you do anything you’d want to me,” you say quietly into his ear. 

Logan’s large hands immediately move to your hips, gripping it tightly as you sit firmly on his lap. He’s so hard and he feels so embarrassed, but the look on your face when you feel him alleviates some of the uncertainty he’s feeling. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt a man’s erection while giving them a lap dance, but it is the first time that you actually let out a quiet moan as you slowly roll your hips against his own, to the beat of the song. The tension between you thickens in the air and you stare deeply into his eyes as you try to remember the routine that you normally do for this song. 

You let me violate you 

You let me desecrate you 

You let me penetrate you 

You let me complicate you

Logan’s hands slowly move from your hips to your thighs, his fingertips digging into the meat of your flesh as your hips roll against his. He clears his throat and watches as your eyes flutter with each movement. He has to wonder if this is all part of your act, that maybe you’re just acting like you’re enjoying this. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving to slightly lean back in his lap. You move one hand from his shoulder to reach behind you and rest on his knee as you lift your hips before coming back down on his lap. Logan groans quietly, almost inaudibly, as he moves a hand to splay on your abdomen, slowly moving it upwards towards your breasts. 

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

When his thumb brushes against your nipple, feeling it peak beneath the sheer fabric of your bra, he has to wonder if maybe he crossed a line. Logan moves his hand away from you but you grab his wrist and move it back over your breasts. He smirks and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he leans forward. 

You let out a quiet moan and feel a wetness settle between your legs that you have to lift your hips off of him, not wanting to stain his dark jeans with your arousal. Slowly, you stand back up and hear him let out a quiet, disapproving groan. You stand between his legs, moving one hand in your hair as you use the other to run along your body, grazing your own breasts and down between the valley of your thighs as your hips sway to each beat of the song.

You tear down my reason

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell

(Help me) you make me perfect

Help me become somebody else

Logan can smell your arousal, can smell just how excited you are and the uncertainty he felt earlier is now completely gone. His hands move up your legs, fingertips hooking into the thin waistband of your thong, but he feels your hands move to rest over his. 

“Logan,” you say quietly. Even through the music, he can hear your voice, can hear the desire and yearning in your tone. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want to take you home,” you admit, moving to sit back on his lap. “I know it’s very unprofessional, but–”

Logan grins. “Then take me home.” 

—

Logan had told Wade what happened, the other man all too excited for him. He hadn’t expected this night to turn the way it did and there’s some part of him that doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but when he sees you step out of the club with that same sweet smile that meets your eyes, he pushes those feelings out of his mind. Because all he can think about is what’s going to happen next. 

The drive to your apartment was short and the moment you step out of the car, Logan’s quick to follow you. He steps inside of the apartment with you and you shut the door behind him before you’re on him almost instantly. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and Logan’s hands move to rest on your hips. You stare up at him before you lean up to press your lips firmly against his. 

Logan groans instantly against your lips, eyes falling shut as he follows your lead. You move one hand down his chest to his abdomen until it reaches the waistband of his jeans. He feels your tongue slide past his lips and he whimpers against you – he fucking whimpers. Logan’s used to being the one in charge that it takes him by surprise when you’re more than willing to take control. 

When you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, you pull away. Your gaze darkens at the sight of him and you bring him further into your apartment, once more pushing him against your couch as he sits down with a grunt. Standing in front of him, you pull down your shorts and panties in one motion, grabbing the ends of your shirt to lift over your head. You stand in front of him, completely bare and exposed for him that Logan doesn’t know where to look first. 

You’re so fucking breathtaking that he feels his manhood strain against the fabric of his jeans. Logan slowly pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, catching the way your eyes widen at the sight of his erected length. He smirks to himself and undoes the buttons of his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper under your breath. “You’re so fucking hot, Logan.” 

Logan bites his lower lip. He doesn’t have time to respond, to tell you that you’re the one who’s so fucking hot because you straddle his hips and take hold of length. He groans at the feel of your hand wrapped around him, lining him up to your opening. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to last – it had been such a long time since anyone’s wanted him like this, since anyone looked at him the way you did. 

In his universe, everyone hated him. 

But in this one – Logan has a second chance at living life the way he should have in the first place. 

When you slide down his length, Logan’s hands move to your hips. He groans loudly, your walls surrounding his length – so warm, so wet, so tight. Your walls slide down every inch of his length until you’re seated fully on his lap. He looks up at you, sees the way your eyes flutter. 

“God, you’re so deep,” you point out with a quiet moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. Holding onto him, you slowly begin to lift yourself before you slide back down. You can feel every inch of his throbbing manhood within your depths and he fills you so fully in a way that you’ve never felt before. 

He shifts to lie on his back on your couch, staring up at you. Your hands move to rest on his chest, rolling your hips forward and backward. You can feel the hair at his base brush against your bundle of nerves with each movement, quiet moans escaping your lips. 

Logan moans in surprise when you reach for his hands, lacing your fingers together as you press them above his head. He knows that he’s so much stronger than you, but he finds that he likes being at your mercy. You’re gripping his hands so tightly, pressing your joined hands further into your couch as you begin to bounce along his length. You lift yourself until his tip is the only part of him that’s within your depths before you slide back down, your tight walls sliding down each inch of him.

“Sweetheart, fuck,” Logan groans, squirming slightly against your grip. He feels your walls begin to tremble around him, can feel you tightening even further around his manhood. 

“Lo– Logan!” you exclaim, moaning loudly as you slam down onto him. You shut your eyes tightly, slowly moving your hips forward and backward to ride out your high. You release his hands to brace yourself on his chest, the feeling of his hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction. 

Logan feels a tightness building in the pit of his stomach and he gently lifts you off of him. You gasp, whimpering at the sudden loss of him before you realize that he’s close. You move down the couch and settle yourself between his legs as you take hold of his length, stroking him with a firm grip as your lips wrap around his tip. 

“Fuck!” he groans, not expecting you to fucking suck him off. Logan moves a hand in your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks as he guides you along his length. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t and when you hollow your cheeks to apply more pressure around him, Logan tosses his head back against the couch. 

It’s sloppy, spit trickling down your chin as you keep your eyes focused on him. You move along his length, flattening your tongue on the underside of him as you feel each throbbing vein against you. Logan’s grip around your hair tightens and he lifts his hips slightly off the couch to push himself further into your mouth, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat as you gag around him.

Slowly, you pull away from him and smile. “Come for me, Logan.” Then, you wrap your mouth around him once more and bob your head rapidly, stroking his base. Logan shuts his eyes tightly, the tightness building once more as he lets out a loud moan. He gently pushes your hand away as he grips himself, using his free hand to pull you back from your hair as he releases into your mouth. He opens his eyes to look down at you, his seed filling your mouth and you eagerly swallow. 

Logan groans, stroking himself to release every last drop of his spend into your mouth. You smile against him – you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth – and it’s an image that Logan will never forget. When you pull away and lick your lips, swallowing every last drop, you lean up on your knees and stare at him.

“Yum,” you grin. 

Logan’s breathing heavily, moving one hand to rest behind his head as he looks at you with a small smile. “Didn’t expect this to happen tonight,” he admits. “But I’m glad it did.” 

“Stay the night?” you ask. 

Logan nods and sits up, gently pushing you onto your back as he settles himself between your legs. “Oh, sweetheart, I ain’t even done with you yet.”

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

[kinardsevan]

What is your opinion on Tommy coming back or not? And in they case we see him again, do you think it’ll be just for closure (ex: Abby in season 3) or maybe for a BuckTommy second chance?

fun fact: i was considering doing an entire breakdown with a bunch of Oliver's interviews from the start of this arc until now to point to my opinion:

Tommy is coming back. The romcom theme is still in effect, and we're only about midway through the 3rd act.

Long story short (and without sources right now), I think that the interviews were actuallly pointing in this direction with the wording for a hot second. We have OS telling us that he thinks the best relationships have a "will they, won't they" bit where the audience and the characters are pining. We've seen this play out on the show. And we also have to remember that Oli knew during this interview that the breakup was coming. We also have the interview (I believe it was the Decider one I linked last week) where he mentions choosing to fight for the relationship or not. I feel like a lot of people have taken the context of that and twisted it into "they didn't do it right away, so they're not going to". Except, there's ANOTHER quote of relevance, which is Oliver talking about how Buck's queerness isn't tied to Tommy or Eddie, and only to himself.

Obviously, there have been things said since 806 that would point towards me being delulu, except, here's the issue: TM, OS and LFJr are NOT going to tell us that Tommy is coming back if that's the intention. It would spoil the surprise of it all, and the win of it all. What fun is there in that? What TM has said is that Tommy is Buck's romantic past but that doesn't mean he won't turn up again in the future (all relevant and true facts which do not shut down a reconciliation). Lou never out-and-out said he was done with the show. He's said time and time again that he wants to come back. TM has mentioned Tommy coming around again. OS literally said in an interview "they may run into each other on scene and have it be awkward".

Now obviously we don't actually have the full story with how things went down and the show decided to go with splitting the boys up. I think the fact that Lou has called out the bullying but says he wants to come back suggests that it wasn't him saying it was too much. I have two theories that could honestly run concurrent with one another:

Evan and Tommy break up in 806 at the end of the episode. With 911 having 18 episode seasons, this quite literally only makes up the first third of the season. It set up the beginning of the year for us. We're now two episodes into the second part of the season with a pretty clear idea of where the next three will go and suggestions (by fans, nothing official) that the "soonest" we could see LFJr again is 812. This is reasonable, as it would be the end of the middle of the season. Knowing that TM has suggested he might do a multi-episode season finale, pushing LFJr back into the show in 812 (or even the end of 811 if we go with my theory that Eddie could possibly leave around this time and Tommy helps them pack up/his and Buck's first time spending time around each other again), there would still likely be something around this time period that would be around when they would open the doors to this. As it is, we know that 809 and 810 go together, and then we'd have 811 to really flesh out the end of Buck's fling. I think there's even more possibility of LFJr being in this episode as well because if the plan is to bring them back together (which everything has been suggested so far ON screen in terms of keeping Tommy "in" the story), three-episode arc gives us several things: a. it allows the show to make the point that Buck's queerness is not intrinsically attached to Tommy; that his interest in men is as equal as he know his interest in women is. b. it gives them the ability to also show that his feelings for Tommy are not based in Tommy being his "first", or Evan needing to "discover" more about himself. They're in love with each other, and the show has given us the pieces for that. LFJr has acknowledged it in an interview, Tommy loves Buck. We also know that Tommy's line to Evan is "you'd end up breaking my heart, and I don't think I could deal with that". When I hear that sentence, what I'm actually hearing is "I'm already in love with you, and if I let myself fall more in love with you by being with you every day all the time and this ends, I won't survive it". By relation, we have Josh ask Buck if he loves Tommy and Buck waffles, but I think this has more to do with his lack of understanding of what a healthy love is in a relationship, given his past relationships. He never got to tell Abby. Ali left. and saying I love you to Taylor wasn't about the core of actually being in love with her, which I think is another important piece for BuckTommy: they don't just love each other, they're in love with each other. Still, sometimes it's hard to quantify that feeling, and I think (as I've referenced before), for Evan it was easier to ask Tommy to share a living space with him than to share how he feels about him because historically, things haven't worked out well for him when he's been in love outwardly. Further, the questions Josh asks Evan are directly correlated with loving someone, and Evan answers yes to all of them. (I don't think I need to add this, but he also sees a future with Tommy, talks about being engaged or married. He's serious about Tommy in a way he never has been before.)

There's also the theory that the breakup happened because of scheduling conflicts. Now obviously the show could've found other ways to work around LFJr's scheduling issues by having Tommy go on a trip or what-have-you, but let's remember OTHER things that have been said by OS in prior interviews: a. back in June, he did an interview where he stated that he wanted and hoped that BuckTommy would go through issues that couples normally go through in their first year together. He wanted normal issues. This storyline IS normal. b. he didn't want to repeat Tarlos. By the very definition of what the show is doing right now, we're not. Tarlos and BuckTommy are their own things with their own reasonings.

One of the other things I also keep being pulled back to is these issues: first of all, we know how LFJr plays with the 911 demo, given that they got to see it last season. It's why he was written into more episodes after his initial four episode arc and brought back. ABC has also used BuckTommy in their own adverts, which suggests that they are very supportive of the relationship continuing because it draws in viewers. Truly giving that up for good feels like dousing yourself in gasoline and then considering striking a match. Second, people also keep calling out that TM only plans a few weeks in advance. I believe this is true with story beats. We know that the writers room has a general idea on character arcs, thanks to some of the discussion on the cheese page post-806. I really struggle to believe that TM didn't know going into going forward with the breakup whether or not he wanted to bring LFJr back. We know he waffled back and forth on the idea of the breakup, meaning he probably had other solutions on his mind for whatever LFJr's schedule needed adjusting for, and this is what he decided on. Also, even if 8b hasn't been broken down yet (we know it hasn't), they would still know at this point what they do or don't want, what their ideas might be. Solidification for why Tommy should be brought back is directly shown in the reaction by the GA and the fandom to the breakup. They may not know exactly how that reunion happens yet, but what they have suggested is that Buck's new relationship will be short-lived. That he's using it to cope. We also know he's still processing the break-up and still misses Tommy. These are all things that point to the story not being over. Plus, I feel (once again), if the story really was over and they didn't have plans to continue this in 8b, LFJr wouldn't be talking about wanting to go back. It be far more "yeah that sucked, but it's over now and what can you do? I'm off to this new show and I'll never be back." (I've commented also on the fact that the fangirlish interview comment about his "i'm going here, doing this, have some opportunities" statement is very run-of-the-mill. Obvs I could mean something. Or it could literally just be a canned answer.) (This might feel a little off-center, but I think his commentary on trusting TM and knowing what he's doing in one of his post-806 interviews directly suggests that he believes the story is going to be handled properly.)

I realize at the end of the day, all of what I'm piecing together could mean zilch and Tommy could possibly never come back. They could truly just drop the story and never circle back around, set fire to a beautiful arc and lose thousands (possibly millions) of viewers. I've certainly suggested myself being one of them. But I don't see BuckTommy only getting an Abby fix for two reasons. LFJr wants to come back and continue the story, and Connie Britton only ever intended to do one season. Also, the fling has been called out as being planned to be short-lived. Why bother mentioning that if you don't have other plans for the story.

The last thing I'll leave you with is my commentary from the interview Oli and Aisha did with the guy from Chicago. That reporter obviously liked the BuckTommy storyline and said he's choosing to believe that the relationship is paused, not over. By relation, we had Oliver say three things: (1 and 2) Buck is still looking for love, both in himself and with another person. (3)The season is only half over. Circle that back to 806-808. Buck is finding love in himself by dealing with it in a healthy way (so far) with the baking. We've also seen the "cracks" Oli mentioned with his continued urge to want to text Tommy, as well as him fighting it off by baking (referencing the "pendulum swinging"). Looking for love in others will likely be this arc where he tries to deal/move on. I feel like we collectively watched the end of 806, and then 807 and 808 yelling at the TV "you're in love with him, piece it together already!" (or maybe that was just me???). But truly, whether it's a fling, his therapist, or Bobby/Maddie/Eddie who finally spells it out of or him, I think there will be a point at which we see that come to fruition. The seeds were sewn in for it in the scene with Josh. Now it's just about watching those seeds sprout.

Final note: we've had a good run up to this point with these two. Did we truly thing that the honeymoon phase would last forever? (I didn't. Conflict and the pink bubble popping have to happen eventually.) If we really want to suggest that what BuckTommy has is real, they have to go through this and come out the other side. I think everyone is justifiably frustrated due to the 4 month wait on new episodes (I personally would not have left people hanging quite like this, but that's just me), but the narrative does lead us toward what the show is doing with the suggestion that it does have a natural (and good) conclusion. (Possibly with a helicopter/truck/jeep crash?!)

And just as my singularly LAST note, here's my other thing: Evan and Tommy both have abandonment issues. (Tommy's are clear based on the break up and we know Buck's.) By that correlation, when these two finally get back together, they're never going to fucking let the other go.

(This was so much longer than I intended it to be, but that's my answer 😂😂😂😂😂😂)

[fictionfixations]

this is my first time hearing of this so i dont know if theres like some other context related to this im missing (or if this message just happened out of the blue) but i dont really wanna know either way.

^^^ but all points in this are valid (the reblogged post i mean)

i would like to at least hold out hope that nothing bad happened until it is confirmed (do not ask them what happened, im sure its stressful as it is) but that is not to say that i invalidate the people who spoke up because im sure they have their reasons too but we do not know what happened and we cannot know what (again do not ask what, we are not entitled to that information)

i want to believe in both sides. i don't want to end up being the kind of person who doesn't believe in a victim or is against a person who didn't actually do anything wrong, so im going to be patient and if nothing ever gets said about it thats fine too

do not speculate. what comes out of it could be aiming pitchforks at someone who didn't do what you think they did, or bringing out someone's trauma over something all over again because you want to know or you think oh maybe this could be why so and so happened

this is my own opinion, but id say to withhold any judgment and thought you might have on this until we get a confirmation. this is not to say that you can do whatever you want with this information after, because that is not true at all.

feeling uncomfortable regarding it is valid, im not saying you cant have your own opinions over it, id just prefer it if people could treat this sensitively, and with respect for the other members to not try to find out more then what has been shared, nor overly target people over something you do not have confirmation over

im sorry as ive been repeating points a lot, but ive seen people acting really disrespectfully to all the people involved in something similar to this because they want to know, but they do it with zero regard for the person on the other side of the screen

(this is more referring to people asking those who were friends to that person about it but it was a really bad situation overall, and they were attacking them when they didn't get a response out fast enough without considering that they'd just learned that someone they cared about was a terrible person and needed time to process that. now in this case its not fully confirmed but i really dont want to see that happen again.)

^ updating my response above, as there is a doc with information about what happened which i noticed in one of the comments on the original post. i just wasnt sure if something really bad happened considering the vague statement in the twitter post but considering its been spoken out now of what happened i can safely conclude that hes probably not innocent (understatement). (again, please do not hound the victims nor the hermits on information about this)

i just didnt wanna assume anything. this isnt to say that i didnt trust in what evidence they saw that made them conclude that the accusations were credible, it was just worded in a way that sounded very vague, and as a person who would like to see the goodness in everyone i tend to stay in denial about these kinds of things because i want to believe that they are not that kind of person, at the very least until its either admitted by the guilty party, or theres a credible statement from the victim

also it might feel like im understating things with how i describe them, thats my bad. i usually describe things in swear words but considering hermitcraft has a mainly young audience im trying not to and it also feels a little inappropriate over a serious topic. but it means i default to referring to something as 'bad' or 'not so good' which can come off as like im trying to make it seem not as bad as it actually is which isn't true at all. im just trying to be really careful about how i word things or what i say considering this is a serious topic but it means im not sure how to describe it so i end up going with what i default to outside of swears.

um. also please dont go asking for proof from the people affected nor the hermits cause i really dont think its appropriate and could lead to triggering them further. its also very personal.

i emphasize my point as a person who has also gone through bad things, and trying to look back through those old messages were really triggering and it was just not a good time. i imagine it was rough enough to get screenshots of what they did get so please leave it alone. they went through the trouble of sharing it in public, you are not entitled to more

and i get it might be rough to trust CCs after having your trust broken with one being revealed to be a bad person but PLEASE do not accuse other CCs of the same behavior. they are just as shaken as you that someone they thought they knew could be like that. please leave them alone, thank you.

PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND:

we, as fans, do not have a right to private information. anything shared with us on this is a privilege. please do not abuse it. the cc's could shut down and never talk about it if we overwhelm them.

also, please keep in mind that ONE HERMIT and THE ENTIRETY OF HERMITCRAFT are NOT THE SAME THING. the entire fandom is not 'ruined' or 'completely unsafe' because of the actions of one person.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THAT THE OTHER HERMITS KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT WHATEVER'S GOING ON WITH ISKALL. this is not some big conspiracy, it's the consequences of one person's actions. they weren't hiding this from us, that's not how hermitcraft works, they truly didn't know. they probably knew as much as us about this, so making it an 'us against them' situation is immature and shortsighted.

ALSO, I AM BEGGING EVERYONE TO PLEASE NOT SENSATIONALIZE THIS. PLEASE DO NOT TURN HATING ISKALL INTO A MEME OR A JOKE.

mcyt'ers being revealed to be less-than-great people is not a rare thing, sadly, but i've seen it turned into a joke/meme/trend in other fandoms. this both minimalizes the actual people's/victims' struggles, makes the entire situation feel less serious than it is, especially to outsiders looking in, and makes everyone in the fandom look immature, petty, unable to take anything seriously, and genuinely harmful.

this server, fandom, and community are not dying, it is not ruined forever, this is one (major, i'm not trying to minimalize it) issue that we're currently dealing with. it will be okay. we will move on. this is not the beginning of the end. please calm down. i love this fandom, god bless all of you. <3

edit: doc has said on stream that we will likely get more information as time passes. like i said, this is a PRIVILEGE. we are not OWED information. please be grateful for what we're given, and POLITELY ask questions if you must. if a cc doesn't give you the answer you want, or doesn't answer at all, LEAVE THEM ALONE. THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO HARASS PEOPLE. the hermits are likely just as stressed out as us, if not probably more so, so please keep that in mind when contacting them.

don't freak out, we'll be okay, this is not the end of the world, nor is it the end of Hermitcraft. we will be okay.

second edit: please remember that (at least as far as we know) ISKALL AND STRESS WERE NOT KICKED OR BANNED. THEY LEFT OF THEIR OWN VOLITION.

ALSO!!! VERY IMPORTANT!!!

WE. DO. NOT. KNOW. EXACTLY. WHAT. HAPPENED.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING SIMPLY BASED OFF OF OTHER MCYT'ERS PAST ACTIONS/SCANDALS. WE DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE MIGHT NOT EVER KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE NEED TO BE OKAY WITH THAT AND NOT DRAW OUR OWN CONCLUSIONS.

[thegainingdesk]

It Takes Two

Robert had hit the jackpot with Liam. They just clicked in a way that he never had with any of his previous partners, or honestly, even his friends and family. Robert wasn't a particularly romantic person, but the word “soulmate” had cropped up in his thoughts more than once.

The two had the same humour, enough shared hobbies that they could always find something to do together, but were different enough that they were constantly introducing each other to new films, music, and ideas. It helped that they were both gorgeous. Liam was a little shorter than average with the trim build of a swimmer, and his sparkling blue eyes stood out below ash blond hair; Robert was taller and bulkier, but no less fit, and with dark hair and eyes. They both had great careers, great families, great friends, great lives. Robert couldn't imagine anything that could put a dent in the trajectory of their perfect relationship.

“Sorry, you want what?” Robert said, blinking. He couldn't believe his ears.

“I want us both to gain weight,” Liam said, breathing slowly and shakily as if to calm himself.

“Like bulking?” Robert asked slowly, grasping for an explanation that made sense. “At the gym?”

Liam exhaled forcefully and sat back. “No,” he said. “I want… I want to be fat. I'd like it if you were too.”

Robert sat in silence for a while. “Right,” he said after a while. “Okay.” He furrowed his brow. “Sorry, you're going to have to- why? I just don’t- why?”

“It's a uh…” Liam closed his eyes forcefully, balled his fists, clenched his teeth. “Well it's a sex thing,” he forced out. “I have a fat fetish.” He nervously played with the napkin in front of him and looked around the restaurant. “Like, we wouldn't have to, you know, I'm not saying I'd really want us to actually gain weight.” He laughed nervously. “But I just, I don't know, like it's a thing for me and I wanted you to know and umm well.” He took a sip of the beer in front of him. “I'd like it if we could do some stuff with it. Just, you know, roleplay or whatever, not obviously, like get fat or anything.”

The two men sat in silence for a while. “Okay,” Robert said after a while. “That's umm… well it's okay, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Liam said, sitting up in his chair and smiling for the first time in the conversation. “It’s okay? You don't think I'm a freak?”

Robert forced a thin smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean no, you're not a freak, but yeah, it's okay. I uhh, I think I'll need to think about it for a while.”

“Is everything okay for you both?” their waitress boomed down at the two of them in a thick Mancunian accent. They both jumped in their seats. “Sorry!” she continued. “Didn't mean to scare you!”

Robert shook his head. “Sorry, no, it's fine, we were just in the middle of umm… Yeah. It's good. The food’s all good.” He looked down at the half eaten burger and chips in front of him.

The waitress raised her eyebrows, clearly excited to tell her colleagues about the hot gay couple who seemed to be breaking up over dinner. “You call me if you need anything then, won't you?” she said as she walked away.

“I'm sorry,” Liam said. “This is a lot to just put on you, it’s weird. I just thought maybe over a meal might be easier, you know. Not as intense.”

Robert shook his head. “It's fine, really, I just need to…” He looked at the platter of sides that Liam had insisted on ordering. He'd found it odd at the time; now he found it made all too much sense. “I just need to get my head around it. Let's eat, yeah? We can talk about it in the morning?”

For the first time since they first met, their conversation was forced. They bounced between what they thought of recent movies they'd watched, banal work gossip, even at one point resorting to commenting on the weather. Slowly, the food disappeared from the table.

-

Robert woke Liam up by putting a mug of coffee on his bedside table and kissing his forehead. “Okay.”

Liam opened one bleary eye. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Robert repeated. “I've been thinking about it, and okay. If it'll make you happy, we can try out putting on some weight.” He sat down on the bed next to Liam.

“What?” Liam said, frantically sitting up in bed, all tiredness leaving his face immediately. “You're really- I mean, we don't actually- I'd be happy if we just did some roleplay, or maybe, I don't know, maybe a threesome with a big guy or-”

“No you wouldn't,” Robert said. “I saw you last night. You started off with saying you wanted us to get fat, then backtracked. This will make you happy.” He took a long swig of his own coffee. “And you make me happy. So I guess that I'll do it.”

“Rob, this is a really big… I mean…. Why are you okay with this? This is weird, I do know that.”

Robert shrugged and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I don't know if it is that weird, you know?” he said. “I mean, yes, obviously the specific, you know, request of it all is weird but…” He brought some photos and showed them to Liam. He swiped through men with varying degrees of dad bods, plus sized models, even some men with actual, if modest, guts. “People are into it, I guess? Like I know that. And I'm not averse to it, some of these guys are hot and I always like it when guys do bulks and…” He shrugged again and put his phone away. “I guess it would be nice to not worry about going to the gym and watching what we’re eating and stuff for a while.”

Liam hugged Robert tightly and kissed him. “This is amazing. You're amazing.”

Robert laughed. “Alright, alright. You’re going to owe me a lot of blowjobs for this though,” he joked.

“Oh don't you worry,” Liam flirted back. “Once you’ve put on a couple of stone you won’t be able to keep me off you.”

Robert’s face paled, but he gave a strained smile. “Come on,” he said, standing up off the bed. “I’ve been to the shops.” He swallowed nervously. “I thought we could have bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast.”

-

Getting fat, Robert thought to himself a month later, was actually pretty fun. No more bothering with cardio at the gym, eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Food just tasted so much better if you stopped caring about how much butter you were adding, and he'd never realised how good McDonald's breakfasts were, but now was having multiple a week on his days in the office; this past week he'd even started experimenting with fast food for lunch, a luxury he'd always previously avoided. There were benefits he'd not expected as well; he’d hit multiple personal bests on lifts at the gym as all the extra food acted as fuel, and he's quickly come to enjoy the satisfying warmth of an overly full and stretched out stomach. Best of all, Liam’s sexual appetite, always healthy, had positively exploded, and the two spent most of their time together naked and eating.

Of course, not everything was rosy. Robert found it disconcerting how quickly his abs had faded and how his trousers had started pinching his sides and he would occasionally panic after they'd gorged on a particularly large meal, staring at the small curve of his gut in the mirror as he wondered what he'd agreed to. Still, he reasoned, it wasn't really noticeable yet, especially with clothes on and it really was fun just cutting loose. Besides, it made Liam happy, and Robert was quickly realising that that was all that really mattered to him. Everyone gains a bit of weight in relationships anyway.

“Best start laying off the beers Robby,” Robert’s brother Dylan said, poking the small puddle of fat at his middle. “You're starting to look like me.” He slapped his own beer belly, grown since the birth of his daughter a couple of years before.

Robert choked on his beer. “What?” he said. His hand flew down to his side, feeling the thin layer of fat that had started to accumulate. He was sure that you couldn't see the gained weight through his clothes. “No, I haven't, umm…”

“Ah, I'm only taking the piss,” Dylan said, slapping Robert on the shoulder before draining his pint. “I'm hardly one to talk, am I?” He gestured down at himself. “I'm just saying, our genetics, it'll catch up to you sooner or later. You've seen dad.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Here, I saw him last week, he said he was seventeen bloody stone. I said bloody hell dad, you'll need to reinforce these chairs soon.” Robert laughed through a forced smile. “Anyway, speaking of taking the piss,” Dylan said standing up and walking to the gents.

Robert took the opportunity to survey his body. Perhaps, he thought, you could just about start to tell - sitting down anyway. His shirt fit just a tiny bit tighter than he was used to, and his torso wasn't quite as flat. He thought back to what his brother said. Would Liam want him to get as big as his dad? Seventeen stone. He tried to imagine that much weight on him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned, he had a good base of muscle, he wouldn't look gone to seed like his dad, with his beer gut that strained all his shirts. Still, he resolved to cut back. Liam seemed happy enough with his current size, anyway.

Four hours later, Robert stumbled through his front door, chips, cheese and gravy in hand, sauce from his already devoured kebab down his shirt. He found Liam watching a film in the living room.

“Hello sexy,” Robert growled through a mouthful of cheesy chips. His cock hardened as he flopped down next to his boyfriend and began to feel up his thighs.

“Hello sexy to you too,” Liam laughed. “Did you get any for me?” he asked as he stole a chip.

Robert shook his head and pushed some more chips in his mouth. “Sorry, didn't think,” he said. “Was just really hungry.”

“That's okay,” Liam said with a smile growing alongside his erection. “You get nice and filled up.” He squeezed Robert’s middle. “I'm loving this beer bloat you've got going on,” he growled. He leaned in and kissed Robert’s neck while one hand began unbuttoning Robert’s jeans. “Did you have a good time with Dylan?”

Robert sighed as his jeans sprung open. “He said I'm getting fat,” he told Liam. His hand fell on top of Liam's as it massaged his gut. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

Liam laughed. “Oh don't you worry about that,” he said. “You're nowhere near what I’d call fat yet.” Robert smiled before belching. Liam scrunched his nose against the smell of his breath, strong with beer. He leaned in and kissed Robert, hard and long. “How about we take those chips to the bedroom, big boy?”

-

Robert turned to the side as he looked in the mirror and sucked in. He tried to tell himself that he didn't look fat per se, but god was that getting more and more difficult. He was running out of euphemisms for his changing body; for a while he’d told himself he was looking solid, then healthy, then sturdy, burly, and husky and now he had to admit that thick was the best he could hope for. Hell, even chubby might be underselling it. He stopped sucking in and let his gut pool out, sticking out past the waistband of his new 36” waist trousers. He thought ruefully about the 38s lying in the drawer that Liam had convinced him to buy, telling him he'd be wearing them sooner rather than later. He brought his arm up and flexed. At least his muscles were growing too, but he had to admit, it was becoming less apparent as they got covered up with a layer of chub.

At least he wasn't alone in his changing body, with Liam also growing alongside him, although not nearly as fast. While Robert had recently passed two hundred and twenty pounds, Liam was lamenting how he was still fifteen pounds away from the big two-oh-oh. Robert told himself that it was just the difference in their heights, but he knew he wasn't really that much taller, and the difference in their weights really was becoming obvious. While Liam’s pudge had only just started forming a proper belly over the last five pounds, Robert’s own gut had long since reached the point of stretching out his shirts.

In a perverse way, Robert was almost beginning to enjoy how much fatter he was getting than Liam. He'd always been taller and bulkier than his boyfriend, with broader shoulders and bigger muscles, and odd as it was, he was enjoying how he was now outgrowing him in yet another way. He began to feel more masculine, more dominant, and he loved the way his new body made the smaller man go crazy and want to worship him, all while knowing that Liam would give anything to look like he did now. He'd always had a competitive streak, and this was just yet another competition to win.

Robert struggled to button up a shirt, and gritted his teeth as he felt the buttons strain around his shirt, even as his cock inexplicably swelled in his jeans. He walked downstairs and tried to ignore the sensation of his body shaking with each step to find Liam checking his hair in the mirror.

“You ready to go?” Robert asked.

Liam looked up smiling, only for his mouth to fall open upon seeing Robert. “Fuck Rob, you look massive.” He reached out to grab the bottom of Robert’s gut and gave it a small shake. “Are you sure you don't want to wear a large? It's a bit tight. There'll be loads of people there.”

Robert shrugged, the motion causing his shirt to ride up. He tugged at the hem awkwardly. “This is a large,” he explained. “I’ll need to go shopping for some extra larges this week.”

“Oh wow,” Liam whispered. “Extra large, that's, wow.” He tugged at the hem of his own shirt in a mirror of Robert’s motion. Despite being a medium, Robert knew, the shirt was barely snug. Robert struggled to hide a smug smirk, even as his annoyance at his shrinking clothes mounted.

“Well you'll be wearing this shirt soon enough, eh?” Robert said before giving Liam a kiss on the cheek. “And then we can share extra larges once you catch up.”

Liam smiled sadly. “Yeah, maybe.” His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. “Taxi’s here,” he said. “You got everything?”

Robert nodded an affirmative, before dashing to the kitchen and grabbing a couple of chocolate bars for the road.

“God did you see their faces?” Liam asked as they came back that night. His face was flushed with drink and arousal. “They couldn't believe how fat we'd gotten!”

Robert burped into his fist and began to unbutton his shirt and trousers. He gave a sigh of relief as his unconstrained belly was allowed to surge forward. Liam stared at the spectacle for a second before hurriedly mimicking the motion, despite his own clothes not being nearly so restrictive.

“Good food,” Robert said simply. His cock was rock hard, as it was more and more frequently whenever he'd stuffed himself, as he had tonight. He let out another belch.

“You ate so much,” Liam said, almost reverently. “When you went to the toilet, Olive asked if everything was okay. They're properly worried about how much weight we've gained.”

Robert gave a lopsided grin. He was sure they were mainly concerned about him, and not Liam, especially as he'd ended up finishing so many people's meals at the end of the night while Liam struggled to finish his own plate. He reached into his pants and gave his hard cock a squeeze. “You know,” he whispered to Liam, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “There's a tub of ice cream in the freezer. Maybe you could, you know, while I ate it?”

Liam's eyes widened. “You're still hungry? Oh wow. Yeah, yeah, absolutely, I mean, wow.” His smile widened and his hands explored the sides of Robert’s gut.

“Go on then,” Robert said with a small nod of his head towards the kitchen. “I'll be upstairs.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Of course, I'll just go and, yeah.” Liam dashed off towards the kitchen as Robert trudged upstairs, massaging his bloated middle.

Liam entered the bedroom to find Robert sat on the edge of the bed completely naked, with his legs spread wide to expose his thick, hard cock.

“I microwaved it for a bit,” Liam said. “So it's easier to eat."

Robert merely grunted and spread his legs wider in response as he took the tub away from Liam, making his wants clear. Liam sank down before him and dutifully swallowed as much of his prick as he could. Robert grabbed the spoon embedded in the ice cream, and sucked what was on there before tossing it to the side. Instead he simply raised the tub to his lips and began to chug. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, relishing in the twin pleasures of head and dessert.

Okay, he thought, yes, he'd lost his hot gym body he’d worked so hard for, but god, if this is what the alternative was, who gave a shit? What did he want to work out for anyway? He was in a great relationship, getting treated like a king, so it's not like he needed to attract anyone. And besides, his brother was right, with his genetics it was always going to be a losing battle. No, it was best to just lie back, taste the ice cream, and think of England.

He climaxed just as he finished the ice cream. “Thanks babe,” he grunted. “That was great.”

“That was really hot,” Liam enthused, unbuckling his belt and dropping his own trousers.

“Anything to make you happy,” Robert said as he crawled into bed and began scrolling on his phone.

“Oh. Right,” Liam said. “Yeah.” He crawled into bed next to Robert.

-

Robert burped as he brought the carton of heavy cream away from his lips. The taste was greasy and unpleasant, but he thrilled at the thought of how many calories he'd just chugged, and all before dinner.

“What are you doing?” Liam asked. “We’re leaving in a moment, you still need to get changed.”

“Just topping up the tank,” Robert grinned. He pushed his gut out to make a show of it. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”

Liam looked at his watch. “We’re eating in half an hour Rob,” he said. “And that shirt’s ridiculous, it's barely buttoned.”

Robert smirked and moved in close, grabbing Liam's love handles and grinding their soft bodies together. “Don't worry babes,” he said. “I'm just getting warmed up. Hey,” he added in a whisper. “I'll even let you feed me dessert later.”

Liam broke away and stepped back. “I'm being serious Rob,” he said, struggling to hide his erection. “You can't wear that shirt. Go find an extra large.”

Robert drummed his fingers against his gut. “All in the wash,” he said smugly. “Come on, don't act like this doesn't drive you wild.” He fingered his belly button through one of the gaping buttons holes. “Two-fifty pounds, eh? Did you ever imagine I'd get so big for you when you asked me to get fat for you?” He reached down and gripped Liam’s cock through his trousers. Liam whimpered involuntarily. “Did I tell you that I'm fatter than Dylan now? Dad too. Biggest guy in the family now, sounds pretty good, doesn't it?”

Liam stepped back away from Robert’s grasp. “Just put on a jumper or something,” he said. He rearranged his erection. “The one you got a couple of weeks ago will work.” Robert stepped closer again and he stepped back. “Please Rob,” he said. “It is hot how big you're getting, and I'm glad you're starting to get something out of it too, but not in front of my family, yeah?”

“I'm just joking!” Robert said. “I know I can't wear this out in public anymore. I'll go sort it now.”

“Thank you,” Liam said.

As Robert left he smacked the side of his gut. “All for you baby!”

Robert returned shortly after, his jumper managing to cover his body but doing nothing to disguise his expanded girth.

“I didn't ask you to get fat,” Liam said, sitting at the kitchen table.

Robert laughed. “What?” he asked.

“Earlier,” Liam said. “You said I'd asked you to get fat.”

“Did I? Well, you did, didn't you! Otherwise I have made a very big error of judgement.” He lifted his jumper to reveal the still straining shirt.

“No, I mean, I know I did ask you to get fat, obviously,” Liam said. “It's just. I didn’t say that. I said I'd like us both to get fat. Together. I feel like that's not been a thing for a while.”

Robert stepped closer to Liam and rubbed his buttery side. “You're getting fat too,” he said. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of comforting someone about how they were gaining weight. “Here, you hit two hundred pounds finally, right? That's great! I'm really proud of you.” He kissed bent down to kiss Liam. “You're my chubby guy too. It's just that this is your thing I guess, so I don't know how to do all the encouragement stuff you do for me. I just want to make you happy, and I guess I got a little carried away.”

Liam shook his head. “No, I know,” he said. “I'm just being silly. I do really appreciate what you've done.” He laughed. “You know, I just kind of thought you'd put on twenty pounds and then get freaked out. I actually thought I'd end up being the fatter one.”

Robert kissed Liam again. “Funny to think about that now, eh? Here, we've still got five minutes before we need to leave,” he said. “There's another thing of cream in the fridge. Why don't I feed it to you before we go?” He leant in and whispered in Liam's ear. “I think you'll really love how two hundred and fifty pounds feels.”

Liam pulled a face and laughed. “No way,” he said. “I don't know how you chug them, it's absolutely gross.”

Robert shrugged. “Your loss is my gain. Why don't you have some chocolate or something then?” He opened the fridge and licked his lips as he looked. “You know, if you don't want it, maybe you could feed it to me? Maybe we could see if I could break my record for number of calories today?”

Liam forced a smile. “Yeah, if you want,” he said. “Sounds hot.”

Robert grinned as he passed the cream to Liam and sat down and tilted his head back to allow him to pour it down his throat. “The things I do for you, eh?”

-

Robert lifted up his t-shirt as he scratched his side. His most recent stretch marks were particularly aggravating, a fact which wasn't helped by the fact that he was just on the cusp of needing to size up his t-shirts and sweatpants, the too tight fabric irritating the more sensitive skin.

“What's for dinner babe?” he asked Liam as he walked into the kitchen. Liam was clearing away the remnants of Robert’s lunch, a small pile of McDonald’s wrappers and boxes.

Liam's eyes flicked up and down Robert’s body before turning away. “Roast lamb,” he answered. “I thought we'd have something a bit special, since I reached fifteen stone yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” Robert asked with a smile. He reached out and patted Liam's small paunch. “That's amazing, well done!” He hoped the milestone might work to undo some of the tension that had developed between them ever since Robert had passed two hundred and fifty pounds, almost thirty pounds ago now. Robert sometimes almost forgot that Liam was trying to gain at all, such was the disparity in their rates of weight gain.

“Yeah, I did actually tell you yesterday,” Liam said icily.

“Oh sorry!” Robert said, as he opened a cupboard and pulled out a pack of biscuits. “I must have forgotten.” He began to eat the biscuits three at a time.

“Yeah, well, you were eating, so…” Liam muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you said something,” Robert insisted.

Liam shrugged. “I said that you were eating,” he repeated. “So it's not surprising that you didn't pay any attention to me.”

“Where's this come from?” Robert asked, incredulous. Biscuit crumbs showered from his mouth as he spoke.

“Where's it… How about the last two years of you doing nothing but eating all the time, only caring about yourself?” Liam snapped.

“Excuse me?” Robert said. “Can I remind you that all of this,” he gestured down at his body, his soft overhang hanging out the bottom of his shirt, the way his sides bulged out, the outline of his tits pushing out and down, the beard he'd grown to hide his double chin, “is because you wanted it?”

“Oh, don't put this on me!” Liam replied. “You want this.”

“You're the one with the fat fetish!” Robert pointed out. “I’m just going along for the ride because I love you!”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Well when was the last time I encouraged you then, if you're just doing it for me?”

“Yeah, actually!” Robert retorted. “I'm doing this for you and when was the last time you encou-”

“More to the point!” Liam interrupted. “When have you ever, ever, encouraged me?”

“What?” Robert asked, blinking. The question had genuinely thrown him.

“This was supposed to be about me!” Liam snapped. His voice shook a little. “I was the one who asked you to do it and at every fucking stage you've used it as an opportunity for me to wait on you hand and foot.”

“Oh, I've not done anything for you have I?” Robert grabbed the side of his gut and shook it. “Me gaining over a hundred pounds, just because you asked me to, doesn't count as me doing anything, does it?” A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of Robert forcing biscuits into his mouth. “I knew you were jealous,” Robert muttered eventually, crumbs spraying from his mouth.

“I am not fucking jealous of you,” Liam fumed. “How dare you? Fucking jealous.”

“Yeah, you know what?” Robert said. “That's exactly what this is. You wanted to get fat and you can't stand how much bigger I am than you.”

“Can you hear yourself?” Liam scoffed. “And you act like you don't want this at all.” He turned away and began to pull food from the fridge to make dinner. “No, what I wanted was for us to gain weight together. You had to take it all way too far.”

“I took it too far?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” Liam replied. “Yeah, you know what, you did take it too far.” He spun around and gestured down at his body. “I'm quite happy with where I am. I wanted us both to get dad bods, hot ex-jock vibes. Not obese middle aged dad.”

Robert’s face grew red. “That’s a lie and you know it,” he spat. “You still worship this gut every chance you get.”

Liam’s nostrils flared. He turned away, back to the chopping board, and busied himself with vegetables for a minute. Robert could hear him trying to slow his breathing. Eventually, he turned back around. “I just think we should both slow down,” he said. His voice was measured, slow and calm. His fists were clenched and shaking with white knuckles. “We've both,” he put special emphasis on the word, “maybe taken this too far, and it's probably best if we both take a break from the idea of gaining for a bit.”

“Yeah, why don't you slow down your gains,” Robert mumbled.

“What was that?”

Robert bit his tongue. He was being offered an opportunity to end this argument. “Yeah, you're probably right,” he agreed. “Whatever makes you happy. It was your idea after all. If you want to stop, no reason to carry on.” He shoved a fistful of biscuits into his mouth.

“Yeah, right, well,” Liam said. He sighed and turned back towards the food he was preparing. “Why don't you go watch something? I'll call you when dinner's ready. It'll be a while.”

Robert shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed.

“And Robert?” Liam called just as he'd left the room.

“Yeah?” Robert replied.

“Why don't you set up the spare room for tonight,” Liam said. “Your snoring’s gotten really bad the past twenty pounds or so, and I need to be up early.”

Robert hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, can do.”

-

“”What the fuck is this?” Liam sighed. Robert couldn't help but admire the way his partner's newly blossomed love handles were framed by the hallway light behind him. He felt oddly proud of his boyfriend's recent weight gain, even as it paled against his own.

“I uh… well,” Robert began. He looked down at himself in the light streaming in from the door. Clad only in too tight underwear, crumbs had fallen down to litter his body hair. His fingers were thick with chocolate icing where he'd dug them into the cake in front of him, and he knew that it must be all around his mouth as well. “I got hungry,” he finished lamely.

Liam entered the dark kitchen and sat in a chair opposite Robert. “Dinner was plenty,” he said. “I was full.”

“Yeah, well, I'm bigger than you, aren't I?” Robert pointed out. “I can't help it if I get hungry, can I?”

Liam shrugged. “I guess, yeah,” he said. “Could you help buying a-” he picked up the packaging and peered at it in the dim light. “Party-sized triple chocolate fudge birthday cake, serves twenty, I'm assuming earlier today?” he asked. “Because this didn't magically appear in the kitchen. Could you help hiding it? And suggesting that you sleep in the spare room so I wouldn't notice when you snuck downstairs?”

Robert slumped in his chair. The wood groaned in protest. “I am trying,” he said after a while.

Liam sighed and put his head in his hands. “I know this isn't the first time this week,” he said. “I know that it's at least two or three nights most weeks, and if it's not,” he gestured at the mess of chocolate on the table and on Robert, “this, you sneak out and go to a drive through.”

The kitchen was silent for a while.

“We said we'd both stop gaining,” Liam said eventually. “We said we'd try and lose weight.”

“You've put on weight too,” Robert said. He felt like a child arguing about missing out on play time. He couldn't stop thinking about the rest of the cake in front of him. He wanted to lick the chocolate off his fingers.

“I've put on fifteen, maybe twenty pounds,” Liam said. “I'm not saying I've been great,” he admitted. “But I've cut down. That's not crazy for a year.” He paused for a while. “How much do you think you've put on?” he asked.

Robert shrugged. “Yeah, probably the same,” he said. He could feel his cheeks redden, and hoped it was dark enough that Liam couldn't see. “It's not like I weigh myself very often.”

Liam put his face in his hands and leant on the table. “I found your grommr account,” he said.

Robert squirmed in his seat. “Well what were you doing on grommr then?” He winced even as he said it.

“I've got a fat fetish,” Liam replied. “What are you doing on there?” When he got no reply, he continued. “It said you're three hundred and forty pounds.” He picked up a small fragment of the leftover destroyed cake and ate it slowly. “Is that right?”

“I guess,” Robert said.

“I don't think this is working,” Liam said.

“I know,” Robert said. “I'll do better. I'll try and lose some weight, I know I've taken it too far now, I’ll join a gym and-”

“No,” Liam cut him off. “I don't think this is working. Us. I think… I think we should break up.”

-

“You okay buddy?” Dylan asked.

Robert shrugged and took a swig of his beer. He belched. “Why wouldn't I be okay?”

Dylan sighed. “Rob, I… I mean look at yourself. This isn't okay.”

Robert scratched his beard. He'd maybe let it grow a bit too long, and he'd not had a chance to buy any clothes that fit in the past couple of months, but what was he supposed to do? He'd been busy, and it's not like he could just walk into shops and pick up his size anymore. “It's just work and stuff,” he said. “And with the move, my appearance hasn't been my top priority.”

“Yep, and I completely get that,” Dylan placated. His voice was bright and soft and his hands were spread open like he'd presumably heard in some how to handle difficult conversations podcast. “But I don't think we’re talking about just your appearance here. You have… fuck me Rob, you've gotten really fucking big.”

Robert scratched his gut and tried to pull his t-shirt down. “It's just the break-up,” he said. “And you've said it before, we've got shit genetics for getting fat.”

“Look, I'm not trying to have a go,” Dylan said. He slapped his own gut. “I'll be the first to admit that I'm not exactly in my prime. I don't think I've been to the gym since Livy’s been born, probably not great. Shit happens, and I get that the break-up hasn't helped, and work, and yep, absolutely, we did not win the genetic lottery in our family for twenty-eight inch waists but… I mean this isn't exactly the break-up, is it? It's been going on a lot longer than that, but at least, fuck, at least I used to think you were happy with it. Happy with Li-” Robert shot him a dirty glare. “Well, whatever, happy, anyway.”

“Who says I'm not happy?” Robert asked. He drained his beer bottle and stood to get another. When he returned he collapsed back into his seat and Dylan winced. “Yeah, I put on relationship weight with Liam too, but that wasn't, you know, that wasn't anything to do with… We just weren't, I don't know, compatible anymore. I know I'm fat, I know I’m stressed, and that I've been doing better, but I'm fine. You can drop it.”

“Look, let's…” Dylan looked around the room as if searching for something to help him. “I weighed myself the other day, eighteen stone. Not proud to be fatter than dad these days, but you know, there it is. How much are you weighing?” He looked Robert up and down. “Over twenty stone?” He hesitated. “Twenty-five?” He said it as if he couldn't believe anyone could weigh so much.

Robert shrugged. “Twenty-seven maybe.” He actually thought it might be a bit more.

“Jesus fucking Christ Robby,” Dylan exclaimed. “No, sorry, I don't mean- that's not, you know, it's fine, bodies come in all different- but fucking hell Rob that's… Twenty seven stone!” he cried. “That's not just relationship weight, is it? That's not break-up weight or stress weight or shit genetics that’s…” He took a deep breath and clasped his knee. “Do you like it?”

Robert stared at him. “Like what?”

“Look, no judgement,” Dylan said. “Vanessa says she likes, you know,” he shook his own gut for emphasis. “The belly. She even feeds me up a bit sometimes, I think, and I'm not exactly turning down bigger portions. I know it's a thing. I even get it a bit. But, I mean Rob. You can tell me.” He reached out and grasped Robert's knee. “Is it intentional? Even just a little bit? At least if, fuck, if I knew you were doing it on purpose, that you liked how fucking big you'd gotten I could… I could stop worrying about you fucking losing it. Like, I'm going to worry about your heart giving way, yeah, fine, but I can't be dealing with worrying about you being depressed or needing help and… And if something happened and I'd not done anything. Not after mum.” He started fidgeting with his collar, a nervous habit he'd had since school.

“Yeah,” Robert said quietly. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I'm into it. It's been, you know, on purpose. Mostly. You don't have to worry about that stuff. I'm not going to, you know.”

“Thank fuck,” Dylan sighed. “I mean, not thank fuck. It's still pretty fucking weird if I'm being honest, but I'm glad that you're, I don't know, not happy I guess, I know you've got other, whatever. I'm glad this isn't some insane compulsive episode or… I mean I've been imagining loads of stuff.” He downed his beer and breathed shakily. “So Liam was into it too? That's how you two met? Some freaky gay kink club?”

“What? No. Fuck off,” Robert said laughing. “Liam was into it, yeah, but he uhh, well he actually introduced me to it. I went along with it for a bit and then… I don't know, at some point I started liking it.”

Dylan nodded. “I get it. Like, I know I'm not supposed to be liking how fat I've gotten but there's something about it, I guess,” he said. “So what happened with you and Liam? You realised you only had the fat thing in common?”

Robert sighed. “No, we were… fuck. We were fairly perfect for each other. He got, I don't know, jealous about how big I was…” He took a drink and closed his eyes. “No. It wasn't just him. I turned into a knobhead about it.”

“Turned into a knobhead?” Dylan asked with a laugh.

“Oh fuck off,” Robert said. “I got, I don't know. There was a lot going on. I felt like I was doing this huge thing for him, but then I started to like it, and… At some point I managed to make it all about me. And if I pretended I still didn't like it I could still make out I was making this noble sacrifice, but really I was just completely ignoring him. And I think, you know, he did get pretty jealous at one point, but I didn't help. Made it into this weird competition.”

“Well you've got me beat at least,” Dylan said. He reached over to pat Robert's arm. “Here, I've got to go to town tomorrow. I'm not exactly fitting into my work shirts myself these days, how about we go together? Get you some stuff that actually covers that gut.”

“Fuck off,” Robert said, laughing.

“No, I'm serious, Vanessa's actually said she won't let you back round if you're not covered up again,” Dylan said. “You're scaring Livy. And the dog. Come on, we’ll make a day of it.”

“You do know I can't exactly just pop into Marks and Sparks and pick up a jumper, don't you? Most places stop at three XL if you're lucky.”

“No, come on,” Dylan insisted. “There's that plus size place in the Arndale, and Go Outdoors has a sale on, they'll have a tent that'll fit you.”

“Oh fuck off!” Robert laughed. “Yeah, go on then, I'll come along.” He drained his beer bottle. “Thanks, Dyl. Seriously. This has been… It's been good.”

Dylan shrugged. “What am I here for, eh? I'm just sorry I didn't mention it ten fucking stone ago.”

-

Robert huffed as he found his seat and squeezed himself into it. He hated how cinemas made you pay extra for supposedly premium seats, only for them to still not be big enough. He settled himself in, sorting his collection of drinks and snacks.

“Robert? Is that you?” Robert looked up to see a man significantly smaller than him, but still undeniably fat.

“Liam?” he replied.

“Oh god,” Liam said. “I’ll find another seat, don't worry, it doesn't matter.”

Robert patted the seat next to him. “Don't be silly,” he insisted. “It'll be nice to catch up during the trailers. Besides,” he looked around at the rapidly filling seats around them. “It's the opening weekend of Paddington vs Barbie 2: Paddington's Revenge, I'm not sure there’ll be any spare seats to move to.”

Liam looked around, sighed and sat down.

“You here with anyone?” Robert asked.

Liam shook his head. “The first one went right over my head the first time I watched it, I decided to come without any distractions.”

“Same,” Robert agreed. “And after it won all those Oscars I knew I should come see this one quick before anyone spoiled it for me.” He surveyed Liam for a bit. “How've you been, anyway?”

Liam smiled. “Good, yeah. Lots of the same, you know,” he said. “Not much to report.” He hesitated for a moment. “Still very much on the gain train.”

“I noticed!” Robert laughed. He reached over and poked Liam's gut where it spilled out over his belt. “How much are you clocking in at these days?”

“Two-seventy,” he said proudly. “I'm wanting to put a bit of a push on before Christmas, get over twenty stone, maybe.”

“Nice!” Robert said, slapping Liam's side. “Well, it suits you. Always did.”

“How about you?” Liam asked. “I noticed you've lost all the weight I forced onto you.”

Robert laughed and shook his own gut that spilled out towards his knees. “Yeah, I couldn't stand it, you know, who'd be fat?” he joked. “I'm about four-seventy, maybe four-eighty these days.”

Liam whistled. “Wow,” he said. “That's incredible. Like, I thought I was fat but you're another two hundred pounds on top of that.”

“You are fat,” Robert said warmly. “I'm just a lot fatter.”

“A whole decently chubby person fatter, in fact,” Liam pointed out.

“I like that,” Robert said laughing; his whole body shook with the action. “You know, I eventually admitted to myself that I probably am a gainer after all.”

“Probably a gainer, wow,” Liam said. “That must have been a difficult conclusion to come to.” He put a finger underneath one of Robert’s moobs and lifted it before letting it drop and watching the ripples spread across the larger man's body.

“Yeah, well, you know, a pretty great guy introduced me to the whole thing,” Robert said.

Liam smiled sadly. “So have you been seeing anyone or…?”

“Not really,” Robert replied. “I meet up with some feeders occasionally but, they're not, you know. It's not the same.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Liam agreed.

“So are you?” Robert asked. “Seeing anyone or anything?”

Liam shook his head. “Some dates and umm… no. No. Not seeing anyone.”

“I'm sorry,” Robert said. “For everything. For… I got selfish. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I turned it into this selfish fucking…”

“I'm sorry too,” Liam said. “It wasn't just you. I asked you to do it for me then didn't like it when it turned out you actually enjoyed it, which is pretty fucked up of me. We could have talked about it more. Properly I mean.” He looked around. “Listen, all these people listening in are clearly finding our conversation very fucking weird, and I can't really be bothered with all this art-house stuff anyway. Do you want to just go get something to eat?”

Robert looked down the full row. “Getting out might be a bit of an ordeal. I'm not really built for squeezing past people these days,” he said.

“Sounds hot,” Liam replied. “You in?”

Robert laughed. “Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds nice.”

-

Liam licked the last of the chocolate off of his fingers as Robert lapped up his cum.

“Happy three hundred pounds babes,” Robert said as he leant up.

Liam struggled to sit up. “Your turn now,” he said.

Robert shook his head. “This is your night. Big celebration,” he said. “You don't have to do anything.”

“I want to,” Liam insisted. “Besides, we've got a whole other cake and I’m stuffed.”

“Oh I'll eat the cake,” Robert said. “But you don't have to suck me off.

“You're sure?” Liam asked.

Robert smiled. “It's fine, you take a nap to digest everything, I'll go clean up,” he said. “As long as you're happy, I'm happy.”

[sugdenlovesdingle]

If you’re still taking prompts, Tommy spending time with Maddie?

Oh I like this!

----

"At least this time it was planned." Maddie offered

"Yeah... And the nurse did say everything is going according to plan earlier."

"But you still worry."

"Yeah." Tommy chuckled. "I convinced him to get it done now so he'd be back on his feet by the time the little one starts walking."

Maddie smiled and rubbed her pregnant belly.

"Yeah I think he is looking forward to meeting his family. He's about to walk right out of there in a minute. Jee wasn't this restless."

"I guess he takes after his father then. I've never known Howie to be calm and relaxed." Tommy commented "Well... off the clock at least." he added after a beat and they both laughed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking bad hospital coffee and Tommy's eyes fixed on the door.

"What about you two?" Maddie asked.

"Hmm?"

Tommy reluctantly tore his eyes away from the door and looked at her.

"One of these." she gestured at her belly.

"I don't think either of us is at risk of getting pregnant any time soon." Tommy deadpanned and laughed when Maddie slapped his bicep.

"You know what I mean. Am I going to be an aunt any time soon?"

Tommy sat up straighter and played with the lid of his coffee cup.

"We've talked about it. Marriage, kids... the whole nine yards... and we want the same things..."

"But..." Maddie prompted.

"But... not just yet." Tommy shook his head. "We've only been back together about six months. And the last time we rushed into things it didn't go so well. So one step at a time for now."

"Isn't he moving in with you when he's discharged?"

"Yeah but that's because he's going to need a lot of help. Especially the first few months. And those stairs in the loft are lethal."

"He managed before..."

"Maybe. But he doesn't have to anymore now. I have a bedroom and a bathroom on the ground floor at my place and the stairs aren't so damn steep, he can easily manage them with crutches if needed."

Suddenly the door opened and one of the doctors walked up to them.

"Evan Buckley's family?"

Tommy was on his feet in seconds.

"That's right. How is he?"

The doctor gave him a tired smile.

"The operation was a success. No complications. Straight out of the medical text books."

"So he's ok?"

"He has a long road to recovery ahead of him, but I don't see why he shouldn't make a full recovery in due time." The doctor told them. "He'll still be asleep for a while, but one of the nurses will come get you when they've gotten him settled back in, in his room and you can sit with him."

Tommy let out a sigh of relief while Maddie thanked the doctor before they left the two of them to it again.

"He's ok." Maddie said, slipping her arm through Tommy's. "He's ok."

About ten minutes later a nurse came to get them and took them to Buck's room. He was still fast asleep but apart from a pulse oximeter on his finger and a cast on his leg, he looked just like he would on a regular day at home.

Tommy sat down next to the bed and softly brushed the curls off his forehead, while Maddie sat down on the other side and held Buck's hand in hers.

"You know he always hated that?"

"Hated what?"

"His curls. People playing with them." Maddie explained. "I used to do it when he was little but when he got old enough to pick his own hairstyle, the curls were gone and everyone was forbidden to touch his hair. I think I still have some pictures of when he gave himself a haircut when he was about 12 or 13."

Tommy grinned.

"If you can still find them, I'd love to see them."

"I'll get Howie to look for them." Maddie promised. "But what I'm trying to say is... he's changed since he met you. For the better."

"I did tell him I liked the curls once... He hadn't had time to get a haircut in a while and his hair was getting longer and the curls just made him look... soft." Tommy smiled, running his hands through Buck's hair.

Maddie smiled.

"Not just the hairstyle. Or wearing clothes in his actual size instead of at least two sizes too small." She laughed. "But he's... more comfortable in his own skin. He's content. Happy in a way I've never seen him before. And that's down to you."

"I don't know about that..." Tommy ducked his head.

"I do." Maddie insisted. "You're good for him. You're good for each other."

Buck began to stir and groaned as he opened his eyes. He rolled his head to the side and smiled when he saw Tommy.

"Hey you." Tommy said and got up to press a kiss to the top of his head. "Welcome back. How are you feeling?"

"Hmokay... better when the room stops spinning... and there's only one of you. is my leg still there?" he reached out to touch his leg and then realised someone was holding his hand. He turned his head and saw his sister. "Maddie!" he said happily, like he hadn't seen her in years.

"Hi." she giggled and squeezed his hand. "They've got you on the good stuff, huh."

"They fixed my leg." he explained. "Tommy said I should do it now. For the baby." He frowned. "Not our baby." He turned his head back to the other side to look at Tommy. "You're not having a baby... right?"

Tommy bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

"No, no I'm not. But your sister is."

Buck turned back to Maddie.

"You're having a baby?" he asked, and then noticed her pregnant belly. "You're having a baby! Wait... i-is that Tommy's baby?"

"What? No!" Maddie said and both her and Tommy burst out laughing. "I don't think I'm really his type."

"Yeah, sorry, I prefer the other Buckley." Tommy said laughingly.

Buck frowned.

"Who?"

"You." Tommy told him and softly kissed him. "I'm going to get a nurse. Let them know you're awake. I'll be right back." He got up and left the room with Buck looking at him with a dopey smile that wasn't just the anaesthetic.

"I love him." Buck declared, still looking at the door.

Maddie smiled and gave his hand another squeeze.

"I know. He loves you too."

"Yeah? Yeah!" Buck replied answering his own question. "I'm going to marry him. I have a ring." he said, just as Tommy came back in with a nurse.

"Hello mister Buckley, glad to see you awake." the nurse told him as she quickly checked him over. "The operation went well, and you should be able to go home in a few days."

Buck nodded and turned to Maddie.

"You need to call Eddie for me. He has the ring. I need it... for Tommy. I'm going to marry him."

"I'll call him." Maddie promised. sharing a look with Tommy over the bed.

"Good. I'm just... sleep..." Buck mumbled as he started to drift off again.

"He probably won't remember this conversation when he wakes up again." the nurse told them. "I'm guessing you're Eddie?" she asked Tommy who shook his head.

"I'm Tommy. And I guess I better start working on my surprised face."

---

send me a prompt and I'll write you a fic(let)!

[restinan]

I don't actually think that shooting the ten guys with the wealth has literally never made things better at any point in the history of man. If you actually read my post instead of pattern-matching it to the nearest easy thing to dunk on you might notice that I don't ever say anything incompatible with there being a wide range of outcomes. That said, it really is the case if you read history broadly there are trends in how well countries do if they descend into political violence and civil war. It tends not to make things better. Yes, there's a distribution- it's not a good distribution.

I understand that's a bit rude to accuse you of pattern matching to something dunkable rather than actually thinking, but you're the one who opened by attributing people who disagree with you to propaganda from the US government and fantasy novels. I get that that lets you feel pleasantly smug but there are in fact historically literate people who disagree with you for real reasons.

The American Revolution is probably one of the examples of "just kill some people" working out well you're thinking of here. It's genuinely true that things worked out well, but the American Revolution was a very weird civil war. The American revolution notably preserved most of the existing ruling class and didn't substantially disrupt the general structure of society. If you want to argue that wars of secession specifically have a very different track record from popular uprisings or attempting to use political violence to stabilize a country you'd have a good case for doing so. That said, even in that reference class the American Revolution had much better results than typical.

Perhaps you're not thinking of something so famous and instead thinking of examples like the overthrow of the government of communist Romania?

If you're making predictions from the American Revolution and the French Revolution and a handful of overthrows of dictatorships at the end of the Cold War and not on the banal, boring, usually forgotten peasant uprisings in Early Modern Europe, or the various peasant uprisings and descents into warlordism in Ancient China, or the slow rise of political violence and decay in norms in the Roman Republic (a shiny popular example, but still not one you should leave out- reversed stupidity isn't intelligence and we have a disproportionate amount of insight into this one), or the dozen instances of political violence in the early twentieth century aiding in the rise of the opposed party from the people doing the violence, or the communist attempts to swiftly restructure society in ways that accidentally caused massive famines, or the general outcomes of civil wars in the late 20th century, or the hundred other things in this vein, you're going to end up wrong about things.

Yes, the distribution of outcomes is wide. Yes, it is not entirely negative. That doesn't mean anywhere near as much as it might seem. A lottery which has a 50% chance of killing you horribly, a 20% chance of torturing you before you die, a 30% chance of leaving you alive but worse off, a 10% chance of not much detectable change, and a 10% chance of making things a small amount better, is not a lottery worth playing. That doesn't correspond to the political violence lottery, it's just a simple example.

The obvious response to this is that we should be examining the cases where it goes well to see how to get results like that. That response is a good response. However, to do that you need to know in the first place that violent revolution isn't a magical cure-all. You need to know that it tends negative or you won't even bother figuring out how to make it not do that. You need to know that the present has a larger list of fragile improvements and so you can't just use outcomes from nobility in 13th century France or even 18th century America to make predictions.

Things are legitimately different in the period where wealth flows almost entirely from land and just killing people and taking their land will mostly just work to enrich yourself. Even then, doing a bunch of it via an outside-the-norms-method in a polity and eroding the legitimacy of whatever is stopping the descent into violence from kicking off earlier tends to result in more and more violence over time. That trend really isn't hard to notice. Almost every single time without exception you end up with the place in general being drastically worse off. Usually the people who started the cycle end up very dead and frequently their family ends up extinct or less powerful than they started. Yes, they cared about different things- it was still usually a mistake to kick off a period of violence by their own values. For an example of this, consider literally any period of civil war in the history of China. Yes, someone manages to succeed and end up the next dynasty. The odds of being that someone aren't great. Assassinating your uncle to end up Emperor has a better track record. if not a stellar one. It's also not a mass uprising, and has a lower chance of kicking off a civil war.

If all you do is notice a lot of the people who hold a view are unsophisticated and stupid, find a couple counterexamples, and then smugly posture about how there's nuance, you see, you may legitimately be doing better than the idiots. But you need to actually know the distribution to be right, you can't just notice some other people know less than you and assume that means nobody knows more. Historians can tend kind of stupid in a lot of ways but there is actually something you get from having seen a broad overview of history. Not as much as a lot of historians like to pretend, but "just using a bunch of outside-the-norms violence to try to make things better for you personally was a high risk strategy before the modern world, doing it to make things better for people in general or for the sake of preserving a polity's stability was harder still, and the modern world makes it all work a lot less well" is one of the things that is, frankly, somewhat overdetermined.

What people care about is usually whether something makes slides into dictatorship more likely. Whether it makes famines more likely. Whether it makes instability and a lot of suffering more likely. Whether it tends to make things worse by our values, both when people don't care much about that and even when they do. The answers there are pretty clear. Yes, there's a distribution rather than a universal single outcome. It's not a good one.

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 5

Masterpost Ao3

“So hypothetically,” Superboy begins, glancing over at Robin. “Say I met another meta, and they, like, needed a civilian identity...” He trails off, listening intently. Trying to get anything from Robin's expression is pointless - between his skill at maintaining his composure, and the expression obscuring mask, there's not a lot to be read on his face. Instead Superboy focuses on his heartbeat, which speeds up the smallest amount as Robin turns away from the tablet he'd been working with, and settles his full attention directly onto Superboy.

“Hypothetically,” Robin repeats.

“Yeah. You know, in theory, if that ever happened.” Robin stares at Superboy for a moment, presumably reading everything that's missing from his own face in Superboy's.

“Well. In theory, the Justice League has the means to grant any meta hero a full identity. Is this about you? Because honestly it's insane that they haven't bothered yet, and I will straight up make you one right now if you-”

“No, it's not about me,” Superboy interrupts. “But like, you could do that? Without the Justice League’s support, I mean?. Like, say if this hypothetical person really didn't want the Justice League knowing about them?”

“You met a meta who doesn't like the Justice League.”

“I don't think it's really about the Justice League specifically. I mean, they definitely don't exist, but if they did, then I would say that the second I showed up they were bracing for a fight. Like before they even saw who I was.” Robin sets his tablet to the side without looking, and leans just a touch towards Superboy as he talks. It's honestly wild, he thinks, how the other boy can manage such intense eye contact through white lenses, but, well, that's the bats for you.

“Theoretically, I could absolutely make this person an identity, if they did exist. But I would want to meet them first.”

“Cool, cool,” Superboy says leaning back into the couch. “I offered to introduce you and they said they'd consider it. I think, maybe they don't trust adults very much, bc they asked if you were our age.”

“Theoretically?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

Though the specific details as to when the founding member first became acquainted, it was only after multiple incidents of near-worldwide devastation that they realized the necessity of an organized front.

The details of the forming of the Justice League should be fascinating, if only for the revelation that world-ending disasters are, apparently, relatively common in this universe. In a way, it’s a comforting thought. Memories of Dan sit as heavily as ever in Danny’s mind, especially now that he’s effectively lost his family, just like in Dan’s timeline. Of course, here there’s presumably no risk of him getting fused with Vlad, so probably that specific threat isn’t likely, but - well, if it comes to the worst and Danny does go mad, there’s at least a reasonably good chance that the heroes here will be able to stop him.

On the other hand, this also means that if the heroes turn out to actually be evil or whatever, he has less chance of getting away. Of course, Superboy hadn’t really seemed evil, but Danny really has no clue if he would even be able to tell. Sure he’d known Vlad was a nightmare from a mile away, but Vlad wasn’t exactly subtle about his obsession with Danny. Evil steeped in calculation would surely be harder to spot, wouldn’t it?

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” someone says from behind Danny. “But are you going to be using that computer for much longer?” Danny blinks, staring back at the teen who’s looking at him nervously. Danny glances over at the clock, but it’s now reading 2:30, which means that he’s been here for like three hours already,and he really hasn’t read much of anything in all that time.

“You can have it,” Danny says, pulling back to shove his notebook into his backpack.

“You sure, man? I don’t wanna chase you off, but I really could use it. Physics project, you know?” 

“Yeah, I get it. Wasn’t really making much progress anyway. Might as well take a break.” Danny says. He never got to take physics in school, but he remembers struggling with lit class enough to understand the sentiment. And he really isn’t making any progress, if he’s been staring at the same Justice League page for multiple hours.

“You working on a history project or something?”

“Yeah.” It’s close enough to the truth.

“What teacher d’you have? It’s pretty cool that they’re letting you do it on the Justice League.”

“Oh, uh,” Danny quails for a moment, focusing on closing the tab so he doesn’t tell the kid he’s not going to school. After all it’s probably reasonable to assume the laws about delinquency are the same here. “It’s more about the meta protection acts than like, the Justice League itself. And I’m not really local, so...”

“Ah, that explains why I don’t recognize you,” the other teen grins.

“Yeah,” Danny says, stepping back so the other teen can take over the computer. “Well, good luck with your physics project.”

“Thanks, man, and good luck with your meta-acts essay.” The other teen turns his attention to the computer as Danny steps away, heading for the library exit. Clearly research isn’t going well today, and Jazz would definitely yell at him for trying to force his brain to focus when it clearly doesn’t want to. He pauses outside for a moment, trying to remember what Jazz said to when your focus was shot. Obviously part one was to take a break, but he’s certain that she’d had more to say than that.

He thinks he remembers her going on a rant about monotony, and boredom, but he doesn’t really feel bored. Actually more than anything he feels wired and anxious. And anxious means he should...

“Turn slow tigers into fast tigers,” Danny mutters, gaining a deeply confused look from the couple other patrons standing outside the library. He ignores them, though, and starts heading for the nearby park, so he can do some stretches. Fast tigers means he has to exercise, which he would usually complain about but- well, his routine has definitely been a lot less active since he got here. Other than the train crash the other week, Danny’s been spending most of his time sitting and reading, and while it’s been insanely nice to have nobody hunting him, honestly the idea of exercise sounds almost horrifyingly nice.

He does his best to run through the kind of stretches he remembers doing in PE, warming himself up as best he can before starting to jog the little looping path. The jeans make it a little more annoying than he remembers in PE, but luckily they’re kind of loose, so they’re not too terrible to run in, and Danny has no intention of going very fast. There’s too many people around even if he wanted to, and he does his best to be polite and not in the way as he jogs. it doesn’t take long for his breathing to go heavy with exertion, and as he finishes his second circuit, Dannyt relaxes into it, and just lets himself run.

Thirty minutes later, Danny is feeling markedly more tired, and he lets himself slow to a walk. His heart is thudding rhythmically in his chest, the occasional stutter only more prominent in the heightened pounding, and his legs feel a little wobbly, but he keeps walking, The sweat he’d worked up feels gross against his clothes, so probably he could’ve gone about it better, but Danny figures a whole thirty minutes without worrying about his existential situation is more than worth feeling gross for a bit. His usual tactic of sneaking into the local gym while it’s closed isn’t gonna cut it during the day, so he’ll have to wait to shower, but in the meantime, he can walk off the remaining adrenaline, and decide what to do for dinner.

* * *

“Hey, did you really mean what you said about me having a civilian identity?” Robin looks up as Superboy sits in the air beside his work desk.

“I have four different identities, ready for you to choose from,” Robin says.

“Wait do you just keep possible identities around in case anybody needs them? Is that, like, a Bat thing?” Superboy leans over to examine the tool Robin had been working on. Like everything else he uses, it’s emblazoned with a bat insignia, not that the marking does anything to help identify what the little machine even does. It’s ridiculously small, definitely not any kind of weapon, unless Robin’s been tinkering with the idea of murderous nanobots, which honestly wouldn’t be that shocking. Of any hero Superboy’s ever met, Robin seems uniquely predisposed towards mad scientist-type stuff.

“I keep exactly two emergency identities on hold, but those are separate. I was talking specifically about identities for you.” Superboy freezes, turning his eyes back to Robin, who looks at him like this is a perfectly normal thing to say. Superboy is at least ninety percent sure it isn’t, but what the hell.

“What the hell,” Superboy echoes his own thoughts. “Why would I ever need four identities?”

“You don’t need four, you need options. There’s no point in giving you an identity you hate.”

“Okay, but people don’t get to choose their names? So why would I care.”

“Most people don’t choose their names because most people receive them when they’re babies, but everyone has the ability to change it later if they decide they don’t like it. You have the unique advantage of being cognitively developed enough to have a say from the beginning, and you should have the opportunity to use it.”

“Huh...” That’s actually kind of sweet. “Do you like your name? I mean, like, that’s not why you don’t want to tell us, right?”

“My name is adequate,” Robin answers slowly. “It’s mine and I am... accustomed to it. The reason I haven’t told you my name is because it... implicates the other bats, and Batman considers that to be a significant security risk.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that’s fair. Could I see the names you were thinking of?”

“Certainly,” Robin says, pushing back from the desk. “Let me get my tablet.”

* * *

“Uh, Superboy?” Danny shouts, trying to ignore how fucking ridiculous this feels. “Are you, like, free to talk? I think I want to meet your friend.” He’s hovering in the sky about a mile out from his town, in as close to the middle of nowhere as he could manage. He’d done a bit of looking into Robin this morning, before making his decision, and what a wild discovery that Robin was a name that had been held by multiple individuals. It makes him think of Dani, and he almost hopes that wherever she ends up, she might use the name Phantom too. After all, if anyone else rights to it, it would be his genetic clone.

Danny has no clue if time is flowing the same here as back home, but with any luck his friends have managed to orchestrate Dani’s escape too. It was always going to be a little more dodgy than Danny himself- his death being inherently tied to the portal had meant it was a bit more responsive to him than it otherwise would be, and that detail had been pretty quintessential to the rewiring that had needed to be done in order to send him to an entirely different universe, but they’d been hoping that her nature as a post-portal clone would mean that she had a close enough tie to the portal to send her through as well. Not that Danny would likely ever get to know for sure.

The soft rush of air alerted Danny to someone’s arrival, and he just managed to keep himself from falling into a defensive posture as he turned to look at the newly arrived Superboy, and the other teen being carried in his arms. Danny recognized the other boys outfit as that of the current Robin, who was now staring at Danny through a pair of disconcerting white-lenses set into a domino mask.

“We were free so I figured we’d just come meet you?” Superboy says with a nervous grin.

“Yeah, that’s, um, kind of obvious. Should we land?” Danny’s pretty sure that none of the Bats have flight, and like, as much as flying is cool as hell, Robin doesn’t look particularly impressed by it.

“That would be preferable, please,” Robin says, confirming Danny’s thoughts. He nods, and heads for the ground. Superboy follows just as quickly, and a moment later they’re all gathered on a gravel road in farmland.

“So, uh,” Superboy begins, once he’s deposited Robin on his own two feet.

“You told him about me before,” Danny says. Superboy may have had plenty of time to fly over here, but there hadn’t been enough of a delay to have explained the situation to Robin just now.

“It was an entirely theoretical conversation,” Robin offers dryly, before Superboy can respond.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that he was asking if I could theoretically help a meta acquire an identity if they were uncomfortable with the Justice League. Nothing of it was mentioned to anyone else and he told me no details about who any theoretical metas might be.” Danny blinks, taking a moment to process Robin’s explanation. In a way it makes sense, and he can see why Superboy would want to make sure that what he was offering was even possible.  Besides, it’s pretty obvious already that they both really trust each other.

“Okay, sure. I guess I get it.”

“I would like to know why you’re concerned about the Justice League, though, if you’re willing to share. If there’s anything illicit happening-”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Danny cuts in as soon as he realizes where Robin’s going. He’s suddenly glad he’d already decided to explain his situation in more detail. “It’s like, I’m not from here so my shit is entirely unrelated? It’s just, they’re -you’re?- associated with the government, you know?”

“And your government is a threat to you.”

“Honestly, everything was. But they can’t get to me here. It’s why my friends- that’s why I’m here.”

“Okay, but are you sure you’re safe? Because like, space travel is a thing, and if you need protection...” Superboy trails off, looking concerned.

“I mean, it should be fine? Even if the GIW did manage to figure out inter-dimensional travel, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to figure out where specifically I went, so yeah.” Danny really doesn’t want to think about a GIW that’s gone inter-dimensional.

“Well if they did manage to make it here, they would be breaching the meta protection acts if they tried anything, so I hope if that does happen you inform myself or Superboy.”

“Yeah,” Danny laughs. “It’s honestly been kind of crazy trying to wrap my head around the idea I have protections here?”

“That’s understandable. Plenty of meta-individuals have complicated feelings about them, even if they grew up here.”

“Oh?”

“Well, just because it’s illegal to exploit or discriminate against someone doesn’t necessarily mean it doesn’t happen. And metas who have been treated poorly often have trouble trusting in the protection acts.”

“Or sometimes you just didn’t get that info programmed into you and then you have to adjust to your understanding of history being manufactured,” Superboy mutters under his breath. Robin doesn’t react at all and Danny’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it either. The implications are a bit concerning, but Danny’s not about to press him on it.

“Yeah, I mean that’s kind of where I am, I guess. I think I’d like it if you’d be willing to make me a legal identity? I’m basically homeless at the moment, so I’d like to be able to get a job or something. But I’d really rather not end up on the Justice League’s radar yet. You guys seem nice, but databases are- a lot.”

“Easy enough. I can actually do it all with my personal resources, so the info never goes anywhere near the Justice League’s databases. We just need to determine what name history you want to have.”

“I mean, I’d like to keep my name, if possible?”

“Sure, What’s your name?” Robin tilts his head.

“Danny Fenton.”

[tsukius]

Fiancé!kaiser drabble

featuring: michael kaiser

synopsis: he just loves to spoil you

author’s note: for the requests that i got, i promise I’ll post them soon😓 i have like ten drafts that i need to finish, but college said no😔

_________________________________

michael kaiser had always been a man of grand gestures and extravagant displays of affection. as your fiancé, he made it his personal mission to shower you with the finest things life had to offer- designer dresses, glittering jewelry, exclusive dinner reservations at the most sought-after restaurants. to anyone else, it might have seemed over-the-top or excessive, but to you, it was simply michael's way of showing how much you meant to him.

"it's my duty as your future husband to ensure you're treated like the empress you are," he'd say, that signature smirk of his firmly in place as he presented you with yet another elaborate gift. and though you'd playfully roll your eyes and insist he didn't have to go to such lengths, deep down you couldn't help but feel utterly adored.

because you knew, despite michael's penchant for the finer things, that his motivations ran far deeper than mere material indulgence. the way his eyes would light up when you'd wear the necklace he'd gifted you, or the tender way he'd hold your hand as you strolled through the park on one of your fancy dinner dates- those were the moments that truly revealed the depth of his affection.

michael was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, preferring to express his emotions through grand, romantic gestures rather than words. but you'd learned to read between the lines, to see the love and devotion that simmered beneath the surface. the way he'd hold you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace, conveyed volumes more than any three simple words ever could.

and so, you'd let him indulge his penchant for lavish displays, knowing that each extravagant surprise was his way of saying "i love you" without actually uttering the phrase. whether it was the sparkling diamond bracelet he'd surprised you with on your anniversary or the private jet he'd chartered to take you on a weekend getaway, you accepted it all with a grateful heart, reveling in the knowledge that you were the sole recipient of his unwavering adoration.

because truthfully, you didn't need expensive gifts or VIP treatment to feel loved by michael. the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered, was more than enough. the gentle way he'd caress your cheek, the reverent kisses he'd press against your skin- those were the moments that truly made your heart swell with affection.

still, you had to admit, there was a certain thrill in being spoiled so thoroughly by the man you loved. it was a testament to just how deeply he cared, how fiercely he wanted to provide for you and ensure your happiness. and as you stood beside him, hand-in-hand, gazing up at the twinkling cityscape from the balcony of your penthouse suite, you couldn't help but feel utterly, completely cherished.

because when it came to kaiser, grand gestures and lavish gifts were simply his way of saying "i love you" without ever needing to utter the words.

and for you, that was more than enough.

[selineram3421]

*a lot of readers loving this fic* Daaaang.

Hissy Kitty

Part 5

Part 4

Alastor X Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ deer man still trying to stay in denial, blood/gore, Italics= thoughts, partial nudity mention, Bold= time shifts, gif is reader's shadow form. ⚠

Alastor felt like he was at the end of a shotgun barrel.

He froze, his hands shaking slightly and his undead heart thumping rapidly.

Quite a daring thing to say...

Husk stared at him in slight shock and something else. Something that the deer demon couldn't decipher. The two stood still, not moving an inch, just watching who would make the first move. Almost like an old west duel.

Finally, after a long silence, one of them spoke up.

"Leave them alone."

In all honesty, the cat demon had no idea what to do about this...situation, but he knew the Radio Demon. His boss was nothing but a cruel, insane, egotistical man who wanted power and control.

"I don't give a shit about what you do to me, but I know if you hurt me, they'll hate you.", Husk said before turning to leave the radio tower. "Whatever thing you've got? It's best to get rid of it now."

And with that, the feline left.

Now Alastor was alone, just like he wanted but he couldn't get rid of the thought of what the ex Overlord had said.

He couldn't deny it any longer.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair before making his way over to his chair.

I'll avoid them like the plague... He decided.

He stayed away for two weeks.

Leaving a room whenever they stepped foot inside, staying in his room, office, or radio tower when he didn't know where they were in the hotel.

And then something snapped.

The thought was screeching in his mind, clawing at his chest, a never ending cycle of want.

He had to-

No.

Needed to tell them.

Maybe confessing would help stop that feeling.

With the last of his sanity, Alastor stepped out of his radio tower and went to search for them with the help of his shadows.

.

You were confused at first by the absence of the red dressed demon but thought nothing of it since your brother seemed happier.

Charlie had given you the new job of welcoming new guests at the front desk but well...its been very boring.

No one checks in.

Like at all. The demons that do come in ask for directions and then there's Cherri Bomb, Angel's friend who stops by for a second or two. So, you spent most of your days talking to your brother at the bar, leaving a "ring the bell for assistance" sign at the check-in counter.

You held a glass of very diluted iced catnip tea, your brother made sure to make it that way so you don't run around the hotel like last time.

"Ugh.", you hid your face in embarrassment.

I can't believe Husk planned that. That jerk! You sighed. I did enjoy the nap after though..

Then your thoughts continued until it wound up to the last conversation you had with your brother about the red dressed demon.

After telling him what happened, Husk stood up real quick and said he'd be right back. Then he came back with snacks and his poker face.

What your brother doesn't know is that you can actually read his poker face. It's very, very faint, but his ears give him away. Depending on the way that it flicks, you can tell how bad a situation is.

And his ear flicked back twice.

Which means he doesn't like the current cards in his hand.

What did he get? You wonder and sip your drink.

Some more time passes and the next time you see Alastor in the same room as you is when the King comes to visit the hotel.

Keekee is in your arms and hops out once Lucifer stops hugging Charlie.

Things take a turn after some random flapper shows up and then there are shark sinners.

"MY WINDOWS!", Nifty screeches in horror.

It goes to shit really quickly, everything is too loud, everyone is running around and trying to stay out of the shooting range of the flaming boulders, and you were overstimulated with all of the things happening at once.

"GET BEHIND THE COUNTER KIT!", Husk grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you towards the bar.

You make a face once seeing the flapper, the reason loan sharks are attacking the hotel, is hiding behind the counter.

"Oh fuck this.", you sigh and walk away.

No wonder your brother said not to come here.

Its too loud..

The banging on the door didn't stop until the Radio Demon stepped out and the screams took over.

Too loud.

"I will devour each and every one of you!"

You covered your ears in pain, wishing you brought your headset.

"ITS TOO FUCKING LOUD!", you yell out.

.

Alastor reminisces when these feelings solidified.

It was when Lucifer and Mimzy showed up at the hotel. He had his fun messing around with the King, making the short blonde feel jealous.

Then Mimzy barged in, which is not a surprise, and started chatting up with the others.

What annoyed him was when Husk mentioned the deal that he, the Radio Demon, had made. Reminding him that he too needed to stay within range so his collar didn't choke his neck.

Then after taking care of Husk, he made his way downstairs to take care of Mimzy's mess.

And that's when it happened.

As he was ripping apart some of the loan sharks, he heard screaming from inside the hotel. Turning to deal with the ones that managed to slip past him, he finds a shadow creature with multiple eyes dragging the left over sharks into the darkness.

"NO! No, no, no, no, no! AH-!", a shark screamed before the shadow tore open his stomach and ripped out his intestines.

"Kit! You gotta calm down!", Husk yelled out.

"That's your little sibling!?", Angel screeched. "What the fuck happened!?"

"It was too damn loud, that's what happened!"

The two continued to bicker as they tried to move the shadow out of the hotel.

A piece of rubble fell and Mimzy side stepped away from it. "Oops. Sorry about the mess. I'm sure the little bug can handle it."

"Mimzy.", Alastor went back to his normal size and made his way towards the hotel. "I believe it's time for you to leave. Now."

"What-? Come on, you don't mean that~", the flapper laughs. "This dump doesn't mean anything to ya! And you love taking care of me!"

"I can't have you making a mess here.", he replied. "You can stay if you want to be redeemed.", he turned to look back at the short woman. "But we both know that's not your style."

"Fine! I don't need you! Have fun at this ritzy dump and-!"

Alastor ignored the rest and walked into the hotel lobby. Husk was the only one taking care of the shadow beast, while Angel was watching whatever was going on between the two royals with the others.

"It's ok now, calm down.", the cat demon said to the shadow in the corner.

"What or who is this?", the deer demon asks and points to the shadow creature.

"Pretty sure you ain't deaf, you heard Angel yell it out.", Husk said and started..purring?

"My! I didn't know you could make such an adorable sound!", he grinned.

"Shut up!", the cat hissed quietly. "They need to calm down, loud noises only make it worse!"

"Well, why didn't you say that sooner?"

With a snap of his fingers, he teleported the three of them into his room in the greenery area.

"The only sounds in here are nature, will this do?", Alastor asked.

"Yes, this is fine.", Husk nodded before getting focused, and pulled the shadow closer. "Kit? Listen. You're ok now.", he said and started purring again.

Their shadow figure was still too large, so the radio demon decided to add in some of his white noise static, earning a look from Husker.

"It helps.", was all he said.

Slowly but surely, the shadow got smaller and smaller before going back into a familiar figure. The darkness on their form began to fade away, starting from the tips of their feet/paws.

Before the shadow fully receded, Husk held out his hand.

"Give me a blanket or somethin'."

"Whatever for?", he asked with a raised brow.

"You wanna see them naked?"

Alastor quickly took off his coat and handed it over.

In a quick motion, the cat demon covered his sibling in the red fabric and wrapped an arm around their shoulders, holding them securely as they passed out.

A few moments passed before the demon in red decided to ask his question.

"What exactly happened?"

Husk was quiet for a bit and then sighed.

"I'll let them tell you."

Now, Alastor stood in front of your hotel room.

He felt like it was as if it was his first broadcast all over again. His nerves were all over the place and his hands felt tingly.

Clearing his throat, he prepared himself and knocked on their door.

"Dear? Are you there? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

A few heartbeats later, the door opens.

"Come in."

*flops over* I'm done for now. Stay tuned.

~Seline, the person.

Part 6

Taglist@

*In comments because there are SO many*

ML I for Alastor🎙️ | HK ChL😾

[ratatattouille]

i honestly did not expect this post to get more than 20 likes lmao, and i must admit that this was more of a thought dump than a super-deep analysis, but i'm glad a lot of it has resonated with so many of you!

that being said, i think my criticism warrants some criticism as well, and i feel like it would be disingenuous to just edit the post (let it be seen in all its imperfect glory lmao).

so here's my criticism of my criticism:

-Vi and Jinx: Vi did not create Jinx. Well, I mean, not entirely. And Silco did not merely weaponize her. Granted, it is Vi who slaps little powder across the face and shouts "You're a jinx!" but Vi is also just a child, and would have gone back for Jinx had she not been apprehended by that asshole also known as Marcus. THAT BEING SAID, Vi still feels a measure of guilt for her reaction (and that's not unjustified), and as Vander's daughter, she would still not stand for the Caitlyn S2 BS and would still default to Jinx much faster than she does (because she's all about family, and Jinx is the only family she has left.) Vi would feel even more guilty at how she is literally in an enforcer's suit when she is about to kill Jinx, the only family she has left. She is literally hunting down Jinx, a Zaunite, like the enforcers had her parents. It's still too far, lmao. Also, Vi's motivation to team up with Cait had more to do with getting revenge on Silco than restoring peace to Zaun, and I didn't mention that at all.

-Jinx and Silco: This fucked up dude did a whole John-the-Baptist thing with Jinx so she could embrace her Jinx-ness. But I don't think he was telling her to embrace that she was a curse like Vi meant it, but to embrace her new life (baptism is all about death and rebirth) and her new self and take responsibility for it. As much as Silco WAS WRONG to lie about Vi (manipulating Jinx) and even try to kill Vi (which was a dumbass move on his part), he wasn't wrong about Jinx's path to healing: self-acceptance and self-forgiveness. And even though Silco's own stupidity led Jinx to "embrace" Silco's version of Jinx to the point that she bombed the Council right when they'd granted Zaun independence (I wanted to fucking kill myself watching that), Jinx was still not ENTIRELY a jinx as Jinx (e.g. when she rescued Zaunites from Stillwater Prison). Isha and Sevika understood (even though Silco unfairly set it up) that Jinx was actually their good luck, their hope, more than just a hex (pun intended) on the city. After all, Jinx made Sevika her new arm (even though she's the reason Sevika lost her arm in the first place), which further proves that Jinx had the capacity to fix some of what she broke. It would have been better for her to embrace responsibility and have the faith to try and fix things (ESP her relationship with Vi). While it is not unrealistic or necessarily bad writing that she would fake her own death to run away and start over (or just die) trying to save Vi, the arc people she represented deserved was her embracing Vi back, not accepting that she was a curse in Vi's life.

-BACK TO MY MAIN POINT: If the focus had been on the coming war between Zaun and Piltover, then we could have better explored the internal struggles happening with Vi's and Jinx's characters. Using Isha and Vander as misery porn for Jinx was a bad move. I stand by that. Isha didn't need to die that uselessly. Jinx did not need more "trauma" for any character development (positive or negative). It's not unrealistic that Jinx would be depressed after Isha's death (and that Isha was likely meant to symbolize the constant cycle of violence), but that this sub-plot really wasn't needed given what we'd already established in Season 1. Why do I say this? Because the cycle of violence is not a "Jinx" issue, but a Piltover one, and the writers making it an interpersonal issue instead of a political/sociological one damaged the story and what Jinx's character could have meant to mentally ill people like her. It wasn't illogical storytelling, just far less meaningful than it could have been. It would have been more powerful and moving and impactful for Jinx to realize where the true cycle of violence (as established the whole fucking show from the dead parents on the bridge, to Vander and Silco, to Jinx and Vi, to Jinx and Ekko, to Isha and Warwick, to Cait and Vi, etc) was coming from.

This is where my gripes with Jinx's and Viktor's arcs in S2 really lie: the story tries to strip the political from the personal! Viktor, on waking up with the arcane in him, goes back to The Lanes, and what does he see? The cycle that Silco mentions in Jinx's hallucination in the cell. This cycle is not merely coming from the interpersonal struggle Zaunites have, but rather, the forces behind those struggles: the starvation, the lack of resources, the poverty. All caused by Piltover. Where Season 2 fails while Season 1 succeeded, is it points the camera away from Piltover as the origin of all this mess, and instead, makes it a stupid cosmic clash between chaos and order (kinda fascist ngl). Zaun lost, and Arcane Season 1 had the tits to show why those in The Lanes were always on a losing streak: Piltover.

But what, instead, do the writers brandish as this solution to the cycle?

Fucking forgiveness (of those who harm and oppress you) and acceptance of your imperfections (like that's what we were apparently talking about, which no, it wasn't). By refusing to acknowledge Piltover's hand in the desperation and violence and struggle the Zaunite characters find themselves, the show inadvertently ends up excusing Piltover.

And I'm going to make a Part 2 to really get into it.

arcane season 2 was artistically beautiful and thematically cheap. every interesting and meaningful thing it did with its characters (even in season 2 act 2) was reduced to romanticized bullshit, utterly divorced from its season 1 roots. it's so bad it can be considered pro-status quo propaganda (and i do mean that). good ships aside (and i do mean the caitivi, jayvik, timebomb holy triad), this season squats and shits on every zaunite character in the show. not just their zaunite-ness, but how it literally shaped who they were as characters.

Let's start with Vi:

-Vi and Vander: Vi's loyalty to The Lanes always went beyond Powder. Zaun was her father's, Vander's dream. Zaun was her friends (do you remember how protective she was of Ekko aside from her adopted brothers?) and her family. When she's giving Caitlyn a tour of The Lanes, we see how much she embodies and revels in Zaunite culture (esp in the food scene). She cared for Zaun like Vander taught her to. Her "protective" trait extended to ALL the vulnerable in The Lanes, because Vander taught her that. It wasn't EVER just Powder. Zaun is her HOME. As a child, she wanted to make a name for herself IN ZAUN "one day, this city's gonna respect us." You can make the excuse that Vander's death meant that side of her died, but it clearly didn't because of how she regarded it while showing Caitlyn around. "Family" to Vander, extended to the vulnerable of Zaun, which is how Vi and Powder came to be his "daughters" in the first place. Because Zaun was for THEM. Zaun WAS THEM. Vander and Silco "weren't allowed to fail" at Zaun (i.e. the two daughters). Additionally, Vi and Jinx were supposed to succeed where Vander and Silco hadn't: forgiving each other and uniting so they could realize their dream for a free Zaun. The whole reason Zaun struggles to be free is because of their own internal divisions (the different gangs fighting for scraps). But if they united, they would be able to liberate themselves from Piltover (who is still the enemy). The whole reason the others are prosperous in the alternate timeline Ekko and Hemmerdinger travel to is because Vander and Silco reconcile (not because Vi dies).

-Vi and Caitlyn: Caitlyn was an interesting development for Vi, particularly because Caitlyn mirrored Vander's care for all people. Caitlyn was an enforcer that wanted to truly understand and help people. This challenged Vi's biases and also gave them a common goal. Caitlyn appealed to Vi because she gave Vi renewed hope for peace in The Lanes. That Zaun could be free through co-operation instead of violence. Her whole teaming up with Caitlyn, romance aside, was predicated on Vi brokering for peace between Zaun and Piltover. The first break-up between the two (Season 1's "Oil and Water") centred around Jinx, more or less. Vi believes Silco is a threat to peace between Piltover and Zaun (even though The Lanes aren't known as Zaun to her, I'm just using the names interchangeably). She believes Jinx is acting out due to Silco's influence, as well (and she isn't entirely wrong). Had Caitlyn not been injured on the bridge (and had Jinx not felt betrayed by Vi), Vi was going to leave her in pursuit of Jinx. Vi has never fit into Piltover (and that's also shown in Season 2 act 1-2).

-Vi and Jinx: This show was ALWAYS about a tale of two sisters/cities (cue the record insert of their two faces at the beginning of every episode). When Vi becomes an enforcer, it isn't because she's switched loyalties. She wants peace for Zaun, she just wants to take Silco's (and her own) creation--Jinx--out of the equation so it can work. The only reason she agrees to Caitlyn's plan is because, again, their two goals align: get Jinx. The difference is Vi wants to kill Jinx to get Powder back, while Cait wants to kill Jinx to get her city (mother) back. The show in season 2 TOTALLY LOST THIS FOCUS. Vi's guilt at hunting down her own people with enforcers (and it's already insane that Vi would even agree lmao) is ignored a lot by fandom, especially bc her post-breakup scene where she goes full goth is framed as regret for letting Cait down (rather than the self-disgust she would feel for joining her oppressors). Vi played a part in creating Jinx. Every single step of the way. This is barely acknowledged, and every time it might be, it gets shoved aside for romance with Cait. Cait, who, literally became a dictator and weaponized the air ducts her mother had created to SAVE ZAUNITES. The whole thing is viewed as Vi betraying Cait instead of Vi betraying Jinx/Zaun/her family and Cait betraying Vi ("promise me you won't change") and her mother. Cait was the one who sought to help Zaun (like her mother) but betrayed who she was when she was willing to kill Isha, an innocent child. (ALSO IMPORTANT: Just to further prove my point on how integral the sister's love for each other was, every show started with a record playing. The cover of the disc was Vi and Jinx. They were always the center focus of the story. The song that the record played? Likely "Our Love" by Curtis Harding and Jazmine Sullivan which goes "Our love is a bubblin' fountain, our love, that flows into the sea, our love, deeper than the ocean, our love for eternity." This love deeper-than-the-ocean can apparently crumble in the face of a dictator girlfriend you've known for less than a year lmao).

Where the writers FUMBLE is:

-Vi's and Jinx's relationship becomes secondary not just to the entire plot of the show but to Vi's arc. Zaun and Piltover's conflict was set up to be the epitome of the show, and the fact that it got shelved for a more *ahem* American industrial military complex epic battle between humans and robots is very telling about the writers and showrunners.

-Vi forgives Cait easily and prematurely, trashing Vi's true loyalties as established in earlier seasons/episodes

-Vi herself takes a back seat in most of season 2, and becomes a passive yes-man to Cait

-Vander's re-introduction is almost completely worthless to the plot and narrative (he comes back just to die), and he is used as a cheap way to re-unite the daughters in a way that has no significance to the themes (also, Silco as Jinx's father is completely ignored)

-Cait's deferral to fascism should have been permanent. Idc about the shippers at this point. Vi and Cait should have never come back from Cait shoving the back of her gun into Vi's injured side (let alone the gassing of the ducts). Vi would've never forgiven her, attraction or no. The fact that Cait could become a dictator after losing one parent is proof of their class divides (after all, Vi held onto hope despite losing all her parents to enforcers and Jinx was all she had left of her family). That should have cemented the death of that relationship (and it would have made for more compelling storytelling on class). The only reason it was kept was because it matters more to white Western audiences to have a Romeo x Juliet rendition that assuages their classist sensitivities. Cait becoming a fascist made sense and was true to her character and the world. Vi forgiving her (and then having sex with her in the prison she was thrown into as a child?) destroyed both her character and the narrative. And it's frankly made the ship that much more unpalatable. If Vi had to be destroyed as a character for the ship to work, then the ship wasn't all that good (even though it started off that way). It's honestly left such a bad taste in my mouth. What a fuck you to oppressed groups that whole subplot was. (And it's made worse by the fact that the creator thought that was somehow an empowering and liberating act for Vi, like fuck that).

Let's Talk About Victor:

-Viktor and Heimmerdinger: This is one of the biggest fumbles, IMO. Heimmerdinger and Viktor were the most polar of opposites. Heimmerdinger was not only a privileged, ulta-wealthy Piltoverian, but he had a comparatively endless lifespan while Viktor's own human life-span was cut short due to being a Zaunite, born at the bottom of the barrel and raised on toxic fumes that led to his terminal illness. Viktor's desperation to unlock the Arcane was explicitly about him overcoming his circumstances, his illness, his premature death. It wasn't merely about his internalized ableism, but the unjust way in which he had to suffer. Heimmerdinger could afford patience because he had all the time and resources in the world, but Viktor didn't. Not merely because he was a mortal, but because he was a Zaunite.

-Viktor and Singed: Viktor's arc with hextech is foreshadowed with his childhood interaction with Singed. I understand that in the games, Viktor is a villain-type character and his catchphrase or whatever is "Join the Glorious Evolution." While Viktor is horrified by Singed killing the creature that he eventually uses for shimmer, Viktor later says, "I understand," hinting that he saw the sacrifice (and death) necessary to "heal" the world of its ailments. Both Viktor and Singed grow up in The Lanes, and both have ailments they want to cure (for Viktor it is his lung cancer and for Singed its his daughter's dying). In season 2, Viktor tells Singed that while he understands what healing all those people could cost him, he will not sacrifice their humanity for Singed's cause. Then Jayce blasts him in the chest and that all goes out the window. All this despite Sky being there with him in the astro-nether. Now Viktor's idea of becoming a higher being is just getting rid of emotion (despite the fact that his character was one that was consistently willing to sacrifice himself and die in order to not harm others, and Sky's death only solidified that). Jayce killing him without explanation was all of a sudden all he needed to become a divine dictator, lmao. The same Viktor that looked terminal illness in the face and preferred to spare others instead of himself? The same Viktor who's immediate action after waking up with a new body was to go and use the arcane he wished had been destroyed to help others? Sure.

-Viktor and Jayce: Now, I think Jayce's speech had some merit and could have been framed better with a little more time and thought. The philosophical idea of perfection or a perfect world (one which Piltoverians strive toward) being untenable, maybe even undesirable, is a fascinating concept worth exploring. BUT MAKING IT ABOUT SOME INTERNALIZED ABLEISM FROM VIKTOR IS FUCKING STUPID!!!! I'm sorry, but Piltover being the city of progress until it actually included becoming progressive with Zaun was absolutely one of the things Jayce and Viktor's sub-plot was trying to explore. Viktor WANTED TO LIVE. Viktor wanted his people to STOP SUFFERING. Viktor WAS RIGHT. He wasn't merely eliminating "imperfections" (and of FUCKING COURSE A PILTOVERIAN WOULD SEE IT THAT WAY), he was trying to cure sick and dying people who did nothing to deserve it. He was buying them time that people like Jayce and Heimmerdinger had in spades, but Viktor and Zaunites had stolen from them. Children dying of disease and violence in The Lanes was by Piltoverian design! It was not some predestined cosmic necessity. Viktor WAS RIGHT TO HATE HIS FUCKING TERMINAL ILLNESS ARE THESE GUYS INSANE??! Wtf kind of message is Viktor embracing it as part of himself sending to vulnerable, impoverished and ill people? Is that supposed to be some kind of fucking comfort? Fuck off right to hell! And don't even get me STARTED on Jayce's trip to other-world hell being some kind of "Jayce seeing the world through Viktor's eyes" bs. Yes, it was good that our idealistic Jayce got to see the dark side of the Arcane as Viktor showed Jayce the beauty of the dream he sought for all people, but whatever message on class struggle Jayce is said to have learned or paralleled in his alternate timeline clearly didn't sink into his head because he still gave that dumbass speech to Viktor. And I'm glad if it resonated with any disabled people, but Viktor's struggle with his body was a protest against Piltover, not himself, and I hate that the writers gutted that character development. Viktor's and Jayce's paths "diverged a long time ago" because Jayce had the luxury and time of pursuing his dream while Viktor didn't. Viktor, even up there as a scholar of Piltover, was still getting the Zaunite treatment. Jayce had the time to pursue a better world, while Viktor had to struggle for a little more time. When Viktor becomes part of the arcane, suddenly he has all the time in the world to realize HIS OWN DREAM. Why would wanting a better world for others have to result in "dreamless solitude"? Viktor becoming obsessed with fixing what ailed humanity was warranted, and his extremism was hinted to have been due in part to the effect the arcane had on him, but it still made the themes of arcane a joke. There was so much potential and the writers (and showrunners) just squandered it for some more romantic bullshit.

Where season 2 FUMBLED:

-"Humanity, our very essence, is inescapable. Our emotions, rage, compassion, hate. Two sides of the same coin, intractably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil.” That's a neat quote, but wars don't start simply due to emotions or whatever. This lacks class analysis, and it's annoying that the writers made this the whole theme of season 2 (and retroactively the show) in a story on class divides. Cait did not merely gas the Zaunites because of her mother, but because of her privileged upbringing that made it more acceptable to her to view Zaunites as animals (remember Ekko telling her "you guys hunt us down like animals"). Cait knew the humanity of Zaunites was real. She'd seen it. She just chose to ignore it because she could afford to. While it is interesting that Viktor would come to see being human as a flaw that destroys any hope of achieving peace (conflict theory would like a word with you), it ignored that fascism is not an inherently human trait and detracts from how or why it persists in the first place. It's almost the same as saying men/white people oppress women/poc because the latter were mean to them. It's victim-blaming (and false lmao). The British didn't colonize the Americans because the natives did anything to them. All prejudice is unjustified, that's what makes it prejudice. Again, Cait became a fascist when her mom died, but Vi still drew the line at killing children and even council members despite losing every single one of her family members to Piltover's violence against The Lanes.

-Jayce's speech would have been cute in another story, but it's downright insulting in Arcane's. Yes, yes, Jayce's words would have been the only ones to have broken the real Viktor out of Arcane Viktor's grasp by appealing to this deep childhood wound, but Viktor's desperation was not to belong (because his leg kept him from playing with other children) but TO LIVE (because he was dying of an illness). Jayce's speech isn't bad, just misplaced.

-Viktor did not have to become a fascist-aligned deity in his quest to heal people. It is a typical MCU thing to have a "villain" that's technically right and then destroy their entire character to make their (correct) philosophy untenable by making them do something extreme. Typical pro-status quo propaganda trope. Idc if it was so we could get some game version of him. Viktor was right in bringing progress and his discoveries to The Lanes instead of devoting his efforts to Piltover, the fake city of progress.

-While I am annoyed that the climax of the show hinged on Jayce and Viktor and hextech (a tool to explore the inequalities of Piltover and Zaun) instead of Jinx and Vi, I think it kinda makes sense. Hextech built what Piltover has now become. Jayce, Viktor and hextech kinda represent Piltover (what it could be) and Jinx and Vi represent The Lanes (and the Zaun it could be). Both would have been integral, but the story shouldn't have hinged on hextech, IMO. Hextech should have remained a tool to explore the politics of both cities, but instead it overshadowed everything, cheapening the story's themes, characters and world-building.

-Jayce calling the Zaunites to arms was downright absurd. But not as absurd as Zaunites volunteering.

And Then There's Jinx:

-Jinx and Isha: Isha's only use, as far as I'm concerned, was to be a reconciling force between the sisters. When Cait was willing to shoot her to get to Jinx, that should have stopped Vi right there and brought her back to defending Jinx 100% idc. When Isha sacrificed her life to save Jinx, that should have been Jinx's wake-up call right there and helped her understand why Vi kept leaving her out of missions as a kid. But instead what do we get? Depressed, suicidal Jinx and an astoundingly even more resentful and indifferent Vi. Vi still refuses to acknowledge her own hand in creating Jinx in the first place. Jinx, who has always wanted to be useful to those she loves. Who pursued her own hextech inventions in order to give her siblings a fighting chance when facing down Silco. Who wants to give Zaun a fighting chance as Silco's daughter. To be useful to the goals and dreams of her family. Isha was the perfect opportunity to bring the sisters together, but no. Instead, the kid was some kind of foreshadowing to Jinx's own heroic self-sacrifice for her sister (a message that left both sister's arcs unfinished). Vi had to acknowledge how wrong she was for abandoning Jinx and Zaun (instead of taking responsibility as Vander had taught her). Jinx needed to accept herself and the love others showed toward her (Silco, Vander, Ekko and Vi). Jinx keeps blowing things up because she repeatedly rejects herself (both Powder and Jinx), ignoring the good she's done and tried to do. Isha was a call back to the good Jinx has done and can continue to do for Zaun and others.

-Jinx and Ekko: Timebomb is the only ship that didn't ruin anyone's character, lmao. Because Ekko's and Jinx's relationship is precisely an exploration of how Piltover's violence against Zaun forced these children with entire futures ahead of them (they are both child prodigies) into endless war and hellish heroism. Ekko and Jinx are repeatedly shown to be hesitant and even unwilling to participate in violence against others, especially their own. Ekko does not hate Jinx, though he wants to, and Jinx does not like who she is when she's violent. She is trigger-happy because she already expects Vi and Ekko to want to kill her (projecting her self-loathing on them, but not entirely unreasonably). She doesn't have faith in their love or mercy because she doesn't see any part of herself as redeemable or loveable, which is why she consistently sabotages her life (but not without help from Vi and others). Ekko and Jinx are symbols of progress for Zaun AND Piltover (and Heimmerdinger saw that, especially when Ekko insisted he had to go back to his timeline, even if the one he had landed in was better). Heimmerdinger saw what they could have been in the alternate timeline, all the genius that was squandered in The Lanes. Jinx and Ekko are the ones most willing to put an end to violence and injustice because both of them are nostalgic for their families. Jinx just doesn't have the same faith in her ability to do so as Ekko does, but Ekko manages to convince her for a moment anyways. Ekko recognizes (like Silco, Viktor and Isha) how integral Jinx is to the creation of a new world. She injects colour and life and hope into Zaun and is the only one who can unite all warring factions in Zaun in the first place. Both her and Ekko are rebel leaders, but that is hardly used in Zaun's interests in the end. (ALSO THAT WHOLE CONVERSATION WITH VIKTOR AND JINX. This show would have won with a Viktor and Jinx team-up to unite Zaun--also in parallel to Jayce and Vi's team up. We could have had it all!)

-Jinx and Silco: This, is only second to Vi in the most FUMBLED things about Jinx. Silco was her guide once Vander died and Vi ran away. Silco not only took care of her, but gave her purpose and nurtured her talent (one that Vi and their brothers scorned). Silco accepted Jinx (he did not create her, Vi did) even though he weaponized her (which backfired for him). Silco, like Ekko, was the one who saved Jinx from death and offered Jinx a home. While everyone else patronized Jinx for her own childhood trauma, Silco was gentle, understanding and provided space for that, even when her psychosis killed him. He showed zero resentment toward her. But when Silco dies and Vander returns, Jinx just . . . oopsie, doopsie! Forgets about Silco until one final hallucination she has of him in the jail cell. The only one she has where he talks. And what does he say? She needs to break the cycle. How? Not by eliminating Piltover or gaining Zaun's independence like he'd talked about and dreamed about. Not by accepting herself as Jinx and Powder, the inventor, the fighter, daughter of both Silco and Vander, but by offing herself? Leaving her family to think she's dead? Embracing the lie that she really was the poison in their lives and the reason none of them could be happy? The reason they died? NICE! SWELL! WHAT A SATISFYING CONCLUSION! Even worse, they made her "death" staged. I'm sorry, but do we really believe that this same girl who killed herself multiple times in front of Ekko just 24 hours ago somehow found the will to live and escape into air ducts when she was falling with Vander? She decided to live right when she was about to die? And let's not forget that she was falling to the same song that was playing when she was trying to commit suicide. Why? And why would a heroic death (staged or not) be any form of character growth for Jinx in the first place? When her whole thing is distrusting the love offered to her? Or was she accepting herself by being the one to kill Vander because she knew Vi couldn't? Either way, it's cheap!

Fumbling points summarized:

-Jinx not being radicalized by Isha's death and the sight of her sister hunting her down with enforcers.

-Vander's letter to Silco could have been why she hallucinated Silco talking to her about forgiveness, but breaking the cycle here is about forgiving (unapologetic) Piltoverians instead of herself, which needed to happen to complete her arc.

-Jinx being the reluctant Girl Saviour of Zaun after clinging onto her identity as a jinx so she didn't have to take responsibility for Silco's dream (and by extension death) should have been the point of the show, IMO. As far as Jinx's arc is concerned, she was meant to reject the identity of jinx that Vi gave her and embrace the identity of Jinx that Zaun (and Silco) gave her. Loveable and capable of doing the right thing and saving others. Using hex-tech, something Jayce and Piltover had levelled against her people, against them. And she does this to some extent, but we don't even get a hint as to why Ekko's speech worked (and how he got her to fight alongside him and the Firelights in the first place). We know she does so for Vi, but she so quickly gives up once she and her sister are back on the same team. She allies herself with her sister just to die and then fuck off to another land? BRUH! Like act 3 is SO FRUSTRATING!

-The commitment to saving Piltover instead of destroying it ruined so many arcs, most notoriously Vi's and Jinx's. This should have ended in a war between the two cities, not one where both fought against robo-people and Ambessa.

I could go into how the show fumbled Mel, Ekko, Sevika, Jayce and more, but I think they still fare better than the ones I've talked about here. Caitivi has now (narratively) become distasteful, jayvik a joke, and timebomb unnecessary misery porn with little to no reward for all their efforts.

TLDR: Bad message to send to oppressed people, mentally ill people, and people dying of terminal illnesses, lmao. The Zaunites ALL LOST with this one.

P.S.: It's okay if you think the show is good because it succeeds in many other things, I just think it drops the ball in the places I've mentioned. But if your main criticism of my criticisms is going to be defending your ships, please find another post. Oppression is a serious reality that deserves serious depiction and it's insulting to have such necessary political discussions devolve into dumbass ship wars.

[delopsia]

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!" 

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house. 

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?" 

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert." 

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words. 

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—" 

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you. 

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more. 

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head. 

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it." 

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays." 

Or whenever you feel like, really. 

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint? 

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan. 

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add. 

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel. 

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place. 

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up. 

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship. 

Or at least, you thought you did. 

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner. 

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it. 

That should technically be the last of your encounters. 

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks. 

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head. 

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah." 

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble. 

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling. 

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him. 

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry." 

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?" 

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once. 

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame. 

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question. 

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.  

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure. 

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place." 

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music. 

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks. 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before. 

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout. 

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale. 

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist. 

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No." 

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow. 

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?" 

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment. 

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks. 

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap. 

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button. 

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh." 

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back. 

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making. 

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out. 

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall. 

"What was that?" 

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer. 

The bathroom plunges into darkness. 

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out. 

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely. 

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot." 

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins. 

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears. 

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms. 

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down. 

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey? 

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it. 

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?" 

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense." 

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it. 

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?" 

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight. 

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies. 

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines. 

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office. 

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand. 

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?" 

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body. 

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt. 

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side. 

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes. 

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?" 

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads. 

You're gone the moment he's in front of you. 

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine. 

He turns. 

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape. 

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you. 

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working. 

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him. 

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground. 

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip. 

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily. 

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before. 

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together. 

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying. 

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut. 

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right. 

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his. 

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless. 

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ." 

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name." 

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh. 

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely. 

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough. 

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later. 

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins. 

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most. 

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch. 

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure. 

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me." 

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now. 

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised. 

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face. 

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem." 

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest. 

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing. 

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again. 

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place. 

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance. 

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin. 

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps. 

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later. 

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow. 

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore. 

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt. 

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck. 

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?" 

Your hand is crimson. 

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it. 

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one. 

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened. 

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing. 

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it. 

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game. 

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all. 

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out. 

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing. 

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment. 

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party. 

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried. 

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time. 

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details. 

The music swells. 

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack. 

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off. 

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh. 

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past. 

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you. 

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms. 

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream. 

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter. 

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus. 

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons. 

Because it certainly feels like you did. 

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human? 

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you. 

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince. 

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized. 

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door. 

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key. 

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward. 

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more. 

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh."  His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy. 

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more. 

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder. 

"What, don't like being teased?"  

"I might die if you keep talking." 

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long. 

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive. 

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine. 

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye. 

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily. 

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time. 

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his. 

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that. 

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality. 

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious. 

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine. 

Yeah. 

It's been too long. 

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock. 

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up. 

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find. 

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full. 

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath. 

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat. 

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more. 

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh." 

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall. 

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine. 

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp. 

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder. 

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me." 

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them. 

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper. 

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan. 

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually. 

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?" 

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided. 

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time. 

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns. 

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?" 

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all. 

"...huh." Is all that he can say. 

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too. 

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down. 

But he's not done talking. 

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—" 

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you. 

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself. 

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim. 

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself. 

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you. 

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones. 

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment. 

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried. 

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets. 

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets. 

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set. 

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom. 

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation. 

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh. 

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

[roosterforme]

Geriatric Millennial | Rooster x Reader

Bradley loves all things '90s. You don't completely understand it, but you appreciate his spirit.

1000 words

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

There were certain scenarios that became normal over time when you were in a relationship with a man more then ten years your elder. Sometimes you didn't understand certain movie references. Slang words and jokes occasionally went over your head. He and his friends would often reminisce about trends you'd never witnessed. But Bradley never made you feel bad about it, and you never called him an old-timer unless you were joking.

You were used to these things, but nothing quite prepared you for what you saw when you got home from work. Bradley was relaxing on the couch in something that looked like a bright blue, full body straitjacket with some random vintage headphones on his head.

"What the fuck?" you muttered, inching closer when you realized he was listening to music and hasn't spotted you yet. You glanced around the room, trying to locate the source of disturbing chattering sound that just started, and you tripped over a hard, black ball.

Bradley looked up at you with a smile. "Hey, you're home early." He quickly stood in his weird, fleece outfit and leaned in to give you a kiss, but you leaned away.

"What on earth is happening here?" you asked, standing frozen as he pulled his headphones off.

"What are you talking about?" He looked puzzled by your words but not by all of the weird things in the living room. 

"I'm talking about what you're wearing. And the robotic voice!"

"Oh," he laughed. "This is just my Snuggie."

"Your what?"

He glanced down at himself. "My Snuggie? I found it in a box of my stuff from highschool."

You were still so confused. "What's a Snuggie? And what is that weird sound?"

When his gaze fell to something fuzzy and brown on the couch, you jerked back in shock. "You mean my Furby?"

You glared at the critter and it's enormous, evil eyes. "Is that one of those things from that '80s Gremlins movie you're obsessed with?"

He barked out a laugh like you'd just said the funniest thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Baby, no. It's not a Gremlin. It's just a Furby. But imagine if Furby manufactured replica Gremlins... Would have been fascinating." It was starting to sound like he was speaking a foreign language. "I was just listening to Chumbawamba on my Discman and playing with my pogs and my Tomagachi. I literally forgot the Furby was even here."

You were sure you were gaping at him like he had two heads as you reached up to run your palm across his forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"Huh? No, but I did eat a Kudos bar I found in the box, so I might potentially have an upset stomach later. But it was worth it."

After you punched the bridge of your nose, you asked, "I'm sorry, but what did you say you were listening to?"

"Tubthumping. By Chumbawamba. You know it, don't you? Pissing the night away, pissing the night away. I get knocked down...." He looked at you in wide eyed shock. "You don't know that song? How is that possible?"

You didn't want to tell him that Chumba whatever wasn't a word. And neither was Snuggie. Not when he looked so adorably baffled. You stroked your fingers across his forehead and down his cheek as you shook your head.

"No, I don't know that song, because I'm not forty like you are. And you look kind of alarming in this thing." You pinched the fleece fabric and pulled it away from his body.

"It's my Snuggie," he muttered. "It was from an Infomercial."

"I don't know what that means." He gasped and you started laughing. "But I would love to sit down with you while you explain it to me. As long as you don't make me eat something from the late 1900s."

He took your hand in his bigger one and and led you toward the couch and the demonic looking Furby. "Okay, but first, you need to listen to this CD. Because Jake told me Chumbawamba is a guilty pleasure, but it's actually really good."

About twenty minutes later, you were wrapped up in the Snuggie, enveloped in softness and Bradley's lingering body warmth. "I love this thing," you told him, burying your face in the fleece. "And yes, Chumbawamba is good, but I like Hoobastank better. And I'm really sorry I accidentally kicked your Magic 8 ball across the floor."

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and kissed your cheek as you skipped a track on his Discman. "That's okay. Hey, do you want to learn how to play pogs? The best part is, I'm not sure there are actually any rules at all."

"Sure," you said with a shrug. "Why the hell not? As long as you lock that Furby away and never let it out ever again."

"Heard."

[alllgator-blood]

I love the way you write the Bishop's as family. It's extremely messy and raw and so different from the interpretations I've seen. It's genuinely a breath of fresh air. That said, I feel like we've gotten a sense of how most of the Bishops have adapted (or not adapted) to their injuries following the Schism, but what about Heket? She's doing her best to lead and hold things together, but she got hit pretty hard herself didn't she?

AHHH THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING TO HEAR!!! THANK YOU, I live for the bishops' tragic sibling dynamic!! I've done comics my whole life but never got a chance to write for siblings despite how important my own little sister is to me, so this game being my hyperfixation is a breath of fresh air for me as well

I actually have an oldddd comic about heket dealing with her post-schism injuries! The full one will probably never get posted/completed for several reasons, but it was basically like "heket had chronic pain even before the schism, and was so used to working while in pain that when she was cut in half, she just kept working until she desperately needed medical intervention. Kallamar finds a bunch of other stuff wrong with her that nobody knew about" and then this scene happens:

Even if it might end up not being this comic, I really want to make something that touches on how traumatic it is to live with something that's actively trying to kill you from the inside out (even for someone as tough as heket). And also how differently everybody sees you when they find out about it. I have a lot to say about this kind of thing and I feel like this topic gets slept on even if the bishops are inseparable from their disabilities in-game, so I intend to remedy that when I'm able to :')

[seewetter]

This seems like a series of perplexing opinions.

Sure, trains were built by capitalists for the needs of capital. Unsurprisingly, that's their historical context and intended purpose.

And yes, trains imply long-distance travel. Trains imply transporting goods across vast distances. Trains imply an interconnected society, a society whose needs and ambitions are geographically quite far-ranging. In a world with train networks, someone or something is traveling far beyond a local village.

And I agree with girl-debord's first post in this thread and don't see anything particularly weird about it. But that's because I give people the benefit of the doubt when I can. To me, saying "tech is not neutral" is a fine statement to make, because tech is embedded in social processes and can often cause harm through them. We can use mass surveillance tools to monitor the health of animal populations, for example, but that is not their main use -- and in cases like that, the wonderful use case is only relevant because of problems caused by capitalism to begin with. Would we worry about rhinoceros or dolphin population decline without a capitalist society, where "free markets" have generated mass production processes for fishing industries and generated market pressures on black-market ivory trade or the cutting down of forests?

"what are you even trying to say here? mass movement of things and people is bad?" Not every Tumblr post drawing a connection between capitalist interests and the creation of something is morally condemning that thing. That said, it's possible to assume that the Debord quote "it should be understood that this apparatus is in no way neutral" is being used as moral condemnation here, so it's a fair question, I guess.

"moving objects for significant distances along the ground" is a priority to a particular global system under which trains were invented.

It's also a priority for a lot of people who find parts of that particular global system appealing for reasons that are entirely understandable. People all over the world do in fact want access to resources not found in their neck of the woods.

And I will be careful here. I agree, for example, that the mass transportation of medicine, for example, is often only necessary because big medical conglomerates are legally prohibiting and violently enforcing their patents.

But it's kind of odd to argue that it's a bad thing that large numbers of people can flee a large natural disaster (say a volcanic outbreak) with the help of fast transportation.

trains are "efficient" within the parameters of that system--that disrupting ecosystems and exploiting immigrant workers are acceptable trade-offs for the value generated by global trade

Trains are not global trade.

Global trade does not, intrinsically, involve exploiting immigrant workers.

"those bad consequences you bring up aren't an inevitable consequence of a connected world."

Are we going to argue that train tracks don't disrupt ecosystems?

"technologies are neutral. politically they don't actually cause people to act."

Depends. If you have a train, you might go looking for work far further away from home than if you didn't have a train. Your family might not see each other much because the availability of the technology (paired with market pressure to get a job) has conditioned you to behave a certain way.

"i don't want borders. you know what makes for a great border? the inability to just fucking physically go somewhere else."

I don't think that's a good way of framing your opponent's ideas, transfemsriseup. Plenty of immigrants cross borders without trains.

Actually, come to think of it, how can technologies not actually cause people to act if without them, people supposedly act differently?

"but what I'm suggesting is that the consideration of whether or not trains are "worth it" has happened within a framework that I don't ascribe to as a communist, a framework of value."

You don't ascribe to value as a communist? Not even use value?

"railway workers don't build railroads because they believe that the railroad will be a good thing for everyone, they build them because they are paid to and without that pay they can't eat or afford a home. and these technologies were invented for similar reasons."

We could apply the same argumentation to paleolithic technology still in use today. Under capitalism, workers don't (generally, unless they happen to be enthusiastic) do anything at work except to get paid so they can eat or afford a home. We can't argue that trains mustn't exist because their construction and operation has some environmental impacts that are imperfect and because the workers who built them weren't free. Might as well argue that people should live without homes, because workers don't freely build homes but do so in order to eat.

Okay, maybe that's not what you're saying. Another thing you might be saying is "just as workers are restricted to certain choices, so too are profit-seeking capitalists restricted and under these restrictions they invented the train".

But I think a similar rebuttal applies. An abandoned military barracks can serve as a makeshift shelter and will not turn people into servants of the military-industrial complex if they take shelter there. Similarly, a train can serve more purposes than the one for which it was built.

"i think if you can understand the idea that maybe car-centric suburbs are terrible & wouldn't exist without the pseudo-needs created by a capitalist society, this shouldn't be much of a jump."

Understanding the argument isn't much of a jump, no. It's just odd to argue against the least intrusive form of adaptive long-distance travel. Trains are less environmentally intrusive than highways, shipping lanes and air travel routes. Yes, people could walk, but if people walk, they can't escape unforeseen disasters or physically connect with family members on the other side of the continent. Then there is no way to supply people with emergency aid or help out with a resource shortage.

"wow, an ML, the supposedly scientific and materialist ideology, saying that material conditions dont affect how people act? and in the defense of consumerism, no less?"

The ML you are mocking mentioned 3 benefits:

Medicine (an essential supply)

Immigrants (freedom to travel)

Food (potentially a consumer good, but also a vital necessity)

How do we conclude that this is a defense of consumerism?

on the topic of trains and the role of technology in ongoing atrocities, i think something to consider if this is shocking to you is that the development of all technology since the start of the industrial revolution (and a lot of it before that tbh) has been dictated by the needs of capital. trains wouldn't exist without the reign of an economic system that demands mass circulation of commodities. the world has not been shaped by what's best for everyone but what's best for perpetuating that economic system. as Debord says about media technology, "it should be understood that this apparatus is in no way neutral and that it has been developed in accordance with the spectacle’s internal dynamics" (The Society of the Spectacle, thesis 24).

[plaidos]

didn't say biden/harris were doing the Best they could for trans people, but a hell of a lot better than any other presidency including some active support, and trump IS dangerous. i was also out as trans before 2016, his presidency the first time is why things are like this. what policies have biden and/or harris supported that hurt trans people? that confuses me a lot. ill stop sending stuff after that clarification and question if you want. im sending this bc i dont think it's "sealioning" about harris's past actions regarding trans healthcare in prisons and that's what you said not to do, this seems less related so idk if it's also fully unwelcome but u can just ignore it if you need.

if you think the first trump administration is “why things are like this” IRT the state of trans rights then your privileged ass needs to crack a book on queer history because (1) it’s been like this forever and (2) the majority of anti trans legislation has occurred under the Democrats’ watch. not one single bathroom bill under Trump’s first admin (one was actually OVERTURNED from the Obama admin believe it or not), compared to ten under Biden. you are fully lying to yourself about how things got the way they got. you’re huffing copium. lying to yourself!