#I love comeuppance and fucking around and finding out

[atherix]

Always happy to provide au angst<3

-🍂

I love the angst <3 Always down for hearing more 👀

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.14<< >>Ch.16

Notes: Miguel is having a bit of a comeuppance within the society.

CW: Morning sex, fingering, penetration, PinV

Chapter 15: You Let Me Fall First...

Word count: 6.3K

An alarm began to beep, rudely awakening you from your comforting dreams. Groaning out, you rolled over, only to groan even louder.

“Man, I am sore.” You snuggled up closer to him, locking your arms around a bit of his torso.

“Means I did a good job.”

He kissed your shoulder, and then the marks from his fangs lingered on it.

“Mm, is that going to be permanent?” 

“Depends. It's going to remain for a good several days, but I can make it permanent if that's what you prefer.”

His voice dropped, tightening his grasp on your waist, spinning you on your back, and squishing his body mass on yours.

“Miggy! Bleh! You're too heavy!”

Your head was buried in his chest, swatting anything your palms could. “Off! Off, I say!” 

Ceasing your attack when the rumbling from Miguel's laughter juddered your body, you flopped your hands down in defeat.

Taking in his scent, you closed your eyes. The cedarwood and the smell of your union attacked your nose as you drifted into the future.

Waking up to him every morning to him spooning you, or you spooning him, dallying in bed for an extended period, aware that work or household chores have to be done, yet you neither bother to budge.

Knowing that you're able to be by his side, engulfed in a warmth so prominent, you would never ask for anything again if it meant you got to be by him.

All you would want is to stay in that moment. At this point, at this instant, nothing would wedge you two. Nothing could break this or the future that will bestow.

“Mi Luna? You okay?” Miguel himself shifted off to give you some breathing space, until you shoved yourself back in-between his pecs, muffling.

“I can't hear you, mi corazón.”

“Why do you have better boobs?”

“Huh?” 

“Better boobs! They are just so mesmerizing! Impeccable!” You giggle at the pun causing him to groan out.

“I swear… but I don't know about that; I think yours are pretty amazing. If not better.” He hauled you up, eyes on yours.

Entrancing. That was one of the many words to describe whenever he admires those glistening eyes. He admired you, and for the first time in years, he faced sincere peace and authentic love. Dawning how much he pined and ached for this.

Knocking your forehead on his, you joyously grinned. “Let's say it's a tie, with you slightly closer.”

“Deal.” He grazed your lips with his.

You stayed that way for a minute. Your alarm goes from the irksome beeps to the relaxing notes of rhythm and blues. Dulcet breathing is shared between you.

“I have to get up for work.” 

Miguel gruffly scoffs, turning you both onto your sides and holding you more firmly.

“Miggy, don't you have work as well?”

“Si.”

“So we have to get up.”

“No. Let's stay here.”

“You know we can't, mi Estrella.”

Caressing his forearm, you slightly turned your neck to peek behind, and you were met with that endearing pout and baggy, pleading puppy dog eyes.

“Come on now; don't do that. You know I can't…”

They seemingly got bigger.

“Damn it, Miggy. Fifteen minutes, but that's it. If Ronnie finds out I'm late because of canoodling, she'll have your body as a display mannequin.”

“Now why am I the one going to be punished?” He smirked, lapping the base of your neck.

“Because she says you're a bad influence on me. And you know, maybe she's onto something.” 

“Aw, do you really believe that, corazón?” His tone is harsh and gravelly, yet he holds every bit of that sexy hold that you don't bother to escape.

"I—ah—I think you are. Fu-fuck, Miggy. You have too much- ah, too much ascendancy on me.”

His long fingers found their way in between your thighs as he glided his pointer and middle digits up and down your already dampened sex.

“Mm, I feel as though I don't have that much. But we both know I can strive to add a lot of… guidance on the matter.”

He teased your clit, gently tugging and pinching it, his finger barely pushing into your entrance, evoking a whimper.

“Wha- ah! What more could you want–fuck!" You cried out when Miguel gradually drove his sheathed finger into you.

“I'm a very selfish man, mi Luna.” He emphasized your nickname. “I will find a way to get what I want.”

He propelled in and out, spreading your legs to provide better access, and plunged another deep into you. Your walls cling as he brushes against your g-spot repeatedly.

A strangled cry broke free when he began to scissor. Your slick was dripping down, and the noises emanating from you overpowered the music.

“And from the way you're reacting, I think you like me being a bad influence on you.”

“Miggy!” You drawled out, fidgeting under his touch, ashamed of how you could crumble under his touch so easily.

His palm rubbed against the stiff nub, twisting with each push. His length was pressing against your inner thigh.

“Tan agradable y húmedo sólo para mí. Mi hermosa Luna haciendo esos sonidos solo para mi.” 

He frantically pumped, biting down on your neck and leaving fresh, new hickies. You rolled your hips with him, adding more stimulation. Throwing your head back, you covered your mouth to prevent any loud sounds from leaving.

“Luna mía, no los escondas. Hay ocasiones en las que quiero que otros escuchen quién te hace desmoronarse una y otra vez.”

He fingered you faster, his appendages working in a hasty motion, your muscles feeling every satisfying breach, juices smearing and coating his fingers with every stroke.

Slamming both hands over your lips, your head was in a full whirlwind of ecstasy.

“¡¿Qué dije?!” He barked, tugging his fingers out. “Let them hear you!” 

He grinded his cock against you before burying himself to the hilt, your wetness melding. His ragged breath sent sparks down your spine. Taking tantalizingly slow bucks, you sob out.

“Mm! Don't do this! Please, please, faster.” You tried to press down against him, only to have him grip and hold onto your waist.

“Will you scream?”

“I-I can't be lou- aah!" His clawed hand wrapped around the sides of your throat as your breathing picked up.

“Will. You. Scream?” He snarled, fairly squeezing.

“Ye-yes! I will!” You garbled out, hot tears streamed down, your vision foggy from the immense burning passion.

“Bien.” 

He thrust at an intense pace, your back dragging up and down his hard abs and chest as you wailed out.

His balls slap against your folds, adding more to the already noisy orchestra of thrills. The engorged tip strikes the top wall as you flutter around his length, feeling every vein and drive.

“Oh Miguel! So big! So good with your fat cock!”

His ego shot up. Gripping your neck tighter, your mind began to race.

He could easily snap you in two if he wanted; in a split second, you could be broken into nothing. How exposed you were. Yet he's so rough, but gentle, that he's holding back so much just to bring you these fleeting experiences.

And that aroused you further.

You shrieked his name, begging him to go faster, and Miguel happily obliged. He pulled out, briskly moving you into your stomach, shuffling around until he was behind. One leg planted on the ground, the other perched and bent up next to your leg. 

Propping you up until your ass was in the air and spreading your legs, Miguel grunted at the sight of the glistening streams of your shared fluids.

“Oh, mi Luna, I will devote and admire you and your body until the end of days. And even that wouldn't suffice for my needs and wants for you.”

He started to handle himself, pumping a few times, and began to slip back into your tight entrance. His hands massaged your back, sliding down until his talons groped your rear, making you whine out.

Sweaty and disheveled, you awaited in anticipation when he penetrated, filling and stretching you back up.

You sharply inhaled at the suddenness, shouting as Miguel rolled his pelvis into you, watching your behind bounce back whenever he rocked forward.

“Such a nice ass that only papi gets to see.”

“Miggy, you are so–fuck–so untamed!”

“That's right. Take it, mi Luna, take it all.”

Clenching onto the sheets as tight as your heat, the bed lurched against the barrier, embarrassed at how you would have to really apologize to your next-door neighbors now.

Pushing you down even further, he found the right spot that had you screaming your head off. Your heart pulsed, your brain was heavy, and your body was flaming hot.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your skull, your tongue flopping out as saliva ran down your chin and onto the pillow. Miguel strummed your stomach, hips, and thighs, stopping right over your clit and stroking it with figure eights.

“I love hearing you scream; everything about you is so good, mi corazón.”

“You're so wonderful to me–Mmm! Fuck, fuck! Right there!”

The tandem syncing of each push drove you two delirious. Your words were incoherent, with every slap and squish holding that daze deep in them.

He was drunk on you. Drunk for it all. The pooling from the sweat and your slick as he smelt your heady release was edging its way up.

You eyed the clock and internally winced. Your little rendezvous spilled into overtime. Ronnie would survive.

“Close! I'm close—mi Estrella! Cum in me! Fill me up! Give me every drop!”

Miguel moaned out, the fuse ready to explode from your needy cries. Digging into your hips, he sank in as much as possible, nearly slipping out from his violent thrusts and your drenching cunt.

“Take–take it. So tight for papi, so good; such a good girl, mi Luna.”

His mind floated back to his kids. A vivid scene of them jumping on the bed, wanting you two to wake up and make cinnamon waffles for breakfast, as you try to scold them but end up laughing at the silly situation. 

You'll turn and kiss him, rolling out of bed to put your house slippers on, as he’ll carry the little ones as they crawl and swing all over his body.

“Mmmph!” 

Miguel spilled out and bent forward. You felt his hefty chest on your back, convulsing madly and milking nearly every spurt and every drip. There was so much shooting deep in your core.

You whimpered as a certain set of fangs found their way back into your neck. Miguel held you securely when realization snuck up on him.

“Fuck. Luna, mi Luna, corazón, stay awake. I didn't mean to bite. Mierda, shit, shit.” 

He pulled himself off you, shoving some of the stray strands of ejaculation back into your opening, satisfied with the result. Flopping you on your back, he stared at the stickiness of your body and your glossy, fulfilled eyes.

Leaving the room before coming back, he began to dab you with a clean, damp towel, sheepishly grinning at his interim paralyzed partner.

“Call… Ronnie… gonna… late…”

“Do you think I'll look good as a mannequin?”

A shiver of a curved smile appeared on your numb face before Miguel kissed you tenderly.

He did get an earful from Ronnie, nagging and demanding to know what he did to ‘her girl,’ and how she was going to stuff him to be a display dummy. Luckily, Ronnie had a severe hangover and had a special guest over, so the shop was closed for the day.

Taking advantage of that, he assisted you in striving to reduce the immobilization timeframe. While ordering breakfast and cuddling you, you eventually regained your voice and chatted about everything and nothing at the same time while awaiting the meal.

“You know, I was wondering why I didn’t scream; you caught me before it could come out. And my poor neighbors. I hope they’re cool like the downstairs one.”

“What was that thing they told you?” Miguel scratched feather-light touches with his claws along your back.

“That you were stirring my meals all in one pot.”

“I still don’t understand what the hell that means.” 

Stifling your giggles, you exhaled a content sigh. “Also, thank you for calling Ronnie. Sorry she cursed you out like that.”

“I’m used to her diablerie behavior by now; she is basically your version of Peter. And speaking of Peter, you met him the other day? I'm surprised you didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh yeah! That was an hour of… irrefutable absurdity. I was tempted to call you and beg you to come over, but I held my own.”

Miguel rearranged the positions so you were eye level with him, interested in hearing your side. 

“What all happened? What all did you talk about? Peter didn’t harass you, did he?” He glowered his eyes, nearly awakening a new wave of desire from you.

“N-no. He was fine. Though a bit overzealous, he was very sweet. And that Mayday is such a sweetheart, but you can definitely tell that she is his daughter.”

“Did you show her around?”

“I did. We played with some of the toys and read some pop-up books together. We had a grand time.”

A quiver of a smile nearly glinted on him. “I would’ve come by, you know.”

“I know, just didn’t want you to experience Ronnie and Peter under one roof yet. I was the guinea pig for us. And it went entirely as we expected. It was a R-rated Ronnie and PG-Peter story; one was more brash and the other modest. But one day you will succumb to the eccentric extravaganza.” 

You simultaneously grimace at the thought of all four in the same room.

“I also heard you talked about me.”

“Of course, why would I not? You are amazing and deserve to be gushed about. Even though I have moments of me being a bit selfish and wanting to hog you all for myself, I know that at the end of the day, I’m yours and you’re mine, and that I will always get to be around you. Well, not always around, but you know what I mean. But yes, I do want to shout from the rooftops and yell, ‘hey! That’s my handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway lover. Let me give a bazillion reasons why he’s the best!’”

His pulse raced, and his cheeks crimson like his eyes. The compliments and unfeigned love from you still shocked and bemused him after all this time. You never saw him as this tainted figure; you accepted his flaws and the mistakes that he wanted to better and mend with open arms and patience. And you didn't uphold any ridiculous standards or expectations for him.

Thud.

He dropped his forehead down for that welcoming sign you both knew, and pushed his lips into yours. He was hungry and ardent for you. He would devote his time to you at the drop of a hat, and he wouldn't let anything or nothing hold him back from it.

“Me traes muchas cosas que pensé que nunca podría volver a sentir.” 

“I love you too, Miggy.”

Interrupted by a buzz from the doorbell, Miguel scowled and stumbled out of bed, ready to tear apart whoever was at the door. After inadvertently frightening the delivery person, Miguel helped you sit up against some pillows and mostly fed you.

“Hey.”

“Yes?” He held up a fork of eggs and brought them to your mouth.

“How is–this is yummy–how is Jess doing with her pregnancy? How far along is she?” You swallowed and opened up for another bite.

“Jess? Well, she's okay. She's going pretty smoothly, I think.” Miguel picked up his toast and chomped down on it before turning back to you.

“It's okay to say you don't know, Miggy.”

“I don't know. Is that a bad thing?”

“I wouldn't necessarily say bad, but they are still your workers who have feelings and probably suffer copious amounts of pain. It'll be good to check in on her. Especially if she's working so hard, it could be taking a toll on her.” 

“But she's a spider; she can handle it.” He took a sip of your orange juice before leaning toward you.

“Thank you. And not exactly the external aspects; I'm sure she is a strong woman, but the internal ones as well.”

Trying to lift your arm to point at your brain, it promptly plopped back down. “Gosh, your venom is strong. Back to the matter at hand. Pregnancy is a tough thing. Well, I wouldn't know, but I've read the stories. You're carrying another being in you, creating a new life. A baby deriving one's energy is a lot to handle.”

Another bite. “So simply see how she's doing in general, deal?”

He smiled and munched the rest of his bacon. “Deal, mi corazón. Also, I see you eyeing my potatoes. I'll give you some in exchange for your strawberries.”

“You know, potatoes aren't even that delicious. They're the weakest of all the vegetables.”

“¡Oye! Weak?! You know, I take offense to that. You're making my ancestors weep.” 

“Ah yes, I don't want to upset the potato ghosts, do I now?” Your voice was innocent, but the outspread grin was crafty.

“How very stereotypical of you. For that, you will be disciplined.” He plucked one of your strawberries up and ate it, leaves and all.

A rasping stutter of squeaks and other noises came out of you, causing you to full-stop at the sounds you somehow managed to produce. Staring at one another, Miguel began to choke on the fruit as uncontrollable howls of laughter escaped.

“Oh my God! I can't even hide! This is clearly the worst punishment. The worst timeline!”

You bickered frivolously as Miguel gave in and fed you some of his potatoes, much to his amusement.

With the sliver of sunshine on your bed, dust particles suspended in the golden pigment, the soft melodies from the alarm clock, and your beaming smile and snickers, Miguel completely forgot about his straining life. His taxing “job.”

You were really good at doing that.

He thought about how he'd be prepared to trade nearly everything to preserve these moments with you forevermore. And it wasn't the first time these convictions came to light.

“Miguel… Miguel, where are you? We need—hey. Hey! Be careful with that! I said, be careful! He'll kill us if it's- Miguel! We need you here at the headquarters. We caught two Electros, and they are trying to mirror each other's attacks, but they're messing with th- put it down! Hey, hey, no! Miguel, please hurry!”

His watch blared from the floor. He forgot that he threw it off last night in the heat of the moment, but he didn't turn it off.

“Tienes que estar bromeando, ¿por qué estos idiotas no pueden hacer nada?” He sneered before tidying up the area.

“I'm assuming it's a big danger?”

“Doubtfully. They're sadly too incompetent to get anything done for themselves.”

“Hey, there are some days we need extra help. I mean, you literally had to feed me.” You gave a lopsided smile.

“Yes, but there's a difference. I don't mind doing that. In fact, I would do that all day, every day.”

“So you'd rather shove spoonfuls of eggs down my throat forever than fight electric people?”

“That's exactly right. Especially shoving more than eggs down your throat.” He winked, gathering up his underwear.

“Hey! No! Stop that!” You were flustered by the accidental innuendo you made and his cocky response.

“You brought that upon yourself, mi corazón.”

You blew a raspberry at him and tried to cross your arms, but to no avail. He smirked, grabbing his devices as his suit began to materialize. Your eyes glanced down as the digital outfit hugged his general buttocks area nicely.

“Even got a better ass; now how is that fair?”

“I heard that.” He perched himself on the edge of the bed and stroked your face.

“Good.” You puckered out your lips as he inclined inward, giving you a sweet kiss.

“How did I get you? Me of all people.”

“Simply by being you and this handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway, but mostly you.”

Those genuinely compassionate eyes had him in that trance. If given the opportunity to become trapped in them, he would purposely avoid the exits.

“Do you want your shirt back?”

“No, leave it on. I don't want mi Luna to get cold.”

“It's almost summer.”

“Right. You justifiably look cute in it, and I now have a newfound obsession with seeing you in my formal clothes.”

“Leave your clothes; I'll wash them. I may even be wearing that blazer when you come back. Just the blazer.” Your eyes were heavily hooded at the thought.

“Don't tempt me, mi Luna.” He tilted your head back and growled down your neck, obtaining a hushed moan.

"Ah- ye-yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He simpered, appearing pleased at the response.

He settled you back in bed, making sure you were comfortable. Ready to doze off, you quickly halted him before he climbed out the window.

“Miggy?”

“Si, mi Luna?” He phased his mask on and turned back to you.

“Do you have a thing for Peter? I'm validly curious; I wouldn't even be mad. So is it on the down low or…”

You blink as he narrows his eyes. You couldn't exactly see them, but his mask did it for him.

“Ay dios mío. You're lucky I find you wonderfully beautiful and amazing.”

“I love you too!” You yelled out with the last bit of strength and fell right to sleep.

Miguel shook his head at your ridiculous Peter comment, flinging himself around his city. If you were going to start joking about that, he wouldn't mind. He imagined him chasing after you as you teased him, wiggling your cute bottom and sticking your tongue out, taunting that he couldn't catch you.

He'd take that challenge, catching you off guard with his speed, and begin to mercilessly tickle you. Your shrieking laughter will fill the room until you'll cry out for mercy before catching him off balance, attacking him into submission, rolling around, and play-fighting before one thing may lead to another.

He never wants this to end.

Down goes a string.

The arrival of summer was a welcoming one this year. The leaves are now a richer green, the air is heating up, and above all, the skies have been fair.

You decided to take advantage of this day and scroll down to a certain park, especially since you got an extra thirty minutes added to your usual hour break.

“I wonder if it'll be crowded. I hope not. School should still be in session for the next couple of weeks or so.”

Arriving at the spot, there were a few picnickers, joggers, and a couple of teens probably skipping classes.

“Well, I'll have to make do. I can't have this lovely day all to myself.”

Scoping out for a place to lounge, you caught wind of a certain person in everyday wear, whose head was thrown back, body stiffer than a metal pole, likely due to the quantity of people, and seemed more tired than usual, despite the shades disguising his eyes.

Bounding your way over, you made sure to stand a few inches aside to not be caught immediately.

“Is this seat taken?” You shrouded your voice, trying to bring it down as deeply as possible.

“¡Ay dios mío! ¡Sí, este asiento está ocupado! ¡No! I'm not interested in-”

Miguel frustratingly snapped himself up, ready to tell off whoever was harassing him this time, when he caught himself.

“Luna? Mi Luna!” His strident tone instantly dropped as a zealous perk drifted out instead. “What are you doing here? I thought you were working around this time.”

Wriggling yourself next to him, you took up any room, sitting arm to arm. “Usually, but Ronnie allowed me to take my break early today and gave me extra time, so I decided to use it wisely. And boy, did I use it well or what?” 

“Or what?” He smirked and gruffly chuckled, receiving an eye roll and a jab from your elbow.

“Haha, so funny. I'm shocked to see you out here. From the way you flared up and nearly barked at me, I'm assuming others have been taking an interest?” You roamed over potential scouters who made an effort to play their hand with him.

“No creerías la cantidad de personas que no aceptan un no por respuesta. Es increíble, si te digo que no me interesa, déjalo pasar, ¡¿por qué los idiotas insisten en ir más lejos?!” He spouted out so fast that you got lost in a vortex.

“One of these days I will learn all of that. Mark my words. Mark it!” Your finger aimed at the sky in determination.

“Ay, sorry, mi Luna. And yes, you will. I just don't understand why people can't leave me alone! Why must they persist in any sort of advancement? And it's worse when I tell them I'm taken and they still try.” He jeered out, nearly grating the bench.

It was difficult for him. There were even points where some would try and hit on him when you were right there. They were very seldom, but when they happened, it was never fun. Miguel would shut it down, but in the most Miguel way possible. His towering stature and that unnerving presence he seemingly always has.

And it really shows when someone tries anything with you. He's a formidable person, but it seemingly ramps up to the point of no return.

Nonetheless, you could imagine how much worse it must be when he's by himself.

“They probably have this idea that you're saying that just to say it. The ‘well, I don't see them here,’ thought. Or some genuinely don't understand.”

“More likely the latter.” His snarkiness jumped out at no one in particular. “Tengo momentos en los que quiero darles un espectáculo. Inclínate y-”

Your eyes flickered to his face, cocking your head to the side.

“Nevermind. Ranting at this point.”

“Alright, what's going on, mi Estrella? You gave yourself a sporadic moment to recuperate, so something is bothering you, somebody made you upset, or the mixture.” You swirled yourself so one of your legs was on the wooden seat and the other swayed, your attention all on him.

You've been able to pluck up details about him effortlessly over time. With his usual stoic attire, many have a strenuous time depicting what exactly could be wrong with him, to the point that they eventually give up. Yet he allows his barricade of stoniness to partially crumble around you, so you don't face as much strain from getting a reading as much. He doesn’t feel the need to only sanction his two main emotions, stern and militant, toward you; he can express a handful with zero inconvenience.

And he plans on leaving it that way.

“Jess’s little rookie. She's been testing my patience as of late. Very, very thin ice she's been skating on. Les dices una cosa, pero siguen insistiendo, siguen intentando insistir en un punto que no se tendrá en cuenta, pero persisten.”

His knee hastily jittered, nerves and aggravation coursing through his veins and blood. All over. Your hand hovered over it and waited for the signal. It took him a minute to pacify and decrease the jerkiness, but he felt that hand massaging his joint.

“The ghost teen, right? What has she been doing exactly?” You spoke in that serene way that soothed him temporarily.

“She’s been wanting to see this ‘friend’ of hers. She’s been pestering me non-stop about it, but she knows she isn’t allowed, yet keeps fucking insisting!” He impaled his talons into the bench, overextending his very little patience from stripping any wood off it.

“Ah, yeah, teenagers don't take it kindly when third parties tell them who they can or can't hang out with.”

“But I gave her a reason! That should be enough, and I talked to her without yelling. So I don't understand!” 

“It can go a bit deeper. If she has a strong, established bond with this person, reasoning and logic can sometimes be thrown off the table. Yes, they may understand what you're saying and may see your point, but when emotions get involved, it can be a bit finicky.” 

You mindfully removed his claw from the seat and took the other, rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles.

“Take us, for example. If someone were to forcibly tell one of us to break it off, even with or without reason, would you do it?”

Miguel furrowed his heavy brows in deep thought. “Yes? No. Maybe? No. Yes? No. I don't know.”

“Mhm, there it is. You know the logic is still there, but it's on the floor, out of sight. The emotions are still on that table.”

His hidden eyes observed your gentle hands. “Would you?”

“No. Maybe? Well, honestly, no. It depends, but I'm pretty obstinate about what I care for. It takes a lot to dissuade me, but once I have that vice grasp, you'll need an entire brigade to move me.” 

Miguel smiled, but it faltered just as fast. “I don't know what to do. I had Jess try and discuss it with her, but that fell flat. I tried to listen, but she would try and pick an argument when I gave her the known causes. It's never good enough.” He didn't bother to mask his scathing crabbiness.

You licked your lips when an idea struck. “How about you have a compromise?”

“What?”

“Compromise with her. Maybe have someone watch over her, a parental figure or guardian, when she visits him.”

“What if she gets too engrossed when we need her? Or try to do something more?”

“Keep her preoccupied, so she isn't that distracted, even though she's a teen. Well, it can help her learn balance in a way. Maybe have her sweep the area; uh, are they from the same universe?”

He shook his head.

“Well, tell her to keep an eye out for suspicious activities and document tabs to immediately give to you. She could still see him and be kept busy as well. Also, like with any teen, give her a curfew. She can dwindle and hang, but not for too long.” 

The cognitive gears in Miguel's mind began to bustle and turn. “I could—I think I can work with that.” 

You watched the inquisitive thinking process take over before he feverishly nodded his head. “Yeah, I can do something like that. I can work something around it. Are you sure you aren't a spider with that beautiful, smart brain of yours?”

He swamped you in a strong embrace. A sign of affection and a sign to make sure others stay the hell away from you two.

“Miggy! Nooo. I try to see what can fairly work, if it could work, and hope that it makes sense.”

“Well, whatever it is, don't get rid of it.”

“That's the plan. And also, you're conflicted about wanting to keep me around?” You mischievously hummed out, nestling your head in his chest.

“No, no, I'm stubborn. And even if I were to say yes, I'd still find a way back to you. You have this magnetic hold that if I were to pull away, I would come flying back right to you.”

“Now that's very sound and reassuring. And I'd say you're more iron-willed. You don't back down at all.” You smiled so largely that it seemed as if your mouth took up most of your face.

“I certainly don't. Well, maybe there's an expectation.” He stroked your hair, scratching and massaging your scalp.

“And what's that?”

“I wouldn't mind giving in for you. You, the commander, and me, the lowly, humble subordinate. Whenever you tell me to jump, I'll question it at first, then immediately do it mid-sentence. Tell me to rollover; I may. Tell me on my knees… you know, I wouldn't mind that one at all.”

Blowing a raspberry, you covered your face from the sheer implications. “Oh my gosh, Miggy. I swear you are so indecorous, I wouldn't know what to do with you!”

“I can think of many things.” He pinched your inner thigh, making you yelp and playfully chastise him as a few shifty and nosy eyes cast their way towards you two.

You wasted some time mindlessly rambling back and forth about how the day has been treating you two, from people to unremarkable tasks. The normality that he adores so much. Eventually, you both had to get back to your respective jobs. To Miguel, it was his penitentiary. He posed innocence, asking if he could take you back to your job, but you insisted that he go back so he wouldn't get in trouble.

Then he strained his eyes by giving that endearing puppy-dog look, and somehow, it ended up with him walking you halfway back.

“How are you doing, Miggy?” 

“Huh? I'm fine. My mood hasn't changed in the past five minutes.”

“No, I mean in general. It's been a minute since I asked you that, so I'm just interested. How are you feeling?”

Peering up at the partly cloudy blue sky. The moon was slightly visible, but still enough to be seen by many. 

“In general?” He had to really think.

Things have been seemingly off-putting for the past couple days. With Gwen being so keen on visiting him, the sustainable mass of anomalies surfacing frequently, and more random hounding from Jess and other spiders, he evidently cannot catch a single break. More so than before.

Even with himself, he’s been feeling weirdly skittish as of late.

“I’ve been busy, to say the least. There is more frustration dealing with missions, as you know, and things have been... abnormal. I can’t exactly explain it.”

“Right. One of those occasions where you can’t pinpoint the exact emotion. I had many moments like that, even some that came at the most inconvenient of times.” You swung your arms back and forth, jumping over some cracks in the sidewalks.

“That’s the thing, mi corazón. I feel the usual annoyance and tiredness, but there is still an unspecified emotion that I know is there. Maybe I can’t pinpoint it like you stated, but what I do know is that it’s bothering me to no end.”

You faltered a bit in your steps. You wish you could understand what he does slightly more. Being on the outside and only allowed peeks from shreds of slits in the wall isn’t the most instructive and fortuitous way of receiving information. Especially when that tall crack only opens up so much to be viewed. Maybe you could ask for him to go further into specifics or get a personal tour of the teeming headquarters itself in the near future.

That would certainly help out a lot more. However, knowing him, would he even dare to allow it?

Miguel is very acute when it comes to separating the workplace from you. Well, not fully. He purposely makes sure to not let many things slip. He's particularly precise about what he gives away to keep you in a loop and still out of it for your safety.

“If only I were more helpful to you. It sucks hearing you have to deal with all that and have so much fallback on you.”

“Ay, mi Luna, you already do so much for me.” He halted in his tracks, lightly grabbing your arm. “You bring me serenity and this sense of openness whenever I'm around you.”

He still saw the self-inflicting guilt on your face when Miguel bent down until his forehead plopped on yours.

“Want to know how else I'm feeling in general? Happy. A scarce emotion that I haven't felt since mi osita, Gabi. I honestly thought I wouldn't have ever gotten to experience it again, but here I am. So trust and believe me when I tell you, mi Luna, you have done and do so much.”

Wiping away the tears threatening to form, you smile, kissing him with tenderness and love. “You big, loveable, gorgeous oaf. Don't make me cry before work, or Ronnie will think you made me upset.”

“Ronnie doesn't scare me. I'll show her the true reason why that'll make her recoil deep into her office.”

You share an earnest laugh before leaning in for one more deep kiss.

A string snapped.

“I love you, mi Estrella.”

“Y te adoro, mi Luna.”

When you reached the midway mark, he slyly tried to escort you all the way, but you caught on and ordered him to go back to work.

“At this moment, I'm the commander, and you are?” You folded your arms and tapped your foot, throwing back what he proclaimed at the park.

“Ay dio—I'm the lowly, humble subordinate.”

“Mhm. And as your commander, I am commanding you to go back to work before they harass you any further, and that I will be okay.” You grinned; the patience and affirmation in your pitch said it all.

“Yes ma'am. I will go.”

“Good boy.”

That definitely stirred something in him.

“I'll see you later on, Miggy. Bye, mi Estrella!” You blew a kiss and strolled away.

He hated to watch you go, but he knew that at the end of the day, you'd always be there waiting. He turned and began to trudge back.

Back to that place. Back to the hellscape. The plague that never ceases. The turmoil that will never stop. Just like this itch brewing deeply. What was it? What was this incarnation dwelling inside?

The fact that he had no control over it or any logical insight into it drove him insane. Was it a guttural reaction? Was his own body betraying him, refusing to gift his mind with information that loomed on his already pressurized shoulders?

He can't sense much. No spider sense. So why was he so hunched over this? Why does it seem that there's an arbitrary danger lurking somewhere?

Did the room become faintly... dimmer?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

[communist-ant-hill]

OFMD and Revenge

I've been seeing a lot of posts focusing on characters getting comeuppance for their bad actions in this fandom lately.

People are talking about Izzy getting off easy since no one knows that Ed's behaviour is "his fault" or Ed being punished or Stede etc and like,,, no?

If that's what people want then like I get that and I see you, you're feelings make sense and they're about the furthest you can get from an unfounded opinion but that isn't really the approach ofmd seems to be taking when it comes to revenge.

In season 1 we have three major characters who's character arcs are focused on revenge; Jim, Chauncey and Izzy. Their quests for revenge are never framed as desireable.

Jim is basically done with their revenge quest for most of the show, all they really want is getting their knife back, until they return to their home where they're basically shamed for letting go of their grudge. Them continuing to avenge their family is shown to be detrimental. They leave their friends behind and Jackie outright tells them that it's not worth it.

Chauncey is just a flat-out villain this season. Like we get why he's going after Stede, I'd even say the show makes us sympathise with him, but it's also very obvious to us that he's hurting himself and the people around him by refusing to let go.

Izzy want's Blackbeard back, he's stuck in the past and he also develops a grudge against Stede specifically. These are the reasons he becomes one of our main antagonists in season 1.

But this is made even more obvious in season 2, which is why I find it so weird that a lot of people are still rooting for the possability of Izzy being punished.

I think Ed's storyline this season is the shows clearest declaration on how it's going to handle redemption and comeuppance going forward. Ed is pushed over the ledge at the end of season 1 and so far his s2 arc has been focusing on his awful coping mechanisms with trauma and guilt. He's been doing worse and worse things to the characters we love and he fucking hates himself for it. He keeps punishing himself for doing bad things by doing something worse. It's very similar to Chaunceys framing in s1 if you think about it. And he's to scared to stop because he belives that he's unredeemable, that there's no one waiting for him on the other side.

But his crew, his friends, Izzy, Stede even his own imagination (Hornigold) are telling him that he can let go of his anger and that if he'd just show them that remorse without also hurting them, they'd be there. Ed punishing himself isn't helping anyone.

And if we disregard the fact that Izzy has already lost a leg to a long and painfull infection, not to mention the fuckton of mental trauma, we see that he has put himself on the road to redemption by taking accountability for his personal actions as well as protecting the crew from Blackbeard.

Yeah he's technically one of the reasons that Ed is in such a bad place right now, but if the revenge crew aren't insanely pissed at Stede for Ed's behaviour then do ya'll really think they'd react that poorly to finding out about Izzy's involvement?

Like they've been there with him, they've seen the abuse he's endured by Blackbeard and the messed up relationship they have together. I'm pretty sure they'd all agree that he's been through enough.

Yeah he's a dick, and they've basically always known him to be one, but he's their dick.

Idk I just think people are a bit to caught up in moral absolutes here when really the happiest ending for everyone involved would be for the characters to forgive themselves for the pain they've caused, and to free themselves of their personal grudges so that they can properly heal.

[bengiyo]

Theory of Love Rewatch Ep 1 Stray Thoughts

This rewatch is sponsored by @lurkingshan. Shan has the rare honor of being the only straight white person to respect my tastes in the last 15 years and successfully convince me to watch two things that I went on to enjoy immensely. She convinced me to try Coffee Prince when I was willing to engage with kdrama and pushed me over the episode 10 slump. She also convinced me to watch the Pornographer series again, which I found essential. I've given her coupons to use to recommend things to me, and she's chosen to make me reengage with Theory of Love.

I didn't walk away from this show feeling great about it or myself in 2019. I identified with Third a lot, and also hated their entire friend group. I also thought Earth and White went to waste in BL again (I watched Water Boyy the series). So we're going into this on shaky ground. I kindly ask that you not argue with me in my notes about why you love this show.

Let's get started.

Right away I am reminded that I am not immune to Gun Atthaphan mooning over classic romance films that his character has protected way too much into.

Khai choosing to not mess around with folks in his faculty is a pretty good boundary for a player.

So, it's not Khai's fault that Third fell in love with him. Still, I understand the stress and angst of crushing on a straight boy who loves you platonically. Coming out is not easy, especially when you're one of the boys.

Okay, Third pouring a bottle of water over his head to be dramatic is too much. He is unwell.

Gun having second billing on this show is homophobic.

Ep 01: Best Friends

I wonder if Gun wants to produce and direct.

That line about having hundreds of girls if not for Khai feels kinda funny. Like are you gay, sir?

Goddamn this GETSUNOVA song still fucking slaps.

I forgot how this seaweed snack kept the lights on through Bad Buddy.

12,000 baht to see Blackpink? Couldn't be me.

I don't feel bad for Third about these tickets. He said no to getting them, so Khai isn't a dick for getting them from a scalper.

This is extremely tacky of Khai to start shit at someone's screening like this.

They curb stomped Khai for that behavior. You love to see an instant comeuppance.

Okay, but sending Third to reject Milk is clearly his specialty.

I wanted to know what they said about the Toy Story trilogy, especially since Khai did a Vulcan salute.

Third has a Winnie the Pooh, Astro Boy, and Chucky doll in his room. I have questions.

Khai ditching Third on a lie isn't cool and also feels unnecessary since he canceled on Third for a girl earlier. Is it because it was Milk?

Okay, but Khai is also right that he didn't tell Third to throw her shit away.

Ah, Two finds him at the end of the episode to try and keep Third invested.

This show is very different for me in 2023, because now that I'm older I'm doing what I can. I'm not trapped in a spiral frustrated and pining after a guy I struggled to get over. My living situation is also different. There's also so much more BL better suited to my tastes. Me reading Gun a certain way doesn't cover for Third the way it did in 2019, so his bisexual angst about the girls he hasn't scored because of Khai doesn't track as sympathetic this time. I'm also struggling to see what holds Third to Khai. He's just like most dudes I know. Sometimes he's a good bro and recognizes your efforts when you do something he asked for, but they never notice what you do that they didn't ask for.

It'll be interesting continuing this watch, because I've never been an OffGun girlie, and now that I've projected my gay angst into other projects I feel less connected to Third. Now I'm just frustrated for him and also a little irritated.

[sirenascelestiales]

Honestly, considering the show/writers never acknowledged Daphne’s marital rape of her husband, and they only had a slight acknowledgment of Edwina’s feelings on Kate x Anthony, like I don’t think there will be a satisfactory resolution to Pen’s betrayal of the Bridgertons (Marina/Colin and Eloise/Theo) or of Eloise’s “friendship” with Cressida (and anything else she might do as “revenge”).

I think they’ll blow over the latter “I said I’d rather die than be her friend and I still mean it” and hugs all around or some other scene like that (which I know is simple and that’s my point). And Pen will apologize and confess that cause she’s so in love with Colin and she wanted to be noticed and she’ll be forgiven without much else from Colin. And maybe a little more for Eloise, if that.

(Spoiler’s for the books in case people care about that).

They forgive her for Whistledown in the books, Colin is worried more about her being revealed as Whistledown than her writing shit about him (tho nothing she writes is like Marina/Colin is not in the books. Daphne basically forgives her for anything she wrote about that but tbh she doesn’t seem to mind anyway). And, they like sorta acknowledge it as “wtf” thing, but it’s blown over quickly imo. “Oh well that’s nice dear” sorta reaction. And Eloise does have even more of a backbone than in the books but idk I just don’t see why and what people seem to want out of Bridgerton.

Eloise is going to somehow befriend and fall in love with Crane! You’re telling me the girl running around with Theo and “radicals” will suddenly fall for the guy boring the fuck out of Marina?

Like, I’m sorry but Bridgerton is pretty people hooking up with a regency background. They will not “do right” by most people’s standards of how the characters should act and how to apologize (Daphne and Simon make up after professing deep love in the rain! Anthony is shocked into confessing for real cause Kate fell of a horse! It’s for DRAMA, and then it’s resolved kinda easily?)

I’ve seen some more of nuanced takes against Pen, at least these people aren’t reducing her to a fat villain (cause when they did that I could not take them seriously 😒). And honestly a lot of it is fair, that’s good! The writers don’t care.

But now I keep seeing people hating Eloise to the point that they want a comeuppance that is not proportional to her “revenge”…and like… it won’t be as serious as y’all are making it to be. This “revenge”. Like please, the writers aren’t going to suddenly take this world seriously. See above and those are just 1 example for each season!

If they wanted to acknowledge all the hurt Pen put people through and make her work to become a better person, they could! I just don’t think they will because it’s 8 episodes per season and in this season they’re trying to find a way to get Colin and Pen together and Eloise and Pen as friends again by end of season. I don’t think they’ll extend a conflict into Ben’s season (I actually hope they don’t, I like Ben and Sophie’s story for the most part and while I love Anthony and Kate they shouldn’t be the focus either).

Idk what people expect I guess. if you’re watching it for Pen to be taken down a notch… might not be the season for you. If you’re hate watching I guess tag it with “anti” whatever and not the regular tags?

I’m sorry if you think she does not deserve an happy ending, I don’t necessarily disagree that she’s undeserving of some crow eating for what she’s done. However, I don’t think the writers care to make her go through that. And I don’t watch Bridgerton for brilliant character development that I think some of y’all want.

That being said I’m curious about how they’ll manage LW post Colin x Penelope marriage. In the books it basically disappears, and maybe they can use that to have a build up to Pen! However that means to me making their relationship last longer than as season and I do not want that for any of the couples.

[idontbelievethehype]

This isn't for you. Part 3. F.S.

Farleigh gets the upper hand, and then almost immediately loses it.

Warnings: Oliver Quick is a menace and doesn't understand consent. I don't write reader insert. This fic contains an OFC with a personality and dreams and thoughts.

Farleigh held his anger in his stomach. He always had. It would curdle and churn in his gut, threatening to force its way out, and he would swallow it down every time. When he was a teen, he became convinced that he had an ulcer. He’d lie on the floor hugging himself around the middle every time he came home from another event where he was treated like a civilian by the ruling class that he was meant to be a part of.

He knew those people inside and out. He watched them. He felt their twisting, turning disingenuous politeness wind around the room like a boa constrictor. He was them.

Only Maggie could see it. Felix and Venetia were whimsically lost in their own youth, but Maggie was self-aware and she was also aware of him. It was always a relief when she would walk through the door and rearrange the seating cards while no one was looking. She’d seat them together and keep one soft, grazing hand on his knee, grounding him. Who would tell her no?

At dinner with the Henry’s, Farleigh would have given anything to see her to his left once again. He found himself only half-listening to the conversation as he imagined her slipping her shoes off under the table and making small talk with the Henry to her left. But she wasn’t there, and the anger of Felix’s betrayal  was sitting like a weight in the pit of his stomach.

During karaoke, Oliver decided to pick at his fresh wound, and it only built the anger more. They flirted and whispered, Farleigh softened by so much liquor coursing through his bloodstream. Oliver brought up Venetia, money, shame. All in minimally veiled seduction.

“If you ever want me to talk to them,” The little rat murmured in his sing-song baby voice, his lifeless shark eyes forming perfect circles. “I know what you’re going through.”

It was sickening, the way he turned the puppy-dog eyes on and pouted his lips. Oliver obviously believed that Farleigh was interested in him. He was unconventionally attractive. A composite sketch of striking features. Farleigh felt nothing but annoyance though.

Still, he swallowed it down, choosing instead to be stalwart and flirtatious over showing his cards.

“It’s time to change things up a bit.” Farleigh tucked the song book under his arm and skimmed through the catalogue, finding exactly the right tune to humiliate the boy. “Oliver, you’re up!”

Taking his place toward the back of the room, he danced and sang along, thoroughly enjoying watching Oliver sink into embarrassment right there in front of everyone. It didn’t seem to truly hit anyone until he sang the lines “I love you. You pay my rent.”

It was beautiful. It was horrifying. It was a perfect little moment of comeuppance.

“This is your song too Farleigh.” Oliver held the microphone out, his face beet red and sweat beading around his hairline and upper lip.

“Only if you insist!” Farleigh shimmied through the lounging guests, snatching the microphone. He was born to perform, and he did. Court jester. Minstrel to his own family. It didn’t embarrass him. He knew exactly where his place was. He was determined to remind Oliver of his.

That night, he’d meant to call Maggie but he was far too drunk and it was far too late. He wasn’t in bed until quarter to three. He felt better. The anger was there. It was often there. But it was dissipating. Taking up residence elsewhere in his body at least.

Just as he drifted off, feeling a glee at the small revenge of the night, something heavy knocked him awake. He opened his eyes to something far worse than a sleep paralysis demon. It was Oliver.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Farleigh moved to lift his arms but Oliver had them pinned to his sides with his knees.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Oliver was cast completely in shadow, only the blue moonlight from the window reaching his face.

“I think you’re in the wrong fucking room.” To this point, Farleigh had felt a lot of things about Oliver, but fear certainly wasn’t one of them. Now, he was genuinely afraid. This was unhinged behavior. This was completely insane.

“Am I?” Oliver spoke in a husky voice. It was soft and sinister. “Are you going to behave from now on, Farleigh?”

He almost laughed. Really? A power play? He was downright transparent. “No.”

Behind his back, Oliver’s hand crept into the sheet that was barely separating their bodies. Strong fingers wrapped themselves around soft flesh growing harder.

“Are you going to behave?”

Farleigh gulped down the urge to buck the smaller man off of him. He could shove him off. He could stop him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. “No?”

The hand squeezed harder, moving now. This was sick. It was hot, but it was sick.

“Don’t make me ask again.” Oliver knew what he was doing. He could feel it. They both could feel it.

Farleigh nodded his head quickly, minimally. Upset about giving in.

Oliver was close enough that Farleigh could smell his sickly sweet breath. It smelled of fruity cocktails and pineapple slices. “Say it.”

“I-I’m going to behave.” Farleigh let go completely, his stomach in knots. The anger was back, but so was desire. Disgusting, irritating desire. The thing that always got him into trouble.

Still close, Oliver spit into his hand, and Farleigh gave himself over wholly.

In the morning, Farleigh woke up to a deep, revolting shame. He felt sticky and queasy. He’d let Oliver win. He’d been bested. But more than that, he hadn’t wanted it to happen. He wondered if that was how Venetia had felt. Used.

He tried to wash it all away in the shower, but there was that anger again. Just where he’d left it too.

He was getting dressed when Duncan burst into his room, startling him.

“What the fuck?” He jumped back. Not even a knock? What was going on in Saltburn lately?

“Gather your things.” Duncan lifted his suitcase from the corner, plopping it onto his bed. “You’re to be out immediately.”

It was the coldness in his voice that scared Farleigh the most. He’d never been spoken to like that. He tried to question him but Duncan was gone before he could even form thoughts.

Farleigh made a b-line to James’ office, knocking once before letting himself into the open door.

“James, what’s going on?” He was only met with more icy stares.

Elspeth was sitting in the corner chair, looking pensive, an expression that didn’t suit her. James was at his desk, both hands laid flat on his thighs.

“Really, Farleigh? After everything we’ve done for you?” James took off his glasses, expression pained. “Attempting to steal from us?”

“What? How?” Farleigh moved to sit down but Duncan came in and ushered him toward the door. “No! Wait-how? I haven’t gone anywhere? How could I have stolen anything? Why would I do that?”

In the hall, only Elspeth followed.

“There has to be a mistake. I haven’t-“ He was cut off by Duncan’s hand on his shoulder pushing him toward the door.

“Darling, you mustn’t make such a fuss. Please behave yourself.” Elspeth looked angry. It was another new expression he hadn’t seen.

Before he could even process another thought, he was out the servant’s door and sitting in a car. The trunk slammed hard as his things were loaded in.

“Where to, then?” The driver asked, not even turning around to see him blubbering and snotty in the back seat.

Finally, he managed to choke out, “Daylesford House. Gloucestershire.”

[originalitysquared]

I was just thinking about being 10 years old and like.

I was so depressed my grades were slipping and my mom ... sigh. My mom. Ok, let's back track.

My mom liked to fuck around with schools. When I was a kid my mom had the overwhelming urge to have this big movie style comeuppance with schools for some reason. She wasn't very good at school and she loved playing the tired, overworked mom who comes in and makes everything good for her kid. Think Erin Brockovich. I don't have the best memory of much of that year, but she took it upon herself one day to talk to my teacher about me. It was before class, and my mom never really was the kind to walk in with me to school. I remember I had been happy that mom was getting ready to go to school with me, too. But then she wanted to talk to my teacher about me. So, caught off guard, my teacher just speaks with her outside the class. I don't even remember any of this day at all, I just know what happened. My mom started getting loud and arguing and she wanted to talk to the principal, so we did. omg I remember his office. and I was so scared because I had never been to the principal's office. my mom just starts telling off my principal too, and saying that she wants me moved schools. My principal is saying it's not possible, cause school districts and she just gets up and we leave and she takes me to the other school. I really didn't like the teacher I was given. It was the superintendent's wife. I have more clear memories of this classroom but I think because this teacher just sucked so bad. I think she didn't want to be mean to me, but she really didn't like me. I have stories about this whole year omg. It was so much more traumatic to move me omg. My mom just made everything worse and never actually tried talking to me or trying to find out what was going on that made my grades start slipping.

I got molested.

[fluffs-palace]

Mc questions;

All Mc's, if allowed, if not the same as Tai; #9 is the greatest fear.

x

(Since its all 7 of them, im just gonna do lil blurbs minus Samuels instead of the longer short stories like his)

CW: Mentions of eating disorders, PTSD like behavior

Question 9

Greatest Fear

Lyari

White hair. Honeyed complexion. Half lidded eyes. Bright colors. Barely an inch under his partner. The same partner she was constantly being mistaken for. Always a "Oh, Asra! It's been so long. Did you grow out your hair?" or "Have your eyes always been that color, Asra? I could swear they were different." It wasn't until she spoke, most times, that they finally realize she was a completely different person. She is, isn't she? They aren't going to just live the rest of his life in his better half's shadow, right? Yeah. Yeah. Eventually they'll find his familiar. She'll figure out what magicks she specializes in. Make his own gate one day. Things wont always just stay the same forever.... right?

Marsom

The city in general makes him uneasy after everything that happened but the palace is a whole other level of freaked out. He's afraid to ever step foot back in its halls, but he sucks it up since he still has to sometimes— even if he still wakes up in a cold sweat after the nightmares it's given him or still has to go hide in a closet to avoid a meltdown. If you asked him, though, he'd say his biggest fear was possums.

Osanna

This little lady doesn't exactly have the best relationship with food. Being the Court Magician isn't always what its cracked up to be; she's got a lot of stress resting upon her shoulders. Not to mention the burdens she tries to carry for Nadia too. Meals or snacks could easily be summoned at any point, where ever and whenever she wanted them. She knows she shouldn't, but for some reason she cant bring herself to stop... so she eats and eats to the point of making herself sick. She worries one day she might not be able to stop from eating herself into an early grave. Of course Nadia would never let that happen but its a slow process.

Samuel

X

Seli

She'd always felt uneasy for some reason she could never put her finger on. Asra would never tell her anything, obviously. It stayed in the back of her mind, though. A constant nagging feeling. Then she'd start to get bits and pieces from outside sources, or things Asra would let slip absentmindedly. Something was catching up to her, and, from what she could tell, it wasn't good. The last thing Seli would ever let happen is her own fuck-ups cause pain to those around her. She had to make sure whatever it was either never finished their leg of the race or that it was dealt with before they could.

Tai

They've always had a simple life. Asra even corroborates that from their life before. With memories. One set of clothes for as long as they could remember until Valerius. A little garden all to themselves until starting to share with Portia. They were content with that, too, until him. Until being swept away by sass and hidden feelings. Until they started doubting. They weren't fancy. It was obvious Tai didnt exactly belong at the palace. How did they end up with the biggest snob in the joint? Honestly. They can't meet up to his standards at all. He puts them in pretty clothes now, but they're still that same little country bumpkin underneath. Are they even good enough for him? Does he actually care about them or is it just some stunt? It cant be. Nah. They're fine. Everything's fine.

Vaura

They love Lucio with all their heart, but they also know he wasn't the greatest man before they met. In fact, he still isn't. Everyone has their flaws, right? Regardless of that, they would fight tooth and nail to make damn sure his past never caught up with him. Whether that be deals unpaid or a corrupt return to past actions, they couldn't care less. Maybe that made them a little morally grey, sure. Should he get his comeuppance? Probably— but not while they have a say in it. They would keep what they had taken.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

hello I feel like I owe you an apology for being so blunt with asking for the “pb/antifa whump”, I get that probably threw you and a lot of other people off. The reason I’ve been asking for this stuff was because I always thought that there could be a really interesting story with the theme of the pb/antifa, given their history with each other, and when I discovered this whump community I thought it would be interesting to see a story like that involving whump. But anyway, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.

Friend, listen, I'm willing to play devil's advocate for you because liking whump really is something that involves a complicated moral standpoint for some people. I mean look at me, I'm happily making thirst traps of a serial killer who tortures and assaults his victims, and other people eat that shit up. Who am I to draw the line in the sand?

But that request is, I think, too real for most people's taste. At least here. PB brutalizing individuals personally and at rallies are already a dime a dozen, unfortunately. Why would I seek out a serialization of what I can get 20 news articles on from a Google search? That's not a narrative I or a reader can control to our liking, that's just a sad reality a lot of people have to suffer through.

Not to mention there's no fun in rooting for a villain like that. There's no comeuppance, there's no redemption, there's no sinister nature we can safely explore. Incredible, the white supremacist beats the shit out of someone who's more than likely queer/POC/underage/etc or any combination and faces no repercussions. That's not something a lot of people want to read for fun, especially when they themself are more likely to identity as the whumpee in this scenario, which further reinforces the horrible truth they already deal with in real life.

It'd be like asking for a KKK!Whumper and a BLM!Whumpee, or an ICE!Whumper and an immigrant!Whumpee, or a shooter!Whumper and a student!Whumpee. Can you seek out, or even write these situations yourself? Sure. Genuinely wouldn't surprise me if there are people out there who happily create that kind of content. But...why? Don't you get enough of that injustice in real life? Why does it being fictional make it any better when it honestly isn't as fictional as you think.

But then, of course, it all comes back around to: who am I to tell you what you can and can't like in whump? Who's anyone to say how far is too far when we go about our day mercilessly brutalizing (or killing) silly little characters for the fun of it? They don't get happy endings, they don't get justice, so why get upset over this?

I can't answer that, I'm not a sociologist or philosophy major. So I'll just say that that's territory that goes too far for me, and I think it does for most people here on Tumblr which is a fairly left leaning/liberal platform all things considered. You aren't going to find that kind of content from me. Now that's not say I might never write a whumpee character experiencing some form of verbal/physical assault due to their race/gender/orientation and so on, but it's not the focus and it's most certainly not meant to be the highlight of the arc.

If you genuinely want recc's for that, I'd recommend giving 4chan a browse. They love violence and owning the libs, I'm sure someone has a couple greentexts of what you're looking for at the very least.

And again, you're more than welcome to make your own content to share, but if that's the vibe you're going with then you're not going to get very many fans here. We do our best to put content warnings for EVERYTHING in our writing/art because different things trigger different people even if we're all in the same fucked up li'l community.

Good luck in your endeavors, my dude. You won't find it on my blog.

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching Time Is on My Side

Welcome to “He's not even staying caught up on his reading: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

  Up today, s3e15: Time is on My Side.

    Dean's running out of time and Sam's getting desperate to save him, so Sam convinces his brother to head to Ohio to investigate cases of folks getting abducted and then waking up without certain organs. Secretly Sam suspects it's the reappearance of a zombie-like doctor their father hunted years ago, and he wants to learn the dude's secret to long life. Turns out it comes with a heavy price that Dean refuses to pay. Cue the gross-out organ harvesting scenes and fraught boys.

  Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

  Lor:

cool. gross dudes.

  Mace:

  HA! YEP

  Lor:

maybe one of them will get a supernatural comeuppance

Mace:

  it’s just possible

  Lor:

juuuust maybe

  Mace:

snork

  Mace:

  EW

  Lor:

yeeeeah

  Mace:

  any nurse worth her salt wouldn’t react like that, I’d think

  Lor:

RIGHT?

  Lor:

especially if she's an ER nurse or ER triage. come on

  Lor:

oh when will these demons learn that you don't insult a Winchester's family?

  Mace:

  he’s using the Dean Voice

  Lor:

he IS

  Mace:

  right?

  Lor:

like, don't they have a demon bulletin board on Hell Commons, or something?

  Mace:

HAHAHAHA

  Mace:

  oooof. Dean’s face

  Lor:

YES

  Mace:

  the other other white meat

  Lor:

LOL

  Lor:

"I mean, obviously, I want to hunt some ZOMBIES"

  Lor:

"excuse me. no, no we're very smart"

  Lor:

"you done?" " "I think so"

  Mace:

HAHAHAHA DEAN

  Mace:

  he’s hopped up on zombie excitement

  Lor:

he is

  Lor:

people are really bringing the sarcasm to the boys today

  Mace:

  they really are

  Lor:

"DUDE I'm EATING"

  Mace:

  HAHAHAHA

  Lor:

"antiques roadshow surgery" omg Dean

  Mace:

  YAS

  Lor:

SAM WINCHESTER stop trying to make Dean go off his food. poor muffin has three weeks to live

  Mace:

  I’m gonna have to go with Laura on this one, Sam. Maybe lay off a bit.

  Lor:

ooooo, Sammy. now you really know you've been bad

  Mace:

  *SNORK*

  Lor:

gaaaaah the heart monitor in the watch

  Mace:

  right?!

  Lor:

RUFUS

  Lor:

oh Sam

  Mace:

YES

  Mace:

  and yeah

  Lor:

oh no fraught brothers

  Mace:

YEP

  Mace:

  poor sweet stubborn yahoos

  Lor:

RIGHT?

  Lor:

"Sammy, be careful" "you too"

  Lor:

you two numbnuts COULD just say you love each other. the world will not end if you actually say that to your brother

  Lor:

omg his little grin to the security camera

  Mace:

  SNORK YES

  Lor:

"don't ‘look man, me’"

  Lor:

and he immediately switches to sir

  Lor:

adorable

  Mace:

you know, if we were in the bunker, we wouldn’t ever let the fraught get so far. we’d sit them down and not let either of them go off on their own all poutypants

  Mace:

  YES

  Lor:

OMG Rufus's grin when Dean pulls out the scotch

  Lor:

YES

  Mace:

  YES

  Lor:

"because I know things"

  Lor:

I love him

  Mace:

  YES

  Lor:

"ain't you a bucket of sunshine"

  Mace:

  ooof. DEAN.

  Lor:

RIGHT?

  Lor:

(also, serious fuck 327. if someone has been told his whole life he's gonna die awful or turn into a hollow husk of a man, you DON'T HAVE THAT HAPPEN AT THE END)

  Mace:

  (RIGHT?!?!)

  Lor:

he'll do anything once

  Mace:

omg DEAN WINCHESTER

  Mace:

  HAHAHAHA

  Lor:

LOLOL

  Mace:

  SAMMY NO

  Lor:

RIGHT?

  Lor:

Sam, this is where you turn around and get out and come back later with Dean

  Mace:

RIGHT?!

  Mace:

  I can’t believe we have to yell at him about this sort of thing AGAIN

  Lor:

silly Stringbean

  Mace:

  He may need punishing

  Lor:

SNORK

  Lor:

why would anyone want to live forever if all they do is find people to take their parts so they can keep living forever? like, he's not even staying caught up on his reading or anything

  Mace:

  HAHAHAHAHA OMG LOR I WAS JUST THINKING THAT

  Lor:

OMG I LOVE IT

  Mace:

  yas

  Lor:

OMG turning on the light switch with the gun

  Mace:

  YES

  Lor:

also the pinning to t wall

  Mace:

YAAASSSS

  Mace:

  HE’S SO STERN

  Lor:

he IS

  Lor:

oooof he lying

  Lor:

*her

  Mace:

Yep

  Mace:

  i knew what you meant

  Lor:

you good. I know you generally speak Lor gibberish

  Mace:

  HAHAHA

  Lor:

"whaddya mean no?"

  Mace:

OH DEAN

  Mace:

  yeah

  Lor:

oh Sam

  Lor:

oh god eye stuff

  Lor:

behind the sofa

  Mace:

YUP

  Mace:

EWEWEW

  Mace:

  smarty dean

  Lor:

YES

  Lor:

"wakey wakey eggs and bacy" omg

  Mace:

  YAS

  Lor:

I don't get the mechanics of this ep. if he's immortal to the point he can get stabbed and it doesn't matter, why do his organs wear out?

  Mace:

  right

  Lor:

I’m not usually fussed about that kind of handwavey stuff, but this one bugs me for some reason? maybe bc Sam thinks they can save Dean with it?

  Mace:

  yeah

  Lor:

omg the screaming over the black screen

  Mace:

  YES

  Lor:

dang she is cold

  Mace:

yep

  Mace:

  it was so totally Dean’s idea to use the sex dolls

  Lor:

DEFINITELY

  Lor:

dang, Dean's kinda cold here too. not that I think there's anything he could do in three minutes

  Mace:

he kinda is

  Mace:

  i think him being hard on her is him being hard on himself here

  Lor:

ooooo yeah

  Lor:

also he has no idea WHY she killed her parents, so he thinks she's just a greedy person who makes deals to kill family for money

  Lor:

and we all know how that kind of thing would go over with him

  Mace:

yeah

  Mace:

  this is one of the places where his knee-jerk judgement makes him just a little less than perfect

  Lor:

yep

  Lor:

which is part of why he's such a good character

  Mace:

  just a little, though

  Lor:

only a SMIDGE

[malewifesband]

i dont think popular discourse around jkr has addressed enough that jkr fucking hates women. umbridges comeuppance was being picked up and carried off by centaurs--the mythological creature known for rape, which she damn well knows--and then returned physically unharmed but with severe ptsd, as demonstrated by her heros making horsehoof sounds and laughing when she panics at it. so rape is a funny punishment for women you dont like

she in general seems to think rape is pretty funny since theres multiple instances of women drugging men with love potions, raping them (or sexually assaulting them for her teen characters), and it being played as a joke or as if the man is being unreasonable for not wanting to be raped when he finds out throughout her work

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

*slurps tea and looks at the discussion*

I disagree a bit. Like yeah, Fae/Yokai regularly show that they not truly get human interpersonal connection, but kitsune and other trickters do so. And Mystery is an experienced kitsune. He is old, very much so. He spawned an entire forest by feeding his blood to a plant and had his nest there for quite some time. Even if Mushi came to the forest in the last days of the samurai, which would be around the 1870s, Mystery would have around 140 years to learn close relationships with humans not by just watching them but being a part of their family.

Many tricksters use openly the ways humans act. They know their ways around it and poke at the weak points of traditions, e.g. Reineke Fuchs in the German folklore, or personal weaknesses to get their way. Even if their mountain of lies gets discovered, they often come back out on the top. Their lies can the uncovered, though, and their misdeeds can have hurtful and lethal consequences. But tricksters are fucking slippery eels that do not repent if not taken and confronted of their mistakes or misdeeds by others. They do not do it out of free will. Another repeating situation is that a lie or a misdeed of a trickster spirals out of control until the trickster is unable to avoid the consequences anymore. And this is what happens in the videos from Mystery's perspective. Karma.

Even if Mystery has problems understanding humans, he is very aware that Arthur gets fucking PTSD episodes by him (seeing by him shrugging off Arthur's freak out in video 2 with an awkward smile to Vivi and by extrapolating with him being the only one who was conscious after Lewis died to... well... bring Arthur to urgent care and thus leaving Lewis behind) and he has to be aware about what happened in the cave and keeps his silence. Why? Because no one is able to confront him about his mistakes.

But Shiromori is doing that. Shiromori is his main past mistake and she comes to confront him. She is unavoidable and it scares the fucking shit out of him. The group one... I do not see Mystery open up about that one, but that is because stuff keeps on happening in the videos and no one has time for a breather. But I hope that when the whole 'possessed by Reverb' is over, we get a scene like that. Arthur is not the type to confront Mystery. But I imagine Vivi to be livid (as soon as it is clear that Mystery is safe and sound and alive), especially since Mystery was the only one able to be there for her best friend while she was under a spell. And I can imagine Lewis also being bitter towards him, because Mystery had the ability to stop Lewis and force a talk. So being the one being able to stop him from literally throwing Arthur off a cliff in a rage. Because I do not believe that this is one thing that Lewis will let slide, for himself and Mystery.

We as the audience can see that, but it is prime time that Mystery should get a real kick in the arse. I hope Mystery does not die in video 5, but that instead he has to confront his past mistakes and keep on working to make up for it.

We know that Mystery cares for the group. But Vivi is his priority. He leaves Arthur's side to look for her and keep her safe as the poor, sleepdeprived and haunted dude crashes the car and gets... left for Lewis to collect... *coughs* I do not see Mystery thinking: Well, Lewis won't hurt Arthur. I more see Mystery having his priorities on his family, which is Vivi... and maybe Shiromori. So personally, I see his comeuppance being between those two, with Lewis and Arthur being people he can't go to for having left them. He needs consequences for his inaction. Inaction is also an action. And his actions hurt all the people around him and got some nearly killed.

Pfew, this became a big rant and I rewrote it like three times. I hope it is still coherent. If you find sentences that are halfwritten in the wall of text. Sorry, sleep deprived lizard brain bad. Have a nice day. I love shitting on Mystery(affectionally)

hmm ok vaguely in order response,

yeah, that's what i meant by "explanation, not excuse." like i hope when i say that people get that i dont mean "he should have magically overcome this inherent problem!" and more "it was tangibly, easily available for him to do better if he cared to." if that makes sense. does that make sense? like yeah, mystery does all this lying and deception because he's a supernatural creature, but he also does it bc he's a shithead who doesn't care enough to do better.

ive actually written, i think a couple different fics where vivi chews mystery out/is pissed at him in the background, generally my like, fic-canon for post-future is that vivi's Pissed at him and he is Experiencing Consequences even if it isn't the main focus. i don't remember how many of those i've posted though. i know it's at least one. i don't think i've ever done anything where lewis is the one to Get Mad though—usually bc lewis is too busy having his own "holy fuck i almost killed my best friend" guilt nightmare to even like, notice mystery existing. that's a good point, and a fun idea, though. hmm.

and lol @ mystery caring about vivi. no he does not. this is mystery who pulled a just-got-hit-over-the-head, probably-concussed vivi out of the back of the van and dropped her on the pavement in front of shiromori, and then just sat there spectating while she panic-dueled this supernatural being to protect him and only stepped in when she was seconds from getting stabbed to death. he obviously doesn't care That much.

i wouldn't hold my breath for him getting any kind of comeuppance in canon though, i feel like in canon and in the fandom at large he gets kind of a free pass/sympathy tone and people just kind of ignore all the things he's directly made worse. maybe the tide's turned on him recently tho, idk, i feel like this time when i went off on my "fuck mystery" tangent i got a lot more agreement than i used to, but maybe that's just the blog environment i've cultivated lol. i haven't been keeping up with the rest of the fandom really at all so i have no idea if people have better opinions now

[violetreminder]

Happy Willamette Outbreak Day!

So today is the day where Frank West first arrives at the Willamette Parkview Mall, and as I start typing this it is in fact 11:27 AM, the exact time that Dead Rising 1 starts as Frank West is flown over Colorado. To celebrate I thought I'd write a little about Dead Rising 1's story and why it holds up so well even in comparison to its sequels bc I just love this game so much!

So then, what is the *deal* with Dead Rising? Well firstly it should be mentioned that this game came out in 2006, right in the middle of the mid-00's zombie craze. I say this because what sets Dead Rising apart from its numerous peers of "yet another piece of zombie fiction inspired by the works of Romero" is that Dead Rising is seemingly one of the few of these to actually understand Romero's films and their messages instead of just having zombies around because they're popular and scary. Specifically, those in "Dawn of The Dead", which it cribs to the point Capcom put disclaimers out saying that DR isnt associated with DotD.

The parallels are obvious: both stories revolve around people trying to survive in a shopping mall amid a zombie apocalypse using whatever is on hand not only against the zombified hordes, but fellow humans driven to extreme violence. Both also overtly critique American consumerism though Dead Rising takes the established themes from DotD and runs farther with them, but for more on that let's jump back a little bit to remember the plot to DR1

So in brief: Dead Rising tells the story of photojournalist Frank West, who flies to the quarantined town of Willamette, CO amid supposed 'civil unrest' to try and land a career-making scoop. Upon arriving at the town's shopping mall Frank is shocked to find out Willamette is overrun by zombies who soon-after overturn the barricades and flood into the shopping center. After a couple days of aiding/investigating a pair of DHS agents also trapped with him in the security room, Frank comes to realize the dark truth:

The Willamette outbreak is the result of a terrorist attack perpetrated in an act of revenge on the US government for a brutal coverup of the original zombie outbreak in the Central American town of Santa Cabeza, which occurred after US-backed researchers mutated a local species of parasitic wasp in an effort to increase cattle growth so as to sustain American eating habits. Frank at some point becomes infected, though with some help is able to synthesize a temporary cure. This lasts long enough for Frank to escape amidst the chaos of a military clean-up operation and reveal the truth about both Willamette and Santa Cabeza.

Again the parallels are clear, neither story is very subtle about the destruction consumerism causes, though Dead Rising goes a little farther to add a light colonialist aspect. While the origin of Dawn of the Dead's outbreak was an unimportant mystery serving only to set the scene, Dead Rising frames its zombies as an act of almost righteous comeuppance, the US "Finding Out" after "Fucking Around" in Santa Cabeza and the decades of US imperialism leading up to that, if you will. These themes also extend beyond just the shared vision of zombies shambling around a mall vacantly pushing shopping carts and into the world design of Dead Rising itself, for instance:

Dead Rising fans have remarked for almost two decades now that Willamette is a fairly small town for supposedly having a population over 50,000, and that even if this number holds true then the Willamette Parkview Mall is absolutely massive for a population that size. Honestly even just two of these plazas would likely still be too big [for reference, I live in a city of over 177,000 people and our main mall is about a quarter the size of Willamette Parkview Mall]

[above images taken from STiP0 on youtube, who has loads of great videos on DR1] While some of that may just be down to the scope of the game and what the developers were able to make/what they felt was strictly needed (Why model a whole town when youre only going to briefly see the zombie-filled main street before spending the rest of the game in The Mall) this also ends up serving the themes of 'the human cost of consumerism' even if by accident.

As stated by Frank's helicopter pilot in the prologue: The Mall seems to be the only notable spot in Willamette, hanging around its numerous plazas seems to be the only thing anyone in town ever does. Whats more, automated intercom announcements tell you that The Willamette Parkview Mall is only 3 years old by the time of the game. So while Willamette may not have had much before, any prior local identity has been totally wiped clean by the grand temple of consumption erected in its center.

Perhaps this is why Carlito chooses Willamette as the staging grounds for his grand plan of vengeance: this was a town that had no purpose but to aimlessly consume, with no thoughts given as to the suffering created in the wake of that consumption (for starters, one might ask how many local businesses and livelihoods were destroyed by The Mall?). A perfect microcosm of the stateside societal conditions that brought about the Santa Cabeza incident.

All of this to say that even if it is a bit heavy handed and unsubtle, Dead Rising 1 is well-grounded in those themes of the United States's over-consumption and its bloody struggle to maintain that level of avarice at the expense of the already impoverished. The military coming in to try and cover up the truth of Willamette and by extension further covering up Santa Cabeza underlines the latter.

Dead Rising is not always a serious game though, and in fact the majority of it is quite silly. Zombie hordes are treated largely as one big combination Stage Hazard/Meat Gag, you can clothe your Frank in ill-fitting kids clothes, dye his hair blond, and as you level up Frank learns a repertoire of moves straight out of professional wrestling that will see you decapitating zombies with backflip-kicks and ripping out their guts like you were in Mortal Kombat. What makes all that silliness really stick though is that the story never drops the dead-serious tone it opens with. Sure it has bits of humor here and there, and the seriousness of the cutscenes can be a little undercut when everyone is stone faced while Frank wears an oversized horse mask, but its that same dissonance that makes the game unforgettable. In my opinion a similar comparison to make would be to Saints Row 2, widely known for having a more serious and hard-hitting story in a game where you can hose people down with a septic truck in your free time. This comparison becomes even more apt in regards to the sequels to both titles sort of...missing that point and losing that identity, instead giving in to the chaos of the setting and making the world and its stories wackier with every installment to the detriment of the overall believability of the main plot. This might sound a bit ridiculous to say about a series where oversized wasp larvae zombify people (PLEASE do not ask me to explain how transmission works in this series) but throughout Dead Rising 1 once youre past the threshold of "Zombies are real" the rest of the plot and the world it takes place in all make sense for the most part, but by the time of Dead Rising 3 the world is mired in a stew of government and corporate conspiracies that makes Deus Ex look utopian by comparison.

[a solid example of Dead Rising 3 and its tone, though the issue there is less from the psychos and more that the setting has gone fully off the deep end by then] This isnt to say I dont like the sequels, in fact I think Dead Rising 2: Off The Record is the peak of the series in regards to gameplay, and maybe I'll do more writeups on the other entries [I wanted to get into more but this is already SO LONG] but the short of it is that Dead Rising 1 manages such a captivating balance between its ridiculous moment to moment gameplay and the dramatic weight of its setting all while not only holding on to the core themes of its greatest inspiration in Dawn of the Dead, but expanding upon those themes to make a stronger point of it than Romero did. Wow this went on longer than I'd thought. Its also come out way more coherent than I expected, but lemme wrap it up. I dont have the money for the Dead Rising Remake that came out today, but I've heard good things so far outside some performance issues, so maybe Capcom might be looking to bring Dead Rising back like they did with their other zombie-fest, Resident Evil. And maybe, just maybe, if we dream hard enough, they can retcon Dead Rising 4 like they should retcon RE6, but thats a writeup for another day. PS, to all Dead Rising fans: As someone who lives in the PNW, the game says Willamette wrong and it peeves me every time, its supposed to be pronounced "Wool-Lamm-Iht" not "Will-uh-met" but I know thats a losing battle.

[slapplebees]

This Is Me Throwing Up: A Shitfucked Dissertation on Matt Demon, UPS, and the Detrimental Effects of What I Now Call Canon

I am on Mr. Bones' Wild Ride, the Isekai of a Lifetime, and I am pulling over on the side and spilling my guts, which is to say I am writing this for you to understand what I am going through.

As per your dissertation, your gunshot through my chest if you will, I gathered the following big boy major points:

1) Matt's previous lives haunt the narrative. It's the death symbol, it's the propaganda machine, it's the Came Back Wrong, it's causing the kitsunes (Louis included) a lot of distress.

2) Matt is a people pleaser and has to act totally normal to lessen their worry. He lives a lie, acting for his LIFE and feeling trapped in it.

3) Dan is his salvation. It is through Dan that Matt is able to find joy in acting and be himself. He also finds a familiarity in Dan, for he sees that Dan is running away from something and finding solace in his art. Matt falls in love.

Sick wonderful awesome, tasty spicy finger-lickin, I wanted to put screenshots but the bitches got blurry. We trudge forward.

Ok, so Matt is a big major liar because of the people around him. Totally their fault, and his personality is a product of him fitting his personhood to their wants. The only exception to this rule is Dan, but what happens when he stops being that exception?

Here's where "post-Chapter 3 isn't real" comes in. Or rather, you can split the narrative or the timeline in two and have the dividing line be the ending of Chapter 3. You can divide the narrative between what I now call Canon and whatever comes after, the forever epilogue, the fix-it, the Rest of It.

Pre-Ch3 and the most relevant things that lead up to it (TGD / Mafia / the 1980s???) are the Canon that gets wrapped up kind of neatly in Chapter 3. Mafia Matt's death, Olive Garden (minus Olive)'s final confrontation/s (Ch2, Basement) with that monster that killed Olive, Dan's first comeuppance, the multiple Earth Gang therapy arcs, the aftermath and resolution of the Bunny Boys' drama all happen on or before Ch3.

Post-Ch3 has many arcs that are important (and fun and really good don't get me wrong) but are noticeably a different flavor to pre-Ch3. Matt's final life, the Beach Arc, Dan's Death Loop, Atty. Louis and the Reformed Tamers arc, The ENTIRE Revolution, UPS, Downs Canon and Candy Crush Canon, and of course ARMAGEDDON.

(Also, not in the list above is the assumed eternal Slice of Life story of the Earth Gang because they are allowed to exist and have basically no drama post-Ch3.

I have nowhere else to put it but here, BUT I think their storyline stops being written and has a whole different vibe, because the "story" is just the Rest of their Lives. Someday it will end, the humans will age, and I will NEVER be able to confront that. So their story does not exist and I am not looking at it, nosiree-)

So, these arcs post-Ch3 are the extension of Ch3. I think we MAYBE told a perfectly good story throughout Canon, like if we made a show, we could end it at Ch3 and have a solid fuckin show.

Post-Ch3 is like the really well-written fix-it fan fiction that follows (/pos!!!). Except it's by us, and it's everything we could ever want, and it's why we can end the world and lose our minds and feel happy and have all the pairings and KILL people and REALLY let lose.

A lot of post-Ch3 is like a whole new thing on its own I feel, and a lot of it isn't set in stone and it has no timestamps on the timeline and has a brainrot headcanonny feel because that's exactly what it is. I say this out of love: post-Ch3 is us looking at Canon, the thing we've made and we start thinking long and hard about the implications.

Back to Matt.

The Matt you talked about in your fucked up little dissertation is a product of the Canon. The Matt who is haunted by himself, the Matt who plays a character as an escape, the Matt who was born for the stage and lives for the stage and loved Dan because of the freedom Dan allowed Matt, which seemed to stem from Dan's understanding of what Matt was going through.

Dan was a breath of fresh air to Matt because he never brought up Matt's past lives.

In the Renaissance, Dan is first confronted with Matt's amnesia and the idea that he isn't who he was in his past life, and Dan inadvertedly does the kindest thing he possibly could. Dan is distraught for the duration of their initial bar conversation, before he decides to move on and write a new play. He buries the OSHA script (for a whole host of reasons), then shifts his focus to protecting the Matt he has in front of him, rather than digging up the previous Matt from his fucking grave and making him do a little dance.

As a result, it's their longest life together. For a minute there, it's the happiest either of them ever are. And then it ends, Matt dies, and what does Dan IMMEDIATELY follow it up with?

The Mafia Era. Without knowing it, Dan not only brings up Matt's past life, but the piece of shit does a whole revenge plot about it.

It's really funny whenever we talk about how Mafia Dan alludes to the Renaissance as if they both remember it, but with the knowledge that Matt believed Dan was special and loved him and felt safe with him because He Never Did That, it's suddenly a change in the script that chills Matt to his fucking bones.

Imagine their initial meeting. It starts off small with Dan chatting up Matt in the bar, courting him with this fucked up drug plan, telling him to quit his job and join his emo band (drug empire). Dan acts like they knew each other, something Matt is familiar with considering everyone in his theatre group did the same, recognizing him for his past self's Oscar wins, acting like they know him, and making him retreat to his stupid acting defense mechanism he learned in kitsune college. However, Dan of all people doing this to him feels wrong, but Matt has this inkling that it will pass. That he can trust Dan to drop it eventually and treat him like a normal person.

Imagine the safety of the kitchen. When Dan (as expected) forgot about his anger for a moment because Matt was in his home again, cooking with him again, as if the world outside Dan's home did not exist. It was the escapism of the stage, but there was no audience. Dan and Matt were free, yet they were not performing for anyone. Matt was content and happy, safe enough to tell Dan he wants this (the kitchen, the co-existence, the intimacy) for them forever.

Imagine the switch-up, when Dan remembers his fucking revenge plot. Imagine Matt wondering what the hell he did wrong, throwing anything at all at Dan to be allowed into his home again, and Dan outright refusing to because he's fucking petty. It's acting all over again, it's Matt trying to do what he does best, attune his personality to whatever the other person wants to make them feel comfortable with him. Acting to make them less disgusted with him. Acting in a way that makes them stop Looking At Him Like That. But Dan doesn't budge. He responds to nothing that Matt does and Matt has no idea what to do or how to act. He's acting because it's all he knows how to do, but this time he doesn't have the script.

Dan used to give him that script. Write Matt his plays and give him a role he can breathe in. Do that thing that Matt loves him for. But Dan's left that life behind. He is still running away from something (running from his brother, the Renaissance; awfully running from, Matt ), and Matt can SEE that, but he's doing it with THIS. This isn't art. It's malice, it's violence, it's becoming that bloodstreaked little thing Dan disappears into when he plays Mafia Dan, in which his words aren't his own and his steps are clumsier than they should be, unrehearsed and unfamiliar. Because he's fucking lying.

This isn't the honest, true Dan who Matt fell in love with in a life (in lives) he does not remember. And yet he is. He is the same Dan, in the way he walks in front of Matt during their raids of rival groups in the black market. He's the same Dan in the way he protects Matt by instinct alone. Matt can see the way Dan does not hesitate, his body and mind agreeing on something for once, suddenly gaining a practiced precision they did not previously have. But so what? It's wrong. Dan's tapping into old habits, the habit of keeping Matt alive, something he learned in the Renaissance, their happiest days, only to crush him. Only for the satisfaction of pushing Matt to the brink, of killing Matt himself.

Can you imagine the betrayal? Imagine the immense confusion Matt felt holding Dan's body as it went cold, as he muttered so much fucking NOTHING into Matt's ear, talking about things Matt doesn't remember. At this point, I don't know what he says. Neither does Matt. Dan could've said, "I've won," "I'm sorry," "where did you go?" and Matt wouldn't understand a single word. Because what the fuck is he talking about? Who the fuck is he talking to? Because it isn't Matt. It isn't anyone Matt identifies with, it isn't a person Matt knows how to be. And it fucking sucks, it fucking hurts how Matt can feel Dan trying to stay awake to get it all out, talk honestly for once in this life, and Matt can't respond. Dan kept him in the dark, in the same way everyone else made him feel, and Matt has no idea who he's holding anymore because he's become just like everyone else. And yet, he doesn't know why it hurts to lose Dan, and he doesn't know why he's grieving this fucking asshole.

But his soul knows.

His cursed kitsune soul still Loves Dan, still Loves the fading thing in his arms, and his soul knows that the person Matt Loved (the person he is anchored to) is dead.

You know when Louis went through something similar? When Louis realized the Matt he Loved is dead? And he broke up with him and broke his bond to him and fell ill for like a week?

Is that what Matt went through? When he lost the safety he found in Mafia Dan, maybe he felt something break in him and he felt himself get sick. Except Matt was a drug lord, so he had access to his awful fucking Demon drugs. So, he tried to self-medicate, and it made everything worse, and a long time passed,

enough time that Dan made his way back to him, carefree as ever, mostly healed, sure of himself again,

and Dan looked at Matt across the basement, with this blank expression as if he's burying something, weighing his options,

and then, Dan smiled at him like they didn't know each other.

And Matt feels a tug in his heart because it felt right. Dan felt familiar again. Matt could feel the anchor between their souls mending.

But Matt didn't fucking trust him anymore.

Matt kills Dan in the basement to silence his own stupid heart. He refuses to hope that they can be together again. He refuses to give Dan the chance to one day hurt him in a way Matt can't describe, to hurt him in a manner only possible if he knew Matt in a previous life and used that knowledge maliciously.

Because holy fuck it's terrifying when other people know something you don't. Matt feels terrified that the kitsunes, Louis, and Dan know him better than he does. It's something Matt has grappled with his entire existence. When he stops broadcasting to the world that he's lost his memories haha, he's pretending that he isn't vulnerable.

Matt has a blind spot, and it's his past life. It's a blind spot anyone can take advantage of. Matt knows anyone could lie to him; they could say they knew Matt in his old life and do whatever they want to hurt him and Matt fears this is the case for everyone he encounters.

Louis knew Matt for all his past lives, down to his very first one. If Louis was a little less kind, he could tell Matt they were friends in his old life, and that he saved Matt's life. He could have trapped Matt to Love him by making Matt feel indebted to him. It's not like Matt could refute his claims. And yet, Louis was kind, and did not pressure Matt into anything he didn't want.

If Jack and Benjy were a little less kind, they could arrest Matt on the spot the second he arrives at the beach. They could lie and pin any crime they wanted on him because they know he's the Tamer Boss, they could have the one of the greatest criminals in Hell's history in custody and he (Matt) would have no idea how to defend himself in court. But they were kind, and called a lawyer to consult with them on his case. Hell, they didn't even arrest Dan.

Even so, Matt can't simply believe in the kindness of the people around him. Not everyone is going to be like Louis or Jack or Benjy, and it really stings that Dan was the one who proved that.

From Matt's perspective, Dan was his greatest fear. Dan clearly knew him from a previous life, with the way Dan treated Matt and spoke to him in the bar. While everyone else who knew Renaissance Matt (his theatre company, the kitsunes) were all just a bit annoying (asking him for an autograph, asking him what happened between him and his previous director, looking at him sadly from across the room or like you said chatting him up as if he didn't have amnesia), Dan was Out To Get Him. Matt just barely got out of that unscathed, but when he sees Dan in the basement, acting like everything he did in the Mafia Era didn't happen? It raises alarm bells in Matt's head.

This is exactly what Matt wanted from Dan. Maybe Dan knows this. Maybe he's trying to earn Matt's trust. Maybe he's manipulating Matt. Maybe this is what he wants. Maybe he's going to do it all over again.

I have to fucking kill him.

And Matt dies.

And he forgets.

(And here is where I initially began my dissertation,)

And when he returns, the story is a little different.

It's post-Ch3 or post-Canon, and the world that molded Matt into the recluse theatre kid he used to be, has been slowly changing since the early 70s. The kitsunes in the college ask Matt about Louis, Dan has long since retired from producing plays, Louis is a lawyer and boss of the Demon Tamers, and revolution is brewing.

And Matt remakes himself.

Because when Matt respawns in the college, the kitsunes ask him about Louis instead of giving him an unhealthy dose of Came Back Wrong Syndrome.

Because when Matt meets Dan, who has long since retired from producing plays, he's avoiding Matt's gaze and walking into the sea. (And, Matt feels a tug in his heart when he sees that orange piece of shit go.)

Because when Matt meets Louis, who has loved Matt for basically all of his life, he's a lawyer and the guy Matt was looking for, and they date and He breaks things off with Matt.

Because when Matt meets Jack and Benjy, who have been trying to catch Matt since Ch3, they don't fucking arrest Matt on the urging of Atty. Louis, thereby releasing Matt from the legal repercussions of his previous life.

Because Mafia Matt still haunts the narrative. Dan is scared to death by him, Louis loved him, Jack Daniels wanted to catch him, but one by one each of those people let that go.

Matt is free, and as the single lucky person who does not remember the dreadful Canon, he is able to simply exist.

Yes, everything comes back to him eventually. At the end of the end of the world, he remembers everything Dan did to him, all the time he spent lying, all the millennia Louis was at his side.

But in that moment, by virtue of remembering everything, he knows himself fully, and his fear is abated. His blind spot dissolves, and he is able to confront his whole self.

Also, it super helps he has a psych degree at this point, like major plus points, big ups, that thing saves his life and helps him be ready to understand who he is ok bye happy 2024 @schmoft <333333

[early20sfailingplenty]

Hello fellow sinclair brainrot sufferer, i wanna ask what's your take on what happened to their parents, theres so many different ways some ppl pan it out

Hi nonnie!

Hmm... my take is quite simple but I gotta give you some exposition to set it up, so here's how my thought process goes:

HOW is set in 2005 & the twins were born 1974 (Lester born '79 because he's five years younger than the twins), and Ambrose hadn't had the sugar mill for a decade when the film was set, which means that the town closed/the brothers began to carry on what Momma started in 1995.

So that means; 1995 - 1974 = 21

The twins began their murderous... hobby (???) when they were 21 & that means sweet Lester started to help them out by luring in victims when he was 16 (1995 - 1979).

Brian said that Bo was making up the story about Trudy having a cyst in her brain & Victor committing suicide when he couldn't save her and I'm inclined to agree with him; Bo has a lot of fun trying to get Carly and Wade to relax in Ambrose.

So exposition done, 21 year olds Bo and Vincent decide that enough is enough. They pick a parent each; Vincent picks Trudy because he wants to get revenge on her for what she put himself and his brothers through (but if Bo asks, Vincent is 100% honest and tells him that he did it for Bo; he suffered the worst of the abuse at the hands of Trudy, though of course all three brothers were neglected/mistreated/abused etc. and Vincent wants her to receive her comeuppance).

I'm not sure how Vincent would have killed her; at 21, they were very new to killing but very familiar with rage, so he probably killed her with a very swift, very deliberate flash of a scalpel (he didn't have his twin blades yet, they come later with confidence) or some other instrument from Victor's office.

And Bo... oh, Bo. Bo wants to take power back from daddy, so Bo takes his head right off with a well aimed shotgun. His hands didn't shake, his jaw didn't tremble, his baby blues were icy as he looked daddy straight in the eyes and told him to say hi to momma in hell, 'cuz there ain't no way they're goin' up; Bo is sure as shit 'bout that.

Lester didn't have anything to do with his parents' actual deaths. At 16, he's far too fucking young and the twins wanted to protect Lester from seeing it. He only finds out when they're dead and the evidence of the murders has been removed and arranged into a nice alibi

(i.e. Trudy is encased in wax and positioned in the church to dry out and stabilise at her forever funeral & Victor is... disassembled and buried in various parts on the outskirts of town; some of him ends up in the roadkill pit which Lester had already started working on by then. He had to start young to try to support the way he wanted to get away from Ambrose (he never would or could; he loves his brothers and he's involved in all of it just as much as they are).

Bo and Vincent evaded the truth with Lester and maybe even gave him the same story which Carly and Wade hear from Bo in 2005; it seems a bit rehearsed even though he's fucking around according to Brian. Lester has always suspected the truth, but he knows not to ask questions he doesn't want the answer to.

So that's it for my take!!! What do you think, nonnie? I love hearing theories like this!

[talesofbirbal]

Big Baz and Little Tom

Baz playfully manhandled Tom into a headlock, then let Tom swivel around and jab him in the paunch.

"Why don't you admit it?" said Baz, "you know you find me hot. It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

"Fuck you!" teased back Tom, squeezing Baz's belly, which had been protruding more and more lately out of his muscle-bound body.

"Tell me how manly you find this sexy beer gut, eh?" ribbed Baz.

"I've gotta admit, that gut's got a hold over me,” said Tom, running his hands all over Baz's belly. This always ended up happening now, whenever Tom and Baz found themselves alone.

"So masculine isn't it?" pouted Baz, "turns you on so much, doesn't it, gay boy?" 

Baz pushed his belly out as far as it would go, and at the same time rolled up his sleeves and flexed his biceps.

"You know it,” said Tom. "Do you suppose you could grow it bigger, just for me?"

Baz laughed.

"Even if just a bit, you know?"

Baz scooped Tom up and dangled him upside down.

"Just for you," he chortled conspiratorially. "Our little secret, between me and you - but don't tell anyone okay?"

*

Barry, known as Baz, or "Big Baz" as per his wrestling nickname, at 5'10" and 300lbs was the biggest and toughest musclehead on the campus, with a reputation for showing off his brawn and rough-housing the smaller nerdy types.

Tom, who everyone called Little Tom, lived in the same student block as Baz, and was his favourite target. Only 5'2" and 128lbs, he kept himself in shape, but was no match for Baz, who loved to creep up behind him and give him wedges, or lift him up, carry him on his shoulder and twirl him around. Tom's friends felt Baz took things too far, but Tom, one of the smartest students on his course, did not mind too much. Truth be told, he fancied Baz like crazy and enjoyed the attention, however boorish it was. Any opportunity to be physically close to him was worth it, whatever the discomfort and humiliation. He wondered if at some level Baz felt something back for him, and hoped he did, but could never be sure. One day, though, he was determined to give that big goofy sexy stud his comeuppance, and have his way with him in the sack into the bargain.

One day, in the student pub, boozed-up Baz was acting up raucously with his mates. Everybody's eyes were on him everywhere he went. He was the star attraction. People followed him around just to be in his glow.

"I challenge anyone who dares to a no-rules, no-holds barred wrestling match," Baz boomed from the karaoke platform. "If anyone can last more than 5 minutes with me, they get my new stereo system."

Baz's loutish friend, Jason, known as Jaz, got up to speak next. "The match will be held at my gym, with me as referee. Big Baz versus whoever. But no time-wasters please."

Jaz came across like a brutish, foul-mouthed uneducated lout, but in fact he had all the privileges of an expensive private education and wealthy parents, who had funded a private gym for him, which he used to enhance his social status at university. He liked to pose as a rough, working-class lad made good, which was  why he cultivated mates like Baz, who more closely matched that image than he did. 

Nobody dared to meet the challenge. Jaz and Baz's other acolytes marauded the pub, daring random people to wrestle Baz, or asking them to telephone or text friends of theirs, to see if they would be interested. But none were forthcoming.

"I will take you on, big boy," came a sweet, high-pitch voice.

Everyone turned to a table near the back, where a petite, effeminate looking lad with curly ginger hair and radioactive green eyes was sitting all by himself, drinking apple juice. It was Tom.

Baz, Jaz and Baz's girlfriend, Marilyn, known as Maz, all burst out laughing, and soon everybody else was joining in.

"You cannae be serious!" yelled Ross, Tom's best friend Sue's boyfriend, in his inimical Scottish accent, and the laughter erupted again.

Baz scooped Tom up in his arms, hurled him over his shoulder and began spinning him around, to widespread mirth, then dropped him onto the bar, with his head hanging over one side and his legs the other side.

"I won't know whether to fight him or fuck him!" grunted Baz, and the crowd laughed so hard and started becoming so rowdy that the poor, struggling barmaid had to plead with them all to quieten down.

"Little Tom," said Baz after calm emerged, "I've got to give you this: you've got guts, more than all these other people here."

There was a round of clapping, following which Baz shook Tom's hand, in a gentlemanly way at first, but then squeezing his hand so bonecrunchingly hard Tom's face contorted with pain, and there were renewed shrieks of laughter.

"Big Baz and Little Tom, see you at the gym, 7pm tomorrow," said Jaz.

Just before departing, Baz and Tom glanced at each other, and Baz pushed out his belly and patted it, grinning as Tom's eyes consumed every moment of the gesture.

*

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Sue, Ross' girlfriend and Tom's best friend. "You have nothing to prove. You're miles and miles better than what he is, he doesn't have a fraction of your intelligence, and you're a really sweet guy, whereas he is a total douchebag. Why expose yourself to what you know they're going to do to you? I don't trust them. Tom, I'm seriously worried you'll get hurt. I don't want you to go to this. I can't understand why you want to go. Why don't you just call them and say you've changed your mind? Everybody will understand. Nobody will think any less of you."

Tom grinned cryptically. "Oh, don't worry, Sue, I'll be okay," he said. 

"But they're thugs, you've seen what they're like."

"Despite everything, Baz and I have an understanding. He knows how far to go and when to stop. He's not as bad as lots of people think he is. At least not to me, anyway."

Sue pulled a face. "Seriously?" she asked.

Tom nodded.

"Tania said to me at lunch the other day that she thinks you fancy him."

Tom put his fingers to his lips, and Tania started giggling.

*

"You know the rules," drooled Jaz. "Which is there are no rules," he added with a smirk. 

"Get on with it, we're meant to be going out in 20 minutes, I'm not standing around here all evening waiting for this to start," nagged Maz, annoyed that her boyfriend was interrupting her social life by picking a stupid wrestling match with someone he picked up like a sack of potatoes and threw around every day for fun.

"It'll be over 2 minutes max," sad Jaz.

Baz and Tom squared each other up in the wrestling ring. The contrast between them was dramatic, almost offensive - 5'10" and 300lbs of Big Baz versus 5' 2" and 128lbs of Little Tom. 

"Ready?" shouted Baz.

"Ready!" yelled back Tom in his campy voice, causing Baz, Jaz and Maz to guffaw cruelly with laughter.

"Coming for yer!" said Baz, and started to run at Tom mockingly, almost grabbing him but then letting him get away, time and again. Baz turned his back to Tom, arched his ass out then vocalised a disgusting farting imitation. Jaz laughed riotously, but Maz became impatient. "Come on, come on, get this over with you big lazy lump!"

Tom began to dance on his feet.

"This is wrestling, not dancing you prat!" yelled Maz. "Though Baz, you should join in because you need to lose that belly, y'know, I keep telling ya."

Then Baz came for Tom and picked him straight up over his shoulder, like he had done so many times before, and threw him out of the ring. Jaz began the count-out: "One, two, three, four, five...!"

Tom crawled back into the ring. Baz made no attempt to pursue him, giving Tom a chance to get his breath back. This was so easy, he thought, and messing around with Tom was so much fun, even if - especially if - it was pissing off Maz.

"C'mom we're going to the party in 10 minutes, hurry up and get this over!" complained Maz.

"Not now, we're wrestling!" said Baz, and Jaz laughed.

"You prefer spending time with him to spending time with me," maoned Maz, causing Jaz to burst out laughing again.

"Oh, but Tom is more fun!" retorted Baz, swinging Tom towards the ring ropes, which Tom bounced off, then lost his balance and fell over.

"C'mon, get serious, destroy him, Baz!" growled Jaz, now getting impatient that Baz was going so soft with Tom.

Tom struggled to his feet, then started punching Baz in  the chest, but Baz just stood there nonchalantly, taking it, not showing or feeling an iota of pain or budging an inch. 

"Hit me as hard as you can, Tom," jeered Baz, "c'mon as hard as you can".

Tom pounded Baz again and again in the chest, but to no avail. Then he whacked him in the belly, which slightly winded him. Baz immediately recovered, scooped Tom up and went to slam him into the mat, but paused the movement right before the end, and discreetly slipped his open hand under Tom's head, softening the impact, so Tom would not be too much hurt. Maz and Jaz both clapped. Baz went for the pin. "One, two..." counted Jaz.

"OOOWWWWW!!!" shrieked Baz in agony, as Tom squeezed his balls in a vice-like grip with his small femine hands, and rolled Baz off himself.

"Hey that's cheating, you runty little bastard!" shrieked Maz. "Get your hands off my boyfriend's balls!"

Tom continued to squeeze.

"OOWWWWWWW" yelled Baz frantically, as Tom intensified his claw-like grip.

"You know the rules," Jaz said to Maz, "there are no rules".

"Stop, stop, stop, OWWW!" howled Baz, "let go you fucking little cunt!"

"Submission win to Tom," announced Jaz, shocked.

"Hey I didn't submit!" protested Baz.

"Oh you didn't?" challenged Tom, squeezing tighter. Tom hollered even louder. "Okay, okay, just stop, just stop!" he cried.

"Only on condition that when we get back in the changing room, I can punish you."

"Okay, okay," blubbered Baz.

Tom let Baz go, who, along with Jaz and Maz, was stunned into silence.

*

Back in the dressing room, Baz bear hugged Tpm to within an inch of life, then released him, causing him to stumble backwards.

"Wow, boy, you were good out there!" congratulated Baz. "Do you know, I think we could make a wrestler out of you yet."

"You think so?"

"Definitely," he said, "although remember you can't go for a guy's privates in a real, professional match" he added pointedly, "that's against the rules...and...and...and against the code of what guys do to each other."

"Well, you stipulated the no rules, no holds barred thing."

"True, true," said Baz, his thoughts drifting.

"Now for your punishment," said Tom, an impish grin on his face.

"What's it gonna be?"

Tom moved close up to Baz, and leaned in to kiss him. Baz paused still, dead silent, for several tense moments, and was about to reciprocate when Tom drew away.

"On your knees, big boy," Tom whispered.

Seconds later, Tom had dropped his pants and Baz was on the floor, staring at Tom's smooth crotch, taking Tom's rock hard cock in his mouth - surprisingly big for such a small guy - and looking up into Tom's eyes while Tom stroked his hair and cradled his hands around his head, guiding him to go faster or slower. Baz had never done this before, he had only done sex with girls. This was so different, so humbling, but so goddamned hot, he never wanted it to end. On and on it went, Baz becoming more and more hypnotised into the rhythms of his cock-sucking, Tom's breathing and grunting becoming louder and louder, until Tom felt himself about to cum, drew his cock from Baz's mouth, then shot a massive hot load all over the big goof's face.

"Come and look," said Tom giggling, girlishly leading Baz by the hand towards the mirror on the wall, so Baz could see his face and hair smothered in jism. They both burst into uncontrollable chuckling, and Tom threw his arms arounds around Baz, touching him all over his newly-fattened ass and belly, and Baz found his hands wandering all over Tom's body, and before they knew it, Baz had a massive erection, which Tom groped and teased through his underwear.

"ARE YOU GUYS COMING OUT OF THERE?" screeched Maz's voice from outside the changing room. "We've got to get a move on, NOW!"

Tom quietly pulled Baz down so his face was level with his. "I've wanted you so much for so long," he said softly. "And I want you to do something very special for me."

"Anything," said Baz softly.

Tom's hand ran under Baz's shirt and felt up his belly, his finger lingering in his belly hole. "Carry on growing this food baby for me, okay?"

Baz blushed, and kissed Tom gently on the lips. "You know I will," he said, blushing all over. "Come round for my new stereo later, by the way," he added.

"You mean my old stereo?" correctedTom, and they both smiled.

*

"Come in, come in," said Baz, beckoning Tom into his room.

Tom entered, knowing, as he did so, that he was crossing a threshold. Before, Baz would never have invited him into his room because he would have been worried about what his friends would think of him hanging around with a dweeb like Tom. Now, Baz did not care about any of that crowd, Tom reflected, as he slipped his hands lovingly under Baz's shirt and felt up his firm, hairy, roundening gut.

"Getting bigger, stud," said Tom, reaching up to plant a warm kiss on Baz's mouth. 

Baz held Tom like a baby, lifting him off his feet, returning his kisses gently, stroking his hair softly, cradling him like the sweetest, most delicate, most precious china doll there ever was.

"I wanted to talk," said Tom.

"So did I," said Baz. "So, me and Maz split. It's no big thing. It was always a social thing with her anyway, she only wanted me for the social status, but now I'm no longer going to all her parties with her, and this belly of mine is getting bigger, she's no longer interested. It was never serious anyway. She was sleeping with other guys on the side, I knew that and didn't care. So nobody's leaving this hurt or anything."

Tom listened carefully, nodding thoughtfully. Baz had changed a lot over the last three months. Not just physically - he had gained over 40lbs in fat - but the people he hung out with and his whole perspective had altered. He was no longer socialising much with Jaz anymore, in particular, although Baz continued to attend Jaz's gym, where Jaz still let him have free sessions. Plus his tough guy reputation had been dampened by his humiliation at the hands of Tom at the wrestling match, which Jaz and Maz had not kept secret.

"I feel bad for what I did to you," said Tom, "squeezing your testicles and all. I mean, really it was unfair, it was a sexual assault even, and I shouldn't have done it. I feel so bad."

Baz laughed. "After everything I did to you, I deserved it," he said, "I deserved it, we both know that what I did to you and some of the others too was just rotten."

"It was," said Tom sternly, remembering the way Baz had treated all the nerdy guys, "though in my case I think we both know I rather enjoyed it," he added.

Baz pressed his big belly into Tom, knowing that was a bait Tom could not resist, and in seconds Tom had ripped Baz's top off and was suckling on his meaty, softening tits and gliding his fingers all around Baz's belly, poking his belly button, and letting his hands slip lower still, to tease and fondle that place that Baz longed to be touched. It was like a supernatural, animal magnetism guided their every thought, sensation and movement. Before either of them knew it, they crossed together into the realm of voluptuous delights, with Tom alternating between worshipping Baz's weighty fat belly with kisses and caresses, and engulfing his big, horny, hardening cock in his mouth, driving Baz into deeper and louder guttural moans of passion, until he collapsed on to the bed in post-orgasmic ecstasy, hardly able to believe how this tiny little guy could get him off so fucking much, and get him off better and better almost every single fucking time. The blissfulness he felt was so intense, his gratitude to Tom more impassioned than anything he had ever felt before. Tom made him feel so fucking good it was unreal, and he longed, more than he had longed for anything else before in his life, to give Tom something back in return.

"Tom, I want you really bad," he said, rolling over on the bed and arching his back, presenting Tom with the widest, roundest, brawniest, sexiest, hungriest, fattest ass he had ever seen. Tom could hardly believe what he was being offered, having fantasised about this so many times, but always imagining a guy like Baz would never submit himself to it. Without missing a beat, Tom slapped Baz's ass cheeks in arousal, and coated his dainty finger in lube and pressed it gently into Baz's boyhole, causing Baz to grunt and writhe in a way that turned Tom on more than ever, as he gently stroked Baz's balls, and watched enraptured as Baz's hanging belly heaved in and out as his breathing increased.

"I want this so, so much," rasped Tom, "but are you sure you're ready?"

Baz arched his back more, thrusting his ginormous plump ass shamelessly and yieldingly into Tom's hard finger. "Oh yes, baby, I want to feel you, all of you!" he cried. Tom grew intoxicated with horniness as he watched Baz's buttocks quiver and tremble with anticipation and excitement, and felt Baz's virgin manhole doing exactly the same thing around his finger.. Sliding his spare hand around the big sexy beast's bulging wide lovehandles, he slowly pressed in then withdrew his finger from Baz's hole, emitting whimpers of pleasure from Baz, then thrust in his dick, slowly and softly, then harder and faster, giving his insatiable lover everything and more he was craving and begging for.

*

In the shower together afterwards, Tom and Baz rubbed soap all over each others' bodies, hugging and kissing all the while, touching and cleaning every crevice of each other, making themselves as clean and sparkly as could be, Tom unable and unwilling to remove from his mind that glorious image of Baz buck naked on all fours, humongous ass spread open in supplication and behemoth, hanging belly and jiggling mantits wobbling more wildly with every thrust. Being together was so special, and they were loving it so much, but there was a cloud on the immediate horizon: half-term would separate them now for a whole two weeks.

"I have a present for you, before we depart for the break," said Tom, producing something Baz had never seen before.

"What is that?" he asked.

"A chastity device," said Tom.

Baz giggled. "You don't trust me while I'm away?"

"No, it's not that," said Tom. "It's just I want to keep you horny the whole time you are away, and build up gallons of cum in your balls, and then when you get back, I want you to give me everything, I want you to fuck me like I fucked you just now, only much, much harder."

Baz grinned nervously as Tom slipped the device onto his soft, shrivelled, cum-drained member. "You be a good boy for me," said Tom, patting his lover cheekily around the rump.

*

Over the half-term, Baz and Tom each had to go back to their separate homes, in different parts of the country, but they kept in touch regularly, staying up all night in webcam chats. Tom was an expert in playing with Baz's mind, getting him to stuff his now double-chinned face with more and more food, telling him and showing him just how much that turned him on, knowing exactly how to show off his supremely irresistible smooth, lithe boyish little body, and what to say to get Baz so hot and bothered he could explode. But for Baz, of course, trapped in the device, it was no good, he could not get a proper erection, he could not cum, he got more and more frustrated. Tom took particular delight in Baz's growing fatpad, which was bigger than ever now, and starting to diminish his big dick. Tom would plead with Baz again and again to show it off and rub it for him, which Baz loved to do, discovering it was becoming a whole new erogenous zone. Look at my ass, Tom would tease, seductively flexing his buttocks and flashing his hole at the camera, driving Baz to distraction. Baz pleaded and pleaded with Tom to let him take the device off, but Tom, cruel master that he was, would not relent, only promising that when Baz came back to him he would give him something he would never forget, the mindblower of all mindblowers, the orgasm of all orgasms.

And he did, by God he did, reflected Baz later, remembering that night he shared with Tom when they returned from the break. Just the sheer memory of it was enough for him to feel so fulfilled, so satiated he could not imagine ever having a sad day in his life ever again. Tom was thrilled at the sight of Baz on his return, another 30lbs having been added to his body, all of which he could not wait to get his hands on. Truth be told, when they got down to it, it was a clumsy affair at first, with the removal of the device taking more time and care than either of them expected. The sense of liberation Baz felt after that was achieved, however, was overwhelming, and it was not long before Tom's devilishly sensual caresses gave the big-bellied, desperate, sex-starved, cock-teased muscle hunk the boner of all boners, driving him near out of his skull.  Baz found himself on his back, with Tom on top of him, gyrating his beautiful thighs, sliding his divinely tight boyhole tormentingly up and down Baz's boner, clenching and unclenching, goading Baz to eat more and more slices of heavenly delicious creamy chocolate cake, working Baz up to a wild, grunting, bellowing, puffing, sweaty, pre-cum drenched. cum-filled ball-tingling state of frenzy. Tom looked down, spreading his hands all over that big fat obese manly hairy belly, tracing the belly hair contours with his fingertips in fascination like a geographer studying a map, manicly lusting for the sexy bloated over-fed ballooning man-paunch that was all, all his, ravishing and fucking that deep, sexy belly hole with his finger, round and round, in and out, in and out and round and round.

Tom leaned over towards Baz's face and kissed him passionately. "I want you to take me baby," he said. "I want you to throw me around like you always did before, and fuck me and bang my ass as hard as you fucking can, I want you to split me in two, I want you to fuck the fucking life out of me."

Baz was so horned up he could not say no, and they readjusted positions, with Tom on the bed, back arched, presenting himself, all of himself, to Baz for the taking. Baz went straight in, but gently. Part of him wanted to fuck Tom hard and brutally like Tom had asked, but this was Tom, who he loved so much, and he could not bear the thought of hurting him.

"Go on baby," urged Tom, "this is my gift to you. I've wanted this for so, so, so long. I want you to fuck me like the powerful, sexy big fat horny wild man I know you are."

It took coaxing from Tom, but stage by stage Baz lost his inhibitions and pounded Tom harder and rougher, Tom urging him with every thrust to go faster and harder, until finally Baz lost himself, and found himself lifting Tom up, pressing his furry mammoth belly into his back, holding him tight, and fucking him pitilessly against the wall, the bangs surely waking up his neighbour next door, but who cared for that, they could lump it, this was too, too good.

When Baz blasted the condom full of hot juicy cum, he and Tom collapsed together in a pile, both sweating and panting, hearts pounding together, tongues still in each others mouths, Baz's hands cradling Tom's delicately featured face, Tom's hands wrapped round Baz's humongous, heaving belly, clinging needily to its protective girth and warmth, never wanting to let go.

After coming out of the shower a little later, they wrapped themselves with thick warm white towels and began to talk, for hours and hours, about everything, everything there was to know about each other, about all of their hitherto hidden thoughts and experiences. On the outside, they were each such different people, and yet inside, so at one. Each, they both realised, could now intuit what the other was thinking or would say next, like sometimes happens with twins or very close siblings. They truly were two people very much in love, hands all over each other, eyes never leaving one another, souls connected, endlessly, forever.