#but all I can think about is Santa Clarita Diet

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Personal opinion is that Timothy Olyphant is a comedy actor who has been miscast as a dramatic actor way too many times, and we are all poorer for it

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Doing a bit of a Santa Clarita Diet rewatch, and while I don't know intentional any of Abby's queer-coding was (and how much was just Hewson's vibes), her relationship with Eric has such teenage comphet energy. Like whenever Abby's like "I really care about you, more than anyone, but it's hard for me to pretend I'm into the physical; this has maybe a 2% chance of working out," my lesbian ass is just nodding so hard. Like, yeah! Exactly! You don't know you're gay yet, or you sense it in yourself and try to veer away, so what's the easiest option? You find the soft nerd boy, your best friend in the world, someone you absolutely trust to have your back no matter what, and go, "Yeah, uh huh, sure. I'll try that one." You absolutely look for the most non-threatening dude in the vicinity. And then it's improved by Eric's whole thing being like "yeah, this is absolutely someone I am down bad for, but if she doesn't wind up digging me that way, she's still my best friend." It reads so true. No idea if they were ever going to actually walk down that road, but in my heart of hearts? Here for it.

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Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we exit the “enemies” phase, think of the enemies to friends as the match being lit and think of the friends to lovers as the candle taking thousands of words to burn. Chapter title from Homemade Dynamite by Lorde

Word Count: 6.9k (nice)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Things start to change in the safe house. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

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Somehow, after the mission, you slept. Not well, but you did. You didn’t see Soldier Boy for almost fourteen hours after that odd moment in your room, only for him to suddenly drop on the couch next to you, watching the newly-fixed TV, holding a bowl and spoon.

“What the fuck is this,” he gestured to show playing on the screen, his mouth half-full with cereal. Crumbs fell into his beard, and he looked at the TV as if it had personally offended him.

You answered slowly, glancing between his loud, sloppy chews and the milk in his bowl, sloshing up to the sides as he settled into his seat. “Netflix.”

“That’s a stupid name for a show,” he snorted. “What does that even fucking mean?”

You shook your head. “No, the show is called Santa Clarita Diet. I’m watching it on Netflix.” He gave you a glance with a frown but remained silent, raising his eyebrows as you stared blankly.

His voice was clipped when he spoke. “What the fuck is Netflix?”

“Oh, um, it’s like a network. Like a modern TV station. It has a bunch of movies and shows, but you don’t have to wait for a certain time to watch them.”

“Huh,” he looked back to the TV. “Cocksucker mentioned something like that. I thought he was making shit up.”

“No, on demand is a pretty common thing now.” You shrugged.

“So all TV is on Newflux?”

“Netflix,” you corrected, growing more and more bemused by the conversation. “And no. We kind of just reinvented cable in a different format. There’s like a million of these websites, Vought even has their own. From what I can tell, the CIA gave us Netflix, Max, Disney, and Prime.”

“They’ll do that, but they won’t buy me weed,” he grumbled. “Fucking uptight pussies.”

“Yeah, well. They didn’t get us ad-free Disney or Prime, so I wouldn’t hold your breath about them giving you drug money.”

Soldier Boy only grunted, attention fixated on the TV. The silence between you stretched as you tried to figure out a perfect, organic way to bring up the whole “I told you what Homelander did to me and you put away groceries without me asking, what the fuck is happening” thing. Just as you were about to say something, hoping that the words would find you in the moment, you were cut off.

“What the fuck is this even about?” Soldier Boy asked with a sullen voice, still not looking away from the show.

“Uh, suburban zombies. I can change it if you want.” Anything, you thought, to keep this lack of antagonistic conversation going.

“No.” You waited for more elaboration but realized he wasn’t going to offer any, having fully turned away from you. You both remained on the couch, his eyes locked to screen as you remained in your seat, afraid to move and ruin whatever was happening.

The episode ended without any outbursts from either you or Soldier Boy, and you reached for the remote, only to be hit in the head by a soggy cheerio.

“What the hell?” You picked the cereal from your hair, turning to see Soldier Boy’s frustratingly casual expression. “What was that?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked, nodding his head to where your hand had been on the remote.

“Why did you throw cereal at me?!” You snapped, holding the now mushy projectile to his face.

“To get your attention,” he answered, giving you an odd look. “You always get all bitchy when I touch you.”

“Oh.” You hesitated, your confusion only growing. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I can’t read your fucking mind. If it’s because of the Homelander thing, though, then you should remember-“

“No,” you rubbed your face in frustration. “Why did you need my attention?”

He rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious. “We’re going to keep watching this shit. It’s the least stupid thing I’ve seen so far. But you should fucking remember-“

“You could’ve just said that instead of throwing shit at me-“

“Would you fucking listen?” His familiar angry glare was beginning to form, so you closed your mouth. “If the touch thing is because of that Star-spangled pussyfuck Homelander, I meant what I fucking said last night.”

Your body tensed, trying to recall what he might be referencing. Last night, along with the previous twenty-four hours, had been replayed so much in your head it had become a simple blur of bad. "What you said?”

“I’m no rapist. I’m not an ugly pussy asshat who needs to.”

You look at him with an incredulous gape. “Needs to?”

“No part of sex is fun if she doesn’t want it. I like my woman begging me to keep going, and I only bite if they ask.” He gave you a brash grin. “I’ll show you whenever you want, Sunshine.”

“Charming,” you said under your breath, employing your now expert skills at ignoring his advances. “Would you like a trophy for the bare minimum?”

“I’m fucking serious.” He hissed, smile dropping, catching you off guard with the intensity and firmness of his expression. “If that’s why you’re so fucking annoying about me touching you, get over it.”

“Get over it?” You give a laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking serious? First off, it has nothing to do with Homelander. Second off, if it did, I’m not going to just ‘get over it’ because this is 'annoying' for you.”

“Well then, what will make you get over it?” His question, though impatient, was said with a face of biting sincerity. At least, the closest thing to sincerity you deemed him capable of.

You tilted your head at him. “It’s not something I can get over.” Before he could respond, his mouth opening with a frown and squinted eyes, you continued. “It’s one of my powers. I can feel people’s emotions when I touch them, even if I don’t want to. I can’t turn it off, or ‘get over it’.”

His mouth remained open for another second, and you could almost see his brain slowly turning in his head. You waited, your own mind spinning with possible reactions he might meet you with. Wrathful shouting, angered distrust, cold disgust, forceful words and distance.

“Do you not like what you feel from me?” He asked, no twisted fury on his face, eyes filled with that analytical, intrusive look.

“No, that doesn’t matter to me. It's intrusive, and usually people don’t like when I do it, so I just avoid touching anyone.”

“But you can’t fucking control it.” His words didn’t seem to be directed at you, but his glare made it feel like they were. “It’s not your fucking fault all those pussies have so many fucking secrets.”

You give him a passive shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still against their will.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” he mutters. “For fucks sake.”

You tilt your head at him, unable to place where his disbelief and frustration was coming from, even more unsure who was facing the brunt end of it. “I mean, it can’t be that insane that people don’t like it. It’s not like you’d want someone poking around inside your feelings.”

“Sunshine, of all the things to care about, that is one of the most fucking stupid things I’ve ever fucking heard. No, I don’t care about you ‘poking around inside my feelings’, because I’m not a fucking pussy with something to hide.” He gives you another odd look, accompanied by a pause before he spoke again. “Is that where your name comes from?”

“My, my name?” You feel yourself pale, still trying to fully grasp his previous declaration.

He watches you through narrowed eyes. “Your supe name. The Anomaly.”

Your blood might have evaporated, a petrifying cold running through you. “Don’t call me that.”

“I heard MM and the French Prick using it.” He looked slightly thrown by your response, but didn’t stop pushing. “Is it a fucking secret?”

“No,” you answer, trying to keep your voice level, your words acquiring a rambling quality. “It’s completely accurate. I couldn’t think of better one if I tried. Having fou-“ you cut off your slip. “Three completely unique powers on top of the usual supe-sauce is… anomalous. But I fucking hate it. I- I really hate it.” You trailed off, rubbing your arms uneasily.

“Why? It’s just a fucking name.” His voice was casual, almost bored, but he’d leaned forward with feet firmly on the ground, waiting for your answer with an impatient frown.

You’d frozen though, as white walls and straps, cold needles and cuts, and expressionless, masked people above you flashed in your head. Ghosts of fear the first time, devastation the second, emptiness the third, and fury the fourth echoed through your body. Moments of violating change and feelings of uncontrollable, off-balance infestation in your body that would haunt you for the rest of your life. You turned to Soldier Boy, who was still watching with a deep crease in his brow as the TV show played in white noise, and forced words from your chest, to your throat, and out of your mouth.

“If the Russians gave you a name, would you want people to use it?” You said carefully, and watched his first clench at your question, the bowl almost cracking under his grip.

He kept your gaze as he responded, a cool, rough brutality in his words. “I would fucking kill the pussy who was stupid enough to mention it.” You give him a pointed look, and watch the understanding slowly fall into place in his head. All that left him was a grunt, and he turned his body and focused back on the TV, the conversation abruptly over.

The afternoon slipped into evening, the evening into night, and hardly any more words were exchanged. You said good night as you stood to retreat to your room, and he gave a muttered acknowledgment in response. Your sleep was poor but long, and when you walked out into the hall the following morning, you found Soldier Boy standing right outside your door. His arms were crossed, one hand holding the TV remote, and he spoke the moment he saw you.

“Where the fuck is the rest of it?” His intense, demanding tone was far too firm for how early it was.

You gave him a droopy blink, noticing the same shirt and jeans from the day before. “Did you go to bed at all?”

“No. Where is it?” You try to move past him, but he moves to block your path. “Where?”

You rubbed your face, trying to squeeze out the lingering and puffy sleep. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“The show,” he spoke as if it were obvious, continuing to glower down at you as he waved the remote in your face. “You left, and then it was suddenly over and some weird fucking shit started playing. Fix it.”

You squint at him. “That show was canceled in, like, 2018. There isn’t any more.”

His expression was remarkably distressed. “Why the fuck would they do that?!”

“Netflix isn’t great at understanding popular demand,” you rub your eyes again as the dry of your mouth starts to fade. “But there’s like, an insane amount of shows out there. We can find something else.”

“Nothing else is good,” he grumbled. “All that played after was some stupid dating show. I had to watch a group of fucking idiots sit in rooms and whine about love all night.”

“You had to?” You roll your eyes with a snort. “What, did Butcher arrive with a gas mask and threaten to knock you out if you didn’t? If it’s so painful for you, just change it, or turn it off.”

He glares at your mockery, rubbing his neck as he mutters, “I don’t know how.”

"Huh?" His words had passed right through your ears as you tried and failed to keep your slugglish attention from drifting.

"I don't fucking know how," he practically barked, his face red as he refused to look at you. "It's my fucking fault technology is so fucking stupid now."

“Oh,” You feel a small amount of guilt as you realize that his scowl is one of embarrassment, his annoyed tone most likely rooted in frustration. “Wait, how have you been using it for two weeks?”

“I’d just hit buttons until something happened. It worked fine until you started that stupid Netflix shit.”

With a deep breath and sigh, you extend your hand for the remote. When he doesn’t move, you grab it from him with a tug and duck around him. “Follow me.”

Soldier Boy trails after you as you descend the stairs, stopping at your side as you reach the TV. You raise your arm to turn it off, but glance at his still-scrunched face, his bothered expression, and hand the remote back to him instead.

He stares down at his hands before looking back at the TV, then to you, his scowl only more confused. “Nothing fucking happened.”

“You’re going to do it.” You explain, pointing from the remote to the illuminated screen. “I’ll walk you through it, but you’re going to do it yourself.” “Fuck no,” he tries to return the remote to you. “You do it.”

You hold your hands behind your back. “If you want to live any sort of life in the 21st century after this, you’re going to want to know how to use a TV.”

“I can use a fucking TV.”

“Yeah,” you snort. “A shitty, twenty-year-old motel TV. Unless you want us to put you in a memory unit, gramps, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

“Bitch,” he grunts, but he stops trying to pawn off the remote.

“Cunt.”

His knuckles are white around the remote as he gives you an impatient, expectant look.

“Raise your hand like this, with that side,” you tap the head of the remote. “Facing the TV.”

He mimics your movements, and you give a nod of approval.

“Good, now hit that button.” When he doesn’t, you grab his finger and adjust to sit where you had pointed. “Ok, now that one.”

“Why are all these fucking buttons hidden and not labeled. Buttons used to be fucking labeled.”

You shrug. “For most people it’s intuitive, I guess.” You point to another button. “Now hit that one, and I’ll teach you how to search.”

This continues for another painstakingly drawn-out ten minutes. Once you’re absolutely sure he can passably navigate, raise and lower volume, and turn off the TV altogether, you step back.

“That’s it,” you offer him a grin. “Easy as breathing.”

He makes a grumbling, incoherent sound, dropping back on the couch. After a moment of staring at the menu on the screen, he looks up at you from his seat with an irritable frown. “You just going to fucking stand there?”

You blink at him, catch that his curt words are meant to be an offer, and move around the couch and to take the same spot you occupied yesterday. He offers you the remote back, and when you don’t take it he throws it onto your lap.

You give him a tired sigh. “The whole point of this-“

“I’ve never seen any of this shit. You said you’d find something else I’d like, Sunshine. Prove it.”

You raise your brows, but your protests die on your tongue, and you start scrolling through the display.

“I’m not that fucking old,” he grunts over your focus.

“What?” Half your attention still on the TV, you watch him shift forward in your periphery.

“I’m not that fucking old,” he repeats. “I’m not your fucking gramps.”

You glance at him, a hum of amusement leaving you. “You’re over a hundred. It’s not like you’re forty and I’m calling you ancient. Besides,” you give yourself a small smile. “Hughie told me about your little trysts with mature women. Mature woman, forty years your junior.” You stick out your tongue at him. “Cradle robber.”

“I don’t discriminate.” He says, leaning back to lounge on the couch. “And it’s not robbing the cradle if there’s no one that’s-“ he cuts himself off as he almost slips and admits your point. He gives you a glower, daring you to say something. “I’m not old.”

“Someone’s sensitive,” you mumble with a small, genuine smile, and before he can jab back, you hit play on a comedy special, turn the volume to max, and recline into the cushions.

The next set of days pass in similar fashion, and though Soldier Boy doesn’t stop grumbling insults and annoyances, picking small fights, or calling you a bitch, your childish psychological warfare has come to a halt, there’s no more throwing of chairs or explosions, and the word “bitch” off his tongue lacks the malice it did before. You quickly discover that Soldier Boy is a lot more like a toddler than anyone could have possibly guessed. You start leaving out snacks of cheese and fruit on the counter and rarely return to find it still in its spot. If you sit with him, he’ll stay shockingly still, but will make little snipes at the television. Sometimes you catch him after a comment, watching to see if you’re entertained by his words, and learn that even a vaguely amused smile makes him take on an overtly smug grin himself. At one point you start writing down a list of his less than progressive phrases, labeling it “Soldier Boy Racist Grampa Highlights," until he catches you, grabbing the list from next to you when he notices his name.

“The fucks this?” He’d asked as he scanned the page.

“I got bored,” you shrugged, and he rolled his eyes.

“This one’s not even that bad,” he pointed to a more recent addition, and you leaned over to read it.

“You called Hughie a cocksucking queer piss-boy. He’s not even here to defend himself.”

“So?”

You just gave him a flat look and returned your attention to the book you’d been skimming. You noticed him pocket the list, though, and over the next few days he started to pull it out whenever the apparently vital urge to insult someone showed its face. While the vulgarity didn’t decrease, the use of language you could only describe as tasteless and bigoted, did. Hughie even received a demotion to a “cocksucking pussy.”

He still rarely slept, instead locking himself in his room late at night and only emerging once you wake up. Once you pass his room on a 3am trip to the bathroom, walking in soft, toed steps to avoid disturbing him, only for the light leaking under his door to flood the hallway as he opens it.

“It’s not morning,” he watches you, leaning against his doorframe. “You should be asleep.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” is what you try to say. But between your clouded brain, restless need for the bathroom, and energy-drained body, what comes out is a string of sounds in a whiny tone.

“What was that?” His voice is taunting, but lacks any real edge.

“Cunt.” You mumble, trying to look at least a little menacing and, based off of what you think is a grin on Soldier Boy’s face, not succeeding.

“Bitch. You know, if you’re not tired, I’d be willing to help get you there.” He’s probably giving you a cocky, suggestive eyebrow wriggle, but between the sleepy squint of your eyes and light casting him in a silhouette, you really can’t tell. When you just make another mumble in response, he chuckles “Go back to bed, Sunshine, you’re going to collapse.”

“Nu-uh,” is all you can manage, and start to shuffle down the hall once more. When you emerge from the bathroom, your vision filled with spots after trying to turn on the lights only to be blinded, his door is closed once more, and you return to your room, collapsing back into useless, terror-fraught sleep.

When you walk into the kitchen that morning, the coffee pot is full.

———-

“What’s the third?”

You look up from your trudge through a CIA-provided, untranslated copy of Beowulf to find Soldier Boy staring at you from the door of your room.

“Third what?”

Taking that as an invitation, he stepped fully through the door to stand at the edge of your bed. “Third power. You’ve got your fireworks and feelings shit, what the fuck’s the third?”

You mark your page and meet his insistent face. “I told you that what, like ten days ago? Did you only now think to ask?”

“Nine days,” he says with an eye roll. “Don’t be fucking dramatic. And you got all pissy about your supe name. Not my fault I tried to respect your stupid fucking woman emotions and dropped it.”

You laugh. “First off, add ‘woman emotions’ to the list. And you totally forgot. I can see right through you, you just didn’t want me to make more old man jokes.”

“You’re fucking doing it anyway." He mutters, taking out the crumpled paper and a pencil from his pocket, using the wall to scratch the addition. “Would’ve been a stupid fucking plan, and I’m not a sensitive pussy who cares about jokes.” He shoves the list back into his jeans, and gives you a scowl as your grin spreads further across your face.

“Literally two days ago you threw a tantrum because I asked you what dinosaurs were your friends.”

“Are you going to answer my fucking question?”

“Fine, you baby,” you snort. “I can heal people by touching them. Technically, I transfer their injuries onto me, and then I heal so quickly it doesn’t matter. That’s mostly what I was doing for the Boys before this.”

“You were playing nurse?” He frowned. “When you can withstand a nuclear blast and are a fucking human molotov? That’s fucking stupid.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I don’t really have any control over the fire. And I wasn’t just ‘playing nurse’, I helped with missions in other ways.”

“Really?” His tone was sarcastic as he gave you a doubtful look. “What, you were a human shield too?”

“Well, yeah.” You mutter sheepishly. “But it was helpful."

“Sure, Sunshine. They must be torn up without you.”

You give him a scowl. “You know, I’m not going to tell you stuff if you’re going to be a fucking dick about it.”

He blinks, mouth curving down. “I was fucking joking.”

“Wasn’t funny,” you shrug, opening up your book. “Get out of my room.”

He doesn’t move. “Why are you being a fucking bitch again?”

You sigh, staring blankly at the pages. You’d admit, even from inside your own head, your anger had blossomed quite suddenly. But his accusations of your team being absolutely unaffected by your absence stabbed you somewhere in your chest, fueling that voice in the back of your head. It was getting louder, reminding you of all that damage in your wake—how your team walked on eggshells when they spoke to you and flinched when you touched them. “Human shield” was the best description of your place within the group. “Nurse” was too generous a term for a person they let touch and heal them only if the hospital was too far away and it couldn’t wait. On rare occasions you’d convince them to forgo their protests and just let you fix their wounds, but it took promises and pleas from you and exhausted caving from them. You look back up at Soldier Boy, who has remained in his place, eyes boring into you as you’d calmed yourself.

“I don’t like being useless.” You say softly. You know the admission could return to bite you in the ass should the peace you and Soldier Boy maintained the past week crumble, but he’d surprised you once. Maybe he’d do it again. “I don’t need you to remind me that I am.”

You watch his reaction, frown growing but fuming annoyance fading. His eyes were overtaken by a surly look you couldn’t figure out. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve heard.”

Your jaw drops, and that thing under your skin starts to claw against your skull. “Get out.” When he doesn’t move, your voice raises. “Get out!”

“Would you just-“

“Out!” You’re at a full scream now, chucking Beowulf at him. “Get the fuck out!”

“Just fucking listen to me!” He’d stumbled back as the book hit, most likely out of shock more than anything else, but remained in your room. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice smoke starting to curl around you, but you’re too angry to try to calm it. He must notice it as well, because his face pinches slightly, no longer trying to move back to you. “I wasn’t done-“

“What, you got more stupid, cruel shit to say? About how I’m not just useless, I’m a stupid fucking bitch? A useless whore who can’t even cook? An uptight fucking prude?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman, for once in your life, shut the fuck up!” He’s yelling too now, and suddenly you can’t move. It’s not like he’s never raised his voice before, having frequent appearances in your previous daily shouting matches, but this is different. This seeps through the air into your blood and head, shutting everything in you down until all that’s left is fear. Breathing is hard, your heart can’t seem to keep up with your lungs, and your anger is quickly turning into a light-headed, frantic need to go, go, go and hide, or to start clawing and clawing at whatever comes close until this feeling leaves. All of a sudden he’s right there, he’s in front of you and grabbing your arms, shaking you and saying something you can’t hear. Slowly, the tightness around you starts changing, becoming something solid, something firm. You’re annoyed and frustrated, but under it rests an urge to cover your hands in blood over something. Your fragile terror is washed over by a vigilant alarm, and everything suddenly feels sharper. As you emerge from your own brain, you notice Soldier Boy still there, his face level with yours.

“You’re fine.” It’s not a question. He’s telling you, and suddenly you realize that you are. And as you nod, you feel the distress in you fade into something like relief. Your head drops, and you tense once more as your eyes see his hands on your biceps.

“Um,” you look between his grip on your body and his face, drawn with a confusion you can feel in yourself. You gesture your head back down, his own attention following yours, and he lets out a grunt when he sees what you’re glancing at, dropping himself from you.

He draws himself up and turns, and part of you thinks he’s going to walk out the door and leave the rest of your fight for the morning. But he stops when he opens the door, and speaks without turning.

“You’re not useless. That’s what I was trying to fucking tell you. You’re certainly worth more than any of those preachy hypocrites.” Before you can ever open your mouth, he’s gone, slamming the door behind him.

You don’t sleep that night, laying in bed with the sheets feeling too warm and itchy, your thrashing only just slower than your restless thoughts. You stare and stare at the ceiling, trying to comb through the conversation and pick apart every second so you’d know just what to say when the dawn broke. You wanted to, needed to, make sure things didn’t go back to the way they’d been before. That had been exhausting, every part of your waking moments wondering who would blow up first, listing out hypotheticals to ensure that you would win any fight he offered you. You’d take the blame, a scratch in the back of your head told you it was yours anyway, to keep this truce. As the night moves, time becomes uncertain, hours, minutes, and seconds all feeling the same. Your dread turns to shame, to doubt, to a hot, righteous anger.

This won’t wait for morning, you decide. He doesn’t get to do this, make you sink down like this. It might have been your fault, but he doesn’t get to make you sit in it. You’re going to fix this or blow it up, and you’re going to do it now.

He must be up. He’s always up. You’d seen him “sleep” twice, both times in a frighteningly controlled manner, waking himself up the moment his breathing became soft. He’s certainly up, the light in his room is escaping into the hall, and you can hear him shuffling around, but, still, you knock on his door. When it doesn’t open, you knock again, then once more after another minute of inaction.

After the fifth knock, your patience a thin thread, you shout. “I know you’re in there, Soldier Boy! The light’s on, and I can fucking hear you! We need to talk!” The sounds pick up, but still the door is shut. “Let me fucking in, you ass!”

Nothing.

The thread snaps, and you push open the door. The harsh of the light blinds you for only a second, and when your eyes adjust, you're met with the sight of Soldier Boy, asleep, with his face in crumpled in a pained grimace. Sheet askew across the bed as he grunts unintelligibly, his body looks braced against something you can’t see. You’re frozen in your place near the door, agitation forgotten. You want to wake him up, because you know far better than anyone how real these things can seem, how the pain being your head doesn’t stop the echo of it in your body. You want to leave and never speak of this again, because there’s no way he receive you seeing him like this well. But what makes you decision for you, springing you from your rooted place, is the light in his chest starting to brighten as the room starts to hum.

It’s more instinct than anything—you know that the safe house and everything in it has been built to withstand this very thing, but that knowledge doesn’t stop you—as you run to the bed and shake Soldier Boy by his shoulders. When your skin meets his a rush of fear, pure and unbridled fear as strong as it had been from you hours ago, overtakes you. Fear and anger. You don’t think you ever felt this bloodthirsty, savage anger in you before. Your anger had always been cold and zealous, calculating tributes for your sorrow. This anger didn’t care. Somebody just had to hurt, and hopefully that someone would break.

If it’d been any other circumstance, you’d have been terrified by it. But you’re not, focused entirely on waking Soldier Boy up. Later, when several hours were between you and this moment, you’d deal with this. Maybe you’d even acknowledge how, despite the distance, you still may not be afraid of it. But now, with the light only growing, you let his feelings wash through you, and you do something drastic.

You pull back and slap Soldier Boy in the face.

He roars, eyes shooting open and glazed with a feral haze, his body jerking upright and grabbing you by the throat. Even as it happens, hindsight tells you that there probably were other ways to wake him up, but this was the stupid path you’d taken, and you unfortunately could not go back.

Before your vision could grow spotty, before your own fear and images of a flickering light above you could overtake your head, he let go with another shout. You scrambled back, realizing the fever in you had crept out of your spine, trading bruises on your neck for burns on his hands.

You watch him slowly regain control, his face dropping into exhaustion and his eyes searching the room—for what exactly, you’re not sure—and finding you.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” The words are low and rough, and though they don’t sound like a question, you answer him anyway.

“I- I just wanted to talk, and you weren’t answering the door…” You trail off lamely, your words sounding hollow even to you.

He doesn’t yell at your though, or push you out. He just stares at you, as if you’re meant to continue, to try and justify your presence. But you just stare back, unsure if you want him to kick you out, talk to you, or just pass out and forget the whole thing.

Instead of those options, leaving you at yet another loss, he sits back and scoots over to the far side of the mattress. When you don’t react besides another prolonged stare, he gives a half-hearted eye roll and pats the space next to him. Slowly, slightly fearful of misunderstanding his gesture, you walk over and drop on the bed at his side.

He’s looking ahead, unreadable from only his side profile, when he speaks.

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

You don’t stop watching him as you respond. “Does that happen every time?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

You don’t have anything else to say—any reassurance you can think of sounding stupid even in your head. So you wait, still watching him, and sit in the silence.

“Do you not have any?” His voice is strangely soft, though no tension has left his body.

You give a small sigh. “I do. But I’m good at hiding them. Stuff like that,” you wave a hand to his chest. “Only happens on bad days.”

“Bad days?” You can see his frown forming as his lips turn down, his voice growing deeper.

“On a few missions, I saw Homelander,” you whisper, now staring ahead yourself. “From afar. Really afar. I know he didn’t ever even see me, because I’m not back… there, but whenever I see him, apparently it’s enough.” You turn back to Soldier Boy, and are met with him watching you.

“Is that what yours are about?”

You give a small nod. “Different things happen, but it’s always him. Always there.”

“Hm,” his eyes don’t leave you as he speaks. “How do you stop them?”

You don’t have to ask what he means. “I don’t stop them, I just keep them in here.” You tap your head. “And I think of before. About how it was.”

“That helps?”

“As long as I don’t let myself remember that it will never be like that again.” You can’t hide the pain the words give you.

“What was it like?”

“Before? It’s was normal,” you shrug. “Boring.”

He tilts his head at you. “Normal?”

“Normal,” you repeat, watching his face as you speak.

He frowns, and looks away. You notice him swallow heavily, glaring at the wall. “Like,” he swallows again. “Like what?”

“Well, I had parents. Siblings. I had friends, I worked, I went to school-“

“School?” He turns back to you. “You're an adult, did they make school fucking longer?”

You feel a small smile quirk your lip. “No, I was doing a postgraduate. I’d actually just finished. Technically, I’m a doctor.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Of Anthropology, yeah. I know less about human medicine than WebMD.” You pause. "That’s like, a website that’s famous for giving bad medical advice. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“And you think you know less than it?”

“Oh, I know I know less than it.”

He snorted, returning to watch the wall. “That’s fuckin ironic.”

You nod in amusement. “Yep.”

When you don’t continue, he looks back once more. “What else?”

“I lived alone. Small, shitty studio on the Upper West Side. I visited my dad in Boston once a month-“

“Just your dad?”

“Yeah, my mom wasn’t dead, she’s just a bitch.” You hear Soldier Boy cough what might have been a laugh, but you ignore it. “She and my dad divorced when I was like, ten. They had joint custody, but I stopped talking to her when I was fifteen.”

“Harsh,” he mutters. “What, she ground you one too many times?”

You decided that holding back about thing like this was a need long gone. “She tried to send me to a medical boarding school in the Berkshires.”

“What the fuck is a ‘medical boarding school’”

“Like a psych ward where they teach you math.”

“Huh,” he raises his brows at you. “You need one?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I already knew math.”

He stares at you blankly, a smile having crept onto your face. “You’re… making a joke.” He said slowly.

“Yep,” you nudge his shoulder with your own. “That’s what a good one sounds like.”

He lets out a low laugh. “That wasn’t that fucking good.”

“You laughed.”

“You can’t fucking prove it.”

You’re grinning fully now. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, gramps.”

He rolls his eyes. “So your mom’s a bitch, you lived alone, and you can’t even cook. That’s just fucking sad.”

“New York is famous for its food,” you mutter. “And I can heat stuff up, as you very well know.”

“You can’t coast on box macaroni forever, Sunshine.”

“Been working fine for both of us so far.”

He gives you an amused look. “You’re not trying to seduce me.”

“What the fuck does that have to do-“

“You don’t have to impress me,” he continues, unfazed. “Your cooking doesn’t matter. What’d you do when you were hungry for dick?”

You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.” He only returns your glare with a cocky grin.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet, Sunshine.” He winks, and you roll your eyes.

“Men aren’t big pussies about that stuff anymore,” you smile as his face drops at your claim. “And I never spent a lot of time being ‘hungry for dick’, anyways.”

“What, you have a loyal boyfriend?” he taunts.

“Nope,” you give him a grin. “But I had a sweet old lady in the apartment across the hall who brought me food every weekend. You’d have liked her, she was just your type.”

He grunts, but not with annoyance. “All I hear is no boyfriend, no friends, and can’t cook. Like I said, just fucking sad.”

“I had friends!” You protest. “We’d do karaoke every Friday!”

“You can sing?”

“Nobody who does karaoke can sing,” you dodge with ease. “But we had fun.”

He lets out a labored breath, and when he turns to you this time, you notice how bloodshot his eyes are.

“Would you go back?” He asked. He was watching you so carefully, and you once again are left confused by the look in his eyes.

“I don’t think I could.” You answer, your voice sounding far away, a memory of a gravestone flashing in your head. “I don’t think it would be fair to them.”

“Fair to them?” He gives a doubtful huff. “That’s fucking stupid.”

“Really?” You challenge. “I don’t think it’s stupid to not want to pull the people you love into this shitshow. I got a chance to keep them out of this life. Most people aren’t that lucky.”

Soldier Boy only shrugs. “Bad things will still fucking happen to them.”

“Bad things happen to everyone.” Your words are firm. “I’m making sure they don’t fucking die.”

“Well,” he turns back to the wall. “Aren’t they fucking lucky they have you.”

You know his words are meant to be cold and sarcastic, his face has even dropped into a scowl. But there was no sharpness behind them, and the rest of his face just looks… so tired. You hate it, it’s leaking into you and you’re not even touching him. You really, really want it to stop. So, you say the only thing that you can think of.

“Nobody taught me,” you say softly.

“What?” His red eyes give you a confused glance.

“I can’t cook because nobody taught me how. My mom didn’t care to, I don’t think it ever occurred to my dad, and eventually everyone just assumed that I could and I didn’t want to correct them. I turned into some sort of rage against the patriarchy shit in my head, but it’s a just life skill that I can’t do because nobody wanted to teach me.” You give him a sad smile. “I don’t think they felt as lucky to have me as you think.”

“So why’re you protecting them?” He asks, a puzzled frown on his face. “If those pussies didn’t fucking care about you, then they don't fucking deserve it.”

You shrug. “I know. But I’m going to keep doing it anyway.”

His eyes on yours have that look of dissection again, but it’s no longer violating, only prying carefully. You’re not sure how long passes before he speaks.

“It’s late,” he mutters. “You should sleep.”

You hesitate, but nod and stand. You move to the door, glancing back to see his still watching, alone on the bed. From here, he somehow looks more tired, the light making the circles around his eyes more prominent and the color on his face more washed out. You think it’s the most human you’ve ever seen him.

“Good night, Soldier Boy,” you say gently, and turn to leave.

You almost don’t hear his response.

“You don’t have to call me Soldier Boy,” the words are said under his breath, and when you turn, he has a soft frown. “Ben’s fine.”

You blink, and a small, unforced smile crosses your face. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ben.”

[mickaltieri]

My favorite Timothy Olyphant characters (not in order)

Mickey Altieri

Scream 2 (1997)

first tim character I got to know and love <3

he may be a psychotic serial killer but he’s still a babe!!!!!!

if you don’t think he’s the best ghostface and character, you’re just lying to yourself

he is just a silly film student killing in his free time

maybe didn’t have much screen time but he served in every scene he was in (quality over quantity bitches)

considering that this was tim’s first big role, he did such an incredible job and i’ll always be intrigued by his performance as mickey

i’d let him murder me any time byeeeeeee

Nick Bennett

A Perfect Getaway (2009)

Nickoooo!!!!!

stole my heart the very first second i saw him (and he’s not giving it back)

sweet little angel who could still kick your ass with ease

if you say you love him more than i do, i’d start a fight with you

i want a sequel so badly just because i miss him daily and need him desperately back.

i could listen to this man all day long

like just let ME buy YOU an engagement ring from ebay

also a big fan of tim’s performance in this one, definitely so under appreciated

Raylan Givens

Justified (2010-2015) & Justified: City Primeval (2023)

he is the moment

i say this a lot but he’s the best protagonist ever, idc what anyone else says

i wanna steal his cowboy hat from him

the vibe of his character???? and love how unpredictable he is sometimes

if you look up the word ‘legend’ you’ll find a picture of raylan right next to it

it’d be an honor to be shot by him

his one liners are top notch

tim was just born to play raylan, no one could’ve been better. he was the perfect choice

Joel Hammond

Santa Clarita Diet (2017-2019)

owner of the baby community

literally the most comforting character to ever exist!!!!

joel is probably the most relatable tim character for me

the perfect husband!!!!! would kill to have myself a joel

just wanna protect him from anything bad. so if you dare to shit talk about him, i’ll end you

is SO different from most of his other characters which can be super refreshing

santa clarita diet was the best, we deserve another season and undead joel!!!! tim would’ve killed it

[kiwiana-writes]

💬🍷👑 (for either the silver fox alex fic or the santa clarita diet au) please MJ! <3

💬: Do you reread comments?

Hell fucking yes. I star the emails of particularly lovely ones and go back to them when I'm having a terrible day/wondering why I do this/etc lmao. But also if I'm ever rereading a fic for any reason I'll almost always reread all the comments as well.

🍷: Do you ever write while inebriated?

Rarely, but not never! I was pretty fucking drunk writing at least one Kinktober fic lmao

👑: Say 3 things you like about one of your fics. (Asker can add a title of the fic they want the author to talk about.)

Fuck it, I'm doing both.

Silver fox Alex (Warm like the glow that you feel head to toe):

Silver fox Alex and Oxford slut phase Henry in the SAME FIC is a personal gift to myself, actually.

Henry's Fleabag moment of getting off to Alex's speeches made me laugh out loud as I was writing it

DODGY KNEE SEX SELF-REPRESENTATION MY BELOVED

Santa Clarita Diet AU (Never want to live (or die) without you):

There was something really freeing about writing this fic fully expecting, like, five people to read it. More did, obviously, and I am DELIGHTED by that, but I went into it knowing it's not the type of thing this fandom gravitates towards and that took a lot of the pressure off, and I think you can tell that I had a fucking blast with it.

Listen I'm sorry but the mental image of a blood-covered Alex is hot I will not apologise for who I am

There, uh, may have been something in here that pivoted slightly and became the original novel I'm currently in the process of fast-drafting, so... 👀

[fic writing asks]

[docholligay]

Eight Days of Content, Live Action, Round One!

We're starting the voting! Usually this takes awhile to hew down, to say nothing of if we also have to pick an episode, so I like to get it started as soon as possible.

You will have to select TWELVE of the options. No more, no less. The top half will move on to the next round!

If you're thinking twelve is a lot to pick, there are two places to help you!

One is the Discord, where there is a lot of back and forth conversation and a good place to get a good sense of my feelings. I also DON'T GO THERE, so you can say whatever you want how you want. It's also where I generally post advisories about the opening of voting and such.

Two is, you can post a pick on the Community. For this, I ask that in the TITLE of the post you put "Live Action Eight Days Pitch" so i don't read it.

all nominations are below the cut, in random order.

This will be open until the afternoon of November 22nd.

VOTE HERE

The Penguin

Severance

WandaVision

The Twilight Zone (Original series)

The Batman (2022)

Masterminds (2003)

The Only Murders in the Building

The Americans

Beef

Great British Bakeoff (Mel and Sue Era)

Justified

Shogun (2023)

FROM

The Green Knight

MASH (TV Show)

Max Headroom

Everything, Everywhere, All at Once

The Last of Us

Deadwood

Schitt's Creek

Promised Land (2022)

Vigil

Godless (netflix)

Picnic At Hanging Rock

Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

Kevin Can Fuck Himself

Life on Mars (UK)

Letterkenny

Doctor Who (Modern Era)

Deadloch

Fallout

Gentleman Jack

Tipping the Velvet

Santa Clarita Diet

Hacks

[ladyjanesta]

Hannibal Season 4

I have a very specific way I want it shot. Nothing like Silence of the Lambs, they're out in the world let's have fun with it.

I want it to cut between the FBI team who have been tasked to hunt them down and them just navigating a new relationship when they have history and just two long time bachelors learning to live with one another (Will's three year marriage notwithstanding as there's no way he was 'himself' whilst with her) whilst also in hiding from the FBI.

Hannibal can't have a pretentious speech ready at all times, especially about basic, tedious day to day life like, you know Hannibal has to buy a shit ton of lint rollers because of Will's dog habit.

Will being sent out to buy a certain ingredient from the market and just slightly getting it wrong, not wrong enough for it to be a problem but Hannibal was very specific in what he wanted, Will not really seeing the problem and Hannibal having to choose to make it an issue or to just let it go.

Just, the little readjustments when sharing your space with another person as an adult.

Does Hannibal snore? Does Hannibal snore loud enough that it keeps Will from sleeping? Does Hannibal occasionally wake up to Will standing over him white knuckling a pillow?

I think it's a huge thing for Hannibal because anyone invited into his space has always been on his terms, plus he's always presented a palatable version of himself in order to escape any negative/suspicious attention. And now he's sharing everything about his life with someone he cannot lie to and can seen who he is down to the bone. That's got to be a hell of an adjustment: being naked after nearly forty years wearing a 'person suit'.

I want to make it known that the FBI parts are shot like a normal, traditional procedural show, complete with tedious aspects like paper work and wrong leads and lots of speculation (Jack is a bit character in this (retired or just dipping out), he pops in and gives his impressions with make sense to us the viewers but is batshit insane when explaining to another person). Lots of beige and petty office politics.

This team is not the all star team, the Murder Husband case is quickly fading from public interest but the FBI has to show they're still trying to catch these two. The Murder Husband Basement is the naughty corner for agents who screw up with their bosses or in the field.

The murder husband side is filmed like The Santa Clarita Diet/Pushing Daisies, shot with a light palette with deep dark macabre overtones. Hannibal just having fun with the fake passport names and Will visibly gathering strength as he introduces himself as Mr Achilles Alphonso Papadopoulos, and his husband Mr Patroclus Papadopoulos. Will catches himself making a cannibal pun and wants to throw himself into traffic but Hannibal is delighted with Will's progress.

Will always gets a middle name. It's a little something just for Hannibal.

I have day dreamed whole episodes about this.

The FBI team go to a crime scene where the Murder Husbands are the main suspects and it's super serious, a monstrous tableau which haunts the team (there's little mini scenes where the team are talking to a (normal) psychiatrist about it and we (the audience) learn just horrific details about the murders/victims) and it cuts to Will and Hannibal arguing over the crime in progress in their murder suits, on how to place the ribcage just so. Is the underlaying theme too pretentious?

Hannibal getting Will's attention in order to wave at him with a severed arm. Will getting Hannibal's attention and pointing at a hideous couch and asking, 'don't you have a suit like that?'

Just two dudes having fun.

Scenes from an opulent dinner party with the camera panning on the certainly human meat plated with such care and attention, cutting to the limp, sad gas station doughnuts that the FBI team have access to. Utterly pathetic, grey toned cheese sandwiches with way too much mayo cutting to beautiful breakfast foods, crafted with love...and human flesh. (I also like to think that Hannibal puts human meat in everything, even things that don't traditionally have meat in them).

At one point the team are looking at photos of Hannibal's meals and one of their stomachs just start growling loudly.

The team realising that Jack Crawford has certainly eaten human flesh.

A mini episode featuring Hannibal's never ending battle against the dog hair in their home, in which he is slowly losing.

One of the FBI team literally bumping into one of the duo but because they're distracted or they've gone face blind staring at their photos in The Basement and it never clicks.

The duo don't even know about the team, that's how out of reach they are, or, Hannibal is in contact as a 'specialist' with one of the team, they have a rapport.

In-jokes, Hannibal sends memes, Hannibal sends memes that he has cleared with Will to the team, etc, etc...

Miriam Lass now has a successful morning cooking show online. She has different cooking attachments for her arm, she's thriving. Her show is sometimes on in the back ground in scenes because everyone watches her, everyone's low key forgotten she was a Ripper survivor.

Hannibal has some of her merch, it's an apron with her on it waving, but at the end of her arm is a whisk attachment. Hannibal has low key forgotten she's a Ripper survivor, Will asks whether wearing the apron is a bit ghoulish and Hannibal has a, 'Oh, right', moment.

The fun is endless.

[lottieurl]

you can literally always hate jeff in the tags of my misty posts btw im reading those tags the way one reads a morning newspaper. the fanon version of jeff seems so different to canon jeff like he’s not really the dedicated malewife people make him out to be shsjsks. he didn’t want to even try strawberry lube like c’mon now. he freaked out when she saved their asses and grabbed the gun. perhaps this is an unfair assumption for me to have of the writers but ive seen it happen in other shows and i fear they might’ve seen how the general audience liked there’s no book club!jeff and added more of him and that general vibe bc of it. but to me s1 jeff worked bc you spend most of it distrusting or disliking him and then he has a shining moment at the taylors and thennn he goes back to being Like That when you find out he’s the blackmailer. and it’s like this really sad, terrible marriage two people are stuck in for various reason so idk where the couple goals even in a fun failmarriage way comes from. he’s not even the most interesting non shauna member of the sadecki family!!! callie is right there esp if they’re focusing on her motherhood!!! ANYWAYS. jeff & walter’s downfall 2k23 im with you

okay thank you for giving me the excuse to talk about it actually cause i was thinking this since the season started. people's ENTIRE interpretation of jeff as a character hinges and is almost exclusively based on THERE WAS NO BOOK CLUB? literally everything else he does gets twisted so he can stay this fanon dream himbo wifeguy. and that's the show's fault to an extent for sure cause there is a framing there due to how much they want jeff in the comic relief role. but the show does make a point of showing that jeff is deeply disturbed by shauna, that he's been a shit husband actually and he's kind of an awful person tbh. like! thats not a character flaw per se, we are all here for awful characters. but people don't want an interesting dynamic between those two or for jeff to be more than a one dimensional goofy idiot. and they also want shaunajeff to be like. santa clarita diet marriage or whatever which. loved santa clarita diet but that's AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THING. and an entirely different type of show and we do all get that this would strip shauna of all her amazing nuances right? right? anyways back to jeff. people will see how he reacts to shauna pulling that gun or how he's entirely against everything shauna does regarding callie and go omg wifeguy always supportive. he is not? and for good reasons lmao? people will see teen jeff cheating and be like ye shauna was awful for doing this to jackie but jeff is just a poor little idiot plus (did see a take like this which. hello) jackie wouldn't have sex with him so he's without fault. like. what. anyways he's a cheater who found out SOME of what his wife experiened in the wilderness (not everything for sure cause that man is way waaay WAY too freaked out by shauna's behaviors to know it all lets be real) and decided to profit off the victims he knew as a teen dgsbjfjdjdsb like he offered to go to jail for adam murder in part cause his own blackmailing scheme is what pushed shauna to kill adam? just cause he's kind of funny every once in a while doesn't mean he's A Loving Himbo Wifeguy. all jeff related posts are that and its why i started having an allergic reaction to jeff

[rathockey]

wip wednesday

tagged by @cowboy-buddie @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess @alyxmastershipper @prince-buck-diaz @wikiangela and @panbuckley <3

have a little santa clarita diet au where we see how Buck feels about being undead :) (a real challenge with this fic is not ripping too much from the source material and tailoring it to buck and eddie while still keeping the original humour of it, i dont feel AS good about this one as other snippets but i just love the og dialogue for this scene 😄)

“I think this one shows someone taking the cure!” Eddie set his reading glasses down on the counter. “You really think there’s a cure?” Buck leaned over Eddie’s shoulder, looking at the medieval drawing of a man having some kind of liquid poured down his throat. He made a face. “Yeah, the baka said so.” Eddie sipped his coffee. “Chewbaka?” “No, no, the baka! Baka is Serbian for grandmother! I’m really learning a lot with this.” Eddie slid his glasses back on. “Are you okay? You seem a little… manic” Buck grabbed the empty mug from the counter. “Well, I feel really manic, so.” Eddie stood up, bouncing a bit. “But this is exciting, this is great, there could be a cure! Soon you could be eating an insane amount of pizza instead of entire people!” Buck furrowed his brow. “You don’t seem excited, why aren’t you excited? Don’t you want to be cured?” “I do. I just, I don’t know, I like the way I feel. Like a huge weight has lifted off my chest and I can just enjoy life now. Like all my insecurities just got up and walked away.” Buck grinned. “You eat people.” “I know. But I get so much done, I sleep so little I can take on extra shifts and never get tired! I can help so many more people now! And our sex has become insane.” “But you do want to be cured. Right?” Eddie raised his eyebrows at Buck. Buck looked down at the mug in the sink. “Yeah. Totally.”

tagging @rogerzsteven @911onabc @transboybuckley @oliverstaark @cowboy-buck @heartbeatdiaz @eddiediaaz

[kuwdora]

The fraught experience of watching TV in a streaming entertainment economy.

I basically watch new TV with the expectation that current season I’m watching is going to be the last. That includes The Witcher Netflix, btw, but other shows, too. I get the feeling we’ve all sort of…come to this conclusion, right? We’re all so jaded because things get cancelled left and right. Nothing is safe. Nothing. :(

We all have to race to watch The Sandman or Shadow and Bone ASAP instead of enjoying a week-to-week drop. It’s exhausting. I don’t like feeling guilty when I don’t have the brain to watch things. I definitely have just streamed stuff in the background and watched it for real later, too.

Star Trek Prodigy on Paramount? Cancelled and pulled from the platform. People who purchased the rest of the season on Amazon never got the episodes because the rights were pulled. Star Trek is the flagship IP!!! And it STILL GOT CANCELLED. Even though it’s beautiful, and fucking brilliant and incredible television and had new episodes in the pipeline.

The other show I’m currently mourning is Moonhaven. I wrote about that show here. It was renewed for a second season! It’s an fascinating, atypical sci-fi TV premise with great leads and interesting worldbuilding and shooting locations in Ireland. And then AMC decided that they were not going to renew it. It’s similar what happened to Avenue 5 on HBO (Ave 5 was more of a Schroedinger’s Cancellation. It’s cancelled except maybe not? But it really is cancelled.)

A League of Their Own? Cancelled. Willow? Cancelled. The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance? Sense8???? The list goes on and on. :(

I think for me it was in 2017 or 2018 that I really started internalizing this idea that none of my favorite, amazing shows were going to last. Santa Clarita Diet was axed by Netflix far too soon. Same with Altered Carbon. Those cancellations changed me, yeah…

I follow a lot of WGA writers on twitter and there’s been a lot of discussion happening about the Suits renaissance. Suits aired on the USA Network for 9 years with 16+ episodes/season. It’s been streaming on NBC’s Peacock platform for awhile and now has 8 seasons on Netflix. It’s currently the most-streamed show in Nielson’s history, something like over 2 billion minutes now. people are discovering it for the first time or coming back to it for a very happy rewatch.

This writer sums up the situation perfectly.

I also can’t track down the tweet where a writer was talking to a development executive at Peacock who admitted that they wouldn’t be able to get Suits made today.

Ugly Betty is another show that’s having a similar bump (thanks in part to Barbie, people catching up to how amazing America Ferrara is. Also watch Superstore!!) because people are looking for these longer shows that have character development and the longevity.

The only streaming platform I currently ‘trust’ with my vested TV interests is AppleTV. And I only trust them because I can see what kind of free reign they’re allowing their creatives to do with their shows. They’re specific and bold premises and commitment to characters and themes. Similar to Netflix in the early years. I doubt this will last much longer.

On Apple TV you’ve got incredible psychological thrillers like Severence and Silo happening. The musical comedy Schmiagdoon! too.

Ted Lasso got to have longer episodes and handed over showrunning duties to the lead actor with some questionable creative choices made in those seasons. It still got to complete the show on its own terms. Amazing.

Apple TV also has Mythic Quest which is a unique comedy in the streaming age.

It’s a workplace comedy about a fictionalized video game development company. Picture Ubisoft who also provides video game assets/interstitials for the show among other things. It’s Community meets Always Sunny in Philadelphia (features writers and actors from both). A comedy that examines toxic masculinity in a workplace, completely roasts the girlbloss tropes and the patriarchy. The main characters are really autistic and ADHD coded. The show is completely self-aware (at times painfully so).

But what sets Mythic Quest apart and what tells me Apple TV is letting creatives do their jobs: This show has Bottle Episodes! And flashback episodes that don’t feature any of the primary actors! But the episodes are still relevant to the the themes and character dynamics the show is exploring.

In a hyper-serialized streaming world where executives and product strategists are measuring engagement by minutes watched and how soon they watch, Apple TV is letting these folks make episodes you can watch out of order or skip. But they’re also episodes with high rewatchability. It’s a show with a ton of heart. Apple TV renews Mythic Quest ahead of a season premiere. It renews it for multiple seasons. I’ve found this commitment to the longevity of the show very heartening.

In the past I’ve fallen in love with shows that were irreverent, campy, self-aware comedies. All of these were ABC shows so I can’t even rail against the streaming model. But like Netflix shows they weren’t given enough time to reach a wider audience even though I think some of these definitely have Cult Acclaim by now. I showed up bright an early for most of these and my god. The cancellations stung so much. That pain just accumulated over the years. A precursor of what was to come. :(

Better Off Ted - 2009 show. Another workplace satire that was just ahead of it’s time in the way it showed us the gallows humor of being a cog in the capitalist system. Addressed sexism, racism and classism. Funny as hell. Portia di Rossi knew the fucking assignment and fucked its brains out with her performance. Maz Jobrani was only in like 5 or 6 episodes and he was SO GOOD. I made sure to see every local comedy show I could to see more of him once I saw him in Better off Ted. - currently streaming on Hulu

Galavant - 2014-2016 - a fantasy musical. Monty Python meets Princess Bride. Featuring creators and lyricists who worked on 90s Disney films. So fucking funny and cheeky and heartwarming and silly. The music is so GREAT. All my Witcher and Our Flag Meets Death friends need to check this one out if they need something new-to-them that is witty and light and heartfelt. - also streaming on Hulu

Don’t Trust the B— in Apt 23 - a 2012 show with Krysten Ritter!! Before she was Jessica Jones! This show has eccentric women characters and James van der Beek playing a fictionalized version of himself. This is a show that had so much potential and they aired everything out of order and and and and and and I loved it so much. - Hulu since this is again an ABC show. Vid Rec: Applause by elipie.

Selfie - JOHN CHO AND KAREN GILLAN! John Cho and Karen Gillan in a ROM COM. The screeching wails from fandom when this got cancelled. It was an amazing set-up, amazing chemistry. Funny, quirky. You could see the growth in both of the characters!! And! We Never! Got enough!! - seriously watch this on hulu if you can. John and Karen are AMAZING.

Every first season of Star Trek has been wobbly or had wobbily episodes that didn't work or actors were still getting to know their characters. Every first season. Including new Trek! The X-Files? Even rebooted again? I don’t think it would work. Heck, even if they made second reboot of Battlestar Galactica I’m not sure it’d last. FARSCAPE! Got cancelled! By SyFy! They (like Sense8 and Firefly and a few others) got to have a movie conclusion. But at what narrative cost?? The Expanse got cancelled and uncancelled. The Orville got cancelled and uncancelled. I can't get my hopes up about anything unless I know it's a "limited series" at the onset.

I'm exhausted and sad by the state of the industry. I hope the writers and actors get everything from the studios and we can see a shift back to the previous working models again. Better working conditions and pay and residuals.

So I'll eventually watch A League of Their Own and 1899 and I know I'm going to fucking love every moment that we got to have. And then mourn. And go dig up all the fanfic and vids and art that I can to get my fix.

I think for now I'm gonna join in the Suits rewatch cause I love the humor and the character growth and relationships are fantastic. I don't think I rewatched Suits or Ugly Betty since they aired.

[all-or-nothing-baby]

TAG GAME

@greyhavenisback thanks for my tag, love!

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LAST SONG: was POST PUNK by the crystal method (ft. iggy pop) from my MISTER IMPOSSIBLE spotify mixtape, a ronan lynch playlist, which is currently blasting out of my speakers to motivate me to be alive.

CURRENTLY WATCHING: just about to finish SILO then i think i'm gonna maybe start EVIL and i've just put SANTA CLARITA DIET on my list at the behest of @heavensenthale. mili, i'm notoriously bad at committing to watching comedy, so i don't know when it'll happen, but it definitely looks like a hoot... some comedy i did actually manage to watch recently was CLASS OF '07 which was actually fucking brilliant. highly recommended!

CURRENTLY READING: ppft well. honestly, loads of stuff. i start books, then i start new books. then i buy new books i intend to start (i mean, i do finish them all. eventually). some i even read from start to finish in one sitting! i just haven't managed to do that for a while... fic-wise, i just started SACRED IN THE ORDINARY by idyllspace (sterek, teen wolf) which is great so far, and TIME HAS COME TODAY by teen_dean (@urne-buriall destiel, spn) which is amazing. and there are so many other fics open in so very many tabs omg. i'm also reading vonnegut's CAT'S CRADLE (again) and still dipping in and out of ENTANGLED LIFE by merlin sheldrake. i just (finally) bought THE LAST WISH by andrzej saprowski so that's in the running to be started very soon. oh and i was also just sent a novella by @poebin that i started last night when i should've been sleeping, woops. ps i'm absolutely not mentioning greywaren again like i have in these tag games for the last year or so—because you cannot make me finish it! nobody can! *muhahaha!*

CURRENT OBSESSION: lush gorilla scents. like, it's been an obsession for a good long while, to be fair, but it is absolutely peaking again and i am struggling to reign in my ebay bidding. just bought a bottle of their SUPERWORLD UNKNOWN (but at a much cheaper second hand price, woop) ...so, get a wiggle on evri and bring me my nose crack!

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tagging, play or nay: (trying to think of folk i've not tagged or spoken to in a hundred years) @thisgirlsays22 @iscarusholmes @harrgrove @eusuntgratie @witchsickness @jmeelee @demonlandline @jimmypricegf @rauko-is-a-free-elf @petrichoravellichor @exlibrisfangirl @aeon-of-neon @sailorsally @artymcart

[girl4music]

I miss with everything in me TV shows/movies and visual art/entertainment of any kind that are self-referential in a clever campy, fourth wall breaking, lampshading way. Basically visual art/entertainment that is able to and has the balls to take the piss out of itself and can admit where it goes wrong within the narrative itself. Honest, transparent clever meta TV.

Everything is just so fucking serious and dramatic now. Even when it’s a comedy, there’s still an urgency and a need to make you laugh that really takes the fun out of watching it. I don’t know if this will make any sense but I feel like TV visual media today just tries too hard. And it’s probably because it’s no longer just TV. What’s the word I’m looking for in explaining what I mean by this? I can’t think of it. Contrived? Forced? No, that’s not it. I don’t know how to articulate it.

It’s like you just can’t help but notice that there is a goal or an agenda to it while watching it so it takes you out of the experience of interacting/engaging with it when it’s supposed to pull you further in. ‘Xena’, ‘Buffy’ and ‘Charmed’ had it down so fucking well. Yes, all of them have their flaws and controversies but it was exceptional writing to the point where you feel like you’re part of it. Like you’re up close and personal with the characters and the environments and you feel like family. Like you belong with them and it. No TV show or movie has made me feel like that since. I’ve tried. I tried with ‘Sense8’, I tried with ‘First Kill’, I tried with ‘Santa Clarita Diet’, I tried with ‘Warrior Nun’. And I know that it was happening ever so slowly, but in the next second it was ripped away from under me. I didn’t even get chance to become a part of any of them, let alone let them become a part of me. I mean you wouldn’t really call fantasy or supernatural shows like Xena, Buffy and Charmed realistic storytelling. It’s some of the wackiest, most over-the-top, ridiculous shit ever for much of each respective show’s run. But all of them really feel more real to me than anything I could watch today on a streaming service of any kind. It feels real because it feels like me. Who I am, what I care about, how I perceive the world, where I stand. Makes me feel like I’m at home. When everything else I watch just makes me feel even more alienated. And it really is hard to explain how special these 3 are. How they’re just leagues ahead in my heart and mind over all else.

I both miss the realism in the absurdity in TV as well as I when it was about learning something significant. I miss the balance in the comedy and the drama. And I really miss when it never took itself too seriously yet was still able to get the point across without forcing it. You know, the way it both grows within and with you. The way it began with you and never leaves you. I guess what I really mean is I miss character-driven. I miss those episodes that had nothing to do with plot but told you more about the characters because of it. When the TV show wasn’t necessarily or specifically about anything. It was just the characters. They are that show. You know? Yeah, that’s what I mean. 😌

I’m always talking about how ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ especially doesn’t really have any point to it. What it means and what it stands for is entirely up to you. I always say that it’s magic is in its ambiguity. How you’re supposed to interpret it over just watch it. And it’s just one big fucking headcanon that never ends. And they’re all like that in their own ways. All 3 shows. If they weren’t they wouldn’t be such cult classics. People wouldn’t still be watching them years after the very last episode aired. So timeless and so special. Unlike anything you could even find in visual media today. You can put it down to nostalgia but I think it’s more than that. I think they’re lightning in a bottle. With amazing chemistry between the actors and exceptional writing in storytelling and metaphor meaning. And with the fact they gave you room to create in it all that matters to you as a sentient being. To say I’m passionate about them is an understatement. I feel like I’ll never know anything that knows and fulfils and satisfies me completely like these 3 incredible shows do: Xena/Buffy/Charmed.

[wiferomanroy]

when i watch santa clarita diet and see abby and eric all i can think about is how they are so shiv and tom to me!! like as far as I'm concerned the reason why shiv was "in such a bad way" when they first got together is because her mom was undead and eating people.

like. 1x10's "i was in such a total mess when we hooked up" ... these are the words of a girl who is watching her parents just barely hold it together and stay out of jail and who is needing for the love and support of a man who is a gentle, caring, socially weird guy who is also in a desperate need of her father's approval

[kiwiana-writes]

Hi MJ...I have a question and I don't know your protocol so I'll ask it here instead of DMing you. How scary is your Santa Clarita Diet AU?

I have a very weird gauge of horror that's connected to trauma that I won't infodump on you in your ask box. ]

For reference, I have not seen Santa Clarita but loved I Zombie.

Oh my gosh you're so welcome to ask this publicly or privately!

So, the best way I can describe the tone of this fic is "black comedy". The people-eating of it all is off-screen, but referenced: there's talk of Alex being covered in blood, and the upcoming part three has Alex joking quite a bit about the practical realities of killing and eating people. But the whole thing is treated pretty unseriously overall -- I said in the notes of part two that the MST3K mantra is in full effect here, and I described it to a couple of friends as "Extended moral quandaries are OUT, horny zombie sex is IN". Both Alex and Henry roll with Alex's zombieism to an absurd degree.

Personally I think the hardest-to-read part of it is the depiction of vomiting in part one; if you want to skip that and just have a general sense that Alex Throws Up, Like, A Lot, it's the section that starts with "It comes back up with a vengeance around 2am" and goes through to the next horizontal rule section break.

But I am also admittedly a horror fan so anyone who's read it is MORE than welcome to slide into the replies and correct me if you think I'm misrepresenting anything?

[rathockey]

fuck it friday saturday

tagged by @panbuckley @alyxmastershipper and @honestlydarkprincess thank you!!!

i'm late with this one bc i did zero writing yesterday but i am IN IT today so have this little snippet i did to start brainstorming the santa clarita diet au i'm thinking of writing! tw for like. cannibalism and mentions of blood but not in a particularly gruesome way, my plan is to aim for the same tone as santa clarita diet, which is comedic not angsty

“What the fuck?” Eddie’s voice rang out behind Buck and he whipped around, mid-chew. A small piece of Gary hung out of his mouth. He met Eddie’s gaze with wide eyes and a half smile, half grimace.

“Oops.” Eddie stared back at him, mouth gaping open.

“OOPS?” Eddie twisted around, clenching his fists. “You’re eating a man in our backyard!” He whisper-yelled at Buck. “Oh god, we gotta get him out of here. Our neighbor is a cop. A nosy cop. Jesus Christ.” He turned and ran back into the house, Buck trailing behind, face covered in blood, still snacking on bits of Gary. “And would you stop eating him right now?”

“He just tastes so good.” Buck practically moaned, tossing another bit into his mouth. Eddie made a strangled noise in his throat, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Fucking. Christ.” Eddie dug through the hall closet before pulling out a clear plastic bin. “Here. We can. Gather him up in here.” His stomach was pretty strong, having seen it all on calls. This, however, was something very different. He gagged slightly, grimacing as Buck licked his fingers clean of Gary’s blood. He took a big breath. “Go start putting him in here, and I’ll look for the lid.” Buck took the bin and headed back outside.

Eddie took the moment alone to freak out, leaning his head against the closet door and mouthing what the fuck over and over. He took a big breath and stood back up straight. They had to figure this out, they had to get the body out of here. Focus on that, and then he could freak out about whatever was going on with Buck. It hadn’t really seemed real before now. He really was. Dead. Undead. And he’d just eaten a person.

its saturday now so i wont tag anyone but if you have a hankering to do fuck it friday and didn't get a chance yesterday, consider this a tag!

[kuwdora]

Multi-fandom Fic Recs

January 22 - What’s an underloved fic you loved in a fandom you don’t post much about? -@sargassostories

Oh, what a fabulous prompt, ty!!! I used to write so many recs back in the day and I’ve watched so much tv and read across so many fandoms over the years so this is far from comprehensive in terms of fandom reading spread. But it’s a good way to warm my reccing muscles up again. I always have more recs or can usually find some places with recs about that fandom.

Humor and Heart

Just Hear Those Slay Bells Jingling, Santa Clarita Diet. Abby/Eric. ~3k. Abby comes home from college on a break and just wants some time with her boyfriend but she just had to tempt fate. Laugh out loud perfect characterization.

Pain and Painting by foxtwin. Blackadder. Blackadder assists Prince George as he takes on a new hobby. This is one of the funniest, punniest wordplay fics ever. Blackadder fic writers are on another level!

Feel me like a steel knife by violet_pencil. Star Trek: Lower Decks. Mariner/Tendi. ~7k. Mariner is a trigger-happy baby and her heart is right between Tendi's sharp white teeth. The Mariner POV is incredible. I felt like I was joyriding through her brain.

Not a synonym for impossible by Siria. Elementary. Improbable was not a synonym for impossible. Joan and Alfredo discuss Alfredo’s crush on Miss Hudson, this is so cute.

Lest they be angels in disguise by singlecrow. Good Omens. Crowley, but Aziraphale/Crowley. 856 words. Buzzfeed, July 2019, "Top Five Off-the-Wall Theories About the Scary Instagram Plant Man.” Includes Instagram posts and internet gossip in this fic. 😂

There's a Fine Line Between Coincidence, Fate, and Jonathan Carnahan by celli. The Mummy. 483 words. Ardeth/Jonathon. Jonathan puffed up with outrage. "I will squander my fortune where I damn well please." 😍

This Dynamic

if loving you kills me by saiditallbefore. Wheel of Time. Nynaeve/Egwene. 642w. Nynaeve's eyes are warm and brown and full of life: so different from earlier, when Egwene had thought she was gone forever. ❤️🔥❤️

Finding Grace by Destina. Kings. Jack/David, Michelle/David. Post-series/futurefic. ~1300w. David's soul has three parts, and without all three, he is incomplete. 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Porn

Gifts, Smiles, and Fingers by @daerienn. For All Mankind. Molly/Margo. ~200w. A single Tootsie roll can have a lot of impact.

Meet Me In My Dreams by LiraClayr007. His Dark Materials. Lyra/Will. Post-canon. 200w. It had been almost ten years since they’d said goodbye forever and closed all the doorways, but Lyra knew what Will looked like. He’d aged in her mind, day after day and year after year; she didn’t know how she could know, but she was sure he looked exactly the way she pictured him.

Learned Arts, by darthjamtart. Elementary. Moriarty/Joan. ~400w. Explicit. Jamie knows how to be subtle, but rarely bothers. Not with this.

Domina, Spartacus, Illithya/Lucretia, power struggle, submission “Domina,” Illithya whispers before pressing her lips against Lucretia’s bare, inner thigh.

Kissing Girls, Leverage, Parker/Sophie Devereaux, falling, twirling Parker used to think that kissing was a lot like falling. Sometimes, if she knew she was in complete control, if she had all her safety equipment ready to catch her, if she could see exactly where she was going to end up, then falling was more thrilling than sickening. Kissing too.

Impossible Words, Doctor Who, Jack/Ten, the l word He still can't say it, the words. Those words that make everything so impossibly complicated. He digs his fingers into Jack's skin, feeling it give, knowing he will leave bruises there, visible in the morning.

Caged, Mario Games, Bowser/Peach, kidnap Don't tell anyone, but Peach doesn't entirely mind being kidnapped.

Not Charity Work, Better Off Ted, Veronica/Linda, mentoring Veronica's hair is spread over the pillow, her face flushed and sweat covering her skin. "I'm an excellent mentor."

Soup on the Wall, Star Trek AOS/Star Trek: The Original Series, Chapel/Spock. dream, pon farr, crash To be certain, it was not Ambassador Spock's idea to be ferried to New Vulcan aboard the Enterprise.

Three Sentence Fictionathon (not always 3 sentences, still excellent micro-fics!)

Any, any, Cards Against Humanity as played by nonhuman species by archersangel. Star Trek: Voyager. Tuvok, post-canon.

Boimler and Mariner, Ill-Advised Decisions by silveradept for my Star Trek Lower Decks prompt of “look what you made me do!”

The Expanse, Avasarala/Amos, flirting by vialethe. 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Narnia, if Narnia were written by Tolkien by arveldis. 😂 AND LASTLY:

These two ficlets are based on this prompt:

Based on this Tumblr Post where Sirens lure sailors to their death with offers of hot garlic bread, fast Wi-Fi, and $1000 Amazon Gift Cards.

An Informational Sign on the Coast by fallen_stage.

Netflix and Kill by syrena_of_the_lake

More Kuwdora Recs

+350 Porn Battle Recs, grouped by fandom, lots of crossovers and fandoms (dreamwidth)

+100 multi-fandom recs, grouped by whatever I read at the time and Yuletide reading marathons over the years (dreamwidth).

Even More Recs

Linky's Rec Post - A recs post by Linky on dreamwidth about communities that feature curated recs for fanfic, fanvids and art.