#but the photo is quite low res

[sainte-melasse]

By Virginie Ropars - after Barbara Canepa and Anna Merli's graphic novel End

[krawdad]

Random Muppet portrait #10

[zenlesszonezero]

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

get off the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get off the floor. He says, "Make me." You make him. Eventually.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tipsy, bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK hooking up in a random corner room bc they can no longer contain themselves, gasp; semi-public smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, JK becomes half-undressed while reader is still fully dressed, slight degrading talk (not really), heavy making out, dry humping) basically, I was staring at this photo and had thoughts

--

“Get off the floor.”

“Make me.”

Once again. No stranger to this supreme annoyance, and yet knowing that did not make it bearable. You looked down at him. Was he drunk? He stared off to the side. Looked moodier than anything. Trying to play it cool, perhaps. You caught him glancing and you stepped back, smoothing the high slit of your deep purple evening gown.

“That suit costs way too much to be on the ground,” you attempted again, his black blazer over your bare shoulders.

Jeon Jungkook raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t care.”

You could feel your patience running thin. Not new, just like all of Jungkook’s antics. You felt his eyes travel up from your legs to your waist to your chest. When he got to your face, you gave him an unimpressed frown. If he hadn’t been drinking, he would have the good sense to look away. But he had, so he just ticked his head as if he wasn’t laying down in the middle of a random offshoot room in a very nice hotel. There was no one around. Time of night and because this wing had been rented for the wedding that was still going on in the main ballroom.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” you warned.

His dark eyes caught the low lights of the art deco sconces on the walls.

“Get on top of me.”

This was precisely why you had considered skipping this wedding. But, alas, common sense pulled through. You had not come with a plus one because you didn’t have one. Jungkook had not arrived with a plus one either even though you were quite sure he could have secured one. He was probably thinking the same of you as well. The look on his face when you strode in and greeted the couple was enough to encourage some of the guests to mysteriously begin herding you and him in close proximity. You couldn’t blame them. Playing matchmaker was bound to happen if a woman attended such a social event alone.

You just didn’t think the lucky man would be Jeon Jungkook.

You narrowed your eyes. His eyes lowered to half-moons. His lips parting. The two silver rings gleamed on the right edge of his lower lip.

“Don’t play this game.”

The tip of his pink tongue flitted against his lip rings.

“I’ve been wanting to play your game for a while now,” Jungkook breathed, his low voice vibrating in his chest.

You could still hear the bass of the music. One step. The heel of your pumps clicked loudly against the tile floor. His black three-piece suit had been perfectly tailored to him. There was no need for additional shape because his body lines were already ideal. His black hair had been carefully slicked back. Nothing to hide behind. Another step. His black vest and crisp white shirt were tight enough to his chest that you could witness the way his breath hitch lifted his upper torso. You looked down, then pointedly back up at his face, reminding him that his tight slacks made everything obvious.

He bit the side of his lip.

With a casual lift of your slinky skirt, you stepped over him, and then re-draped the dark violet fabric over his lower torso. One foot on each side of his hips. He must have expected you to refuse, as you already had many times before. He immediately froze, his startled eyes widening. In your defense, he had previously been more subtle and annoying about it rather than direct. You reached up, maintaining eye contact with Jungkook, and twisted your wrist, hooking two fingers on the collar of his blazer around your shoulders, pulling it away from your body to reveal skin.

You dropped it on the floor, away from your bodies.

The fitted gown had a soft sweetheart neckline with thin straps that framed your collarbones. A simple white gold chain necklace with a tiny round-cut diamond nestled at the base of your neck. The straps crossed over to your exposed lower back. The medium-weight fabric was tailored to skim over your curves. Princess seams accentuated your shape from chest to hips before opening up to wispy high slits that were only obvious when you walked or stood with more weight to one side. Demure if you stood straight, which you mostly did. Wasn’t your wedding after all. Your hair was down, smoothed down at the right, covering enough of your back to uphold the illusion of modesty. Unfortunately, as night approached, you had found yourself quite cold. The air conditioning had been turned high to accommodate for all the dancing bodies.

That wasn’t the trajectory of the night for you, though.

Instead of the dance floor, you and Jeon Jungkook were now somehow in deserted offshoot room with chairs on tables. Probably reserved for additional seating just in case any additional guests tried to squeeze in at the last minute. Certainly not reserved for a raunchy rendezvous.

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Scared?” you taunted, looking down at him.

His wrists were against the floor by his shoulders. You saw his fingers twitch, but he did nothing to move further.

“Ravage me already,” Jungkook exhaled. Hot and heavy and hiding desperation. “I can’t take this.”

You had been well-acquainted with him and a while now. You ran the tip of your pointed heel against his side. Jungkook shuddered. He didn’t move to touch you. You backed off. The real problem with all this was not the friendly terms you both had, but rather the fact that he had caught you in a rather dubious place some nights ago. Neither you nor him should have been there. In fact, you made it a point to travel far enough so you wouldn’t run into anyone, which you presumed was also the exact reason Jungkook ended up in the same place.

You squatted down, tilting your head at him in a predatory way.

The skirt of your dress pooled over his abdomen.

As you came close to Jungkook’s level, you heard his breathing shallow.

You took a short moment to collect your dress accordingly before dropping to one knee. And then the other. Straddling him, but not quite touching. Your fingertips touched the ground. He smelled like faint musky spice. You lowered over him, until your hands were just under his upper arms.

Looked down.

Jungkook stared at you from below, trapped in your shadow.

“You really did see me at the BDSM club that night,” you murmured. “Didn’t you?”

You raised your right hand and closed it around his left wrist, pinning it to the ground. He sucked in a tight breath, the gravity of the situation seemingly sinking in although it didn’t seem like he was rushing to stop you.

“Your ass looked so fucking good,” he whispered in the dark. “I knew it was you.”

You bent your left elbow, descending to his face.

“Someone will find us.”

At your reminder, he bit his lower lip in that fuck-me-harder kind of way. Then you felt movement. His right hand snaked between you and him. Your eyes flickered down. His dress shirt was fastened all the way to his neck. He looked sharp. Conventionally handsome. The only things he couldn’t hide was his facial piercings and the tattoos on his hand. Hand tattoos were a big faux pas to most. You liked a rule-breaker though. Unfortunately. Jungkook’s deft fingers traced the pressed collar of his shirt.

You watched him undo the first pearlescent button.

Then the second.

Your lips parted to warn him to stop, but the third was already coming undone and you could hear the desire in his erratic breath drifting upwards. Then it was eyes-to-eyes, devouring you with false innocence, and you opened your mouth to trace your lips with the tip of your tongue, taunting him with the glistening void.

“Fuck…” he whispered, trembling under you.

And then you stopped his hand by fully pressing your body against his chest, your clothed breasts against his naked pecs. Flitted your tongue over his lip rings, tasting his moan before hearing it. He turned his head, trying to chase it, but you feathered kisses over his cheek, gripping his left wrist as you licked his ear, hearing the whine of your name tickling yours.

“P-Please…”

You avoided him that night at that club, hoping he hadn’t recognized you, causing every subsequent interaction making it painfully clear to you that he had indeed seen you strutting your stuff in black latex while teasing strangers with your leather crop. Surprisingly, not in the way of trying to use such information against you, which was what you expected, but rather in the way the tempted drive the tempters insane. In imploring looks that only you could know. In too many chances of being too close in proximity. You don’t know how he did it, but now for some reason everyone was delicately suggesting to you to, perhaps, give him a chance. It only strengthened your want to teach him a lesson. You savored the rising panic in his voice as you bit the curve of his ear and toyed with him with your tongue. His trapped hand turned and you felt his palm mold to your lower ribs, sliding up. You bit down. He gasped, biting back a moan as his fingertips ghosted the curve of your breasts.

“Ah…. D-Don’t…” Whimper so close to his heart that only you could hear it. “My e-ear is… is sensitive, a-ah…”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his earlobe. His earrings were warming from your breath and saliva.

“Is that why you have so many piercings, huh?”

You made sure he could feel your lips move as you purred filthy nothings.

“What a pain slut you are.”

This time he truly moaned, his hips rising, and then abruptly cut himself off to avoid rising volume.

“D-Don’t…”

You sank down. Pressed against him, and even though the layers you could feel his erection throb, his entire body shivering when your weight dispersed over his lower body. His fingertips traced the dip in between your breasts. Your tongue circled over his ear once more before kissing up to his temple, the fingers of your other hand creeping up the side of his neck, and then you made out with Jeon Jungkook, right there on the floor with his groan vibrating the inside of your throat as you slowly thrusted your tongue into his lips. He did his best to suck and you always pulled away at the last second, using one finger to trace the muscle of his neck down to his collarbones.

You broke the kiss.

His lips were glossy and flushed.

“Please… Don’t stop,” he begged, squeezing your breast. “Don’t stop…”

The inaudible music continued to hum in the background.

You placed two fingers on his chin and pushed his head back, giving you access to his throat. For a brief moment, you considered making your mark, but instead you trailed your tongue down, down, painting possessive saliva onto his warm skin. His body rose. You let go of his wrist to pull open the sides of his shirt, realizing he was undoing his vest at the same time as his chest became fully exposed to the air, his dark nipples hard. You flicked your tongue against them, an involuntary ripple seizing his torso at the heated contact. Licked all over, enjoying the scent and taste of his skin. He silenced a cry as you bit down.

“H-Harder…”

You rose slightly, grazing your tongue against his skin before doing so.

“Be quiet.”

And then you roughly pinched his other nipple.

His arm flew up and he screamed behind clenched jaw, his hips lifting from the floor and his erection colliding with the inside of your thigh. You let out a light hum, sliding up his hard thighs. Your dress was already bunching around your waist. With a sweep of your skirt, your barely-there panties came into view. His attentive eyes immediately went down to the matching skin-toned thong barely covering your pussy, tricking him for just a moment, and then you saw the disappointment flutter into a slight frown.

“Did you expect me to be naked?” you mused.

He tried to cover himself with indifference. “No.” His needy gaze and raging boner gave him away.

You smiled.

And held the front of your skirt out of the way, rocking your hips forward to rub your panties against his clothed cock. Jungkook gasped, staring back at your relaxed expression with wide eyes, unsure where to look. You put a little more force into it, increasing the friction and molding his hardness to the soft dip between your legs, and you saw his eyelids flutter, his dark eyes rolling back, a contained moan escaping his chest.

You talked down to him, because you could tell he liked it.

“You thought I wouldn’t have panties and I would just ride you in a public place with no remorse or shame?”

Tension began to show through his muscles. He had one arm on his forehead and the other against the black-and-white tile floor, using subtle leverage to grind against you. He wasn’t obstructing his vision though, still very obviously staring at your thighs, the dip towards your pussy, watching the hem of your panties press into your skin with each movement.

“I… oh, fuck, I don’t k-know…” He panted, his shadowed eyes roaming back to your face. “Maybe.”

You laid your free hand on the waistband of his slacks, tracing his belt. You watched him hold his breath, his chest tight and oh-so-delectable. Slowly, you hooked your fingers under his belt. Gripped it, and changed the angle of your thrusting so that the head of his cock was rubbing against the radiating heat of your pussy, giving him a better view of your thin panties digging into your slit.

You saw his teeth sink into his lower lip.

“F-Fuck…”

His eyes slid shut and he moaned your name, sensual and deep and far too practiced for it to be a closed secret, his hips pushing back up against you, trying to get more and unable to do so. Frustration. Need. Craving. All bleeding into his expression. Against better judgement, you could feel it too, the irresistible pull of barely enough, the desire to tease turning into wetness between your legs, slowly but surely perfuming the air with your sweet, musky arousal.

Jungkook opened his eyes and stared up at you, imploring softly.

“P-Please…”

His arm lifted from his forehead and his other hand raised, fingertips stroking your thighs while using his shoulder blades for leverage. Forceful and precise. You let go of his belt and traced the knuckles of one of his hands, feeling the restrained strength in his touch. He sank his fingers into your thighs, gasping, pressing the back of his head onto the floor and arching his back. His open shirt. His exposed muscular chest. His tan skin faintly glistening with sweat. His throat begging for a bite.

You raked your nails down his abs, forcing Jungkook to lustfully grown to the ceiling.

You smirked.

“Get up.”

With minimal effort, Jungkook lifted his torso off the ground, frowning at you for asking him to be reasonable. His palms pressed into your thighs, ensuring that you continued to straddle him even though you had no intention of moving. In fact, you drew your knees together, pinning him in between your thighs. A few black strands had dislodged from their places and draped over his furrowed brows.

“Was that so difficult?” you murmured with lowered lashes, walking your nails up his chest.

His hands were sliding up towards your hips under your skirt. “Yeah.” He squeezed your ass with his strong grip while staring into your eyes. “I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress for hours.”

“Hm.”

You gave him an unimpressed look as you felt his fingertips glide down. He pulled outwards ever-so-slightly. From below, out of sight, your pussy lips parted with a wet sucking sound.

Jungkook moaned against your cheek, pressing his naked chest against your clothed breasts.

“Come on… Please…”

You hand had migrated to his side, steadily scratching his lower back.

“Very reckless and dangerous of you.”

He glanced at you with those half-moon eyes filled with stars of longing.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me to be,” Jungkook whispered hotly. “Brushing up against me by accident when I already told you that you look too damn hot. Teasing me every time I look down by showing off your legs even more.” His mouth brushed against the side of yours. You could faintly feel his lip rings. “You’re mean.”

You sat on top of his still-hard cock and purred, “I don’t recall doing such things,” before lightly bouncing on top of it.

He gasped and you sucked away his exhale, pulling back before he could kiss you.

“Let me,” he breathed out.

His hands came up to cradle your back as you arched your spine and then you sighed out, his soft kisses fanning over your décolletage, tucking his tongue between your breasts and licking upwards, his eyelids fluttering in bliss from the taste of your perfumed skin.

“Please, let me…”

Your arms around his neck. You had not intended to fuck Jeon Jungkook tonight but, then again, that was easy to think when he hadn’t looked at you with those perfectly desperate eyes yet. Nor had he yet pushed the top of your ass down to collide with his hard dick still fighting his pants, implying just how well you would fit together. Until right now that is. You smiled, leaning back into his warmth.

“At least button your shirt so you don’t startle the hotel staff with your sexy body.”

His ears flushed bright red. You shot him an amused look as he fumbled about.

“And what if there was a camera in here, hm? Recording your depravity,” you mused, appreciating the view.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled to his chest. His ears remained red.

“I see. But if I compliment you, you become embarrassed.”

Jungkook avoided your gaze. “N-No…”

You hooked a finger under his chin and yanked him back up, confronting those big, dark brown orbs. He looked taken aback, almost afraid of what you would say next.

“I can’t wait to have you under me,” you whispered. “I’ll make you show me how talented you are at begging.”

He moaned into your mouth as you kissed him deeply, pulling him into your possessive embrace.

-

continued in get on the floor, m | jjk

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[fratttymatty]

The Basement

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot York had always lived in a world of his own making. A world painted in shades of faded Polaroids, sepia-toned photography, and the tactile hum of his beloved vintage film camera. At 30 years old, he'd never left his childhood home. His mother didn’t mind. She was just happy he was there, safely tucked away in the basement, where he spent hours surrounded by his photography equipment, sketchbooks, and the scent of old books. His life had always been quiet and unassuming—except for the occasional flare-up of frustration over his stalled career as a freelance photographer and artist.

The basement was his sanctuary. He had put up curtains to separate the clutter of his workspace from the cozy corner where he gamed, lounged on old leather sofas, and tried (and failed) to distract himself from the loneliness that gnawed at him. The art on the walls, his collection of vintage cameras, the scattered paintbrushes and half-finished canvases—they were all remnants of a dream that had long been abandoned. But Elliot had found peace there, or at least a dull form of acceptance.

But one evening, as he sunk into his usual routine—editing photos, sipping cheap wine, and scrolling through social media—something strange began to happen. The room felt different. The walls started to shift and hum with an energy that he couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t a good feeling, not the cozy, familiar vibe that usually calmed him after a long day. No, this was something else. It was unsettling, almost alien.

Elliot stood up, his bare feet cold against the concrete floor. He reached for his phone to check the time, but the screen went black before he could tap it. As if on cue, the lights flickered, then dimmed, and then everything went dark. The silence that followed felt suffocating.

Before he could react, the floor beneath him began to tremble. His heart raced, and the air seemed to pulse with something he couldn’t name. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, a searing light that filled every corner of the room. He shielded his eyes, but it was no use. The glow was everywhere.

The sound of furniture shifting, re-arranging itself, reached his ears. When the light finally faded, Elliot opened his eyes to find that the basement had transformed into something… different.

Where his art studio had once been, now stood a private gym. The walls were lined with weights, punching bags, and racks of dumbbells. There was a neon sign in the corner that read “GET BIG OR GO HOME,” and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, with gaming consoles strewn across a low table. His leather sofas had been replaced with sleek beanbag chairs, and there were posters of famous athletes and cars decorating the walls. The entire room reeked of sweat and testosterone.

Elliot staggered backward, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He looked around in a daze. This… this wasn’t his space. This was some jock’s lair. It was everything he wasn’t. But before he could piece together what was going on, he felt a strange tug in the pit of his stomach. It was an almost physical sensation, a deep, primal force pulling at him, rewiring him, altering him in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

And then it started.

His body began to heat up, the air around him feeling thicker, as if his very cells were being remade. His skin stretched and tightened, his muscles swelling unnaturally as the change began. Elliot gasped, but the sound came out wrong. His voice, once soft and melodic, deepened into something guttural, more masculine. The edges of his vision blurred as the pain started to radiate from the inside out.

His hands, once slender and artistic, grew thick with muscle. His arms were covered in a sheen of sweat as his shoulders broadened and his chest expanded. His abdomen contracted and thickened, forming the abs of a bodybuilder. He could feel the air leaving his lungs as the transformation continued—each breath a battle. His legs grew stronger, thicker, the bones in his legs cracking and reshaping, giving him the powerful legs of a jock.

As the changes continued, Elliot's mind was bombarded by new thoughts, new instincts. The urge to lift weights, to work out, to dominate, it all consumed him. His thoughts flickered and shifted, like pages turning in a book, each one erasing a part of his old self.

His hair was the first thing he noticed. The bleached buzzcut he had been sporting for the past year—decorated with delicate flowers and a symbol of his indie artist lifestyle—was gone. In its place was a thick, dark brown fringe that fell messily across his forehead, styled in the latest TikTok jock fashion. He ran a hand through it, surprised at how it felt so right to him now.

His clothing, too, had transformed. The oversized hoodie and vintage jeans he had been wearing were gone, replaced by a fitted, tight athletic shirt and cargo shorts that clung to his newly muscled thighs. He stared at himself in the reflective surface of the gym mirror. The person staring back at him was unrecognizable.

The most shocking change, however, was the way his mind worked. Elliot—no, the person who had been Elliot—was slipping away. His new name was Ethan. He knew that now. He felt it. The name Ethan York seemed to pulse in his veins. The old worries about art, about the future, about being different—all of that was fading. In its place, a new drive surged within him: sports, girls, and partying. The thrill of competition, of lifting weights, of kissing girls on couches like these… that was what mattered now.

Ethan stood there for what felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror. His entire identity was slipping through his fingers like sand. His old life—the life of an artist, of a photographer, of someone who had longed to find his place in the world—felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else. It no longer seemed to matter.

A loud cheer echoed through the basement, and Ethan realized with a jolt that there were people here now. His friends—his new friends—were hanging out in the basement, lifting weights, laughing, playing video games, and throwing around crude jokes. One of them, a tall guy with broad shoulders and a thick neck, slapped Ethan on the back.

“Yo, dude, you ready for the party later?” he asked, his voice full of that easy confidence that Ethan now understood all too well.

“Yeah, for sure,” Ethan replied with a grin that felt so natural, it was as if he had always smiled like this. His old self—the one who had stared at the world through the lens of a camera, capturing fleeting moments—was gone.

As Ethan joined his friends, slipping into the role of the charismatic jock, he realized that there was no going back. He had been reborn. His old life, his old dreams, everything that had once been important to him, now felt hollow, irrelevant.

The basement—the gym, the gaming consoles, the posters of athletes—was no longer a prison of his own making. It was home. And for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt free.

He never once looked back.

The first few days after the transformation were a blur of new experiences, sensations, and… changes. Ethan, as he was now called, settled into his new life with an unsettling ease. At first, there was a part of him—buried deep inside—that clung to the remnants of his old identity. The artist. The creative soul. The man who had spent years living in his mother's basement, making art and dreaming of a different life. But that part of him quickly became overshadowed by the aggressive, hyper-masculine energy that now consumed him.

The more he worked out, the more his body seemed to crave the endorphin rush of weightlifting, of winning, of being the best. His muscles were constantly sore, but the pain felt good—it felt like he was becoming something greater, something stronger, something… dominant. And the more he grew in this new identity, the more he found himself disdainful of anything weak, anything soft. His patience with his old hobbies—photography, art, writing—waned. His camera, once a tool of self-expression, now sat neglected in the corner of his room, gathering dust.

Ethan started to feel that old life was for losers. The people he used to admire—quirky artists, introverted thinkers, anyone who didn’t fit into the tight mold of a jock—seemed… pathetic now. And in its place, a new breed of arrogance and entitlement bloomed within him. He was the center of his world now, and he knew it. The stares, the whispers—he loved them. He could feel the eyes of girls on him whenever he walked into a room, and it sent a rush of pride through his veins.

"Yo, Ethan, you gonna hit the gym today or what?" a voice called out as he walked through the basement. His buddy, Kyle, was sprawled across the new couch, his feet up on the coffee table, wearing a tank top that showcased his broad arms.

"Yeah, in a minute," Ethan replied with a lazy shrug, flipping his dark, messy hair out of his eyes. He no longer cared about the quiet, artistic moments he'd once cherished. Instead, he reveled in the shallow conversations, the jokes about how much protein they were consuming, and the constant flexing of muscles.

But then there were those moments, the ones that made his blood boil—moments that left a sour taste in his mouth, even in the high of his newfound popularity.

One evening, he was hanging out with a group of his friends—drinking beer and playing video games in the transformed basement, laughing too loud, throwing insults at each other like it was the height of wit. The mood was light, but there was something that cut through the laughter that made Ethan’s muscles tense, his jaw clench.

A guy he barely knew—Mark, one of the freshmen from the high school he still technically attended—had shown up at the party, wearing a tight shirt that clung to his body a little too snugly for Ethan's liking. Mark wasn’t a jock, not in the way Ethan now thought of as right. He was more on the geeky side, wearing glasses and talking too much about video games instead of football.

“Yo, Ethan, I didn’t know you liked photography,” Mark said awkwardly, holding a bottle of soda like it was his lifeline.

Ethan glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I used to be into that art stuff. Now I’m focused on real things, y’know? Like... working out.” His voice was rougher now, full of the newfound arrogance that he couldn't even recognize as self-loathing anymore.

Mark fumbled with his drink. "Oh, cool. I mean, I think it's awesome how, like, artistic people can still be jocks."

Ethan’s expression shifted immediately. His lip curled into a sneer, and his eyes narrowed. “Artistic, huh? That’s cute. You know what I think about art?” He looked down at Mark with mock pity. “It’s for soft people. You know, like… weirdos.” His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. The others at the party laughed, clearly uncomfortable but complicit in the joke.

Mark flushed, visibly shrinking under Ethan’s gaze. Ethan wasn’t even thinking about it at this point; he was just speaking what came naturally. The idea that someone could be into photography and still be tough, still be masculine, felt so wrong to him now. He couldn’t put it into words, but his gut told him that real men didn’t concern themselves with art or sensitivity. Real men got girls, lifted heavy weights, and dominated life. His new life.

But it wasn’t just about art. Ethan’s homophobia had grown like a weed in a garden, spreading uncontrollably. It was like his new self had to rewrite every part of him, especially the parts that could be considered “weak” or “soft.” His tolerance for things that felt “feminine” had evaporated, and soon, even the smallest hint of something that was remotely “gay” or “queer” made his skin crawl.

At one point, when a guy from school—Chris—who was a bit more effeminate and openly gay, sat down on the couch near him, Ethan felt his blood pressure spike. Chris had always been polite, always too friendly, but Ethan had never given it much thought—until now.

"Hey, Ethan," Chris said, adjusting his hoodie and running a hand through his sleek hair. "You up for a game later?"

Ethan didn’t look at him at first. Instead, he took a long swig of his beer, his eyes scanning the room. "Nah, man. I’m good," he muttered, his tone dismissive.

Chris laughed awkwardly. "Alright, well… if you change your mind, you know where I am."

Ethan’s eyes flicked back to Chris, narrowing. “Honestly, dude, you should maybe… like, tone it down a little,” he said, his voice low, deliberately cutting. "You don’t have to be all... effeminate all the time. It’s a little weird."

His words hung in the air, like a heavy stone.

Chris blinked, clearly taken aback. "What do you mean?" he asked, his face shifting with confusion.

Ethan leaned back, his gaze hardening. "I mean... just… you're acting like you’re in a fucking musical or something." He chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to him. “You don’t need to act so… gay all the time. It’s just uncomfortable for everyone.”

There was a cold silence in the room. Mark, Kyle, and the others shifted uncomfortably, but no one said anything. They just stared, either not caring or too afraid to speak up.

Ethan didn’t care. He was beyond caring.

He was a man now. And men didn’t have time for weakness, for sensitivity, for anything that didn’t fit into the world he had molded for himself. The girl he had been flirting with earlier, Mia—she was all over him now, and that felt like the only thing that mattered. He wasn’t some soft, emotional artist anymore. He was Ethan York, and he was popular, and he was a man.

The party continued late into the night. Ethan and his friends played video games, traded insults, and knocked back more beers. The air was thick with bravado, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. But Mark—who had been pushed aside by Ethan's cruel words earlier—remained quiet, nursing his soda.

He watched Ethan, his old classmate, with a strange mix of fascination and unease. Something about Ethan had shifted, something deep, something unsettling. But at the same time, Mark couldn’t help but feel a weird sense of longing—a desire to be part of the group, to be part of what Ethan had become. There was a magnetism about Ethan now, something powerful and alluring. And despite everything inside him that told him he didn’t belong in this world, a small voice in his head whispered that maybe, just maybe, he could change.

It was then that the transformation began.

It started subtly, like the shifting of shadows, creeping through Mark’s body like a slow burn. He felt a wave of heat flood through his chest, his limbs tingling with unfamiliar energy. He was still sitting on the couch, his eyes locked on Ethan as if hypnotized, but everything around him seemed to blur. His body seemed to ache, his muscles pulsing as if they were being stretched and expanded.

Mark’s hands clenched, his knuckles cracking as his fingers thickened with new muscle. His legs seemed to twitch, his jeans growing tighter around his thighs as they bulked up, swelling with new strength. He gasped, his breath catching in his throat as his entire body seemed to reshape itself, and his thoughts—his old, nerdy thoughts—faded away, replaced by an overwhelming desire to fit in, to be powerful, to be strong.

His clothes felt tight, uncomfortably so, and with a sickening snap, his shirt ripped open across his chest as his pecs ballooned out. His face burned, his jawline sharpening, and his hair—once messy and unruly—now fell in a dark, tousled fringe that framed his face in the exact same style as Ethan's. He barely recognized himself. Mark’s body, once scrawny and awkward, was now a mass of muscle, solid and imposing.

He stood up, suddenly feeling taller, stronger—almost as if he was made to stand out. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on Ethan, who stared back with a mixture of amusement and pride. Mark didn’t say a word.

The transformation had taken hold completely.

“Yo, Ethan,” Mark said, his voice now deep and confident, full of swagger. His tongue felt heavier in his mouth, and his words came out with a new arrogance, “This is fucking awesome.”

Ethan smirked, clearly satisfied. "Welcome to the team, bro," he said, throwing an arm around Mark’s newly broad shoulders, the two of them standing side-by-side. It felt natural, as if this was how it had always been.

Mark didn’t hesitate. His old self—the nerd, the shy, creative guy who had spent hours tinkering with gadgets and buried in his books—was gone. In its place stood someone who had finally found their place in the world. Mark was a man, and he wasn’t going back.

The soft hum of the gym in Ethan’s basement was now a constant background noise in his life—weights clanging, music blasting, and the occasional cheer of a newly broken record. The basement had been his domain, but in the last few months, it had become more than that. It had become the center of his life, not just in terms of workouts and gaming, but in how he’d built the new life he’d always dreamed of—confident, strong, and undeniably him.

But the biggest change had nothing to do with the weights or the video games. It had everything to do with her.

Mia.

She was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up under her as she flipped through a magazine, occasionally glancing up at Ethan as he adjusted his dumbbells. The space between them was no longer just one of attraction or chemistry—it was something deeper now, something rooted in trust and understanding. They had been together for several months, and while the world around Ethan had transformed beyond recognition, there was one constant—Mia.

And she’d always had a way of seeing beyond the surface.

“Hey, how’s the game going?” Mia asked, a playful edge to her voice. She didn’t need to say much to get his attention.

Ethan grinned, setting down the weights. He wiped the sweat from his brow, then leaned against the wall, glancing at her. “Crushing it. Of course.” He winked, his tone cocky, but the smile on his face was genuine.

Mia raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re always crushing it,” she said, her voice light but full of affection. "You need to teach me your secret sometime."

Ethan laughed, walking over and sitting next to her on the couch, his hand naturally resting on the back of her neck. He let his fingers trail lightly over the skin there, brushing away a strand of hair. “You mean the secret to being irresistible?” he said, voice laced with playful arrogance.

She snorted. “You really do have an ego now, don’t you?”

He grinned, but the cocky edge in his voice softened. “Maybe a little. But I’m not complaining. Life’s good right now.” He took a deep breath, feeling the quiet satisfaction of his success, but it wasn’t about the muscles or the achievements. It was about the life he had built—and who he was building it with.

Mia reached up to cup his jaw, her fingers gentle as they traced the sharp line of his face. She studied him, her expression softening. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “I can see that. But you know what? I’m proud of you, Ethan. You’ve worked hard for all of this. I see the difference in you.”

Ethan smiled, the weight of her words settling warmly in his chest. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you, Mia.”

She tilted her head slightly, still holding his gaze. “Maybe not. But you did it. And that’s all you.”

There was a silence between them—one of those comfortable, content moments that didn’t need any words. He knew what she meant. She wasn’t just talking about the physical changes—those were easy. What she meant was that he’d grown into a person who wasn’t afraid to be himself anymore. He wasn’t pretending to be someone he wasn’t, or hiding behind old insecurities. He was a man who had claimed his place in the world—and who had found someone who not only accepted him, but loved him for exactly who he was.

Their lips met softly in a kiss, one that wasn’t rushed or full of desperation, but one that carried years of silent understanding. They’d both grown over the past months—not just together, but as individuals. Ethan had finally come to realize that strength wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. And Mia had always been there, steady and real, pulling him forward whenever he felt like he was slipping.

As they pulled away, Mia grinned up at him. “So, what are we doing tonight? I was thinking we could actually hang out in the real world instead of this basement gym.”

Ethan laughed. “You mean… like a date? Outside of this cave?”

“Exactly,” she said, her smile wide and genuine. “Maybe we could hit up that new sushi place you’ve been talking about? You know, actually go somewhere without a weight bench involved?”

Ethan thought about it for a moment. He was used to the basement—the familiar pull of weights, the games, the comfort of his private space. But as he looked at Mia, at the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something as simple as dinner out, he realized that there were more important things than the four walls that had once defined his life.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, reaching down to take her hand. “I think I’m ready for something new.”

Mia grinned, squeezing his hand. “You mean you’re finally ready to leave your little kingdom?”

Ethan chuckled, pulling her up from the couch and leading her toward the door. “Maybe. But don’t get used to it. The basement's still got a few more workouts left in me.”

Mia laughed, her head resting against his shoulder as they walked out the door together. She was right—Ethan had changed. And while the muscle and the confidence were part of it, the real change had happened inside. He was no longer the guy who hid in the shadows of his mother’s basement, afraid to show the world who he truly was. Now, he was the man who had built his life, step by step, with the strength of his own will—and with the love of someone who saw him, really saw him, for all of it.

And as he stepped into the world outside, hand in hand with Mia, Ethan knew that whatever came next, he was ready for it. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.

And he had someone by his side to enjoy it with.

[omgthatdress]

The Cisgender, Heterosexual Cross-Dressers of the Victorian Era

(NOTE: This post was deleted and then re-edited because GASP I fell for some misinformation I found online. A lot of photos of "cross-dressing Victorians" that are common on social media are photoshop works that originate from one specific gender reversal fetish blog. So that's something else you have to look out for when research queer history online. I knew this blog existed and I still ended up posting some of its fake history. Forgive me.)

Victorians absolutely loved cross-dressing as a gag.

But none of it was considered queer. Because it was considered fun and not subversive or perverse, it was carried on in public by heterosexuals without any fear or hatred.

More than anything else, drag flourished as a comedy act on the vaudeville circuit. Many of the biggest names in entertainment were opposite-sex impersonators.

Julian Eltinge (who I will get back to later)

Vesta Tilley

John Lind

Bessie Bonehill

Bothwell Browne

Ella Wesner

Bert Errol

Pepi Littman (left)

At this point in time, drag was more closely associated with comedy than it was with queerness. It was generally considered a somewhat low art, but it was nonetheless immensely popular with the entertainment-seeking masses. Acts usually poked fun at the gender roles and stereotypes of the day, and could even be quite bawdy.

While undoubtedly many queer people engaged in this popular act, drag was not seen as inherently queer. In fact, the term "drag queen/king" wasn't popularly used outside of the theater world until the 1970s. Until then, the act, and people we'd call "trans" today, were referred to as "female/male impersonators."

Even though drag wasn't yet associated with queerness, a few notable queer people did manage to express themselves through the art of drag.

[deadhands69]

*❆ White Elephant: Jututsu Kaisen ❆*

What happens when you select their white elephant gift? *This is absolute crack and in no way did I put any consideration into where in time it occurs/what side you’re on/why all of these people/curses somehow got along well enough for a holiday gathering together. **yes, i’m very aware of how out of context the header image is

Gojo: This one is wrapped… interestingly. It doesn’t look bad by any means, the shiny white paper is just folded in a way that feels like it should defy physics. Upon opening, a small strange object falls out. You’ve never seen anything quite like it and its presence weighs heavily on you. You’re about 90% sure that thing is cursed beyond reason and there’s absolutely no way you’re bringing it home with you.

Did he just forget and pick up the first thing he saw on his desk? Absolutely.

Itadori: You selected this one because you can tell someone put so much love into wrapping it. Sure, it looks a little sloppy with the twisted ribbon and fold marks on the cute snowman printed paper, but A+ for effort. When you open it, you find a silly coffee mug filled with random odds and ends. A cute keychain. Human Earthworm action figure. And an assortment of stickers. Overall, a pretty thoughtful gift.

Todo: With the nice reusable gift bag, this one caught your eye. Worst case, you still get a cool bag. Once you open it, you peel back the layers of protective paper to find - a framed photo of Nobuko Takada. What else did you expect? 

Maki steals it from you three turns later.

Geto: The wrapping is immaculate. Crisply folded dark blue paper. Symmetrical gold bow on top. 10/10. It’s perfect. Of course, you had to choose this one. Peeling back the paper and digging into the box, a small glowing ball rolls out. In what he thought would be the funniest inside joke ever (coming from someone who doesn’t joke often), Geto left the curse you had all fought together for you to keep in a nice little orb. How sweet. There’s also a religious pamphlet and invitation to his cult’s gatherings. 

Jogo: The messy wrapping leaves something to be desired, but this one has a presence. When you peel back the green paper, you discover…one of sukuna’s fingers.

This does not feel like it should fit within the $25 spending limit, but whatever.

Nanami: This envelope almost went unnoticed until you saw it poking out from behind another gift. When you open it, you find a gift card for $25. Low effort but certainly useful.

Yuta: A small silver box with a cute blue bow. When you open it, you find a beautiful locket. That's from Yuta. Inside is a photo of Yuta. That's from Rika.

Maki: Green paper with a big red ribbon. This gift looks exactly like someone mimicked the most stereotypical Christmas wrapping they could manage (she did.) It’s hefty for its size. When you open it, you find a large bottle of Pinesol, a scrubbing brush, and some gloves with a note that ‘some of you need to pull your weight  more around here.’

Megumi: The wrapping is nice. Simple. Minimalistic. A red paper so dark it's nearly black. When you open the box, you find an assortment of new pens, pencils, lighters, and a phone charger. He wanted to introduce a surplus to the group in the hopes that now everyone will stop stealing his. (If you can’t tell, the Zenin clan isn’t so big on Christmas.)

Nobara: The gift bag is cute. A nice bow, shiny star covered paper. Great choice. When you pull out the tissue paper and look inside, you find a hammer. Also, a holiday scented candle - gotta cover all the bases.

Panda: Crinkled snowflake print wrapping paper and a few bits of fur in the tape holding it together, but overall something really draws you to this gift. When you open it, you know immediately it’s from Panda. One of those packaged gag gifts you’ll be able to use or re-gift next year for a laugh.

Choso: This is the largest box. It's wrapped up in candy cane patterned paper with big holes stabbed through the top and sides. "Don't shake it!" he screams from across the room when you pick it up. Ripping through the already mangled paper and opening the cratered box, you find a tiny stray kitten with a cute red bow tied around its neck in place of a collar. Awwweee.

Inumaki: This one is larger than most and surprisingly well wrapped in cute santa hat Pikachu paper. When you open it, you find the absolute weirdest garden gnome you’ve ever seen. It’s wonky, in an endearing/funny way. You genuinely wonder where it came from.

How tf did he wrap it so well with only o-[SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER]

Mahito: A transfigured human. It’s not wrapped or anything. He didn’t really understand the game.

Shoko: A cute gold box with a red ribbon tied around it. It feels lightweight but you’re sure there’s something good in there. When you untie it and peel off the paper, you find a pack of cigarettes and a scribbled note that says ‘happy holidays.’

Toji: A crumpled paper bag with the top rolled over. It’s the only one left and you’re feeling adventurous. Opening it, you find a roll of toilet paper (which you return to the bathroom from which it went missing.)

***Sukuna declined to participate. He says his mere presence is a gift to all of you mortals and you’ll be lucky if he graces you with that.

In the end:

The toilet paper has been returned and Gojo confiscated the transfigured human and finger. Well, he tried to. Sukuna's mouth appeared on Yuji's hand and ate both while they were being passed across the room.

This leaves us with:

Gojo's creepy cursed object (he swears it's safe)

Yuji's cute mug/Human Earthworm nicknacks

Todo's framed idol photo (Maki is glaring daggers at you for even considering it)

Geto's curse orb and religious materials (Gojo stole this one to take it out of rotation so they might be off-limits too)

Nanami's $25 Applebees gift card

A locket with Yuta's photo glued inside

Maki's cleaning supplies

Megumi's box of frequently borrowed items (each of which have now been transformed by Mahito to look like small people)

Nobara's hammer. And candle.

Panda's gag gift (Toge is trying to hide this and not make eye contact in the hopes that you will forget it exists)

Choso's kitten that everyone is keeping away from Mahito (Megumi already named it so good luck prying it out of his hands)

Toge's quirky gnome

Shoko's cigarettes (minus the two Nanami already smoked after stealing a lighter before Mahito could transfigure it)

You have one more steal left, what are you going home with?

m.list

[babydollmarauders]

SPEAK NOW — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

part of the Speak Now Fic List

summary: in which y/n attends her ex-boyfriend, Quinn’s wedding and can’t hold her peace

notes: barely any dialogue. like i’m so serious, very little dialogue. also not proofread and i think i hate this but it’s fine because i don’t think i could do any better and i worked way too long on this.

it was the last thing i expected.

to receive the elegant white cardstock that sits in my hand. flowers of muted colors are printed across the bottom, cursive lettering across the top.

‘You Are Formally Invited to the Wedding of Quinn Hughes & Lindsay Carter’

it’s not that i didn’t think this day would come. quite on the contrary, i feared it would come sooner. i know firsthand how special Quinn is. i knew some lucky girl would lock him down. Quinn is the type of love that you never let go.

but i did.

i made the mistake of letting go of his love.

letting go of him.

and now i’ll be forced to watch as he marries another girl. one who provided comfort and a shoulder for him to cry on when i broke his heart. one who helped him glue the pieces back together after i left.

we had both known the risks. getting together despite the warnings of his brothers. and Jack was right.

“romance is not worth risking a lifelong friendship.”

because in the end, i lost both.

i lost the love of my life and my best friend since kindergarten.

now reduced to awkward tension at conjoined family events, and pity invites to major events like these. more awkward to invite me than it is to face me afterwards, knowing that i knew what was happening and was deliberately left out.

setting the invitation on the counter, i check yes on the guest list website on my phone. confirming that i’ll be in attendance.

despite the envy that weighs heavy in my heart, and the irrational feeling of betrayal that eats at me, i know i’ll feel worse missing this milestone in Quinn’s life.

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

i’ve had months to prepare for this moment. to guard my heart and get ready to watch the only man i’ve ever loved, get married to another woman.

and in spite of that, all i’ve done is the very thing i spent the last two years keeping myself from doing.

asking about Lindsay.

i never thought they would get this far. under the impression that this was a fling and wouldn’t last long. the only thing i knew for two years was that they were opposites.

Quinn is a responsible, down-to-earth guy, focusing on feelings and equality in relationships. whereas she was more materialistic; never attending Quinn’s games unless she was guaranteed a photo opportunity, using his card to buy luxury items, and according to Jack, constantly reminding Quinn how low he had felt before she came into his life.

and now, after asking around and learning everything i could, i can guarantee that Quinn doesn’t know half the things that i do.

i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she was a bully in high school, that that mean girl attitude never left. i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she brags to all her friends that she bagged a rich fiancé and she’ll never have to work to afford her luxury lifestyle, or that she has no issue in saying he isn’t attractive but his money makes up for it. and i know he doesn’t know she’s been sleeping with her personal trainer when Quinn is out of town.

and i know what i must do today, despite my nerves.

there’s still thirty minutes until the ceremony actually begins, and no matter how much i’ve steeled myself, i’ll never be ready to face the pity filled glances and the sympathetic words of Quinn and i’s families and friends. so, i wander the halls of the stuffy church, thinking about how unlike Quinn this all is.

perhaps he’s changed his mind since we had fantasizingly planned our own wedding. laid in bed, the golden sunrise lighting his face in a greek god-like way, speaking in hushed whispers, discussing our dream wedding. nothing like this one.

my feet pause on their own accord as yelling reaches my ears, and i identify the sound coming from an open door down the hall as Lindsay.

“are you stupid?” her voice drifts out of the room, carried by the empty space. “i told you to get nude heels, not cream!”

i make quick work to pass by the room, catching just a glimpse of the blonde bride, her fluffy white gown swallowing her.

heaving out a relieved sigh, i try to ignore the pounding in my chest, turning left down the hall and towards the main room. maybe it’s best for me to just get the pity and commiseration over with.

my heels click against the hardwood floor of the crowded room, and a hush falls over most of the right side. Quinn’s side.

scanning the room, i’m grateful to find Trevor and Cole. i know Quinn’s family is with him getting ready, but i at least have these two to bring me some comfort amongst the sea of strangers.

“y/n, you came!”

pop! the comfort bubble has broken. i thought i could trust Cole to treat me normally, but the gentle incredulous tone of his voice tells me otherwise. a mix of shock and sympathy.

“yeah, of course i did.” my lips quirk in a forced smile, shoving any resentment and nerves down deep inside me. “i wouldn’t miss Quinny’s big day.”

“y/n/n, you know you don’t have to act strong in front of us, right?” Trevor’s hand rubs my arm, providing the perfect grounding for me.

“yeah, no, i know that.” i nod. “but seriously, guys, i’m fine. i knew this day would come.”

“it’s not too late.” Cole jokes. “the priest does say that whole ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ thing, right?”

i let out a genuine chuckle at the deep and ominous tone he uses to imitate the priest; the first real laugh i’ve had all day. if only he knew.

i join Trevor and Cole in finding seats, sitting in the 4th row. not quite at the front, but also not quite the middle. i perch in the seat closest to the aisle, open for a quick getaway if needed.

the guys engage me in small talk, asking me about my job and frowning when i give the generic answer of ‘it’s okay.’

but i couldn’t tell them the truth, could i? that i hated it. that i regretted ever taking it. that it wasn’t the job that was bad, but rather that i was filled to the brim with resentment that it took me away from the man i love.

i knew i had brought it upon myself. i made myself this miserable. i chose this job over him. i got the internship and thought Quinn and i could withstand the distance while i was in Boston, but i was wrong. we didn’t make it more than two months before i was forced to watch our relationship crumble before me; knowing there was nothing i could do to fix us, i had to let him go.

i knew he would live on. i knew he would be able to put our relationship in the past. but i was only more disconsolate than ever. stuck in a mournful heartbreak. unable to move on and unwilling to try.

i’m shaken from my thoughts by Cole, who points out the mother of the bride walking down the aisle, signifying that the ceremony is getting underway.

i strain my back, twisting around in my seat. my eyes are drawn to the open double doors, where Quinn makes his entrance. his parents on either side of him.

my heart races in my chest, my nerves settling low within my stomach. he looks breath taking. but i can’t help noticing the lack of spark in his eyes. the once lively eyes that used to be so full of emotion, now seem empty.

my gaze tracks his movement, following as he walks down the aisle and to the altar, coming to a stop in front of the priest. his parents take their seats as he scans the room, seemingly searching, and when our eyes meet, he seems to stiffen. his back straightening and his jaw locking.

i can only hope my eyes convey everything i’m thinking.

i’m sorry.

please don’t do this.

his brothers are quick to follow down the aisle, decked out in navy blue suits, joining him at the altar as his groomsmen.

Jack’s lips quirk up in a smirk when he sees me, and he sends me a wink, but i can’t muster anything more than a simple straight lipped expression.

the next 20 minutes go by in a blur, a haze of bridesmaids and eventually Lindsay making her entrance.

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore - is not by any - to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly - but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly.”

the priest begins, and i’ve been to enough weddings to know what comes next. steeling my nerves, i take a deep breath in, letting it escape back past my lips with a silent whoosh.

“should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

a silence falls over the room, the priest looking out over the seated crowd.

my hands tremble by my sides, anxiety growing deep within me, but i know this is my last chance.

i rise to my feet, slowly and shakily. i can hear whispers start from the left side of the room, and i glance around to find everyone staring at me with horrified looks. everyone but Quinn’s immediate family and friends.

Jack and Luke share a glance before letting out relieved sighs; but i’m only focused on Quinn, who stares back at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

“go on.” the priest urges me, an annoyed expression painting his face.

Lindsay’s face turns red, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“don’t say ‘yes’.” i plead of Quinn.

“y/n-” he sighs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest, the well-known effect he has on me.

“you need to hear me out.” i beg. “Quinn, i’m sorry. i’m sorry i let us go, i’m sorry i didn’t fight harder for us, and i’m sorry i ever even took that stupid internship. but even if i’m too late to win you back, you deserve better than this.

“she’s been using you for your name and your money.” i continue, but Quinn squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief. whether he’s in disbelief of Lindsay or me, i can’t be sure. “and she’s been cheating on you.”

gasps sound out across the room and his eyes snap open wide again. his gaze flickers between me and his bride, who has now turned a pale white; all color draining from her face at my accusation.

“she’s lying! she just wants you to herself! she had her chance and she lost it and now she doesn’t want you happy.” Lindsay cries out.

“i have it on good authority that she’s been sleeping with her trainer when you’re out of town. you know i wouldn’t say anything if i weren’t completely sure. if i didn’t have proof.” i tell him “and you don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who will be absolutely head over heels, purely, and loyally in love with you. and i’m not saying that i’m that person for you. this isn’t me begging for a second chance, even if i am still out of my mind in love with you. i just can’t stand idly by and watch you make a mistake. i can’t let you marry her without knowing the truth.”

i take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. silence plagues the room, astonishment written all over the faces over every guest in attendance.

“okay, that’s all i wanted to say.” i purse my lips and nod, stepping out into the aisle. my heels click against the floor as i make my exit, not staying to see the outcome of my outburst.

***

i sit on my couch, staring at my hands fidgeting in my lap; my phone shut down entirely and sitting face down on the coffee table in front of me, not ready to face the consequences of my earlier actions.

a movie plays on my tv, but i pay no attention, only having put it on in attempt to escape my thoughts and avoid the quiet.

it’s been approximately twelve hours since i objected to my ex’s wedding. now midnight, and my anxiety has not lessened. i have no clue whether Quinn carried on with his marriage or if he took my words to hold the truth. too afraid to find out.

i’m broken out of my trance by a heavy knock sounding out on the door of my apartment, and i stand frantically. i expect that it’s Jack or one of the many other friends in attendance of the wedding this afternoon, but my heart rate picks up when i look through the peephole to find the very man i confessed my love to today.

my hand shakes as i unlock the door, opening it to reveal Quinn. he’s no longer in his tux, rather adorning sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he still looks handsome to me.

“Quinn.”

“i didn’t say my vows.” he rushes out.

“what?” i question, fearing i heard him wrong.

“i didn’t say my vows.” he repeats, pushing past me and into my entry hall. “she tried to deny what you told me, but i trust you. i held my ground, and she confessed everything. you were right.”

“Quinn, please.” i plead. “i’m happy that you’re not upset with me but i can’t-”

“i’m so glad you were there.” he cuts me off, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him. “were you telling the truth?”

“Quinn, you just said she confessed-” i push against his chest, tears gathering in my eyes.

“about being sorry. about still being in love with me. were you telling the truth?” he clarifies, his free hand coming up to hold both of mine in his clutch, and my arms go slack.

“yes.” the tension in the air is palpable, and i’m unsure whether it’s worrisome or comforting.

“say it again.” he breathes out, a subtle smile resting on his lips.

“i love you.” a lone tear spills over my waterline, rolling down my cheek. “i am absolutely and irrevocably in love with you.”

his lips crash upon mine in a bruising kiss, finally letting go of my hands in favor of resting his right one against my cheek. i stiffen against him, seizing up in his hold, and he pulls back. his eyes scan my face, his face etched in worry.

“did i do something wrong?” a hoarse whisper, our faces still millimeters apart.

my hands raise to cup the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to mine. my eyes flutter shut,this time it’s slow and passionate; holding my heart on my sleeve as i pour my soul out to him in the form of a kiss.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead against mine, but my eyes remain shut. we’re both silent, nothing but the sound of our mingling breaths and the tv lowly drifting in from the other room.

“i love you too.”

[thebrokenbean]

... Somehow I fully anticipated you being the first/only person to respond, and I thought I was prepared for the angst I knew you were going to throw my way.

I wasn't prepared.

I had to re-read LL #25. It's been a year and a half, and it hurts just as bad.

Anyway, 3 hours, two wiki pages, and too many tears later… I think I'm done? Might do a better proofread tomorrow when I'm not tired, might not. Either way, enjoy the angst!

"Your eyes… your aura… have you been drinking?"

The door hisses shut behind him as he enters his habsuite. He leaves the light off.

The flight back to the Exitus was… fine. Thunderclash greeted him personally, which was… cool? But his optics were sympathetic, observant - even more than what might be called for, when a friend is grieving a loss. Which is ridiculous, because Rodimus is fine.

...Ratchet's gone.

It's fine.

Rodimus glances at the datapad that was handed to him on his way to his quarters. The screen is dark. The bot who handed it to him seemed so hesitant, like they were trying not to spook him or something. Captain Thunderclash said not to rush you. It's only a few reports. They can wait.

He drops the pad on the table as he passes by with a light flick of his wrist. It skids across the surface to join the rest, all addressed to 'Assistant Navigator'.

He's not putting it off because he needs time. He just hates reports.

Magnus knew that.

Meg- Everyone knew that.

He swipes a cube off the counter, only half-filling it from the dispenser in the corner.

He glances at the board on the wall as he takes a slow sip of energon. Scribbles of drawings are pinned there. A few photos he printed off. A daily to-do list he rarely follows. The board was a gift, years ago - from Magnus, of course. A way to keep himself organized.

A ping comes across his HUD, cheerfully reminding all crew members that tomorrow Captain Thunderclash will be leading the Exitus out of the Acklaw System, towards their next exciting destination! Captain Thunderclash encourages all crew members to be prepared for the next adventure in-

He dismisses the ping and drops his unfinished drink on the counter. He's not really hungry.

His foot catches a bottle as he moves further into his habsuite, sending it spinning into the shadows under his berth with a clink.

Another grand adventure.

"It's not the same though, is it?"

One of his friends would have said that it's impossible to recreate something we hold dear, especially when it comes to treasured memories. It would probably be Drift who said it, or Cyclonus. They're both poetic enough for that. Rodimus is pretty sure there's someone else, but he can't quite remember who he's thinking about.

It doesn't matter anyway.

"A few quantum jumps into the neighboring system and back - with no detours, no mishaps, and no mutinies. One last jaunt."

He still has the top of his desk, from his co-captain's office. The worn, scarred slab is leaning in the corner against the wall, his lovingly-carved map on display.

Hedonia. Temptoria. Scarvix.

The Nanocons. Time-travel. The Vis Vitalis.

"As far as I can make out, all you do is argue, crack jokes, and get sidetracked doing pointless, silly things that only you find amusing!"

He scoffs at the memory of what Skids recounted to him, amused for a moment. The Lost Light did far more than that!

Delphi. Luna 1. Swearth.

The Functionist Universe.

Necroworld.

… Far more.

"I suppose you had to be there."

The berth creaks when he flops down on it to stare up at the ceiling, his feet still brushing the floor. He should recharge. He really should. He doesn't feel tired, but his energy readings are low enough Ratchet would have smacked him upside the helm with that wrench of his.

Ratchet.

"Even in death, he chose life."

"…A month, a week, a year… what's the difference? There'll always be an ending - and if you're lucky, you'll get to see it coming."

Rodimus blinks a few times, his brow furrowing as he fights the sudden stinging sensation.

"If we're doing this, I'd rather do it properly. A proper ending. No going back."

"We'll all drink to that."

He presses the heels of his palms to his optics, inventing sharply. The air catches in his throat, his ventilations stuttering. He grits his teeth.

Not everyone came to the funeral.

Not everyone could.

"Do you think I should-" "Go. Go with him."

"Shut up! I gave you that-" "819 years ago, yes. It's never left my possession."

"…They've reached a verdict."

"Whatever happens next - whatever my fate…"

A frustrated noise escapes him as he pulls his feet onto the berth and rolls over, curling up. His ventilation cycle refuses to keep from stuttering, no matter what he does.

His hands are resting on the berth in front of him, now. They're trembling. He curls them into fists with a huff and tucks them close to his chassis.

It's fine.

Everything's fine.

Everything's great.

"… Do you think it worked?"

Ha.

… No going back.

[janeya]

Has there ever been a jane with just one photo? No bootleg, no audio, just one photo

YES OMG AND IT IS KILLING ME. storytime cause im gonna yap.

the ONLY ONE where i couldnt find any more than one picture is literally from one of the two rtc productions that have happened in my town, this one maybe like 10 minutes away from me. im not gonna say what it is for my own privacy but its not on the archive or anything. i quite literally only knew they did rtc because in the middle of the night i realized i had a very vague memory of someone i distantly knew in summer 2023 mentioning that they might audition.

since then, i have never been able to find any proof of the show happening other than a single image that just slightly looks like an interpretation of jane, and a very sketchy ticket website that has since been deleted. there are no announcements on any of this theatres socials about it, and someone who i know that was in another one of this theatres shows has no memory of it ever happening.

i eventually was like maybe the show never happened, but theres just that one single low res picture of a girl in a lace blouse and plaid skirt with a choker and blonde wig, with no caption, posted once on their facebook. that costume literally wouldnt make sense to be in any of the other shows they were doing at the time so im genuinely so puzzled.

[baufive]

Going down memory lane. Anyone remember Geocities?

So there is an archive of sites that were on Geocities - I cannot locate my main site - it was a SoHo/Lofts site (want to say 1005?) but at one point you could have a geocities dot com / ~NAME and I think that has blown archiving it. I did find this site - it was one I created with other creative types. It held up ... okay ... but keep in mind resolution was very small at that point on graphics cards - screen were small and all images were HUGE. AOL was pay by the minute (in the 90s I would see a $300+ bill ... no joke). Images had to be transparent and low res to load quickly. So, today - what would have been close together on a small screen, unless coded correctly - it's far apart. Links don't all work. Still - fun.

The above 'poetry' was culled from a visit to Atlanta in 98 - my then partner (now dead) had this neat little kit (that then became quite popular and annoyingly ubiquitous) of words on magnets. Had not seen it - friends in Boston would use the magnetic letters bucket for elementary kids for their apartments and would end up using numbers for letters when they'd run out.

I remember fussing with the magnets while he worked and loved the sort of dadaist method of using all the tiles to create would be poetry.

Anyway - shared some shots from a vintage magazine and it got me thinking about Geocities (the photos shared were a part of my sites layout). For all the archiving out there, I'm bummed my little corner of the web was lost in the mix. I had a strange following and somehow was quite popular in Japan. Go figure.

[borninwinter81]

Another t-shirt mod

Because it's impossible for me to buy a shirt without doing something to make it more interesting 😁

Vampire is a Swedish thrash/death metal band, but although they were formed in 2011 they have a very old-school sound, more like death metal was back in the 80s. Slight shades of Black Metal too, but again in its earlier Bathory era form. Originally their material was only released on cassette and vinyl, and they were one of the first modern bands I came across that did that. I've been a fan since their first EP, and I have a tattoo of their logo, but only just managed to get one of their shirts.

I would usually get a man's/unisex, but on this occasion I got the "girlie" fit. It originally looked sonething like this (official website photo as i didn’t take a picture before I started messing with it).

However the print was way lower on the body than is shown here. I've mentioned before that I dislike the look of low waisted shirts on me, so I usually crop them. However in this instance as there was so much space at the top what I did instead was cut the length from there, re-sew the shoulders and re-shape the neckline (removing the sleeves at the same time).

At that point although it *just* fit it was a little too tight to be comfortable, probably because I'd moved the original waistline up my body so it was sitting around my ribcage. I had some of this extra wide lace trim that I bought ages ago on sale for pennies.

I cut up the side seams and sewed a panel of this down each side.

This meant it fit perfectly in the chest, however it was now slightly too loose in the waist area. I have quite a v-shaped upper body with a wide chest and shoulders and a narrow waist from having been a weight lifter for a few years!

But, rather than taking in the sides again, instead I did a cut and weave on the back, but I only wove the bottom part, just leaving plain slashes at the top. This pulled in the shirt slightly at the waist area and now it fits perfectly! I like my shirts fitted without being *tight* tight.

There are tons of tutorials for doing cut and weave stuff on youtube, this was a really basic one.

I hope this might have given folks a few ideas if you have a shirt you love that is too tight for you. Any fabric could be used for the side panels, I just used the lace because I had it to hand and it works with the overall style. I would say a slightly stretchy fabric is probably better for this kind of mod though.

I'll sign off by sharing a track by Vampire, the first one I ever heard which I got on a random YouTube recommendation. Since I love Vampire related stuff and extreme metal I had to give it a try, and was really glad I did.

The name makes them a little difficult to search up online, so if you're interested here's their bandcamp 😉 You can also try searching "Vampire the band" or "Vampire metal band Sweden".

Edit: I should have also included the t-shirt link: right here, it is official not knock-off as I found it via their instagram. There is slightly different merch here than what is available on their bandcamp:

[zenlesszonezero]

[the-dork-urge]

Run Off the Mill - The Deep

As Kevin, aka the Deep is hanging with his only friend, you, he learns something that will change him forever. (re-upload from my second account -> butcherbabyx) Reader x The Deep and mention of Homelander

The night was still, the pier as quiet as it ever got, save for the occasional scurrying of a stray cat and the distant hum of boats passing by. The vast expanse of water reflected the dim glow of the moon, casting eerie shadows across the dock. You could almost feel the cool, salty breeze brushing against your skin, the solitude comforting in a way that only this place could provide. This place had become a sanctuary for both of you, a refuge from the relentless chaos of life at the tower. Here, you could escape Ashley's endless barrage of questions, and, most importantly, the constant, oppressive presence of Homelander

A sudden ping from your phone jolted you from your thoughts. You looked up just in time to see Kevin, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight, scaling the steelwork fencing at the edge of the pier. Each muscle in his body flexing as he reached the top. He paused, gazing at the water below, then stretched and dove gracefully into the dark depths.

For a moment, you watched him with a sense of quiet admiration. . As he cut through the surface and disappeared into the darkness below, you couldn’t help but think how perfectly he belonged here.

Your phone pinged again. This time, you couldn't ignore it. You took your eyes off Kevin and, with a slight hesitation, pulled your phone from your pocket. A new message, from Homelander. There was a picture attached, but you could not quite manage to open it right away. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm the nerves that had suddenly tightened in your chest, bracing yourself for whatever he had decided to send this time.

"Did you catch that dive, (Y/N)?" Kevin's proud voice jolted you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him clambering back onto the pier, water streaming from his hair and clothes, leaving a trail of droplets in his wake. He flashed you a wide grin, clearly proud of his dive.

"Yeah, dude, sick," you replied somewhat automatically, your tone distant as your eyes drifted back to the phone in your hand. You could feel Kevin's eyes on you, sensing your distraction, but the weight of that unopened message was all you could focus on.

You tapped your screen, unable to resist the pull of curiosity and dread. The messenger app opened, revealing Homelander’s text. "Have a look at this." The words sat above a slowly loading image. The signal here at the pier was spotty at best, leaving you in agonizing suspense as the photo buffered.

"Who are you texting?" Kevin’s voice startled you as he ran over, looming over your shoulder and peering at your phone. Before you could stop him, the image loaded, and in an instant, you both saw it.

A photo—flesh-colored and unmistakable—an unwelcome view of what could only be Homelander's… well, Kevin’s gasp said it all. "Holy shit!" he yelped, water spraying off him in a panic as he stumbled back laughing awkwardly.

You had learned to look at the images with a detached indifference. You knew the game. Homelander wasn’t just trying to shock you—he was reaching out in the only way he knew how. But this time, the picture was more revealing, more intimate, as if he was pushing the boundaries, testing how far you’d let him go. the pictures always came at times when he was low, when his usual outlets were out of reach. When the weight of being Homelander, the world's most powerful man, became too much to bear, he seemed to circle back to you. It made your skin crawl. Even now, with Kevin standing beside you, shaking off the water from his dive and trying to laugh it off, you couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at your bones. Of all people, why did he always come back to you?

But you knew the answer deep down. It wasn’t about attraction—it was about control. Homelander didn’t see you as a person; just another plaything in his web of power, someone he could dangle on a string whenever he felt the need to remind himself that he could.

And that thought—more than the picture, more than anything else—was what scared you the most.

You let out a dry, humorless chuckle, forcing yourself to act nonchalant, even though every instinct screamed at you to throw your phone as far away as possible. "Guess Homelander's feeling... generous again," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Kevin, still recovering from the shock, gave a nervous laugh, clearly trying to shake off what he just saw. “Yeah… generous is one word for it,” he said, his tone awkward but attempting to match your nonchalance.

You could not help but have another look at the pale flesh, in the same way, people can't look away from a car crash, before you shoved your phone back into your pocket, pushing down the unease that twisted in your stomach. You couldn’t let it get to you—not here, not now. Homelander’s games were designed to get a reaction, to unsettle you, and you were determined not to give him that satisfaction, not when this evening had been so peaceful up until now. After he sent you the first photo many months ago, you realized that Homelander had handed you the tools to bring him down if you dared to take the risk. You could have shared those photos far and wide, turning them into viral sensations on Reddit, revealing the private, humiliating side of America’s so-called hero. But the risks were immense. Vought, ever adept at media manipulation, would twist the narrative. They’d portray Homelander as the victim and you as an abusive ex or disgruntled employee. The photos might be dismissed or even disappear, while you’d face severe backlash. And the best-case scenario, the scandal might focus on the disappointing size of his genitalia rather than the deeper issues, turning the situation into a sensationalized spectacle, and you'd still end up dead and burried.

Still, the thought of exposing America's number one hero to ridicule was tempting. Imagine how many might feel vindicated to outsize their idol? The thought of revenge against him, ignited a warm feeling in you stomach. A girl could dream. So, you did what you had done all these months and you remained silent, balancing between self-preservation and resisting Homelander's twisted need for control. Kevin, finally calming down, took a seat beside you on the pier, letting out a deep breath.

"I now know what girls feel," he said with a sheepish grin, guilt evident in his eyes as he recalled every unsolicited picture he had ever sent.

"If I ever hear of you doing that again," you said, half chuckling but with a clear edge of seriousness, "I'll cut your fucking balls off." You punctuated your threat with a friendly slap on his back.

Kevin laughed, his smile easing the tension. "No, (y/n), I’m getting better at this shit. Treating women with respect and all," he said as if reading from one of those flyers the marketing team had handed out.

He really was trying. You thought about your own past mistakes, the dark deeds you had committed to prove your loyalty to Vought. The blood that had once sealed your commitment still stained your hands. You were unsure of where to begin in making amends for those actions. In that sense, Kevin was already one step ahead of you, though it was clear that his progress wasn’t entirely without your influence.

In a world dominated by alphas and echo chambers of oversimplified, misogynistic takes, you were the only reasonable source of influence Kevin had. Truthfully and saddening, the only reason The Deep had managed to improve at all was because of you. ''Can I see it again?'' Kevin asked, ''Just to delete it for you after?'' ''Be my guest, I don't want to look at his cock and balls anymore.'' You took your phone from your pocket, handing it to him. You watched closely as Kevin reopened the conversation with Homelander, being extra careful not to click or send anything by mistake. His fingers hovered over the image, and from the corner of your eye, you noticed him zooming in.

“Kevin, what the fuck?” you muttered, trying to stop him. But Kevin had his hands firmly on your phone.

“It’s not even that special?” Kevin said, his tone more of a question than a statement.

“It’s just a regular, run-of-the-mill penis,” you said from your spot next to him. “What did you expect? His tip to be made of gold?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin chuckled, his voice taking on a strangely light, almost chipper quality. “Something more impressive?”

A proud smile spread across his face, and you finally realized where this was heading. Kevin started laughing, and you couldn’t help but join in.

“Gosh,” Kevin said, patting his own upper thighs as he puffed himself up, “my cock is bigger than his.”

You reveled in his reaction, imagining how satisfying it would be if all of America could compare their dicks to Homelander’s. But for now, you settled for the smile on Kevin’s face and the true lightness in his laugh.

[peppershark]

WOLFER --- The real California history behind the Tomione Fic

Convict Lake Camp (OwensValleyHistory.com)

When I was a kid, my family frequently visited Bishop, California. I can still feel the light-headed enchantment of hopping out of the van at a relative's green, creek-watered ranch shadowed by towering granite faces of the High Sierras. The dusty road and sage-sharp aroma propelled my imagination two hundred years into the past.

Wolfer is set in 1890 Bishop Creek, and while some of the location names are changed to fit the story, the town really had ranching barons like the Sacred 28 families, churches which exerted certain levels of social power with the well-to-do folk, boarding houses for mill workers and on-farm worker housing for fruit pickers and cowboys--or perhaps the odd wolfer.

It's amazing what you can dig up when you're procrastinating working on your WIP, lol. I did a lot of initial research while writing a Gingerrose fic set in post Civil War Bishop Creek.

Here are some things I found.

Main Street, Bishop Creek 1880 (OwensValleyHistory.com)

In Chapter 1, Tom rides down Main Street to the marshal's office (played by a grudging Severus Snape) and runs into Hermione.

Way off into the upper right you can see the steeple of the First Baptist Church on Main Street.

East Line Street, Bishop Creek (OwensValleyHistory.com)

Tom chases Hermione to Line Street, where he pushes her up against the Brown's Machine Shed, which is of course re-named to fit Lavender Brown's family.

(OwensValleyHistory.com)

Check out that snow! Sitting at 4,000 feet of elevation in the foothills of the East Sierras, the snow can get quite voluminous.

W.D. Roberts Ranch, Round Valley (OwensValleyHistory.com)

The ranch near the dry saltbeds of Owens Lake where Draco visits Harry, (by way of Mad Eye Moody) might have looked like this.

Cerro Gordo photo taken some time between 1871 - 1879 (OwensValleyHistory.com

We get a brief glimpse of the Cerro Gordo silver mine when Draco and Harry ride off into the sunset together for a night of wild debauchery. The brothels and bawdy houses within these sprawling mining towns would have perhaps been some of the only public places for late 19th-century gays to be themselves. Miss Lola's was among the more famous, and I'm struggling to find the website where I originally learned this this but I believe she hosted queer sex workers and provided space for an early LGBTQ+ scene.

The silver mine itself brought together a richly diverse group of fortune seekers. I accessed California census documents and found that while Bishop Creek was mostly white, Cerro Gordo had a much more diverse population (interestingly all marked with 'I', even Latinx names).

I did a phone interview with the Inyo Historical Society and chatted for an hour with a local historian, telling him I was getting context for a novel. (He didn't need to know that my novel was also a fanfic, hahaha.) The historian told me the mine had Mexican, Black, Chinese, and Indigenous populations working as miners, teamsters (people who drive wagons), cooks, brick masons, farm laborers and all kinds of interesting jobs related to running the mine.

Main Street in Bishop Creek, 1878 (OwensValleyHistory.com

One thing that sticks out in my mind from the conversation with the historian is how the white and Mexican ranchers demolished the irrigation canals the Numuu Indigenous tribes had dug to create a green landscape in Owens Valley. Native Americans have been 'farming' America's landscape for thousands of years in a low-impact way. In Chapter 4, Tom muses on this detail as he's setting a wolf trap on Rosier's ranch.

Perhaps the most illuminating account of the region comes from Sarah Winnemucca, daughter of Chief Truckee (after whom the town is named). Sarah travelled as an advocate for Indigenous rights and cataloged her experience and the story of white settler colonization in her book, Life Among the Pauites: Their Wrongs and Claims which you can read for free here.

Thank you for diving into California history with me!

Read Wolfer here.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I have (re)watched Lambs of Gods now. (Tagging @slutaciouslestat as promised 😅).

Here‘s my… thoughts, roughly in order:

Arrogant asshole but the clothes really look sleek on him

Sam really knows how to use mannerisms for display of character traits (in this case: smoking). Holy moly.

That cast right? They had to leave the cast open in the back for… practical reasons. Like, a cast takes a while to dry, and then the night, and the day after… Good thing he is in the stable already 😬 (And imagining the handling inside, later?! 😬😅)

The fact that he is receptive to the reality/visions was a nice twist!

Why do they all shave him?!!! *grumbles* ;))

The stories as a means to tell the harsh past was very well done.

The baby Moses thing. LMAO. (And also as vicious as his reaction was I can understand it)

The inspector being called Barnaby. I mean…

I loved the stories woven into the clothing.

I also loved his face at getting told that was his hair 🤣

Think Sam learned to knit for this?!

Him becoming a sister was weirdly poetic and touching in its own right. I was so glad they didn’t stray to brother after the initial announcement.

All that jerking off … “nothing“ mh hmmm. (Knowing Sam really wanted this part… I couldn’t be an actor 🙈😬)

I liked the address of the hypocrisy of the church vs the (supposedly) real belief

That shirt was really the perfect length wasn’t it

Throwing him out of the window… ouch

The oven.

I am in awe how someone so pretty can make such faces. Seriously. 🤣

The fairy tale visuals are quite breathtaking in their poignant simplicity

The reaction to the ring tone…. 😭

Like, I know these were cleaning the wound, but I probably would’ve reacted the same way

The butterfly -.-

Bathing day… 😌

That photo of lil baby Sam… 😻 (Yes, said in Jacob’s voice^^)

Ohhh that Father insinuating like that to Frankie… I would’ve flipped my shit. And to make her drink 😒

The low lighting they used (and yet everything was clearly visible which was nice) makes the pupils enormously large

Dying Day (lol)

Oh him having synesthesia is so interesting, I wonder if Sam and Assad discussed that?!

I didn’t think I‘d care so much for Frankie and her story but it was beautifully done

As was that scene with the colors 😭

Well, Father "Bob" got what he deserved

The oven. I think I said that before. Ahem.

They filmed really prettily

The mystical aspects of it all were very nicely done, nice and subtle

I did say that Father Bob had it coming, right

(Also, fathering a child while not even managing to errr... finish... and not knowing...)

I almost cried at the robes tbh

And I didn't expect this to have a happy ending...

So. Really liked it, didn't like that it was so hard to track down and watch, whyyyyyy can't I own a DVD of it?! *sighs*

Anyways, I'm glad Sam likes to do these roles that are quite special?! I hope he gets to do many more of these. 🥰

And, of course, probably the most famous of them all... 😈

[batsplat]

ok, in light of casey and vale’s reunion at the ranch. what are your top 5 or maybe 10 motogp feud developments of the year? could be something like casevale link up or someone saying something insane or it could be some insane fact that you’ve uncovered this year which changed/added to your perception of some rivalry?

excellent ask. obviously I got sent this around the time of the actual ranch visit and prevaricated on answering it, partly because one of my personal top three feud related revelations had not as yet been posted. now it HAS been posted - and while there's other as-yet-unposted material that would probably make this list, I'll have a crack at it with what we've got lol. also, this isn't a particularly balanced list... because obviously 'stuff I've found out this year' is a pretty big caveat. I haven't found out that much stuff this year! generally it's been to do with sete/valentino tbh, and most of it is stuff I've been sent by other people. I've been slacking on doing my own feud research. so as much as I'd like to sneak in a dovi/jorge cameo or whatever, unfortunately there's quite a few feuds where we are currently in a bit of a stagnation period... no real advances in the field I'm afraid. I've decided to go for the nice and round number of six items as nobody's attention will last that long anyway. no need to overdo things

6. casey mentioning valentino's qatar 2007 head rub three times in his autobiography: okay, look, there's a slightly irritating element to this discovery in that... y'know. I could've figured this one out YEARS ago because it literally just relies on reading casey's autobiography closely enough. which you'd think I would have done by now. the process by which I cobbled this one together has been documented here, and now we obviously also have a lovely gif of the moment itself at our disposal. just to refresh everyone's memory, even the bloody photo itself made it to the autobiography:

I love this! casey's so deeply weird about valentino and he's so repressed about it and he lets it slip in such funny ways. such a short moment for it to live so incredibly rent free in casey's mind. as always, it is important to note that casey is not giving an accurate recollection of events. I have little way of knowing whether valentino was still friendly to casey away from the track - but I can use casey's own metric of direct post-race interactions and tell you categorically that valentino continues to warmly congratulate casey after early 2007. there's this fun little technique I use to assess casey's claims called 'the power of my own eyes'

mugello 2009 first time vale lost his home race in a bajillion years and this is how he acts with casey on the podium... let's start a conversation

the underlying reasons for why casey takes such liberties in narrativising the rivalry have been previously discussed in much depth in this parish - and as ever it is fun and neat to note how casey's narrative has become accepted because he has taken advantage of a prevalent narrative about valentino and his affinity for feuding. old tricks used against the teacher!! mainly, though, this kind of thing is a fun little reminder of how rewarding it is to do a lot of reading between the lines where casey is concerned. he does let a lot slip, if you know where to look

5. jerez 2024, the weekend experience: I was thinking about putting something related to the pecco/marc set-up for next year in this post but quite honestly I am increasingly pessimistic about how that will unfold. like,, I do think there's plenty of stuff there and that in this kind of scenario any two of prime jorge, casey and valentino would start stabbing each other, any two of prime jorge and valentino could get something going with pecco, and marc would start a war with any of those three. but I'm just not convinced about this specific combination... and sometimes it's a good idea to set your expectations low. so unfortunately we continue to have to rely on old feuds to keep us fed, which means that valentino's link to pecco somehow remains the most surefire source of narrative tension. I don't particularly like this state of affairs and maybe somebody below the age of 35 should start pulling their weight, but it is what it is. sometimes you just have to contend yourself with archival research. anyway, I really enjoyed jerez!! it was fun having valentino there for all that stuff, the marc/pecco duel was only second to jorge/pecco sepang in terms of on-track thrills, plus repeatedly cutting back on marc does kinda feel like #heritage at this point. grateful that bez moved his ass once this season to get valentino to parc fermé

but above all I really enjoyed that valentino description of marc - how marc attempts to show his superiority over his opponent and that 'when he sees that you are less strong or are already bleeding, he bites harder'. that's lovely stuff. obviously valentino is correct in his assessment of marc... but what makes the whole thing more fun and dramatically juicy is that especially that second part is even more true of valentino himself. valentino sniffing out weakness is basically his entire MO as a rider, including in very practical terms how he likes to study and put pressure on his opponents during races. he's also someone who's always liked to attack from a position of strength - you see this most obviously in the 2008-09 period and it is something jorge himself acknowledges quite explicitly in his biography. idk, something about seeing a little bit of yourself in your enemy... and yeah, 'biting your rival harder when they are already bleeding' is just such a poetic little phrase that I've made heavy use of it since then. old man's still got it

4. what hrc was told at qatar 2004: this is another one of those slightly annoying ones where I suppose I theoretically could have found this out years before I did, but. having finally had the chance to watch the footage from that route 46 route 93 documentary and the bits about sete, twas very much worthwhile. I really enjoyed what valentino said, just a nicely rich text especially given the scarcity of comments he's made since 2004 - but I was particularly interested in the testimony from juan martinez, sete's crew chief. both of which are discussed in some depth here. as far as I can tell, martinez did quite literally say him and sete talked to hrc about the little grid rubber trick valentino's team pulled, which?? he claims it's for 'safety reasons' to try and convince them everybody needed the track cleaned - which is all well and good, but you don't need to be a witch to guess what hrc was going to do with that information

this testimony plus a few more details I've unearthed but haven't posted - primarily relating to the actions of fausto gresini and other honda bigwigs that day - make me increasingly convinced that valentino did have a legitimate grievance at qatar. including directed towards sete. obviously, the manner in which he responded to said grievance was still completely mental... but idk, I'd always had a sneaking suspicion that there had to be something to valentino's accusation. which makes sete's arc throughout that 2004 season and especially from qatar to sepang even more interesting!! I do think he wasn't being entirely honest in that sepang presser, but I also think he panicked a bit for fairly understandable reasons. idk obviously this is just such a fascinating few weeks for everyone involved, so I'm thrilled how I've found out so much more about that time period in such a short amount of time. again, mostly not off the back of my own research!! but I am grateful for what I have been allowed to Divine

3. valentino's podcast adventures: I still haven't talked properly about what valentino said about jorge but I will and I should, because those bits are all pretty enjoyable and fit into the rivalry write-up I did earlier this year. also, the casey stuff was excellent!! more of the valentino ambition vs casey talent theme, plus just some fun descriptions of laguna 2008 I will absolutely integrate into my long post about that race. nothing NEW exactly, but it's always nice having someone confirm your working. and the marc stuff was really fun!! obviously I was particularly keen on the alzamora stuff because I've always felt like there had to be more to his role. the argentina 2015 stuff is just really interesting in relation to what jorge has said (perhaps reflecting paddock gossip at the time question mark) that marc felt valentino deliberately made him crash, so you get into this excellent mutual j'accuse situation. and assen!! obviously valentino's description of marc's attitude isn't particularly novel since it does chime with what we have actual footage of in the presser, but the idea of a private lil confrontation is so much fun. especially paired with marc saying at sachsenring he felt assen was his best race of the season!! 2015 is one of the best puzzle box seasons to try and unravel what 'really happened' and why - and we really haven't gotten new details from one of the two blokes involved that often over the years. always appreciate some additional insight

and obviously the best bit - zero mention of sete. friendships, rivalries, even feuds can fade... curses last forever

2. the 'ciao sete' shirt valentino wore in 2004: which has now been posted here, god bless. this has been living rent free in my mind for weeks at this point, not a day has passed where I haven't thought about it. it has singlehandedly made motogp-blogging on this website worth it because I doubt I would have ever discovered it myself. I love this so so dearly. look at this absolute cunt

a third t-shirt has hit late 2004 feuding towers

first of all, that's a dyke aunt. that is a mother. some deep concentrated evil lesbian energy. I'm not straight but he can get it. second of all, what the FUCK is wrong with you. the best part is that this has been sent to me along with a steady diet of extra details confirming they were like. properly properly friends before all this shit went down, which makes every additional feud-related revelation particularly wild. they were close!! it's so brutal, it's so malicious, it is INCREDIBLY funny and I laugh every time I see those photos. I love the playful edge, the double meaning of 'bye thirst', that marriage of joy and cruelty that is so quintessential to the arc he goes on that year. just having a laff... one dead, dozens injured. I feel like I increasingly have a handle on why valentino went SO far with sete and what it was specifically about losing to sete that drove valentino nuts, which does also leave me with rather a lot of sympathy for poor sete in all this. endless ritual humiliation is one hell of a punishment for your former friend to inflict. that being said, unfortunately it is also hilarious. ah well

1. CASEY VISITED VALENTINO AT THE RANCH: casey!! visited!! valentino!! at!! the!! ranch!! CASEY VISITED VALENTINO AT THE RANCH. out of NOWHERE too, just suddenly opened tumblr to a bunch of asks and messages on a random sunday evening. I'd previously expressed myself sceptical on the vale/casey dinner front, feeling rather safe and secure in the knowledge they had not done so in the twelve years since casey's retirement. which, y'know. fantastic timing, lads. but I still think my reasoning mostly holds up - obviously, this was a more casual 'valentino harassing casey into sticking around' affair and not quite the soul-searching soul-baring exercise in exorcisms casey might be looking for. and idk, just vindicating of my general read of that relationship. casey's feelings towards valentino are extremely complicated - this weird cocktail of how he feels about valentino as a person and then valentino the character and also valentino the literal embodiment of the sport. valentino doesn't hate casey... and crucially, he also does not seem to particularly mind casey's bi-yearly habit of talking shit about valentino. I mean, come on, SOME of that stuff must get back to valentino. I'm consistent in my stance that - while casey obviously has plenty of legitimate grievances - I do also think valentino could reasonably take issue with some of the ways casey has characterised valentino and their rivalry. if valentino has his complaints, he's clearly not about to share with the class - and there's really not any bitterness whatsoever in how he's talked about casey these last few years. he's content to pass the reigns to casey in narrativising their rivalry to the public. pretty interesting, no?

idk, I like how true the entire ranch visit felt to their dynamic... valentino might have done what he needed to do to beat casey, but there was never any real personal animosity on his end - at most their intense bickering during 2010-12, but even there it was never that serious to valentino. and now, that's all done with as far as he's concerned... the door is open, if casey wants it to be. and casey, always just a bit more cautious and wary and far more conflicted, who clearly still has all these grievances relating to valentino he needs to share with the world... but when they're actually face-to-face, those have always had a habit of falling away. valentino in all his boundless enthusiasm and sincere belief that casey is as good a rider as they come, dragging around his erstwhile rival to proudly show him around his precious home. and casey, who once idolised valentino and perhaps even wished they could have been friends, allowing himself to be dragged along. it was sweet... it warmed my cold dead heart. I liked it. and I am going to laugh very hard indeed when casey gives his next interview discussing how valentino taught him about the horrors of the human condition

[player1064]

Just popping in to bother you once again, but do you happen to have any recollection or evidence in your photo archives whether or not Gary ever managed to give Roy a cuddle and/or a kiss?

oh it is NEVER a bother I looooove providing you all with images and videos... at this point i consider myself the unofficial Gary Neville Historian.

There's a lot of them celebrating together but these two are sadly the closest thing I've got to a cuddle

now, re: roy. it's WEIRD and here is why

Roy (especially in the 90s) was very much a hugging/leaping/kissing person with goalscorers

Obviously so was Gary

AND YET

and here are possible explanations for this:

for videos: FAMOUSLY (to me) cameras tended to cut away as soon as Gary arrived to the celebrations. I suspect bc they knew he was gonna start kissing men. one day I Will make a supercut of examples of this

Roy didn't score LOADS of goals. obviously 50 is nothing to sneeze at but yknow. statistics etc means the amount of times he scored while Gary was on the pitch and close enough to join celebrations would've been low

Gary was scared of Roy

Becks was there (worth mentioning bc Gary would OFTEN ignore whoever actually scored the goal in favour of kissing Becks instead)

(There's one quite excellent example of this where Roy gets hurt and a few of them go over to check on him. And while they're all fussing over Roy, Gary just?? goes straight to Becks and starts tenderly petting his hair???)

THAT SAID I do actually have a video of Gary kissing him. So. here we go (this is my 'embracing roy' compilation and TRAGICALLY it only has. 2 clips)