#but the sound we get here has kind of an abrasive personality

[kalmeria]

i like the parallel of tinn and sound being two kids prone to perfectionism who just need and want to be shown love and kindness

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Three}

Alastor x (fem)Reader

Warning: Very ooc Lucifer (I made the first few chapters before the series came out)

"Redemption?" I wonder aloud. "Yes! This is my hotel, and here, me and my staff help sinners better themselves for a chance of being redeemed!" Charlie says enthusiastically. But it didn't make much sense to me. Why would sinners care about being redeemed? Could they even be redeemed?

That sounded impossible, unheard of even. But held my tongue, clearly this was a passion project of hers. I wouldn't want to spit on her dreams.

"How...nice." I say with a smile. "But may I ask why you would do all this?" Charlie's eyes lit up at the thought of me being interested in knowing more.

"I believe that everyone deserves a second chance to be good. Everyone has good in them, even if they don't believe they do. And I think, with a little help, we can shape them into the best versions of themselves as they can be. Then they can get into heaven after all their hard work on improving."

I almost couldn't believe the words coming from her. She seemed so kind, so, not demon-ish at all! I couldn't help but wish her luck. She really believed that the sinners and demons of hell could be better people. In some ways, I agreed. I do believe people can change and be better. But, a lot of those creatures out there were here for a reason.

"So, are you here to check in?" Charlie asks me. "Uh, I-" I was cut off by Alastor. "Why yes, she is!" I shot a concerned glance at him. "Wonderful!" Charlie claps excitedly. "Come on, I'll give you a tour and introduce you to everyone!" Before I could protest, Charlie grabbed my hand and began walking.

Before she left with me she turned to Alastor. "I'll be back to help. We mainly just need to fix the place up from our last extermination." Alastor nods his head. "Of course my dear. Take your time." Charlie gives him a thumbs up before walking me away.

What was Alastor up to? Charlie showed me different areas of the hotel, and even introduced me to the staff and guests. First I met Vaggie, who turned out to be Charlie's girlfriend. She was pretty abrasive, but Charlie told me it wasn't anything personal towards me. Other than that, she was a fine demon and she clearly loved and cared about Charlie.

Next I met Angel Dust, a spider demon, he was uh...Something else. Smug too. I tried to keep my eyes on his and not his skimpy clothing. Apparently he was a porn star. I felt bad for him. Mainly because I was concerned for his safety. But he looked like he could handle himself, hopefully.

Then there was Nifty. She was nice, and very hyper. Excited to meet me and become friends, her singular eye looking me up and down frantically.

Before I could finish talking with her and move on to the next person, she picked some lint off of my dress. A clean freak I suppose. I said my goodbye before meeting the last person on Charlie's list. His name was Husk, a cat demon. And a rather rude demon at that.

He had no interest in meeting me or even spare a glance my way. Charlie apologized for his behavior before leading me back to the lobby.

"We can work on getting you a room shortly. I just have to make sure everything is all set first. Things got a little out of hand after the extermination. Then we had some demon attack us right after, thankfully Alastor got rid of him. In quite the horrifying way..." She laughs weakly before clearing her throat. "Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us."

I only offered a false smile and nod. "So, I've been meaning to ask." Charlie begins. "How do you know Alastor? I mean, everyone knows him, but you seemed to actually be friends with him." My mind blanked for a moment as I tried to think of a explanation. "Uh well, Alastor kind of helped me out a bad spot." That seemed to have caught Charlie's attention.

"Really? What happened? If you don't mind me asking." She asks. Darn. "Well, he...Uh, I was lost. Yeah, I got lost and, he helped me. I'm sure you know how hell is. So...dangerous and and all that." Charlie nods. "Trust me, I know." She chuckles. "Being the princess of hell, I'm aware of a lot of things that go down on a regular basis. But not everything, my dad knows way more than me." My eyes go wide for a second.

Did she just say princess of hell? Does...does that mean her father is...

There was a knock on the front doors of the hotel. "I'll get it! Excuse me for a moment Y/n." Charlie says before heading for the front door. She straightens out her suit before opening the doors. "Welcome to...Oh, hey dad." Standing before Charlie, was a demon.

But not just any demon. This demon was known by all, in heaven, hell, and earth alike.

This demon, was none other than Lucifer himself. But could that really be him? He looked nothing like how I thought he would. For one thing, he was much...shorter, than I picture him to be.

Charlie's takes after her father's looks, as he had the same pale white skin, blonde hair, and rosy cheeks to bring it all together. They even shared the same eyes. When he spoke, it only sent more surprise and confusion through me. "Charlotte! How have you been?" His voice was a higher pitch than I imagined.

Not deep and masculine, but not feminine either. Somewhere right in between. "I'm fine." Charlie says with a weak smile. "What uh, what are you doing here?" She asks carefully. "I just wanted to check on my daughter. This year's extermination was no joke! The angels were relentless, I haven't seen so much carriage in a while." Lucifer walks past her into the hotel lobby, he looked around. "So, this is the hotel you've been working on."

Charlie follows after her dad, nervously fidgeting with her hands. "Yep." Lucifer chuckles. "Adorable." He says with a shake of his head. Suddenly his gaze fell onto me and I froze in place. "A new guest of yours?" Lucifer glances at his daughter for a moment. When she nods he looks back to me before approaching me. My breath was caught in my throat, my hands began to tremble.

He was but a step away from me, he looked at me with a grin. "What might your name be, little demon?" He asks. I couldn't bring myself to speak, my cowardice only seemed to have amused Lucifer. "Well? Are you going to tell me?" He smirks.

I glance over at Charlie, I don't know why, but I was hoping she could help me somehow. But she only kept her gaze on the floor, holding her arm close to her side with a nervous expression. I turn my attention back to Lucifer, who was still waiting for me to give him my name.

Finally I swallowed the large lump in my throat and speak. "Y-Y/n." I murmur. "Y/n." Lucifer repeats leaning in closer to me. His eyes bore into mine, his grin dropping slightly. "Strange..." He narrows his eyes. Suddenly Alastor's voice caught our attention.

"Lucifer, my good fellow! I had no idea you would be stopping by!" Lucifer looks over his shoulder before his grin returns to his face. "Alastor. Always a pleasure." He thankfully moves away from me and towards Alastor.

I could finally breath normally again, my heart wouldn't calm down as it thumped harshly against my chest. "I thought I might pay this place a visit. After all, it means so much to my daughter." He was far shorter than Alastor. Though, Alastor kept his same respectful demeanor when talking to Lucifer.

"Of course." Alastor nods. "It's quite the hotel. Very...Unique." Lucifer laughs at that. "You're right about that my good man."

Lucifer glances back at me as still talks with Alastor. "I thought this place would be in shambles after that extermination. Turns out my daughter can fend for herself after all." Charlie's expression fell at his words. "Anyhow. I should be on my way. Lots of work to be done, and business to attend to." He walks past Alastor and back towards the hotel entrance. "Oh, I almost forgot." He stops just before the door.

"Alastor? You haven't seen anything out of the ordinary lately have you? I ask because I know how attentive you are when it comes to anything new and unusual."

"Hm. Afraid not. Why? Has something occurred that I should know about?" Alastor asks. Lucifer shrugs. "I can't be sure. But I could have sworn I saw something quite strange fall from the sky early this morning." I noticed that Alastor's smile tightened slightly. "A new sinner?" He asks.

"Perhaps. Though, I've yet to see a sinner with such unordinary wings." Lucifer said lowly. My heart dropped down to the pit of my stomach. "But then again, I am so very overworked." He sighs. "Must have been my imagination."

"Maybe so." Alastor says calmly. Lucifer's smile turned sinister. "I'll be seeing you around, Alastor." He says before stepping out and closing the door behind him. I stare at the door unblinking, my hands trembling.

I look over at Alastor, despite his smile, I could tell he was upset. I would have asked if he was alright, but Charlie walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about that." She sighs. "I didn't know my dad would ever come here. He's never been interested in my project, I guess I shouldn't have let my guard down. Are you alright?" She asks me.

I nod my head. "I-I'm ok." Charlie offers me a small smile before taking my hand. "Let's get you to your room. You can relax for a bit."

[theharddeck]

talk with my hands, maybe take it real slow (jake seresin x fem!reader)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader (no y/n)

Synopsis: Jake's roommate has a new tattoo and can't stop itching at it...what kind of friend would he be, if he didn't help distract her?

Warnings: this fic is 18+, minors please DNI – we go pretty quickly into smut, featuring the usual--explicit oral sex (both receiving, bc we're feminists like that), and then also PiV sex, including but not limited to, condescension, overstimulation (bc what's the point of fiction if we're not wringing multiple orgasms out of our self insert?) and creampies (do not have unprotected, unnegotiated sex pls)

Length: 7.8k

A/N: sorry about the moodboard being lacluster; I couldn't find a tattoo pic that wasn't on a size 0 thigh or white, so we went without

You hadn’t considered yourself to be a person with particularly awful self control, but then again, you’d never had a tattoo healing on your inner thigh, driving you mad with the need to scratch at it. It’d been 3 weeks since the appointment and your ink was probably 95% healed; the redness had faded entirely and a couple raised patches of roughness were all you had to show for the fact that it was new. Which somehow made the incessant need to itch all the more frustrating, because you were pretty sure it was mostly phantom at this point. 

“Listen, honey, you gotta chill.” Jake’s voice interrupted your inner monologue, from his seat on the couch across the living room. 

Your roommate had started in hard on the Southern pet names when he’d seen that they’d flustered you. Honestly, there was precious little the man wouldn’t do, if it meant making you unnerved. You two didn’t have what you’d call a friendship, but the playful Something between the two of you felt safe and fun. Even if it did mean that Jake seemed to take a little more pleasure than he should’ve, in the face of your pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you replied drily, “are the literal thousands of abrasions on my skin irritating you?”

Jake rolled his eyes at your melodrama. “I can feel you thinking from over here, and it’s taking up real estate that belongs to Maya Hawke,” he gestured to the TV where the latest season of Stranger Things was playing.  

“It itches,” you mumbled, hearing the complaint in your voice and knowing it was pathetic, but too over it to care. 

Jake cut you a long look, like he also heard it, and was embarrassed for you. “Want me to get you some ice?” he asked, and it was sweet of him to offer, but…

“We’re out of ice,” you sighed. “I went through the last two trays in, like, record time, and they’re refreezing now.”

“We have like fourteen trays,” Jake frowned.

“Yeah, well someone,” you paused meaningfully, “drastically depleted our resources when he decided to have a bourbon tasting over the weekend.”

Jake had the grace to look guilty for a  moment. Then it was his turn to sigh dramatically, lifting his arm to the back of the couch and swatting at the cushion next to him. “Alright, kid, c’mere.”

In retrospect, you probably should’ve asked why, or at least deliberated for half a second before doing what he asked. In reality, you pushed off the settee you’d been lounging on, and flopped ungracefully onto the couch next to Jake. You shared a bathroom with the man and he’d seen you on the second day of your period; dignity was a distant memory. 

Still, it didn’t prepare you for Jake pulling your legs apart with one of his large hands, and spreading his fingers over your tattoo, all while calmly turning up the volume of the TV with the remote in his other hand. 

“Jesus, Jake,” you choked out, telling yourself the goosebumps erupting over your whole body were entirely because of your surprise, and not any other reason. “Buy a girl a drink first.”

Jake chuckled, somehow managing to shake his head at you while not looking away from the TV. “You’re the one who’s always telling me my hands are cold as ice.”

Had you said that?

It sounded like something you’d say.

But Jake’s hand on your leg felt anything but cold. Okay, no, if you separated your brain from—well, from anything—you could recognize that his fingers were quite cold, and it was incredibly soothing having them over you. His thumb was brushing lightly over your skin, while the rest of his hand stayed still, and you knew that ice cubes couldn’t do that, but damn, it would’ve been great if they could. You settled back into the couch, relaxing into the soft material and the relief brought by Jake’s hands.

It was a wonderful two minutes. 

Good to know that that was how long it took for the fourth law of thermodynamics to kick in, and for Jake’s fingers to warm up after extended contact with your skin.  

Then a new problem was presented—you couldn’t scratch at yourself without scratching him. You shifted slightly, to see if you could get any type of friction, but Jake’s touch was light enough that he moved with you. You snuck a glance at Jake’s profile, still fixed on the TV screen, and his expression could best be described as incredibly pleased with himself.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you muttered accusingly.  

“Absolutely,” he said, smugly. “You could fidget up a storm over there, but here you have to just deal with it.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from sticking your tongue out at him petulantly. You folded your hands in your lap, determined to ignore the rising propensity to scratch at yourself. At some point, you’d sunken into the couch until your shoulder was pressed against Jake’s arm, and you shifted so your cheek was resting against him too. His tshirt was soft, and he smelled clean, like a freaking linen candle, which was annoying, because it didn’t help clear the riotous tangle of thoughts rushing through your head.

You did stop fidgeting, though.

“Atta girl,” Jake said quietly, his thumb still moving over your thigh.

Was it hot in here?

It had to be hot in here.

Because this was Jake, your roommate, who’d never shown an ounce of interest in you, being calm as anything with his hand literally on your thigh, and saying things that would’ve sounded like come ons from anyone else.

You tried to focus on the TV, and whatever ridiculous shenanigans the children on it had found themselves in, pulling a deep breath through your nose.

(Immediate mistake, because of said linen candle bullshit). 

On the TV, Nancy’s hair got frizzier, Steve’s life got shittier, and all the while your leg was getting itchier and itchier.

You reached to press a hand over the skin distractedly, forgetting momentarily that Jake’s hand was there until you encountered his fingers instead of your skin. He turned his hand over, his knuckles pressing against your skin while his fingers intercepted your own.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, voice lightly mocking, and you wrinkled your nose. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t affected, his hands so close to your burning skin, and he still had the wherewithal to tease you for your poor impulse control.

“Jake,” you whined, trying to untangle your fingers, but his grip was unrelenting, “I’m not gonna scratch, okay, I just need to do something.”

He looked down at you, which you had to admit, was a hell of an experience when your head was practically on his shoulder. 

He blinked slowly, looking at you closely before he opened his hands, letting your fingers go. You pulled your hand back, eyes closing in relief when you pressed them against your skin. It wasn’t as good as scratching, but the pressure helped, and you shifted your fingers—and your nail accidentally dragged against your skin. 

Which was pretty much the worst thing that could happen, because it was like a tease and it shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, but you were half a second away from clawing up your thigh when Jake’s hand closed around your wrist again. 

“Seriously?” he asked, amusement coloring his tone. 

“Just let me,” you pleaded, trying to pull your wrist back. “It’ll take like two seconds and then it’ll hurt and I can stop.”

“You could also get infected or mess up the ink placement,” he said, and you stopped pulling for a moment.

“When did you learn so much about tattoo care?” you grumbled, and Jake chuckled again. It sounded different this close to him, deeper. 

“When my roommate decided to mark up the inside of her leg,” he replied easily. “Now don’t you have a lotion or something you can put on this?”

“I do, but it doesn’t help,” you said, annoyed that he was right. 

“Well, let’s at least try it, yeah?” Jake asked, and you rolled your neck, sighing. 

“Fine,” you pushed yourself off the couch. 

You felt Jake’s eyes following you to the bathroom, so you didn’t scratch at your leg, not wanting to hear more of his teasing. You found the jar of lotion, dropping back onto the couch as you unscrewed the lid. 

“It’s just gonna be sticky and leave white marks on the couch,” you groused, looking confusedly over at Jake when he held his hand out. “What?”

“What do you mean, what,” he retorted, like it was obvious. “I’m not gonna let you do this; you have zero impulse control.”

You were too stunned to resist when he plucked the lotion out of your hands, dipping his fingers into the jar. 

Had you said that the worst thing was an accidental nail brush against your tattoo?

That wasn’t true. 

Because the actual worst thing was having to sit there, pretending everything was fine and normal, as your ridiculously hot roommate started spreading Aquaphor on your inner thigh. 

Jake was nothing if not thorough, his long fingers smoothing the cool lotion over your skin, pressing slowly into you and fucking kneading into your thighs, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that he was entirely serious. Gone was the teasing condescension, the knowing look, and in its place was an unfamiliar gentleness. 

Jake’s head was bent, some of his perfect hair falling in front of his eyes, as he properly tended to your leg like he was a nurse and these were doctor’s orders. Like he wanted to be absolutely careful as he looked after you, like looking after you was even something he did. You swallowed, forcing your breathing to remain even. 

This was fine, this was normal. 

This was absolutely not complicating the tenuous relationship the two of you had, and wasn’t causing you to read into the pet names, the caring, the fact that his big hand was literally between your legs. 

He had to stop, or you had to stop, because now was not the time to be thinking risque things about your roommate, not when he was genuinely being sweet and trying to help.

“I think that’s good,” you said, hoping Jake couldn’t hear the tremor in your voice. 

Jake tipped his head to the side, considering his work, then nodded to himself, satisfied. He rubbed his hands together, wiping the excess lotion on the backs of his knuckles, and screwed the lid of the jar back on. You were readjusting on the couch when he leaned across you to leave the jar on the coffee table and when he shifted back, one of you messed up, because his forearm brushed against your chest. 

“Uh, sorry,” Jake said quickly, “I wasn’t—”

He was interrupted, of course.

Because you could tell yourself you were fine, everything was fine, all day long, but turns out that the slightest, accidental brush of Jake against your breasts had an ungodly whimper spilling out of your mouth before you could stop it. 

He froze. 

Shit. 

“Shit,” you said aloud, hands covering your face in embarrassment, “no, I’m sorry, that wasn’t—uh, we can ignore that—I don’t know what’s going on with me, sorry to make it weird, it’s not your fault—”

You stopped babbling when Jake’s hands closed on your wrists, and, for the upteenth time that night, you let yourself be guided by him. When he pulled your hands away, your breath caught at how close he was, and the unfamiliar expression on his face as he looked between your eyes. 

“I need to know right now,” he said, his voice serious as anything, “if you’re apologizing because you’re embarrassed, or because you didn’t mean it.”

You pressed your lips together, not trusting what sounds would come out of your mouth with Jake’s hands holding your wrists, and his eyes this intense. Whatever he read on your face had Jake’s lips parting, a shaking breath drawn in through them, before they thinned in a lazy smile. 

“And here I thought I was the perv, taking any excuse to get my hands on you, darlin’, when you’ve been wanting me just as bad.”

Your jaw dropped at his blunt words, but what, were you going to say he was wrong? 

Jake’s head cocked sideways when you didn’t say anything, and he guided your hands to the back of his neck, before letting go of them. Your fingers wound around his neck, the ends of his hair brushing your thumbs, and you realized he was waiting for you to say something before this—whatever ‘this’ was—went any further.

“Probably worse,” you admitted, not even trying to hide the breathlessness in your voice, “if I’m honest.”

Jake’s eyes darkened and his grin grew wider. “If that’s how honest sounds, I think I want to hear more of it,” he said.

Fuck, he was going to ruin you.

“Kiss me and find out?” you managed, and Jake huffed out a laugh before reaching for you again. His hands settled on your waist and he lifted to drag you towards him. 

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered before his lips crashed into yours. 

You were still reeling from the title, and how you liked the sound of it a little too much, but Jake’s mouth against yours drove that thought from your head. He kissed you like he’d wanted it for longer than you could’ve expected, his teeth biting at your lower lip, his tongue soothing after it. You shifted to help him as he pulled you towards him, both of you gasping when you settled in his lap. You were thankful his flannel pajamas could stand a bit of residual lotion, just as you were thankful for the pressure of his hands on your waist, fingers pressing into you and pulling you closer. Jake licked at the seam of your lips and you opened for him; when his tongue swept into your mouth, you felt it in your core. And suddenly, or maybe not suddenly, maybe finally, after months of build up, you were desperately needy. 

Your fingers pulled through his hair, and Jake’s hips pressed up when you pulled lightly on the strands. At the motion of his rolling hips, your pajama shorts pressed tightly into your core and the friction felt like building, and Jake broke away from your mouth with a gasp. His hands tightened on your waist, holding you still, and while you appreciated his restraint, you wanted to feel him again. 

You whispered his name as he trailed kisses down your neck, and your breath quickened when he found your pulse point under your jaw. Jake hummed, the vibration echoing over your skin, through you, and you realized he was muttering things against your skin. 

“D’you know how hard these last three weeks have been,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed kisses to new goosebumps, “with you always in those tiny shorts, saying it’s because you can’t have tight clothes over your tattoo?”

You felt lightheaded at the idea of Jake wanting you this whole time, maybe longer, locking it away and refusing to act on it because he didn’t know what you felt.    

“It’s true,” you managed, and Jake laughed, a puff of warm air over your skin. 

“And if that wasn’t enough,” another kiss, another soft suck, “you’ve been so whiny, haven’t you? Always pouting, always needy, making me wonder how you’d sound…”

Your eyes were closed, your world distilled to the heat of his mouth, the heat of his words. You pulled at him, needing his mouth over yours again, and Jake obliged. He was so much softer than you expected, gentle but firm, and he tasted so damn good. 

With him distracted, you rolled your hips again, rewarded by the friction over your core, and you could feel Jake hardening in his pajama pants. It was addictive, and you sought him out again, pouting when Jake stilled your hips again. 

“Baby,” he murmured, and heat shot through you at the pet name, not one he’d used jokingly before, “what was the point of the lotion if you’re going to grind it off against my flannels?”

“You can reapply it later,” you rationalized, but Jake shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. His lips were swollen, his cheeks reddened, and you loved the look of him like this, almost dazed. 

“C’mon,” he prompted you, and guided you to stand. Your legs felt weak, but you managed, and Jake’s hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs. You were between his spread knees, and his hands played with the hem of your shorts before he pulled them down your legs, taking care to not scrape them over your tattoo. The air felt cold on your exposed skin, and Jake swore quietly as he dropped the shorts, staring at you in your underwear with something that felt dangerously close to adoration. 

He leaned closer, and at first you thought it was so he could be more gentle with your fragile panties, but then he pressed a kiss to the outside of your thigh and you jumped, pushing him away, embarrassed again. 

“You don’t—” you started, pursing your lips, “um, you don’t have to…do that. We can—”

Jake’s hands smoothed over your thighs, coming around to cup under your ass. Had you said his hands were cold earlier? You were sure they were burning, leaving trails of heat wherever he touched. 

“Nah, baby,” he whispered against your thighs, his nose brushing the soft skin there, as his hands squeezed you, “nothing ‘have to’ about something I’ve been dreaming ‘bout for months.”

Well, fuck, when he put it like that…

“Okay, then,” you said quietly, weaving your hand into his hair again, and Jake flashed a smile up at you. 

“Okay, then,” he echoed, and his fingers pulled your underwear over your hips. He scooted to the front of the couch, a motion that should’ve been cute for his enthusiasm, but instead was simply devastating. He looked so good like this, eager and hungry, and your breath caught when he licked his lips, your hips canting towards him. 

He didn’t look away from you. 

His green eyes locked on yours as he leaned closer, not pausing when his tongue crept past his lips and you were the one to break, your head tipping back when he licked you. His tongue was flat against you, like the first taste of ice cream, and your head spun at the shamelessness of it. You whimpered when he pulled away, and Jake’s breath was warm as he leaned back again. 

“There’s that sound I was after,” he murmured, his soft words a cutting juxtaposition to his filthy tongue. 

He teased you with soft licks, lapping at your arousal that’d only grown since he’d first touched your thighs earlier tonight. His hands snuck around to pull you apart, spread you on his fingers like he needed his tongue closer, tasting you and drinking you. He was unhurried and it was maddening, and you pulled at his tshirt distractedly, needing to feel his skin.  

“Ah, honey,” Jake muttered as he pulled back. “You taste so good, fucking unbelievable.”

You opened your eyes to find his chest heaving, his eyes dilated and your slick smeared across his chin. He looked so good like this, drunk on you, and you imagined you looked nearly as wrecked. He leaned back to pull his tshirt over his head, and your fingers smoothed over broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, as it was bared to you. 

He tossed the shirt aside and a moment later he was leaning back into your cunt, nuzzling your clit with his nose as his tongue lapped at you. Your knees nearly buckled at the sensation, and Jake groaned, the vibrations only increasing the intensity of the feelings flooding you. His strong hands held you up, spread before him, and he lifted his mouth to tease at your clit. You whined when his tongue rolled around you, alternating tight circles and slow, and your eyes rolled back when he closed his lips and sucked. 

“Jake, oh my god,” you gasped, feeling your stomach tighten. It was too soon, you knew it, but you also couldn’t fight it, and it was practically crashing over you—

Jake pulled back. 

You whined in confusion, looking down to find him looking up at you, a familiar expression of smug awareness on his face. He turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your thigh, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. 

“Told you I’ve been waiting on this for months, honey,” he teased, another wet kiss slightly higher on your thigh. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easy, did you?”

Nothing about this felt easy. Not the way he had your body primed for release, every nerve wound tight, not the way you felt it slipping away, and your desperation only climbing. 

You whimpered his name, too gone to be embarrassed by how fucked out you sounded. 

“Aw, baby…” Jake cooed, and you saw his shoulders shift as he repositioned. Before you could anticipate his next move, a broad finger was stroking through your folds, and you cried out, your hands flying to his shoulder to steady yourself. 

“So pretty like this,” Jake soothed, pulling his finger through you, stroking back over you, the pressure perfect, but not enough, “needy. Desperate.”

“Jake, please,” you cried, appalled to find real tears were pushing behind your eyes. After being so close to release, then being denied, then held steady wherever his fingers pulled you, you couldn’t be responsible for the way your body was shaking.

“Bet you’d beg me for it, wouldn’t you?” Jake said, voice even and unbothered. He added another finger, still not entering you, just teasing over you, languid. “You’re all proud when you’re strutting around in those shorts, cute when you ask for help, but not like this, huh? Like this, you know who’s in charge.”

Any response you had was cut off when he plunged both fingers into you. 

No warning, no easing, just sudden pressure and thickness and your body tightened around the sudden intrusion, unrelenting and unexpected and fucking perfect, and you couldn’t stop your orgasm as it ripped through you.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake groaned, as he recognized your walls tightening around his fingers. “Thatta girl, come on, give it to me.”

You moaned, your core clenching as your denied release rolled over you, scalding and strong and you felt it in your toes. You didn’t know how you were still standing, you knew the sounds pouring out of you were unbridled, and Jake was proudly talking you through it. 

“So beautiful, baby, you’re doing so good,” he said, his other hand stroking up your neck to support your head. You turned your head desperately, pulling his thumb into your mouth and sucking on it, needing to be grounded. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jake moaned, and his fingers kept their pace inside you. You felt the edges of your orgasm soften as he worked you through it, and as the fingers not in your mouth brushed against your cheek, you realized he was wiping away tears. You were shaking, it was perfect, but his fingers inside you were pressing deeper and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to push you higher again. 

“How we doing, honey?” Jake asked, and you lifted your head to meet his eyes. He was watching you carefully, and he pulled his thumb from your mouth so you could answer him.

“Good,” you whispered, through the clearing haze, “really, really, good.”

Jake hummed, tilting his head as he considered you. His fingers scissored inside of you, and you clenched down on him, hands grasping his shoulders. 

“Then I think you should give me another,” he said, smile growing as your eyes widened. 

“Jake, wait—” you protested, but you went without opposition when he pulled you back to the couch. His fingers paused their exploration but he didn’t pull out of you as he guided you onto your back, propping your knees up carefully. 

“Have to be gentle with that thigh,” he said, his voice growing husky as he settled between your legs. He stroked his fingers again, and your core clamped down on them, still not fully returned from your first high. Any other protest you had died when he bent down again, his mouth returning to your cunt. 

You’d had his tongue, you’d had his fingers, and they’d made you cum like you hadn’t in months. And now suddenly you had both at once, and you were pretty sure it was going to cost you your mind. 

“Jake, fuck,” you keened, your back arching off the couch.

Jake didn’t respond, too busy lapping up your release and thrusting into you. His tongue traced a maddening pattern over your clit as his fingers pressed deeper into you, stretching you.  

“You taste even sweeter like this, baby,” he mumbled into you, and you moaned as you felt his words. His fingers brushed something deep inside of you and you couldn’t breathe; you reached for Jake’s hair, pulling desperately, hoping he could read how impossibly taut you were. 

“You know something,” he mused, like it was the calmest thing in the world, “you came so quick, didn’t you? Came once you had something fucking you, and it was so beautiful, honey…but I never got to hear you beg.” 

“Jake,” you whispered, his name the only word you could manage, the only thing you could say with his fingers brushing that spot and his mouth just a breath away from you. 

“Nah,” he said, his voice low, “I know you could do it so prettily. Won’t you do it for me, sweetheart, won’t you let me hear it? Let me make you cum again?”

He kissed you again, his mouth light and teasing, brushing caresses over your mound but not where you were aching, throbbing, for him. His fingers slowed, torturously, pushing you closer but not fast enough, and you felt your eyes filling again. What was he asking for?

What was anything, what did he need?

“Jake, please,” you gasped, your voice thick. “Please, please—”

“Please what, baby?” Jake asked, another soft kiss. “What do you need?”

“I need to cum,” you practically sobbed. “Please, need it so bad, please, Jake—need you so bad, need you to—”

“That’s right,” Jake practically growled, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “You need me. And I’ve got you, honey, so you can let you go, since you asked so nicely, and I’m gonna take care of you…”

His forearm was banded across your waist, holding you still as his fingers found that spot inside of you, pressed up against it, and your thighs shook as your second orgasm bowled over you. Jake’s tongue was over your clit, then his lips closed, and when you thought you might be ready to let go of the high, he sucked, and you fully shattered. You could feel your nails raking into his back, feel his responding groans through the mouth still pressed to your cunt, as your world dissolved into white heat. It swept over you and you stopped trying to ride it, just let yourself be thrown, buffeted by Jake’s mouth, Jake’s fingers, Jake’s soft words.  

“Fucking gorgeous, baby, you did so good,” Jake was murmuring into the skin of your stomach. His fingers were still inside of you, gently rocking but no longer trying to stimulate you. It would’ve brought tears to your eyes, if they weren’t already streaming, how tender he was being with you. The whiplash was incredible—how quickly he’d brought you to orgasm, how easily he’d denied you, how thoroughly fucked out you were, now that he’d given it to you. 

God, and you hadn’t even had him yet. 

“Jake,” you croaked, your throat hoarse, and he lifted his head to look up at you. 

“What is it, honey?” he asked, voice soft. He was propped up on his elbows, and he shifted slightly, pulling his fingers out of you. You pressed your lips together to stop a whimper from escaping and trying to ignore how empty you felt, and watching quietly as he wiped his hands absently on his pajama pants before looking back up at you. 

You lifted a hand to brush away some of his hair that’d fallen into his face. You shifted slightly, pulling the hem of your tshirt down to wipe at his chin, clean him up a little. It was rough, not the intended purpose of the garment, and Jake laughed a little at the clumsiness of the action, pressing his jaw into your cotton-covered hand, to help you as you wiped at his face. 

You bit your lip, more to stop yourself from smiling so wide it made you hurt, looking down at him, propped up on his elbows 

He looked proud. 

He looked content, and it made your heart swell uncomfortably in your chest, that he’d look like that after taking care of you. But the longer you looked at him, something like doubt flickered behind his eyes and he cleared his throat, looking away. 

“If…” he started, and he shook his head, like he was clearing the fog after a night out. “Uh, you know, if that’s too much…or not what you wanted, or something, we can just say it was a distraction. You know, to get your mind off the tattoo.”

You hadn’t thought about the thing in what felt like a lifetime.

More importantly, you saw Jake still wasn’t meeting your eyes, like he expected you to say that that’s all this was, and he was worried you’d see too much if you were looking at him when you said it. It broke your heart, that he would push away his own repressed feelings, if it meant protecting yours. 

Although, to be fair, you’d both been more honest in the last thirty minutes than you’d been in the months before, so it was probably on you, as well as him. 

You carded your fingers through his hair again, waiting.

It took another couple seconds, but Jake steeled himself and looked back at you. 

You hadn’t realized you’d missed the green of them. 

In the height of everything, they’d been hooded and dark, the bright color nearly lost in his blown pupils. But like this, clear and sweet, you thought you might like this better. 

“It wasn’t too much,” you said, simply.

Jake’s shoulders dropped, just slightly, and you saw him wanting to contest it, and so you shook your head. 

“I think that’s a conversation for later,” you said gently, “when we’re both a little more clothed, hmm?”

“Oh,” Jake said, his head turning quickly as he looked around for your pajama shorts. “I can reach—”

You wanted to roll your eyes and you wanted to pinch him, just a little, to get him to listen to you. “That’s not what I meant,” you corrected. “I’m not…I’m not ready to be done. Besides, we han’t gotten you off yet.”

“Oh, that’s okay, that’s not what this was about,” Jake said quickly and you tilted your head, pushing yourself up to sitting. 

Jake was still between your spread knees, your faces close together now, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek, a quick reassurance before you reached between the two of you. 

Jake jumped when your hand slid over the front of his pajama pants, and you felt like cooing. Even through the thick cotton, you felt him respond to your touch. The fabric had to be adding to the illusion, because he felt enormous under the flannel. 

And it was very gentlemanly that this was for you, that he didn’t want this to be a thing about reciprocity, but in a much more tangible way, he’d made you feel infinite, just a few minutes ago. If you could do the same for him, you imagined you’d probably feel just as proud as he had, to see you come undone.

“What’d you say,” you asked innocently, your fingers trailing up the length of him, “about distracting me?”

When you looked back up at Jake, his eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, deliberate, like he was holding his breath. 

Sweet man. 

You leaned back up to kiss him gently, waiting for him to kiss you back. It took only a moment, and you bit back a moan at the taste of yourself on his lips. You kissed him softly for a minute, gentle lips, gentle tastes, coaxing. When you pulled back, Jake’s lashes fluttered before he opened his eyes to look at you. 

“I don’t know,” you lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I think I’d be pretty distracted if I were choking on your dick, Jake.”

“Jesus,” Jake whispered, and his hips bucked into your touch. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to–”

You licked your lips, his words from earlier coming back to you. “Nothing ‘have to’ about something I’ve been dreaming about for months.”

Jake surged forward, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you to him. You tasted his longing in this kiss, the tight reins he held himself in check with, and how desperately he wanted to give them to you, if only for a moment. You wanted that, and maybe for a little longer. So you kissed him for a moment more, then slid off the couch, settling between his knees like before, but this time, he stayed with his back against the back of the couch, and you were on the ground. 

“Wait,” he said, leaning over to grab a pillow, and gesturing for you to use it under your knees.  

Forget rolling your eyes or pinching him, did you want to marry him?

You shook the thought out of your head, settling on the cushion and reaching up to help Jake slide the pajama pants down. He hooked his boxer briefs along with them, and once they slid past his hips, his cock sprang free. 

“Holy fuck, Seresin,” you whispered, looking up at his face. Jake shrugged, a kind of bashful you hadn’t seen him before. One of his hands fisted his cock loosely, like he needed something to do, and you reached up to pry his fingers away. 

No wonder he walked around like he did. 

As you wrapped your hands around him, replacing his fingers, you couldn’t deny a fresh wave of arousal washed over you. His wasn’t the longest dick you’d seen, but he was thick, a dusty rose color that you’d kill for a lipstick match of—which just made you think of why you were waiting so long to get him in your mouth. 

But he’d teased you, and when you glanced up at Jake, his hands clenched at his sides, his stomach tight, you figured he was due for a taste of his own medicine. 

You kissed up his thighs slowly, loving the contrast of wiry hair over smooth skin, and when you got to his cock, you let out a warm breath over the tip. As you watched, a smooth drop of precum appeared at the edge of his cock, and you frowned in mock sympathy, knowing how worked up he must’ve been from finishing you, while denying himself. 

“Bet you’d beg something pretty yourself, Jake,” you teased softly, licking at the drop of moisture and pulling his salty taste back into your mouth. You hummed, immediately salivating for more, but Jake’s hips jerked up as he choked in a breath.

“Darlin’...” he said, his voice low, and you had mercy on him, not needing to hear the words to know how badly he wanted this. 

“Good thing I’m nicer than you, hmm?” you asked, before you licked at him again. 

Jake’s head fell back limply as you tongued his tip, teasing the sensitive head before you licked up the length of him. This was supposed to be for him, but as you were here, you were lost in the exploration of him—the gorgeous weight of him, the musky scent of him, the rich taste, and the sounds he was making. 

You kind of loved how quiet he was being, when it was clearly costing him dearly. 

It meant that when he did burst, it was going to be loud, and you wanted that break. You kissed your way lightly back to his tip, before opening your mouth and pulling him in. 

You’d been joking earlier, about it being distracting, but fuck. The ache to your jaw was immediate, your mouth open as wide as it could to accommodate his thickness. But it felt so good, deeply satisfying, to be able to hold him like this. Warm and thick in your mouth, stretching you—you moaned around him, imagining him filling you. You hollowed your cheeks lightly, sucking, and Jake groaned above you. 

There it was. 

You pushed yourself deeper onto him, holding your breath and fighting your gag reflex, and Jake’s hands shot out to hold the back of your head, his breath a low moan that was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. 

You clenched your thighs together, the sound of him and the weight of him had you feeling so empty, while you knew you were physically stretching to your limits. You pulled off of him, a trail of saliva falling from between your lips and his tip, and Jake swore softly at the sight. 

“That mouth, baby,” he groaned, and you felt his thumb trace your lips, smearing your spit across it. You opened your mouth, holding out your tongue and Jake groaned again, feeding his cock back into your mouth.

You felt like he could see straight through you.

That was how it felt, his eyes boring into you as his cock stretched your jaw and his hips pressed slowly deeper. Your nostrils flared and your eyes were streaming again, but you wanted this, wanted him, wanted him to find his release in you, as you had in him. You couldn’t take him all the way down your throat, not now, although you relished the idea of training, so you found a rhythm that seemed to work for both of you. 

Jake’s hips rose slightly to meet you, as you bobbed your head up and down his length, alternating sucking and swirling your tongue over his tip. Your other hands stroked the part of him that you couldn’t fit, squeezing and pulling and you heard Jake’s breathing getting heavier. You were lightheaded, overwhelmed by him, but you couldn’t stop, not for something as simple as air. 

The stretch of him was so good, unrelenting and perfect, and the steadiness with which he held himself in check, it felt like a promise. It made your core ache, throbbing and empty, but you reached up to play with his balls. One of your hands cupped him lightly and then Jake was pulling you off of him. 

You choked at the sudden influx of air as Jake set you back on your thighs, his hands smoothing over your face as he checked you were okay. You couldn’t remember a time you’d felt better, lightheaded and dreamy, but you nodded obediently in answer to the unspoken question, and Jake pulled you to standing. You weren’t sure where he was taking you, but you knew with absolute certainty that you’d follow him.

Mercifully, it was just around the couch, and when you understood his plan, you whimpered slightly, hoping you could take it. You braced your forearms on the armrest of the coach, rocking back on your hips, presenting your ass to him, and Jake was already behind you, covering you. His long arms draped over yours, pressing you into the couch, even as his knee worked between your thighs, spreading your legs. You moaned when you felt his cock slap against your thighs, and one of Jake’s hands fell to between your legs to cup your cunt. 

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, voice somehow both rough and awed. “Is this new? You work yourself up, getting me off?”

You meant to say ‘obviously, asshole’, or ‘as if you didn’t know it’, but what came out was a truly pathetic, “Jake, please…”

He chuckled, his body stretched over yours, and the sound broke off when he guided his cock towards your core. 

“Honey, you’re so wet and warm, fuck. Need to be in you, baby, need to feel this tight cunt—”

“Do it already,” you cried, rewarded by another deep laugh from Jake, and then you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, because that thick cock was pushing into you. 

It was a good thing he was holding you up. 

Your body was shaking to accommodate him, already loosened from your orgasms and his fingers, but the stretch still bordered on painful, and you dropped your head to your forearms as he pushed into you. You weren’t doing anything, you were simply there, letting him fuck into you slowly, and you couldn’t think of anywhere better to be. 

“Fuck, honey, you’re so tight,” Jake groaned, and you knew he was trying to go slow, but that didn’t make the stretch any more attainable.

“Need you,” you managed. “Please, Jake, want to be full—”

His hips slammed forward and you cried out as he bottomed out into you. 

You felt impaled, you felt him in your throat, you felt like this was everything you could want and you trembled but held him in you. You felt full, and it was so, so good.  

“Honey,” Jake gritted, “I’ve got to move, but I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m good,” you whispered, “let me feel you.”

He groaned, another gorgeous iteration of that sound, and when he pulled back, you clawed at the edge of the couch. It was like he was shifting your center of gravity, but the pull was re-orienting. You had no choice but to surrender to it. 

Your whole universe was balanced on the edge of the sofa. 

Jake’s thick cock, stuffing you. Jake’s strong chest, pressed against your back, his arms holding you up, pulling you to him. Jake’s sweat, dripping off of him and onto you, sweet and sticky and heady. The pull and push of him, overwhelming and deep, remaking you. 

You weren’t going to cum from this; it was too much, but it was too good to stop. You’d already had yours, and you could hear how good it was for Jake, could feel it in the tight clench of his hands and the short length of his thrusts. 

Jake groaned, a throaty sound that jolted through you as he pulled you back onto his dick.

“Sweetheart you feel so good…is this what we’ve been missing out on? This tight as fuck cunt, that I can just feel clenching around me? Touch yourself, honey, I need to feel you come again, want to feel you come on my cock.”

You couldn’t be sure if you were crying or babbling, but when Jake told you to play with yourself, you summoned your boneless limbs to do as he asked. 

When your fingers brushed your clit, you immediately pulled back; it was too much. 

“I can’t,” you gasped, hands falling back to brace against the couch. “It’s too much, Jake, I can’t–”

“Poor baby,” Jake gritted, and one of his hands smoothed down your back before dipping around to your stomach and finding his way to your clit. Your knees buckled and your hips jerked away from his hand, but a moment later you were pressing into him, needing the perfect pain of his touch. 

“Honey, you’re doing so good,” Jake’s voice was tight. “God, you feel unreal, clenching down on me like that. Are you gonna cum again? Is this pussy going to cum for me?” 

“Jake,” you sobbed, his name the only prayer you could manage.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothed, his touch gentling, even as his hips sped up. “I’m almost there; I know you are too. Where can I come, honey, where do you want me–”

“Jake,” you moaned, your head thrashing from side to side. It was too much, it wasn’t enough, but you knew you needed him. “In me…please..Jake...”

“Holy fuck,” Jake groaned. “Baby, are you sure I–”

You bucked back into him, the thought of losing his heat and his presence nearly unbearable. “Need you,” you whimpered. “Jake, please–”

“I’m right here,” Jake’s hips pistoned impossibly faster. “Fuck, I’m here, I’ve got you. Shit, honey, you feel so good, you’re gonna make me cum, baby, please–”

He ground his hips deep into you and rolled his fingers over your clit once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out and you felt Jake grunt as he caught you, his hips pounding into you a couple more times and he stilled with another beautiful moan as he pumped his release into you. You felt him, hot and pulsing inside of you, and you wanted to curl up into that feeling forever—warm, full, safe. 

Jake summoned some kind of strength as he turned the both of you, him settling onto the ground and you on his lap, your cunt clenching around him, like you still couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving. You turned into his chest, and Jake wrapped his arms around you, cradling you, somehow knowing how intense that had been and that you needed the warmth of his chest before you could come back down. 

You were shaking, incredibly exhausted but deeply satisfied. And as you drifted back, you became aware of the tangible things around you—Jake’s chest hair prickling your face. Stranger Things still playing, on the TV. The cool air in the room around you, the sticky remains between your thighs. 

You lifted your head to find Jake looking down at you, his expression careful, like he was worried what he’d see. Your eyes closed again, and you managed a smile before you turned your face into his chest again, pressing a kiss to whatever was closest. His hands were locked around your back, but you could feel his thumb brushing over your skin, lightly. And it was wild, that that was what had started this all, and if you’d had the energy for it, you would’ve laughed. 

You could deal with the repercussions later, what this meant for your roommate situation, if your thigh was any worse for wear, any of that. Because that motion, that comforting gesture that Jake didn’t even seem to be aware he was doing—that meant that this was always where you were gonna end up. 

//

tagging: @bradshawsbitch @callsign-fangirl @laracrofted @datemephoenix @mandylove1000 @withahappyrefrain @gigisimsonmars @babyonboardfloyd @blue-aconite @mxgyver @hangmanbrainrot @lt-bradshaw @wildbornsiren @fuckyeahhangman @double-j @sebsxphia @javihoney @jadore-andor @teacupsandtopgun @thedroneranger

[moonshynecybin]

As heartbreaking and gut-wrenching the fact is that the pyramid of Marc's needs has a huge flow. Winning motor racing comes before old man dick for him. Thats why we have the divorce...

the thing about their beautiful toxic love is that them being so obsessed with motorcycle racing is part of why theyre soulmates AND why they got horrendously divorced on a scale rarely seen in sports media history. like okay this is gonna sound weird but im gonna talk about kayaking again here for a minute sorry. um so i think the thing about young hot people that are all OBSESSED with the same thing congregating in a specific area, for an extended period of time, to do said thing--is that they WILL fuck. and then get married. often. now bc of reasons we usually see this in womens and co-ed sports but like. my parents basically spent all of the nineties bouncing around every whitewater river in the world with the same 100 kayakers and literally all of those kayakers married each other. and then got divorced. and then married different people in those 100. it was greys anatomy general hospital level soap opera playing out in the campsites of rural chile.

ANYWAYS same basic principle for rosquez. like i dont think they would respect anyone in a romantic sense who wasnt ALSO the best at what they do. and also they find it stupid hot lol like we've seen the slutty podiums they are so into it lol. but that same thread that ties them together and gives them so much in common (endless shit to talk about bc they can always talk racing ! until they cant) is the same thing that makes them occasionally REALLY abrasive towards each other and generates a lot of the conflict between them. like they ARE at the top of their sport. which requires them to be in DIRECT competition with each other for yearssssssss, and bc they are so good at it they have insane amounts of ego which means that the clash at sepang was kind of inevitable in a fucked up way. all this to say: YES it is tragic that marc's base need in his personal hierarchy of needs triangle is motorcycle racing and not old man dick, but that is also what is sexy about rosquez. strangling each other with that red string of fate <3

[fuckknowledgeandideas]

BTW i have been listening to the everything everything song u replied to my ask w AND ITS SOOOOOOOOO FAUCKING GOOOOOOOD

HELL YES I'M SO GLAD.... Everything Everything my favorite band of the world....

ALSO I'll derail this ask (sorry! you fell into my music trap) to make recommendations on how to get into their stuff since they have quite a few albums now ^-^ I'll go in order of most accessible album to least :

Get To Heaven : Their best album and probably their most well known one.. I started with this one so of course I am biased BUT. it is the most consistent one in terms of song quality in my opinion. It has a lot of very abrasive sounds, prominent bass (for the bassheads in the crowd <3), same with the drums, the singer makes a lot of funny sounds like eehee and ahaaa! and ooh!!, it's a good time. Notable songs (by that I mean my favorites) : (Well the thing is. The entirety is good. Just don't listen to No Reptiles it's stupid. HOWEVER,) Regret, Spring/Sun/Winter/Dread, Blast Doors, Hapsburg Lippp and Only As Good As My God are my big preferences in there. If you like quieter song listen to the others in priority I'd say. OH OH AND WHEEL. You should check The Wheel, see if it's turning now etc BONUS : BANGING CONCERT with BANGING RECORDING HERE https://youtu.be/qYAFCVlLWIk as a wise man once said : "I hope they got some nasty fucking sloppy after this sessio,n"

Man Alive : Baby's very first album!! This one I would say is quite depressing but quite catchy as well.. Half of the songs in there are a bit too empty to my personal taste BUUUUT the other half has a talent to make me writhe and cry on the flour. Augh. The sounds are lighter in this one but our good friend mister Johnathan Every love to yell so much it compensates largely. Notable songs : MY KZ UR BF, Qwerty Finger, Schoolin', Photoshop Handsome, Suffragette Suffragette, Come Alive Diana, and from the deluxe version I would say the most important ones to check out are DNA Dump and Wizard Talk BONUS : They collaborated with an ensemble for a concert check it out definitely they're so small in it and they are having so much fun and and there is a brass section it is so charming https://youtu.be/oCH_YGD7oDc AND you should check the demo of MY KZ UR BF. It makes me SAD! https://youtu.be/VaoHgQts5ek The roughness of it only conveys the message of it better and they have chimes in it. It's GOOD.

Raw Data Feel : Most recent released album, and it's about how we love phone more than god. Kind of. I'd describe this one as having a very dreamlike quality. It talks about apocalypse and robots and computers and how they are "terrifying and a bit sexy". They really said that. I wouldn't say it sounds more electronic than the others but it has a "blurred" artificial layer to it that makes it very unique. OH AND they did something cool with ai stuff before everyone else so props to them for that. Notable songs : Bad Friday, Pizza Boy, Metroland Is Burning, Leviathan and HEX. MY GOD LISTEN TO HEX. IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD.

Arc : A mixed bag of mehh songs and really REALLY STRONG ONES. Maybe the most sadness inducing album of theirs. It REEKS of despair. Badly. I'm saying that as a good thing. Album that feels like the dusty attic of deceased loved ones on a cold spring morning.. Notable songs : Cough Cough, Torso Of The Week, Choice Mountain, Undrowned, Radiant LISTEN TO RADIANT GOD. If you like those check Kemosabe, No Plan and Justice too. I like these very much.

A Fever Dream : ARGUABLY THEIR WORSE ALBUM. It's very quiet and empty except for a few tunes. I do think it has a very particular atmosphere that I personally ended up warming up to. Don't look up the meanings for the lyrics it's all kind of boring I think you should think about characters instead. Notable songs : Night Of The Long Knives, Desire, Good Shot Good Soldier, Run The Numbers. <- The most impactful songs to me. White Whale makes me very sad if I think about it too. Wahh

RE-ANIMATOR : It's fine. I don't have very strong opinions on this one. It has some really good songs in it. I think the thing with this one is the lyrics are a lot simpler than the others and I like the weirdness better. But it still is worth checking out those guys know how to make music. Notable songs : Big Climb, Planets, Black Hyena, Violent Sun. BONUS : They released SUPERNORMAL as a single around the time of that album and it's better than a good portions of the songs in it so check it out lol. The other single released for this album is the worst song they ever made don't worry about it.

BONUS OF BONUS : There's a playlist of a bunch of unreleased/demos/B-sides on youube if you are really motivated to check many things, some of them were in the Man Alive deluxe version though. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYCuy2Tpolc8GY7GQYX5_uYdgYpftKQ7V

Uhh I might have forgotten things but. If you don't know them that's a starting point that you can bounce off of. Have fun with tunes yayy <3

[aita-blorbos]

(Fangame OCs)

AITA for pulling a knife on a guy?

So, let me explain. I (19 F-leaning NB) and I think about 15 other people (ranging from 12 to 19, varying on the gender spectrum) got locked in a building a while ago that looked to be some kind of old-fashioned school building with stagelights everywhere and all sorts of weird shit. We were told by a "director" that we were trapped inside and to get out, we had to kill each other. Well, a couple people tried that and just got killed immediately, because you also need to get away with it, which was a fact conveniently left out in the initial explanation just to ensure the first person to break suffered the most. Among the group I was with was my baby cousin R (13F), who was basically like a little sister to me. R was very mature and extremely abrasive in personality, and was essentially treated like another one of the older members of the group. She also very quickly got on everyone's bad side with her stubbornness and distrust and continually bluffed about being capable of murder to keep people off her back. I saw through this immediately, but apparently I was the only one.

Fast forward to about two weeks in, we're informed that another murder has taken place. While searching for a body, I found R's yellow star earring and immediately knew she had been the victim. I found her body shortly after and I think it was understandable that I was a total wreck. About five minutes later, another girl, C (12F), was found dead at the bottom of a stairwell. To make a long story short, it turned out that C had confided in M (17F) that she had been pushed to kill R by someone else, and to prevent her from being executed, M sort of threw her down the stairwell in hopes of giving her a quick death. M tried to keep it secret who C had said incited the murder so as not to make anyone else suffer unnecessarily as she had intentionally tried to take the blame for everything, but it turned out it was a boy my age, V (19M). He tried to twist it so that it sounded like he was technically guilty and we had all voted wrong, meaning he had gotten away with it and could escape, but when this didn't work, he just emotionally shut down and mumbled something about how R was powerful and he feared her.

Here's where I may be the asshole here. When I called out that that was ridiculous and R was barely a teenager and he was almost twenty, I was met with the knowledge that I was the only person who saw R as a child and everyone else was genuinely intimidated by and afraid of her, worrying that her age and status (famous pop singer) would make her untouchable and leave her free to do whatever she wanted. I kind of lost it at this point (which I feel is understandable, but again I seem to be the only one) and I pulled out my grandfather's hunting knife from my skirt pocket and began swinging wildly at V, cutting up his face and punching him and just kind of aimlessly swinging at him. It took the strongest of us, N (17M) restraining me for almost a full minute before I even stopped swinging, and everyone was looking at me like I was dangerous afterward. I hadn't realized until then that they didn't even know I had a knife on me. One of the others called me a hypocrite for judging everyone who selfishly gave in to the killing game and yet being armed and ready to kill V when he hurt my cousin, which is understandable, and the worst part actually was that it was V himself who told them to get off my back and that they should be mad at him because he was the one who had put me through hell like this.

I don't think I was planning to kill V, and I only wanted to exact justice for R's premature death. I watched the light fade from her eyes just seconds before I got to her and I think she died before I could comfort her. I understand that had I actually killed him in cold blood I would have gone beyond a point of no return morally, and that it was likely scary for the others to see I had been armed the whole time, but V is a murderer. I feel like everyone except ironically V himself is going after me because I got violent when V premeditated a triple murder for his own gain. There is no coming back from that and while I'm absolutely not proud of the fact that I defaulted to violence like all the people I'd lambasted for doing the same, I feel like V is objectively in worse standing here, and R was all I had; am I the asshole?

[pocketgalaxies]

okay i have a confession...i never liked ashton...i tried, especially when we found out he has chronic pain and a legitimate reason for being an asshole...but i just can't get on board with him and often roll my eyes at his scenes. and that last convo with laudna made me so frustrated bc it seemed like he was totally emotionally dismissive and wanted to play the "i had it worse" olympics. i've never disliked a cr character before and i don't know what to do about it. any advice? or anything that you particularly like about ashton that could help me get on board a little?

hi anon thanks for asking! unfortunately i can't help you a huge amount because i also! have never liked ashton and have historically had trouble finding reasons to like them. but i will try my best to help

well the first thing i'd say is i don't think you need to find reasons to get on board with ashton. interrogating your feelings about a character is always good to take in the full depth of their behavior, but if you go through that whole process and you STILL don't like them then maybe they just aren't your cup of tea. which is totally valid and acceptable!!! and i know it's not easy to dislike something about a show you love so much, but i'd say just try and sit with that and tell yourself that you're allowed. there are so so many fish in the cr sea and you're far from expected to love each one

that being said if you still want to hear my thoughts here they are! (it got very very long)

i've seen a few people mentioning that ashton might've intentionally started that conversation with laudna because he knew she specifically would be in the position to shoot them down. a sort of self-inflicted scolding, i think. watching the ep, i also got the sense that he was intentionally trying to upset her by bluntly phrasing things to dig into her trauma and i think it makes sense based on what we know about them. maybe he wanted someone to yell at him and tell him he's being weak (in a lot of ways similar to early-c2 caleb's pervasive self-hatred driving him to intentionally seek out places/people with which he is made to feel like shit). or maybe he needed someone else to look him in the eye and tell him "stop hiding and let the people around you help you." maybe they needed a reason to say out loud that they're only with the hells bc they're using them, because that's the only way they can hear themself and how ridiculous and false that sounds. who knows! regardless, i think it's uninformed to say that tal wasn't doing this on purpose. it means something, and it opened up something that will most certainly have some growth and ultimately resolution later

this is kinda separate but we could also get into the details of his word choice, like what did he mean by "i know a loneliness that you don't" was he just talking about a certain kind of loneliness that he perceives to be distinct from the loneliness that many other of the party members have experienced? (worth pointing out that bells hells is a party full of people defined by their loneliness in many ways. food for unrelated thought) is it true that ashton's loneliness is unique to them and no one else in the party? is it even meaningful to put people's loneliness into different boxes? how has loneliness affected the way they distance themself from some people vs. the way they latch protectively onto other people? maybe those questions are of interest to you!

i think ashton is a very meaty character with a lot of complicated stuff going on and tal loves to create characters like this, characters defined by arrogance or a self-aggrandizing belief in their own suffering, or characters who are intentionally and unrelentingly abrasive. they become likable and compelling because of the underlying context and past and often conflicting and changing behavior over time.

it's just that those types of characters will always be a little polarizing, and i personally have a LOT of trouble enjoying tal's characters, because that's just my personal preference. they are complicated and juicy but they historically just do not do it for me. i was very incensed by that conversation with laudna because i am a laudna stan above all else and i thought ashton was being Awful to her, even if i can understand that they knew they were being awful and had reasons to be that way. the important thing is that i recognize it's a double-standard in my own mind and i know that about myself, and i'm not being a willingly narrow-minded jerk to the fans who like ashton and were thrilled by the convo. but i don't have to feel forced to like them and read/reblog meta about how sad they actually are etc etc. you know what i mean?

anyway at the risk of going on a tangent where i complain about that convo for no real reason related to your question, i will stop talking now. hope this helps in some way or another! your feelings are valid and you definitely are not alone in struggling with this character, if the posts and tags i've seen the past few days are any indication. just be nice to people and it will be all good. cr characters are fictional but cr fans are not <3

[cometcrystal]

schrucy songs. if you even care

since other schrucy nation ppl were doing it i wanna do it too.

this doesn't have any classical songs bc i don't really listen to classical at all. sorry schroeder. featuring select lyrics from each song

just what i needed - the cars

this song is simple and straightforward and could be applied to a lot of ships in a general sense but the reason it sticks out as a schrucy song to me is the insistence that the singer ENJOYS having this other person stick around and bug them and so on and so forth. schroeder POV obviously. echoes of the van pelt moving arc are here. also the line “i needed someone to bleed” god. idk where to begin unpacking that with them but its lots of fun. something something their best match is always gonna be someone who they can be a bit of a cunt around

i don’t mind you coming here / and wasting all my time

i guess you’re just what i needed / i needed someone to feed / i guess you’re just what i needed / i needed someone to bleed

i think you're alright - jay som

if i had to pick only 3 songs to attach to schrucy, this would be one of them for sure. my GOD i don’t even know where to begin. schroeder POV again. the blood on the concrete line referencing lucy’s hotheaded nature... maybe after a fistfight with a 3rd party. saying that someone is pretty, then that their smile is unforgiving; two contrasting statements at first glance. and then “i’ll place it where nobody can find” in reference to that same smile. this 100% reads as a song about someone being in love with someone who is mean and abrasive, but the singer still treasures them. and THEN, after all that praise, the singer’s just like “yeah you’re okay i guess” which is SO funny and good. idk man. just listen to it. if you get it you get it.

and god, you’re so pretty / your smile’s unforgiving / i’ll place it where nobody can find / i’ll play all your favorite songs

build me up buttercup - the foundations

this one’s a lucy POV and its pretty straightforward.... this is one of the most canon-compliant songs on this list. i don’t feel the need to elaborate too much its just a fun bop about an unrequited crush (or is it...)

although you’re untrue / i’m attracted to you all the more

she's always a woman - billy joel

of COURSE this song was gonna make this list. was there ever any doubt??? this is THE schrucy song. the amount of respect and understanding and ADMIRATION the singer has for this woman that sounds like a nightmare to deal with is INCREDIBLE. he talks about her flaws the same way you’d expect him to talk about her graces. this reads to me like a married, adult schrucy, who are very much settled into their lives and are in that stage where there’s not many surprises from either of them but they’re just cozy with each other

she never gives out / and she never gives in / she just changes her mind

she’ll bring out the best and the worst you can be / blame it all on yourself / cause she’s always a woman to me

ringtone - 100 gecs

YES i am putting a 100 gecs song on this list. if it fits IT FITS. we get both POVs this time! i think the original is kind of alluding to a breakup or something negative, but i’m choosing to make it about unresolved feelings for my own purposes. of COURSE a modern lucy would give schroeder a custom ringtone and be overjoyed whenever she hears it. schroeder hearing the ring that he has set for lucy on HIS phone and feeling sick because he’s realized that he likes her now. etc etc. anyway this song is fun and i like

it’s my way of trying to let you know / i’ve got a little thing for you / i’ve got a little crush or somethin’

mastermind - taylor swift

this song is so damn lucy it HURTS. once she and schroeder get together she’s probably very annoying (affectionate) about it and is like “I planned this all along >:)” and the mention of people not liking her so she has to actively manipulate the situation to make them like her???? ITS SO GOOD!!

no one wanted to play with me as a little kid / so i’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since

and i swear / i’m only cryptic and machiavellian cause i care

how to embrace a swamp creature - the mountain goats

this one’s a bit of a stretch but this is my list not yours. this could be from either of their POVs tbh... schroeder while he’s preparing to confess how he feels? lucy while she tries to grapple with the fact that her feelings are finally requited after so long? theyr’e both SUCH complex and messy characters and their relationship is no different. it takes them a while to stop feeling so strange, even if it is a good strange

i try to tell you just why i’ve come / it’s like i’ve got molasses on my tongue

end of post. no i will not put this under a cut. read my post boy

[freelancearsonist]

Start from the beginning.

“Oh.” He casts a glance at the tiny loveseat, then looks back at you. If you weren’t smarter, you’d almost say there’s disappointment in those chocolate brown irises. “Are you sure? It looks small.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

You move around each other easily in the little bathroom as you get ready for bed, like you’ve been doing this together for years. That’s the scariest thing about Dieter Bravo: how easy it is to be around him. He seems like an abrasive personality, and yet he complements you perfectly.

For a moment as you curl up under a spare blanket on the little loveseat, you almost reconsider his offer of sharing the bed. You feel like you could trust him not to pull any funny business.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs before flicking off the bedside lamp, and your internal debate leaves with the light.

The smell of coffee pulls you out of your light slumber; Dieter’s hunched over the little machine on the desktop, mumbling to himself about hating technology.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you try to rub the kink out of your neck.

He turns to you with a sleepy smile, eyes a little droopy and hair mussed up–presumably from a night spent tossing and turning. The tangled-up mess of sheets on the bed corroborate his hair’s story.

“How do you take your coffee?” He asks before smacking the little machine with the heel of his palm. It doesn’t sound good–the coffee coming out makes a goop-like noise as it drops into the paper cup he’s placed underneath the spout.

“I’ll skip it,” you say with a little apprehension, “thank you though.”

He shrugs, then sets to work pouring four or five little packets of creamer into his cup. “I wanna be on the road in an hour so it’s not too late when we get there.”

“Okay.” You claim the bathroom for twenty minutes so you can take a quick shower, change your clothes, and brush your teeth. Dieter shuffles by with a kind smile once you’re done so he can complete his own morning routine. An hour later, you’re on the road again.

Kansas is horribly boring to drive through when you’re not in one of the cities. It’s flat and there’s nothing but fields for miles. You’re thankful you have Dieter to talk to or you’re not sure you would get through this. But you do–after ten perilous hours (closer to twelve, really, with all the pit stops) you reach your destination: a little town called Flint City, population 2,465 according to the sign at the edge of town.

Dieter’s the first to mention it. For a town with that many people, it’s eerily quiet. No cars on the roads, no people out and about. He explains that the tip came in anonymously. He was looped in on something about crop circles on the east side of town, but upon further research he found something even more concerning and almost definitely related. Apparently there hasn’t been a single missing person report in this little hamlet for nearly twenty years, but in the past month there have been ten. Ten people, all of whom vanished without a trace.

As you drive down the main street through town, you’re suddenly sure that the number is a lot more than ten. There are cars abandoned everywhere, even in the midst of the streets. It’s like a modern day Roanoke, and it makes your skin prickle with apprehension.

“Are you sure it’s safe to be here?” You ask as you pull up to a little building with a “Flint City Police Department” sign out front. 

“No,” he answers honestly, “actually, it’s probably not safe at all.”

You appreciate his candor, at the very least. It does nothing to make you feel better, though.

He jogs up to the door, and it’s unlocked. You’re stuck motionless as you stand outside your driver’s side door, though. There are signs of life everywhere. Business doors stand propped open, toys litter the front lawns of neat little two-story houses. This isn’t a town where everyone decided unanimously to pick up and leave. It seems like a rapture-level event has happened here, only isolated to this town. You feel quite like you’ve walked into a new chapter of Children of the Corn, and it makes you shudder involuntarily.

“There’s no one here,” Dieter shouts to you from the doorway. You’ve already gathered as much, but you let him state the obvious anyway. 

It’s already approaching dusk and you’re both tired from the long day of travel. Dieter looks at you, a mix of apprehension and exhaustion on his face–and you can tell he’s holding something back; you’re just not sure what.

“We should find somewhere to set up base,” he tells you, “but I don’t think there’s a hotel in town.”

You look around and feel a strange sense of irony. “Thank god all the houses are vacant then.”

Dieter decides on a modest little two-bedroom with bare-minimum amenities and hardly any decoration. It’s easier to work somewhere that doesn’t feel lived in, he says, and you have to agree. It’s easier to forget that you’re intruding in someone’s home when it doesn’t feel like a home.

The hardest part of this whole ordeal is that you don’t have even remotely a clue what’s happened here. The crop circles are a stereotypical alien calling card, but you’ve never heard of a town-wide abduction before. You’re brand-spanking-new to all this and you don’t know how to make heads or tails of any of it.

Dieter seems to have some sort of idea, but he’s not letting you in on his plan–if he even has one.

“We need to start with the crop circle,” he proclaims, and you don’t have any argument against that. He’s the expert–you’re just his humble assistant.

It’s getting dark and a little chilly, but you drive out to the fields together anyway. The entire population of Flint City has disappeared and there’s no telling what kind of danger they’re in; you agree full-heartedly with Dieter that it’s important to get to the bottom of this mystery as soon as possible.

Every one of your senses is on high alert as you emerge from your car. You can’t see anything out of order at the edge of the field, but you guess crop circles are typically in the middle. There’s electricity in the humid air that surrounds you–a sense of foreboding, but also a sense of excitement. You’re terrified, yet intrigued.

“I want to go check it out,” Dieter tells you, grabbing a camera from the backseat. “Stay here.”

“Dieter–”

“I’ll be five minutes, sweetheart,” he assures you in his best soothing voice, “I just want to take a quick look. I’ll call for you if I need anything.”

There’s no further argument–he trudges forward into the tall rows of corn without a second look.

You keep your phone in hand so you can watch anxiously as the minutes tick past. Seven come and go before you start to get worried. You dial Dieter’s contact on your phone and hear his ringtone coming from the center console in your car. 

Your anxiety doubles at minute ten. He should be back by now, for sure. This field isn’t that big. What if something has happened and he needs help? He doesn’t have his phone to call you.

Minute twelve is when you hear it: the most blood-curdling scream you’ve ever heard in your life. It makes every hair on your body stand up on end. That was Dieter, there’s no doubt in your mind. He’s in trouble, and you’re the only person around for miles.

Choose your card carefully.

The Death - Go into the field and find Dieter.

The Hanged Man - Stay out of the field and wait.

[darkfictionjude]

How can you not feel a little bad for Percy??? Like bro got no fucking attention. Obviously Orla got a ton of attention, Sally is the oldest so the family paid attention at least for taking over, and MC is a hot fucking mess. Where is there room for Percy? That has to just suck watching your siblings get attention and feeling like people either don’t care or notice he’s there.

I think it might be too hard for people when Percy is like *that* his personality can be very abrasive if you don't like the jokes he makes. I get it. Some people, especially those of us who have had mental issues find it so easy to laugh at ourselves, and there are those who can't and that's ok we all have our own boundaries and senses of humor. Also sometimes we just don't like characters and that's ok I didn't create them with their popularity in mind

Honestly looking at all the siblings objectively none of them had it good. The attention that Sally and Orla got completely fucked them up, the lack of attention Percy got fucked him up and the pseudo-attention MC got fucked them up. Like really no one was saved here 😭 that's why I don't like ever thinking MC has it worse because that never helps and it kind of sounds like "you can't suffer because this person has it worse; you can't be happy because this person is happier." All the siblings suffered and it manifested differently

[babybluesquid]

Consequences of Karrnath Session 24

Ardent Blunders and Bitter Convictions

Our Players this week:

Dagne, Vengeance Paladin, an undead soldier created by the Odakyr Rites, but is now something else entirely. They are a Seeker sworn to protect the living. Has a skeleton horse mount from Find Steed named Coffin. They are the party leader and reluctantly serve under King Kaius III. Can be abrasive and dishonest, but they are ultimately kind.

Vaeren, Swarmkeeper Ranger, a blind Deathguard sent to investigate Dagne’s nature. They keep a spirit idol with five spirits of dead Deathguard: Galan, Kerxna, Paeral, Aelrie, and Nym, who can allow them to see, but from a third person point of view. They’re contemplative and disciplined, helping Dagne keep the party in line.

Following the enumeration, the party returns to The Wall’s social building for the celebration. During the congratulations for Ninety-six and socializing, Dagne sees someone else enter, none other than Armae d’Medani. Not wishing to approach her, Dagne just watches as she finds Questions and the two begin a conversation. Something she says visibly angers the warforged commander.

Andrev approaches the party, addressing Dagne, “I’d like to thank you again. You really did a lot for me.” “I only did what was right,” Dagne replies. “You’re a fine person, really. You didn’t have to do any of it.” “But I did.” Andrev leans in closer and speaks in a lower tone, “the inquisitive here is talking about some Emerald Claw fella. You’d think they would be here in Korth, but there’s a safe house in the Low District.” “Well, I’d recommend you stay away from that.” “Probably wise, though the problem would get fixed if The Wall knew where it is.” “Isn’t the inquisitive telling them?” “I don’t know if she knows where it is. I stayed there for a bit.” “Then why not tell the woman?” Dagne asks. “How about I tell you and you tell Questions? I don’t want to deal with explaining why I know.” “Alright.” Andrev tells Dagne the location of the Emerald Claw safe house, as well as the fact that a Bone Knight was there.

“Hey,” Dagne asks Vaeren, “wanna take down an Emerald Claw safe house?” “Not tonight,” they reply, “but yes.” The party goes to a Gold Dragon Inn for accommodations, and Dagne and Vaeren head up to their room together. “Back during the ambush, I told you that we have a big problem, but didn’t explain,” Dagne says. “Then what is the problem?” “It’s,” they struggle to find the words, “it’s confusing. There was something in my mind.” Vaeren straightens, “what?!” “It had control of me and it knew everything I knew. And there’s something else. I saw a dragon.” “Why are you seeing dragons?” Dagne stiffens suddenly, as if suddenly their attention is forced elsewhere, then, they’re back, “‘The First War never ended.’ That’s what it said.”

“So what does that mean?” Vaeren sounds increasingly concerned. “I don’t know.” “So there’s more tied into this than originally expected?” “I don’t know,” Dagne strains for some explanation, “I don’t know when this could have happened. I don’t know why I can remember a dragon.” “Well, whatever is happening, it’s definitely worse than we anticipated.” “Worst than the Shadow Sword?” Vaeren sighs, “honestly? There’s no way to tell.” “What do you mean by that?” “Dragons aren’t know to be the most kind. Their actions towards the rest of the world are malevolent with their reasons being unknown. They’ve destroyed a civilization far more advanced than Khorvaire and Aerenal.” “Then why approach me? I’m nobody. I’m not even alive.” “Perhaps that’s why,” Vaeren muses, “but for now, the reason remains unknown.”

“I wish there were a way to trigger the memories on purpose. I need to know. I cannot allow myself to be an ignorant pawn,” Dagne looks upwards. The thought actually reminds Vaeren of something, “Aerenal is not known for mind magic, but the people of Sarlona are. From what I recall, they are the best with things of that sort.” “Well, that’s no use. I’m needed here.” “Well, that’s no reason to not continue looking. I’m sure there’s some way to trigger them.” Dagne goes silent for a long moment, then something clicks, “perhaps I need to confront my past. I only started to remember after hearing Almante’s name again.” “Perhaps if you’ll go looking for more, you’ll receive more,” Vaeren adds, the logic seems sound. “I should stop dismissing some of the memories as unimportant. Let me tell you everything.”

The memories are all disordered, and Dagne struggles to make sense of them as a whole. They recall a small Khoravar boy running up to them, excitedly showing off a rock. They take it and inspect it, and it shines. They remember training in sword and shield under the watchful eyes of Deneith mercenaries, proving themselves competent at a young age. They recall the serial killer in Karrlakton, finding him by change, dueling and killing him, knowing he’s the first person they had ever killed. They remember being undead, Commander Iura Josan ordering them to kill a Valenar scout prisoner, helplessly watching as they obey. They recall a man wearing the badge of legions, ordering them to come to the garrison, drafting them into the war, and being terrified, not wanting to leave their family. They remember necromancers performing magic on armored corpses, which stand, salute, and ask for orders. They recall meeting an elven woman in the park. They remember drilling with a poleaxe, their commander commenting that they have the aptitude to become an elite. Then, dying, the panic as the necromancer is casting something, they remain trapped in their body.

With that, the memory which was shared during Nux’s ritual, Dagne pauses for a moment. Then, they continue, recalling how they hid from the draft, but the army went after their younger brother instead, so they decided to face the summons. They remember a fevered dream, seeing their lover, brother, and mother, those people lamenting their fate. The false images melt away, and a halfling appears, promising Almante that it’ll only be a few more days, they just need to make it a few days. They recall watching their father’s funeral, holding their brother’s hand to keep him still. Then, Dagne shares what they remembered during the ambush, an intruder in their mind, their body moving not under their control, the malevolence learning all that they knew. The white dragon, just a glimpse of it, towering above them. Another flash of the dragon, where it says in a deep rumble, “the First War never ended.”

“Holy shit,” Vaeren says, struck by how many, but how few, memories there are. “Does anything strike you as important?” Dagne asks. “I mean, you’ve regained consciousness, which most others haven’t seemed to do.” “Do you think the dragon could’ve had something to do with that?” Vaeren nods, but remains noncommittal, “I think they could’ve, but there is no way of telling for now.” Dagne looks over at Vaeren, “are you alright with facing this unknown with me?” Vaeren is quiet for a moment, then nods, “if you go, I’ll follow. I’m not leaving you alone.” Dagne sighs, “is it wrong that I feel relieved?” “No. Not in the slightest.” “It is so selfish of me to remain with you. I ought not to put anyone into danger. Yet that is exactly what I’ve been doing all along,” Dagne looks up at the ceiling, taking a moment, “because I don’t want to be alone.” “You shouldn’t have to be,” Vaeren replies, “no matter how hard you try to get rid of us, we won’t go. That is a promise.”

Wordlessly, Dagne stands and begins to unstrap their armor, removing the metal plates one by one. Vaeren pulls their mask off and sits in silence, listening to Dagne’s barriers dropping. Plate, cowl, gambeson, gloves, boots, leg padding, gambeson, tunic, all the layers removed leave them looking small, standing in their final layer before bone. Dagne reaches out and takes Vaeren’s hand. They rise, pull them into a close hug, and Vaeren can feel just how empty all that armor was. Finally, Dagne speaks, “I want to be with you.” “Then why aren’t you?” “Because I shouldn’t be. I would have never acted had you not first, so I could justify it as doing it for you. But I’m not. I’m doing it to relieve my own loneliness even though I’m putting you in trouble. I’m sorry.” Vaeren’s face falls, but they press their lips together in a grim expression of determination, “don’t be. I couldn’t care any less.”

As Vaeren says that, Dagne feels a weight lifted, they proclaim, “I want to forget everything for a little bit, all my worries for the future. I want to be with you here and now.” “You’re right here,” Vaeren replies, adding a kiss. Dagne pulls back and pulls of their tunic and trousers, finally exposing the entirety of their skeleton. Vaeren spins, grabs their mask, and chucks it at them, snapping, “I can’t see but I know what the fuck you’re doing.” Their aim is true. Dagne freezes for a moment, surprised at the reaction, then sighs, backing up a bit, “I’m sorry. I just… I’m sorry.” Vaeren actually appears surprised at the apology, pausing a long moment before adding, “it’s just too far.” “I know that.” Vaeren sits back down, crossing their arms over their chest.

Dagne remains standing, feeling foolish, and all the anxieties begin to rush back in at that moment, “I think I’m going to die and I have no choice. I can’t really disobey the king, it’s the right thing to do. Inesa Yanova, the Shadow Sword, they must be stopped. But this is too big. I’m no stranger to skewed offs, but I can’t even comprehend how little I understand here. I don’t want to be a pawn but I have no choice.” Vaeren’s expression softens a bit, “you’re not going to die, not with us here.” “I know, but I need to ask them. I need them to know just how dangerous this is. Nux and Syv are just kids, really, and it’s not fair to take them along. I ought to help them and send them on their way.” Vaeren shakes their head, “let it be their choice. Advise them that it’s dangerous, but if they still want to come, let them be.” Dagne turns their gaze upwards, “no matter what I do here, I’m compromising my values. I can neither force them to stay, nor leave. It’s a frightening thing to have out of my grasp.”

“I doubt they will leave, no matter how much you ask, neither of them have anything to go back to.” Rather than discourage Dagne, Vaeren’s words only inspire their thoughts to race, they need a plan to convince each of them, an offer they cannot refuse, “understood.” “I’m not saying it’s not worth a try, but you should take into account where they’re coming from.” Dagne nods, “I shall do that.” “I want to ensure the party is safe, but I don’t want to force them to do something they don’t want to. We shouldn’t be pushing them away.” That last sentence interests Dagne, “why do you think that?” “Look at Syv, she can’t deal with someone else leaving, so forcing her to leave with break her.” Dagne shakes their head, “but what about you?”

Struck, Vaeren pauses, “my family left me. I’m not going to leave this one.” “You’d betray your people?” Dagne asks, pressing without leaving Vaeren any space. “No.” “What if your orders come into conflict with mine again?” “I don’t know,” Vaeren replies calmly, “we’ll find out when it happens.” “I can’t accept that. I need to be able to rely on you.” “Then you’ll need to trust that I know what to do.” Then Dagne pushes even further, “why act on your feelings if you won’t confide in me? If you won’t commit to me? What was your intention?” “I don’t know,” Vaeren’s calm breaks in an instant, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m trying to do here. I don’t know who to believe. Everything I try backfires!” Finally, Dagne’s momentum dies down, “I know it’s hard to break away from what you’ve been told to do, but if it feels wrong, that’s because it is and you need to stop.” The advice is met with silence, then Vaeren says bitterly, “I’m done… this conversation is over.”

Dagne continues, “I don’t want to see you agonizing over this. The only way out is to confront it and come to a decision.” “This conversation is over. I’m not talking anymore,” Vaeren picks up their discarded mask, puts it on, and sits back down. “Do you already know the answer?” Vaeren doesn’t respond. “You’re making yourself miserable for the Deathguard’s sake. They do not deserve your loyalty,” as soon as Dagne says this, they realize it’s a step too far. Vaeren still ignores them, beginning their trance. As Dagne picks up the pieces of their defense, putting on each layer in turn, they’re shocked by three new recollections.

In the morning, the party returns to The Wall and Dagne gives the location of the Emerald Claw base to Questions. Immediately, the commander sets Titan and Sleek to gathering squads before asking Dagne if their party will help. “No,” Dagne responds. “Alright,” Questions seems surprised by their answer, and disappointed, but not angry. He sends out Seven then to gather up more warforged, including the rest of the Breaking Point squad. Dagne walks off to go get a drink.

Vaeren returns to their room in the inn and summons Paerel from the spirit idol, “I need you to forget what you heard.” “Why do I need to do this, Guardian Vaeren? I’ve already done a favor for you, not telling the others,” Paerel crosses their arms. “I know, and I appreciate that. I just wish it never happened.” “I can understand this. Remember that the mission is the most important thing. Dagne is doomed. Don’t let that destroy you.” “I know. If I wasn’t so stupid I wouldn’t have done anything,” Vaeren laments. “What are you going to do now, then?” “I’m going to stop this. I’m going to carry on with the mission and not let my feelings get in the way.” Paerel looks at Vaeren with sympathy, “I experienced something similar and a vampire ripped her throat out. You can’t let the loss of any one individual destroy you. Our mission is difficult. Things are easier on Aerenal, the Court to protect you, living as long as you ought to, a life of plenty, but the Deathguard were not chosen for lives of comfort.” “I know. I need to stop being attached to this party.”

Two two are quiet for a moment, then Paerel suggests, “you can request reassignment if you wish.” “No, they trust me. I doubt they’d trust anyone else.” “True. I doubt they’d grant it. Your position here is advantageous. Though it’s not the mission, stopping this Overlord plot would benefit Aerenal. If the Shadow Sword seeks to release Rak Tulkesh he must be stopped. It is this simple. Remember why you are here. You are a Guardian of Aerenal assigned to operate for Aerenal’s protection on Khorvaire.” Vaeren nods, “I need to focus. I need to stay on track. I don’t have time for interruptions.” “Yes. Draft a report concerning the Shadow Sword and the Silver Fangs and send it to the Warden.” “I will.” Paerel salutes, Vaeren hesitates just a second before returning it. They send Paerel back into the spirit idol and bring out Galan.

“Do you know of any magic that could trigger Dagne’s memories?” They ask. Galan ponders it for a moment, “dream magic would be the easiest way. As for practitioners, some of the Kalashtar or the Uul’kala. There are some other ways, but more complex to achieve than dream magic, so I recommend this as the path you pursue.” “Thank you. I’ll give them these options and see what they want to pursue,” Vaeren puts Galan away and summons Aelrie next, “I don’t know what to do. No matter what I do with this party, it always contradicts my job.”

Aerie places a hand on Vaeren’s shoulder, “life is difficult, my child, but remember everything you’ve faced you’ve beaten before. Why would it be any different this time? I’ve watched you since I was given to you for this mission, and you’ve grown so much. I see these people matter to you, and that’s important, but you cannot turn away from your responsibilities. If you’ve been told to do something counter to your orders, I wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be worth it. You have centuries left in the Deathguard, and maybe centuries after that. Thus far you’ve been impressive and may become Deathless yourself, something Galan and I never achieved. It’s an admirable goal on a grand time scale, far from the problems of today. I’d hate to see you throw all of that away.” As Aelrie speaks, the whole picture becomes clearer to Vaeren, “you’re right. I can’t hide but I can draw the line. My job comes first, for now my walls are going back up. I can’t get wrapped up in this again.” “Remember to keep it all in perspective,” Aelrie advises. “I will.”

Elsewhere, Dagne drinks alone. Then, they hear cheers from the street. Outside, thirty members of The Wall, including the Breaking Point, are returning. Titan carries the battered body of a Bone Knight, Questions leads the procession, wearing a plumed helmet, and there are various Emerald Claw prisoners. They’re heading back to The Wall headquarters. Dagne stands and heads out to follow, noticing Andrev also tailing the group at a distance.

“Greetings Andrev,” Dagne says on their approach. “Greetings! I’m glad my information was acted upon. It’s never a good thing to have the Claw around.” “No, it’s not,” Dagne stares off into the distance, past the victory parade. “How have your adventures been, friend?” Lies fail Dagne, they admit, “I’m tired.” “Why don’t you take a break then?” “Because I have no choice.” “Well then, if you have no choice, then what you’re doing is probably important,” Andrev reasons, “you think you can keep going?” “I think I’m running straight to my death. What a strange thing for me to fear,” Dagne remarks with odd mirth. He’s unphased, “well, when you’re fighting, death can always come. You just have to be ready for such a possibility. You’ve been doing a lot of good, would be a better world if there were more people like you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing anymore,” Dagne admits. “You don’t have to do anything. I rememberer when you helped me get out. I felt obligated to stick with them, but I realized that you need to not let your will be taken from you, you need to act on it, and that’s really not what they teach you in the army, huh?” While rambling, Andrev’s words do ring true to Dagne, “no, it isn’t. Strange that I have to learn the same thing all over again. I do have a choice.” “There’s always a choice,” he offers, “even if there’s folks after you, there’s always places they can’t go. Stormreach, Q’barra, it’s remarkably easy to disappear. Not sure where I’m going yet, but I’m sure I can find my way somewhere.” As the realization of their will dawns on Dagne, they laugh mirthlessly, “I’m going to get in a lot of trouble.” “Well, if you ever need help, I can lend a hand. Really the least I can do after you helped me out.” Dagne nods in appreciation, “I’ll let you know if I need you.” “Guess I’ll stay in the country then.” “Thank you, Andrev.” He smiles, “make the best choice for you and the world around you. Always remember it’s your choice to make.”

Dagne returns to the inn to find Vaeren in their room. “The Wall took down the Emerald Claw safe house and defeated the Bone Knight,” Dagne reports. “Well, that’s good,” Vaeren responds coldly. Dagne sighs, “I’m sorry I pushed you so hard. You have the right to make your own choice and consider it fully.” “Right. While you were gone, I asked Galan if there was a way to trigger your memories. They said you can go to the Kalashtar or Uul’kala, they both use dream magic.” The word Kalashtar is familiar to Dagne, and in a second they remember where they heard it before. “Well, I have been considering visiting Sharn ever since Minroy said it’s the greatest city in the world. Let’s go take down Inesa first,” Dagne’s confident tone surprises Vaeren, who gives them an odd look.

——————

Highlights:

At this point, Dagne saying “I have no choice” has become a bit of a cliche. It is so satisfying to finally confront that mindset of theirs.

Vaeren consulting their ghosts was so cool! They’re really an underutilized asset, considering each ghost is a whole advisor.

Andrev, Ivis, continues to be awesome. It’s so cool to see him repay Dagne for their good deed with a reminder of why they’re fighting.

Dagne and Vaeren’s relationship is so soft and it makes me sad that there are so many barriers in the way. Star crossed lovers indeed.

Session 25.

[mystybelle]

I could just be being an edgy lefty or whatever, but YES to this, also-

I think a lot of queer people-people period- hate confidence specifically. We just associate confidence with masculinity.

People are "traumatized" by confidence

And it's as fucking stupid as it sounds, and idk forgive me for saying his name aloud, but seeing how people treat figures like Shark3zer0, Xanderhal, and Vaush (+ once upon a time Contrapoints and Lindsay Ellis), it feels pretty fucking real.

I think people have decided confidence is inherently abusive because their lizard brain associates abusers with confidence.

My dad/teacher/ex/ex best friend was confident when they were doing the abuse, so the confidence is the problem, is the level of reasoning we're working with.

So the trait gets the Madonna-Whore treatment. Having it is feared and fetishized for it's disruptiveness to the status quo of the (sub-)community, but lacking it is also praised and idolized and fetishized.

We love our uwu-soft bois, but we wish they were strong and would protect us.

But should that uwu-soft boi ever grow into a Real Man tm; then suddenly he's dangerous, loud, abrasive, and is taking up too much space. And this is extremely transphobic btw; because you cheesy dickwads always switch gears the second a trans man starts to pass as a man as if he's suddenly different. 💢💢💢

Now he's "male privileging" all over our soft and pure feminine spaces, and we don't like nasty menses around; just us pure dainty tender hearted gorls who are spiritually/cosmically/biologically incapable of ever causing any harm. So the nasty man has to go away or he'll taint us.

These fuckwits do it to confident:

Black women- you associate blackness itself with confidence and fetishize us, it's what the whole "strong black woman" trope is 💢💢💢

Trans men- I redundantly described it above

Men as a whole- literally everything, the slander, harassment, and ostracization happening to Shark, Vaush, and Xander rn (or rather, that's been happening to them).

Trans women- revoking their "woman" cards the second they speak too loudly or engage with any kind of sexual desire or interest, and god help her if she likes having her penis, Satan help her if she's stereotypically fem-passing too because then the community turns into the cast of mean girls. (I.e. Contra & Keffals both being literally harassed back into Dr*g addiction)

Women as a whole- heaven help any woman who doesn't fit the stereotype of white feminine personality ideals, be she black, white, indigenous, spanish, indian, vietnamese, hungarian- you chronically online idiots bullied Lindsay Ellis off the internet, and turned around to try and do the same thing to Vivziepop with no irony.

It's stupid and disgusting; it lowers my already dwindling respect for humanity. I hate it so much.

How have we seriously gotten here? If we shun confidence, who on earth is supposed to speak and fight for our communities? The anxious messes who can't muster the nerve to text first?

Holy fucking shit queer people really fucking hate masculinity

Like, I know anyone following me has seen me talk about this shit but fuck

This queer movie review podcast is talking about 70s glam rock fashion (a favorite of mine) and the one host says "an effeminate man is his true self, because masculinity is fake, the only way to be real is to be feminine"

Like, what the fuck? First of all, way to discount generations of queer people, and displays of queer masculinity, great job. Second, tell me you've never spoken to a trans man or a butch or literally anyone who's ever been forced into a feminine social role or feminine presentation without telling me.

I hate how pervasive this attitude is. I hate how it makes it uncomfortable, at best, to exist in queer spaces as someone who is not, can not, and does not want to be sufficiently feminine.

[thepermanentrainpress]

UNDER THE RADAR: SEPTEMBER 2023

Happy Thanksgiving to our Canadian friends! A long weekend seems like an apt time to dive into our September Under The Radar featuring Slightest Clue, Lenn, Kevin Goodwin, Josh Bogert, The Pedals, and LILAC.

1) Slightest Clue - “Suit Uptight”

Rockstars, they are. Slightest Clue takes the common fear of losing someone you care about, and makes it their own—punky and melodic, tormented but contemplative. “Suit Uptight” is unlike most songs detailing absence that I’ve heard; the band imparts the anxiety in a mix of shouty verses and gritty, playful guitar lines. They were inspired by the transition of a relationship, from frequent in-person interaction, to their existence only in memories and photographs. It is anchored by the frustration and fear of forgetting. I love how they weave in the kinship in the less abrasive chorus, there’s a real relief in the possibility of reconciliation, or at least being able to co-exist (“When we spoke last night, thought I’d lost you, thoughts replacing you”).

Malcolm McLaren has a feverish lure in his vocals, and it was a stylistically smart decision to add Hannah Kruse’s open-ended, distorted chants at the end.  Slightest Clue’s rough edges sway between apathy and enthusiasm, an electrifying sound to embrace.

Written by: Chloe Hoy

2) Lenn - “waist deep”

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that “waist deep” was not written about a romantic relationship—rather one centered on her own journey to being an artist. More often than not an intense trek towards any kind of success, Lenn questions her skills and intent, while overshadowed by the deep love she has for the art. It stirs up notions of validation and control, and how to self-motivate when you feel stuck in a rut, for lack of better words (“You know you’re breaking my heart here / You know that I’m too far along to go back on myself now”).

Lenn is more eloquent in her approach; her sultry and sophisticated sound heard as R&B-soaked pop, a mid to slow tempo that mimics the creeping fear and longing of bringing a dream to fruition. Each time she delivers the song’s title (which is shared with her EP), the deviations are the emotional pull as she traverses self-doubt and possibilities. I enjoyed how fresh and dramatic it was on my listening palette; the vocal layering was very effective. Lenn stresses to impress in “waist deep.”  

Written by: Chloe Hoy

3) Kevin Goodwin - “High”

Kevin Goodwin’s “High” is a provoking listen. Set in a bar or club scene, the track hones in on the darker effects of drugs and alcohol in these situations. Eerie synths and pounding drums play a part in thoughts blurring, desire intensifying. The production entertains rock elements as well with heavy guitars and Goodwin’s breathy, compelling timbre.

Despite the flashing colours and friction of a near out-of-body experience, “High” is presented with due diligence. The narrator acknowledging they’re “in no shape to drive” may seem insignificant, but it’s a meaningful detail in what could otherwise be called a party song. It has a strong hook but leans into the intricacies, absorbing everything around it. Goodwin’s new EP One Hell of a Night is out now.

Written by: Natalie Hoy

4) Josh Bogert - “When I Grow Up” 

There’s a real, warm-hearted duality to “When I Grow Up.” As a performer who has been in the spotlight for the past seven years, the song recounts his big dreams as a youngster and how they’ve changed with time. It speaks to the mental challenges of success or lack thereof, comparisons, imposter syndrome, and creeping doubts. In contrast to the more naïve goals of one with minimal experience or knowledge, you may find yourself broadening them to align with personal values or perceived deficiencies (“I just want to see colour in the sky / When I grow up / I’ll get over the fears that cloud my mind”).

Bogert’s maturity is visible and I love seeing the reflection in a light that is fatigued, but wholly determined. His voice is as clear as ever, with a raw power that holds even as the programmed beats and strings enter over the piano. He has the capabilities to lean in further to the EDM/electronic genre, but it’s important that “When I Grow Up” remained stripped back for its sentiment. The song implores us to temper our expectations but still carry hope and a spark for what we’re passionate about. 

Bogert’s debut album S3 is out now. 

Written by: Chloe Hoy

5) The Pedals - “Love Is Just A Game”

Listening to Vancouver quartet The Pedals is a bit of a ’60s dream and I’m about it.

Their new release, “Love Is Just A Game,” depicts a rich yet quirky atmosphere between the Wurlitzer electric piano, beachy guitars and bursting harmonies. Marisol Cruz' vocals are swinging in nature and hard to resist. The song has very doting lyricism, expressing “it's only me, asking you to stay / and that's the way our love will be.” Which begs the question—is this affection one-sided or is it reciprocal? It carries an easy optimism akin to slow mornings; spiced chai; small talk. Vintage toned and beautifully arranged, “Love is Just A Game” captures the feeling of being alive, and in midfall.

Written by: Natalie Hoy

6) LILAC - “Touch”

“Touch” is the latest single from Reading, UK trio LILAC. The opening half of the song feels minimalist with dancing electronics and gothic vocals. When the chorus kicks back in, guitars and drums take over for a grittier, bona fide rock sound. The guitar solo is the original recording demoed by Lewis Thomas – a fun fact lending to the song’s authenticity. Frontwoman Beth Atkinson sings of being vulnerable in a relationship: the definition of high risk, high reward. “We’ll sing too loud and it’s ok / Lost then and now / What we gonna do?” Her vocal power feels both intimate and invigorating, holding its own to the distorted rock melody.

Written by: Natalie Hoy

[ablazeinhim]

I went out with my childhood bestie's friend group the other night and it really made me realize that I'm very picky about my friends. 😂

***

As I've been reflecting on it the past couple days I've put a few things together about like who somebody was and stories my friend has told me. And girl, some some of these situations and some of these people's actions and attitudes, like... I find it a little hard to believe that these are my friend's type of people.

***

And maybe they were all just having really bad days/times in life when those things happened and they acted that way, but some of them I'm like yeah I would be pulling away hard. I would always rather have fewer friends and know they're supportive and dependable and honest and loving, than many friends who aren't a perfect fit. And often that means I do shit alone, because my friends are busy people, or they live far. And I'm ok with that.

I don't wanna mask in front of my friends, or watch what I say, or be scared to talk about what I believe. I need open communication and mutual respect.

***I rambled about the night and decided it was distracting from what I actually wanted to say so I cut that part out of the middle and put it here in case you want to read the post in it's og form:

I can fall in love in an instant and vibe with people so hard, so it's not that. Like the other week I was in Ohio for a friend's wedding and I got to meet his twin brother and childhood friends and fucking loved them all. The vibes were excellent, the energy exquisite. Me and one of them laughed constantly when next to each other. No awkwardness at all. We took stupid group pictures in the yard. I left longing to be their friend.

That was not the vibe of the other evening. I didn't have a bad time, but I didn't gel with any of them. My friend and I carpooled, so on the way home she did tell me that it was kind of a weird night.

But I don't think it would have made a difference.

It was clear a couple of them were "partiers." I love a party, and I *am* a good time. But I don't drink and it was clear that was typically a big aspect/the main activity. My idea of a fun night out is a light dinner(so I don't have to worry about leftovers. Definitely snacking later at home) followed by something entertaining (my top choices would probably be a drag show or an arcade) and then dancing. I NEED dancing. Please God get me in the room with the queers and the neurodivergent DJ. I could skip all the other things as long as I can vibe on the dance floor with my loved ones.

We went out to dinner and to the gay bar. Both things I like!

And there was no dancing! One of them was adamant, "I don't dance." WHY. Why would you deny yourself the joy of movement. The embodiment of sound. Why would you declare it like it's something you can't wait to spit out of your mouth.

Why was there so much talk of past times getting fucked up (and presumably that was a positive experience for them). [This also probably wasnt discussed a TON, but it was multiple times and since I'm not into that personally it really stood out to me--like if you wanna tell me about the party that's great, but like can you tell me a funny story from it or something, instead of just how much your bar tab was?]

One of the people was abrasive and aggressive (in energy) in a way that did not make me feel safe or at ease.

Maybe it's because they're an established group and it was my first time with them. Maybe it's because I'm neurodivergent and introverted. Whatever it was, it just wasn't my scene. And that's ok. None of them were mean.

Someone we ran into that night is not really someone that my friend likes, but despite that, my friend still buys this person's art and still is considering doing a group activity with them before this person moves like an hour away. And internally I was like...why? Why would you spend time with people who send you mixed signals and act in an emotionally abusive manner???

[thevalleyisjolly]

Ok.  I want to step back from the brain slug ethics for a moment, and talk about Norman Takamori more broadly as an East Asian character and what that means both in general and for this show.  Because if you look at the role that Norman has occupied this season, it embodies quite literally how (East) Asian characters often get treated in Western media and by Western fans, and it’s a useful framework to move into thinking about how we in this fandom engage with East Asian characters.

I’m not going to do a whole rundown on Orientalism and tropes because I’ve already discussed that extensively in other posts, and you can read Edward Said’s original text for yourself here.  The salient point I want to bring forth from those discussions is that Asian characters in Western media often get reduced to certain tropes (e.g. quiet and submissive, cartoonish sidekick, sexy fantasy), or more recently, are required to be “positive” representation for their communities (which translates to absolutely perfect and badass, a few surface flaws but nothing truly dislikable or bad).  

Nor is this limited to creators and production companies.  Even when there is a complex, nuanced, or antagonistic Asian character in media, fan engagement often ranges from ignoring them and relegating them to the background, to flattening them down into a few shallow characteristics and tropes.  If they were likeable originally, that’s all they’ll ever get to be (options range from “uwu cute” to “who needs a personality when you can be badass”).  If they were unlikable, then they either become reduced to a one-dimensional villain role or it’s “we’re going to invent a whole new character with the same name that’s likeable and/or “redeemable” according to our personal standards.”

The gist of this is that for those of us who live in a Western society or who are immersed in its cultural output, it’s common for Asian characters to be dismissed or reduced to tropes in Western media and fan spaces, and their bodies treated as a commodity, something to entertain us or for us to manipulate and puppet around as we please.  Just take a look at Kpop twitter if you want a particularly egregious real life example, but it happens to greater or lesser degrees in nearly any fandom with Asian characters in it.

(And yes, this is something common to many marginalized communities.  This particular post will specifically focus on the context of East Asian diaspora communities because Norman is Japanese-”Americadian” and Zac is Japanese-American and I personally come from an East Asian diaspora though I am not Japanese)

So what does this have to do with Norman?  Well, there’s no question that Norman is certainly not a nice or likeable man.  Which is why, from an in-game perspective, when the ‘nicer’ Valdrinor took over, everyone was happy about it!  Now we’ve got someone that people actually like and get along with...but through stripping away Norman’s agency and identity.  Of course no one likes being around assholes and Norman is definitely an abrasive and demeaning asshole, but that’s also the point.  He isn’t nice and he isn’t kind, but that’s who he, Norman Takamori, is.  

Norman Takamori is a messy, complicated, unlikable character who has had everything difficult or unpalatable about him taken away, along with his agency, and who has been replaced by a “nicer,” more more compliant character that puppets around his body, mimics his identity and literally does whatever he’s told by other people.  Starting to sound familiar?

Now, I am definitely not going to argue that this was a deliberate character choice.  But I do think that the parallel connections you can draw between Norman/“Skip” and the general treatment of Asian characters in Western media are a useful device for us to examine how we ourselves treat East Asian characters in this fandom.  Because it could be better.  It really could.

There are two sides to this conversation - how the show treats its East Asian characters, and how fandom treats East Asian characters.  To start with the show, there have been some ups and downs.  I’ve praised D20 in the past for NPCs such as Jackson Wei, Cindy Wong, and the Shen family, and for some absolutely stellar performances by Erika and Zac with characters like Danielle and Ricky.  There have also been a few missteps.  The whole “white saviour” story line in TUC II with the Order of the Concrete Fist springs to mind, as does the uncomfortable tendency for the official art to depict every single East Asian character with pale skin.

This season in particular has also had its ups and downs.  I personally like Ronnie Kwan and Auma Liu, I think they’re interesting characters and fairly nuanced for a supporting NPC.  I don’t love how the narrative and the mechanics enable the PCs to consistently disregard Norman’s agency.  It’s not that the PCs made the decision to ignore what was going on with the brain slug in the first place, because this is not the “lawful good” campaign.  But it’s things like constantly emphasizing how bad/incompetent Norman is, right before or after the PCs get a payout or in-game bonus.  It’s things like making the surgery not a risk to Skip, only Norman, and framing Skip as the most important person in the situation when the point of the surgery is to access Norman’s memories and it’s Norman’s body which is at risk.  It’s things like only presenting the negative parts of Norman’s backstory and highlighting the bad/pathetic elements of his character when even antagonists get moments of admiration or intrigue.

As for fandom, I and other fans have written a lot about how fandom treats D20’s East Asian characters, especially Ricky, so I won’t go back over that now.  There’s your usual problems -whitewashed art, ignoring or simplifying East Asian characters, objectification, etc- and things like double standards and viciously defending white faves against those “mean Asians”.  Cody and Ricky, and Evan and K spring most readily to mind.

Then there’s everything about Norman.  The problem with fandom and Norman Takamori is not the brain slug story line by itself.  I emphasize that Zac wanted to explore this story line, and that Asian people should be allowed to explore stories and characters without having to worry about whether they’re being “positive” representation.  I also point out that brain slugs are a science fiction trope for a reason, that the science fiction genre is partially designed to ask difficult ethical and philosophical questions that don’t have a “right” answer, because the point is not the answer, the point is how you got to your answer.

The problem, then, with fandom and Norman Takamori is that we hold him to a different standard than we do with other characters.  It’s the dichotomy of excitedly cheering on Sid’s journey of self discovery and self-determination, and then talking about how Norman “deserves” to have his bodily autonomy violated, or how it’s the “best thing” that could have happened to him because now people like “him,” because it’ll “teach him a lesson.”  We’re willing to hop onboard the potential of rescuing/redeeming Barry Nyne from a brain slug, an NPC who’s also behaved with hostility towards the PCs, but won’t even consider it for Norman because he’s “mean” and “deserves” what happened to him.  We watch in delighted awe as the party helps Gnosis and goes to extensive lengths to respect their choices and encourage their free will, all the while ignoring Norman’s right to autonomy.

Sure, but it’s just because Norman is a jerk, right?  We don’t like him because he’s an asshole, not because he’s Japanese.  And that’s very true.  Norman’s an unlikable asshole, and that has nothing to do with his race.  What does have to do with his race though is, again, the double standards.  We may not dislike Norman because he’s Japanese, but we do hold him to a different standard compared to white characters, and we are quick to dismiss him as an unpleasant, miserable man after a single episode that was mostly combat.

Consider: this season is arguably the least “heroic” out of all the D20 seasons.  Characters come from complex backgrounds, and make morally grey decisions.  We accept this, this is part of the story and the setting.  So why is it that when the other characters make dubious decisions (e.g. the non-consensual brain surgery), we excuse them by saying that it’s a rough story setting and these characters are proldiers who have already made many morally grey decisions, but when Norman, who lives in the same story setting and has also made morally dubious decisions in his past, behaves badly, we take that as “evidence” that he deserves to have bad things happen to him?

"But the other characters mostly did stuff to NPCs, and Norman was mean to the PCs, whom we actually care about!”  Yes, and Norman is also a PC.  Sure, he hasn’t been around much, and you can rightfully dislike how he interacted with other PCs, but he is also a PC, and the other PCs have consistently denigrated and dehumanized him throughout the season.  You can certainly say that this comes from understandable frustration with a horrible boss, but it doesn’t change the facts of their behaviour.  Why do we allow the party the benefit of context, that their boss treated them badly, but we do not allow Norman the benefit of context, that a lot of his bitterness and insecurity was exacerbated by his experiences within the Space Brigade?

I am not here to attack the cast or the PCs, or to justify/defend Norman’s behaviour.  Norman is absolutely an unpleasant jerk who chose to take out his personal issues on his crew, and that’s on him.  I would not like him if he was a real person, and I don’t condemn people for not liking him.  Nor am I saying that all the characters are bad and that we should be criticizing everything they do.  But the way we in the fandom talk about and treat Norman surfaces some unconscious racial biases in the fandom.  I am not saying that you are a bad racist person if you don’t like Norman.  Nor am I saying that this is conscious, deliberate, or malicious.  But there is a pattern in this fandom of holding East Asian characters to different standards than white characters, and it’s something we need to be more aware of and examine more critically. 

Also, you don’t have to like Norman and you don’t have to like that he’s a middle aged man whom we presume is straight, but you cannot ignore that he is a man of colour when you talk about him.  I’ve seen quite a few jokes and comments taking aim at Norman’s age, gender, and sexuality, and it’s true that certain aspects of his identity would give him certain privileges in our world.  But especially when you’re a person of colour, your race affects how all aspects of your identities are viewed and treated by others, even in areas where you might hold privileges.  A cishet man of colour does not have the same privileges and experiences as a cishet white man, is not viewed in the same way.  Certainly, Norman and the in-game setting of A Starstruck Odyssey are fictional.  But the world that we live in is not, nor is the way we engage with racialized characters.

Again, the issue is not with the brain slug story line itself.  Could we be having more conversations about its implications for autonomy and consent?  Yes, that’s the whole reason why it’s a trope in science fiction.  But the issue is not with the concept of brain slugs, the issue is in how the show is managing the execution of that story line and in how the fandom is engaging with it, particularly with the context of Norman being Asian and the fandom’s history with Asian characters. 

There’s room to improve for everyone.  This is not an attack, it’s a call to do better.

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

From @weiszklee

Hmmm, I think this is because of a natural evolution of conservatism. You remember when Elon Musk supposedly identified as a leftist? Well, what I think it’s all about is the progression of time. As time moves on and society changes, those who once identified as centrists will say “But we liked it how it was lets go back!” And boom, conservatives. Leftists of the past will go “Yeah! This exactly how I want it. I’m fine now. No more change.” Boom, centrist. And conservatives will go “No, no oh god it keeps going forward! Make it stop!” And become more and more extreme.

Time moves them from left to right, unless they’re willing to hold their ground and change with time but relatively stick in place, move forward personally, or be what moves time forward, they’ll end up quite literally falling behind, becoming more and more resistance being begrudgingly pulled their backs pushed right up against the right side wall, until they decide to get together and push back, try to drag the world backwards, no more new things. If you want to maintain your spot on the spectrum, take tiny steps forward, and if you want to go left, keep running, hitch and hike to the end, but if you want to go right, hold still and time will take you there. Some of us don’t gotta worry, we’re far enough left that as long as we make a little leap gradually, we’ll be ahead of time. I don’t really like using the one dimensional left right spectrum, but it’s a very handy metaphor for being able to visualize politics, people, and time. It’s just about moving forward, and dragging the world behind you forward with you, hopefully with the help of others. And until we discover that next frontier that changes our perception, time remains a one dimensional constant movement.

The increasing radicalisation of conservatives has to probably do also with the ease of access to information, community, and the spreading of memes, and yes, I am unironically using memes in its old term definition. In America though, it was kicked off in a way by an abrasive businessman who knew what really sold; outrage, arrogance, and pride, and so that’s what he sold, to a specific kind of outrageous arrogant and prideful person just waiting to hear the Right words, and it’s been becoming the norm of a right winger in the US to believe in those things, spread like wildfire through the ease of access to talkers and con men streaming and social media provide. You don’t have to go to a debate hall, read the newspaper or just talk to a friend about politics, there’s a whole world of faceless and famous people right here easily accessible for you to be influenced by and converse with. It’s contributed to the growth of both sides of the spectrum honestly, for better and worse, how I like it, distilled human chaos compacted into morsels of light and sound.

Personally, I like it more now. I like when things are moving, noticeably, and can’t stand dead things. Dead lands, dead trees, dead wind, dead bodies, it freaks me out. I’m more afraid of things that are supposed to move not moving than things that aren’t supposed to move moving. I just like to see action happening, it feels nice to live in a living world, and long drawn out stalemates are boring. This is more how I feel than how I think, it’s what the heart says.

Anyway, fascists of today are the normal conservatives of the past, who want to artificially move time backwards so they may seem more like normal conservatives, maybe even centrists of their perfect time.

That’s right baby it all comes back to the good ol’ human condition and our relationships with our world and our fellow human beings and how we grapple with ever growing fleeting past, the unyielding march of time, and the uncertain and strange future can I get an aaaaaamen?

Speaking of the march of time it is 4 AM I should be in bed.

“The paradox of conservatism is they want being normal to be punk. They want to rebel against authority while being the ones in power. They want to be rugged individuals and they think everyone should be the same as them. They want to overcome adversity while staying in the majority.” -@innuendostudios on twitter