#don't ask me why i said this

[jdeanmorgan]

can y'all believe that the 911 writers are pregnant with season s7 right now?

[thelaurenshippen]

watching bridgerton and obviously there were a lot of things wrong with the way socializing has worked in the past, but honestly the idea of a "calling hour" is so appealing. office hours for friendship. you can show up unannounced at my home between 1 and 3pm. you must leave by 3pm. I may give you a pastry. lets bring that back

[notquitebunnie]

WHB Cat Café AU

Tartaros

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // february 6 // prompt: murder // words: 1,172 // cw: implied/referenced sexual content // part 2 + part 3

“You’re so fucking infuriating!” James calls out as Regulus makes his way out of the bathroom. He runs a frustrated hand through is hair and tries to slam the door behind him, but James catches it before he can.

“Oh, I’m infuriating?” Regulus asks over his shoulder. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Baby, we both know you do enough looking for the both of us.” Regulus doesn’t need to look at James now to know he has a cocky smirk tugging at his lips, voice smug and pleased.

“Don’t call me baby. And don’t think I like what I see when I look at you.” Regulus rounds another corner, moving further away from the party as he heads toward the stairs. He hates that he still know the house like the back of his hand, even though it’s been months since he’s been here.

He knew he shouldn’t have come but Sirius had asked and Regulus bends easy if his brother is the one pushing.

“Ah, you wound me.” James comes to a stop right in front of him, a hand pressed to his chest in mock hurt. “Besides, I find that a little hard to believe when I only had to smile for you to drop to your knees in the bathroom.”

“A moment of weakness, clearly,” Regulus says as he pushes past James and makes his way up the staircase. He’s not sure where he’s trying to go except away from James. James and his pretty smile and messy hair and hazy eyes that track his movements with a hunger.

And it had been a moment of weakness. A party and one drink too many and James’ eyes lingering on the strip of skin between the hem of Regulus’ shirt and his belt. At the ink peeking out above his jeans, a pattern James was all too familiar with. A brush of fingers against his lower back that had Regulus shivering even in the sultry heat of the room. All it took was a tilt of his head and a smile and Regulus was following James down the hall.

James snorts, short and derivative. “Clearly.”

It does nothing to make him less attractive.

“Like I said, infuriating!” Regulus yells as he stomps up the stairs. He’s not even aware that he is walking toward James’ bedroom. “You and your— your—”

“Me and my?”

Regulus comes to a stop in front of James’ bedroom door. He turns to face him and ignores the thrill in his stomach when he realizes how close they’re standing. He has to tilt his face up just the tiniest bit to make eye contact. Tries to force himself to do it, but his eyes drop down to James’ lips unintentionally.

“You and your Jamesness!”

“Good one,” James huffs. He takes another half-step closer, crowding Regulus against the door. “You really got me there.”

“Oh, I am going to murder you,” Regulus hisses between his teeth. He tries to take another step back, but the door handle digs into his lower back. Cornered. James' hand comes up to rest beside his head and Regulus has nowhere to go when James leans down to murmur into his ear.

“Please make it romantic, at least.” James' breath rustles his curls and Regulus fights not to shiver. There is a hint of beer on his breath and usually, Regulus hates it. But he has learned that he can’t quite manage to hate anything that comes from James Potter.

Instead of doing something embarrassing like leaning up and crushing their mouths together, he grits his teeth and jabs a finger into James’ chest. Desperate to put some distance between them but even more desperate to keep him close.

“I am going to throttle you—” he grounds out, jabbing James’ chest again for emphasis.

“I always did love your hands around my throat.”

“—and I am going to draw and quarter you—” Jab.

“Yeah? You gonna tie me up real nice?”

“—and I am going to set your remains on fucking fire.” Jab.

“No need, you get me hot all on your own.”

James’ free hand comes up to cover Regulus’ before he has the chance to withdraw. He presses it flat against his chest before lifting his hand to Regulus’ face.

“I swear, James Potter, if you put that hand on me, I'm going to get violent."

But the threat is empty. They always are. Because James’ knuckles caress Regulus’ cheek and it takes all his strength to not lean into the touch. James knows it too.

"Oh love,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough. Something Regulus recognizes but refuses to name. “You usually like it when I put my hands on you.”

And at this point, all bets are off because James is looking at him like he knows.

Like he knows that Regulus spends long nights staring at his ceiling because sleep doesn’t come easy if he’s not in James’ arms. Like he knows that Regulus still buys the coffee James prefers because the smell lingers in the apartment and makes it feel a little less like a haunted house. Like he knows that Regulus hasn’t been on a single date in the months since their break up. Like he knows that Regulus never finished that show they started watching together. Like he knows that regret coats the back of Regulus' throat like bile every time he talks about it.

Like he knows that Regulus is still in love.

Like maybe he feels the same way.

Regulus shifts the hand that’s still resting on James’ chest to the back of his neck and yanks him down, pressing their lips together in a kiss. It’s wet and messy and desperate from the beginning, a moan spilling between when James realizes he can still taste himself on Regulus’ tongue.

James moves impossibly closer, both hands moving to cup Regulus’ face. Regulus wishes they were closer still, wishes he could stay like this forever, because he thinks it’s where he belongs; with James. Always with James.

Lips slick and eyes lidded when they pull apart to breathe, Regulus faintly registers that party is still going on downstairs. Music playing in the distance, a cheer erupting at an unknown achievement, but neither of them feel inclined to return. Regulus tilts his head back for better access when James starts trailing wet a path down the column of his throat, humming at the taste.

“This is probably a bad idea,” Regulus manages between ragged breaths. The last thing he wants to do is stop, but plausible deniability and all that.

“I think you’re a little too faded to drive,” James says, punched out and breathless, the words pressed into the line of Regulus’ jaw as he works his way back up to his mouth. Regulus’ hands clench in James’ hair, earning him a hiss. “Maybe you should stay the night.”

Regulus doesn’t get the chance to agree, too busy stumbling through the now-open door all the way into James’ bed.

[ryllen]

said wolf,

🐺

[fearandhatred]

the rapture

it's a holy thing, in theory, a glorious celebration, where those who believe rise to meet the lord in the air. it's a day of joy, in theory, and maybe even of vindication for those who have always believed.

but no one thinks about how it's like to see the dead rise again—bodies clawing their way out of bolted wood and six feet of packed earth, bodies decomposed and maggot-feasted, nails stained with rot and dirt. no one thinks about the violent lurch of their bodies being jolted into the air by the stomach, gravity flinging their heads back down to earth as they struggle in vain to find footing on molecules and gas. no one thinks about those who don't make it.

no one thinks about the screams.

crowley hadn't thought about any of these things. he certainly hadn't thought about the angels that would be called back to heaven along with the believers.

here they stand dead in the middle of absolute ruin, the promise of heaven the only thing left to look forward to on the wasteland of this earth. the sky has opened up like the eye of god, watching over her people for the very first time, and crowley's black wings against the beams of light only remind him that he doesn't belong up there with the rest of them. crowley wraps his arms tight around aziraphale, squeezes his torso like he can maybe keep aziraphale with him through sheer will or, laughably, demonic intervention. like love could ever be enough. like love could stay.

around them, the cacophony of wails and mockingly exaltant trumpets scorch the earth in their intensity, clashing and agonising even—especially—for them, and words make no sound. but they hold on to each other, even as they shrink into themselves against the noise of the undying. i don't want to leave you either, aziraphale doesn't say, but his hands dig into the cotton of crowley's sleeve, and crowley hears the words through his fingertips.

he feels a stronger upward resistance against his embrace now, and he clings tighter, steadfast, even as aziraphale's grip falters. but he knows he can't hold on forever. he knows that nothing ever lasts.

trembling with something unspeakable, he lifts his arms from aziraphale's torso and covers the angel's ears with his hands. he feels more than hearing aziraphale's resulting sob, and he spreads out his wings to wrap them around their bodies. a shield, a comfort, a goodbye.

it's okay, the gesture says in silence. i'll see you in another lifetime.

[otome-dissection]

he did Not just fucking say all that

[drysaladandketchup]

for the "things you said" writing meme -- matthew/leon, 12 :)

Thank you for the request <3 I realised very quickly I have no idea what constitutes a 'mini' fic. I struggle to write 'mini' anything lol. Hopefully this still satisfies :)

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

It takes all of Matthew's willpower not to reach over and smash his phone just to shut off the alarm. All that saves his wallet and an awkward trip to the Apple store is the split-second realisation that the shrieking in his ear isn't his usual alarm.

It's a ringtone. Not his own, either.

He pries his eyes open to find the world through the window is still dark. One of the balcony doors is still ajar, letting in a cool night breeze. He's lying on his side in his own bed, the end of the all-star weekend memorialized by several aches and bruises.

His hips and ass are a little sore too, but that's unrelated. Technically.

The ringing stops. Someone huffs behind him.

Someone. Yeah, no, Matthew knows who it is. They may have met up at the bar once the media was done swarming, but Matthew was far from drunk. Painfully sober, in fact. If he's being honest with himself, he was hoping things would turn out this way.

One more time. One more moment. Because it's been a long time since they were them. Longer still since the sex was just sex, since hate became want. Matthew is strong in a lot of ways, but not against this.

"Davo." Leon's voice is low, and still gruff from sleep when he answers his phone. He sits up on his side of the bed, trying not to disturb Matthew, pulling the covers back up over Matthew's shoulder like he thinks he'll freeze to death in this balmy Florida winter.

Usually Matthew's a heavy sleeper. But never when Leon's around. He makes it impossible for Matthew to completely relax, to let time slip by. Leon's just too big of a presence, almost too much to bear. It was more important that everything linger, to bask in the strange comfort of their relationship, whatever it was. They had so little time. Even less, now.

"I know it's late. No, no, I'm not at the hotel. I'm... I'm with Tkachuk."

Leon says his last name like it's wrong, like it's rotting on his tongue.

When he corrects himself, says, "Matthew", it's better, lighter. Like it's ambrosia.

Matthew remembers when Leon Draisaitl saying his name wouldn't have meant a damn thing to him. When that simple act didn't fill him with fondness.

In the silence, Matthew can hear McDavid talking on the other end, but can't quite make out what he's saying. Matthew tucks up under the duvet, breathing quiet and even, trying to focus instead on the distant sound of waves and the ticking clock on his wall.

Ticking. Always ticking. Time bleeds out when they're together.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep last night, but he wishes he hadn't now. He wishes he'd stayed awake longer, just to... just to see him. To look Leon in the eye, to talk about everything and nothing until dawn, to feel big, too-warm hands on his body more and more and more. He wants to make sure he'll remember how Leon feels, sounds, tastes.

"Connor," Leon says, a warning, followed by a sigh. "I know. I know, okay? It was stupid, but..."

Maybe it was. Matthew has a good thing here in Florida. Better than ever. He was happy to leave Alberta behind and start over. So why did leaving make him feel like a coward?

Because leaving was about Calgary, and the Flames. About his career and his future. It wasn't about Leon. Leon was the wrench in the gears; the one thing he didn't expect to have to say goodbye to, the kind of hurt he never could have accounted for.

"I needed to see him." Leon sounds helpless. He's not the only one.

The only time he's heard Leon so lost was after his team was knocked out of the playoffs last season. The Oilers meant nothing--Matthew was pretty fucking glad considering they'd beat out the Flames--but he never wanted to hear Leon like that again.

He definitely never wanted to be the cause of it. Not like this.

Leon is still mumbling into his phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's... we're good. He's happy."

A hand settles on Matthew's head. Fingers play with his curls, nails scratch his scalp. A thumb presses just behind Matthew's ear, stroking the soft skin where only hours before Leon had put his lips, whispering sweetness and filth in equal measure.

It takes everything for Matthew not to groan, to whimper and surrender, roll over and climb on top of Leon and take all over again. Beg him to take something--everything--from Matthew.

"I don't know," Leon says then.

It's easy to guess what McDavid asked.

He's happy. But are you?

"I can't even tell him I still love him."

Still. Matthew didn't even know there was a before, let alone a still. Leon never said anything. Fuck, if Matthew wasn't busy trying to remember how to breathe, he'd roll over and punch him.

Then again, what did Matthew ever say? They never talked about it. Never let those closet hook-ups and slipping out back doors and little drinks and dinners and overnights excused as practical necessity be anything more than that. A bunch of chirps and half-truths and aborted discussions because it was all becoming too much. There was too much uncertainty. Too many ways it could go wrong.

It did go wrong. It became something. It became real.

Maybe that would have changed something. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything at all. It doesn't matter now. Matthew left, and neither of them said a word about things like love, because it was easier to hope it would shrivel and die with distance and time.

"I know I'm being stupid." Leon pauses when McDavid interrupts, then huffs. "No, I am. Fuck, I really thought I'd get over it. Maybe I will. Eventually."

Don't you fucking dare, you piece of shit, Matthew wants to scream.

"Not sure I can, though." Leon swallows so loud Matthew can hear it. Then quieter, like he's not sure he's even allowed to admit it, he says, "I don't really want to."

He's still playing with Matthew's hair, occasionally dragging a finger over his bare shoulder or down his back, tracing imaginary lines across Matthew's flesh. Like he's something to be memorized and cherished.

They're both so fucking stupid. Matthew bites his lip and tries not to choke on the lump in his throat. Could be his heart, climbing right up and out of his mouth. He clings to the sheets with shaking hands.

"I'm not going to fuck up what he's got here," Leon says tiredly, voice thick with tension and pathetic resignation.

Leon's not here to drag him back. He wouldn't do that. So why is he here? Just to torture them both? Being with him doesn't feel like torture. It feels like winning. It feels like defiance and decadence and too much and not enough. It feels like what could have been and what could still be.

He didn't find Leon at that bar and bring him home out of pity, or nostalgia, one last fuck for old times sake. It was... it just was. Not an ending. Not some final goodbye. Proof maybe there could still be something. Getting over it was never an option, Matthew knew that well before he stepped onto the ice as a Panther and found himself staring Leon down all over again.

Matthew's vision is blurring. His eyes sting, warm and wet. There's blood pounding in his ears, and a hand clutching his heart, a vice around his lungs. He hardly remembers how to breathe.

He doesn't catch the rest of Leon's conversation, except something about meeting Connor back at the hotel tomorrow. Meaning he's staying the night, at least. He's staying.

When Leon hangs up the phone, Matthew finally comes up for air. He relaxes his shoulders, listening to the soft thump as Leon taps his phone against his forehead over and over. Then it clatters on the side table. Leon sighs, sniffs, and sinks back under the covers. He tucks right up against Matthew's back, still burning like a furnace, soft muscle and skin brushing Matthew's spine in all the right ways.

He throws an arm around Matthew and finds one of his hands, worming his fingers through the gaps to hold it. His palm is sweaty, not that it matters at all to Matthew. He can't help squeezing Leon's hand a little, but if Leon notices, he doesn't say a word.

Not until he's wrapped tight around Matthew, near suffocating, like any part of them that isn't touching is a sin.

"Love you," Leon mumbles, barely more than a whisper, pressing his lips right to the base of Matthew's neck. Matthew's body can't seem to decide whether to shiver or melt under the heat.

Leon says it like it's inevitable. Painful. Pitiful.

What he's saying is, I'm sorry I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before. I'm sorry I don't know how to say it now. I'm sorry it's too late, it's the wrong place, the wrong time.

Like he doesn't think Matthew could ever understand. And that's the worst part of it all. They're still not on the same page. Tearing down what they never built.

If Leon's only brave enough to say it when Matthew's asleep, then Matthew will just have to be brave enough to say it in the light of day. He doesn't run, and he won't now that he knows he doesn't have to.

He stares into the night outside his window, listening to Leon breathe, feeling his heart beat through Matthew's chest like that's where it longs to be.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow maybe they can stop chasing time long enough to make the most of what they have. To make up for what they've wasted. And whatever happens after, well, maybe they can stop being afraid of that, too.

[godsworstson]

i dont even know what to caption this, just bam and ryan being bam and ryan

[youre-gonna-see-a-lot-of-me]

That's so fucked up that people are romantizing Franco, because even Red Barrels are showing him as a total creep and disgusting person. In Outlast Tag I have a feeling that some artists are making him completly different character, making him charming/safe/lovely. I even have seen some people who were drawing him with normal face (without big forehead) and you couldn't tell them that it's the right character design! I feel like Franco enjoyers are more agressive than fans of other Outlast character. Even with Coyle/Eddie simps they seem to understand that they are evil and they murder others, but with Franco I feel like they can take it when someone tell them that he's grown up, murder people in very brutal way and his voice lines are just disgusting... it really seems that people are getting agressive only because someone tell some shit about 🎀✨️Franco🎀✨️. I know his fans isn't the only one that have stick in their ass (cause I seen a lot of shit bout Coyle/Big Grunts/Easterman etc.) but yall need to understand that FRANCO IS A GROWN ASS MAN and you would run for your life if you'd meet someone in irl as 1% fucked up as he is. Saying that he's just a Baby and he made nothing wrong is just 🤮 and problem is in yall if you justificate him and things he made.

idk how to tell you this ,,,, but this game is fictional. The characters are fictional. You're free to feel however you want about them, just like I and anyone else is.

I partially agree with the part about changing his appearance to make him look more "normal" or whatever, but at the same time people are allowed to interpret their favs however they want to. They can draw / write for him however they want to. I don't like "fixing" his face, just because it (personally) feels like saying "he's too ugly", but again, that's just me. As an artist, I know that people are going to have different interpretations of a character I like. It's just part of other people existing in the world. Not everyone thinks like you do, and that's okay.

Do you know how many posts I saw (and STILL see) about Eddie Gluskin, doing essentially the same thing as what you said people do with Franco?? That man would cut you open to "make a baby in you" no hesitation and people still ""romanticize"" him (me fuckin included I LOVE YOU EDDIE). Its just part of liking fucked up characters, some people are going to want to make them more "normal".

Personally, I see the normalization as more like wanting to give him some normalcy in his life, because of his past / lore. I love the idea of letting Franco have a normal life, be a normal person. A life where he never had to deal with the stupid Mafia stuff, had a decent father and never ran into Murkoff, having a normal, happy life. But, I also seriously adore his original, fucked up character.

Honestly, who actually cares if people are "justifying" his actions??? None of them are real. He is not real. I have never understood the sentiment that you have to make sure people know you don't justify a fictional characters actions... they are not real. It's not a real person. None of the things he did happened.

Maybe it's just me, but I would not run from someone like him. That's not some edge lord "im so evil and dark" bs but because of my real life experiences. Been with and around people in my life / family who are quite like him and I didn't run.

I imagine some of us are using it as a sort of coping mechanism, because (at least for me) some of us dealt with people who treated us like he would. Though, that's getting into personal territory, and I won't try and speak for others.

All I can really say is either learn that not everybody's going to have the same ideas as you or block the tag. Sorry if that's too harsh a response, but life is too short to really give that much of a fuck about someone /something other people like.

And I've said this before but this is literally Outlast, all of the characters are this fucked up, it's not just him.

Like does no one remember Outlast 2??? Does no one remember the pile of dead burnt babies, or the hundreds of other fucked up things in that game?? I really feel like Franco does not compare.

So, can we please just be over with this now? I mean, drama is totally fun and I love it, but I can imagine others don't.

[sparklingchim]

[gingermintpepper]

I saw it in your tag game post that you're also fond of the Apollo-Heracles conflict 👀 for a myth that appears in only a couple of sources, it sure has a lot of presence in the vase paintings (no seriously, everytime I think I've seen the last of it, I find ten more)

SO do you have any favorites among the paintings that represent this story??

OMG OMG THIS ASK IS A GIFT. IT IS A GIFT THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR LETTING ME TALK ABOUT THIS

I also think it's extremely interesting that it's a story so popularly portrayed by vase paintings and in such a variety of ways!! It's certainly one of the stories that gets left out of written compilation of Heracles' legend a bit (which is a shame, I think it's a fantastic story) but Apollo had a very peculiar relationship with Heracles in general that I just kind of find amazing (and very, very funny).

Apollo is not a god with any legitimate grudge against Heracles, but he does argue with the mortal a bit like he argues with his favourite brothers 😂Part of why I love the story of Apollo and Heracles fighting over the tripod so much is that it is such a little brother thing for Heracles to be upset with the proclamation his elder brother has given him and so, he throws a great fit, taking up the chair and declaring that he'll just give himself a better prophecy! And Apollo, instead of being a marginally professional big brother, decides to fight him for it until their father has to break up their cat-fight. Like was that not just the plot of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes? Is this not exactly how Apollo treated Hermes when he was a child and now those two are inseparable? 💀

Because of this, my favourite vase paintings tend to be the ones that highlight the personal squabbling between Apollo and Heracles the most. There are some very elaborate ones that have the full host of them - Athena, Heracles, Apollo, Artemis, usually a dog and a doe, I've even seen a couple that had birds and plants etched on them, but the simplest ones that show Heracles about to bonk Apollo with his club out of frustration or depict Heracles nyooming away from Apollo while Apollo (presumably) yells curses about how he's going to fling Heracles head first into Tartarus for daring to take his things? Yeah, those are the premium big brother/little brother things I'm looking for.

(Photo. Marie-Lan Ngyuen)

(Photo. Museo Claudio Faina)

Also the one in the Theoi.com archives is a real classic - perfect energy.

[beanghostprincess]

Sorry I really didn’t mean I’m attacking you or your ship. I also don’t think it’s a red flag, most gay men I saw don’t really like shuggy either. I mean, probably the entire world prefers any other shanks ships? On almost every site, con or store there’s always tons of mishanks and Bennshanks and never shuggy. I get it’s also about dynamic and connection those two pairs have, like with the parallels to other ships the base for them is extremely strong. But the minimal shuggy does speak volumes. I genuinely wonder about this. Shuggy is unpopular and again while I do agree there’s strong connection between “rival ships” I don’t think that’s the only reason… and like…. Buggy is ugly, isn’t he? He doesn’t have cool style, doesn’t look cool, makes ugly faces all the time, also is a coward. I like him as comedy character and shanks brother though!

I understand where you're coming from when you say Shuggy is unpopular amongst some people (actually, before anyone says anything. It IS an extremely popular ship in Japan but I have seen A LOT of hatred towards it in this side of the fandom, so that's what I'm talking about when I say it's unpopular). I have talked about this before. And I have said a lot of times that the reason why is often because people only focus on looks and Buggy is not conventionally attractive for the fangirly twinkified sexualized gaze numerous sides of the fandom and the general audience seek. Like, I am not forcing people to ship them, but I have had people admitting the only reason they don't is because of the looks, and I personally believe that is a very (despite valid, of course) dull way of seeing ships. And respectfully, I don't care that other gay dudes or all the people in the world agree with you. It's not a red flag to not like Shuggy, what it is a red flag, though, is to come into people's inboxes to do what you're doing!

I know you don't mean to attack me or anybody who ships them but your tone does wonders showing otherwise. Your perception of shipping is just based on looks and the fact that you came here, to a blog that explicitly ships these characters and is fond of Buggy, talking shit about one of the characters' looks... Is just straight-up mean and not following the social etiquette this site should follow, which is "let people do whatever the fuck they want".

So with all due respect, what makes you think I won't find your questions offensive in any way? Because you keep talking bad about a character I like in my inbox for literally no reason. Do you expect me to admit that the ship is unpopular because Buggy is ugly and boring? Well, I do admit people view him as ugly and only a comedy relief, but I don't. Expecting others to find beautiful and interesting the same things you do is having a very close-minded vision that One Piece's plot itself is against.

By the way, you're showing that you clearly don't like Buggy in the slightest because you're only talking about the traits that you find negative about him. But of course, you like him as comedy relief. Of course, you like him as a character in Shanks' story and not as a character himself. Despite Buggy having lots of depth. Your perception of these characters seems, in my opinion, extremely empty and, as I said, only based on looks. And you're free of shipping whatever you want however you want! But please, please, don't do this anymore. This is just petty high school mean girl behavior. Even Regina George would word this in a more polite way.

So, as a little advice for you, let people ship whatever they want without questioning their favorite characters! I am sure you will live a more peaceful life!

[vicsy]

something something something about how max’s hair is completely brown now…when daniel closes his eyes all he sees is blonde

ohhh. ohh anon. you should not have gone there.... but I am glad you did. this is also something very up @mysticalbreadcollective 's alley since blonde Max is on her daily agenda BUT

anon. idk what floats your boat but let me take you somewhere rancid under the cut (let the record show that I am a maxiel truther but my god do I enjoy making them suffer with other people)

it's current season and maxiel aren't together due to Reasons with capital R of course. Daniel's "i can't fuck my teammate i am not into guys or am I but maybe that's just Max oh no you can't be with Max" and Max's general understanding of his own worth and needs. they can't escape the tension, the lingering touches, the double entendre running through their relationship like a river in flood. one step forward, two steps back etc etc

so things aren't going exactly as planned for Daniel and, naturally, he's fighting the pull towards Max and the best next thing his brain chooses to do is find someone to hook up with, get it out of his system. since his dick is very much attuned to Max after years of imagining that's its gonna find itself parked in Max's ass (which never happened), Daniel's looking for someone particular to scratch the itch and, apparently, to spite the fate, his choice falls to YOU GUESSED IT – Liam.

very convenient, since they're both gunning for the same thing. exploring some healthy alternatives to their impromptu rivalry or whatever the media says. Daniel's pretty charming and Liam's easy. done and done.

and it's bad. capital "b" Bad. the sex comes pretty fast and Daniel's checking all of his boxes - rookie, blonde, tiny waist, looks at him with wide eyes etc etc and Liam is surprisingly down to fuck cause maybe that is also convenient for him, too. but he's mean about it. He's heard legends about Big Dick Ric and the dick is very big but the prowess? lacking. he says that to Daniel's face after, like, the third time it happens. which should be incredibly insulting but–

Daniel's pining and trying to trick himself which works exactly for three seconds but Liam isn't what he wants. wrong kind of blonde hair that Daniel's gripping tight while he fucks Liam from the back, never face to face, because that would prompt Daniel to THINK and RUMINATE and he doesn't want that. he wants Max the way he sees him when he closes his eyes but it's gone when he opens them and finishes another underwhelming sexcapade. it's never the right color, it's never the right person' it's always a bad time.

"do you think I'm not getting what you're doing here?" Liam says to him one day, grinning meanly, and Daniel truly doesn't know the answer to that question. he's hella confused himself. Liam seems to get off on the situation more than when he's riding Daniel's dick, so he calls Daniel Danny in the garage and he suddenly glues himself to Daniel's side, which is. weird. manipulative? Daniel's plan to get over himself backfires when he sees Liam talking to Max one day and Max's easy smile slowly dissipates as Liam's yapping but Daniel can't hear a word.

he doesn't really need to. he knows Liam cashed in on Daniel's sorry excuse of a reason to hook up. all Daniel can do is add to the history of horrendous decisions he's made in his life and live with the knowledge that he's probably never going to wake up next to Max's mostly-not-blonde hair getting in his face where they're tangled in bed, that Daniel's dabbled in something he should not have touched with a ten foot pole, that he'd tarnished all of his chanced, basically set them on fire when max had been there and never turning him down all the way.

Daniel got some, Liam got some. after all, it's Max who, unfairly, walks out it hurt the most, because of Daniel's choice, because of him thinking he was chasing something else while in reality he was running. and Daniel never fucking stopped.

[rosieparker1856]

I was dead asleep and woke up like a fucking zombie with the thought of “I wonder if when people go to Danny’s Grave to offer their condolences or whatever people do, if Danny can only hear it when he is a ghost.” I’m imagining it like an answering machine, you don’t actually know the message unless you play it back. This idea has probably been said before, but it’s 4 a.m and I’ve written 6 college papers in the last 24 hours. I wasted good sleep for this random bunny.

This premise lies solely on the fact of Danny actually having a grave stone, for people to go to.

That being said, a lot of people don’t go to Cemeteries every time they think of someone who passed away. Personally, with my Great Grandmother, when I want to remember her I bring out her old cookbooks and make her favourite recipes. And I talk to her the entire time I’m cooking. Especially during Harvest Fest.

So, in that mindset, can Danny hear everything people say when they’re remembering him? Cause that could get really annoying really fast for a boy who’s still half alive.

Like he’s partnered up with Wes on a Chemistry project and all that’s going through his head when he’s fighting a ghost when they’re supposed to meet up is “Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom, why isn’t he here already? I didn’t see a ghost on the news” or something like that. Don’t judge the dialogue literally have had 2 hours of sleep the last 3 days cause of work and classes.

Someone please, if this is a thing and there are fics about it drop them in the comments. Is that pick me? To ask you to comment? Anyways, i should try and get back to bed.

This is not proofread and I didn’t even put on my glasses for it, so if it’s clunky/there are misspelled words, no there aren’t.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.