#hey can someone free me from the mortifying ordeal of being known AND know me to such a degree that i trust you to soft dom my brain back on

[nocaptainonthisship]

Operation Happy Puppy/Mean Kitty

Part 3: Sunshine

(Also titled: Don't ask a barista what the most ridiculous drink they've ever made is. They're going to want to read your fanfic.)

[yan-twst]

Hello! May I request hc for the dorm leaders finding out that their female crush is only attracted to girls(female mc as a lesbian I stan-)? If you don't feel comfortable writing this then feel free to delete! I hope this was intresting ;-;

hell yeah lesbians rise up!!!! i included some of my own headcanons of how gay and lesbian stuff is in twst because i think it’s nice to have that there!

riddle rosehearts

riddle is immediately mortified- not because it turns out his crush is a lesbian, but because he’s now horrified all his “courting” may have come off as a bother or inappropriate. he’ll go beet red and apologize for that. he- he didn’t know! he didn’t mean to impose himself- argh!

is he heartbroken? a little. but he’s more worried that he may have come off as pushy. the queen of hearts may have been overbearing, but she never went out of her way to specifically bother anyone, and riddle feels the same way. he really really wants to make it clear he didn’t mean to bother her oh god-

once he calms down a bit, he’ll just, kinda... compose himself and apologize once more. if he had known, he’d probably not have made any advances (even though his “flirting” was more along the lines of inviting to unbirthday parties and sharing trey’s baking. it was nothing too invasive- hell, riddle’s crush wasn’t even aware he was flirting with her)

riddle will also bashfully ask if... well, even if he has no chance with her, he hopes that they can still remain friends. romantic or platonic feelings, he still really gets along with her- hell, everyone’s grown used to having her at the unbirthday parties, and trey already bakes extra for her every time.

he’ll take the title of being her friend with pride. riddle will quickly swallow down his heartbreak: this is something that has to be this way, and the fact that she likes girls simply means he’ll just be the best guy friend she possibly can have

leona kingscholar

leona “woman respecter” kingscholar takes the information well. he just kinda goes ‘oh’, nods, and takes a nap.

welp, there’s nothing to be done, so why get all sad and mopey? if the little herbivore likes girls, more power to her. welp, women are pretty and powerful. he understands why they like women. makes sense

leona is a bit sad, sure, but it’s only natural. he doesn’t dwell on it for long, though. if something can’t be changed, there’s no sense in thinking it over and over: he’s a man and his crush likes women, so that’s the end of that

despite it being so clear cut for him, he will take some time to talk everything out with her. he wants to make it clear: he was pursuing her romantically before, and he won’t anymore. he didn’t know she was a lesbian before, and now he knows

still, leona’s got a soft spot for the little herbivore. even though he might not be pursuing her anymore, it doesn’t change the fact he still feels like he’s gotta watch over her and help her. 

he’s just gonna be his usual grumpy self, really. he’ll still invite her over to practice magift, he’ll still tease them and call them “herbivore”. is he still in love? leona won’t ever mention it, really. does it matter? she’s his friend now, even if he calls her “annoying herbivore” whenever she wakes him up, and that’s pretty much all he could ask for

azul ashengrotto

fun fact did you know octopi have been seen displaying homosexual behaviours out in nature

which is to say, this isn’t anything new to azul. same-sex relationships are more common in his home than what he’s seen in the surface, but it’s not like lesbians are a new concept to him

oh don’t get it wrong he does cry when his darling tells him she’s not into men. he cries and then he lets her hug him until he stops. he then proceeds to be so mortified over it all he wishes he could go hide in his octopus pot

after apologizing for... that ordeal, azul will return to his usual composed self. it’s almost hard to tell he was a sniffling mess just a few minutes before if it weren’t for his puffy eyes

he composes himself quickly because, well... when he pictured himself getting turned down, it was always painful- old insecurities flaring, being told he wasn’t enough- but this was... not painful? it’s not as if he wasn’t good enough or something. his crush was just a lesbian! it’s not his fault, so it’s hard for him to feel sad over it

azul might even feel a bit bad for her. she’s... stuck in this all boy’s school, huh? the only girls here are probably the fae that control the weather... and the talking portraits...?

even though there’s really no girls for her to talk to, azul will still take on a protective attitude over her, giving the “if any girl breaks your heart tell me and the twins and we will avenge you” talk. azul doesn’t know why any girl would hurt her heart, because in his eyes she’s precious, but hey, he’s gotta protect his friend, right?

kalim al-asim

“wait you like women? oh me too!”

kalim takes it... so well. like, almost shockingly well? it’s like he processed the information in record speed, sorted out his own feelings immediately, and made peace with it all in a matter of seconds

kalim has many sisters around his age. one in ten people are gay. what i am getting at is kalim has lesbian sisters and so this revelation that his crush is lesbian doesn’t shake his world too much

he’ll admit it stings a little- love is a powerful thing, after all! but he thinks people who pursue others who are clearly not interested are scummy, and he’d never do anything like that

in his mind, it’s an easy ordeal. he trusts and likes her. she sees him as a close friend, and that’s the most he can be. so really, he should just be happy he’s as close to her as can be! he’s already at the top rung of being close to her, so he’s hit the goal, right?

kalim, god bless his heart, is that friend who will present his lesbian friends to any other lesbian friend he has. he has good intentions, but it might get a little tiring? and a bit overwhelming too when he brings up that he has sisters right around his age who are also into girls and suddenly he’s making plans for a big mixer party and oh god jamil please help and put a stop to this before it gets out of control please help he’s already planning a menu-

vil schoenheit

ooooh so she’s a lesbian ooooooh ok that makes sense. that makes sense. 

vil is like “oh! of course my incredible efforts into my appearance and into our friendship and in wooing her weren’t working. she is just not into men”

he’s almost surprised at how getting turned down like this just... didn’t bruise his ego at all. his efforts weren’t useless, he wasn’t doing things wrong, it simply couldn’t work! honestly, vil would have been more hurt if he’d put all this effort and his crush had been straight and still turned him down

hmm, so she’s into girls... then being here, in an academy full of men (who are, in vil’s opinion, horribly unrefined and ungraceful) must be rough.

just because he’s no longer trying to pursue a relationship with her does not mean that he’ll stop inviting her over for skincare or for trying on clothes. absolutely not. the fact vil even was attracted to her in the first place is because he saw her as someone with potential and that has not changed

he will immediately position himself as a big brother / best friend. just because he’s her friend doesn’t mean he’s gonna let her slack, though! he’s still gonna be checking she follows the skincare routine he set up for her, and that she’s eating and sleeping well- as much as he says it’s because he “wants to make her potential shine” or whatever, it’s just... overwhelmingly clear he just cares about her as a friend

idia shroud

out of all the ways he imagined getting turned down this has to be the one that he had NOT pictured and at the same time, it’s kinda the best one? crush was a lesbian so it wouldn’t work out, 10/10 turn down, didn’t make him go into a self deprecating vortex

once again, it’s the age old relief of “yes, i got turned down by my crush, but it wasn’t my fault, because it turned out she was a lesbian”. idia had ran so many scenarios of being turned down, of his crush being disgusted at him, that it all being resolved into her not liking men at all is... almost relieving?

and you know what. he gets it. when he sees his figurines and posters of his favourite idols and anime girls it’s like well duh of course she likes girls because girls are cute? 

he’s gonna have her rate his waifu tierlist. what? it’s not- it’s not weird, is it?! he’s just trying to bond, and- urgh, he kinda wants to know what her opinion on his waifus is. because his waifus are cute girls and she likes girls so ?? it makes sense? right? (idia might cry if she says his waifus aren’t That Good)

this whole ordeal might also result in the almost hilarious scenario in which ortho just straight up goes “Hey niichan, what is a lesbian?”

learning that his closest friend likes girls opens pandora’s box, the box being idia making his friend review every anime girl and gacha or visual novel girl that HE likes

malleus draconia

did you know reptiles are also quite gay? there’s even a species of lizard that’s just, entirely female. dragons are reptiles.

malleus, bless his heart, is not good at reading people. his crush will need to be Direct. trying to use metaphors like “I swing the other way”, or “I play for the other team” do nothing but further confuse him- when his crush finally cracks down and just goes “what I’m trying to say is I’m a lesbian” he finally, finally, understands what this is all about

malleus just... nods in understanding

he feels a little sad- it does sting, a bit, to know things can’t work out, but he’s also... happy. if she told him, that means she trusts him, right? 

malleus is happy enough to just have A Friend in general, even if he’d never admit he’s usually lonely. most people tend to run from him or be so intimidated they shiver when they hear his name. and yet, against all odds, he’s found a friend who likes being by his side, someone who didn’t know all the baggage that comes with his name. he’d be a fool to tear down that friendship just because he’s learnt it’ll stay platonic

also, as mentioned before, it’s not like homosexuality is some sort of taboo or odd subject. it’s actually quite common amongst the fae, especially those in Malleus’ kingdom. although he does say he can’t introduce her to any cute fae girls. he.... is not friends with any. (he just doesn’t have a lot of friends in general, but he refuses to say that because he... doesn’t want to sound “mopey”, lile lilia says he is)

[transsexualhamlet]

I feel like Exposing Myself online today so here's a completely unasked for, in depth bulleted list explanation of why I kin which bsd characters. the short answer is i am very mentally ill feel free to come into my asks and roast me bc of this

NIKOLAI

first of all thats my gender sir. i wish to dress and present myself like him

superiority and individuality complexes to the extreme

would kill/die/commit heinous acts for my good sir fyodor dostoyevsky (and anyone else I cared about)

if i think about society too hard i want to murder everyone and am filled with existential horror and disgust

that good old deep set desire to make everyone i love despise me so they'll know who i truly am

"I am completely sane /neg"

if anyone slightly normal likes anything about me i need to change it immediately

every torment i experience is entirely on purpose and my fucking fault

every single way i am perceived is wrong yet please i need to be perceived objectively because i as a human cannot see myself from all angles

DAZAI

called the FUCK out by irl dazai's works

strong desire to fuck around and find out as in "if i am reckless and put myself into dangerous places and situations then I might gain calvin+hobbes style 'character' and my own feelings will then be valid"

acting silly and speaking of serious issues like jokes to distract from Constant Internal Crisis

my one true love, unhealthy coping mechanisms

no filter and no idea of what is socially acceptable

generally just kind of a shitty person who says "i'm gonna change" and keeps doing the same goddamn thing because they can't be bothered to go through the emotional pain so has just decided that they are a Bad Person and not do actually put effort into becoming better

"i hate pain" as an oxymoron

goes through elaborate hoops to make sure people don't think of them highly

hasn't managed to keep any friends from more than 4 years ago (for understandable reasons)

the mortifying ordeal of being known

deep emotional need for people to call me slurs so i feel special<3

RANPO

lists off the entire autism diagnostic criteria and related symptoms

i like literally every single thing i could think of that i kin him is related to neurodivergency ie:

his blunt style of speech, sounding rude, knowledge in academic areas but deficient in social, always a complete mess, different way of thinking about Everything, age under/overestimated etc etc etc

oh also i love his awful style he is wearing his tie backwards me too buddy

praise praise praise praise praise gimme gimme gimme gimme

takes any criticism absolutely HORRIBLY aka rejection sensitive dysphoria

POE

GENDER GENDER GENDER GENDER

desire to always have my hair entirely covering my face

spending insane amounts of money on people i care about

remembering people for years as a huge impact on my life and having them not remember me at all

trying to be "mysterious" and ending up just a huge nerd

always carrying around giant stack of books

literally always writing and a large amount if not all of my writing is to please those few people who understand me

KYUU/Q

kyuu is. not an important character and has not appeared since the guild arc. there is not much to go off of however i think it's very important

gender. i rest my case

i am not god's strongest soldier if subjected to any amount of pain i will scream and murder anyone i can to get rid of it

there is so much rage there is So Much Rage pent up in that tiny fucking body and if anyone underestimates me or provokes me they're getting the goddamn electric chair

i am just a little guy do not do this to me please sir im just a little guy and it's my birthday

hey besties if i were given the nuclear launch codes we would all be dead

horrible distaste for any medical professional and Extreme Problems with giving anyone especially said medical professionals access to my body or any knowledge thereof

objectively someone should probably lock me up

FYODOR

hey he's got stand up and pass out immediately disease same he is a frail young lad

give me my blood back it is falling out

hyperempathy and low empathy working together manifests as "we should all just die" disease which is objectively not true and never something you should base your political views on but it sits there in my brain it sure does

as like with nikolai society and living within it and the way it is structured ie capitalism makes me want to enter jeff bezos's house and start my life of crime right then and there

ROMANTICIZE ROTTING INTO THE GROUND WITH YOUR LOVED ONES BY GOD

not to be that guy but if i was in any way capable of helping i would so join the DOA excluding fukuchi fukuchi doesnt exist fyodor runs the doa and anything about fukuchi is a mass hallucination /j

and of course CHUUYA

I feel like there are many chuuya kinnies who have much more claim to him than me and I will cede that however have you considered short overpowered trans man who is always feeling 73 emotions and 60 of them are variations on anger

feeling alienated/like i'm an imposter at being human (although this is a theme of the whole series and nearly everyone in it)

i bite and kill medical professionals<3 (you can sense a theme here)

i always get adopted into friend groups and then they fucking Leave (thankfully not by dying in my situation. as far as i know)

i had my newly out transmasc era too chuuya *points at picture of 15 chuuya's outfit and haircut and general demeanor*

i know i have said this on nearly all of them but by god his gender

concluding this you can tell i am an on fire garbage can

[cablesscutie]

34. “I just want to be there for you.” Zutara, For the fluff prompt list please ☺️

Hello!! You sent me this a very long time ago and then my brain was bad and ground to a screeching halt, but I have been thinking about it this whole time! And now my brain has finally allowed me to make words again these past few weeks, so here it is:

PART 1 \\ PART 2

Even after seeing pictures of Zuko convinces Katara to tentatively agree to Ty Lee’s hairbrained scheme, she still tells herself that she has time to bail. If she really decides that she doesn’t need a date after all, she can just cancel on him and tell Aang her date had food poisoning or something. If worst comes to worst, she can claim that she has food poisoning too and escape the entire mortifying ordeal altogether. Zuko is just an option.

This is the constant refrain in her mind week after week as the date of the wedding approaches, and Katara gets somehow less enthusiastic about it with each passing day. She thinks it as she lets Suki shove her into a fitting room, laden with figure-hugging dresses. She thinks it as she scrolls quickly past Instagram posts counting down the days, politely liking them faster than she can process the sight of fairy lights and mason jars. She thinks it as she impulsively adds a leg waxing to her bi-monthly spa day with Toph. Zuko is just an option.

Just an option with arms that look like they would feel strong and secure around her, and a shy smile, and who’s sweet and playful with kids. Katara lets out a long, frustrated groan and presses her forehead to her desk, rolling it back and forth in a futile attempt to rub out the impending headache of a Friday afternoon. A moment later, she hears the telltale rattle of Suki’s office chair, and then her friend is rolling to a stop beside her.

“You good?” she asks, brushing aside Katara’s hair so she can see her face.

“No,” she sighs, annoyed.

“Is it the rehearsal dinner? Because if you don’t want to go, I can just say you got held late at work.”

“No, no. That’ll be...fine, probably. It’s this whole wedding date thing.”

“Oh do not tell me you’re still being all wishy-washy about it.”

“It just feels like a weird thing to do! I’m just going to show up at my ex’s wedding with this random dude? How will that look?”

“Um, probably like you’ve moved on? Which you have. Objectively. You even had a whole other relationship.”

“Really? Because I think it’ll look like I’m jealous and trying not to be.”

Suki fixes her with disbelieving eyebrows and a laugh. “Trust me, babe. Nobody is going to think that you’re the one that left that relationship pining. You were basically his mom. If this was Jet’s wedding...eh, maybe? But you tend to settle.”

Katara isn’t quite sure if Suki is trying to insult her or compliment her with that statement, and she isn’t sure if her kneejerk, “Hey!” is out of a desire to defend her judgement, or her past partners’ character. Regardless, she doesn’t have much after that to refute the point. Aang seems like a functional enough adult now, a few years out of college, but when they had dated, the “teen” in his nineteen years definitely showed. As for Jet, her much more recent cut, he was...vibing.

“Hon, you’re gonna be fine. I’ve heard Ty Lee and Mai talk about Zuko before, and he sounds like a decent guy. At worst, you have a meh date and escape some social awkwardness, but-” the upward tilt of Suki’s voice had Katara on edge, knowing what was coming next.

“Please, no -”

“- it could be good.”

“No, it can’t be.”

“Ty Lee seems really confident about you two, and you know she’s got a creepy good love radar. After all, she’s the one who convinced me not to block your brother when he slid into my DM’s. Even you told me to block him.”

“She does not have love radar. I love her, but the girl is an unstoppable meddler; she was bound to have a hit once,” Katara dismisses. It’s true that Sokka and Suki are adorable now, and perhaps evidence of the existence of soulmates, but Katara maintains that Ty Lee is a hopeless romantic who believes anything could be the start of an epic love story.

“Fine, be a cynic then. But you’ve already acknowledged that he’s hot, so just go to the wedding with him, and maybe finally rebound from Jet.”

“Hmm,” Katara hums noncommittally.

She’s something of a serial monogamist. She’d left her first real relationship with Aang intending on a summer fling to cleanse her palate before going back for her senior year. After a whirlwind month with the mature and worldly Jiang, she’d been looking into online classes, all but ready to move onto her houseboat and sail away into the sunset. Until Suki pointed out that it was an insane plan, and the ultimately parted ways as planned when Jiang set out to sea again. From there, she had fallen in with Jet as a friend with benefits to blow off steam through her last year without leaving herself open to distraction.

He wasn’t the kind of stable presence she could see herself settling down with, but wasn’t looking to be babied either. No, Jet was more of a feral creature. He knew he was dysfunctional and was fine with it, because function was the system and the system was bogus. Then, she got to know him, and realized that he kept people at a distance for much the same reason she was always pulling them too close. Suddenly, she had grand dreams of showing him the healing power of love, and both of them breaking free of their pain, never needing to fear being alone ever again. He cheated on her, and even as she was shouting at him, she’d known deep down that they had both just repeated their same bad habits all over again.

Now, there is Zuko. Zuko, with tragedy in his scarred eye, and sadness in his smile, but gentle hands on little legs resting on his shoulders. Katara thinks she could make many bad habits out of Zuko, and she is not too proud to admit that it terrifies her. Her stomach turns, and she thinks it might not even be a lie by the time she tells Zuko she’s suddenly too sick to attend the wedding.

The nausea gets worse at the rehearsal dinner, when she walks in to find Jet there, grinning at a bridesmaid. Suki hauls her over to Aang to give him a dressing-down for inviting him, and Katara is somehow reminded in the span of five minutes why she is extremely glad to be rid of both of them.

“I didn’t think it would be a problem!” Aang says, his usual defense. “And he is my friend - we go rock climbing together.”

“Small world,” Suki snarls, and Aang goes wide-eyed, leaning around her to look beseechingly at Katara.

“I swear, I didn’t think you were avoiding each other! After all, we’re exes, and it’s my wedding, but that’s not weird. So I figured you wouldn’t have a problem being in the same room as your other ex.”

Katara grits her teeth behind glossy lips that she forces into a smile, and despite Suki’s murder eyes and the voice in her head telling her not to - to swallow her embarrassment and tell the truth - she finds herself falling back on those old bad habits. “It’s okay, Aang. You had good intentions. We can be adults for one day.”

“Thank you so much Katara,” Aang gushes, lunging forward to wrap her in a hug that pins her arms briefly to her sides. “You’re the best!”

Suki shakes her head in disappointment as he bounds away. “You made your bed,” she reminds Katara. “Guess now you have to decide who to lie in it with.” She glides away to join Sokka at the bar, leaving Katara standing dazed and confused.

“Katara, hey,” an all too familiar voice greets her almost immediately after, and Katara closes her eyes. Suki totally hung her out to dry, and she can’t even be that mad because she’s right.

“Jet,” she says evenly, turning to face him. This shouldn’t be hard for her. While she doesn’t forgive him, she’s also very over him and understands that she’s an idiot for not making Aang ask him to leave. “How are you?”

“Not bad, not bad,” he says, bobbing his head. His clothes are formal but rumpled by disdain for their formality, an effect which once had a liquifying effect on Katara’s insides, but now just feels rude. “I was actually coming over to ask you the same thing,” he says, as though it is a profound inquiry and not the root of all small talk. She opens her mouth to offer a brusque reply and make an excuse to join Sokka and Suki at their table, but he knocks the wind out of her sails with his next words. “Ex’s wedding and all. Brutal.” He gives her a look that she is all to familiar with: his I-see-your-pain look. It was another thing about him that used to push all the right buttons on her, but now she just feels insulted at the presumption that she needs or wants his pity.

“Aang is actually a very dear friend,” she says, trying to sound as impenetrably chipper as possible. “Like a little brother.”

Jet is not deterred, leaning closer to her, his hand just brushing her elbow. “I feel bad about how things ended between us,” he says softly. “I should’ve done better by you.” Katara is momentarily stunned. Is she actually getting a sincere apology? “Which is why I think we should go to the wedding together. I just want to be there for you.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water down her spine, dousing both the fire of her anger and the tiny kindling warmth in her stomach. Katara pulls her shoulders back, straightening her spine, and snaps, “I already have someone to be there for me.”

Jet blinks and rears back a little. “Alright. I’ll, uh. Be looking forward to meeting them then.”

As he slinks away, she feels a moment of deep satisfaction. Only to nearly aspirate her sip of wine as she realizes she has officially painted herself into a corner. Zuko is coming to this wedding.

Thank you! If anyone wants to send me a line or prompt (from this list or your brain) I'll keep it going!

[bae-science]

it’s t-t-t-t-time for another newt bae-science fic rec extravabonanza! same rules, same boys, same bullshit! let’s get into it:

a beginning; a second chance by @dykesword

other newt and i have a long and intricate ritualistic battle to become the alpha newt, but i gotta give credit where it’s due. if you like to annotate your books for fun, this fic will give you a looooong comment you’ll want to write, and for good reason! there’s a lot of really well done metaphor and character detail in here, while still keeping a very soft, melancholy but with a hopeful edge tone. and also, like, the care and detail in which newt’s mental state in the aftermath of the precursors’ abuse is depicted is so so good, and delightful to read

husbandly duties by @kingeiszler

i am soooo biased with this one bc technically it was made for me but GODDAMN it’s good. this shit has everything: gottlieb trio sibling dynamics, vanessa in giant femme earrings, hermann yearning, newt and karla infodumping together, newt’s terrible and accurate gaydar, gay crime, the newmann dynamic and why it works boiled down to its bare essentials, pride and prejudice glasses touch, and neon green acrylics. required reading for the vanessaverse

Say That Again by @robertfrobisherslover

WOOF. if you like mutual pining and lack of communication from men with rocks for their emotional processing centers, and guncle (gay uncle) newt and hermann and KILLER artsy sex scenes, and themes of words unsaid in a story about LANGUAGE..... oogoogogoogouhufug. the writing style is clear and well paced, i LOVE little mako’s scene she’s such a cutie, and there’s like. a line. that’s a play on the whole “it’s always been you” trope. that lives in my mind rent free forever.

speak right to my heart without saying a word by @thekaidonovskys

i’m just gonna paste the comment i left on it here, because that sums up what is so absolutely incredible about this fic the best:

so sometimes you stumble on a piece of fiction that you add to your little collection of stuff you would show a person if you wanted them to understand a part of you that you can't quite explain eloquently, or it would take too long, etc etc, and i've never really found something like that for my autism until now, which, like, poggers. and i'll be as straight up as i can while still being the biggest lesbian in the great state of ohio (not a hard feat but alan invented computers so i love continuing on the autistic tradition of being a living miracle), the chameleon effect hit me like a mack truck. catholic school in the deep south is the most potent and effective form of ABA therapy imaginable :/. so sometimes i wonder what i would be like if i didn't have such a strong ability to pass, and here's where we finally get to the part of this comment where i just vomit compliments at you: you nailed it. you got it. i don't know if you're on the spectrum, but either way, well fucking done. trauma therapy research talks a lot about healing fantasies, which are fantasies, usually in the form of daydreams, that abused/neglected/traumatized/etc people create that directly address a struggle they have and take the form of a scenario in which that struggle is helped in some way. it could be an abusive parent repenting and showering them with the love they never had, or someone finding them during a panic attack and somehow knowing how best to comfort them without having to ask, or being intimate with someone and having a scar or physical deformity they've been shamed for be given attention and care. and i think you have created the ultimate perfect healing fantasy for autistic people, or at least those with """"high functioning"""" autism. it has a character who is visibly and undeniably on the spectrum having the pain and trauma going through life like that causes being acknowledged and validated, they are purposefully paid attention to because person b genuinely likes them and wants to understand and respect who they are and how they function in the world, and thus get The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known as well as the eventual rewards of being loved, person b makes a genuine effort to help teach them social skills in a way they can understand and learn through and is there for them when these skills are being practiced, their space and boundaries are respected but they aren't infantilized or thought of as an emotionless robot, and they receive love and comfort on their own terms not despite of but because of who they are, even specifically being asked not to change the way they are because that way is lovable. they are openly desired. writing is my fucking JOB and it's still difficult to put into words how much you got 100000% right about the dream with this fic. i have been in the EXACT and i mean EXACT same situation as hermann when he asked newt if it was his personality itself that made people not like him, because i deadass made a spreadsheet of all my personality attributes i thought could be preventing me from making friends in college, and then asked my fellow nd friend to see if there was anything i was missing. so i guess what i'm trying to say is that this amazing, and i'm bookmarking it and putting it on my next fic rec post, and maybe one day way way in the future if i ever get a partner i want to explain the whole autism thing to, i'm gonna have them read this.

The Facts With Newton Geiszler, PhD by what_alchemy (NSFW)

storytime: i read this fic a few years ago, completely forgot the title and author, and ended up thinking about the part where hermann admits to having fucked a trailer hitch when he was a teenager, at least once a week. last november, i say to my friend samara on twitter, head of the BSHCU (buttslut hermann cinematic universe), hey this seems like something you’d have read, do you remember a fic where... and samara says FUCK i do know what you’re talking about lemme find it. so if the fact that i have been looking for this fic for like, two years, and that it contains a moment so iconic all i had to say is, “hermann says he fucked a trailer hitch” and she IMMEDIATELY knew what i was talking about, does not convince you to read this... go back to catholic school i guess.

Feeling Blue by TempusPetrichor

fics where newt goes back to work as a biologist, especially a xenobiologist, post pru are really interesting, and usually have something neat to say about recovery, how it isn’t linear, how it often involves us returning to things we love for comfort, etc. this one sure does! some good emotional and physical h/c, LOVE the use of the ghost drift, and it’s always fun to see post pru fics use dialogue very obviously taken from dbt, trauma-specific therapeutical texts, and anything that shows the author has experience with, or did their research on, ptsd therapies.

You’re Everyone That Ever Cared by KlavierWrites

you know a fic is good when it’s an only 9k slowburn and still manages to reach infinite regress levels of are you fucking KIDDING GO TO THERAPY. newt “acts of service” geiszler may have a little misplaced misogyny due to his broken woman-centric gaydar. as a treat. the fucking. post-drift scene where hermann subtextually screams “LOOK IN OUR BRAINS YOU FUCK I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU I JUST HAVE AUTISM AND CAREER IN STEM DISORDER” is soooooo. god just hermann in general in that scene is great. if you like classic mid 2010s era newmann, ghost drift romance, and good ole mutual pining, this is a treat.

Baby, You're Hotter than my Bunsen Burner by SkySongMA

moronosexual hermann representation is something that can actually be so personal

Times of Stress by RadioMoth

the boys are processinggggggg. man what a good, quick and powerful punch to the gut. if you like post-pr1 catharsis and physical h/c, AND are the one friend that likes to comment at the end of the movie that hey newt got beat the fuck UP, check this one out.

black tea by @faggotcas

okay first of all, god fucking tier url, lee. second of all, food as a love language is my SHIT. i love the very slow relationship development here, where you see them making a genuine effort to get along and that in turn leading to feelings reigniting. it’s such a sweet little moment of a fic, with a nice atmosphere and tone to fit it

now here’s the part where i usually drop my latest fic, but i haven’t written one this month because i’ve been busy launching an audio drama! you can find it here, it’ll be right up your alley if you like cryptids and gay scientists and enemies to lovers and good ole americana, but since this is a newmann post, i’m gonna recommend the pacific rim audio drama duology i did a while back! part one is called conversations from the brink, and it’s a little slice of the pr3 we better fucking get from streaming that godawful looking anime. love and lesbians to everyone ❤️

[filthy-rat]

Mary Had a Little Lamb

AO3 Link

You were never really one for parties, so you aren’t exactly sure how you managed to let your friend, Angel, drag you out one crisp autumn night.

From what they had said, this party was going to be mostly drinking and smoking weed and playing video games—all things you enjoyed, right? So maybe you would have a good time. You think about the inherent awkwardness of talking to people and the mortifying ordeal of being known, and your stomach clenches in fear. Ugh, maybe not. You make a mental note to do a better job of hiding your melancholy from them the next time they start giving you the Concerned Face.

As you approach the run down apartment building in the heart of the city, apprehension gnaws at your gut. For the third time in your five minute walk, you come to a halt, frowning at your companion.

“I don’t know, dude, I-I really shouldn’t—”

“Ugh, c’mon!” Impatiently, they stomp back to you, latch onto the sleeve of your jacket, and tug you along. “It’ll be fun! I’m sick of you moping around the house!”

“...I wasn’t moping,” you mumble, stuffing your hands into your pockets and shrugging off their hand from your sleeve. “And besides, do you even know anyone at this party?”

“Like, one or two people. But it’s a party, you’re not really supposed to know everyone.” They link arms with you, continuing to pull you down the street. “Listen, if we get any scummy vibes, we’ll bounce, okay?”

“Fine.” Huffing out an irritated sigh, you allow yourself to be pulled.

“There’s supposed to be some really hot guys here, too.” Angel flashes you an excited grin.

“Yeah, ‘cause hot guys have a history of being into me.”

“Oh, my god, stop that or I’m gonna kick your ass.” They nudge your elbow with theirs and give you another look. The dreaded Concerned Face. You hate it when they do that.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get up there before they drink all the good beer.”

“Hell yea.”

Arm in arm, the two of you make your way to the building, and Angel leans in to press the buzzer. A disgruntled, raspy voice on the other end asks shockingly few questions of the two of you before opening the door. There’s no elevator. You groan as you realize you’ll have to hoof it up five flights of stairs.

You can hear the music pounding from about a floor and a half below, and it only gets louder the closer you get to your destination. When you finally reach the correct floor, you’re gasping and clutching at a stitch in your side and regretting your life choices. Why the fuck isn’t there an elevator?

“C’mon, it’s this door,” Angel says, after catching their breath, and they approach a door at the end of the hallway.

The worn wood is absolutely slathered in band stickers and old Halloween decorations and painted-on pentagrams. Though the plaque on the door reads “66”, someone has taken a red marker and added an additional 6 to the end. You give Angel a dubious side eye.

“Listen, these guys are… a little rough. Just give them a chance, though. Most punks and goths are good people.” They give a nervous laugh, grimace, and knock on the door.

After a moment, it opens to reveal a thin youth with multicolored dreadlocks tied in twin tails and a bridge piercing. Arching a perfect brow, she saddles the two of you with an unimpressed eye, and steps back to see if any other partygoers will claim you.

“Who the fuck are these herbs?” asks one of them, putting an emphasis on the letter ‘h’ that makes everyone laugh.

You shoot Angel a glare. Punks and goths are good people, huh? They have the decency to look a little chagrined, and rub anxiously at the back of their neck.

“Angel!” shouts a voice, and you vaguely recognize one of Angel’s friends—you’ve never formally met the guy—as he approaches and pulls them into a one armed hug. “Hey, you finally made it! I was wondering when you were gonna get your slow-ass up here.” With the music so loud, they have to lean close and yet still practically shout to be heard.

“You could’ve fucking warned me there was no elevator,” Angel says, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Show me where the drinks are before I change my mind!”

Without another word, the two of them disappear arm in arm deeper into the shabby apartment, leaving you standing in the door awkwardly. The girl at the door eyes you up and down, her expression blatantly judgemental, but merely gestures inside with a grand sweep of her arm. With a polite but nervous smile, you step over the threshold and immediately glue yourself to the wall just inside the door. There are people milling about everywhere, drinking, laughing, making out.

You’ve never felt more out of place in your entire life. A part of you wants to leave—but you can’t do that to Angel. So you’re stuck there, leaning against the wall and pretending like you don’t exist.

The music pounding through the stereo lulls momentarily as another song is chosen.

“Hey there, sweet thing.” A voice, much too close to your ear, makes you jump and you whirl on the spot. “Tell me you ain’t wearing a fuckin’ Stryper t-shirt.”

Leaning his shoulder against the very same wall, the epitome of rough, roguish charm, is a pale, gaunt-looking young man. His dark hair is pulled down in front of his face in a messy devil lock, and there’s long, red lines of blood—hopefully fake—dribbling down from the crown of his head to his chin and onto the front of his sleeveless Candlemass shirt. A wrinkled, hand-rolled cigarette is tucked behind one ear, and the vest he wears rattles with many pins when he moves. You don’t think you’ve ever seen tighter jeans in your life. It’s like they were fucking painted on. Are those fishnet tights you spy through the shredded knees?

Who is this guy?

As you take in his appearance, eyes wide, he reaches out and gently cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to his face. He gives you a knowing smirk, eyes hooded, and your whole face feels very warm.

The music starts up again, but quieter this time—a slow power ballad. You’re distantly aware of people pairing up in the background, but your eyes are focused on his.

“You lost, little lamb?” he says, his voice low, almost a purr.

“N-No, I came here with my friend.”

With an arch of his thick brows, the bloodied stranger casts an exaggerated look around you, then resettles against the wall with a shrug. “Don’t see you with anyone.”

“...Yeah, they kinda abandoned me.” A brief, rueful smile tugs your lips.

“That’s okay. I’ll be your friend,” he says, flashing a wicked grin that quickly makes him seem less a friend and more a wolf.

Is that why he called you ‘lamb’?

“...I don’t even know your name.” But, fuck, do you want to. You can’t remember the last time someone this hot even gave you the time of day.

“I don’t know yours either,” he points out, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips. “Names are so fuckin’ superfluous, kitten, but you can call me Mary.”

“Mary?” Your brow furrows. “That’s a strange—”

As he fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings the flame to the end of the cigarette, he gestures with his free hand to his bloody face. He takes a drag and exhales a plume of smoke, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a joke.” A beat. He heaves a sigh, and shoots you a scowl. “Why do I even fuckin’—Bloody Mary, get it?”

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” You’re not quite sure you do get it, really, but he seems to be satisfied with this answer. You change the subject. “So, do you live here?”

“Sometimes, if I feel like it.” He plucks the cigarette from his lips and offers it to you, held delicately between two long fingers. The black polish on his nails is chipped, you notice.

“I don’t smoke.”

Mary smirks. “It ain’t tobacco, lamb.”

“Oh.” Frowning, you look down at the smoldering cigarette and a little bubble of panic rises in your chest. “I-I’ve never uh. Done it. This way before.”

Mary arches a brow.

“Me and my friend, w-we usually put it in brownies.” You feel silly just saying it, and avert your gaze with a grimace.

“Oh, well… you wanna shotgun it?”

You look back up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What is that?”

“C’mere.”

He leans in closer, until his lips are nearly touching yours. For one heart-stopping second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but no—he stops just shy of contact. The tip of his nose brushes featherlight against yours, though, and goosebumps erupt across your skin. His eyes are hooded, and there’s something so sensual and alluring in those dark depths that it makes your stomach do a little somersault.

“I exhale, you inhale, yeah?” His lip quirks into a crooked smile.

You give a slow nod, afraid that if you moved too suddenly he’d bolt like a wild animal. He lifts the joint to his lips, takes a long hit, and holds it for just a moment. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips. When he exhales a cloud of smoke, you inhale too quickly, and the unfamiliar burn of it makes your lungs spasm and you jerk backward with a cough.

Mary gives a rueful laugh and reaches past you to an open ice chest on the kitchen counter. With his free hand, he fishes out a can of beer and cracks it open. It foams and he holds it out at arms’ length with a quiet, disgruntled ah, fuck as suds splatter onto the carpet.

When it finishes spewing, he pushes the damp can into your hands, and you gratefully gulp it down to soothe your burning throat.

“Wanna go again?” he asks, once you’ve recovered enough to speak.

You eye him with apprehension. Do you want to go again? You’re pretty sure another close encounter with Mary might kill you. On the other hand, you’re craving more of that closeness.

“Okay.”

“Cool. This time,” Mary says, and he sidles a step closer, centimeters away from his body making contact with yours. “Don’t suck it into your lungs right away. Into your mouth first, like a milkshake.”

Or like something else? Your cheeks flush as this filthy thought enters your head. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice as he leans in. This time, you’re ready, and though your throat burns again, you manage to cut your coughing time by half. The cold beer helps. Mary reaches around you and extinguishes the roach in a nearby ashtray, then settles back against the wall, his shoulder touching yours. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence as the weed works its magic. It isn’t long before you feel yourself loosening up a little.

“So… is Mary your real name?” you ask, casting him an expectant glance.

Before he can answer, however, both your attentions are diverted. In the living room before you, where most of the party seems to be congregated, a girl is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing idly with an empty bottle of wine. She leans forward and gives the bottle a spin as she talks, and when it finally comes a stop, the mouth of it points to a taller girl leaning on the wall across from her.

“Ha, now you guys have to make out,” giggles another partygoer.

An nervous titter rises up from the other partiers.

Wordlessly, the girl on the floor gets to her feet, approaches the girl on the wall, and draws her lips downwards in a kiss. Several wolf whistles and appreciative hoots rise up from the crowd, and eventually the two part, looking flushed but grinning. The tall girl leaning against the wall grabs the other girl’s hand, and fishes out a marker to scribble a phone number across her palm.

Mary tilts his head back against the wall he’s leaning on and gives you a curious look out of the corner of his eye. You pretend like you don’t see his gaze linger on your body.

“Someone else spin!” demands a partygoer, and another person grabs the wine bottle.

“What is this, a party of stupid horny teenagers?” snorts someone else, and everyone drowns them out with a chorus of boos. Someone throws a pillow at them and everyone laughs.

“You wanna play?” asks Mary, his lip curving into a wolfish smirk. “Get someone’s tongue down your throat?”

“W-What?” Eyes widening, you tear your gaze away from the display before you to look him in the face. “No…” Not unless it’s yours. Even though you don’t say that last part, you can’t help but glance down at his lips as you think it.

“No?” He turns towards you, leaning now on one shoulder instead of two, and lets the side of his head rest lazily on the wall. That smirk only grows more wicked. “Oh, so you want your tongue in—”

A collective squeal rises up from the partiers congregated in the living room as the game of spin the bottle has now become a game of truth or dare, it seems. Instead of making out with a stranger, someone’s been dared to flash everyone. With a gasp of shock, you look away as a dude gets to his feet and starts fumbling with the fly of his pants.

Mary doesn’t look away.

“Do you want to play?” you ask him, looking up at his face.

“Always, kitten.” Tearing his gaze from the flasher, he looks down at you with those gorgeous dark eyes of his, and he gives you a wink.

“Fine.” The weed and beer have made you more confident—perhaps stupidly so. “Let’s play.”

Mary’s face splits into a crooked grin—a wicked flashing of teeth that does very little to soothe your nerves—and his hand grabs yours. You barely have time to grab another beer before he’s yanking you towards the circle of partygoers that’s begun to crowd around the spinning bottle.

You think maybe Mary’s going to sit beside you, but instead, he elbows his way into the circle across from you, and sits cross-legged on the floor. The game continues without interruption, and everyone decides if they’d rather kiss the person the bottle lands on, tell a truth, or do a dare.

Most people pick dare.

In the five minutes it takes for your turn to arrive, you’ve seen a lot of tits and ass from strangers. More than you’d ever care to see, really. You get the impression that these people aren’t exactly creative when it comes to thinking up dares. Or they’re just really horny. Most of the dares involve getting naked or showing off body parts.

Finally, it’s your turn.

You swallow hard, pointedly avoiding Mary’s gaze, and give the bottle a twist. It spins and spins and spins in a seemingly endless loop.

You chance a glimpse at Mary. Those dark eyes of his are hooded and staring at you with such an intensity, as if he’s reading every filthy thought you’ve ever had in your entire life and he’s imagining ways to sweetly torment you with them. Your stomach does a little somersault. Somehow, you just know where the bottle’s going to land. Mary’s lip twists into a subtle, wicked smirk, and the bottle comes to a stop.

It’s pointed to the girl just to Mary’s left.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Mary arches an eyebrow at you, an unasked question lurking in the inky depths of his eyes. But now the girl is asking the question and your attention is diverted away from him.

“Truth or dare?”

“...Dare, I guess.” You make direct eye contact with Mary as you say it. You think he looks a little impressed, but it’s hard to tell.

The girl chews her bottom lip in thought. “Dare you to…” She gives you an impish grin. “Let us look through the pics on your phone for one minute.”

A collective “ooooh” rises up from the congregation and several pair of eager eyes fall on you. A hot blush crawls up your cheeks, and as you fish your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to her, you silently pray you deleted those nudes you took a couple of weeks ago just for fun.

As your darer scrolls through your picture gallery, Mary leans to look over her shoulder, occasionally flicking his eyes up at you and smirking. The minute seems to drag on forever, and you busy yourself with taking sips of your beer, but you can’t help anxiously watching as they go through all your photos.

“Oh my God,” giggles your darer, and she turns your phone around to show you. “Cute selfie but is that a fucking dildo??”

A cackle rises up from the crowd of people as you look at the picture. You’d taken it a couple of days ago but never posted it to your social media for this exact reason. Sitting on the dresser in the background is a large, silky purple dildo. Face hot and red now, you snatch away the phone, grumbling under your breath as you stuff it back into your pocket.

“It’s my roommate’s,” you mumble, but no one hears you.

Mary gives a snorting giggle.

The person to your left gives the bottle a spin and the game continues. Several shotgunned beers, flashed body parts, eaten teaspoons of mustard, and one extremely loud streak later, it’s Mary’s turn.

The bottle lands on you. Mary cocks his head to one side, his eyes patient but there’s an unspoken challenge there that makes your pulse leap with anticipation.

“Dare.” He says it without even waiting to be asked.

“Okay…” You think for a moment, then flash him a grin of your own. “Dare you to sing us a verse from your favorite song.”

This seems to have finally flapped the unflappable Mary. His intense, challenging gaze falters a bit, replaced with utter bewilderment. He blinks, and a subtle blush rises to his cheeks, barely visible beneath the lines of dried blood. A thrill of pride surges through at the thought that you managed to surprise him.

“And no cheating, Goore,” says the girl beside him, elbowing his ribs gently. She flashes him a smug smirk. “They said sing, not growl.”

Mary casts her an irritated glower, before flicking his eyes back to you. For a moment, he contemplates, and his gaze holds yours the whole time. Someone turns down the music so that he can be heard better. With a clear of his throat, he closes his eyes, and begins singing.

I'm crucified Crucified like my savior Saintlike behavior A lifetime I prayed

I'm crucified For the holy dimension Godlike ascension Heavens away

A stunned silence follows this brief display. Everyone is staring at Mary with disbelief in their eyes, including you. Never would you have suspected that such an angelic voice could’ve come out of such a rough-looking guy. Several people clap, but Mary has eyes for only you. The intensity to his gaze fills you with both anxiety and elation. You’re unsure if there’s a punishment or a reward coming for you the next time your turn comes up.

You’re unsure which idea thrills you more.

The game continues, and a few uncreative rounds later, your spin finally selects Mary as your darer again.

He flashes you a mischievous grin, and your pulse spikes with adrenaline. By this point, you’ve had a couple more beers, and you’re really beginning to feel the effect. You’re a little braver, but only a little. A tiny, cowardly part of you wants to chicken out and pick truth, but Mary doesn’t even give you a choice.

“Dare you to make out with the hottest guy here.”

Fuck.

Judging from the smug grin and the intense smolder to his eyes, he knows he’s got you now. He cocks his head to one side, and his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, as if preparing himself for the inevitable.

Well, if he’s going to be so insufferable about it.

Holding his gaze, you turn to the guy immediately to your left, lean in, and capture his lips in a searing kiss. He grunts in surprise, but at least he reciprocates. Several hoots and whistles rise up from the crowd as the kiss continues on for a minute or two. You briefly toy with the notion of sliding into the stranger’s lap, but decide this will suffice for now. After a moment, your eyes open and you meet Mary’s gaze.

That insufferably smug look on his face has utterly evaporated. He stares at you, his expression hovering somewhere between heartbroken and incredulous. Then that, too, dissolves, and he looks away with a scowl.

“I need some air,” he mutters, and he gets to his feet.

Avoiding your gaze, he picks his way through the circle, and strides off. Guilt sinks its hot teeth into your stomach and you break away from your unsuspecting kissing victim.

“Mary, wait.”

With clumsy, drunken movements, you scramble to your feet, tripping only a little, and hurry after him. You find him out on the tiny balcony of the apartment, leaning on the railing and smoking a cigarette. Trying your best to be stealthy, you slip out onto the balcony. He doesn’t look up as you shyly approach the railing beside him.

“...I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mary exhales a lungful of smoke, and casts you an unreadable glance out of the corner of his eye.

“For that, back there.” You frown. “I don’t know why I—“

“Forget about it.” He gives a shrug, turning his gaze back out to the glittering city stretching out before you, and takes another drag of his cigarette. “Got no fuckin’ reason to be mad, do I?”

Your heart sinks a little. He has a point, but you hate it anyway. Slowly, you shuffle a half step closer, until your arm lightly brushes against his, and look up at him. In your half-drunk state, you can’t find yourself to be ashamed of your ogling. He really is beautiful, even with lines of red dribbling down his face. The neon lights of the city below throw odd shadows across his features, highlighting the curve of his cheekbones, the crooked angularity to his nose, the definition of his brow. His lips look so soft and inviting. You find yourself studying them while biting your own.

“...It’s you, yanno,” you mumble quietly, rotating to lean your elbows on the railing. “I was just… I dunno, being stupid, I guess.” You look away from him, frowning at nothing in particular. “You know it’s you, that’s why you asked.”

“What’s me?” he asks, as he flicks the spent cigarette over the railing. With hooded eyes, he finally turns his head to look at you, and you just can’t resist anymore.

Wordlessly, you reach for his face and pull his lips down to meet yours. Obediently, he lets himself be pulled. He hums out a chuckle against your mouth, low and quiet. There’s some minor adjusting as he sidles closer, one hand sliding up to the back of your neck while the other yanks your hips against his, and his lips part in silent invitation. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and there’s some kind of unnameable metallic tang on his tongue, but holy fuck do you need more.

A soft, desperate moan escapes you, immediately swallowed by his kiss, and he adjusts more, sliding one of his thighs between your legs. You grind yourself against him with a whine. His hands fall to your hips, squeezing you and guiding you just right on his thigh. For a moment or two, he seems content with this—your lips on his, his tongue in your mouth, your crotch grinding against his thigh. With a groan through clenched teeth, he breaks the kiss and brings his lips to your ear.

“Better tell me what it is you’re after, little lamb,” whispers Mary, as your hands fumble with the overly-large belt buckle at his waist. “Or else I ain’t gonna fuckin’ know.”

“Want you,” you mumble incoherently, whining as he gives the thigh you’re riding a bounce. “Fuck me, please. Please.”

“Mm…” He makes a show of considering your proposal, cocking his head to one side. He leans in a little, and you think that he’s going to kiss you again, to get you going, and take it a step further. Then his face splits into a wicked grin.

“Nah.”

And he just pulls away.

You gasp in shock, your mouth hanging open in betrayal. As Mary Goore steps away from you, leaving you panting and needy and utterly unsatisfied, he gives a little cackle. So this is your punishment for disobeying his dare. God, what an asshole!

At the sliding glass door, Mary pauses, flashes you a shit-eating grin accompanied with a two-fingered salute in farewell, and disappears back inside.

What the fuck.