#i didn't measure shit lmao

[feehippielove]

Banana bread :3 (one plain and one with fresh cherries)

[deadsetobsessions]

Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

[boltwrites]

logan absolutely acting like a starved man eating your pussy PLEASE i’m taking whining groaning BEGGING for you jesus christ

A/N: hello yes. also love that out of the 6 requests i received, 2 of them are about logan giving oral. we have Expectations for this man.

anyway, i'm kind of out of practice when it comes to smut, apologies lmao

By clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

"Come on-"

You stumbled back, shins colliding with the foot of the bed as you fell flat on your ass, scrabbling against the sheets to prop yourself up on your elbows. You didn't want to miss a damn second of this. It was your fault, anyway - why Logan was acting like this, why he looked like a man starved - you'd been teasing him all night. Not even subtly, like you enjoyed at times. No, this had been filthy. Scandalized. It had left him open mouthed, practically panting. Sending you hungry, sinful looks from across the room. Shifting his weight from one hip to the other as he tried to look casual adjusting his jeans. And you just kept pushing.

Well, he'd pushed back. Pushed you right through the door of your room, until your ankles smashed into the box spring and your ass hit the bed.

You couldn't help but stare at the man. His pupils were blown wide with lust, chest heaving and hair rumbled at the front, little beads of sweat gathering at his brow. If you didn't know him better, you could have mistaken it for anger, for rage -

But you knew better. You knew that look for what it really was - pure, feral lust.

He stalked forward, with all the danger and power of a predator. The door slammed behind him - when had he grabbed it? - and he didn't even bother to lock it. Trivial things like that - he didn't have time for them. Not when his gaze was locked on you.

You pressed against the rumbled bedcovers with the flat of your palms. Even if logically you knew he just wanted to fuck you, you still responded instinctually to that primal urge inside you to put distance between yourself and danger. Your heels dug into the edge of the bed, to try and crawl further back - but Logan cocked his head to the side, eyebrow raised and gaze narrowing.

"Now... where do you think you're going?"

This was about the time of the night when all your bravado flew straight out the window. All the tools you'd used so far tonight - a tactical flutter of your lashes, the drag of your instep across the seam of his jeans under the table, a filthy, depraved scene whispered against the shell of his ear - they all shattered in an instant when he finally, finally got a chance to act on those fantasies. Because you knew it would be better.

You stilled - you likely looked every bit the deer in headlights as he closed the gap between you with two measured strides, calloused hands wrapped around your calves and tugging.

You gasped, ass dragging along the bed until you were flush with the edge, Logan looming over you like an oncoming storm.

His eyes locked with yours, fingers squeezing tighter as his jaw clenched, flexing the muscles there as his gaze flit from your lashes to your lips, then, to the anxious, excited bob of your throat.

"All night whispering filthy shit in my ear and now you're speechless. That's how it goes, isn't it?" he smirked, then. A devilish, wry thing that stirred something low in your stomach.

"I-" you started, and he shook his head, nudging your knees apart with his own.

"Oh no, you don't need to start now," he chuckled, low and conspiratorial. "You just need to do what I tell you to. Take your pants off."

Oh god. You shivered - you recognized that tone, the glint in his eye. You'd pushed him just far enough for this - for a side of him you only glimpsed on the rarest of occasions.

Usually, when you teased him, he'd rip his shirt off and toss you onto the bed, tug your hair and handle you with that sweet, rough touch. You craved from from him, when he'd been gone for too long or you'd been too caught up in your own work to care for either of your needs.

Rarely, you'd push some invisible button and he'd channel that energy into torturing you with the concept of pleasure - nudging you to the precipice of release and pulling you back over and over and over until there were tears running down your cheeks and it was all you could do to cry his name, beg for that release.

But this - this was more. You'd pressed further, led Logan through the thralls of insatiable carnal desire and set him down just beyond that. Here, the heat of his own desire had been dulled as you teased and taunted and smirked, denying him the attention he needed over and over until the craving for his own release had been pruned, supplanted with the bone-deep hunger for your pleasure, to leave you ruined, so drunk on his touch that you'd wonder why you would have ever chosen social norms over his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

Obviously, you played this game because you were a gambler. Rolling the dice hoping you'd come across the very same looking in his eye you were staring at in this exact moment.

Jackpot.

You nodded - hands shaking with anticipation as you unlatched the button of your jeans, unfurled the zipper after. You sat eye level with his belt buckle, the denim below it straining with how hard he was for you. Maybe if you just reached out and -

"Off," he hissed. He was in control here. You'd had that chance earlier tonight, and you'd squandered it on dirty talk with no destination, no point or purpose.

You obeyed his request instead - slid your hands under your clothes, wiggling your way out of everything that covered you -

And Logan fell to his knees - no grace, no poise as he gathered the fabric that had pooled around your ankles and threw it to the far side of the room, eyes dark and determined.

Oh, was he -

He clawed at your thighs, your ass - dragged you to the edge of the bed before he splayed his hands flat against your thighs, strong fingers spreading open your legs as his focus narrowed down to the slick mess you'd become.

Oh, fuck.

He breathed, ragged - shoulders shaking as took a last, gasping breath before he dove into you.

You cried out - how could you not, as his nails dug against the flesh of your ass, damn near lifting your hips off the bed. You fell back, spine arching as his sideburns scraped the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, at the junction of your legs and core. But that was nothing compared to his tongue - the tongue he use to carve his way inside you, lapping at you like you were all that could sustain him. It massaged you from the inside out, laving along your walls like some insane perversion of a kiss.

You keened into his touch - tried to use what little leverage you had to roll your hips against his lips - only to be stopped by his fierce hold on your ass, your thighs. It was all you could do to dig your nails into the sheets, your other hand threading through his hair and scraping along his scalp, tangling in those tresses and tugging, as if you could bury him inside you like this.

And he did his damndest. He was ravenous - you couldn't tell through your own cries of pleasure, but you could have sworn you heard him growl. He kissed and suckled against you, pressing himself ever closer -

And you keened as his nose grazed against your clit, thighs shaking with need as his eyes - that had previous been closed in reverent, absolute focus - snapped open to find your own as he leaned against that hand in his hair, and ground his nose to your throbbing clit.

You damn near screamed, bucking against his lips, his vice-like grip on your hips, his damn nose - as he all but nuzzled you to completion, drinking in your release like a fine wine even as you twitched and gasped for air in his hold.

But he wasn't anywhere near done. The noise he made as he dragged his tongue out of your folds was absolutely obscene, and you damn near sobbed at how, even though you'd just come, you still ached for him.

And he knew it. He hummed - low, pleased, as he removed a hand from your shaking thigh to trail through the wet mess he'd left, teasing them just at the edge of your entrance so you could feel every ridge of his callouses. The texture of those fingers had a soft, desperate noise leaving your lips as he finally dipped them into you - so slow that you could sob from it.

And you did sob - more like you screamed when hot breath washed over your clit, followed by the flat drag of a tongue.

"Fuck! Logan-!" You cried, thighs clenching around his jaw, heels digging into his back. You didn't know if you wanted to pull him closer or kick him square in that adamantine skull. You squeezed around his fingers, tight and needy, but that attention on your oversensitive clit sent sparks of pleasure-pain up your spine, your core flexing as you tried to take it.

But that was the thing - he knew you could take it. Knew that with his fingers inside you, with his lips wrapped around your clit, that soon that little flicker of pain would fade to crashing, blinding pleasure. He knew you loved it when he ate you out like this - lapped against your clit, sucked it until you were spiraling over again. That the first round was just a test to see how easily he could get you off. He had you now. And he wasn't letting you go.

He hummed against you, tongue narrowing to a point as he curled it around your clit, peppering you with sloppy kisses as he worked you through the sparking fire of too much, too soon. His fingers helped to calm the sting - he massaged against your walls, rocking in and out until he found that spot inside you with a slightly altered resistance, and then he set to work.

His free hand vacated your hip. Instead, he splayed it low across your stomach as he curled those fingers inside you. You cried his name - needy and desperate as he somehow managed to make two fingers feel like so much more.

All that, even while those circles he was drawing with his tongue tightened, adjusting to the way your hand pressed over his on your stomach, how the fingers curled in his hair loosened just slightly, drifted lover to scratch along the scruff of his jaw as you relaxed under him, until the little jitters of that muscle in your thigh were few and far between.

Then he wrapped his lips around you and sucked.

You screamed - actually, truly screamed his name. Your hips jolted, your nails dug into his skin as his tongue ravished you, cheeks hollowed as he worked you over like a practiced musician at his preferred instrument. His fingers curled - oh god, when had he added a third - and your back arched, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

It wasn't frantic and ever present, like your first orgasm - that had been simple work after a night of teasing, of purposeful denial. That had been a foregone conclusion. But this - this was careful, calculated, expert - and the pleasure built like floodwater against a dam, as he worked you just so he knew when you did come, your vision would blur at the edges and you'd shake apart harder than anything else.

His fingers curled, his wrist snapped as he thrust them into you, as his palm flattened against your stomach, his tongue flicked over your clit, his lips so tight, so perfect -

You don't remember what you screamed. It might have been his name, it might have been a plea for mercy - or maybe it was just a scream.

No matter what it was, he worked you through it with his tongue, his fingers, his lips.

And when you blinked up at him, bleary, corner of your mouth wet with either spit or tears - you caught that look. That feral look.

He wasn't done with you. Not even close.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

What do you think about Equius and Eridan's ship? I think this is a pretty entertaining idea (I'm aware that they don't really tolerate each other, but maybe they could share their problems with each other and help each other?)

I won't tell people what they should and shouldn't ship, but it's unsupported by canon & I personally don't think they'd be a good fit for each other, because Equius is kind of a prude who's genuinely made uncomfortable by Eridan's incredibly strong emotional neediness, and Eridan needs attention from his friends and especially romantic partners, which Equius isn't really equipped to provide. But again, if you like it, don't let me stop you!

Uhhh warnings for talking about sexual stuff because unfortunately Equius is just kind of Like That and you can't really discuss him in good faith without getting into it.

Basically, Equius's deal is that he's kind of sheltered. His specific position in the hemocaste means he gets to avoid a lot of the awful shit the other highbloods have to deal with, while still being high enough that he gets to avoid lowblood problems entirely. He doesn't have to worry about being culled or even of having to cull others - at least, not until adulthood - to the point where he's in a position to object to Nepeta killing wild animals. The murder of other real, thinking, breathing people seems like a distant problem for future Equius - not a tangible reality quickly catching up to him.

CT: D --> You e%terminate beautiful, innocent creatures by the hundreds CT: D --> I can't condone such wretched behavior CT: D --> Beasts are meant to be 100ked upon with adoration AC: :33 < but AC: :33 < i eat them! AC: :33 < i dont kill anything i dont eat, that would be mean CT: D --> I guess that's basically acceptable in principle, but I still find it a bit unsavory

He knows that Alternia is dangerous, and that bad, horrible things happen to other people (I mean, he's neighbors with Vriska lmao), but he has the privilege of simply electing not to participate, and that's the solution he keeps presenting to Nepeta: don't talk to the lowbloods, because they'll harm you, don't talk to the highbloods, because they'll harm you, and don't play their dangerous games. I mean, it works for him!

CT: D --> The thought of you fraternizing with and abetting those stink-b100ded h001igans strikes me as scandal beyond measure CT: D --> I'm afraid you're too delicate to withstand that sort of corruption

EQUIUS: D --> Yes, which is among the reasons why I must make your prote%ion a high priority EQUIUS: D --> The highb100d has joined a stable of those who are becoming increasingly volatile and murderous as we remain stranded in this laboratory EQUIUS: D --> I command you to steer clear of them, do you understand

He has a kindly lusus who takes very good care of him, met his soulmate very early on, has a neighbor/friend he gets along with pretty well, and gets to spend basically all of his free time pursuing his hobbies and interests with no pressing duties or responsibilities to distract him. As far as is possible on Alternia, he's lived a charmed and peaceful life.

Now, although I'm going to make the caveat early that he's not actually that casteist, Equius is still the most casteist member on the team, short of post-corruption!Gamzee. The fact that he's sheltered is one of the primary reasons for this: he's never had a reason to question casteism, because casteism has always been pretty correct in his book, and he's never had the need nor impetus to question it any further than that. After all, lowbloods DO wind up getting themselves into horrible situations, and highbloods DO tend to be murderous, dangerous assholes. This is just The Way Things Are, right?

For more specific examples, the Team Charge debacle - which Equius had to know about because he's the one who patched Vriska up afterwards - ended with Tavros unable to walk and Aradia "broken" (most of the team didn't know she was dead until they entered the game; Terezi tells Vriska she thinks "whatever Vriska did to her" must've broken her brain somehow since she was never the same since). Meanwhile, the two highbloods really only got injured by each other. In Equius's eyes, this would've reinforced his views: lowbloods live dangerous lives wrought by their inherent degeneracy, and always suffer worse for it, while highbloods are unstable and violent, but ultimately faultless and unpunishable except by each other.

He also - again - is Vriska's neighbor, and Vriska's psionics work best on lowbloods, so that's the vast majority of who she brings in for her lusus to eat. The two most crass people on the team are also Karkat and Sollux - the latter of which is very much a lowblood, while the former regularly throws himself in with the "gutter bloods"; the fact that they swear and make sex jokes genuinely freaks Equius out, since he's a sheltered little noble boy who refuses to say cuss words.

EQUIUS: D --> For pete's goodfornothing di%ie whistling SA%ES, Nepeta

So with Equius, we see how unexamined and uninterrogated privilege and sheltering can lead to genuinely harmful beliefs. Equius's feelings come from a good place: he sees all these poor lowbloods dying and suffering, and all these high bloods doing horrific, scary shit, and he instinctively knows that something is wrong and the world they live in is dangerous - or else he wouldn't be trying to protect Nepeta from it. He knows that because she's lower than he is on the hemospectrum, she's much more at risk than he is of something terrible happening to her, so as much as possible, he tries to keep her away from engaging with the rest of society.

CT: D --> Well, green b100d is ok, but it's not great CT: D --> But that's why you're lucky to have me to 100k out for you CT: D --> Because you don't know better, and you can't fight the role the mother had in store for you

But because he's had no reason to challenge or question the casteist beliefs he was taught, the horrific stuff he witnesses actually reinforces them. In an attempt to make sense out of the terrible world he lives in, he falls back on the easy answers, the ones he's been repeatedly told since he was a child: lowbloods suffer because they are inherently "worse" than highbloods, and highbloods are inherently "better," so they're allowed to indulge all their most violent and horrific impulses and it's not actually a problem. He's comfortable with his reality; why isn't everybody else?

So um, that brings us to the sex stuff. Basically, because Equius is so sheltered, he doesn't realize that he has a massive BDSM kink, and kind of a voyeurism kink, and that a lot of the gratification and pleasure he feels from indulging in them are... um......... "that kind" of gratification and pleasure. To be honest, I think if someone genuinely levelled with him and pointed it out, he'd have a mental breakdown over it. Because, like, at his core, Equius is a polite, kind, helpful guy. There's a reason he listens to Karkat same as the rest of the team, why he helps with Tavros's robot legs, why Nepeta even likes him so much. A lot of his worst aspects just stem from the fact that he's conflating his desire to be stepped on with the hemocaste being an inescapable, correct reality.

He's basically this post lol:

So about specifically him and Eridan, like. We actually have Equius's outright stated opinion on Eridan.

CG: YOU ARE SUCH AN IDIOT, I DON'T GET IT CG: YOU KISS THE GROUND THIS LUNATIC WALKS ON BECAUSE HE HAS PURPLE BLOOD CG: BUT THAT DOESN'T STOP YOU FROM RIPPING ON ERIDAN, I KNOW FOR A FACT YOU DON'T LIKE HIM CG: AND HIS BLOOD IS EVEN PURPLIER, ISN'T IT? CT: D --> Yes CT: D --> That's different CT: D --> He is a sea dweller CT: D --> Our feud is codified in tradition CT: D --> Neigh, we are obligated to be at odds CT: D --> It's dignified ... CG: THE POINT IS, IF YOU SEE HIM, WOULD YOU MIND SNAPPING HIS STUPID WAND IN HALF OR SOMETHING? CG: AND THEN CHOKE HIM TO DEATH WITH HIS OWN SHITTY PRETENTIOUS SCARF. CT: D --> Do I really have to CG: GOD, WHAT IS THE PROBLEM NOW? CT: D --> I'd prefer not to interact with him CG: WHY CT: D --> It's primarily that his advances make me uncomfortable

See, Eridan... is not really Equius's type. And I can see why! Equius places a lot of importance on decorum and a100fness. Here's him basically telling Gamzee about why he's attracted to Gamzee and Aradia:

CT: D --> See, that's what I mean CT: D --> How is it possible for one of your distin%ion to be so ignorant CT: D --> And loathesome CT: D --> Whereas CT: D --> A member of the most abject, verminous b100dline of all CT: D --> Can conduct herself with such grace and possess nothing but admirable mannerisms CT: D --> I find these striking ju%tapositions perple%ing, and I confess strangely into%icating

He hates that Gamzee acts dumb and friendly, and wants him to be mean and commanding - and is probably lowkey picking up on the fact that Gamzee DOES have that within him, although he's hiding it. At the same time, he's weirdly attracted to how Aradia is aloof, intelligent, and strong-willed, despite being the lowest possible caste. Basically, Equius wants a pretty classically cultured dom to put him in his place - bonus points if caste-play is involved, whether it's a higher caste acting in accordance to their position on the spectrum, or a lower caste degrading him to a point below themselves.

So, initially, you'd think that Eridan would actually be his ideal for such a position, land dweller/sea dweller feud notwithstanding. After all, Eridan is all about acting like a traditional sea dweller, talking up his nobility and how much better he is than the lower castes, wanting the land dwellers dead/in their place, etc. etc.

But that's where we hit a snag. Eridan is pretending. He's pretending in the opposite direction of Gamzee, in fact. Where Gamzee is genuinely quite mean and nasty, but masking that in an attempt to get along better with his friends, Eridan is actually pretty - well, "nice" is the wrong word, but he's desperately presenting himself as meaner and more casteist than he actually is.

Equius wants to be effortlessly dominated, but Eridan puts in 110% at all times. Equius wants someone who upholds the caste system, and Eridan is actually totally indiscriminate when hitting on people because he actually doesn't give a shit about class differences. Equius wants someone who commands respect, but Eridan is kind of the team laughingstock. Also Eridan swears in proportion to his dialogue second only to Karkat.

Eridan's emotional desperation, disregard for the caste system, and cringefail antics are all massive turnoffs for Equius, and in a lot of ways, genuinely kind of scare him. I mean, again, Equius is a sheltered little noble boy who's made uncomfortable by cussing or killing animals for meat - and here's Eridan, one of the team's biggest murderers, genuinely obsessed with death and genocide, mouth of a sailor, willing to shoot his shot with anyone on the hemospectrum. Equius gets along better with Karkat, and Karkat's not even ON the hemospectrum.

It wouldn't even be pitch or ashen hatred to me, because Equius doesn't object to Eridan, morally or ethically - he just finds Eridan uncomfortable to be around, and prefers not to interact with him if he can help it. And that's really bad for Eridan, because Eridan's basically a huge emotional wreck and has a pretty fundamental need for emotional support and attention from his romantic partners - I've touched on it before, I think when I talked about him and Tavros, but Eridan has a genuine anxiety attack when Vriska accidentally ghosts him (because she's mercy killing her lusus), and I really don't think it would be good for him if he were to become emotionally attached to the guy whose whole Thing is standing in the background and watching without interacting.

As for discussing their problems... like, that's kind of the thing? They don't actually have overlapping problems. Eridan's issues primarily stem from the pressures his position on the hemocaste have placed on him, whereas Equius has actually actively benefited from and enjoyed his position in that class structure. Like, even if they tried to share notes on their respective character arcs about shirking the shitty things Alternia imposed on them, it'd be like,

EQUIUS: D--> Did you know that one's position in the hemospe%rum has little to no bearing on their moral integrity or worth as a person ERIDAN: are you a fuckin idiot eq

ERIDAN: guess all that obsessin ovver murder wwas a huge fuckin wwaste ERIDAN: and didnt do me no good nor anybody else for that matter EQUIUS: D--> Well EQUIUS: D--> Yeah

Even if we try to bring in things that aren't strictly related to being a high blood and what that means on Alternia - like if we run with the idea that Eridan's lusus contributed to Eridan's shitty childhood - well, unfortunately, Equius can't relate. Aurthour was incredibly kind to Equius growing up and he loved Aurthour dearly. So on and so forth.

And, uh... this is kind of weird to say, but despite how forward Eridan is about romance, he's actually... kind of reserved, sexually? He doesn't crack sex jokes and his fixation on romantic relationships is more about the act of being in a relationship than about what they do in that relationship. His date ideas are pretty straightforward and traditional, because he tends to prioritize "doing a good job" and "living up to the standard" over how he actually feels or his own personal interests.

What I'm saying is, Equius's horniness would probably make Eridan uncomfortable. Especially before Equius realizes that he's just got massive kinks that he should probably keep under control - which is basically the entire comic - Equius tends to prioritize what they do in a relationship over the act of actually being in a relationship. In fact, he'd probably be just as happy to get domm'd by Gamzee or Aradia even if they weren't actually dating. That's a kind of freedom and trueness to one's desires that Eridan can't manage; moreover, because Eridan tends to prioritize "doing a good job", he's pretty willing to go along with whatever his partner wants - which, in Equius's case, means Eridan doing more of the thing that's actively harmed them both. And I just don't think that that'd be good for Eridan.

So, yeah, overall, not a good fit for each other, but again, don't let me stop you!

The most interesting arrangement of Eridan and Equius, to me personally, is the fact that I think Eridan and Nepeta would actually be pretty good friends once they started talking (and Eridan got a moirail). Nepeta is the Anti-Casteism troll, the only one to outright state that she believes blood color shouldn't matter, and Eridan's whole deal is being less casteist than he pretends to be, to the point of genuinely being the least casteist highblood. And they both RP and hunt for stuff.

However, if there's any example of "dangerous highblood" on the team before Gamzee snaps, it's Eridan, and Equius has pretty deep concern for Nepeta's safety, which actually sometimes comes at Nepeta's detriment. It wouldn't escalate to pitch or ashen, but I really like the idea of the two of them having an antagonistic relationship because Equius does NOT want Nepeta interacting with this insane murderer, while Eridan is like, bro, let the kitty cat cave shipper girl decide for herself, and Nepeta is like, why must boys fight.

[wraithdance]

https://www.tumblr.com/wraithdance/765961917651140608/i-really-liked-your-explanation-of-the-whole?source=share

I am really bad at articulating my thoughts but I think about this a lot as someone who hopes to 1- major in neuroscience (i'm 18, going to uni next year) and 2- is trans. I know being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, very cognizant of that, but more to the point where I relate to the aspect of not being able to get over the like mental wall of seeing "neutral" readers as me? I don't know what my brain is doing when i read certain fics but sometimes i can't do it.

I feel like I should close read some of my favorite fic and least favorite fic to see if there are triggers I didn't notice on the first read. does that make sense or seem similar to what you experience? Again I know it's not the same thing, but like i am so curious as to what cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white.

I am sorry if this bothers you, really not my intentions, I am obviously a future brain nerd and i can't stop thinking about this

Congratulations fellow Nerd! You've activated my interest in Race theory and fandom writing from an academic perspective!

Writing reflects life and to answer this question properly, I have to talk about life shit to catch you up to speed, (this should help if you take a sociology or cultural anthropology class lmao) So, Welcome to:

Calvary yaps: Sociology & Intersectionality in fandom writing 101!

Disclaimer: I'm just a random bitch on the internet who loves English and the ridiculousness of social hierarchies, this will be referencing American social constructs and in groups only, with a focus on my experience as a Black American woman who reads a shit ton of books. Don't fight me if you hate my explanation, I will simply not respond.

Read my house rules before sending me an ask, I'm just being a dumb ass rn and word vomiting my interests, so pls i beg no follow up questions unless I say I'm open to em later.

Definitions to know:

Socialization: the act of preparing individuals to participate in society by learned social norms taught in ones family or social settings like school/friend groups. (one can be socialized in gender, race, cultural practices, etc.)

Social Hierarchies: systems of social organization in which some individuals enjoy a higher social status than others (in my opinion this is a lingering safety measure from lizard brain cavemen hunter/gatherer days)

Intersectionality: A term coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw; The process of acknowledging the unique parallels a marginalized person experiences when they have more than one marginalization (ie: race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, size, etc.)

Matriarchal society: Social groups/family structures that center female figures as representatives of authority.

Implicit Bias: Unintentional bias a person may have towards a group or individual based on learned stereotypes, prejudices, perceptions based on another's background or state of being.

first, yes anon you are making sense! So the main question:

'What cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white?'

I've been mulling this question around in my head for a few days and tried to figure out how to articulate this without going into depth in Sociological theory, but I can't! So here we are lmao, this is long as fuck so TLDR here.

I've talked to a LOT of Black and PoC people over the last months because I thought I was the only one who felt strange or could tell immediately when a writer was white, despite doing the best job they could to be neutral.

Every person I spoke to agreed they could tell right away even if we don't share similar racial backgrounds.

The answer I've come up with to why that is, is because white people are socialized (taught by society/their parents how to behave) in a way many black and PoC people are not, so their reader characters will often act in a way PoC people have learned not to, so it flags for many of us.

I plan to answer another question about this at a later date so an example is with shit like:

An over deference to hyper masculine male characters (for PoC cultures like certain Black/Latine groups that are often matriarchal in nature and don’t ascribe to as many traditional gender roles, this is a flag), lack of interpersonal/familial connection, over meekness, no challenging of external factors so things just HAPPEN to the reader and lack of awareness of surroundings to name a few. 

A lot of the language of the irl world places white cis people from Western countries as the default and everyone else as others. In which, PoC people have learned to navigate the world very carefully with a hyper-focus on what will potentially bring them harm/scrutiny/ostracism especially in white dominant spaces.

That extends to when we have down time while reading or partaking in media smfh.

I'm sure you've had to learn the same as a trans person navigating cis spaces and it's the same with any marginalization! If you are disabled you have an awareness of able bodied people and their expectations, same with being fat amongst skinny people, etc.

The more marginalizations you have, the louder the rules of social hierarchies become. Which is why many marginalized ppl stick close to those who 'get it' in their social groups as an act of safety in numbers. (Many of us attempt to have strong family connection/harmony because of this)

So referring to your comment about being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, it is when you are a Black or PoC trans person! My angel face @/buttdumplin has spoken a lot about that as a Mexican transman reading fics by cis people!

(Please for the love of God no one come to me explaining how marginalized they are so they shouldn't be lumped in with the white ppl PoC are cognizant of, I will check myself into a psych ward)

So what does that gotta do with reading fics?

No matter what anyone thinks, it is damn near impossible to not frame your writing from the perspective of your lived experiences. It's why even when I try my hardest to make my characters not sound Black, they will always read that way because I have been Black all of my life!

And it doesn't just happen with race, go on tiktok and search male authors writing women. (or here's another article lmao)

Also ask a Southerner how they know someone has never been to the South and don't know shit about our accents when they write Graves. There are linguistic tells that flag off and why we flame actors who pick up southern accents for their roles.

(They chew on that terrible goddamn Appalachian or Louisiana Accent not realizing Southern accents come in many fonts.)

So when I read a fic about Kyle Garrick from a non black person, I can tell the writer is non black by linguistic implications, the things they emphasize about him and what they don't. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading fics from non black people, I can just tell!

And sometimes that means I, and other PoC's associate the Reader as a white OC while reading fics.

For example, all black people are not monolithic because of our cultural and regional experiences, but many of us share common threads. That's usually family involvement, colloquialisms, that stupid fucking cookie tin our elders put sewing supplies in...

Other non Black PoC people might share similar cultural practices, so when I'm reading fics from say a latina, I will cock my head and go wait.... are you...? And surely enough, they are a person of color. 

But even while reading from a non black PoC, I have to tread carefully because anti black sentiment exists in many cultures, which is why you'll hear me say Black and PoC/Non black people interchangeably.

It’s how the conversation of Implicit bias comes up, because unknowingly non white characters can sometimes be written with a hyper focus that makes them seem inhumanly one characteristic or with little to no background while the other characters are fully fleshed out.

like the character of color is just a stand in to move the plot around white characters forward. 

So all that to say, without sometimes meaning to white writers will always sound off to me in a way that my brain can pick up on in the most minuscule ways because my awareness of my blackness/otherness has been drilled in from birth and reinforced by social norms.

I can even tell immediately if a white person has been around only white spaces their whole life with the jokes they tell lol.

In the grand scheme of things the race of the writer is most important to me when something jarring comes up that slaps me away from the experience, it explains so much of the disconnect.

Every marginalized person has a threshold for what they can ignore as a ‘trigger’ before they’re ejected from reader inserts, mine is usually the association with racial historical happenings, certain gender dynamics, etc.

It's why I mention crying like a little bitch when I read my friend Jess's (Kyletogaz) TF 141 Hair series, Dragon’s (Dragonnarative-writes) Transferrable Skills, and even Xavi's (Buttdumplin) Piercing fic.

Reading those fics felt like safety and familiarity. It was a moment where I realized I could drop the mental load I had no idea I was carrying, where I was trying to prepare myself for potential emotional damage and just READ.

It's also why as a Black person who fucks with kink and sex work it's been so touch and go when navigating dark fics/kink fics/fics about Sex workers.

Because there are different rules of engagement non white kinksters have to be aware of and that leads to a point on the collective vs. Individual experience as a PoC in kink, that I’ll eventually make a post about at some point or another. Maybe…

So yeah I’m tired of yapping. I hope this long shit was enough of an explanation!! Thanks to my friends Kiko, Jules, Xavi and Folded for yapping with me so I could articulate this better!!

[seriousbrat]

this says a lot about Snape's character development for me. There are many parallels drawn throughout the series between Harry and Snape; obviously, they're very different characters but there are similarities too.

I think here Snape is talking about himself. The teenaged Snape we see in the Pensieve is very much like this- emotional, heart on his sleeve, easily provoked, a definite wallower in sad memories... weak. Adult Snape, though he retains some of these characteristics that do emerge in stressful moments (in PoA we see how angrily he reacts to Sirius's escape, for instance) on the whole is a great deal more thoughtful, reserved, calculating, measured.

I think that Snape at some point had to force himself to become this. I think he actually relates to Harry here, and is giving him advice based on personal experience. In my fic he begins to learn to control his emotions partially out of a desire to protect Lily; he's fully aware that she's his weakness (or really, his strength, viewed a different way) and that openly displaying any sort of emotion towards her at all makes her vulnerable to the likes of Avery and Mulciber, who will have the perfect weapon to get to him if they want to.

Severus doesn't have the advantages of his peers, he's not pureblood, he wasn't born into money. If he wants to join the Death Eaters and rise in their ranks, he needs to be subtle, cunning, careful. he can't afford to be careless and entitled like mulciber or bellatrix or even sirius. what he's got to offer isn't his name or his money, it's his sheer talent and cleverness. moving on:

When Voldemort decides to go after Lily this becomes even more important. Imo the reason why Voldemort believes that Snape only "desired" Lily is because that's what Snape told him. He lied to Voldemort's face and told him something probably disgusting tbh because that's the only way Voldemort would accept it and agree, if it was a selfish, callous request that Voldemort could understand. We can see evidence of this here:

Asking Voldemort to spare a mudblood because he was in love with her would likely not have gone over well- and as we know, Voldemort actually bore his request in mind, though obv didn't give enough of a fuck about Snape to follow through. Because although asking voldemort to spare her must have taken serious balls, Snape's mistake here was trusting someone inherently selfish to do something selfless for him.

Clearly he immediately realises this and goes to Dumbledore, which is when controlling his emotions becomes of paramount importance, because now he's working against perhaps the most highly accomplished legilimens of all time.

It's also interesting to me that Snape in this conversation is probably the character who is most forthright and informative with Harry in the whole of OotP until Dumbledore at the end; Harry actually learns a lot in this conversation. And Snape also kind of gives him credit which is interesting too:

like for Snape that's high praise lmao. A shame because if he wasn't so bitter (i.e. didn't wear his heart on his sleeve so much around harry) then he might have actually been pretty helpful to Harry and a decent teacher. Again, during the Occlumency lessons his unrestrained emotion brought up by memories of James is a hindrance. He defies Dumbledore's orders to teach Harry Occlumency because of his emotional response to SWM, as well as honestly doing kind of a shit job before that (by not being empathetic and teaching Harry in a way that would've been actually productive.)

At this point Dumbledore believes that Harry learning Occlumency and controlling his emotions is of vital importance; he turns out to be wrong about this. In Harry's case, it turns out to be his emotional nature that saves him- unlike Snape, who is the opposite. Snape's journey is about learning that some things are more important than his selfish need to give into his own emotions.

By DH Snape's learned this lesson fully; his old hatred for James doesn't stop him from doing what has to be done, from giving Harry the tools he needs. Even in the final moments of his life, he can look past James and see Lily in Harry- and, by giving Harry the information that leads to his self-sacrifice, he can let her go.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please do newt (platonic/familial) with a younger sibling who makes/mends close and personality wise is similar to Luz from TOH? Thank you! :D

yesyesyesyesyesywsyes omg please keep the maze runner requests coming I'm very very fixated atm kdk how to function, PLEASE SPAM ME W TMR REQS RJNENE ; anyways thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; post writing robin here, I tried with the personality like Luz but I struggled for some reason so I'm so sorry about that LMAO

NEWT ; clothing maker/mender

summary ; you make and mend clothing around the Glade, and Newt is somehow always there to help

warnings ; language, Newt is still a runner so pre-injury era

genre ; platonic fluff

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

The day you came up in the box, you were frightened and felt like you didn't fit in with the other kids of the Glade. You were socially awkward and didn't know how to talk to people, although being a people pleaser.

Talking was just hard for you, but luckily, Newt understood. He tucked you under his wing and tried to help you fit in with the others, but to no avail. Nothing was sticking out to you, it wasn't like jobs were supposed to be enjoyable but you truly couldn't fit in anywhere. The fifteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair was there for you, though, reassuring you that actually becoming a Glader, even after remembering your name, took time.

Becoming a Runner was off the table at day one, you had zero stamina and could barely run for shit, let alone your life, you and Newt, and Alby, Minho, and the other Runners quickly agreed upon that. Being a Builder was quickly eliminated as well, because you didn't want to deal with obnoxious assholes like Gally, Hank, and Alec all day long. Plus, you knew nothing about "structural integrity" or whatever the hell they were talking about anyways, wood to hammer to nail was all you saw.

You quickly gained a friendship with Winston after a month or two in the Glade, but no way in Hell were you joining the Slicers either. You'd gain an emotional attachment to the animals much too quickly to then watch them die, the emotional despair would be a bit much at the moment. Bagger was also off the charts, leaving Med-Jack and Track-Hoe on the table for you.

Newt wasn't going to let you become a Slopper, considering you weren't bad at helping people nor farming, you just had to find your thing that you'd be comfortable doing. So, you settled on Track-Hoe as they needed more help in the gardens and you wouldn't mind getting your hands dirty, with dirt, that is. No blood.

You found, or maybe relearned, your nick for sewing one morning as you needed to repair your shirt, and ran straight to Newt with your new talent. After seeing it himself, Newt quickly bounced to Alby's side to ask if you could make mending and making clothes your job. You hadn't had any luck finding a job out of the many in the Glade, clearly, so this might've been your luck turning.

The next coming days were slow. Thankfully, Alby approved your idea of a new job, considering you and Newt wouldn't stop pestering him about it, and it'd be a great convenience to have you around for something as necessary as clothing. The builders graciously built you a little hut next to the Homestead to give you your own little place to go and work, instead of working around the Glade and potentially dirty-ing the clothes you fixed and made.

The hut consisted of a table, a loom, a hanging rack for finished projects, and a little chest system organized by all the threads, needles, etcetera. Alas, Newt was the one to help you with your new job on days when he wasn't running out in the maze. Minho switched him out with Ben or George on those days as per his request, as to help you learn how to talk to and understand the Gladers, whom you didn't understand too well yet.

But, by the time the next Greenie, Henry, arrived, you were right on track. You modeled and measured and patched and sewed your days away, finding peace in the seemingly boring activity. And by this time, Newt had become your brother figure and your best friend, considering how much he understood and supported you and helped you get some great opportunities around the Glade. And now, you were the Keeper of the Seamers, the only worker, but still the Keeper.

After a long day of running in the maze with Minho, Newt jogs to your expansion of the Homestead, desiring your help.

"Hey, Shank" He warmly smiles, closing the door made of sticks behind him. "How's your day been?"

You shrug in response. "Slow. Need me to fix anything for you?"

He awkwardly smiles and nods, looking down at his knees. His cargo pants are ripped, and the skin beneath painted a light red in comparison to his pale complexion, rug burns covering his kneecaps.

"Tripped and fell out in the maze" He explains, "Just don't want them falling apart because it kinda trailed 'round to the back" He says, tracing the little rips around his knees.

You nod. "I mean, the best solution would be keeping them like that or turning them into shorts for hot days. But I know the maze is cold and stuff, so, your call. I don't wanna ruin your running pants but I can always scrounge up new ones, and the next Greenie will be up in two days so it wouldn't be that long of a wait-"

"I'll just keep them ripped" He lightly smiles, cutting your rant off.

He knew damn well to not let you spiral over something so little, so he developed the radar to sniff out when you were about to rant about small things for an hour out of panic. He pats your shoulder before sitting down next to you, looking over at the rack of finished clothing you'd patched up and finished making.

"Oh, were you able to finish that shirt you were making for yourself?" He asks, running a hand through his hair.

Lord, he needed a haircut, although the best method of that was knives, which made it all choppy and blunt. Hopefully, WCKD would send up some cutting shears or something soon. All of your hair needed a cut desperately.

You nod, setting your needle and thread down to go grab it. You pull it off the rack and hold it to your chest. A simple, thin, off white, long sleeved shirt rests against your torso as you cheesily smile at him.

"Looks good"

"Thanks" You put the shirt back on the rack, deciding to put it back in the Homestead near your hammock later.

Newt was usually very supportive and went out of his way to show appreciation and reassurance for you, though making it casual to actually feel real for you. Once he found out that he needed to speak with you like that after reassuring that you'd live without rain, he learned the lesson.

Before you can speak again, Ben runs in, looking for your help.

"Y/n, I ripped up the sleeve of my shirt, can you fix it?" He asks, holding the grey-blue shirt up for you to see

"Yeah, sure, leave it on that table" You reply, pointing at the table in front of you.

"Thanks, you're the best!" He says, setting the shirt on the table before leaving.

Newt looks up at you and smiles, "You're getting used to talking to people, I see"

You nod, catching his infectious smile.

"Welcome to the Glade, Y/n/n"

[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[melonteee]

About Sanji being feral with men/older men, I remember reading once in a fanfic how an OC or SI (I can't remember which ^^; ) suggested that the reason why Sanji is nice to women and rude to men is because of his family. That at a young age he formed the mindset that women tended to be good people while men tend to be bad people because when he was young only women (his mom and to an extent his sister) were the only ones to treat him with kindness while the men in his life (his brothers and father) treated him like shit.

That kind of makes sense and I can no longer unsee it.

I'm so sorry this got so long because I have so much to say about Sanji and his perception of gender so read under the cut LMAO

Anon the SECOND his WCI story was revealed, that was the literal first thing I noticed. As always, Oda has an incredible show don't tell ability - and while it is implied (and maybe Oda didn't have the intention), there's certainly an idea that Sanji puts women on a pedestal due to how men abused him.

But considering Reiju helped Sanji, and how there were maids around Sanji who were also kind to him, along with his own mother, I'd say it's extremely intentional. Reiju also isn't exactly the nicest person either, like she's presented as a total grey area. It's not that Reiju was kind to Sanji just because she was a 'nurturing' big sister, but because she was the only one who didn't have her emotions literally programmed out of her. Reiju still gave Sanji a tough time, and still didn't help him unless it was behind Judge's back, but she still showed him more kindness than Sanji's father or brothers EVER did.

While there's an obvious misogyny in Sanji, and it IS undeniable, it certainly slides much further up on the misandry scale. When he was first brought into the world, the only people nice to him were women. His first memories and first acts of care and love came from women. He was allowed to cry around his mother, he was allowed to let his guard down around Reiju, and he was allowed to be his 'emotional' self with the women that surrounded him. It is undeniable Sanji has elevated women up to a being higher than men, and much higher than his OWN existence. This has all mixed and formed inside him due to his time with the Vinsmokes AND his time with Zeff.

After all, combine Sanji's first and only real acts of affection coming from JUST women, with Zeff's ideology that women are NOT to be harmed, of course you're going to create a boy who idolises women as this holy deity.

Not to go a bit off track, but it's why this idea that Sanji HATES himself, and why he has ZERO self worth, is ALSO something people tie to his gender. Does Sanji take pride in being a 'manly man', or does he think that's what he needs to be for women? Does Sanji compensate his hate for his own self by being this extremely overdone, heteronormative gentleman? By projecting his love onto beings he believes he can never be nor measure up to?

When of course, these 'beings' are just women. Just people, like himself.

The discussions surrounding Sanji and gender, combined with his abusive male environment and this clear confusion/hatred for men, is WHY there are many who have picked up this idea Sanji perhaps does not want to BE a man. It can be called a stretch, or wishful thinking, but it's something people within the queer community have seen nonetheless.

After all, we have SEEN Sanji's happiness upon being perceived as a woman - TWICE.

Sanji quite literally has a deadname he refuses to be referred to as.

And now, with his current mutation happening, he is becoming afraid of - and displaced IN - his own body.

Sanji is such a weird and complicated character to fathom, honestly. It could VERY well be these were all things Oda just accidentally tripped and banged head first into, but WCI as a whole had a pretty big focus on not JUST familial roles, but expectations and roles of GENDER as well.

Katakuri's need to be stern and emotionless as an older brother, Pudding's abuse due to the fact she wasn't 'pretty' enough, Big Mum's daughters being married off unless they proved they can serve some OTHER purpose, Sanji's brothers forcefully cold and emotionless, Reiju needing to bottle her own emotions with fear of being bullied, SANJI'S bullying due to being an emotional boy, Judge HIMSELF being made fun of for his crying.

Combined all with Reiju telling Sanji "You're a boy, don't cry!"

WCI was fucking RIDDLED with gender discussion and gender expectation that comes with blood family, but this idea is pushed to the side due to the themes of familial abuse being the most prominent. Yet a BASE of familial abuse IS expectations of gender roles that comes WITH a nuclear family.

As much as people don't want to see it or CAN'T see it, Sanji's character and arc includes areas of toxic gender norms JUST as much as it covers blood family abuse. It's just something that's taken to an extreme in this hyper fiction setting, and thus, it can become invisible beneath the surface. But I see it! And obviously, you see it too anon!

Sorry for the rant I am just VERY passionate about Sanji's complicated relationship with gender LMAO

[isa-ghost]

In honor of phil confirming that (most) rp phils are the same, maybe some headcanons about q!phil with some of the ex-dsmp members? Or veterans/smpearth?

For the sake of keeping tons of opportunity for more Phil/DSMP member headcanons in the future, I'll focus one duo! And it'd be a fucking crime if I didn't start with Emduo >:)

I WILL say here for anyone thinking of sending more Phil/DSMP requests: I will not be doing Dream Team or Wilbur & Phil. Even though the latter had a huge impact on cPhil.

These might be more general Emduo than DSMP Era specific but hey, that leaves room for more requests too. :D

Dear god these are reminding me I should rewatch Phil's DSMP vods, I'm so rusty on this shit. Apologies in advance if suddenly I get insane about cPhil in the future LMAO.

qPhil headcanons masterlist

First off, I personally don't ship them romantically. I'm not even sure about shipping them as a QPR, that's a maybe. But I do know they were ride or die brothers in arms. The unstoppable force to the other's immovable object. A duo that's down in history in every realm Phil's been in so far.

Even so, just bc he had no feelings of that kind for Techno specifically, spending so much time with him as just the two of them still contributed to him going "Hm. Yknow what, I think I could see myself having a male life partner maybe." So thanks Techno for still playing SOME part in Phil's journey into being fruity.

Techno was one of the first immortals Phil ever encountered, at least the first one he befriended and stayed around long term. It.. was a breath of fresh air to say the least. To know he had eternity with Techno if all things went well, to never have to fear being alone again, knowing there'd always be a when I see you again.

But Techno was immortal, not invulnerable. Same as Phil. Phil was shattered when he lost him. It's by far the worst instance of being reminded he's permanently fated to lose any and all attachments he makes.

Techno found endless entertainment in Phil basically playing Get Off My Lawn with every other member ever whenever they'd come bother the two in their tundra home. He'd purposely go without additional measures to keep people out and away just because he loved watching Phil deal with it or hearing him rant about how many times he had to while Techno was asleep or away.

Phil personally did NOT like some of the "allyships" Techno chose to make, but he was still ride or die with him, so he tolerated them and helped him. And he trusts Techno. He knows in the end, Techno saw some kind of benefit for them. Or the two of them mutually agreed that the destruction entailed in the task was worth it.

Though that changed throughout their time in DSMP. Repeatedly being used and weaponized or crawled to out of desperation rather than genuine desire. It made Phil HATE people for a while, especially mortals. It's why QSMP has him so fucked up present day. For an entire year he was wanted by people, for him. He encouraged Techno to go as ballistic as he did. Even if it was a means to someone else's ends, if they were brutal then at least it demonstrated that the two of them were NOT to be fucked with or taken for granted.

The fucking house arrest and "festival." GOD. That was the first time in a long time Emduo had endured some kind of trauma together. It kicked Phil while he was already down. The fact that none of them cared how he felt or thought in the wake of putting his son out of his misery, now they were giving him a front row seat to the execution of the only person close to him he had left in this realm. Techno felt like the only tangible thing he had left, and they had the audacity to force him to watch them attempt to rip that thing away as if he hadn't lost enough or didn't care that he did. The attempt made Phil EXTREMELY protective of Techno, even though Techno was extremely able to handle himself.

The Syndicate was Emduo's attempt at a found family of their own. What L'Manberg had going was solid minus the government part, it wasn't the community that was the problem. As two immortals who didn't have much besides each other, it was nice to take in a couple people who'd been wronged or forsaken just like them and give them a place to belong and hopefully find some peace. Besides, Phil LOVED being a mentor for them, showing them how to fight & such. Training them alongside Techno,, 🤩 That was his happy place, teaching others to be as strong as them.

Phil's always been more of a Support role guy. He's said it himself plenty of times. That went for Techno especially. He let Techno call the shots, and he'd be at his side no matter what. There's something to be said about how in the same way Etoiles said "I am your arms, just tell me who needs to die," Phil was very much the same way for Techno.

God, honestly, aside from the whole being used repeatedly thing, DSMP gave Phil so much nostalgia for SMPE. Him and Techno vs everything else. He'd missed wearing those antarctic outfits.

When he arrived in DSMP, he didn't expect Techno to be there. He was ELATED, even though he was nowhere near in the emotional state to show it.

I am OBLIGATED to mention the oopsie with the creeper in Techno's cabin. Phil was so bad at playing dumb about it and pretending it never happened. Techno would've never let him live it down.

Phil often falls into mentor roles whenever he's among people. He did no differently in DSMP. But not for Techno. He always appreciated how Techno didn't need him, he wanted him. Now that he's gone, Phil really hopes he finds that kind of companionship again. It's not quite the same as what he has with Kristin or Rose.

After Techno left DSMP, Phil grew even more protective of the tundra. He viciously forbid anyone outside of the Syndicate from coming around unless they had a damn good reason. He'd sooner throw his friendship emerald in lava than let something happen to the cabins while Techno was gone, no matter how long that might've been.

[ihopesocomic]

See something funny

When I watched My Pride I always thought Feather was just Nothing's step-brother

Makes sense, son of her step-father, that's her step-brother

But then I watched your review on it and yall kept calling him her cousin and I went???? No that's her step brother

Until I realized, no he IS also her cousin, her mom and his mom are sisters AND I DIDNT KNOW

They did SUCH a bad job with establishing basic character relationships that I didn't know that Powerstrike and Waterhunter were sisters.

HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THAT THERE AREN'T MANY ADULTS IN THE PRIDE AFTER SHARPTONGUE DIES

Powerstrike and Waterhunter literally never interact it's hard to tell if they even know each other????

Like in IHS you can instantly tell the relationships between Clever, Careful, and Vicious and you can tell they're sisters because omfg they actually talk and interact like they know each other!!!🫨🫨🫨

Like you don't even need to make Waterhunter speak but just let her interact with ANYONE????

She feels like a such an outsider you can hardly tell that Nothing, our main character who she lived with and who grew up with her around, EVEN KNOWS WHO SHE IS

lmao yeah, we've got a lot of comments that are all 'you keep calling Feather her cousin when he's not, he's her little brother: this just proves you didn't watch the show properly and your whole argument is void!' and we're just there snickering because we know...

In some twisted way, nobody knows the ins and outs of this show like we do. We didn't study it for six months without dotting the i's and crossing the t's. We didn't ask for this. We could've become well versed in French or some shit but instead we became experts in My Pride lore. It's a curse. lolol

The only thing I think I messed up was calling Kyoga a 'god' once or twice but, in my absolute defence, she did transform into a literal god at one point so I don't know what the hell else I was supposed to call her. lol

But the weird thing about Waterhunter is that she was actually supposed to have lines and she did have a VA. The lines were just cut for whatever reason. I'm willing to suspect that Tribble probably found the notion of having a voiceless character quite funny but it just made her a big ol' waste of space. A lot of nonsensical things seem to happen just so Tribble could have her weird inside jokes (i.e. Nothing have that weird ass steak thing on her face, Feather randomly disappearing in the middle of the Nothing vs. Fire battle).

A lot of characters could've been combined here. Powerstrike and Waterhunter. Farleap and Feather. Maybe even Silentstalk combined with them two for good measure. There was also no reason for Quickmane and Proudmane to be separate characters either.

But thank you so much, anon. I think another thing that helps is that Cat also designed the three sisters to actually look related too. Powerstrike and Waterhunter not only do not remotely resemble each other but neither of them resemble their mother either. Which is weird because I don't recall Cow of the Wild having this issue. - RJ

[onesidedradiostatic]

(“Oh shit my boyfriend is horny for some celibate guy” anon back again, I need to pick some emojis to sign with at some point if this keeps up lmao)

I see we’re going into the idea of Vox finding out Alastor is aroace, and this is well and good but consider as well: Alastor finding out that proposal to “join his team” wasn’t a business idea but instead he was asking Alastor to officially be his boyfriend. Except I’m less interested in his reaction (we all know he’s going to hate it, funny as it is it’s still predictable). Nah, what I want to see is just how obvious Vox has to get before Alastor finally figures it out. Now we’re measuring how oblivious the old man is. I doubt anything subtle would be enough. Does Vox have to say something? Probably with digital tears streaming down his face? Is someone else gonna tell him or does everyone else just keep their mouths shut either for the free entertainment or because this is like watching a train wreck happening in real time?

I kinda talked about it here

but I like the idea of either husk spilling it or alastor, if he could ever be bothered to, describing it and the rest of the hotel crew realises "oh. OH…" and they're just like "alastor, I don't think that was just any business proposal…" and alastor's just super confused???? and they have to say "I think he was trying to ask you OUT" and then there's just an entire minute of silence where alastor just stares blankly at them and then says "what"

there's also the potential of an actual confrontation from vox where he doesn't realise that alastor just straight up didn't realise it was a confession (in this scenario, he thinks alastor was purposefully vague about it in stayed gone as a small act of mercy) and so when he brings up legitimately thinking it was a business proposal, he's like YOU THOUGHT IT WAS JUST A BUSINESS PROPOSAL??? and alastor's like yes what else would it have been and vox gets too embarrassed to say it but IF he did then alastor would've said "oh I would've still said no" and literally nothing improves

[moonshynecybin]

thinking about how rosquez age gap dynamic would change post reconciliation but not now but in like 5-10 years. we all know how vale is about his age so he would be “i’m old maybe marc deserves someone younger more fun and his age” but he would never say that just joke it off like he always does when talking about his age. and marc having a very nothing new by taylor swift complex “will you still want me when i’m nothing new?”, he’s probably retired and thinking “does valentino still thinks i’m cool? he met me when i was in my prime twink era what if he sees im not like that anymore”

YAYYYYY i think theyre BOTH WEIRD ABOUT IT yayyyyyy. okay so. the thing about being a professional athlete is that while you are young and shiny it feels like you will be young and shiny FOREVER ! and then the horrors. and then you turn thirty. and then everyone around you is ten years younger and their body works correctly and they pick up on the stuff YOU pioneered and the press is talking about you like youre a HORSE that they want to sent to the GLUE FACTORY. so i imagine. that those influences can give you somewhat of a complex about your age. i think vale (company is dominated by young twinks comma. clown.) and marc (arm pain boy comma. got a haircut specifically to look younger right before visiting a track he has historically dominated at.) are not in fact immune to this. especially because marc was essentially the move over old man signal to vale in many ways. like imagine your bf is a physical reminder that you no longer can do what you used to be able to do in a sport that is and was your life's work. ouegh.

SO ! POST REUNION ! if its like vale in his 50s marc in his mid to late thirties, staring down his time in the sport coming to an end. a transitionary period then yeah. they think about it. i think MARC is actually a lot more keyed up about this specifically bc vale frankly had to work that out a bit ago. and he does still lowkey think hes god lbr. marc ALSO has an ego the size of the sun but i think it honestly really distresses him a bit more when his body is malfunctioning. maybe i just think that bc hes cried on camera about it multiple times while vale simply changes the subject but i DIGRESS. my barbie dolls shh. marc get a little in his head about it ! tries to fix it by doing crazy shit like getting bad haircuts and buying a stupid amount of moisturizer. new lingerie. i would say he does more crazy and spontaneous activities but he loves adrenaline so bad i fear he's kinda already doing that.... BUT. he's also doing stuff like not letting vale in on his PT appointments.... pretending he's the same as when he was twenty and it was EASY and he didn't have to figure out who he was after motogp because he was the youngest rookie to do x y and z so he should be able to do this FOREVER. and it think he holds his ability to WIN so close to himself.... a measure of how well his life is going fr.... like the last time he couldn't win were 2015 (when vale LEFT HIM) and 2020 to present (ARMMMMM). hes buggin

and i think vale eventually notices and is like oh my god whta. dude HUH ? truly kinda flabbergasted lmao. he fucks him about it and truly THATS what calms marc down a bit (not entirely.... it lingers....). like nose in vale's armpit afterwards stroking his BALD SPOT while vale is like. my love you are three years older than i was when i met you. calm down.

[hypnoneghoul]

piss bukkake anon again (god what a fucking legacy... can I have like one of those anon emojis just so I wont have to say that shit everytime. if yes can I be 🍑 anon? if thats already taken then 💅🏻 or 💀?)

anyway... I was thinking and like if youre not into this dw I totally understand!!

but what if two of the ghouls are fucking and they knot. but the top suddenly realises they have to pee... maybe they pee and have to stay linked together until the knot goes down (having to awkwardly shuffle to the bathroom or get it all over the bed), maybe they Barely make it out but lose control right before the toilet/right as they get up to run to the bathroom. maybe they Almost make it but just as theyre almost deflated enough they lose control, unlocking right as theyre finished... maybe with Swiss and another ghoul? though if its 2 other ghouls I also dont mind!

i haven't stoped thinking about this since you sent it i died ugh. also in case u missed it, you can be 🍑 np heh anyway i chose swissdew to not torture yall with yet another swissalps fic lmao

520 words, anal sex, knotting, cis dew for once, pissing inside (pisspie?), slight degradation, tiny bit of hair pulling

“Ugh, kitten, stop that,” Swiss grunted, digging his claws into Dewdrop’s hips.

“Stop whining,” the fire ghoul snarled and pushed his ass back into Swiss’ stomach once again.

“Fucking hell,” he spat as he wrapped the other’s braid around his hand and pulled, making him moan wantonly. “It’s gonna be your problem, not mine, if I piss in your pretty little hole. Stop. Squirming.”

“Who said it’s gonna be a problem, hm?”

“Oh… oh, you fucking whore,” Swiss gasped, the realization hitting him like a freight train. The realization that Dewdrop wanted him to… “Fuck.”

Dewdrop purred, arching his back further as if in invitation, “Come on. Knot me, get me stuck and fill me up.”

“Shit, fuck, kitten, you– fucking hell,” the multi ghoul moaned and pushed back into Dewdrop again. The idea alone and the fact that he wanted to do that, that they were about to do that threw Swiss right onto the edge, his knot ready to be shoved in.

“Do it.”

“Give me– shit, gimme a minute,” he panted, jack hammering into the fire ghoul with a bruising force. With a moan he bent down over Dewdrop and pressed his face to his back. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes, fuck,” he whined at the change in angle that made Swiss ram straight into his prostate. “I’m c– close.”

“Me too,” the multi ghoul muttered into his skin. He straightened back up and clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Swiss dug his claws into Dewdrop’s skinny hips, holding him with an iron grip and pushed. He pushed and pushed, watching the fire ghoul’s hole stretching around his knot, until it popped in, making Dewdrop shudder and wail as he came untouched onto the mattress below them.

“So fucking tight, kitten,” Swiss growled, grinding it in for a good measure. It took only seconds for the rhythmic clenches of Dewdrop’s ass and the tightness and warmth engulfing Swiss’ cock to make him cum, too. He groaned as his orgasm washed over him, nearly forgetting about their… plan.

“Do it,” the fire ghoul reminded him, nearly sobbing. “Please, Swiss.”

How could he not obey such a pretty plea?

The moment Swiss’ dick stopped leaking cum, he forced himself to relax and let go. It was harder than it should be, considering how he could barely hold it in minutes ago. With a sigh of relief the multi ghoul started to piss, filling Dewdrop up to the very brim as he moaned like a true whore at the feeling of all the warmth inside him.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, shit, it’s– it’s so good,” he cried out, limbs shaking.

“So fucking filthy, kitten,” Swiss chuckled above him as he rubbed his hands over the fire ghoul’s back soothingly. “My lovely little piss slut.”

"Shut the fuck up," Dewdrop breathed out. "Lay us down."

He didn't reply, only bent down to kiss the other's spine and obeyed, wrapping his arms around him and laying them down on their sides.

"We're doing this again," Dewdrop announced once Swiss cuddled up to his back.

"Absolutely we are."

[longing-for-rain]

Just so you know, some of your anons are coming from a blog called @mal3vol3nt

I do not know if you’re aware, but she’s chronically obsessed with you and has also been sharing your ao3 on Twitter and inciting harassment there too, saying you’re “racist” and a “degenerate” and accusing you of writing underage. Her blog lately is mainly posts about you and it sounds very similar to some of your anons

I had to check this out for myself and...wow. All I can say is just...wow 🤣

No, I actually had no idea who this person was but from the looks of it she's been obsessed with me for months? I guess that explains the anons, I knew these people were mad, but apparently they've been over here steaming over my takes and are legitimately terrified of me. And I didn't even know them! Didn't realize I've been doing numbers on Twitter (or X whatever it is now) despite never having an account.

(The rest is below; please don't click if you do not wish to see insensitive discussions of rape or if you are not in the mood to read opinions so malformed they will melt your brain)

I guess I have another angry little troll who doesn't know what a captial letter is obsessed with me. Wish I could say it was the first time, but alas. A lot of particularly funny things here though.

> Advertising your terrible ragebait Twitter like anyone finds you important

Lmao.

> "write fanfiction of katara being raped so zuko can save her"

What a terrible misread of the point of that story, but then again, I don't expect much else from a terminally online crybaby who exclusively consumes media for children. If you can't handle adult discussions about adult topics, maybe don't read stories that are clearly marked 18+ and with far more extensive trigger warnings than any mainstream media will give you.

> "measuring the size of her breasts and hips"

Lmao. I said she is drawn differently in different scenes. That's it. You guys are another level of unhinged.

> "obviously fetishes and racism"

It's kind of creepy how they sexualize Zutara, while simultaneously accusing us of doing that. Why do you assume a fetish is the only reason behind someone liking a ship? Why would you say this about a group of people including many black, brown, and indigenous women? And minors? And if you want to get into the whole fetish thing, don't even get me started on the shit I've seen from the kataang fandom. Hint: when I say some of you have a "mommy fetish" I mean it in a very literal sense. Not to mention the whole kataang rape discord debacle.

> "sick fantasies about these minor characters"

I have never depicted a minor in a sexual situation. I make a point to explicitly avoid doing that, and all characters are depicted as adults. Your lack of media literacy isn't an argument. If you're going to criticize my writing, at least read it, which you clearly didn't. And if the content is too upsetting for you, you clearly lack the maturity to engage in these kinds of discussions.

Imagine treating ship discourse this seriously, actually unhinged. Who said that Ember Island Players is the real Katara? What? She talks a big number about coke-fueled rants, must have given it a try herself. How do you expect to be taken seriously when you never say anything of substance and screech "racism" or "colonizer" every other word but can't even articulate the significance of those terms? Honestly, at this point you sound like a right-winger who thinks saying "but I'm [identity] and I agree with [opinion]" is a golden ticket to winning every argument.

And look at this: apparently I deserved all the things she and her friends sent me? Actually I respect this take, at least she's honest about it unlike the people who cry and backpeddle when they get caught red-handed.

I'm actually cackling at this one. Genuinely laughing; my neighbors are probably concerned. It's like you took every single Bad Person Allegation and threw it into a blender. And to top it all off, apparently 24 is "pushing 30" now LMAO. And apparently I, a lesbian, could only possibly like Zutara because I think Zuko is hot. Not to mention the way they entirely miss the point of Zutara, but ATLA itself, by insisting that Zuko is a "violent imperialist" who is apparently unworthy of love by anyone who does not share his skin tone. Kind of ironic coming from the people crying that I'm a racist who doesn't understand the show. Next level clownery.

This is so funny. These people are absolutely terrified of me, no amount of unhinged anons will hide that. It's fine for men to tell me I deserve rape and death, that I'm a dirty pervert for daring to speak out about sexual trauma, and that women's sexual trauma is nothing but a fetish, but if I respond to that man telling him he should die for being so disrespectful and misogynistic to rape victims, I'm the monster? I stand by it. If you think what he said about rape and rape victims is acceptable, especially if you're a man, die! Hang from ropes, as I said.🥰

I guess I should be really scared though. This is clearly a very influential figure in the fandom who is renowned for her enlightened wisdom on the plight of fictional cartoon characters against evil imperialists like me (adult with job).

...oh wait. I was excited for a minute, I thought I was dealing with a celebrity. But even the "callouts" struggle to hit 20 notes :/

And to everyone sending me positivity during this time, thank you very much! But I wanted to show you this to assure you I'm doing just fine. People can act as weird as they want behind a gray face, but after seeing the kinds of whiny little brats they are in reality, it's pretty hard to take it seriously. "I got my plane ticket" my ass, that would require you to leave your decaying, trash-filled apartment.

[dazai-fan-page]

So after rereading this post and seeing a lot of new shit about fyodor being smarter which, to be honest I'm not sure if smarter is the right way to say it, I've got a new Dazai vs Fyodor post.

About the whole "who's smarter" bit, I'm not sure smart is the thing being measured here, it's definitely a part of it but this whole thing has been about strategy. About getting inside the others head. Playing his game if you will (song plays in background)

"Fyodor planned to get stabbed by the vampire" I'm not gonna say no he didn't but I think its possible he didn't plan to get stabbed when he did, he did want to end up taking over Bram but I'm not sure he planned to go right then and there. Combining the anime and the manga, he seemed to be genuinely surprised at Dazai surviving (not saying he couldn't have faked that just pointing it out) and why would he want Dazai alive? What does that serve? Another person to fight? Someone who actually has a shot at beating him?

No I think he planned on winning that game, taking the antidote and then having the vampires kill him. That'd get rid of Dazai (someone on the same intellectually and has almost beat him on several occasions) Chuuya (who has corruption) and Sigma (who could tell people what he is), not only get rid of them but maybe even gain back Nikolai.

Second bit of this kinda takes a sharp turn out of my (at best iffy) theories and into more. idk takes that have been annoying me for the last few hours? Yeah those.

"Fyodor used Dazai's trust against him" Not that I saw, I saw him take over Bram. And I'm fairly certain PM Dazai would've also used a Vampire to "kill" Fyodor so same outcome there'd just probably be more bodies behind him.

"Chuuya's so out of the loop lmao" Well yeah, honestly the fact that Dazai's putting it together is impressive considering we the audience are getting visual from Sigma and a dialogue explanation from Dazai. Chuuya's not seeing what we are, of course he doesn't know what we and Dazai and Sigma do. How would he? He doesn't have any of what he needs to figure it out