#i paid $60 for this shit i’m not taking it out

[hotroadkill]

why do i keep hurting my new piercing how do i manage to walk bellybutton-first into every door

[lisenberry]

WIP Wednesday Thoughts        

Working title:  There’s smoke seeping out of your bloody teeth (but you’re home somehow)

(From 28 by Zach Bryan)

Recovering Price x Recovering Reader

A/N: I have way too many WIPs at the moment, but this one came out of nowhere and I’m wondering if there’s something more here.

It’s a little darker than my usual, but somehow rides the line of more fluff than angst if you can bear with me through the backstory.  I’m also seeing a trend where I love to paint Price as a complete mess and struggling with himself.  I just know he has some Big Repressed Feelings buried deep in that broad chest.  Like, the Captain takes care of everyone else on missions but needs more help than he lets on in the real world.

CW:  Accidental overdose, Addiction/Recovery, Alcoholics/Narcotics Anonymous, a whiff of PTSD, single parent/recovering addict Reader, written with afab/fem reader in mind, but it came out fairly neutral. Overall heavy subject matter, but with some hope/humor to follow.

John fucked up.  He knows it, Kyle knows it.  And now Kate does, too.

He’d promised his sergeant that he’d lay off the whiskey, but he didn’t tell him about the pills.  The oxys and the benzos.  And sometimes, when things got really bad and he got in a little too deep, the ketamine and fentanyl. 

It was pure luck that Kyle found him.  That he was worried enough to kick the door in, strong enough to pull him out of the bathtub, and quick enough to do CPR until the ambulance arrived with the Narcan. 

He hadn’t meant to end it.  His life, that is.  Just the never-ending pressure in his brain.  The headaches, the sensitivity to light, everything being so bloody fucking loud.  Two decades of explosions, gunshots, and crashes had racked up on him, each one a tithe to be repaid down the line.  And it seemed they’d all come due at once.

In the aftermath, Kate had paid him a visit when he’d been ready to check himself out of the hospital, and she’d given him a directive.  It wasn’t even an ultimatum.  There was no other choice. 

Get help.

She wasn’t kicking him off the team.  She wasn’t even putting a note in his file.  The military wouldn’t know, other than an extended personal leave signed off on by high enough names no one would question it.  A 30-day stay in a doctor-supervised substance abuse treatment facility, and another 60 days at home with weekly check-ins.

Who he told other than Garrick would be up to him.

He agreed, of course.  It was his last chance to get his shit together, maybe even more than he deserved.  The look on Kyle’s face when he regained consciousness would be ingrained on his brain for the rest of his life.

“I always thought it’d be Ghost.  Never you, Captain.”  It wasn’t disappointment that clouded the kid’s eyes with tears, but fear.  That it could happen to any of them if they weren’t careful.  That the danger didn’t end when they came home.

Price hadn’t asked for help, but he knew when to take it.

Which is how he met you...

He tried to attend four to five meetings a week.  They were usually at night, after dark, when the urge to settle into his chair with a bottle of scotch and a few extra Percocets was all he could think about.  When the distractions of the day faded and he was alone with himself. 

If he could hold the urge at bay long enough, in the company of others, even if he just sat and listened, then it would pass like a mad dog thrown a bone.  And then he could go home in peace, until the dog came back around again.

In the beginning, he jumped around to a new meeting each night.  There was St. Stephen’s, St. Giles in the Fields, St. George’s, the Salvation Army, and the Tenant’s Hall.  Some were for beginners, and others just for men.  He didn’t want to become familiar with any particular one, preferring instead to lean on the Anonymous side of the program.

He sipped his tea and ate his biscuits, all from the back row.  Quietly reflecting on the opening speaker, and the stories of hope and struggle that followed.  At first, he found it hard to relate.  Kids who got hooked on drugs in school to escape from abusive parents, or former gang members and dealers looking to buy their way out of poverty and the system that abandoned them.

He’d been born into money, went to good schools.  His demon didn’t come at him until later.  It had taken its time and made roots into an already established foundation.  Like a parasite, it didn’t take him young, or weak.  It took him when he was at his strongest and broke him down from the inside out.  He was already infected long before he saw the signs.

He had no one else to blame, and didn’t think he’d find much sympathy from telling his story.  He didn’t want it, anyway.  He just needed to get through his 60 days and be back on a mission again.

But then one Friday evening, he walked into your regular 7pm meeting in the basement of an old church and everything changed... 

It was the best around, because they had a small children’s area in the next room, with a library and a sweet old nun who would read books and watch the kids for free.  It had become a local favorite for parents without childcare, and the group had grown as close as a family. 

There were a few of you who took the snack duty very seriously.  There were no stale, day-old donuts or flavorless boxed biscuits.  Instead, the spread was enough to rival the set of the Great British Baking Show.  Cakes and puddings, shortbreads and tartes.  The coffee was freshly brewed, not the cheap instant granules.

It had made you very protective, still always a little wary of newcomers, as against the spirit of the program as that was.  It had become your safe space.  Where you brought your children, and shared your biggest regrets and darkest moments.  And mainly because, despite the progress you’d made in your recovery, you’d never fully be able to trust again.  To look at another person and not see a potential threat. 

Outside the church, you knew where the dealers stood waiting to find you on an off day.  Where the pimps lingered in the dark alleys ready to meet you when you were broke and desperate.  They were the obstacles you could see.  Like a video game level you’d failed so many times you could jump and duck and kick your way a little further with each respawn.  You already knew there was a bad guy waiting on the other side of that door and all the tricks to avoid him.

It was harder to tell with the quiet, six-and-a-half-foot tall, bearded man in the beanie hat and combat boots slumped in the back row.  He’d popped up about a week ago, and always arrived exactly five minutes early.  He'd wait patiently until the snack line died down and load his plate before sitting in the same seat, closest to the door.

He hadn’t shared with the group yet, but offered a few pleasant nods and greetings to anyone who’d initiated a conversation.  It seemed rude not to reach out, if for no other reason than to gauge his intentions for yourself.  Was he here because he was serious about his addiction, or was someone forcing him to come?  Some set number of days on his coin before he’d be free from his sentence and never be heard from again.

It didn’t matter, and it wasn’t any of your business.   

But that didn’t stop you from looking over at him a few times during your share, only to find him paying close attention.  His serious features unreadable. Enough to make you stumble on your words and lose your train of thought.  Everyone there knew your story already and could probably recite it for you.  It just helped to recount the good parts, along with the bad.

“Did you make these?” he asked afterward, a rumbling voice breaking through your thoughts as you sat in a folding chair sipping the last of your coffee. 

He held up a half-eaten salted caramel chocolate chip blondie.

“Yes, those are mine,” you answered with what you hoped was a polite smile.

“I thought I saw you bring them last time I was here.  Fucking delicious.”  He popped the rest of it into his mouth, catching the crumbs with his thick dark beard.  “But your hair’s different, isn’t it?” he added, once he’d swallowed his bite.

You reflexively raised a hand to your head, remembering with a laugh the events of your day.  You’d nearly forgotten the fiasco at work a few hours before.

“I work at a training salon.  I let the students experiment on it when there aren’t enough dolls.”  You didn’t have time to fix it before you had to pick up your kids from their afterschool program.

“It’s green.”

“Very green, yes.”  You found yourself smiling again.  Before that, it’d been black with purple tips.  “Who knows what color it will be next time.”  You stood and folded up your chair.

And tried not to read into it as he took it from you promptly and stacked it over with the others.

“Reason enough to come back and find out, then,” he called over his shoulder.

And you didn’t miss when he stopped to grab the last blondie on his way out.

[galeorderbride]

Hiii!!

I discovered your account recently, and I'm a fan! This strengthens my love for Gale even more! I have a request, is it possible to use the following prompts :

3)Touching foreheads

7) Kissing scars

11)Sharing secrets

41)Washing each other hairs

52)Crying into their shoulder

60) sitting in their lap

i will probably ask for others prompt later ahah!

thanks you so much 🖤

Thank you for the request!! I’m stoked to know I’ve helped strengthen your love for everyone’s favourite rizzard lol. And send as many prompts as you like!

Your prompt awaits:

Rated: M (Gale and Tav sharing a bath, non descriptive nudity).

Gale x F!tav

Words: 1652

...

Wash my Troubles Away

Baths were always the way Tav chose to unwind after a stressful day. Before the nautiloid, and after, although she’d been seriously lacking in access. In all honesty, she was surprised it took this long for her to break down. Months on the road, toiling through endless swaths of blood, shit and tears with the onus on them to solve everyone’s problems. At first, Tav enjoyed helping, seeing new friends suffer a little bit less in such a difficult society. Once they reached Rivington, however, her patience ran drier than a dead fountain. 

Thankfully, they found the Elfsong, where a private bathroom awaited. As soon as the fee was paid, Tav thought about taking a bath—craved it. A space to calm her muscles and cry out her troubles without drawing attention. 

Hot water flowed against her naked back, bubbling with lavender oil and sudsy soap, emanating the scent of vanilla and oat. Tav tucked her legs to her chest, curling into a ball of frustration and embarrassment as she couldn’t stop crying. Tav needed more resilience than this. Facing the end of the world required stalwart bravery, and she was having a meltdown over finding gold for a bank manager. How in the hells was she supposed to take down a giant brain? 

Meanwhile, everyone else had no problem being selfish. A toy maker set explosives in his own products, totally willing to kill children to save his own skin. Idiots tying up Volo just because he was talking about the things they wanted to ignore. Ironhand gnomes masking abusive bigotry with a shining cause. Tav was tired of everyone’s bullshit, making excuses for themselves, taking zero responsibility when she had no other option but to face problems head on. 

Her self pity was interrupted by a knock at the bathroom door. The sound of a lilted, erudite voice coming through the wood: 

“Mind if I come in, love?” 

Gale appeared in the doorway after Tav agreed he could enter. Holding fresh towels and a wicker basket of different bath products, looking brand new as if he’d just returned from an apothecary. Tav splashed water in her face to mask the puffiness of her eyes, as if her detail oriented wizard would ever let a thing like that get past him. 

“You seem like you could use some company. And so far, I’ve been very skilled and…calming you down, so to speak. I fetched some products from Bonecloak’s, all your favourite scents. Jasmine, pomegranate, aloe vera. If you’d prefer to be alone, know you won’t offend me. I just wanted to give you these so you know someone is thinking about you,” he said. 

Tav turned her head, grinning as best she could, easier because of his presence. Since their romance had begun, he was the only one virtually incapable of annoying her. He always knew what to say, always understood the right words or actions to keep her grounded. No one had been such a positive force in her life, and every morning, no matter how terrible, she thanked the stars for finding that unstable portal. 

“I’m not enviable company at the moment, but yours, would surely heal my weary heart,” Tav replied. 

Gale smiled, “No matter how you’re feeling, there is no one in the realms I’d rather spend my time with.” 

Times like this were when Tav didn’t believe she deserved his sweetness. Doting on her out of an adoration she couldn’t figure out. He placed the bottles on a tiny stool beside the tub, undressing so he could join her in a warm, sudsy water, snapping his fingers with a little magic to heat it back to ideal temperature. He made use of the large, circular space as he sunk in behind her, enveloping her in a comforting embrace as she rested her back onto his chest. Little hairs tickled her skin, causing her to chuckle for the first time all day. 

Careful movements of his fingertips massaging her scalp sent shivers down Tav’s spine. Scents of pomegranate and jasmine soothed her sinuses, letting the hot water pour down her head, through strands of clean hair. Tension from her muscles seemed to dissolve with each considerate touch, Gale’s hands created to caress her skin. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as they both watched the window ahead. A clear night gifted them glimmering stars, a cool breeze whistling out of a crack in the insulation. Tav leaned back, resting her head in the crux of Gale’s shoulder as she closed her eyes. A few, stray tears fell from her eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden comfort of her magical lover lifting her through the ache of evening. 

Gale didn’t press her for reasons, didn’t rush to solve the problem when he noticed her tears. He just held her, waited in solidarity until she was ready, happy to let her sink into his life force to refresh her own. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally said with a tearful chuckle, “You must think I’m ridiculous. Crying for no reason like this.” 

“Well, my love, your mind may be telling you that there is no reason, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. With all our travels, all the weight on your shoulders, you have every reason to cry. You’re more resilient than you think, I’d have crumbled long ago,” he said. 

Tav looked up at him, in utter admiration for his thoughtfulness, his beauty, everything. If she could, she’d sing his praises for a thousand years, to make up for all the times Mystra never did. Or anyone else who didn’t care to see the magnificence of him. 

Her fingers traced up his collarbone, around the mark the orb left that paved a path to his wonderful neck. A forced tattoo sunk into the surface of his skin, binding him to his well intentioned folly. Their foreheads touched as Gale lowered his head, wishing desperately that he could hold every

 part of her at the same time. Mage hands and mirror images weren’t enough, it had to be him. 

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” He asked, words hanging on between their breaths, lips hovering over each other but never quite meeting. 

“Hmm, you’ve already told me about Mystra. And that you haven't spoken to anyone in over a year until me. Oh, and that you get excited when you see me bloody after a fight. What else could there possibly be?” She asked, flirtatiously smiling at him with her eyelids batting just the way he liked. The smirk he made when he saw it was irresistible. 

Gale chuckled, “This one is far less serious, but might be what you need to hear in this moment.” 

They adjusted slightly, Gale sitting up as he pulled his arm out of the water. Just above his elbow was a superficial scar, raised tissue blending in with the rest of his skin. An uneven line travelling up his arm, about three inches long. Wherever he got it from, it had to be years ago. 

“People don’t notice this scar much anymore, not with the giant black circle on my chest. But people used to. I’d tell them it was from a kitchen knife,” he said, “But…really I accidentally set fire to my neighbour’s rose bushes when I was a child. I was trying to conjure, and the fire got away from me. Singed my arm in the process.” 

Tav turned, scooching further onto his lap as she examined his arm. She couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s your secret? Ruining a bush?” 

“Not just any bush. A rose bush. One of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I’d pass by those roses every day, stare at them for a minute or two. Just to see something be so effortlessly perfect in its imperfection. They simply grew that way, and then I destroyed them. All I could do was cry, sob over how I tarnished something so innocent and pretty for my own sake. I don’t talk about it because…well, it’s silly, but it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt. It’s stayed with me my entire life, and the burn scar only serves as a beacon for it,” he explained. 

“Even worse than what happened with Mystra?” She asked, grazing her fingertips across the uneven line of the scar. Eyes stuck to the mark as if it was the last thing she’d ever see. 

Gale hesitated, taking a heart wrenching pause. Tav noticed his eyes staring ahead, fixated on the window. A heavy, unsaid energy hung over him.  

“It was the catalyst. For everything. Had I not set fire to that bush, Elminster never would’ve found me. And then I’d never have attracted Mystra’s attention. A boring existence…but maybe a better one,” he said, voice trailing along the waves of his melancholic thoughts. 

Instead of responding, giving him a treatise on how he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore and burning a flower bush wasn’t a definer of his total character, she pressed her lips against the burn scar. Counting her kisses for every year of remorse he felt since setting that fire ball. Ever since their first night together, he slowly began to shed that overconfident veneer, more comfortable to show her the parts of him that hurt, the deep cuts that both of them wished they could bury. 

“Seems we both have a guilt problem,” Tav said. “Come here.” 

Tav moved to straddle his lap, taking the ceramic bowl and filling it with the warm, soapy water. Gale rested on her shoulder, as if on impulse, while she poured the liquid down the long strands of chestnut hair. Running her shampooed hands across his scalp, satisfied every time she heard his happy moans against the scratch of her nails. After rinsing, she kissed the top of his head. 

“Thank you for telling me a secret,” she said, “I’ll tell you one of mine tomorrow.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

The Basics: My name is Eurydice (not my real name), I’m 21 and use she/her pronouns. I’m heterosexual and heteromantic, but also on the ace spectrum lol, I think demisexual is probably the right way to describe me. Also I’m 5’0 so very throwable. 

My Aesthetics/Tastes: I’d describe my style as “Girl Reporter” because I incorporate a lot of 40s-60s vintage/vintage inspired elements, but I keep it generally pretty comfortable and practical to move around in. Same for makeup, I like my bold lips and fun eye-makeup but nothing too complex that it can’t be done in under 30 minutes before class. Also my favorite color is red and I may be a *tad* bit obsessed with it. My music tastes are similarly vintage, I’m not a genre snob but I don’t tend to prefer swing jazz, musical theatre, jazz standards, classic rock, etc (I also have a soft spot for classical). In terms of genre I *adore* a good mystery/whodunnit, or historical, or action/adventure, or comedy. My sense of humor is more British than American, it leans on the drier, wittier, more cynical side and I *really* don’t like gross-out humor. Also, I do *not* like heavy drama or horror, although I will watch horror if I have someone with me to cling onto (if they don’t mind the odd accidental clawing lol). Also I adore cats, I have two siamese cats they are my babies, and I think crows are hella dope. I love stormy or humid weather but only when its warm, honestly I dislike cold weather in general unless there’s snow. 

My Romantic Sensibilities: (Trying to keep this fairly simple so you’ll choose the people you think I’m the most compatible with rather than who I’d like to most). I prefer nice guys/heroic types, and I have particular soft spot towards former villains/douchebags turned heroes (self-honesty and active character development is hot tbh). Appearance-wise I love men with beautiful eyes, not of any particular color or shape or what have you just lovely and expressive. I also prefer more masc presentation. My giving love languages are acts of service, physical touch and gift giving. My receiving love languages are acts of service, quality time, and physical touch. I am very very awkward and inexperienced in love and so so bad at being assertive and honest about my feelings, I’m rather self-conscious about being vulnerable like that. Saying romantic things makes me feel so embarrassed and I definitely go a little thunder as I try to deflect with humor lol.

Hobbies/Work: I’m pre-med and a chemistry major so a solid portion of my life is taken up in school and I also work as a volunteer EMS/at a free healthcare clinic/peer tutor (no, I don’t get paid for the EMS or the clinic, yes, I do end up working the same number of hours as a full-time job 😭 I like it though. I do get minimum wage for tutoring!). In the spare time I do have I like to participate in theatre on and off stage (I take musical theatre and classical singing lessons! I’m actually really proud of my voice; I’ve won competitions before), I can’t dance for shit though, three left feet. I also play D&D and other TTRPGs and love love love Rennfaires. I’m also a big nerd about history, American comics, and folklore, among other things. I’ve been trying to get more into cosplay/historical costuming because I’m super interested in it but I don’t have the time or money 😭. I don’t have a ton of time for reading but when I do I try to find some fun, lighthearted classic lit (like Jane Austen, The Scarlet Pimpernel, etc), because I want to spend my limited time on something worthwhile reading and important but also I don’t like being sad and bored?

Personality: I’m a major perfectionist, but I’m proud of how hard I work. I’m passionate about what I do, for fun or for work. Sometimes its healthy but sometimes it can spiral into self-hatred, or at least self-consciousness, when I don’t live up to my own high standards. I can be a bit obsessive, autistic hyperfixation go brr. I like to talk about the things that interest me. I talk a lot, I’m more than a bit socially awkward, I tend to ramble and I can be more than a bit oblivious to subtle social cues or the feelings of other’s sometimes, also I’ve got that vampire Autism where you have to explicitly invite me into conversations. I’m very emotionally expressive when I speak. I have a bit of a temper, I’m impatient and stubborn and can get surly, but I’m working on it. I’m proud to say I’m actually really good in a crisis, something I’ve learned from first hand experience. Although I’m pretty ass at leadership, lol its a skill like anything else, and I don’t have a ton of practice (I tend to be a bit of a loner). Also fun fact: I have sensory processing disorder, which leads to me having chronic insomnia, needing subtitles on everything and being a majorly picky eater (woo, fun). 

HI, Eurydice!

I hope you like your matchups! :)

I'm pretty excited about all of them, I had a lot of fun writing this.

It's a bit of a read, but I was heavily inspired!

So, without further ado!

Your matches!

Enjoy!

Romantic Matchups; Marvel, DC, X-Men, and Once Upon A Time

(Matchup Exchange)

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

Marvel;

Steve Rogers -

You and Steve first met after you were recruited to the Avengers, your skills and sharp intellect making you an invaluable asset to the team.

You were the one who came up with innovative field tactics, analyzed enemy movements in real time, and provided the team with strategies that turned the tide in battle.

Whether it was your background in chemistry, medicine, or just your sharp mind, Steve quickly noticed how essential you were - not just to missions, but to the team's morale.

He was drawn to your sense of humor right away.

You had a way of making the team laugh with your dry, quick wit, sometimes catching him of guard with a clever remark that made him smirk or grin before he even realized it.

Your mutual love for history sparked long conversations - what started as causal chats about historical figures turned into late-night talks about philosophy, ethics, and the way the world has changed from his time to the current.

You were one of the few people who could keep up with Steve in a discussion about past events and the morals behind them, and he found himself fascinated by your perspective.

And your curiosity regarding his time in the 1940s.

There was also something about your perfectionist tendencies that struck a chord with him.

He saw how hard you pushed yourself, how you held yourself to impossibly high started, and he recognized that struggle all too well.

He admired your dedication, but he also saw the way it could wear you down.

Even before the two of you were close, he found himself stepping in when he saw you overworking, offering small words of encouragement or a quiet reminder that you were already doing more than enough.

You and Steve became fast friends, though it took some time for you to open up fully.

he was patient with you, never pushing, just offering a steady presence that you found yourself drawn to.

He was one of the few people who didn't mind when you rambled about history, folklore, or a particularly intricate D&D campaign you were running.

He actually enjoyed listening - your enthusiasm was infectious, and even if he didn't fully understand some of the niche topics, he loved seeing your face light up as you spoke.

You often found yourself sparring together.

Steve took the time to help refine your combat techniques, offering pointers and advice in his usual calm and supportive manner.

He was always mindful of your sensory processing struggles, making sure to adjust his approach if he saw you getting overstimulated.

He won't push you to continue your training, because he is a gentleman, obviously, so if you need a break, he's all for it.

And when training was over, he was the first to suggest a well-earned break, sometimes leading you to an empty balcony where you could both unwind and enjoy the warm summer air breezing by you.

Your shared love for vintage music and aesthetics made for some unexpectedly fun moments.

Steve was endlessly charmed by your "girl reporter" style, always giving you that soft, appreciative once-over whenever you stepped into the room in a vintage-inspired outfit.

It kind of reminds him of home, actually. It's comforting.)

For a while, neither of you acknowledged the growing tension between you.

You were awkward with emotions, deflecting with humor whenever something got a bit too real, and Steve was nothing if not patient.

As said before.

He noticed the way you got a bit flustered when he complimented you, how you'd fumble slightly before brushing it off with a joke.

But he also noticed the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention - they way your gaze softened, the way your fingers twitched like you wanted to reach out for him.

Steve fell for you in stages.

It was in the quiet moments - when you sat beside him after a long mission, your head resting against his shoulder without a second thought.

It was in the way you always saved a seat for him at team dinners, how you instinctively sought him out in a crowded room.

It was in your stubbornness, your fire, the way you never let him brood for too long without pulling him back into the moment with a sharp remark or a playful jab.

For you, the realization hit all at once.

Maybe it was the way he always managed to steady you when you were feeling overwhelmed, or the way he somehow understood when you needed space and when you needed someone to anchor you.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you - with those pretty blue eyes of his - they would soften only for you.

It wasn't a grand, dramatic moment.

It wasn't even planned.

You were both caught in the aftermath of a particularly rough mission, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.

You had a few scrapes, but Steve had taken the brunt of a hit that was meant for you, and that fact alone had your hands shaking as you helped bandage him up in the med bay.

He honestly insisted against you patching him up, he had a fast healing factor, but you insisted right back.

He let you fix him up.

"Y'know," You muttered, trying to keep your voice steady, "For a guy with a super-soldier body, you're really bad at dodging."

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, "Couldn't let you take that hit."

You swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do," He said softly, "And I'd do it again." Something about the way he said it - so quiet, so sure - made your chest tighten. He continued, "I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you." Steve reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. His gaze was steady, warm, filled with something - a look - that made it hard to breathe.

"I mean it," Steve murmured, "You're... You mean a lot to me. And- And if you'll have me-"

"Yes." The word came out faster than you intended, voice soft, breathless.

Then, there it was, that beautiful, flawless smile of his.

Once you were together, everything felt so natural, like it had been leading up to this the whole time.

Steve was endlessly patient with you - and I can't say this enough, it seems - never pushing you to be vulnerable before you were ready, but always making sure you knew he was there.

He was the kind of boyfriend who showed his love through actions - acts of service.

He'd bring you coffee or tea when you were buried in work, he'd bring you breakfast in bed whenever he could, he'd let you curl up against him after a long day without expecting you to say anything.

You both had your little traditions.

Slow-dancing in the kitchen to old jazz and classical records, even when you stepped on his feet occasionally.

Weekend trips to hidden bookstores where you'd excitedly rant about your latest finds, and he'd just smile, watching you with quiet adoration.

Actually, the bookstore was one of the places that you and Steve would frequent the most for little dates.

Many hours were spent sitting the the deep depths of the bookstore, sitting on the floor, leaning against the shelves, quietly reading together.

Nights were spent stargazing, where he'd tell you stories from his past, and you'd share your own in return.

Steve adored your cats, even if they didn't fully trust him at first.

He had infinite patience for their slow acceptance, letting them sniff him out and eventually curl up beside him.

It wasn't long before they started waiting by the door for him just as much as they did for you.

He would spoil them, by the way.

You'd lie together on the couch, your head on his chest, while he read aloud to you in that steady, soothing voice of his.

The city was always quieter at night, and he loved taking you on peaceful strolls, his fingers laced with yours.

Whenever you struggled to sleep, he'd stay up with you, talking softly about anything and everything until you drifted back to sleep.

He would make sure you don't overwork yourself, gently pulling you away from your books or laptop when you've been at it for too long.

"Just give me twenty more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago, doll, it's time for a break. We can watch a movie if you like."

He would learn about your sensory sensitivities so he can help you when things get overwhelming.

He would make sure the subtitles are always on for you.

He would write little notes and leave them for you to find, always with something encouraging or sweet inside.

He would always save a dance or two for you at every formal event Tony would start up.

Not the biggest with nicknames, but a few he would use are "doll," "honey," and "sweetheart."

Whether it was singing, D&D, or cosplay, Steve would be your biggest cheerleader.

For holidays or birthdays, he'd gift you vintage items that go along with your aesthetic that were red.

You helped him adjust to modern trends, but never forced him to change - you just gently introduced him to things you know he'd enjoy.

Even though you didn't need to, you would fix his hair before missions.

You and the rest of the team would meet up on the jet, ready to head off to fight, and you'd lean up, brushing your fingers through his hair, making it neat.

Even though it didn't need to be done, Steve appreciated how you wanted to take care of him.

You would hold his hand under the table during annoyingly long debriefings, silent support.

You also made it your mission to show Steve ren faires.

For all his strength, Steve carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You reminded him that he deserved to be taken care of too.

You also reminded him, every single day, that he was loved and that he was enough.

~~~

DC;

Clark Kent -

Could be seen as any Clark, honestly.

You and Clark first met at The Daily Planet, where you were the newest addition to the investigative reporting team.

Your vintage-inspired wardrobe and sharp, inquisitive mind caught Clark's attention immediately.

It wasn't just your style - though he secretly adored the bold red lipstick - it was the way you carried yourself, the fire in your eyes whenever you tackled a lead, and your razor-sharp wit that kept even seasoned journalists on their toes.

Clark found himself gravitating toward you, drawn in by the way you could effortlessly switch from excitedly rambling about a lead to fiercely debating the ethical implications of journalism over coffee in the break room.

You, in turn, found Clark... Interesting.

Not just in a "Wow, he's tall and built like a Greek statue" way, (though, yes, that was also true), but in how utterly kind he was.

In an industry full of jaded reporters, Clark was an anomaly - genuine, humble, and always willing to help, whether it was carrying stacks of files or lending his own notes for your research.

At first, you assumed he was just nice in that country boy Midwest kind of way, but after a while, you started noticing little things - how he always made sure to refill your coffee when you were too absorbed in words to notice your cup was empty, how he never laughed or seemed irritated when you trailed off mid-rant only to start up again five minutes later, and how, whenever you were out on dangerous assignments, he always made sure to be your partner for it.

Your friendship with Clark was effortless, built on mutual admiration and easy banter.

You both had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, though your approaches were wildly different - you, fast-talking, passionate, and prone to info-dumping; Clark, quiet, thoughtful, always giving you his full attention no matter how much you rambled.

Clark found your hyperfixations adorable.

He'd ask you questions about history or folklore just to see your eyes light up and hear you go off on an excited tangent.

If he ever noticed you getting self-conscious about talking too much, he'd gently reassure you.

"I love hearing you talk about things you care about. Don't stop on my account."

You'd drag Clark along to every museum, historical reenactment, and ren faires you could.

And though he wasn't nearly as obsessed as you were, he loved watching you geek out over a well-made period costume or historical artifact.

Ad when you complained about your lack of time for cosplay or costuming, Clark would casually surprise you with custom-made pieces from "a friend who sews".

Spoiler: it was definitely him.

His Mama Martha totally taught him how to sew.

Your shared love for classic literature also became a cornerstone of your friendship.

You'd trade books back and forth, arguing over the best adaptions.

Whenever you caught Clark rereading "Pride And Prejudice," you'd tease him.

"You're such a Darcy fanboy, Kent."

He doesn't mind the teasing.

And when you were swamped with work or exhausted from your pre-med responsibilities, Clark was always there - bringing you food, forcing you to take breaks, and gently nudging you to rest when you were running yourself to the ground.

Clark knew he was in trouble when he started looking for excuses to be around you.

Volunteering to help you with investigative pieces, lingering by your desk, getting irrationally flustered whenever you playfully fixed his tie before interviews.

For you, the realization hit slower.

You knew you admired Clark, that you cared about him more than you probably should, but love?

That was harder to admit.

You weren't used to being vulnerable, and the very thought of confessing made your stomach twist.

You deflected with humor, laughed off the tension, but every time Clark gave you that soft, earnest look...

That one that made you feel so seen...

You felt your resolve cracking.

And then there were the little things.

The way Clark always stood between you and a busy street, the way his touch lingered just a second too long when he passed you a file, the way he always seemed to know when you needed someone to remind you that you were enough, even when you didn't believe in it yourself.

It happened late one evening, long after everyone else had gone home.

You were both working on a big expose, poring over notes, when you sighed, rubbing your temples.

"I swear, if I have to look at one more redacted document, I'm gonna-"

"Go on a dramatic rant about government corruption?" Clark teased lightly, a fond smile on his face.

"You know me so well," You smirked, but your heart pounded when you caught the way he was looking at you.

There was something different in his gaze - something softer, more intense.

He hesitated for a moment, then, he spoke, "I do, you know."

"Do what?"

"Know you... Well, I like to think I do..." His voice wavered ever so slightly, it was almost unnoticeable, but what wasn't was how tightly clenched his hands were. "And I- care about you. More than I probably should, co-worker-wise."

You froze.

Your brain short-circuited.

Clark Kent, the golden boy, the sweetheart, the nicest guy you'd ever met, was looking at you like you were the most important person in the world.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but Clark reached for your hand, grounding you, "You don't have to say anything. I just... I needed you to know."

For once, you didn't deflect.

You squeezed his hand, voice soft, "I care about you too, Clark."

Dating Clark Kent was like breathing fresh air.

Warm, steady, grounding.

He was the kind of boyfriend who made you feel safe in ways you didn't even realize you needed.

(I mean, he's Superman, but you don't know that yet...)

He adored your cats.

You caught him once, dead asleep on your couch, with your two Siamese curled up on his chest.

You took so many photos.

Clark always made sure you had your favorite coffee or tea in the morning, especially when you were too sleep-deprived to function.

Or needed coffee or tea in the morning to function.

(That's me.)

He loved it when you wore red.

You both went on mystery-solving dates - you know, like those mystery dinners people hold for events.

You both give each other massages.

Clark made you laugh, really laugh.

Sometimes, when you couldn't sleep, Clark would hold you close, whispering soft reassurances against your hair.

Clark loved you for you - for your brilliance, your passion, and your fire.

~~~

X-Men;

Scott Summers -

Again, imagine any Scott you wish.

You first met Scott Summers at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters.

As a fellow mutant, you were training to perfect your powers while also juggling missions and trying to live a semi-normal life.

You were always busy, either volunteering at the school's clinic or practicing your combat skills.

Scott noticed early no - partially because of your bold, vintage-inspired style that made you stand out in the halls, but mostly because of your sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude.

At first, Scott was a bit taken aback by how direct you could be, especially when it came to your passions.

You had no problem calling people out when necessary, and he quickly learned that you were more than willing to argue your points in a debate.

He found it... Kind of refreshing.

While many people tiptoed around him because of his leadership position, you treated him like any other teammate.

If anything, you were more critical of him than most, especially when you thought he was being too harsh on himself.

Scott, ever the disciplined and controlled person, found your expressiveness fascinating.

He admired how deeply you cared about everything you did.

He also noticed that despite your social awkwardness, you had a way of drawing people in when you started talking about something you loved.

It wasn't long before he started looking forward to hearing your lastest hyperfixtion.

Despite your differences, you and Scott naturally fell into an easy friendship,

He respected your work ethic and often found himself drawn to the moments where you let yourself be passionate and excited about your work.

He liked listening to you talk about history, theater, and all the nerdy things you adored, even if half the time he didn't know what you were talking about.

Your words and rants made him want to know.

One time, you went on a twenty-minute tangent about "The Scarlet Pimpernel," and he just sat there, absorbing your excitement more than the actual details.

Scott, being the protective type, started looking out for you in small ways.

He knew how much you took on between school, missions, and volunteering, so he'd make sure you remembered to eat, rest, and take breaks.

Sometimes, he'd "casually" bring you a coffee or a snack, acting as if he just so happened to have an extra.

He'd make sure the snack was something that you loved nothing that you had struggles eating because of texture or taste.

Other times, when he noticed you struggling to wind down, he'd invite you to take a walk outside.

Those little gestures didn't go unnoticed.

For your part, you helped Scott let loose a little.

You weren't afraid to tease him, calling him out whenever he got too broody.

You'd playfully mess with his serious demeanor, nudging him to have a little bit more fun.

When you found out he had a good sense of humor, (dry, with a hidden playful side), it became your mission to get him to crack a smile more often.

You also never shied away from calling him out when he was being too hard on himself.

If he was going to make you take breaks and rest, than you were going to do the same for him.

One of your shared activities became late-night talks.

With your insomnia and his contact overthinking, it wasn't uncommon for you to both be aware at odd hours.

You'd meet in the kitchen or the common room, talking about everything from past missions to existential questions about life and mutantkind.

Somewhere along the way, those moments became something you both relied on.

Scott was the first to realize he had feelings for you.

It hit him one day when he was watching you excited ramble about a theater production you wanted to see.

The way your eyes lit up, the way you used your hands to emphasize every detail - he was completely entranced.

He found himself thinking about you constantly, noticing little things...

How you absentmindedly tapped your fingers when you were deep in thought how you always had a knowing look when he tried to deflect with sarcasm.

For you, realizing your feelings took a little longer.

You weren't used to romance, and you had a habit of deflecting with humor whenever you felt too vulnerable.

But the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself seeking out his presence.

You felt safe with him in a way you hadn't expected.

He didn't just tolerate your quirks - he seemed to genuinely appreciate them.

Things came to a head after a particularly dangerous mission.

He had gotten hurt - not badly, but enough to scare you.

When you found him in the med bay later, you stood there, tense, before finally blurting out, “Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Your voice was tight with emotion.

That was the moment you knew.

You really, really, really liked him.

Scott wasn’t great at being emotionally vulnerable either, but he knew he had to be direct with you.

One night, after one of your late-night talks, he hesitated before saying, “I care about you. A lot more than just as a friend.”

It was simple, but the sincerity in his voice made your heart race.

You, of course, immediately turned into a flustered mess.

“I care about you too. A lot.”

He smiled - a real, soft, Scott Summers smile - and that was that.

Scott is the king of acts of service.

He’ll bring you coffee during long study sessions, carry your books without you asking, and make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

You do the same for him, always making sure he’s not overworking himself.

Slow dances when you're cooking or just hanging out.

Scott is subtle about PDA, but he loves holding your hand - whether it’s during a walk around the mansion grounds or when you’re studying together.

He doesn’t get your love for Austen, but he’ll sit beside you while you read, occasionally asking questions just to hear you talk.

He loved it when you read out loud to him.

He’s surprisingly affectionate in private.

If you’re having trouble sleeping, he’ll let you rest your head on his chest while he absentmindedly traces patterns on your arm.

Scott is your biggest supporter.

Whether it’s theatre, cosplay, or history, he’ll listen, help, and even join in if it makes you happy.

He worries about you but knows you can handle yourself.

He just makes sure you always have someone watching your back.

Over time, you develop a ton of inside jokes.

He loves that he can be himself around you.

Scott understands your perfectionism, your stubbornness, and your struggles with vulnerability.

And he never makes you feel bad for it.

Since he struggled with that too.

Scott Summers isn’t an easy man to love - he carries a lot on his shoulders.

But with you, he finds something rare: a partnership built on mutual understanding, trust, and deep affection.

You challenge him in the best ways, and he makes you feel truly seen.

Through late-night talks, quiet support, and shared laughter, you both find a love that’s steady, strong, and undeniably real.

~~~

Once Upon A Time;

Killian Jones -

Killian Jones first meets you under less-than-ideal circumstances - perhaps you were investigating something that led you directly into his path.

In Storybrooke, you’d likely be working as a detective, using your sharp intellect and near-obsessive attention to detail to solve cases others overlook.

Holmes.

Yes, that was your last name.

And the name of your detective agency; The Crimson Holmes Detective Agency.

You have a reputation for being intimidatingly brilliant, a master of deduction with an uncanny ability to read people like an open book.

When Killian arrives in town, whether it’s during his initial revenge-seeking days or later when he’s working with the heroes, he instantly recognizes that you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met.

"Ah, love, you’ve got quite the sharp tongue on you, don’t you?"

He smirks, watching as you effortlessly unravel the latest town mystery while simultaneously critiquing his lack of subtlety.

But you see past his flirtatious bravado, straight to the deep sorrow, loyalty, and buried goodness in him - and that terrifies him.

You’re the only one who can see through his carefully crafted pirate persona, and it frustrates and intrigues him all at once.

You match his wit blow for blow, which both annoys and thrills him.

“You try far too hard to convince people you’re nothing but a roguish pirate,” You remark one day, eyes twinkling. “It would be more effective if you weren’t so painfully obvious about caring.”

He pretends not to be affected, but you’re in his head from that moment on.

Your friendship starts off as a battle of wits and stubbornness.

You both have a natural inclination toward independence and control, so neither of you is quick to admit when you actually enjoy spending time together.

Killian tries to ruffle your feathers with flirtatious remarks, but you deadpan your way through them effortlessly, often leaving him flustered instead.

However, over time, he starts to respect you deeply.

He admires the way your mind works, the relentless way you seek the truth, and how you push yourself to your limits, even when you probably shouldn’t.

Despite being a pirate, he is incredibly protective of you, even though he knows you can hold your own.

He doesn't hover or patronize you - but he watches your back in a way that’s both subtle and deeply reassuring.

"Not that you need my help, love," He says casually, stepping up beside you in a tense moment, "But let’s just say I’d rather not see what would happen if you took a blade to the gut."

Together, you’re a formidable team - him with his sword and instincts, you with your keen mind and razor-sharp deductions.

He enjoys watching you work, marveling at the way you piece things together before anyone else has a clue.

The shift from friendship to romance is agonizingly slow and filled with delicious tension.

You’re both stubborn, sarcastic, and avoidant when it comes to your own feelings.

You deflect with humor, while he hides behind his usual roguish charm.

Neither of you wants to admit what’s painfully obvious to everyone else.

Killian adores your mind, and he often finds himself mesmerized by the way you talk - even when you’re rambling about something completely obscure.

He listens, really listens, because he loves the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about.

There are moments that shake him, though - like when you’re injured on a case, and he abandons all pretense, his voice raw with worry.

Or when he catches you softly singing to yourself, completely unguarded, and something deep in his chest tightens.

And then there’s the way you lean into his touch without thinking, trusting him implicitly.

The way he always finds himself reaching for your hand when he’s nervous or uncertain.

The realization hits him like a tidal wave one day: he’s fallen for you, completely and irreversibly.

Killian’s confession isn’t grand or dramatic - it’s intensely personal and heartfelt.

Maybe it’s after a close call, or maybe he just can’t take pretending anymore.

Either way, it’s one of the few times you see him completely vulnerable.

"You terrify me, love," He admits one evening, voice low. “Not because of your mind - though let’s be honest, that’s enough to make any man feel completely inadequate. But because I never thought I’d meet someone who could see me so clearly... And still stay.”

You’re stunned.

And for once, you are the one fumbling over your words.

But when you finally find your voice, your response is simple: "I was never going anywhere, Killian."

Being with Killian is an adventure in every sense of the word.

He is devoted, protective, and wildly romantic.

He writes you love letters in old-fashioned calligraphy, leaving them for you to find when you least expect them.

He adores your vintage aesthetic, often comparing you to the heroines of classic novels.

"Red suits you, love," He murmurs, brushing his fingers over the fabric of your favorite outfit. "Then again, I suspect you’d make any color look divine."

He takes you on moonlit sails, where the only sound is the waves against the hull and his soft voice murmuring stories of the stars.

At home, he cooks for you, using whatever ingredients he can find, often resulting in chaotic yet endearing meals.

He steals kisses when you least expect it - while you’re deep in thought, while you’re trying to work, just to see that rare, flustered look on your face.

You, in turn, surprise him constantly.

With small, meaningful, gentle acts of service that show how much you care, even when words fail you.

He adores your cats, often talking to them, “Well, mates, looks like I’ve got some competition for her heart,” He jokes, scratching behind their ears.

When he noticed that you’re stressed, he might take over one of your tasks for the day, running errands or cooking you dinner without you asking - though he won’t make a big fuss about it.

He’d also keep your personal boundaries in mind, especially with your sensory processing disorder.

Knowing how much you dislike loud, overwhelming spaces, Killian would always be the first to suggest quieter places for dates or getaways.

Whether it’s a cozy cottage by the water or a quiet spot in the forest, he’d make sure you feel at ease, taking care to keep your environment calm.

He wouldn't be pushy, and if you ever needed some space to recharge, he’d be completely understanding, always there when you’re ready but never pressure you.

On your end, you show your love through small gestures, acts of service, and quality time.

With your busy schedule, Killian knows how hard it is for you to slow down, so you make it a point to ensure he knows just how much he means to you.

You’d also keep him grounded when his past weighs heavily on him.

You understand the complexity of people, especially when they’ve lived through darkness and come out the other side.

You’re not afraid to remind him of the goodness within him and would encourage him to confront his inner demons without shame.

When things get tough, you’d give him a gentle but honest pep talk, and he’d appreciate how you never sugarcoat things but always manage to keep him grounded.

Killian makes you feel cherished, in a way no one else ever has.

And in return, you give him something he never thought he’d have again - a reason to believe in love.

[looptroupe]

HI GORGEOUS!!!!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL US ABOUT YOUR WIPS AND AUS IM REALLY INTERESTED 🙏🙏🙏

Foams at the mouth

I’m in the middle of writing up a whole HC post for someone asking about a highschool AU but I’m gonna take this opportunity to sidetrack the conversation towards something I’d love to genuinely see from the series… a HEAVY (film) noir lean. Think: Bogart, Framed, Gilda, Vertigo… probably pushing the era back 40’s, 50’s way (Maybe even some 30’s lean in there, if I could get away with it) instead of the general 60’s vibe Lupin has going for it.

I think there’s a TON of potential there. I mean, I’m aware something like this was pitched (and never picked up, sigh…) so there IS sentiment there, and the idea has been thought about, but instead of TWCFM’s ‘serious Lupin’ I’d love to see a true noir ‘serious Lupin’. I think you can put these characters into a serious setting without making them straight up evil, and I’ll be honest, I think it would be way more appealing than the stuff they’ve been releasing lately (besides Zero. I have to admit that I loved Zero).

I’d want the gang to actually feel like criminals, though. Cutting shady deals in illegal bars, Lupin running his mouth to big players about whatever new heist he has up his sleeve. I’d take them back to being Miyazaki-esque ‘living paycheck-to-paycheck’ rather than ‘insta-rich Lupin funding his hedonistic spirit’ because I think that would work better in this universe: Lupin is constantly getting them in hot shit with the big leagues because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Jigen has shot ten guys this week who have come knocking at their hideout’s door looking for trouble. Goemon’s sick of digging graves and is antsy to finally be who he dreams of being. Fujiko’s got her eyes on a bigger prize, like always.

Zenigata’s an underpaid beat-cop-turned-inspector who has been trying to climb the ranks for a long while. He’s ambitious, but a little too soft for his own good: he’s hopeful in a way that most of the guys in his squad aren’t, and that makes him the perfect candidate for when the commissioner has to shill a shitty 9-5 case on an unsuspecting worker. A file lands on his desk, and he flips through it with this eager fire, like he’s just been asked to take on the world, and Lupin and his gang smile up at him from the pages.

Lupin is a crook, he learns. Part-time petty thief, full-time smooth-talker: a man with a legacy to live up to and not a whole lot to show for it besides a reputation as a lady-killer and a particularly long unpaid tab at the seediest bar in town. His sticky fingers have landed him in more trouble than they’ve gotten him out of, and recent reports say that he’s managed to get under the skin of the most notorious once-criminal-now-film-director in town… the very criminal that underhandedly paid Zenigata’s boss to start an official investigation in the first place.

Jigen is a gun-for-hire. Babysitter, bodyguard, hitman… whatever you need, he’ll do, however begrudgingly. He’s not a guy you mess with: and his reputation is actually pretty good in criminal circles. He’s well-respected and well-liked. Or, he was, until the monkey-faced man at the bar implicated him in a crime he didn’t commit. Now, he’s babysitting without pay, and he’s starting to get a little sick of having to put bullets into the faces of old friends who decide his bounty is worth more than his loyalty. Figures.

Goemon’s a man slightly-less-out-of-time. A famous Japanese-American film star, he’s known world-over for starring in Samurai flicks alongside his leading lady, Fujiko Mine. The thing is, Goemon is classically trained in swordslinging, and when Lupin offers him an opportunity to be the very person he’s been portraying on screen, he’s more than happy to throw his reputation away. He never cared much for fame, anyway. There’s just this one little hitch: he’s enamoured with the sword he last used on set, and he won’t take no for an answer when he asks Lupin to retrieve it for him.

Fujiko has her eyes on a prize a little more exciting than Zantetsuken: the film empire she’s helped build herself. The tabloids can’t get enough of her, and she knows that a marriage to the most famous director the world has ever seen might just secure her a place in history. The thing is, the man she’s trying her best to seduce has stopped paying her attention since his beloved priceless-antique-turned-prop-sword went missing, and she’s determined to get it back for him. Because what would make him fall quicker? Ah, there’s just one catch: Lupin is kind of charming, and the life he’s living is… exciting. Tempting. Fujiko likes playing with fire, but she’s starting to get a little too close to this one particular flame. The heat has her cheeks burning… Or maybe that’s Goemon’s doing.

They’re a strange little bunch, the Lupin Gang. But man, do people have a habit of underestimating them. Zenigata included. Because what he thinks to be a simple case of theft soon turns into something more sinister as the layers of movie-magic veneer begin to peel away. Maybe Lupin was onto something, targeting this guy, and maybe this hotshot director isn’t quite as reformed as he says he is.

He went to court recently, after all. Say, how much did he pay the judge to overturn that guilty verdict? Zenigata would like that sum as a pay rise once this has all blown over. That, and some fresh smokes.

((Mmm someone should hop on board and help me develop this I think. Could be a fun little exercise on the side… if it’s up anyone’s alley >:) ))

[spacecatdraws]

things i have said

without the context to understand why

I told you he has hands!

Stop throwing oats at her

Holy shit, I’ve gone blind. What time is it?

It’s an endless cycle of disappointment

come on, let’s go see the nonexistent psychiatrist

harpy with a hockey stick terrorizes the local police

I will hit you with a frying pan. And you’d probably enjoy it. You freak.

i woke up with one spoon

youre a deadbeat dad to yourself

how many birds does it take to pull of a heist?

blood bubble. A bloodble.

coding is just magic

theyre so gay I had to drug one of them about it

i am putting them in situations

i ran out of green so I’m just using black

Hawaiian shirt. but it just says HAWAII!!!! on it

my dreams and my nightmares are indistinguishable from each other

i was on the run from the police for being transfem (i am AFAB)

plastic itchy :[

”make me a sandwich” I’ll make you a sandwich. And I’ll eat it in front of you. While making eye contact.

it’s either made in two minutes or costs fifty dollars on steam

im always hallucinating

the fog is back

its a parfake. fake parfait. parfake

“gender’s what’s in your pants” I’m not wearing pants. These are shorts

I’m upright and not crying

i wanna deconstruct your art and eat it like a charcuterie board

chaos incarnate

i am the patron saint of sticky notes

i like chasing people.

im gonna move all your furniture 3 inches to the left

I’m getting paid 5 bucks for this

My phone chargers commit suicide whenever I use them at all

there are hermit crabs in the monastery

eyes on me, bitch

cyanide the substance teacher

she died in a fire but she’s better now

the elevator is broken because half of it is missing

hello car

gay💥💥

fish fucker

you lost your glasses in the lake?

logs sounds like a bitch

40% gay, 60% homophobic

They hate each other? no they kissing

just the angriest pile of goop

i spilled black paint on my carpet so I cut out an eye and put it on there

i got stabbed. unintentionally.

he acquired a kid through probably legal means

what does a q look like

that’s a cool serial killer.

name him richard

i can’t drive but that won’t stop me from trying

gay panic and werewolves

if I draw him can you put him on the wall

if you ask, I’ll give you context

[auckie]

I’ve only ever bought a comm twice and the first time I hated the result but it was only ten bucks so who cares but the second time they just didn’t. Do it and didn’t refund me. Or dm me back. And that one was like 30, so again. Not that bad. But so many comm artists I know are always like ‘dude I’m so behind I’m so nervous my clients keep dming me’ and on one hand I get it bc I take forever to do anything but on the other hand maybe that means you took too many or gave them an unrealistic timeline. Sorry but it’s true. And that’s why unless an artist is huge and reputable I’m hesitant to get one, or unless I know the person well and either trust they’ll get it done at some point. Any point. Refund me. Or I like them enough to be like well you probably need that 60-90 more than me so we’ll let bygones be bygones huh? But then. But then you see them draw someone a free gift. And yknow. It’s like when someone’s ignoring you and you see them active elsewhere. Hey I get it we’ve all been there. It happens and I can roll with it. But just as when like a week passed and you still get peanuts. How can you not take that personally? (*saying this as someone who does this and doesn’t mean offense but recognizes how rude it is and will just be like shit I guess I can’t keep up with 300 acquaintances or old friends who live six hours away). So when it’s like, 5 personal pieces, two freebies for friends, and 0 comms. It’s a little insulting. I think you get to an age where you realize running around like a chicken with its head cut off isn’t cute anymore and as you try to get your shit together and stop the cycle of ‘guys! I’m okay!’ And everything is clean and organized and you’ve answered all your dms, paid all your bills, gone grocery shopping and done laundry and meal prepped for work. Then one thing goes wrong and it all goes to shit and you spend three weeks slowly trying to rebuild the house of cards. Then you’re back to ‘guys! I’m okay!’ Rinse and repeat. So seeing others still in it. It’s…relatable, but when money or time is on the line it’s a little annoying. I guess at least it’s not some sort of formal, corporate contract ofc. You try to be empathetic. Maybe they’re busy, or deal with chronic pain. Maybe something stressful just happened like an illness or death in the family, a breakup, job loss. Tons of shit could be happening. But if it’s a recurrent trend? Maybe. Don’t sell commissions. Or just limit yourself to three, I see a lot of artists do that. It’s smart and manageable. You can get in line to be emailed when they open comms again. Charge like, nothing. So it won’t matter as much if you have to refund. Don’t spend the money you get before hand till it’s done too. Take tips from the freaks who pump out tens of comms a month. What sortve scary tricks do they use? Is it viable? Are there shortcuts you can take, like those stupid ps yt tutorials? I dunno man I couldn’t imagine doing writing commissions. So I don’t. As much as I enjoy writing fuck that noise! Too busy and messy with my own life let alone tasks that don’t have set deadlines and scary employers standing over my shoulder. Bc I know my weaknesses and they are many, and I don’t like screwing people over lol— even if it’s only ten bucks.

[echonvoid]

My version of the Poppy Playtime protagonist. They’re based on Aliens Ripley but if older. They couldn’t remember a whole bunch from the week or so around the Hour of Joy; they were attacked by Huggy and managed to make it right outside the front doors with the help of one of the other employees, who, valiantly (read *stupidly*) ran back inside to try to help. He never came back out. Anyway, Protag was found by paramedics, but the inside was empty of bodies by the time they got there. There was a shit load of blood, and after a brief scan by the cops, they just shut that shit down. They lost a couple cops and paramedics, but mostly used their instincts and ran. Like smart people who survive a horror movie.

So the protagonist ends up in a couple month long coma and comes out of it with a severed nerve that connects to their larynx. Now they haven’t been able to properly talk for 30 years (ignore my math, I’m still unsure how I fucked it up so bad)

I can’t decide if they’re late 50s or 60s. They’re farsighted, but their reading glasses have broke, so it’s really hard to see all the small faded text (which is why you can’t just read any ole file while playing)

They feel guilty bc they had been so proud to be a part of something with so much benefit and joy to kids, and now they’re finding out the actual *EVIL* that was happening to those with connection to the place. They feel guilty bc they feel like they should’ve known; *how could they have let this all happen right underneath their very nose*;etc. etc. they also have a burning hatred for the other managerial heads in the company (they themselves being head of toy production; their name is destroyed bc the prototype was enraged that one of the five main evils of the company got away or some shit like that)

It took them a while to figure out how to live and function without speech; and after a few years of slogging through a comphet (compulsory heteronormative) marriage, they finally went through a nasty divorce. Shortly after they figured out their own gender identity (or at least started the awkward process of) and their own sexuality.

Thirty years later (almost on the dot) they got the message and tape that cried for help from the factory and nearly shit themselves. Proto definitely assumed that the company had just shut down, cuz you know that the cops were paid to keep a building with almost 500 (or so) employees, that went missing and were presumably dead, under wraps from the public. They’re definitely super grateful they’ve been doing tumbling and martial arts classes, so they have been in incredible shape and can do all the crazy shit required to stay alive.

Edit: this is what I’m gonna call the Survivor AU cuz I realize that the game takes place in 2005 and not, like, 2025. And we apparently played hooky during the “hour of joy” in canon lore. Oh well

God this chapter fucked me up, in a good way. It was spooky as fuck, tense and terrifying; they’ve super upped the quality. But now I have just enough brain rot and characters to attach to to actually go through and draw up the design that’s been banging around in my head for ever.

[icyhotheartwritings]

Tl;dr of the unasked for Pat Parelli rant

-Pat Parelli is a con artist who beat his wife and scams people out of their money using extremely clever language

-Don’t even get me started on Parelli’s use of “horsenality” which assigns the stupid left-brain right-brain thing to horses. Along with introvert/extrovert but that’s semi-excusable. But, seriously… he’s advertising these horses as left-brain extroverts and right-brain introverts. Which, as I’ll touch on later, appeals to one market which makes the whole thing feel a bit suspicious.

-Liberty work IS an extremely valid way of working with horses, I partake in some level myself, but Parelli touts his methods as the only valid way while charging hundreds of dollars to “move up” levels in his program (where you aren’t even “allowed” to ride until level 3).

-Parelli’s website will sell you the same shit you can get at Tractor Supply or your local feed store for double the price, sometimes more.

-The most egregious item might be the Pat Parelli’s Rancher Roper, priced at $6,250. You can get a custom saddle fitted to your horse for less. My most high end saddle cost a staggering $600.

-Don’t have a horse? Don’t worry, Pat Parelli has your back! For the low low price of $5000-$150,000 (NOT a typo), you can get your very own Parelli trained horse! Purchases less than $25,000 even get levels 1-3 of the online program for free! Wow! Purchases above the price of a small down payment can claim 10 whole days of training with Pat Parelli himself! Just think, what else would you have spent that money on? I mean, a normal trainer costs about $3k/mo, what a deal Pat Parelli is giving you! For the cost of 8-50 months of training you get ten whole days with him and a horse!

-The most expensive horse at the moment, a 12 year old German Warmblood priced at $150k, only scores an 84/100 on the Parelli assessment… with a 6/10 on “Parelli Training.” It might just be me, but if I was buying a horse for more than some homes cost I would want that number to be a little higher in the training department than the 9.5/10 he got in “Look.” I’ve seen him sell an 11 year old gelding for $300k whose top characteristic was “very handsome.” Over half of this year’s highly bred Kentucky Derby horses cost less than that.

-For a quick horse price reference I have never paid $1k for a horse and my current budget is a bit over $5k. For $5k I had the opportunity to buy a dead broke papered quarter horse gelding under 10 years old. I would be hard pressed to pay $5k for a horse over maybe 13 years old unless it had like, insane breeding and/or training. Pat Parelli is selling a 16 year old mare for $15k.

-If you need more Pat Parelli in your life, you can join his campus program for 24-48 weeks for just $1000/week, where you’ll perform exciting horse training activities like building fences, a skill specifically mentioned in the application! Of course, you can only apply for this course after you’ve paid your hundreds to thousands for mere access to the online courses and additional materials and your $60 fee for each video application to move up a level! What a bargain!

-For his next in person event, you can lease a horse for the bargain price of $600/week on top of the $6500-10000 tuition for the two week program!

-Parelli’s program very clearly appeals to new, young, inexperienced horse owners. On the application to join his $1000/week program it’s asked how many hours you have spent riding a horse across your life. I’ve owned my own horse since I was 5 and started taking lessons at 4. My horse riding experience is old enough to join the US military. No way in hell would I be able to even BEGIN to calculate the amount of time I’ve spent riding. (I’m sure there’s something to say about the fact that this mostly appeals to women, and the former comments about how he treats his wife…)

-Pat Parelli’s cult feeds off of some weird form of elitism. Everyone who follows another method is wrong and abusive. Only members of Parelli’s program are good horse owners, and the more people you can convert to his methods (and website) the more good you do for horses. You’d never see a fan of Monty Roberts saying that.

-For context on training prices I’m taking an hour lesson with a trainer on my buddy’s horse to see if I mesh with the trainer for $70. Highest I’ve personally seen was under $200 a lesson and she’s a HUGE name in a specific breed. Dominates the show scene. Everyone knows her. Even the aforementioned Monty Roberts, one of THE big horse training names for DECADES only charges $300/hr for a 1-on-1 video call. Sending your horse off for training with 1-3 lessons a week usually runs $3k/mo.

-Pat Parelli isn’t fit to kiss my fucking ass.

[piratekane]

How do you stop yourself from burnout working in education? I’ve only been qualified for 3 years but i am so burned out already. I love teaching and i love the kids, and i feel so guilty for being tired. But i have been working 60 hour weeks, only being paid for 36 of them, constantly trying to deal with aprents and please the school, being expected to volunteer for sports clubs and activities for 2-3 hours a few times a week, weekend clubs, constant grading. It’s not the kid’s fault, it’s the system. I’m spending upwards of $300 on school supplies regularly because the school won’t, i have a 1h commute. Our school refuses to hire subs where possible so not only do i have my own kids and subjects to worry about i have someone else’s. The system is broken and i am broken by it. Is there a way to stop feeling this way?

Teacher burnout is for real. Teachers are underpaid, underfunded, and overworked and frankly, it's an epidemic. You should not feel guilty for being tired because what you're doing is exhausting work. It is a broken system and sadly, it doesn't look like much is going to change quick enough. And it's a loss. Because there are tons of teachers like you, who I'm sure are insanely talented, insanely devoted to furthering young minds, and you're being trapped behind bureaucratic lines that expect everything from you but give you nothing in return. (And don't get me started on the parents. There should be a course in 'How Not To Be An Asshole' that's mandatory.) It's okay to admit that a kid's love and admiration and growth isn't enough to keep you going some days. It's certainly not enough to keep on your lights or put gas in your car. Without you, children grow less. Without you, minds shrink. And yet... The system actively works against you, throwing roadblock after roadblock. And that? It fucking sucks.

I don't know you personally, but I'm going to assume that you care about your kids and you care about your work and if no one has said thank you today, thank you. Thank you for making and keeping those kids your priority. Thank you for putting so much of yourself into your work - no one just spends their personal money because they don't care. No one drives an hour each way because they don't give a shit. No one asks these kinds of questions because it doesn't mean a thing to them. So thank you. Thank you for all you've done and thank you for all you continue to do. You're someone's favorite teacher. You're probably more than just one kid's favorite teacher. You matter. Your district can suck it.

I wish I had some practical advice. I wish I could say "do yoga, go for a walk, go out with friends" and that would work. But the most I've got for you is this: take care of yourself. And maybe, sort of, I am saying do yoga. Because what you need to do is set time for yourself. What's that post about hope being a skill? Self-care is a skill. And you need to practice it daily. Read for yourself, even if it's just for 15 minutes. Pick up gardening or get some plants. (Plants helped me through that first long lock down period, I swear it on my life). We have a teacher at our school who was struggling hard and she saw that and said, I need to do something for me. She tackled our garden area and she's insistent it saved her life. It certainly saved her career - she was going to burn out quick and hot. But she put time into something that she could see and it totally changed her perspective. Pick a self-care practice where you can see progress, something tangible. Because it's nice to think, "I'm doing so well at self-care" and it's another to see the change. I personally find that more rewarding than the abstract. So pick something. Pick more than one thing. And in between the school day and the grading and eating (please, eat regularly and make sure there's some veggies in there), set aside some time to do something just for you. Watch yourself progress and know that if you were getting a grade in self-care, it'd be top marks. (But don't push it. Don't turn it into another thing you stress about. Pick something that feels good, that makes you want to get through A, B, and C so you can get to you-time.)

My other advice is to adopt a cat. That's always a game changer.

[theuniverseawakens347]

WHY WUD I SUBMIT WHEN YOU SUCK A LEADING - U WANT ME DED … SO YOU GOT ME HOMELESS EATING SPOILED FOOD .. 🫤 but we saving the ppl W THE BARE MINIMUM OF GOOD RESOURCES - whos heart not really in this job - why - someone didn’t save me MY WAY when I needed help… - I surrender… LEE YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT AND CAN SUPPLY IT BUT PURPLOSELY HOLDING OUT ON ME - “ I don’t want cashay to take care of me in old age” - “ you can have what we have BUT YOU DONT DESERVE IT” - I ASKED YOU FOR HELP DEC 9th 2023 … you’ve been recorded. Ur an asshole on purpose bc race n talent … BUT YOU CHOSE NOT TO SHARPEN UR TOOLS - PEER CRITISM “ why would I listen to you when I can just steal it to show I’m better” … for me “ why would I listen to you when you failing yourself” - IM HAPPY UR MISERBALE… BUT IM ASKING FOR FOOD RIGHT NOW BC MY BODY IS CRAVING WHAT MY POCKETS CANT GET - Joshua got me fruit “ cashay what do you want to eat” - in n out “ naw I don’t eat that shit let’s go to Whole Foods” - WHY BOTHERING ME ASKING WHAT I WANT AND LETTING ME KNOW YOU GOT THE MONEY x you pull out ur ebt card… THEN LEAD W “ I GOT EBT WHAT DO YOU WANT TO EAT” … but lee you flaunt money like it’s nothing to me HOW MANY NEW CARS YOU BOTH GET UR SELF BUT I GET HAND ME DOWNS - “ she’s 16 irresponsible “ - me moving back from sf “ we’re low on money so we can’t spend much but do quick n for me and see I spent $9000 on a brand new massage chair” - “ Cashay I’m not paying $60 on ANOTHER PAID OR BLACK SHOES even if urs are falling apart or they’re different but I’ll spend $300 on a pair of heels I’ll never wear them hide in a closet from howard” - “ Cashay let’s get you A CAT” how’d you come home w two - lee “ awe THEYRE crying being separated this breaks my heart “ LETS GET BOTH DOCTOR Howard’s going to be sooo mad - cashay “ just tell Howard I want3d two I’ll take the fall for you” - WHY DO YOU FUCKING HATE ME LEE.

[thursdaynights]

This one isn’t getting stuck in the mud this year !

How boring it is to be sad at home. ☝🏽NTS: I am minimizing my own depression and that’s not helping anyone. One of my birthday resolutions is to not do this anymore. I would never do this to a friend so why am I treating myself like that? It’s the same way my parents treated me when I came to them with this and I don’t need to keep that up. I can treat myself to the same compassion I give freely to everyone around me. I can give myself the love I so easily pour out of my heart of literally everyone and everything else. Im allowed to have some of that, too. This depression is heavy but I’m not going to find a way out of this just looking in the spot my eyes land when my head is hanging.

My list of Birthday resolutions for the Sacred Age:

Start a religion

Amass at least 12 followers

Have one that’ll betray me

Upset the Romans

Get crucified

RISE AGAIN, HANDS AT THE READY.

Pay off my credit card debt ✅

Do better at not letting that pile up 👀

Start treating myself like a friend

Go to the doctor’s and get my stomach checked out

Solidify daily routine that will allow me to better manage my time.

Maybe start going to a gym to work out. Or take a boxing class. My favorite way to work out is when I am using my body for something that it would do naturally like hiking or getting into a fight. What I would lOVE to do is get into competitive wood cutting. And archery. I am pretty ok with a bow and even more solid with an axe. Recruit me.

With everything that has happened in the last couple months, I am very proud that I got the things done that I needed done like filing my taxes, updating my car registration, and updating my address on my license and voter registration as well as updating the addresses on all my bank accounts. I went to the dentist and got a clean bill of health, too. I know that may seem mundane for anybody else but I am somebody who becomes paralyzed if there are enough important feeling, time sensitive tasks on my to do list. It’s scary and I know it’s executive dysfunction rearing it’s head and it doesn’t make it any easier that the people I leaned on for advice in the past made me feel worse for asking them for help. To help avoid that being put down feeling (what eventually leads to the paralysis), I ripped everything off and did as much of it as I can by myself. Instead of relying on my dad and his CPA to file my taxes, I did it myself on HRblock and got the same return I got last year all for free.I had no idea my taxes were this easy to file. My dad has always made it seem like some boogeyman situation where if I did it wrong, I’ll immediately go to jail. But, I found it was pretty easy to do your taxes correctly and that if you’re trying to do some fucky shit, that’s the complicated bit and that’s on you- speaking on trying to justify deductions to get more of a return. I’m not out here trying to get back more than what I’m owed but I do understand filing your taxes can become more complicated If you have to report things like a mortgage payments or any expenses related to work or volunteering service, or if you’re anything other than a W2. Up to right now, that’s not me and I’ve never needed anything fancy in that regard. I was going through the flowery motions for no good reason. Same with my move, my dad has always been the one to provide a truck and some workers (reluctantly) whenever any of his kids needed to move, but I didn’t want to do that this time to avoid the feeling of being an obligation to him. I rented a truck myself and between me and the guy we hired, we had everything out of my apartment in one sweep. I made one trip to my new studio in less than two hours I paid 60 bucks for the truck, enjoyed the fuck out of driving the box truck myself 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠, and returned it without issue. Moving expenses were at most 260 bucks.

There’s a lot more to get done and I am still very lost in this place. But, I’ve got my hands out now and I’m starting to feel my way around.

I need to remind myself of how much ground I’ve covered, though. From 2020 on it’s been nothing but a freefall.

I cannot disregard all of the movement I made between 2019 and now. It’s just hard to have a bookmark visible on that progress when my entire identity was leveled in 2022. 2022 was the repacking and leveling of a foundation that I will build on with plans of my own design. No more cookie cutter houses. No more following someone else’s idea for m y life. If I want to do something, I will check in with ((myself)) and move on that advice. I will seek professionals in the field I am drawn to and find mentors. Apply myself. I have a life to dedicate to something. I’d like to that be a life of learning about the world I live in. It’s a wonder and I find absolute joy in watching and learning how things exist together.

And trees. This bitch l o v e s trees. Im going to bring more trees in my life.

[yali-the-sloth]

I thought I had nothing of substance to add to this post. However, after internally seething about it for the whole day, I actually have stuff to say.

I take great offense at the stance some people in the fandom take on how ‘BioWare delivered what the fans were asking for all along’. You’ll have to thrust my face into it directly because after spending nearly 50 hours in the game I see none of the ‘narrative’ which is supposed to drive me through it. This game is a hollow husk with none of the substance of the previous entries, a mediocre candy wrapped up in a really pretty cover.

And the worst part? The writing team is not the victim here, they are complicit! They knew what the approach to the writing will be from the get-go - see Gaider’s tweets on why he left. What we got with the veilguard’s writing now in 2024? Exactly the reason he left back in 2016.

8 years, 2 reboots and nothing’s changed. And these people sat through it all and then had the gall to try to actively lie when promoting the game in order to try and appeal to the older fans. Nothing about this game is about the narrative, the quests feel like there were stripped out of like 3/4 of the lines that were initially written for them, characters are one dimensional and are never ever allowed to have any sort of strong opinions and reactions, the world, writing wise, never reacts to anything that is happening on the screen. Don’t even get me started on how they treated the foundation left by the previous games.

And why should I be happy about receiving the single player game? Duh, it should have been like that from the very beginning! The one and only reason we got it is because EA saw that it’s gonna be more profitable than the life service shit they wanted initially! It was a purely business decision on their part and I don’t see why I should be thankful to the team for it.

The writers left on the team knew what it would be like, accepted it and then tried to sell it as their best work possible. Moreover, they already got paid, nothing I can say on social media will ever change that. And I already paid 60$ for this game so I’m not gonna pretend I got my money’s worth. They can just ignore all the criticism like they’ve always done, it’s none skin off their backs.

We’re not in kindergarten, they do not get a golden star for ‘trying’.

Reminder to be kind to the writers/devs as they’re beholden to a much larger company that makes the big choices as far as what they do with the final product. Don’t forget, we almost got live-service online multiplayer DAV. They remade it from scratch, YEARS into the production just to give us what we actually wanted, a single player narrative-driven game.

[talking-revolver]

It’s gotten to the point where I have to start judging people a little bit for buying the next big AAA game for upwards of $60.

These companies pump out unfinished, unoptimized games, which often come with predatory microtransaction and live service models, while mistreating their employees and customers alike. And they keep doing it and getting away with it because people keep giving them money. No matter what bullshit they pull, they'll get money out of it. And that's all they care about. They don't care if you support them morally or not, only financially. If they get called out, they just have their PR team whip up an apology jpeg, then take the money and run.

Like, at this point, if you shell out money to a corporation just so you can play the next Zelda or whatever, you are just affirming that they can do whatever heinous shit they want and still profit. You are part of the problem.

Before anyone screams “think of the devs!!!!”: they’ve already gotten paid, and as far as I’m aware, the actual developers don’t get royalties, only the companies that hold the IPs.

Like, I know this may sound harsh, but there genuinely is no good excuse to keep supporting these corporations. Not fun, not nostalgia, not even the games being decent. A good, polished game does not excuse the human cost.

Stop letting them manipulate your fear of missing out. Stop letting corporations guilt trip you into funding their greed machines. Spend that $70+ on a few indie games that have actual love put into them. I guarantee you there’s stuff out there and coming soon that’s way better than Open World Grindfest #57685 or Point-and-Shoot With 200% MORE Gambling Addiction!!

Better yet, learn how to pirate shit. It is morally correct to pirate AAA games.

[compacflt]

you're a legend for referencing lauren berlant and michael warner in relation to your top gun fic and I'd like to think that they would say the same!! the stories that you've created are beautiful explorations of some of the biggest questions posed in queer theory: who are we in public? who are we in private? where is the line that separates the two (spoiler: there is no way to actually separate the two, no binary) and what are the structural forces bearing down upon all of that bullshit! I for one would love to see your questions about privacy and respectability explored with rooster and ice and mav. especially considering the generational cliff between them, with the aids crisis in the background of rooster's childhood when they were all the closest, in your world. anyway! you are an incredible writer and it's been a privilege to read you work :)

thank you so much for this ask!! yes i have spent so much time thinking about this. In March i started working on a new-yorker-style interview that tried to address a bunch of these questions. Since I didn’t do wip wednesday yesterday (sorry) here’s some relevant sections of that wip related to your ask. I don’t think it’s spoilers since I’m not sure id ever post this anywhere—you can see for yourself how entertaining the writing is and it’s overly political and didactic. Just a lame hegelian dialectic where im interrogating my own characters (at least, my own interpretations of them) on their politics. And I’m not an expert on any of this stuff (currently on the slow uphill climb out of the valley of the dunning-kruger graph—trying to learn). Nor am I fact-checking it & that feels irresponsible to post For Real. so just take this post as a fun (for me) exploration of what i (20y.o., ignorant, no editorial oversight, smooth-brained) think Might be some political implications of my fics, trying to write from a lib-moderate pov (tough!)

talking points I wanted to address:

The politics of ice’s career, both internationally & domestically (some wild navy scandals happened under his “tenure” [fat Leonard most pressingly—would LOVE to know how actual TGM’s ice & mav felt about that bc it was SO FUCKING CRAZY, navy officers & admirals having wild sex parties paid for by a singapore defense contractor (the details are so fucking crazy i can’t even say them here—one anecdote involves 7th fleet officers using WWII/Korean war general macarthurs historical memorabilia during sex acts—go read about it) a couple PACFLT RDMLs were charged with actual crimes, 60 admirals (of the navys total 160 admirals) were under investigation & both my and TGM’s ice & cyclone would probably have been two of them, basically if you were a pacflt officer in the mid-2000s-2010s you were under investigation it was so fucking wild]) —and another geopolitical look at the implications of both top gun movies (reagan weighs in from beyond the grave)

Ice and mav who can’t win—they want their relationship to Not Be A Big Deal. leave us alone. We’re Normal. we’re not Weird or anything. —but can’t understand WHY their relationship is so sensational/political—yes, boys, it is a big deal, sorry!! mavericks probably the last Ace the world will ever see & ice is the secretary of the navy and they’re married, fuck yes that’s newsworthy!!!

my version of Ice acceding to SECNAV at the intersection of a couple crucial contextual moments for the navy/military as a whole: 1. Recruitment is currently fucked. This interview takes place in 2020/early 2021, and things were bad then, but the numbers just came out for the Navy this year, and hoooooly shit they are so bad. And blame is falling along partisan lines like always: Ds blame low recruitment numbers on lack of benefits etc, Rs literally i am not shitting you are mostly blaming low recruitment numbers on the military going Woke. The USN has long been seen as the most obnoxiously woke/gay (derogatory) service to conservatives & there’s a lot of political baggage that comes with having a SECNAV who, while not openly identifying as gay, is openly married to another man. especially with a recruiting crisis like this one. 2. Withdrawal from afghanistan obviously. kind of a shit way for ice to end his career ngl. It Did Not Go Super Well. 3. rising tensions in eastern europe pre RU-UA invasion in 2022, what that means for the MIC and procurement, etc. 4. The joint chiefs openly declaring they (& by extension the military as a whole) would not support trump’s coup attempt post-J6—the end of that extremely politically polarized presidency—what does it mean for the following Dem president to then have a gay secnav after that? It’s HUGE. SO no matter what, Ice as SECNAV is going to go down in history. He just wants it to be for his actions, not the fact that he’s gay.

Icemav’s relationship with their identities. We really really don’t want to be known for being gay. “Ask me what my proudest achievement is, I’ll tell you without a second of hesitation—my family. Without a doubt. But does any military man really want to be best-known for his marriage?” We want to be known for being the BEST at our jobs, which we are. We’ve earned that title! There’s so much more interesting stuff about us than who we got married to.

AND how that is a liberal-moderate-conservative median-50% meritocratic WET DREAM of an ideology. an interview like this one is a straight fluff piece pre-ice’s confirmation to secnav—it lets him prove to the moderate liberals that he’s left-leaning enough to protect social justice interests in the USN, AND prove to conservatives that he’s right-leaning enough to not let identity politics/“woke bs” get in the way of the navy’s mission of providing a lethal maritime fighting force. the merits of this ideology are up for debate.

maybe helping the conservative viewpoint of that ideology: The fact that the Kazansky-Mitchell-Bradshaw-seresin family is so not-stereotypically gay. Like, look at these four guys. 9-to-11 combat kills between them (11 in my universe where ice gets an extra 2, 9 canon confirmed) in a period of history/modern warfare when ANY air-to-air kill is/was massively historically significant. Extremely macho & tough. They present themselves about as traditionally and toxically masculine as you could possibly get. Theyve KILLED PEOPLE. They’re not “soft” by any stretch of the imagination. Physically & emotionally they ARE extremely conservative, and there’s something to be said about the politics of that too—molding yourself into the shape of what you think a man should look like, just to avoid persecution, and then performing masculinity BETTER than even the men who would want to persecute you…!

Related to your ask: the modern/young ppl inclination to make sexuality SO political and public. When asked how he could reckon with joining a DADT-ruled navy, rooster answers: “hope I could do something to destroy it before it could destroy me.” When asked why he DIDNT use any of his considerable power to influence the repeal of DADT, ice answers: “it was better than the blanket ban that came before it. And maybe I’ve always wanted neither to tell nor to be asked.” the conservative respectable opinion that your intimate relationships ought to be PRIVATE, doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight—just do your job, and preferably do it well. yeah, don’t ask and don’t tell. It’s not anyone’s business. ice doesn’t have a philosophical problem with DADT, because he agrees sexuality should be private & secret. —is it anyone’s business? whose business is it? How much of your personal life do you owe the public if you’re a public-facing individual like the COMPACFLT or SECNAV? all good questions!!!!

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I'm So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 13B: She's My Addiction

Soundtrack: “She’s My Addiction,” Fozzy, 2012 [click here to listen]

“Thanks again for doing this, man. That was a killer set.”

Jamie popped open a Coke bottle, took a long swig, and set it back on the card table that a roadie had hastily set up. “Colum said you’re a fan. Is that true?”

Geordie Ash had been nothing but professional since Colum brought him backstage as soon as the gig finished. Jamie had introduced him to the other 2 members of Print – Ian Murray (bass, Jamie’s childhood friend and brother-in-law) and Angus Mhor (drums) – and Claire, of course. Then Ian had walked away to call his wife (and Jamie’s sister) Jenny and talk to the kids before they went to bed, and Angus had drifted away with the two giggling groupies who had diligently followed the band on every stop of this acoustic tour (nice girls who had absolutely nothing going on in their heads).

And Colum had led Jamie, Claire, and Geordie to Jamie’s dressing room. On the short walk there, Jamie’s guitar tech pressed the now-customary post-show apple and bottle of Coke (the drink, not the drug) into his hands, and Claire whispered a short, private message to Geordie – a stranger who could reward or ruin their lives.

“I’m definitely a fan.” Geordie settled in his (uncomfortable) seat, drumming his fingers on the table. No notebook, pen, or recording device – as Colum had promised. “Went to a couple shows on your tour in ’86, too. You’ve got a sound like nobody else. I won’t lie, when people found out you were in rehab there was real concern that that was the end of the band. Clearly that’s wrong.”

Jamie took a bite from his apple, and wiped the last sweat from his forehead with the towel that always waited for him backstage. “Colum says you two go way back.”

Geordie smiled. “I cut my teeth as a reporter for Creem in the late 60s and early 70s. Got paid next to nothing to travel around the country, writing about the bands I idolized. I remember Colum as this crazy little shit who was a foot shorter than Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, but he could haul wires and amps better than anybody else on that crew.” He paused, sipping a cup of coffee. “But he got me time with those guys on the Starship. And at the Riot House. Robert Plant proclaiming to the world that he was a golden god? That was me. So Colum really helped me get to the next level. Even though he stole the girl I’d had my eye on all summer.”

There were parallels that Geordie could draw to Jamie – but neither man said anything.

“Anyway, the new stuff is really, really good. Have you played it electric yet?”

Jamie paused. “No, not yet. The guys and I, we hadn’t even been in the same room together until six weeks ago. I played for them all the stuff I’d written in rehab, the way I’d written it. On the acoustic guitar. And that inspired Ian to write a few songs of his own, and all of a sudden we’ve got an album’s worth of material. And we’d just taken on Colum as our manager, so I said, let’s do it. Let’s get back on the road.”

“Would you consider doing an all-acoustic record for your next album? That could be really interesting.”

Jamie spun the bottle cap on the table. “It’s a good question. To be honest, I hadn’t considered it. It’s certainly a slower pace, this acoustic thing. But I miss my Strat. I miss Ian’s Rickenbacker bass. And Angus is being a really good sport with the acoustic stuff, but he’s just dying to hit the shit out of his drums.”

Claire still knew next to nothing about the music industry – or the lives of professional musicians. Aside from the past few weeks, she’d never seen Jamie at work, either. But she could tell when he was really engaged in conversation with someone. And this Geordie guy seemed to be the real deal.

“I get that. Do you miss playing the older stuff on this tour?”

“Yeah. But I really needed the time away from all those songs. It reminds me of…some not so good times. Getting sober was hard, and staying sober is so much fucking harder. This acoustic tour has been a good way to ease back into everything before it all starts again.”

“When you play the songs you wrote in rehab, do you think about being in that place?”

Jamie looked over Geordie’s shoulder, at Claire perched in her chair.

“Sometimes. Mostly I think about where my head and heart were at. Not just in getting clean, and learning new habits. But also about Claire, and how fucking terrifying it was to be falling for her. I told her that I’m the last thing she needed in her life. I still feel that way.”

“What does it mean to have her with you on this tour?”

“Everything.”

Claire’s eyes shone.

“It means fucking everything to me.” Jamie looked straight at Geordie. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. She’s the reason I wake up, and try my best to live a good life. She chooses to be here. I appreciate her, and I sure as hell don’t take it for granted that she’s here.”

Geordie unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and set it on the table. “Like I said, I’ve been a fan of yours for years. I’ve been to two other shows on this tour. And I’ve written down the chorus and bridge from ‘She’s My Addiction’ because I’ve been wanting to ask you about it. May I?”

Jamie nodded, clearly surprised.

Geordie began to read:

She’s my addiction // No rehab can break this chain She's my addiction // Her poison shoots right through my vein She's my addiction // A one way ticket back again She's my addiction // This damn woman's drivin' me insane

“It’s catchy as fuck, Jamie. I guarantee it’ll be a big hit. But you know that everybody – and I mean everybody – is gonna ask you more questionsabout who this woman is, than they’ll ever ask you about all the sordid details on the kinds of drugs you went to rehab for. You get me?”

Jamie nodded. “I get it. Claire and I have talked about it. We’re ready for it. Besides, everything I wrote is true. She is my addiction now. Being with her is better than any drug I ever took, better than any alcohol I ever drank. And you know what the best part is, man? I want it. And she wants me. Fucking magical.”

Geordie nonchalantly re-folded the paper and slipped it back into his pocket. “Are you saying that it’s a long-term thing between you two?”

“Forever, if she’ll have me.”

Claire snorted audibly.

“Would you believe it if I told you she didn’t know who I was, when we met at The Ridge? Do you know how awesome that is?”

Geordie smiled. “It’s not that much of a surprise. But after you record this new stuff, and it hits the radio – I guarantee that there will be even fewer people in the world who don’t know your face and voice. Or your story.”

Jamie took one last bite from his apple. “That’s OK. I want to enjoy every damn minute of it. I look forward to it. It’ll be a hell of a ride, but I won’t be alone this time.”