#it's the one that makes me the most unhinged

[christinescupofcoffee]

Multis. Although… I do enjoy the stray one shot every now and again.

A bit of both, and i’ve found that I’m most relaxed when I write without a plan (or at the very least having an idea as to where it’s going but not really having a destination. All my fics the last couple of years have been like this).

I take my time with chapters now—last few times I’ve gone on ao3 for any reason, the damned thing crashes (really, I’m worried about that place. I can’t expect it to last for the next four years the way it freaks out every couple of days). I worry about things like censorship, too: so getting my fics saved onto my laptop, I’m free to write and continue these stories at my own pace. My laptop is offline, too, i.e., no distractions. Sure, I can’t share anything, it’s a hassle, but… I kind of like it. It’s giving me all the 2016-2018 vibes when I was in the dark, away from the world, living in my own world alone. Everyone was screaming and yelling and carrying on about the political landscape and I just tucked myself away into my own imagination. I kind of want to do it again, if I’m honest.

I feel so raw saying this, raw and vulnerable, but… I have always been in love. I have always found myself crushing on someone. I have always written from the heart.

Honestly? *looks around* not really. It can be very useful, helpful, inspiring even. But… I approach this the same way I approach the culinary world and art: I bake a cake or make a drawing the same way I write a long fic, and I simply cannot divorce my heart from my work. People like to gripe about this sort of thing until the cows come home… no one has no idea how it makes me feel. Yes, I know my grammar can be complete shit at times, and yes, I am very verbose, but that’s how I roll. No need to shame me and make it seem like I just committed a mortal sin by accidentally omitting a word.

Nope. No beta, we die like Titans of Creation.

It has to “speak to me”, if you will. Seasons Grey works with third-person perspective because you don’t know everything about Christine and Alex is a mystery. Blood & Chocolate and After the Gold Rush work with first-person perspective because it’s intimate. Xenon Dreams works with the alternating first-person because all five men have different experiences, and it’s intimate; conversely, All That Glitters has the alternating third-person because it’s more adventurous. Now it’s Dark and Dark Months of April and May use first-person because it’s unreliable. Quarter After Twelve has the what I call “2 whole eggs, 3 yolks” perspective (Andy and Zero’s arcs are first-person; Richie, Tina, and Allison are third-person), as Andy is traumatized, Zero is stuck in one place, Richie and Tina are both still waters, and Allison is a broken man and therefore detached.

Beginning (what I get for being an Aries 😅)

I try to—and you know, I would be a lot more adept at it if people didn’t bitch about it ad infinitum. I was thinking about this the other night when SNL50 was going, too: fandom has changed drastically just in the last few years alone, in a sense that fans not only treat it like it’s business but they spend more time whining about the most trivial things (lack of comments, getting criticism, this weird unhinged approach to fandom as a whole) than doing anything useful or creative, god forbid.

“Meanwhile, once she had come downstairs, Alex had already showed up outside of her apartment in a snug dark gray shirt and low-slung black long shorts. His shoulder-length black hair was almost smooth and nicely combed back: there was a slight curl right over his shoulders, and his skin looked as smooth as porcelain. He looked a bit fuller, rounder, and softer right then, especially with the shade cast down from the building upon the crown of his head and his shoulders. He lifted his sunglasses up from his face to show her his eyes.” (latest chapter of Dark Roots of Earth, book two of Seasons Grey)

Genuinely don’t want to do that because… you know. ao3 is more mental than me the week before my period starts. But… With Strings Attached, the Beatles fic that inspired pretty much everything long from me. There’s a Light, the Pearl Jam/grunge fic that I still think about even 8 years after its completion. My friend Amanda wrote a two-parter that inspired Midnight Oil (drawing a blank on the title). You Know Your Rights on Wattpad (can’t remember the author’s name), probably the best “Hole-vana” fic I can think of. The entire Gojira tag on ao3. There’s a couple of Alan Partridge fics on ao3 that got a good laugh out of me. Love in Exile and a couple of Alice In Chains fics that wake up the kinkster in me. FOOLS GOLD (from Cazio).

I have a complicated relationship with feedback. I welcome it forever, but because I had to go through English and writing classes, peer reviews, teachers who ran on assumption that I knew what I was doing, the whole thing about me writing from the heart, and the fact that I tend to attract negative attention (I’ve often felt that people have an inexplicable pathological hatred of me), I never expect accolades. In fact, I fully expect everyone to hate it.

Be descriptive. I like bending this one and injecting poetry into things, even if it doesn’t seem to make sense.

This has been a learned skill on my part because when I first got into fiction writing, it was hard to not get melodramatic with things. I’m an emotional person and the other thing that’s worked for me is a cause and effect situation as well as pulling from my own scars: in Seasons Grey, Christine lost her best friend at a young age and sort of buried it. I wonder how everyone is going to react to this tidbit of her life, especially Alex—especially since he reminds her of Chris. In stories like All That Glitters and After the Gold Rush, I just sit and think of angst. What would happen if Jed and Octavius suffered an irreversible falling out. Where would Phileas go if he just started thinking and realized what was happening, both with Monique and Passepartout and back home in England. I feel like I made those three more human with this, too.

My smut is so wordy that even I can’t believe it. I have to set the mood as well as be spontaneous with it. It’s genuinely isolating when I look at smut in other places, too, like I can’t just do 1200 words, I have to lead into things and I have to be real with it all, too.

A bunch 😅 As the Seasons Grey. I started writing it in early 2023 after doing kinkmas during a blizzard: it basically just grew out of this fantasy I have about being a source of comfort for the man.

Exercise. Draw. Read. Garden. Bake and/or cook. Watch a movie or TV.

I think there was a couple where I came up with the title after I started writing simply because anything else I came up with sucked (fever in, fever out was an example of this; so was Have Your Cake and Eat It). Like with perspectives, titles usually speak to me, and they’ll come in song form or in sayings. “xenon dreams” is a weird one, though: xenon is a byproduct of radioactive iodine, which is found in fallout. That whole fic had this dreamy, blue color scheme whenever I thought about it; xenon is blue/indigo when electrolyzed.

“Alternate Universe”

A love of food. A feeling of heart throughout. This overreaching feeling of vulnerability within, a tenderness. Writing because I have a crush and no one knows how to react to it. Lately, I’ve been throwing in little call backs to my other wips in my wips, like it’s a spiderweb.

Yes, but I don’t see it happening any time soon, though.

Second-person perspective. Done to fucking death at this point and something about it just irritates me to no end, like it ruins my immersion right from the beginning.

Write when you can (instead of “write every day”, because sometimes you just can’t write every day, damn it).

“Avoid overused words” (look no further than “said”. Why. Why would I avoid “said”.) “Use active voice” (I’ve found a lot of power in being a little passive or submissive, if you can believe it. Conversely, I have had the most complaints from my active voice).

now it’s dark. My last adventure before the pandemic. Joey himself even loved it!

fever. Homeboy was 1.1 million words!

Most favorite: just seeing my internal worlds come to life. Least favorite: sharing it with everyone.

2-3k is considered a good day to me. 4-5k is “I got snowed in/it’s too fucking hot out to do anything” word lengths.

Ha, you really don’t want to know.

Yes.

Characters. Maybe that’s another reason why my fics tend to be entrenched in heart?

Amanda. Aviva Rothschild (author of With Strings Attached, i had to look her up really quick). Drawing a blank on the name of the person who wrote Love in Exile.

Of course!

Hopefully not like my homeskillet Oscar Wilde.

Their darkness exists in all of us to some degree.

Nervously with a pit in my stomach, a devastating feeling of existentialism, and a side of ginger ale.

Yet another thing that speaks to me.

Yes… but I don’t have the best experience with them, though. I tried to get commissions with my art years ago, and… there’s a reason why you aren’t seeing them.

(see above)

bro, if you make fanart of Alex and Eric on the lawn outside the apartment complex at sunrise, of Erik and Dragon talking, of Isaac flipping out on Richie, of James and Richard at breakfast, of Phileas napping, of Octavius and Ahkmenrah getting slack jawed drunk, of Jane and Vanessa with their braids… I’ll be happy.

If I really like something, I’ll read it several times.

The last fic I left kudos on ao3 was a compilation of Strawberry Shortcake one shots: underrated fandom and it was snowing outside, so I was in a cozy mood. The last fic I bookmarked was a one shot from Ideal Home: it was erotic and very tender.

The latter. I really only put them through pain to ground them.

I have no beta but I omit words all the time.

I want to make you laugh then break your heart, and then vice versa—such is the Steve Coogan school of writing.

Emotionally charged idyllic action

2. Any more than that and I’ll drive myself crazy.

🤷🏻‍♀️

All the time and I don’t deal with them.

1.1 million, AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

4.9 million, I think?

I want to. Believe me, I want to. I’m way more responsive on instagram, though, mainly because I can see you on my lockscreen. There’s none of that nerve-racking “oh, shit, what is it now” that comes with getting an inbox notification.

Definitely a writer. When I read, I go way outside of the fandom (like Strawberry Shortcake, old Top Gear, lesser known literature and theater, anything Steve touches). I’m not afraid to go into unknown territory, too, like Around the World in 80 Days with Steve and Skinwalker Ranch. Maybe that’s why Bandom writers can’t stand me?

Really, just writing the thing.

Hands down, Alex. He’s the love of my life. I just found him on a whim, in a bad part of history, and I was drawn to his plume of silver and his intellect. He brings out the sensuality in me, too, more than Joey or Lars.

🤷🏻‍♀️

Wait until it’s finished. Again, I’ll drive myself crazy.

Writing without question.

No, and yes, I would. My mom wrote fics way back in the era of message boards and mailing lists, back in 2001-2002, so she gets it.

Can’t say I have.

I like doing it and… referring back to fandom changing for the worse, is it just me or do fics, especially rpf fics, seem kind of mean-spirited now. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I read some rpf where it felt like the author actually likes the guy involved, aside from the thing Amanda wrote. There has to be some heart here.

Painful but my god, do they keep you engaged.

“Coming inside” someone. Screaming. “Good girl.” Tight pussies—bitch, no one’s pussy is that tight. Weird euphemisms for body parts, too. When you’re reading about your kink and something happens that turns off the whole mood or doesn’t gel with your approach. The author claims to be sex-positive but there’s something off about the whole thing, like there’s no way that they are. Goes without saying I don’t like a ton of smut.

“Good boy.” Foreplay. Tension, like… you’re anticipating it and you don’t know if it’s going to happen or not.

Bringing it to life. Cozying up all snug next to Alex, Eric, Joey, Lars, Krist, Richard, James, Steve, all my boys under the warm sun away from the world…

I don’t think about it anymore.

Independent ideas. I guess this is the other reason why I hate kinktober other than feeling rawer than a frozen chicken?

Everything.

Black Diamonds. I got called “disgusting” for that, if you can believe it.

Totally embarrassed. I’m enthusiastic but every time, I’m faced with stupid reactions that it makes me uncomfortable.

…I’m not sure?

Chronological. I kinda have to.

It’s just weird.

probably the writing style.

Get to know your fic writer!

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Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

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[trashytracktales]

GIRL since you write lando HEAVENLY, what do you think are landos “traits” and love languages when he’s your boyfriend? Like when he gives peak peak peak boyfriend husband material 🫠🫠

to me is: morning sex, holding hands, driving with one hand cause the other is on you, taking pics of you when you’re not noticing, commenting your insta with unhinged comments, watching a movie with his head on your lap and you scratching his head and shoulders, slapping your ass out of nowhere when you’re cooking, and all those attitudes that sometimes make him so silly and attached to you that people sometimes wonder if he’s your boyfriend or your sibling

these are things that to me SCREAM lando norris boyfriend behaviors but please 🫠 add more 🫠

Ohhh, dearest anon. You just cracked open Pandora’s box. Every single thing you listed is PEAK Lando behavior, but let me sprinkle in some extra boyfriend material chaos, because the list is endless.

Hugs from behind when you’re doing literally anything + surprise back hug & kisses on the neck because he’s needy like that.

Texting you the most unhinged messages when you’re not together.

LAZY morning sex that turns into three missed alarms because he swore he would get up early, but now he’s unfortunately calling his trainer with a fake excuse.

Taking the most disrespectful candid photos of you (e.g. mid-chew, double chin, half-asleep) and using them as ammunition for your birthday.

He 1000% steals your skincare and hair products.

Wearing your hair ties on his wrist just because it reminds him of you. And sometimes using them to launch tiny projectiles at you when he’s bored.

Making out with you like a horny teenager in random places. Guaranteed.

The type to grab your jaw mid-makeout just to hear you whimper.

He lives to rile you up in any possible way: purposely sticking his cold hands under your hoodie just to hear you squeal, squeezing your thigh under the dinner table just to see you blush, or whispering some real filthy shit in your ear when you’re around people. And then acts innocent 🥺(😈)

He loves watching you get ready. Send tweet.

Can’t think of anything else now, but Lando as a boyfriend is the definition of playful, possessive clingy, and horny with a sprinkle of softness. We are all down bad for that and honestly, it is not a crime!!

[lukolastrong]

The cast, the crew, and Luke Newton

The world tour revealed so much about both Nic and Luke. Whether it was on purpose or their unhinged behavior; however, the things we learned about what the cast and crew had done bts was something I wasn’t expecting (along with 1,487 other things🤣)

Here’s a few off the top of my head:

• Tom putting Luke and Nic on the spot with their wedding dance to capture their emotions and Luke improvises caressing her cheek

• Jack pulling dancers off the floor one by one until it was just Sam and Nic to capture Luke’s reaction

• Tom capturing Luke’s reaction to Nic coming in with Pen’s wedding dress on (what we saw in ep7 and the bts where he says “perfect”🥹)

• Lizzie having the mirror scene room darkened to make it feel more real. Tell me, why does a sex scene need to feel “more real” than what is on the script?🫣 along with this, Nic and Luke going off script… let’s not forget to mention the carriage scene👀 this was next level unhinged. The fact that they “didn’t” hear cut in an open stage carriage, the way Luke improvised the lip bite then they both proceeded to improvise past what was in the script, iykyk.

After learning these, it cemented my idea further that there is something between them. I’m sorry but you can’t convince me that “only co-stars” would go to this length if there wasn’t real feelings behind their actions. I still believe Luke fell first. I believe that his choices to improvise things and his reactions to things involving her were his real feelings that he felt safe to express behind his character. Same goes with Nic. They both played into their characters more profoundly and what we saw on screen was a reflection of them letting loose, for a lack of better term, since it could’ve easily been dismissed as them just acting.

All of this to say, Luke wears his heart on his sleeve. You can see it in his character (he’s most like his character after all😏), you can see it in interviews and the bts footage, and you can see it with his past relationships. What is being shown to us with the (A)djacent isn’t real, it isn’t love. You can read that all over their faces and through the screen. Anyone can fake a smile for a picture 🤷🏼‍♀️ but what you can’t fake is love.

[returquoise]

I'm reblogging this only in order to unhinge it more: to me, a homemade (homemade is the important distinction here, if it's sold in a restaurant or kiosk or whatever and has hamburger buns, it's a burger, otherwise it's a sandwich or a panini or a sub or whatever is makes most sense in that situation) burger can be two slices of toasted toast with halved meatballs and ketchup inbetween. Other acceptable fillings include meat patties, chicken patties, fish files, and chicken files or suitable vegan options such as bean patties, as well as any relish or veggie one feels like adding. Bread and protein must be served warm.

I'm also from a non-English speaking country so any semantic explanation will have me go 🤷‍♀️

okay the non-american burger absolutism seems to be "on a burger bun = burger" so i have to ask the australians out there: does that mean a yumbo is a burger

[shmisky]

do you think ford could get abusive if he was just a little bit more morally unhinged? he seems to teeter that line in a lot of stancest content (not judging!) i know you've talked about truly canon stans vs the stans in fics, hcs etc. how close do you think canon ford is to being thay way? (if you're not actually into this, feel free to delete this ask, and i hope i haven't made you uncomfortable.) if not abusive he at least displays a lot of controlling tendencies in a lot of fancontent. how 'canon' would you say this is? thank you for answering in the event that you do, your blog is a gift

Thank you!! 🩷🩷🩷

That doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all! In fact, I find this a deeply interesting subject! Anon, you’re about to get a big answer... a full essay, more like 😭

How should we perceive this guy, morally speaking? How close is he of the darker guy fandom makes him be?

I think it depends on a lot of factors.

Is canon Ford abusive? No. Was he ever intended to be? Also no. Could he be, if he was “a little bit” worse? That depends, I think, of 1) how harsh or how lenient you are on Ford’s questionable canon choices in general, and 2) who do you personally want Ford to be. The second thing does matter, anon, because we often tend to shape our canon evidence to our perception of characters, not the contrary! Human beings are, I fear, extremely biased. No exceptions.

First I’ll analyze fandom culture, then I’ll analyze Ford’s canon morality or lack thereof, then I’ll analyze Ford’s relationship with Stan. I WILL answer your question, I promise. I will get there. I’ll just yap a lot first!

There are many flavors of darker!Ford: from possessive and/or overprotective (when the overprotectiveness becomes condescending or controlling) to physically/emotionally/psychologically abusive. We see hints of behaviors in canon that, if exacerbated, and only if exacerbated, could make canon Ford that person in darker fics—but would that be fair to Ford? After all, what kind of person would you become if I took all your worse traits and exacerbated them? I personally don’t think I would become a very good one.

That said, Ford is a morally gray character. That is pretty much a fact! 😭 But... Stan also is! Minor criminal activities (such as petty theft, scams, tax evading, etc) aside, he canonically drugged and kidnapped a person in Little Gift Shop of Horrors! These two are truly the perfect match, hahah! You’d be right to point out we see considerably more dark!Ford content than dark!Stan content, though. So... is Ford just worse? Do people just hate him?

I think there are many factors that could explain that preference.

One, the dynamics between Ford and Stan in canon. Their relationship is unequal for the great majority of their shared history. Ford holds power over Stan, both in subtler ways (emotionally) and more obvious ways (physically). More on that here. For an abuser to be able to abuse someone, they obviously need some sort of leverage or power over the other person. (See: Bill with Ford.)

Two, the personal preference for bottom!Stan (if you’re a stancester) and/or personally identifying with/relating to Stan more than to Ford. Bottom!Stan is the most popular option in this corner of the fandom; I’ve seen three polls so far, one here on Tumblr and two on Twitter, and in all three of them bottom!Stan or omega!Stan (one of the polls was an omegaverse one, and if you’re familiar with omegaverse rules I don’t think I need to explain how the two things are related) won. I think that, among the many other different reasons for people preferring bottom Stan, is the fact that they want Stan to be taken care of. I think a similar desire could be relevant here, with abused!Stan: the desire to see Stan victimized due to stangst/whump/horny reasons, hahah. Especially if people happen to personally relate to Stan. There was a poll on the gen side of the fandom recently asking which character was better, Stan or Ford, and Stan won. So we can assume Stan is more popular than Ford. The more popular and beloved a character is, the more likely they are to suffer in the fandom’s hands, ironically 😭 When it’s about Ford being obsessive and/or possessive and/or overprotective (even if in a controlling, condescending way) it might be related to wanting Stan to be the focus of Ford’s attention; wanting Stan to be desperately desired. (I dislike misleading generalization, so please understand I’m saying this might be the case with some people, not all.)

Stan is more tethered to societal conventions than he is, I feel. I’m not even talking about incest! But, for example, the fact Stan absolutely refuses to cry in front of anyone without making up an excuse to cover up the fact he’s crying. When Ford cries (more rarely than Stan), Ford... simply cries. He even mentions it in his journal. When everyone is bothered by Ford’s terrible smell at the library, Ford tells himself they’re actually smelling science; when everyone stares at him for wearing a tinfoil hat on his head (blacklight version of Journal 3), Ford tells himself they’re just jealous. I don’t think Stan has achieved that level of “idgaf” yet 😭 And, if you’re talking about post-portal Ford who went through hundreds of dimensions during thirty years, there’s even more reason for social indifference. After years of being bullied for his lack of social skills and his extra fingers, Ford was apparently forced to learn how to shield himself emotionally and relish in the fact he’s weird, different, special.

Third, Ford’s specific brand of darkness vs Stan’s specific brand of darkness. That’s a pretty interesting one! When people think of dark!Stan, they usually think of a more pragmatic sort of villain, or a cunning, Bill-core conman; this guy has potential to be a mob boss or something similar. Meanwhile, with Ford, you have the potential to make him a questionable “mad scientist” of sorts; he’s fascinated with weirdness, anomalies; he scoffs at society rules; he is the Author of the Journals, he knows a lot about magic; he can actually invent things such as mind control ties if he so wishes; he has more potential to be turned into a creepy weirdo.

I mean, Stan says Dipper got his creepiness from Ford in his commentary of Land Before Swine:

So here’s the deal; apparently my sweaty grandnephew, Dipdop, was recording the entire summer with Soos’ video camera, like a little weirdo? Like every single thing we did, the entire summer he was recording. That’s—that’s what we’re watching right now. It’s kinda creepy that he did that. He gets that from Ford, I think. That and his inability to make eye contact with women.

Now, to dive in the darkness/abuser potential of Ford, I believe there’s a very, very important thing we should consider first. And that’s the genre of the media! The fact that Ford is a cartoon character. If GF was a live-action TV series, for example, my analysis would be very different. But as a character from a cartoon for children with a heavy humoristic tone, Ford is meant to be exaggerated. A lot of things in cartoons are meant to be comic relief, classic slapstick humor, etc, and shouldn’t be taken seriously. They’re just that: funny. I can think of many cartoon characters that would be cancelled, so to speak, if people stopped to think about the implications of the things they do. When I watched GF as a kid, a lot of the darker things went straight over my head, and honestly I think that’s the way we’re “meant” to consume most cartoons.

Now, we’re watching it as adults, and so we want to make it deeper! Darker! More interesting and complex! And that’s a very understandable urge, of course. GF has a lot of potential to be made darker, because it often covers how fucked up or angsty something truly is with humor. For example, young Stan ending his rant about how he was a homeless criminal and went to prison in three different countries and had to chew his way out of the trunk of a car with a comment about the fact he’s got... a mullet! Oh no! The horror! Or Ford having a nightmare about a six-fingered hand squeezing his brother to death and then being like, “ugh, puns! I hate puns!” And above all... Bill. Oh, man, how much Bill is made softer/more relatable through humor! Just remove all of Bill’s jokes and sarcastic quips and charisma from TBoB and what you get is an utterly terrifying villain and abuser who ruined Ford’s life. More than Bill in general, the things that Bill does—Bill messing with Ford’s brain so that every time Ford attempts to say “burden” he says “sea otter” instead (blacklight edition of Journal 3) is very funny, but when you stop and remove the humoristic layer and realize the implications of this... the extent of Bill’s control over Ford’s mind...

Ok, so now that we have cleared that up, we can focus on a second thing: how is Ford meant to be perceived? What were Alex’s intentions when writing him? We have the behind-the-scenes commentary on The Last Mabelcorn:

“[...] Dipper briefly believes that Ford is evil. And there was a lot of fan speculation when we first meet Ford. Generally, when television shows introduce a new, mysterious character late in the game, they turn out to be a villain. [...] We could have made Ford evil, but I always felt this would be less interesting [...] I thought that if I’m Stan, I’d be more frustrated if Ford is actually a good guy.”

There you have it! Alex thinks he’s a good guy! The flaw that Alex loves to attribute to Ford is pride/arrogance, that is, the fact Ford is full of himself and believes he’s a special snowflake. Outside of that Achilles’ heel, though, Ford is clearly meant to be a likeable member of the Pines family.

The character of Shermie was also specifically created so that Ford wouldn’t be made hateable or irredeemable by abandoning his own kid(s), according to a somewhat recent interview:

Um, and so, I look at this always through the lens of character and I asked myself, “what would it mean if Ford was their grandfather?” and I thought, “well it would mean that Ford, you know, had children,” and if Ford had children and abandoned them, then he’s a much harder to redeem character.

And he probably wanted to make Ford at least likeable enough or sympathetic to the audience for them to root for the Stans happy ending together, hahah. In the same interview:

I’m like, I’m in the story mines, like I’m in a boiler room with the pipes, where I’m like, “Oh no! Ford’s not likable, okay we need to add this. Oh shit, Dipper’s making a choice that’s out of character!” and then someone is telling me there’s a timeline that needs to be fixed!

That doesn’t mean you have to agree with him! Sometimes, the creator/director/author of a piece of media fails to portray the dynamic/vibe/context they envisioned and/or to convey their true intentions through canon. As a Word of God girlie who always read lots of interviews from creators, I’ve lost count of how many times I was really surprised by the gap between what a scene was meant to express versus what the majority of the fandom interpreted the scene to express.

“Bunny, I don’t care about it being a cartoon nor about Alex’s wishes! Is there canon evidence for Ford being craycray?”

Oh, plenty. Actually so much that I don’t even know where to begin 😭 I even commented with my friends how easy it would be to answer this ask just listing everything Ford did that was ever questionable, which wouldn’t be fair to Ford due to many reasons (the fact that Stan is also morally questionable, that Ford is a cartoon character, etc), and how similarly easy it would be to defend Ford by using Word of God or shifting the focus to Stan’s or Fiddleford’s actions.

Remember how I said that Ford’s morality depended on who you personally want Ford to be and that human beings are naturally biased? I once read a fascinating article about why very intelligent, reasonable people ended up believing crazy things. It argued that them believing crazy things didn’t indicate a lack of intelligence at all, because their intelligence was being employed in justifying what they already wanted to believe to themselves! So, basically, they often choose to believe in something based off their emotions, desires, etc, and once they settled on a conclusion they very much wanted to believe, their intelligence became a tool to justify that/find further evidence for that. It mentioned a study by a social psychologist saying that when humans want to believe something deep down, they ask themselves, “Can I believe it?” while when they don’t want to believe something deep down, they ask themselves, “Must I believe it?”

So if I want Ford to be a darker character, for example, I can ask myself, “Can I believe that Ford could be that dark? Can I find evidence for that?” And of course I can! I can twist a lot of canon moments into evidence against Ford, in the same way I can use canon moments to (at least try to) defend Ford. So if I go on a quest with the specific goal of finding proof for the interpretation of Ford’s character I personally want to believe, I will. It’s very similar to the phenomenon of looking at canon with shipping goggles, hahah. I already have a conclusion in my mind and I’m just trying to find something to support that.

And what would I point out if I wanted to accuse Ford?

First, that according to Alex (still in the same interview I mentioned earlier), Ford can justify pretty much anything:

Here’s the thing. When I think about what you just said about me and Rob [Renzetti, coauthor of Journal 3], it’s so funny because what to you comes across as “Oh, Rob understands Ford’s ridiculous recklessness,” to me comes across as “Rob IS Ford and Ford does rationalize.” That’s what he does. One of Ford’s greatest powers is rationalizing. So you’re seeing Rob as Ford rationalizing Ford’s bad decisions.

In that moment, I think what’s being revealed is less Ford’s recklessness, and more Ford’s ability to justify anything.

Interestingly enough, what I just explained about humans using their intelligence to justify their beliefs could easily be applied to Ford!

We see proof of this behavior in canon. One of Ford’s favorite excuses is science and/or logic.

“Logical. That’s logical.” (Notice how Stan is also there with him! He’s the one who has the idea in the first place! The morally questionable twins...)

“I’m doing a public service by removing them.”

“But my crimes had a noble purpose [...]”

“[...] but it was all in the name of science!”

Sure, Ford. Whatever helps you sleep at night, hahah.

“Science” is, amusingly to me, Ford’s knee-jerk favorite/default excuse to the point he uses it even when it’s about him reeking:

Perhaps you might be thinking, “but the only crime Ford seems capable of committing is thievery!” Stealing radioactive waste, stealing the parts to build his quantum destabilizer, etc.

Except Ford is described in his multidimensional bounty poster as “armed and dangerous,” something that Stan, as a fellow thief and criminal, was never described as (in his own bounty posters).

And he has straight up lied to his journal before! A good example:

“I have not sampled human blood.”

I have seen a lot of people finding this amusing because hahah, every person has sampled human blood, like when your baby teeth fall! But that’s not the point. The point is that Ford was in the middle of writing something, stopped, realized it didn’t sound very socially acceptable (probably because the means he had used to taste said blood had not been very socially acceptable; notice that he compares it to animal blood, which means he had tasted it as well) then rectified it by crossing it out and directly lying to the reader.

That established, I very much doubt stealing parts for his quantum destabilizer was the only crime he committed to become an outlaw in entire dimensions 😅

And other people have pointed it out before, but Bill’s offer to Ford in Weirdmaggedon is telling. “No more restrictions! No more laws! You’d be one of us. All-powerful. Greater than anything you’ve imagined!” As someone who knew Ford pretty well and had been literally inside Ford’s mind, he thought that was something that could possibly tempt Ford.

Can you blame him? After all, this is the kind of thing Ford says in TBoB:

Now, all that is just about Ford as a morally gray character, in a very general way. When you’re talking about Ford being abusive to Stan, specifically, things are different. Why? Ford loves him deeply. I wrote an entire meta on the little details people miss that are proof of Ford’s love.

We see Ford (and Stan, again, as his partner in crime) doing questionable choices for their family. Such as threatening the bus driver with an actual gun and brass knuckles so that their niece’s pig would be allowed to enter the vehicle. (See how much darker things can get if you remove the comical layer of the cartoon genre?)

Earlier on, Ford was fully willing to doom the entire universe to save three people, including Stan (again, his family):

But Ford using such morally grayness against his family? That’s a different thing. So here I start the third and final part of this analysis, Ford’s (possible mis)treatment of Stan, whom he loves.

Remember how I said in the beginning that Ford’s worst traits could become abusive only if exacerbated, which wouldn’t be fair to him?

We know that Ford can be jealous towards a loved one of sorts (if you consider Bill to have been a loved one back then), canonically:

(Bunny Opinion Time: I can easily see Ford getting possessive, because to me possessiveness entails at least some measure of entitlement. Ford does feel entitled to Stan’s help, at least—“I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen!”—so considering the very codependent nature of their relationship as boys and the fact Stan has always treated Ford like the center of his life, it’s not a stretch to imagine Ford growing to feel entitled to Stan’s love or Stan himself, period. They’re twins -> Stan is his other half -> Stan belongs to him subconscious pipeline.)

That he can be condescendingly protective (not just simply protective) towards his loved ones, canonically:

Remember when I said it depended on how charitably you want to view Ford? You could look at this and think, “how cute! he cares so much!” 🥺💕 or you could focus on the condescending/patronizing vibes (Ford thinking Stan was an overgrown child unable to handle Bill; Ford wanting his grown friend to lose even though it was a choice Fiddleford made because he would be supposedly unable to handle it) and think, “ugh, Ford being Ford” 🙄😤 or “hahah, Ford being Ford” 😂 even, “ooh, juicy, Ford being Ford” 😏🔥 This could be either canon evidence of his caring personality or canon evidence of his controlling personality, depending on what I would be trying to convince you of.

Anyway. We also know Ford can be physically aggressive towards Stan even when completely unprovoked:

To make things worse, he was initially supposed to make Stan bleed with the force of his punch:

However, we have to keep in mind that the original scene was modified for a reason! Very probably because Alex was actively trying to make Ford somewhat likeable and/or redeemable. He must have (correctly) assumed making Stan bleed would be Too Much for the audience. We don’t have to consider this as extra official material or anything—it would actually be unfair to the Ford we did get.

Our Ford actually felt bad about it later, as he writes in Journal 3:

(Bunny Opinion Time: I personally don’t think our Ford has much potential as a physical abuser—compared to all other kinds of abuse—even if that tendency of his was indeed exacerbated, despite how aggressive and violent he can be towards actual threats in general. As we’ve already established, canon Ford is good at rationalizing his bad actions, and doing physical harm to Stan wouldn’t be something easy to justify to himself because the damage would be quite visible. Physical harm, out of all kinds of abuse, is the one taken the most seriously by people in general. He loves Stan, and there are probably limits he wouldn’t cross even if very angry, especially because—when it comes to a Ford who is stronger than Stan—he knows he’s physically stronger than Stan. Only more reason to hold back.)

Back to the matter at hand.

We also know Ford can verbally humiliate Stan:

I think it’s fair to say that this is the worst thing he ever said directly to Stan in canon!

But as I’ve mentioned in a previous meta (yes, I’m straight up copying and pasting my own words):

Don’t get me wrong, I do think Ford looked down on Stan—on people in general. There’s plenty of evidence for that in both Journal 3 and Word of God, if you count Word of God as evidence. Ford himself admits to that after Weirdmaggedon. But the thing about Stan proving his worth specifically—that’s probably also related to Ford’s need to be in control at all times. If Ford admits to himself he is not in control, that he needs help from other people, that he is really that desperate... Well. He can’t admit that! So he rationalizes his way out of that conclusion by convincing himself he would be the one doing Stan a favor (offering him the chance to prove himself to Ford), and not the other way around. He doesn’t need Stan, he doesn’t need anyone. Stan is the one who needs him and his forgiveness! Phew 😮‍💨

The other times he roasts Stan are not said directly to Stan’s face, so I think it wouldn’t be fair to count them.

Still, Ford’s most questionable/morally gray moment when it comes to Stan might be the possession tie incident.

STANFORD!

And in this case, the comic relief/exaggeration typical of a cartoon doesn’t work very well as a shield, because they made 12-year-old Dipper acknowledge out loud how dubious it was:

And Ford not only shrugs it off, but phrases it in a way that leaves no doubt about the true power of his invention:

This moment becomes even more interesting, imo, if you think about the fact Ford knew from experience exactly how terrible it was to lose his own bodily autonomy. After all, that’s what Bill did to him! I’ve once read a very well-written dark!Ford stancest fic that made Ford darker because, and not in spite of, Bill constantly possessing him—as long lasting damage from sharing literal head-space with a demon, Bill messed with his life views and worsened his morals.

Even if Ford were directly controlling Stan like a puppet with this tie, though, it still wouldn’t be a “Bill controlling Ford” situation. Ford isn’t sadistic. I think canon Ford is very, very distant from controlling Stan with the intent to harm him or to make him pay/suffer, especially because, again, Ford does love Stan. He would have to be fully convinced that it was for Stan’s own good, “brother knows best” style, perhaps out of condescending/patronizing protectiveness (a tendency of his we just mentioned). He let Dipper borrow the tie not so Dipper could embarrass or humiliate Stan publicly, but so that Dipper could help Stan get elected, because he thought Stan would ruin his own chances by just being himself.

When Alex was asked, nine years ago, at the New York Comic Con, who was the older twin between the two Stans, he not only said it was Ford, but that Ford felt naturally superior because of it. He has also mentioned in the behind-the-scenes DVD commentary that a thing Ford liked about Dipper is that Dipper easily obeyed him 😭 One thing is for sure: Ford is bossy, and you can’t even blame him for that. He probably grew up having his “knowing better than Stan” status validated again and again by the adults in his life.

In conclusion, anon, I don’t think canon Ford is close to becoming abusive if you make him just “a little bit” more unhinged—as if he’s just barely non-abusive in canon or something; that wouldn’t be fair to him at all—but I do think he has control issues, and that if you 1) remove the typical cartoon humoristic layer, 2) consider his questionable moments in canon as seriously indicative of his character, 3) take his worst traits and run with them... you’d naturally end up with a very controlling, very entitled, possibly possessive kind of guy. Logically, the more you exacerbate such traits, the worse Ford gets. All along, though, you’d have to keep in mind that Ford only gets as far as he can rationalize and/or justify to himself. He cares about being a hero, after all.

I definitely think there are limits to what our Ford could believably rationalize to himself (especially regarding his loved ones, for sure), but like I said before, you don’t necessarily have to obey such limits in fanfiction 😉

[scrimplications]

skipper's unhinged jawa thesis (continuous wip)

aka: jawas are space mustelids, trust me bro

*slams papers on desk*

in star wars canon, all we have on jawas' biology and true appearance is "rodent-like" and "smelly", which has led some people to interpret them as naked molerats. to each their own, but i think we can take a far more fun (and cute!) line here. long post ahead!

!! THIS IS ALL MY OWN HEADCANON, FOR MY OWN ENJOYMENT, PLEASE DO NOT COMMENT "WELL ACTUALLY" OR "BUT I HAVE DIFFERENT HEADCANONS" I DON'T CARE I AM HAVING FUN !!

jawa biology

standing somewhere between three or four feet when fully grown, jawas are a small, short-lived species - their average lifespan being around sixty years. they are usually bipedal, but are highly adept at crawling, climbing, and digging.

their appearance can best be described as somewhere between a ferret and an otter, with a long torso and proportionally short limbs, double-coated fur ranging in color from tan to deep brown, beady black eyes, and a short, whiskered muzzle.

curiously, their hands and feet have four digits each, leading jawas to culturally count in base eight - the reason behind many confusions when trading. each palm and digit has a soft, sensitive paw-pad, as well as retractable claws usually used for digging or self-defense.

jawas have sharp teeth and a slightly rough tongue, well-suited for eating insects, lizards, arthropods, and small crustaceans. notably, they are highly resistant to most toxins, having evolved two livers, a unique gut biome, and a high metabolic rate which lets them eat almost anything. their gut biome, however, cannot handle fructose, as ingesting it will cause autobrewery syndrome where the sugars are converted into alcohol which can quickly cause ethanol poisoning.

unique adaptations

as a species evolved in one of the harshest climates in the galaxy, jawas have evolved many adaptations to survive.

their bones, joints, and ligaments are all highly flexible, allowing a jawa to pass through any opening as long as their skull can fit through.

their low fat reserves help keep them cool, though combined with a high metabolism it requires much more frequent intake of food - to balance this, their bodies can easily break down and process muscle tissue, making them more resistant to starvation.

jawas need very little water, as they are able to effectively store moisture beneath their skin and within muscle tissue. most of their water comes from their diet.

a jawa's skin is thick and flexible, laying loosely over bones and muscles and letting them wriggle through tight spaces and preventing piercing wounds from rough terrain, teeth, or claws.

jawas have highly photosensitive eyes, letting them see excellently in near-complete darkness but leaving them vulnerable to daylight. most jawas are also nearsighted.

with whiskers that can sense vibrations in the air, sensitive paw-pads that can sense vibrations in the ground, and a natural sense of magnetism, jawas can easily orient themselves and find their way even underground.

jawa history & culture

the species known colloquially as jawas originated on a desert planet now known as tatooine. very few outsiders know that they are native to the planet, as the jawas have their own name for it in legend and do not willingly share their culture with others.

at some point during the early spacefaring age, some jawas began hitching rides as stowaways on inter-system freighters, quickly spreading across the galaxy until they were almost as ubiquitous as humans, found in every spaceport and trading hub from coruscant to dantooine.

this group is known as the day-jawas. they left the ancestral burrows behind and became diurnal, using technology to adapt to life aboveground.

those who remained are the night-jawas, and still live the ancient way, found only in the remote areas of tatooine where practice their own force religion, known to them as the sand-song.

both day and night jawas are highly insular, with a strong sense of community and a tendency to distrust outsiders. this has led to many misunderstandings and misrepresentations, with jawas being viewed as pests by the galaxy at large, especially due to their ruthless scavenging habits.

notes on day-jawas

their sandcrawlers are constructed to mimic the complex underground burrows they came from, kept in total darkness and navigated by touch and scent. a single sandcrawler can house over two hundred jawas.

they live in loosely-organized tribes, sometimes spanning several sandcrawlers. tribes meet regularly at gathering points to discuss territory, trade, and exchange news. each tribe is led by four elders, usually women, who choose the sandcrawler's course.

jawas use mononyms, but day-jawas also include their mother's name and the name of their tribe, creating a three-part name to easily identify themselves when traveling off-world. many day-jawas choose to take work outside their tribe, but still consider themselves part of it, keeping a strong sense of community.

day-jawas speak jawa, but also developed a pidgin known as "trade talk", combining jawa with huttese, basic, and bocce. knowing trade talk is essential for bartering in the mid and outer rim.

the unpleasant smell of day-jawas comes from the necessity of wearing robes to venture out in the often scorching sun and extreme heat. the buildup of their natural musty odor can be overpowering aboard a sandcrawler.

the day-jawas' eerie, luminous yellow "eyes" are actually their goggles, which they wear to be able to see in full daylight. jawa goggles are polarized, reflecting the glare of the sun away from their sensitive eyes. usually, the goggles have sliders on the side of each lens to adjust the polarization for a variety of light levels.

day-jawas have forsaken their ancestral religion, shunning the sand-song and those born hearing it (force-sensitives). force-sensitive jawa cubs are usually left behind to die as the sandcrawler advances, making it a rarity for one to make it to the ranks of the jedi order. there have only been around a dozen jawa jedi in the recorded history of the order.

[vintagedean]

the power of comfort ships is really something. like. comfort ships.....solve all ills.

[letsgobarbs]

SCREECHING WTF WTF WTF WTF

He lifts his head, only to fall to his knees before you. Tommy anchors himself by putting his warm, calloused hands on the back of your thighs, letting himself feel the soft skin and the rough fabric of your fishnets. 

HE'S ON HIS KNEES AGAIN TOMMY KNEELING

Tommy takes you by the throat and forces you against the door to your apartment. His lips crash against yours, hunger and greed in his every movement. His cock throbs almost painfully in his jeans, and he presses it into you so you know just how badly you torment him.

AKFNDKWJWWBWNKXKFNRNEOWJRBRNFJD

YOU'VE WRITTEN THE FUCKING SEXIEST SHIT EVER

The denim begins to darken, wet heat soaking through his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at that. Pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ cryin’ for me, ain't it?”

GARBLED FUCKING SCREAMS

He grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head back. There’s a frenzied look on your face that heightens everything for him, knowing you want this just as bad. Tommy understands your insatiable desire all too well. And so he decides that for tonight, for you, he’s not holding anything back. He’s giving you everything, bearing the best and worst parts of himself to you here and now. “Nah, baby. No hands. Use your fuckin’ teeth.” 

BARKIMG LIKE A FUCKING DOG MAN IDK HOW SHE DID NOT FOLD THE FIRST TIME HE ASKED HER OUT

He fucks your face unabashedly and it’s even better than any of his fantasies ever were. He feels you swallow him down impossibly deeper, feels the vibration in your throat as you moan around his cock. Spit trickles down your chin, and the image is filthy and obscene and it will be forever scarred into his fucking brain. “You take me so good, baby. So fuckin’ good. Sweet little mouth was made to have a cock in it, huh?”

AUDIBLY FUCKING MOANED WTF TOMMY

It’s the most degrading, salacious thing he’s ever done, but he does it. He starts at the base of your boot again, right over your ankle, following the wet path his tongue has already created. His cock is so hard it hurts. When he finally makes it past your boot, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh just above your knee. You let out a gasp of surprise but it quickly turns into a whimper, so Tommy does it again. 

I'M UTTERLY UNHINGED ABOUT THIS I CAN'T EVEN— I DON'T EVEN—

The crack of his palm against the side of your cheek echoes in your apartment. You let out a sound that’s full of both surprise and lust and one of your hands abandons its assault on his spine to cradle the point of impact.

I CANNOT EXPLAIN THE WAY—

Thanks for writing this!! I totally feel so normal about this 🤠👍 and loverboy tommy 🫶👌

Fishnet's & Old Fashioned's [part two]

[part one]

Summary - Tommy Miller reallizes Joel's right; he's got it real bad for that scary chick.

Pairing - Tommy Miller/goth!bartender!Reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, begging, dom/sub undertones, switch!Tommy and switch!Reader, tongue piercings, nipple play, dirty talk, semi-public, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, kneeling, body worship, boot worship, oral sex, face fucking, face slapping, overstim

[crossposted on AO3]

SWITCHING HYSTERISIS

It’s an effort to keep himself from the bar until the day of your date. He reminds himself countless times, that it’s only three days. It’s only two days. It’s only one day. But you've bewitched him, burrowed into his brain and made a home there. And so Tommy hopes you’ll text him before Tuesday. He checks his phone ten times more than usual, wishing you were thinking of him even half as much as he’s thinking of you. But no text message ever pops up, and he gets no missed calls. 

Until Tuesday at nine in the morning, when you send a text message with your address, and Tommy starts rushing around to get ready. He puts on his best pair of Levi’s, and a cotton t-shirt that fits a little too tight on his biceps (black, of course, to match you). He combs and gels his hair, and wears a nice silver chain that Sarah got him for Christmas two years ago in an attempt at fashion advice. He brushes his teeth—twice, and still chews a stick of gum afterwards. He sprays his most expensive cologne and hangs a new black ice, tree-shaped air freshener in his truck.

He gets to your apartment ten minutes early and sees you waiting outside. Tommy can’t get out of the truck fast enough. He meets you on the sidewalk, holds out his hand, and immediately lifts your arm and indicates for you to spin in a circle so he can truly appreciate the dark mystery you exude. “Goddamn, girl,” he says, eyes raking over your long, fishnet-covered legs. You’re wearing a pleated black skirt that’s just a little too short, with a velvety crop top and platform boots with a bunch of silver buckles. The very same ones, Tommy remembers, that you wore that night he got on his knees for you. 

You smell like cherries again, sweet and earthy and delicious. You’re giggling softly when you face him once more, laughing at the awestruck expression on his face. “You don’t look so bad yourself, casanova,” you say, and it’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever received from those pretty crimson lips. It makes him feel dizzy.

Tommy opens the door to his truck for you and waits while you climb inside. “Hope you cleared your schedule, baby,” he tells you. “Got the whole day planned out for us.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I turned my location on then, so they know where to find my body when you’re done with it.” 

You say it so flatly that he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, darlin,' you think I’d leave that sweet little body behind?” He lets his gaze dip from your face to your cleavage, on full display all for him, and allows his attention to linger there for a moment longer than necessary. “Never.”

“How romantic and necrophiliac of you.” You say it with disdain, but the sun is high in the sky and he knows the warmth on your cheeks isn’t because of the weather.

He does have the whole day planned out. You stop at a local coffee shop on the way to San Antonio, and it surprises him when he orders a black coffee and you order something vanilla flavored with more milk in it than actual coffee. It makes him laugh and reminds him of Saturday night when he discovered that you wore pink panties beneath all your black leather and lace. It makes Tommy wonder what other parts of your life are filled with color, making up for the lack of it in your wardrobe.

He takes you to one of those fancy museums, just like he wanted, and it’s even better than he imagined. Tommy genuinely enjoys himself, even though he’s so out of his element it isn’t even funny. He’s the only person in the whole place in a pair of jeans, but you don’t seem to mind at all. You laugh at the jokes he makes about some of the weirder paintings, and when you see one inspired by those witch trials he learned about in high school Tommy listens to you talk about it for fifteen minutes. 

And the strangest part is that he’s enraptured by it. He loves hearing you talk, especially when you get excited and your hands start moving as you speak.

The weather is nicer when you’re finished—the sun has warmed the morning chill away and you decide to walk to the next attraction. Tommy takes you to that fancy cathedral and watches you gush over that, too. You look so pretty like this, he thinks—with wonder in your eyes and sunlight in your hair.

It’s weird to be this attached so quickly, he knows. You’re just some bartender he met a couple of weeks ago, and you know next to nothing about each other, but Tommy Miller wants to learn everything there is to know about you. He wants to learn more about those witch trials and about the gothic architecture in Europe you’re super knowledgeable about. He wants to listen to The Misfits and learn the lyrics, wants to find fishnet stockings and pink panties in his laundry.

But he doesn’t want to weird you out, and so instead he gives you a toothy grin and laces his fingers through yours. 

It startles you a little, at first, and you scowl at him. But then your scowl turns into a glare with a little smile, and you wrap your free hand around his elbow and step a little closer. 

Tommy Miller’s heart flutters, as if he’s some youthful boy falling in love for the first time and not the goth girl obsessed old man he really is.

He takes you to the fancy restaurant he made reservations at, and asks more questions than you can keep up with. You tell him about your parents and your best friend, and when he asks you about how you spend your time outside of work he laughs when you say, “I’ve been doing a lot of indoor gardening lately.” And then your easy energy fades, and Tommy’s laughter stops. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

He parrots your words from that night on the hood of your car. “Surprising.”

You flush deeply, and you share a look that lets Tommy know you’re thinking of the exact moment he is. 

Pressure builds low in his belly at the thought. You’re in such a fancy place, eating some beef dish that he can’t pronounce, and you’re both thinking very inappropriate, filthy thoughts. 

The rest of the night goes so smoothly that Tommy doesn’t even realize the sun has set by the time you’re finished talking. And even on the drive home, he discovers that he just can’t shut up. He wants to know everything there is to know about you. And when he pulls up to your apartment, he can’t shake the feeling that this date wasn’t long enough. Twelve fucking hours later, a million questions and a million answers later, and he still selfishly wants more time with you. And so when he gets out of his truck and opens the door for you, Tommy asks, “Can I walk you to the door?”

You narrow your eyes only slightly, suspicion evident on your face. But for the first time in his entire life, Tommy doesn’t ask with the intent to get inside. He just wants to soak up these last few moments with you. “Yeah,” you finally answer. “That would be nice.”

He slips his arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and presses an innocent kiss to your forehead. “I had a real nice time with you, vampire girl,” he admits. Tommy thinks real nice is putting it lightly, but he only just convinced you to go on a single date with him and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

It’s comforting when you linger outside your apartment door and say, “Me too. You know, I actually…I’ve never been on a real date before.”

Tommy nearly doubles over. It’s criminal, he thinks. You should’ve always been treated like goddamn royalty, and any other person you’ve ever allowed close never deserved it. He didn’t ask about your past relationships, but Tommy knows that much for certain without an ounce of insight. “Aw, baby,” he groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I hate that so much. You’ve got no clue how much I fucking hate that.” He lifts his head, only to fall to his knees before you. Tommy anchors himself by putting his warm, calloused hands on the back of your thighs, letting himself feel the soft skin and the rough fabric of your fishnets. 

His face is level with your navel, and he presses a kiss to the exposed skin between your skirt and cropped top. It almost makes him moan when you thread your hands through his hair, black-painted fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. “That’s what I’ve got you for,” you say. You pull his hair at the roots, forcing his head back, forcing him to look up at you through hooded eyes. 

If any of his friends were to see him right now, Tommy knows he’d never hear the fucking end of it. But he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because his cock hardens every time he’s on his knees for you. Never thought he’d be the kind of man to want a woman to take charge—but here you are, and Tommy Miller has never experienced something so fucking erotic in all his life. Your words make him smile. “Yeah, you do,” he beams. “I’ll take you on a hundred dates, each better than the last.”

You turn those siren eyes on him and he feels a little like he’s been inducted into some sort of ritual. He doesn’t mind, though. Is ready and willing to do and be whatever you want. Your voice is low, hardly a whisper, as you ask, “Do you usually fuck on the first date, casanova?”

He inhales a ragged breath but it doesn’t do a single thing to ease the ache in his chest. Tommy licks his lips, hopes you’ll invite him inside both your apartment and your heart because you have catastrophically devoured him. He wants it, wants you, so badly that it hurts.

But he doesn’t want it for one night. He wants it for far longer than that. 

And so he tells the truth. “Sometimes,” he says. “But I can’t do that with you, vampire girl. Ya mean too much to me.”

His confession makes you smile. A sweet, pretty little smirk that’s not quite devoid of corruption. “You want to, though. Hm?”

Tommy groans, squeezes his eyes closed, and presses his forehead against your hipbone. “More than fuckin’ anything, sweetheart.” He kisses that sliver of skin again, this time an open-mouthed kiss that leaves moisture in the wake of his lips. “Have no idea what I wanna do to you.”

He slides his hands on the back of your thighs up further, sighing in contentment. He grabs two fistfuls of your ass and discovers you wear nothing but fishnets beneath your skirt and the realization makes him ache. He squeezes the supple flesh between his fingers, wishing so badly that he could worship you the way you deserve. “I could guess,” you say, taking on a teasing tone. “Come here.”

What is he to do but obey your every command? Tommy rises to his feet and shudders when your hand finds the bulge in his jeans. You’re touching him— touching him, and he thinks he might fucking die. It’s strenuous to fight the urge to rut his hips into your hand, to beg you to give him something.

Christ, you make him so fucking weak.

He towers over you, easily by a foot, and you have to crane your head back just to look up at him. “You can give me a kiss goodnight, though, can’t you? Strong enough to do that?”

Tommy takes you by the throat and forces you against the door to your apartment. His lips crash against yours, hunger and greed in his every movement. His cock throbs almost painfully in his jeans, and he presses it into you so you know just how badly you torment him.

A keening, desperate whine leaves the back of your throat. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, to savor the taste of you. That metal barbell tastes just as good as he remembers. Your skirt lifts the smallest bit, and Tommy wedges his knee between your legs and grins when you begin to grind down against the rough denim of his jeans. “Don’t go breakin’ the rules now, vampire girl,” he whispers against your cheek. “I know you want it, too. Just as fuckin’ bad. Ain’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” is all you say in answer. Your cheeks are flushed and that pretty wine color on your lips has smeared. Tommy knows it’s likely on his face too, yet he goes back for more. He kisses you again, harder this time, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan into his mouth, hips canting over his thigh.

The denim begins to darken, wet heat soaking through his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at that. Pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ cryin’ for me, ain't it?”

You nod frantically, and Tommy presses his thigh between your legs harder, chuckling as need overtakes you. You look so goddamn pretty just like this, chasing that high, so fucking close —

Down the hall, a door is ripped open. Tommy takes a step away from you, heart racing behind his ribcage. He watches your flushed cheeks become impossibly redder, holds back his laughter when you cover your mouth with your hand and your eyes widen.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession while you try to catch your breath, to fight off the shock. 

An older woman dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie has a little pomeranian on a leash. She gives Tommy a tight-lipped smile as she walks past the two of you.

When he hears the apartment’s lobby door slam closed, Tommy glances down at the tent in his jeans and laughs so hard it hurts.

You mirror the sound, and soon it’s not your pretty moans echoing in the hall but instead, it’s your giggles. A sound somehow sweeter to his ears. 

He’s thankful for the intrusion though. Truly. Because if you would’ve asked, he would have gone inside with you. And for the first time in all his life, Tommy thinks he might have a decent shot at this. Thinks he might actually want you to be the first girl he ever brings home to meet the family. His living family, that is.

“I’ll come by the bar this weekend,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I had a real nice time with you, baby.”

You nod and drag your teeth across your bottom lip. “I did, too.”

You don’t invite him inside. Tommy walks down the stairs, wondering if there existed a situation where sleeping together on the first date wouldn’t be a curse. Based on past experiences, it would be, though. The only other serious girlfriend he’s ever had was right after high school. He’d slept with her on the first date, and a few short months later Tommy Miller had sworn off relationships altogether.

But the problem is that it’s never been like this for him. Never felt like this. Not even once in all his life has he wanted someone so badly, has he been this intrigued by what someone else has to say. It’s like you feed his soul, somehow.

Comparing this to any of his past experiences feels foolish, inadequate. 

He makes it through the lobby, past the woman and her pomeranian over in the grass. Makes it all the way back to his truck…and then he hears you call his name. 

He’s never moved so fucking fast. And he’s not embarrassed by it, either. Not even when the woman and her pomeranian give him the dirtiest look as he sprints back across the walkway and into the lobby. He grabs you by the waist, lifting you into his arms, and revels in your easy laughter as he takes the stairs back up to your apartment two at a time.

The door has been left half open in your haste to get back to him, and he wastes no time inviting himself in and kicking it closed behind him. Your limbs are wrapped around his torso, but Tommy doesn’t make it two feet into your apartment before you’re lowering yourself to your knees before him.

And, Christ,  it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “God damn, baby. Fuck, fuck, I—”

“We’ll go on another date,” you say, fumbling with his belt buckle. “And technically…technically this is our second one, right? We didn’t fuck on the first date, you just made me cum on the hood of my car. This is the second date.” 

He thinks you look real cute when you try to reason with yourself. But Tommy’s starting to believe that reasoning has become irrelevant when it concerns the two of you. But he still needs to hear it, still needs to know you want this. So he says, “Tell me what you want, vampire girl. You gotta use your words.”

“You, Tommy. I want you.”

It makes his heart stop dead in his chest. Everything, everything has been sacrificed, given in offering to his most precious goddess. And he knows in this very moment that there will never be any going back from this. He knows he will never, ever be rid of you. Knows he’ll see you forever in his dreams, his nightmares. With just those few short words he relinquishes all control. 

But he can still take some back.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head back. There’s a frenzied look on your face that heightens everything for him, knowing you want this just as bad. Tommy understands your insatiable desire all too well. And so he decides that for tonight, for you, he’s not holding anything back. He’s giving you everything, bearing the best and worst parts of himself to you here and now. “Nah, baby. No hands. Use your fuckin’ teeth.” 

A wicked, sinful smirk tugs at your lips. You do as he says, sticking your hands between your soft thighs. You look like Persephone embodied as he watches you drag the zipper of his jeans down with your teeth, obeying his command. 

Controlling? Sure. But Tommy isn’t cruel, and so he decides to help you. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, and he admires the look on your face.

He knows he’s been blessed. Given a gift most men can only dream of. But he’s never been more thankful for it than the moment you lick your lips and then lick him.

Tommy’s never been with a girl who has any piercings, let alone one in her mouth. And he now knows that in this, too, there will be no return for him. 

Because how could it ever feel better than this?  

There’s a bead of precum dripping from the tip, and you lick it up greedily. You familiarize your tongue with every inch of him, running it down the vein on the underside of his cock. It’s a teasing caress, but Tommy never wants it to fucking end.

When you finally take him into your mouth, wrapping your pretty, wine-stained lips around him, he lets out a groan and nearly falls back into the wall. You feel so fucking good as you swallow him down. Your mouth is so warm, so wet, that the barbell is a solid contrast to the softness of your tongue.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Yeah, there you go. Just like that—fuck.” 

Your hands remain tucked firmly between your thighs. Pretty, obedient girl. You use only your lips and tongue and it’s like euphoria, like heaven. It feels so good that he just can't help himself. 

Tommy cradles your face between his hands and guides your mouth around him, shoves himself even further down your throat. You choke and your eyes begin to water, smearing all that black eyeliner down your cheeks, but never once do you give him any indication you want to stop.

He fucks your face unabashedly and it’s even better than any of his fantasies ever were. He feels you swallow him down impossibly deeper, feels the vibration in your throat as you moan around his cock. Spit trickles down your chin, and the image is filthy and obscene and it will be forever scarred into his fucking brain. “You take me so good, baby. So fuckin’ good. Sweet little mouth was made to have a cock in it, huh?”

Two seconds more and he’ll cum down your throat. Tommy forces himself to pull away, forces himself to take a goddamn breath. His cock is aching, hanging heavy between you, covered in your saliva that still connects him to your mouth. It looks like something right out of a porno, he thinks. 

And when you smile at him, pride shining on your tear-stained face, he nearly loses his balance.

He’s in an absolute fucking freefall. And he wants to worship at your demonic altar. 

You stand to your feet, and Tommy’s mouth is back on yours because he can never tire of kissing you, of swallowing up that cherry poison. He drinks you in deep, uncaring of the spit that smears across his chin, humming in contentment because, beneath your ambrosia taste, there’s a little bit of him that lingers. 

There’s a black couch in the center of your living room. You push him down onto it, leaning over to kiss him a little deeper. He tries to pull you into his lap, but you smack his greedy fingers away from your hips. “No hands, casanova. Remember?” 

He fucking loves this shit.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mirroring your idea and shoving his hands beneath his thighs. The leather is cold against the heated flesh of his knuckles, and within seconds he’s fighting the urge to pull them out and touch you again.

You bite your bottom lip contemplatively, but he can see the heat behind those siren eyes of yours and knows without a second of doubt that he would do anything you ask of him. Doesn’t matter how filthy, doesn’t matter how vulgar—because it’s you.

He doesn’t even flinch when you lift your shiny black boot and press the platform into his chest. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tastes the iron of the buckles, metallic on his tastebuds. He’s slow in his pursuit, the leather smooth beneath the flat of his tongue as he weaves it between the straps.

Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. He’s in absolute awe as your hand slides lightly down your chest, over the swell of your breasts, down your abdomen. Tommy watches it disappear beneath the black fabric of your skirt and has never been so envious of a hand in all his life. 

His voice comes out docile and meek as he says, “Lift your skirt. I want to see it. Please.” 

“You think you’ve earned it?” Everything about you draws him in; even your wicked, evil words. “Because I don’t think you have. Start over, casanova.”

It’s the most degrading, salacious thing he’s ever done, but he does it. He starts at the base of your boot again, right over your ankle, following the wet path his tongue has already created. His cock is so hard it hurts. When he finally makes it past your boot, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh just above your knee. You let out a gasp of surprise but it quickly turns into a whimper, so Tommy does it again. 

He bites harder, sucks a bruise into the softness of your thigh, shudders at the feeling of your fishnets in his mouth once again, harsh and coarse but so unbelievably satisfying.

“Tell me something,” you say breathlessly. “Are you as good with that mouth of yours as you are with your hands?”

He smirks, the promise of tasting you from the source enough to make goosebumps rise over his skin.

“And don’t lie, casanova. I’ll know if you do.”

“Only one way to find out, vampire girl,” he says. “C’mere.”

You move your boot to rest beside him on the couch instead, placing both hands on his shoulders for balance. He surges forward, dips his head beneath the edge of your tiny little skirt, and fucking moans at the heady taste of you. Better than Ambrosia, better than an Old Fashioned, better than fucking anything he’s ever had in all his life.

He knows he’s not supposed to use his hands. But Tommy Miller’s never been much of a rule follower, and so he grabs your ass and pulls your closer, pulls you in until you fall on top of him. 

He licks up that sweet wetness, tongue sliding through your pussy and circling your clit. You shiver and shake when he sucks it into his mouth, rolling it between his lips. All he wants, all he’s ever fucking wanted was to make you feel good. But somehow he feels like this is almost for him, a gift, a stolen moment in time he’ll never understand what he’s done to deserve.

Your hands are in his hair and you’re moaning his name and as much as he loves them, Tommy reaches a hand between your legs and rips apart your fishnets. He doesn’t want anything separating him from this, doesn’t want anything getting in the way of this miracle given to him by God himself. 

No part of you remains untouched because Tommy Miller is ravenous for you. He licks through your folds with a flat tongue, circles your clit with the point of it. He can feel it pulse in his mouth, and he can't hold back the groan that leaves him. He laps at you like a man starved because he believes he has been. All these years without you, all these years missing out on this.

You gather your skirt in your hands, holding it above his head. You look so pretty from this angle, a dark goddess in eternal bloom. He cannot get over it, your demonic sorcery. It brings him to his knees where he could spend the rest of his life happily.

A part of him wishes you would take charge in this, too. Wishes you would take your pleasure with his mouth however you want it, wishes you would take what you deserve. Because Tommy wants to feel it, wants to fucking taste it, wants to know what it’s like to make you cum on his face so he’ll never forget it.

He pulls away only long enough to shift his body off the couch and onto the floor. “Ride my face, baby.”

You tilt your head, and Tommy recognizes that wicked gleam in your eye. Knows you’re about to make him work for it like you always do, hopes you’ll always make him work for it because he enjoys the chase perhaps a little too much. Somehow, that makes it all the more exciting. “Where are your manners, casanova? Ever learn how to say—?”

“Please,” he interrupts. Because never in his fucking life has he needed something so badly. He doesn’t care that he’s begging, doesn’t care that he looks a fool. “Please, baby. Please, I need it. I fuckin’ need you so bad.”

You don’t leave him waiting long. And it feels like a breath of fresh air to have you in his mouth again, to taste you. Your slick covers chin but he loves it. Loves it. Loves it even more when you thread those sharp claws through his hair and begin to grind your pussy against his face. 

Tommy sticks out his tongue, keeps it wide and flat, and hooks the tip just a little so it catches on your opening every time you shift down. His nose nudges your clit with each tilt of your hips, and you reward him for it with pretty sounding moans 

The sudden thought strikes him that he could cum just like this. Hands free. Tommy fucking Miller thinks he might cum with just the taste of you. 

Devoured doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Oh, god. Fuck, that feels so good,” you say, and he feels pride swell in his chest. Your hips move faster, grinding harder. Shameless in their pursuit, chasing that familiar high.

Tommy just pulls your closer, hums against your pussy to try and get you there. 

It works. Within a few short minutes, your breathing goes ragged and your hands tighten in the roots of his hair. “I’m gonna cum, fuck, Tommy, I—oh, God .”

A rush of liquid invades his mouth and trickles down his neck. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Tommy thinks you cum even prettier when it’s because of his mouth and not his fingers.

He wants to make you cum forever. Wants to make you cum in every room in your apartment, in every room in his house, in his truck, in the bathroom of the restaurant you ate at today. He wants to bend you over that bartop and fuck you until you know no words but his name, wants to fuck you senseless.

The suction of his lips around your clit doesn’t lessen until your breathing evens out and every stroke of his tongue pulls a pretty, overstimulated hiss from your mouth. You try to push yourself up on wobbly legs but fail, and Tommy is glad for it because you stumble right into his lap. Right where you belong.

His lips are still wet with your slick as you lean in and kiss him, tasting yourself in his mouth. He can feel you smile against him and he can’t help but mirror it. “You’re fuckin’ incredible, baby. You know that?”

You shift backward, sliding your ass down his legs. His cock lays against his abdomen, the tip flushed crimson, veins prominent and pulsing with need. You bite your lip as you admire his erection while he admires you. He tries to catch his breath to no avail because you reach between your bodies and take his cock in your hand, running your fingers over it slowly. 

The touch is featherlight and affectionate. It’s not meant to be pleasurable for him. It’s for you and your own playful curiosity, and yet you’ve strung him so high, wound him so tight that every soft caress of your fingertips sends shockwaves of electricity down his spine.

You lean your head over his lap and he watches your spit drip onto his cock, landing just on the underside of the head. With your thumb, you spread it across the tip and Tommy’s hips buck up into your hand. You giggle and it’s somehow the cutest and most maniacal thing he’s ever heard in all his life. “You poor thing,” you murmur, counterfeit pity laced in your words.

“Jesus, fuck.” Tommy groans when you slide your thumb across the sensitive head again, thrusting into the palm of your hand. His skin feels too tight, his blood too hot. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me if you keep doin’ that.”

You do it again and laugh when the muscles in his abdomen visibly tighten. “Mm. Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”

“Know what’ll feel even better?”

No answer comes in the form of words. Instead, You shift back up his lap, hike your skirt up your belly, and slide the head of his cock through your wetness. “This?”

He moans with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He can feel himself losing control, can feel his grip on restrain wavering with each pass through your heat, coating him in your slick. The sight of himself so close, so fucking close is almost too much to bear. Each time his cock glides over your entrance his hips lift, pressing himself into you, desperate to feel just how tight you are. But your timing is too perfect and his is too restless. “Careful, now,” he warns.

Still, your malicious intent persists. “What’s wrong, casanova? You want something else?” You sound so innocent, so pure. Tommy knows you’re not. “I suggest you take it, then.”

He does. 

Tommy takes your hips in a bruising grip, lays you back against the hardwood floor, and in one smooth movement, he sinks into you deep. If he thought your mouth was heaven, this is some sort of nirvana, a garden of Eden meant for him and him alone. He lets out a sigh of relief and breathes it into the hollow of your throat. “Fuck, baby.”

He can feel you stretch around him, can feel your nails sink into his back. “It hurts,” you say around a whine. 

Leaning back just enough to see your face, to assess just how you’re feeling, Tommy smiles upon the realization that you like how it hurts. Like the pain of it, like the bruising momentum of his desire for you. He rocks into you slowly at first, delighting in that pretty crease that forms between your brows, in the way your lips part and your legs wrap around him. “S’alright, sweetheart,” he coos. “You can take it, can’t you?”

You nod and he picks up the pace, burying himself as deep within you as your anatomy will allow. Tommy presses his mouth to your collarbone, bites the soft skin, sucks another mark there to cement his existence within you. The sting of his teeth only seems to heighten everything for you; moans growing louder, your thighs tightening around his waist. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He hooks his hand around your left thigh and presses your leg up, opening you so he can get impossibly deeper. His hips crash against yours, and your staccato moans are music to his ears. The best symphony he’s ever heard, his very favorite melody.

One of your hands attempts to wriggle between your bodies but he just slaps it away. 

“No hands, vampire girl. Remember?” His tone is mocking and mean but it only makes your pussy grip him harder. “When you cum it’s gonna be because of me. You understand?” You nod in answer but he wants more, will always want more of you. “Say yes.”

“God, yes, yes, fuck —right there. Yes, I understand,” you whimper in answer.

Tommy likes telling you what to do, likes having you at his mercy. But he also likes giving you exactly what you want, and so he takes his free hand and finds your clit just like you’d planned to. He circles it gently, feels it pulse beneath his fingertips. “You feel so good, baby,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me, huh? Ain’t that right?”

Again, no answer comes in the form of words. You’re too shrouded in bliss, too fucked out. Your pointed nails are almost painful against his back, even through his cotton t-shirt. Tommy sits back on his knees and his cock nudges that sweet spot inside of you with the new angle.

He admires the way his cock looks as he fucks you with it relentlessly, glossy and covered in your slick. He knows he won’t last long because the sight alone is almost enough to do him in. But he wants to hear you. Wants you to beg for it. And because he promised himself there would be no inhibitions when it comes to you, Tommy does the most unhinged thing he’s ever done to a woman. 

The crack of his palm against the side of your cheek echoes in your apartment. You let out a sound that’s full of both surprise and lust and one of your hands abandons its assault on his spine to cradle the point of impact.

Tommy’s hips slow, and he’s waiting for you to shove him away. 

But all you do is smile up at him. A pretty, girlish smile that holds no wickedness at all. It’s pleasant and warm and so submissive that it makes his chest pull tight. 

“Asked you a question, darlin,” he says lowly. “You should answer when I’m talkin’ to you.”

“I’m sorry you’re right, you’re right —oh god, you’re gonna make me—!”

“You think you’ve earned it?” The words are spit venomously but hold no salt. He’s going to get you there first like a gentleman, of course he is. Still, he can feel his own release creeping up on him and he holds back as hard as he can. 

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s the prettiest word he’s ever heard in that perfect mouth of yours. “Please, please please—!”

“You’re so cute when you beg. Say it, baby. Tell me who’s pussy this is. Tell me who she belongs to. Tell me who makes her feel this good.” He circles your clit faster, thrusts his hips a little harder. 

It feels like a relief when you say, “It’s yours. Fuck —it’s yours. All yours, Tommy, I promise.”

That coil wound around his spine finally snaps. Because it feels so good to hear you admit it, to hear your resolve wilt and wither. 

His.

“Cum with me, baby,” Tommy says, and you don’t hesitate. Your fishnet-covered thighs turn into a vice around his waist yet still he persists, obscene sounds filling the room. He feels your pussy tighten around him and immediately follows you there, spilling deep inside of you. “Yeah, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn, baby— fuck.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper, deep in the throes of bliss. The words are a fucking gift. Your thighs tremble and your chest flushes and Tommy realizes just how bad he missed this. How bad he wants to make you cum for the rest of his life, how bad he wants to hear you moan his name, how bad he wants to moan yours. 

You come down slowly and you do it together. It’s easily the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced as he runs his fingers lightly through your hair, pushing the messy strands behind your ear, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You smile up at him as you catch your breath, and he can’t help the sentiment as it slips out. “You mean so much to me, vampire girl.”

Crimson stains your cheeks and you press your face into his palm to try and hide it. “Shut up,” you say—but Tommy feels like it’s a phrase of endearment coming from your lips. 

Normally this is the part he hates. The awkward post-coital clarity that usually leaves his skin crawling, trying to find any half-believable truth that will allow him to leave. Only, he doesn’t want to leave you. And so he says, “You wanna shower together?”

“I hope you like cherry scented body wash,” you reply in answer. 

Tommy Miller realizes he loves cherry scented body wash, in fact. And more than that, he likes taking care of you.

Your bathroom is floral themed. There are maroon hand towels over the sink and the shower curtain is black and decorated with plum colored dahlias. You start to strip off your clothes, but Tommy stops you. 

“Let me,” he says. And then he’s on his knees for you in a whole new way. A way that feels a little more weighted, a little more real. But Tommy finds that he doesn’t mind it at all and is careful as he unbuckles your tall leather boots and takes them carefully off your feet. He slides your skirt down your soft thighs, and then your fishnets. He presses a kiss to your belly and stands to his feet. “Arms up,” he instructs and pulls your top off once you obey. 

Once you’re completely bare, Tommy lets you strip his clothes off of him, piling everything into the laundry bin. And even though you don’t talk it feels heavy and intimate in a way he’s never experienced before. 

He washes your hair for you while you cover him in cherry scented suds, your hands on his skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. But he’s not able to completely relax until after you rinse and dry off, after you change into a pair of black and white flannel pajama pants and an oversized tshirt that says Type O Negative. 

Because before he has a chance to pull his jeans back on you say, “I work tomorrow, but in the afternoon. You can stay the night if you want.”

Tommy grins and says, “You gonna sacrifice me in my sleep or somethin’? Cause—hey,” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m willing.”

You laugh and shake your head and call him an idiot, but shortly after Tommy’s wrapped up in black silk sheets, and you’re wrapped up in him. And he figures there’s no time like the present and so he makes a confession both to himself and to you. “Don’t want this to be a one time thing,” Tommy tells you, tightening his arm around your waist. “I want you, vampire girl. If you’ll have me…I’m yours.”

It’s dark in your bedroom but he feels your lips against his bare collarbone and it makes him shiver in delight. “Lucky for you, it seems like I’ve got a soft spot for cowboys.”

Tommy pulls your soft body on top of his and lets himself drown in the comforting warmth, lets himself sink into the intense affection he has for you. He begins to wonder how it’s possible he’s attached himself to you so quickly, making every other connection he’s had with a woman feel hollow and insignificant. He wonders if the reason he’s never taken a second glance at a goth girl is because this whole time he’s been waiting for you, waiting to find this divine, otherworldly bond.

His eyes begin to adjust in the dark. And on the ceiling right above your bed, he notices a poster. It’s a vampiric-looking man with a neon green guitar in his hand. Tommy points to it and asks, “Who’s that?”

“Peter Steele. Meet the only man you’ll ever be in competition with,” you answer.

He can hear the amusement in your tone and feels a deep appreciation for the subject change, afraid he may admit too much too soon. “I could take him.”

You snort. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Tommy drops his hand to his side. “Now, that’s an unfair advantage. You want me to compete with a dead guy? What can be more goth than dead?”

Your chest shakes as you hold in a laugh. But it escapes anyway, and soon you devolve into the cutest giggles he’s ever heard. Tommy mirrors the sound, and though you don’t get much sleep that night, the apples of his cheeks ache from smiling by the time the sun comes over the horizon.

[sunderwight]

Hualian Idol AU where instead of the statues the big reveal of Hua Cheng's longstanding amorous fixation on Xie Lian is all of his self-insert "my mom sold me to One Direction" style fanfics located in the depths of some boyband RPF archive.

[savoredsins]

sorry let me just be delusional and pretend i know how elgarnan looks by zooming extra hard on those two screenshots

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you. I'm sorry.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[starryeyeddreamer21]

Headcanon that since they live in a self aware musical Angel will use it to his advantage to fuck with people

He'll start playing music to see what the strangest thing he can get people to sing is

Everyone figures out what he's doing pretty fast but he keeps doing it because Alastor and Lucifer seem to have made it a competition to try and get each other to say the most embarrassing shit and neither of them will back down

The worst song he's gotten them to sing along to is Daisy by Ashnikko

This left multiple people dead, even more people traumatized, and got Angels music privileges restricted (in his defense he really thought this one would stump them)

He does feel kinda bad for Charlie but the horrified looks of Vaggie and Husks faces make everything worth it

(also Cherri and Nifty think it's hilarious)

[aphel1on]

will never stop being funny to me that nmj near the end of his life was extremely paranoid and delusional, but he was correctly identifying jgy as a threat, but, like... for wrong reasons only. you'll see ppl going "nmj was right about jgy all along, it's sad no one listened to him😭" but no. jgy isn't inherently evil, nor is he a power-hungry monster. not everything he ever said or did was part of some conniving ploy. when given the opportunity, he generally does try to return kindnesses and help people! but - oh, yeah, no, he's totally gonna murder you dude. no, yeah, he's gonna be so sneaky about it that it'll take a decade for the truth to come out.

it's like making 2 mistakes on a math quiz that just so happen to cancel each other out and give you the correct answer.

[johnslittlespoon]

Buck + Bucky Timeline Info

For fic writers or just curious readers!

Referencing different archives and articles, I've done my best to compile John and Gale's Air Force timeline pre–England, because I feel like a lot of it gets muddied and sometimes we wanna write pre–MOTA canon events lol. Hope it comes in handy!

They meet (on or around) March 29, 1940 and become Flying Cadets at Randolph Field in Texas until August 30, 1940.

Still Flying Cadets, they move to Kelly Field in San Antonio, Texas from September 9, 1940 to November 14, 1940.

Both promoted to 2nd Lieutenant Air Corp Reserve on Nov 15, 1940. A bit unsure on the events before their next promotion, because Gale seems to have gone to Barksdale Army Air Field in LA in March of 1941 for advanced flying school, but haven't found anything on whether John went too; I'm assuming he did.

Both promoted to 1st Lieutenant, Air Corp on April 25, 1942. Not clear on whether this took place in LA or back in Texas or elsewhere.

Became instructors for the 29th Bombardment Group at McDill Air Force Field in Tampa, Florida on May 25, 1942.

Promoted to Captain and transferred to Gowan Field, Boise Idaho, but possibly at different times? All I can find is that by October they were both for sure there, but Gale was promoted to Captain on July 28, 1942 and transferred then, and John was promoted to Captain in August of 1942, but it doesn't specify when he transferred.

At Gowan Field in October of 1942, Gale was promoted to Commanding Officer for the 350th Bomb Squadron/100th Bomb Group, and John was promoted to Operations Officer for the 100th Bomb Group.

Transferred to Walla Walla Army Air Field in Washington in November of 1942.

Transferred to Wendover Army Air Field in Utah in December of 1942.

Both promoted to Majors in Sioux City, Iowa in January of 1943.

Transferred to Kearny, Nebraska (assuming to Kearney Air Force Base) in February of 1943. Cue P1 of MOTA!

In May of 1943, John traveled with an advance party to Podington, England to prepare the base for the 100th Bomb Group. On May 27 1943, Gale (with the 100th) left for Bangor, Maine. From there, he flew out across the Atlantic and arrived at Thorpe Abbotts on June 9 1943. And we know what happens from then on. :-)

If any of this is incorrect or you have extra information to add to the timeline, please let me know!! I wouldn't be surprised if I've missed things, but this is how their flight school/pre–England timeline went to the best of my knowledge. Hopefully this is helpful for some other writers too! I can throw together a timeline for their missions/events during MOTA as well if that's something anyone's interested in; it's easy enough to find mission dates in comparison to finding these pre–100th dates, but it might be nice to have them all in one place. x

[rubydubydoo122]

I think the funniest thing about how the Fandom perceives Tim (especially obnoxious Tim fans) is that he is was deeply hurt by the actions Jason, Damian, and Dick have done to him, but lowkey that’s just the fandom projecting

Tim lowkey did not give a fuck. Maybe a little at first, but he definitely does not hold a grudge against any of them.

[lambmotifz]

am i the only one who doesn’t like normal/regular wincest au

because all the supernatural storylines are the main factor that makes their dynamic so special. wincest without horror elements just. isn’t wincest