#just actually fuck off with that bullshit

[hoshifighting]

Hi. I love your writings. After I discovered Tumblr and your account... I don't know if I've had any day without coming back here... I had a request.

Bathroom sex with Minghao. It has been going on in my mind all day... Either bathtub or shower.

Even though he's not so masculine like others... I feel like he has an incredible core strength. So maybe putting the reader against the wall? Also if you're comfortable, could you add the reader as someone who's overweight and gets insecure from time to time.

It's like Minghao is comforting them through showing how beautiful they are through intimacy? Feels like something he would do.

Love your writing. Take care

bath sex with minghao

WARNINGS: bath sex, insecurities, praising, nipple sucking, penetrative sex, a tear dropping here or there...

a/n: thank you my love for making me part of your routine 😭🙏 I luv seeing you here, you are soooo sweet!! sorry for making u wait for so long 🥺 love you too, take care of yourself, and drink lots of water plsss

you’d been spiraling about it all damn day. the way minghao’s hands just felt—long fingers brushing your skin in passing, his touch so casual but also so intentional. it stuck to you like a tattoo, made your brain fuzzy. you didn’t even realize it, but the itch of your insecurities had been gnawing at you. maybe it was that girl in line earlier with the perfect ass and the confidence to match, or maybe it was just the mirror, the way it always reflected every single thing you couldn’t fix.

but minghao sees you, actually sees you, and it ruins you every time.

“you’ve been quiet all day,” he says from the bathroom doorway, his head tilted like he’s already piecing you apart, trying to read the shit you don’t say. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

you don’t answer right away—can’t, really—because he’s standing there in just his sweatpants, waistband hanging low, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. fucking unreal. and you hate it, the way you almost flinch at the word “pretty,” because yeah, he means it, but your brain won’t let you believe it.

“nothing,” you lie, but your voice cracks. his eyes narrow.

“bullshit.”

you huff, looking anywhere but him. “it’s not a big deal. just—ugh, i don’t know, okay? can we not do this tonight?”

but of course, minghao doesn’t take that. doesn’t let you slip into your head and drown in it. instead, he steps in, closing the door softly behind him, like he’s locking the world out. “you know you can’t bullshit me, baby. talk to me.”

and then he’s right in front of you, hands sliding over your arms, thumbs skimming your skin like he’s earthing you.

you mumble, “i just—i don’t feel good today, okay? like… about myself.”

his brows pull together, and you hate that he looks hurt on your behalf. “y/n,” he says, his voice softer now, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“you wouldn’t get it,” you mutter, but the words catch when he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“try me.”

and fuck, he’s patient, doesn’t rush you, just waits while his thumbs start rubbing little circles on your hips. finally, you crack. “i just… sometimes it’s hard, okay? i see all these girls who look perfect, and then there’s me. i don’t even know why you—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, firmly. “don’t finsh it, don’t do that. don’t talk about yourself like that. do you know how fucking beautiful you are? like, actually?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter, because it’s not something you believe. “hao—”

he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in to kiss you, like he’s trying to rewrite whatever nonsense’s looping in your head. his lips move with yours, one hand sliding up your back, the other curling around your waist, and it’s so easy to melt into him, to forget everything else.

“i’m serious,” he murmurs against your mouth. “you’re the most gorgeous person i’ve ever seen. i love every. fucking. inch. of you.”

you want to argue, but then his hands are tugging at your shirt, and the air shifts. he pulls back just enough to look at you. “can i?”

your nod is shaky, he peels your shirt off like it’s a ritual, and when he sees the hesitance in your eyes, he leans in to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, every patch of skin he uncovers.

he’s backing you up against the shower wall, his breath hot against your neck as he trails kisses down your jaw.

“hao,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out before he’s hooking your legs around his waist, his strength catching you like it’s nothing. “wait, i’m—”

“you’re fucking stunning,” he says, cutting you off, his lips crashing into yours again. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

the sound of the water hitting the tile was loud, drowning out every thought in your head except him. minghao was everywhere—hands firm on your thighs, lips pressed to your chest, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming. the spray soaked through what little clothing you both had left, making the fabric cling before he shoved his pants and boxers down with one hand, the wet heap hitting the floor with an exaggerated plop.

“didn’t know your pants were that heavy,” you giggled. he smirked before leaning in to kiss you again.

“focus,” he murmured. his hips pressed forward, and you gasped when his cock brushed against your pussy—hard and ready, like it always was when it came to you. it was one of those things that made you feel… better, somehow. like maybe he really did mean all the things he said about how he wanted you, how he needed you. not that you’d ever admit it—god, no, he’d never let you live it down.

you squirmed against him, suddenly hyperaware of how high he had you hoisted. “hao, i—”

“relax,” he interrupted. “i’ve got you.”

“but what if—what if i fall?”

his jaw tensed, his hands tightened on you. “you won’t fall, y/n. do you trust me?”

you nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. his eyes narrowed. “say it.”

your voice cracked. “i trust you.”

“good,” he said, but there was a shimmer of guilt in his expression when he saw the tears welling in your eyes. his voice softened immediately. “hey, baby—fuck, i’m sorry. didn’t mean to sound so harsh. you’re safe, okay? i promise.”

his lips brushed your cheek, catching the tear that spilled over, and you sniffled, clinging to him tighter. his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “you’re safe with me. i swear.”

and then he rolled his hips, sliding into you, and whatever insecurity you’d been holding onto was gone—just gone. all you could feel was him, thick and deep, stretching you until your head spun. he groaned, his breath hitching as he bottomed out. “you feel so fucking good, baby. perfect. perfect.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders, a whimper slipping past your lips as he pulled back and thrust again, deep. the angle made you gasp, made your whole body shake in his arms. “hao,” you choked out, overwhelmed, and he just smiled against your neck.

“that’s it babe,” he murmured, picking up his pace, his hips slapping against yours. “see? i told you, baby. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ve got you. always.”

his words melted into the steam around you, and soon you weren’t sure if it was water or sweat trailing down your body. he fucked you, his grip on you steady and unrelenting, making it impossible to think about anything but the way he filled you, the way he made you feel like you were his.

“shit—fuck, hao, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he cut in, his voice thick and breathless, but that smug grin never wavered. “let go for me, baby. you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. let me see you.”

and when you did—when your body clenched around him and your moan echoed in the steam-filled space—he followed right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. his head fell to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he held you close, neither of you caring about the water still raining down around you.

“see?” he said after a moment, pulling back enough to look at you. his smile was soft now, tender. “told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

[teecupangel]

From @zero-saito

Omg altair is gonna paradox himself! Then drag Ezio along until hes got all the ancestors!!! Talk about a train!!! Hes gonna shatter reality!

From @crushednox

Going after your god that made you immortal and left you for millenias to do whatever. I feel like from an outside pov, Altair would be fucking terrifying. Desmond's ass is gonna be grass

Ask from @devilangel65

Clay didn’t really have a job in the Gray.

Desmond was off doing… who knows. Playing favorites and hovering over his ancestors like an overprotective parent.

Very funny considering their blood relations.

Clay was just enjoying the show, in all honesty. Watching Desmond flail around trying to juggle everyone before finally realizing that time and space didn’t exactly work in this ‘place’ so he could focus on one and then move to the other afterwards with no fear of “too much time” passing.

Clay did get bored after a while, as entertaining as it was to watch Desmond freak out once Altaïr starts changing the past and becoming the unofficial leader of humanity.

The highlight of the entire thing was seeing Juno’s head disintegrating with Altaïr not giving a shit.

Pure powerplay, that was for sure.

So he sent him a text back then.

It was a ‘text’ for him but it appeared as some kind of ‘vision’ for Altaïr.

Altaïr immediately assumed that some kind of Isu bullshit was happening and accepted Clay’s messages as another entity trying to talk to him.

They didn’t really talk all that much.

Altaïr did learn of the others from Clay.

Clay didn’t think that it was a secret and the only reason why Desmond never told Altaïr was because he was solely focused on supporting Altaïr.

Clay didn’t think that Altaïr would use the knowledge Clay provided because of his boredom to actually find a way to follow Desmond as he focused on other timeline.

How would he?

By the time Altaïr appeared on Masyaf of the timeline that Ezio Auditore had changed, Clay was busy watching Desmond try to explain to Ratonhnhaké:ton that he wasn’t a spirit like Juno was and enjoying Ratonhnhaké:ton’s distrust.

After the blind devotion Ezio showed (and he still can’t get over the fact that Ezio called Clay Desmond’s messenger angel, just because Ezio was raised as a Christian, it didn’t mean that he should just describe other higher beings in such a way… Clay was more a demon than an angel, as far as Clay was concerned), this was refreshing.

So yeah…

The two of them didn’t know that Altaïr was on his way to meet Ezio Auditore in his quest to find his patron god and make himself his problem once more.

Normally, Desmond is sent back in time to mess with things.

But what if it wasn't him?

Like, maybe Desmond couldn't go back in time himself but he could, in the split second he touched the apple, send someone else.

What if one of his ancestors went back in time? (Upon their deaths or something.)

I imagine a young Altair (who might be using a fake name) running around Italy with a tired Ezio following like a worried mother hen. (No, Claudia, he is not hovering he is just concerned) He ends up taking Altair under his wing (No, Claudia, it is not adoption.)

Or maybe Altair ends up in Bayek's time, Oh! Or Connor in Ezio's time. (Edward and Ezio would either get along badly or be too powerful if they were together in the same time period.)

These boys ruin the timeline and somehow save the world/future by simply stumbling through everything with no clue what's going on. and of course the power of friendship and really sharp blades.

Desmond and Clay are laughing their asses off in the afterlife as their ancestors destroy centuries worth of carefully calculated plans. (They might also manipulate things a little to help.)

And the time traveling ancestors for the most part, are doing the best they can in their current situation.

They are freaking the fuck out the whole time but are excellent at hiding it.

Poor Ezio.

(No, Altair, you can't kill that person because that have information we need, yes, I'm sure, Claudia don't encourage him.)

Well… How about we add some… ‘order’ to the chaos?

Desmond only had a fraction of a second to send his ancestor back in time.

And he hesitated.

He didn’t know which one to send.

Should it be Altaïr? Altaïr always felt like he would find out what to do even if he was given only minimal clues.

But Ezio was his prophet, the one he had been with the longest…

Ratonhnhaké:ton though… he deserves answers. He deserves the truth.

And when he woke up…

In that endless sea of gray…

The first word he heard were…

“’Morning. Which fucked up timeline do you want to hear first?”

Desmond sat and blinked as Clay stood before him, arms crossed with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Uuuhh…”

“Do you want to hear about how Edward Kenway managed to save his grandson and his grandson’s mother from the fires that should have killed her?” Clay asked before adding, “Oh… and he’s learned that his son’s a Templar by the way. At least, one of his old friends believe he’s actually Edward Kenway. If you think the Kenway Family Drama is bad when you were reliving Connor’s memories, then you gotta see the top tier drama that’s happening with Edward and Haytham right now.”

“Or maybe you want to hear about how Connor got kicked into Ezio’s time? He has no idea what’s happening but he got appointed as Federico’s combat instructor. He knows jackshit, by the way, about the tragedy that’s about to happen but, hey, at least Giovanni believes he’s an Assassin from another country or something. Oh.” Clay rubbed his chin as he added, “Connor doesn’t like how close Giovanni is with the Medici by the way. Lorenzo reminds him a bit of Washington or maybe he’s projecting, who knows?”

“Maybe you’ll like to know how your dear prophet is doing? Well, he’s doing badly in preserving the damn timeline that’s for sure. Let’s see… he got in touch with Alamut and managed to bluff his way into making them believe he’s the mentor of a destroyed Assassin branch from the crusader lands, he got the mentor’s permission to make his own branch in Levant, made a deal with said mentor to become a thorn in Al Mualim’s side and find out what he’s hiding, adopted Altaïr and even went as far as adopt Abbas because he believed he could ‘change’ things.” Clay was quiet for a moment before he added, “Oh and his branch is in the underground temple in Jerusalem so he has the Apple with him already.”

“Then there’s Altaïr.” Clay said with such… annoyance Desmond was actually afraid of what Altaïr had done. Clay rubbed the side of his forehead as he started, “See, they can only be transported into what counts as their past so we can’t have something like Altaïr being pushed into his future in Ezio’s time or something. And, since your only instruction to the Moraes was to ‘change the past’, they had to improvise with Altaïr considering he’s more or less the starting point. They had to pick another one of your ancestors who was important to your past and this world’s future so…”

“Altaïr’s been sent to the time of the Isu-Human war and his knowledge of the POEs and getting unconstrained access to the POEs at their full power… well… let’s just say…” Clay’s tone was drier than the desert as he said, “The Isus didn’t know what hit them.”

Desmond could only stare at Clay as he said.

“Soooo… which one do you want to contact first as their ‘patron’?”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S; I was given dealer's choice and picked "the puzzle trap sex-room". tw: discussion of past dubcon/underage sex, past grooming, unhealthy coping mechanisms. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Kid,” Superman says slowly, because “Kid” is what he calls him when he’s pretending he’s talking to a person and doesn’t wanna acknowledge the fact that he is definitely not, and Superboy tries not to bristle. “Why do you think that?” 

Superboy cannot, actually, think of a single more bullshit question for Superman to ask him, especially in front of Batman and Robin. 

“Because I’m not,” he snaps irritably. “Seriously, why is this relevant? Why is any of this relevant? I’m clean enough not to have gotten Robin sick and I only did this ‘cuz I didn’t want him to get his fucking caped ass blown off and Tana isn’t anyone here’s business, so what the fuck else do you all want from me?” 

“Testimony, possibly,” Batman says. “The statute of limitations is still in effect.” 

Superboy is definitely gonna disassemble the Batcave. Disassemble it into rubble. They want him to talk to Superman about how he’s not a person and Robin thinks he needs a fucking shrink and Batman wants to talk shit about Tana like she’s anything like–like she actually–and even Knockout didn’t even do anything like that, anyway, she was just a shitty person who wasn’t always fun to fuck, that’s all! 

“Fuck you,” he snaps, clenching his fists. “Literally all of you. Literally this entire conversation. I’m fucking leaving.” 

He doesn’t give a shit where the door is. He’ll make a door. He’ll– 

“Kid,” Superman says, still all slow and too-careful, and actually, Superboy hates hearing that word in his mouth. 

It’s just what people call him because he doesn’t have a real name.

[guiltycorp]

Damn i really want to know tf happened in the writing room of arcane s2. Some of the downgrades were inevitable due to the show's corporate limitations (not being able to progress the class war story in a meaningful way, having to tie things back to league of legends in terms of making playable characters more appealing to well, play... rip Mel and Viktor in particular), sure. But i still feel like it's even worse than that? There are so many bad decisions that i couldn't even start listing them all... the characters, plot, pacing, themes, it's just such a mess? Even the dialogue writing, it feels much more mm Marvel at its worst i suppose. What i am most bothered by is probably just the straight up harmful messaging so um... Cycles of violence and abuse can be broken by individual decisions to become a better person! Got nothing to do with systemic oppression, living conditions, mental health issues, you can just conveniently ignore aaall the social context, live laugh love and then things get better automatically yep, oppressors famously stop oppressing you when you show them that you're harmless and won't put up a fight anymore. Literally three out of three suicidal characters dying to redeem themselves? Not even in a tragic/cathartic way but in a bittersweet 'they finally atoned for their mistakes' way? Groundbreaking lmao. Romantic relationship between Vi and Caitlyn including no communication about their biggest fight, just conveniently skipping to sex and getting back together - would have loved that if it was framed as the unhealthy fucked up thing that it is, skipping over Vi's hurt and her background to once again become a cop, her girlfriend's direct underling at that (!) due to her not having any other support systems... But nope that was our cute lesbian romance wrapped up, a good thing all around, not concerning at all. Jayce telling Viktor that what he 'always admired about him' was his disability and his deadly disease (??? from a character who spent the whole s1 and first act of s2 desperately trying to help Viktor find a cure? sure) and that those imperfections don't need fixing, just wtf truly. Magic bullshit was also weird, some implications of 'natural magic is ok, but achieving that power through other means corrupts you into a crazy robot bitch or just wilts your trees i guess', but tbh it was written in such a weird and inconsistent way that we can skip this one... Yeah actually a lot of things were just such a mess that I feel silly pointing to specific moments or lines I didn't like, I mean duh, it barely makes sense as a story at all... I am happy we have s1 which comparatively was a masterpiece, and i also really enjoyed s2 act1, i truly believed it would lead somewhere good at the time, my mind still kind of cuts off the story at that point when i think about it, that WAS the open ending of the show to me (is it possible that there were rewrites? targeting act 2 and 3? idk, wishful thinking perhaps). Despite my extremely negative feelings about this season's conclusion i remain glad that so many people appreciate the show regardless, it is clear that there was STILL a lot of love in the process of its creation (although i'd argue that even some of the visual aspects of the show suffered in quality, once again i have to wonder about behind the scenes mood of it all) and i get very upset when i see creatives online despairing over reception of their projects even when i'm absolutely in the disgruntled crowd hahaha... ...however yeah, this wasn't great In a world that increasingly grows more and more right-wing politically... we really needed something different i think.

[saras-almanac]

So I wrote this post the other day about my feelings on the handling of the BuckTommy breakup (which you can read here if you want). And @parrishjeanna reblogged with a link to an article from Tim. I wrote out a reply to it but it became so long I needed to put it in a separate post because it’s over 3k and I need to put it until a readmore.

Okay so I did read that article thank you @kawaiifacesong for linking the not generating revenue clicks because I don’t like reading any articles for 9-1-1 because it’s literally all buddies who can’t ask anything about the show. (Case in point, in this particular interview, the interviewer brings up “The Couch Theory” because Buck and Eddie sit on a couch.)

So this interview was trash for many reasons but I’ll narrow it down to three for the sake of this response: Biphobic nature of the breakup and aftermath, what’s being said in interviews isn’t what we’re seeing, and Tim writes as he goes so there’s no actual plan going forward.

First: The Biphobic Nature of this breakup is still moving full swing.

The idea that Buck is “still figuring himself out” and needs to explore is insulting in so many ways—especially to myself as a bisexual lady in my 30s. Firstly, being in my 30s, the idea that you need to figure yourself out still is absolute bullshit. Yes, you can still find new things out about yourself and make some changes, but usually by this point in your life, you have a pretty decent handle on who you are as a person. Which Buck does have… and we’ve seen that? So it has to be a reference to his newly discovered and realized sexuality.

Which, AGAIN is so biphobic and plays into incredibly harmful bisexual stereotypes that bisexuals need to “explore” to figure out what or who they want. This means either they need to fuck around and make sure they’re really bisexual. OR they need to get enough experience with their same gender to then be able to have a same-gendered relationship. Both of which are insulting and harmful. This idea that Tommy couldn’t possibly be a lasting relationship because Buck just came out as bisexual is wrong. It’s fine if they didn’t want Tommy to be a long-term love interest or even an end-game love interest, but why couldn’t they have done it differently, to hopefully not play into these harmful stereotypes that are still incredibly prevalent today.

Now do I think they fully intended it to play out as biphobic as it is? Not really, but I do think that the heart of what they wanted—Buck exploring his sexuality—is inherently biphobic because of the way they have chosen to go about it. There’s a world of difference between having Tommy break up with Buck so Buck can go exploring and having OS and TM saying similar things in interviews and Tommy and Buck breaking up and Buck getting back out there and dating around. Which if they had given it just a smidge of thought, I have to hope they would have come to that same conclusion and maybe gone about it in a different way.

Second: What Tim’s saying in interviews about what’s happening on the show and in these storylines doesn’t match up to what we’re seeing

I’m going to paste the few paragraphs related to BuckTommy break up here, just to read. I have bolded what I thought was important and what I’m going to talk about after it.

“Look, I think the breakup was premature, but that was by design. For me, the story that I was trying to tell was here’s a guy, Tommy. He’s not a main character on the show. We haven’t done ‘Tommy Begins’ or something. But you do see him in the ‘Begins’ episodes, in flashbacks, and by the time he leaves in ‘Bobby Begins Again,’ he’s turned over a new leaf. He’s feeling more comfortable. He’s hanging out with the new people at the 118 once Bobby takes over, and they throw him a party and bake him a cake when he goes off to his new post. There was even a reference in Broken when Chimney calls him to do the water drop,” Minear explained. “But Tommy’s a guy who’s in a different place in his life than Buck is. And I think what Tommy realizes is exactly what he said, which is, ‘I’m not your last. I’m your first.'” Minear referenced the coffee shop scene in Season 7, where Buck asked Tommy to give them another shot and come to his sister’s wedding, as a point when Tommy thought, “Alright, this guy’s kind of great. He’s super hot and he’s sweet. And this will be nice. And I’m going to be vulnerable for this.” As the relationship grew stronger and the stakes grew higher, however, Tommy reevaluated things. “I think Tommy, in the end, understood that this was not forever — that Buck is exploring himself. He’s still figuring himself out. And even if Tommy doesn’t know it, he might sense the fact that Buck likes to jump in with both feet a little bit precipitously,” Minear mused. “So was the breakup premature? Yes. Because Tommy was put in a position where he had to be honest. And once he speaks the truth, which is, ‘I think I know where this ends, and I can’t move in with you,’ he’s kind of breaking the spell — the spell of that honeymoon. Tommy even says, ‘I didn’t see this coming either.’ I don’t think either one of them did.”

Okay, lots of things happening in this quote but ultimately there’s a massive disconnect in what TM thinks is happening or what he’s saying is happening and what is actually on screen—and that’s a huge problem. You can’t rely on interviews to explain things, it needs to be in the actual text of the episode.

I think the real crux of the issue is this: “Tommy’s a guy who’s in a different place in his life than Buck is… Tommy, in the end, understood that this was not forever… he’s kind of breaking the spell—the spell of that honeymoon.”

Let’s break this down a bit. Tommy being in a different place in his life than Buck… How? Buck has, since the pilot episode, been looking and searching for a stable romantic relationship—he’s always craved that and wanted that. Even in the breakup, he was thinking about their future and marriage and moving in with Tommy. Is that not what the next logical step of a relationship might be? So doesn’t that—regardless of whether it was premature or not—prove that Buck and Tommy are in the same place of clearly wanting a long-term, committed relationship? So if this wasn’t the case, why didn’t you show that? Show them having that disconnect or make it clear that Tommy’s dropping hints about their future and Buck is not in the same place so he’s not picking up on them at all. Because what we saw was Buck wanting and seeing a future with Tommy and Tommy basically telling him that the doesn’t actually.  

“Tommy, in the end, understood that this was not forever — that Buck is exploring himself. He’s still figuring himself out.” This is my villain origin point—for real. Because this is also not what we saw! What we saw, was a Buck who was so secure in himself and his relationship, arguably for the first time on this show, that he didn’t panic or second-guess anything really. He was all-in with Tommy and enjoying himself and being with Tommy. He even said that being with Tommy makes him more comfortable with himself—aka what a lot of couples say when they’re in committed and reciprocal, healthy romantic relationships—that being with you makes me happy being me. (Paraphrasing here, but hopefully my point gets across.)

Because what is there for Buck to figure out yet? He knows he’s bisexual and incredibly into Tommy. He’s happy and content with his work life and seems pretty happy with where he’s living. His relationships with his friends and family are all as good as they usually are. So what is there for Buck to still figure out? I’m left to assume that this is again only about his sexuality, which just keeps adding more to the pile of shit that makes me feel crappy and uncomfortable with this storyline.

Also, why couldn’t Buck and Tommy last? Why is that assumed to be the correct conclusion to come to? How many high school sweethearts get together and last? How many people who don’t date until they’re in their 20s-30s find someone right away and stay together? How many people come out as queer later in life because they have found someone they click with and it just makes them see more of themselves and they stay together? Sure, this is not the case with every single person in these situations, but it’s not unheard of. To me, this just feels like the show and Tim are acting like Buck is a young, 20-year-old child and now a grown man in his 30s…

What we actually saw on our screens, was two people who genuinely seemed to enjoy each other and spending time together. That had an easy and sweet relationship, where they both felt settled and comfortable together. It’s why the weird change in 806 felt so abrupt—what do you mean these two people who had amazing communication up until that point, have not talked about their past relationships at all? I think that was done as a shortcut for the writers and TM to say, “Look, see, they’re not compatible, they can’t last because they’re not talking about anything serious.” But again, my point is: then you should have showed us that beforehand, given some foreshadow or lead up to it. Instead, they chose to blindside the audience for the “shock value” and it didn’t work. Shock value for shock value’s sake never works for the audience. They don’t want the rug to be pulled out from under them, they want to see you building something and only after it’s built can they see what you were doing the whole time.

Now, I understand that they just wanted to break them up for “story” reasons (which I have no faith is going to be anything good). While I personally hate that because I feel like there would have been much more storylines and things for Buck to be involved in and it would have opened up a lot more potential stories for the future, I get that it’s not my decision to make. But why couldn’t they actually make this make sense in the actual context of what we’d seen already? If you wanted to break them up because they’re in different places, then having Buck ask Tommy to move in could have caused more of an argument of Tommy saying that Buck doesn’t really see him and doesn’t seem to understand that Tommy has a whole life outside of Buck. O Tommy could have been the one to propose moving in together and Buck freaks out because it’s too soon—which leaves Tommy to come to the conclusion that they want different things right now and he can’t just sit around and hoping Buck will catch up because it would be too hard for him to let go of Buck later. Or have Tommy literally going to a different place—whether temporarily or permanently—and so they have to break up because Buck has a whole life here and Tommy wasn’t about to ask Buck to uproot himself for Tommy…

There’s so many other ways this breakup could have gone instead of the route they went—and they would have made much more sense contextually. Instead, they went this cheapest way possible and have Buck now acting like a child about calling Tommy, when in reality and with the growth we’d seen of Buck in the past 8 years, he would have reached out to Tommy already. At least to talk things through. The baking thing was cute for an episode and it would have been okay for longer, but I’m just sitting here wondering exactly why Buck can’t call Tommy… If it’s because he’s hurt, then they needed to say that because right now, it just seems like Buck is literally being forced to not call him but the audience isn’t really sure why.

All this brings me to my biggest point. Third: I don’t trust anything that’s being said in interviews or by TM because he doesn’t write in advance and that’s a major problem

Before we get into it let me make a disclaimer: I’m gonna need every single network and studio to start requiring all the white men who write for them to actually be getting them scripts. We cannot rely on their “genius” to make sense because these scripts—especially season 8—should have had a few more passes before what we’ve seen. The only episode so far that actually felt like a complete episode was the Halloween episode.

And if this season has taught us anything, it’s that Tim not having any real plans or anything written is actually a massive problem for this show.

Now me not believing TM is not me saying that I 100% believe Tommy is coming back (though I feel like the chances are higher now with the reaction from the GA for ABC to suggest some things or at least give a closure beat to this character and relationship) This is more, nothing that TM has said in interviews up until this point for season 8 has really actually happened on screen except for Eddie shaving his moustache… Granted, I don’t read every single article with him so I might have missed something, but I just feel like he’s got no interest in setting anything up and actually paying it off in any real way.

So many people were so excited for season 8 because it was the first season in years where we actually knew so many storylines going into 8—that weren’t told to us in interviews; they were introduced in the actual show! We had Bobby/Athena’s house hunting, HenRen fighting Ortiz and trying to get Mara back, Madney fostering Mara in HenRen’s place, Eddie dealing with Christopher leaving, and Gerrard back at the 118. Any one of those storylines would have been so amazing to really see explored and fleshed out. Instead, everything was basically settled and done by episode 4—apart from Christopher and Eddie resolution and Bobby/Athena actually moving in / building. To me, as a writer myself, that decision to rush though those other stories was a massive massive misstep. There was so much there to explore and delve into that could have been so satisfying to watch and really reap the emotional payoff.

Instead, we had like 2-4 minutes max of processing HenRen not being able to see Mara again before they were all reunited. Not that I wanted to see HenRen struggling again in this way, but it would have been different and they could have put some humor into it with Karen suggesting they tail Ortiz and try to find things out about her—or Hen comes back from a shift to find Karen has stayed up for 38 hours tracking every single facebook post from Ortiz and her family to try and find something they could use and she’s the one who uncovered the link between Ortiz and Gerrard, which then promts Hen to ask Buck as Gerrard’s specialist boy to ask for a favor or try to convince Gerrard to help them deal with Ortiz.

And Maddie and Chimney having Mara would have been so interesting to see them actually having conversations about what they want for their family going forward—do they want more kids, do they not? Are they wanting to try naturally or adoption? And then Mara being with Chimeny could have also added another layer of tension between Hen and Chimney with Hen being jealous that Chimney is raising her daughter.

I mean Eddie… the fact that it took 8 episodes (basically) for him to actually acknowledge that he needs to do something to be a part of his son’s life is a major problem as well. It makes me not want to root for Eddie to reconcile with Chris because he has shown hardly any initiative in actually confronting what he did and the actual reason why Chris is so upset and feels betrayed. There was a little in 6, but that’s sort of it.

Bobby and Athena, they just don’t seem to know what to do with them anymore. And that’s a shame because there are so many things they could do—namely my favorite thing which is give them more comedy to do! They are so funny together (cruise ship is one of my favorite things). Or they could have had the first few episodes be them sort of couch surfing through the firefam and be a fun little runner of “we really need to figure out what we’re doing.” Even their storyline of their house burning just doesn’t seem to be a thing anymore.

Buck, it would have been so amazing to see him dealing with the work stuff more and having Tommy to lean on, to see Buck who’s been pretty secure in his work for the past few seasons now dealing with Bobby being gone and Gerrard there, just really gets him thinking about the future. Or even the comment about budget cuts, why was that never brought up again? That would have been so interesting to lead up to the midseason finale, which of the 118 is going to get laid off? And Buck being in such a secure spot maybe he volunteers because he wants to explore something outside of firefighting and/or because everyone else has kids and a family and he knows it’s easier for him to not have a job? And then he’s saying his goodbyes and the midseason act out is Bobby announcing that Eddie is going to be leaving them instead.

Instead of really exploring any of that, it’s all been rushed through to move on to the next thing, but the honest truth is: I don’t trust what TM’s great next thing is because he absolutely squandered all the potential he had going into season 8. So all these “amazing things” he has going forward I just don’t trust they’re going to happen or even be slightly interesting. Instead, I assume they’re going to be something that’s like an episode opening and then never mentioned again if they do happen.

I just don’t understand what is going on in his head other than ego right now and I’m just… I deal with too many egos in my life to deal with another one like this.

[mvrkieboo]

Lord, just saw that ask on what if YN is bitter. And ykw? WHAT IF THEN THERES A LOT OF REGRETS LIKE COME ONNNNNN 😫 I really wanna good ending but damnnnnnnnn that scenario on YN being bitter? UGH LURVE THE ANGSTY 🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️

pt. 2 of this ask right here

You've been missing your classes. For 6 days, exactly.

For the first three days, Prof. Suh nagged Xiaojun endlessly for an explanation for your absence, but at one point, all of your lecturers stopped bothering him about it. Xiaojun began to wonder if the lecturers could finally tell that he was simply not your friend anymore—until Prof. Suh suddenly held him back again today. As always, Yangyang and Aeri tagged along.

The lecturer pulled out a fruit basket, patting on it as he gave the three college students—for some reason—a sympathetic look, it even came across as apologetic too. Was the fruit basket an apology for something?

"Listen, I wanted to visit Y/N today, but some bullshit last minute meeting got scheduled—so can you guys pass this on to her for me? Tell her I'm sorry for the messages I sent too—I didn't know at the time. Thanks, guys."

The three looked among themselves, weirded out. Why would Prof. Suh buy you a fruit basket? When Aeri opened her mouth to ask for further explanation, that's when the professor's phone rang—and he took the call immediately.

When he saw that three students were still hanging around his desk stupidly, he pointed at the fruit basket then to the lecture hall's doors—telling them to get out.

Yangyang took the fruit basket and walked out the hall, wondering why the fuck would Prof. Suh bring a fruit basket for you?

There was a folded card stuck to the basket, and they were too curious to leave it alone. Flipping the note to read the contents, it was Prof. Suh's writing, but they realised that this fruit basket was on the behalf of all of the lecturers of the faculty.

May we see you again on brighter days, Y/N.

– On behalf of all the staff of NCU's Business & Management Faculty

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ever since celebrating Jaehyun signing on to SM Entertainment as a singer together, Mark's friend group and your—well, your old friend group hung out a lot at the place where they held the party, which was at Soyeon's café in Sinchon. Geonwoo's mom liked having them come over too, so they often had a fun time together at the café.

"What's with the fancy fruit basket?" Mark got to beat Haechan to it, since everybody was curious about the fruit basket Yangyang was carrying.

"Well, we're actually hoping that you would know, Mark—has Jaehyun mentioned anything about Y/N recently? Did something happen to her?" Xiaojun smiled hesitantly at Mark, and Yangyang places

Mark leaned away from the table, confused as to why Xiaojun would ask that, especially since your name would sometimes be a taboo topic to approach. Yangyang pointed at the card and Mark opened it to read it, now eyebrows all furrowed.

"May we see you again on brighter days? That sounds pretty serious." Haechan read the writing out loud from over Mark's shoulder.

"Listen, this fruit basket is gonna go bad if we don't immediately send it to her, and the staff's money would go to waste that way. How about this—you pass on Y/N's new address to me, I'll drop it off, and then this whole thing can be settled instantly." Yangyang spoke with a jaded tone, leaning back into his seat.

"I don't know her exact address, but I do know what apartment she moved into." Mark offered, and Yangyang nodded gladly.

"Oh, Mark, that would in fact be better. I could just drop it off at the front desk and tell the person to pass it on to her."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the end, Mark offered to accompany Yangyang for the drop off, mainly because everyone could see Yangyang was ticked off that he had to do this, and if he ran into you, Mark being there was to mediate the situation.

One look at the apartment complex and they realised how much of a downgrade it is from your old place. Granted, anything else could be considered a downgrade compared to the luxury condo you used to live in, but your current apartment looked almost run down and shady.

Mark couldn't help but still feel a little bit bitter and envious that you were willing to move into this kind of place if it meant you could live with Junyoung. Did you really love him this much to endure living in a place like this? Mark was a broke college student too, but even he wouldn't settle to live in an apartment like this.

But, in your defense, it only looked run down because the apartment was old, dated, and looked like maintenance is done once a year only. It still had a lobby with a front desk at least, manned by a relatively old dude who looked well into his 60's.

"Excuse me, but could you please pass this on to one of your tenants? We don't know her exact unit, but it might be under the name Jeong Y/N or Lee Junyoung." Mark talked amicably, not wanting to piss off anyone in this apartment.

The older man behind the desk moved to take out a thick binded file on the shelves behind him. It was a long 3 minutes until the man finally got to the page he needed. He raised his eyebrows, looked at Mark and Yangyang, then looked at the page again.

"Kid, the unit you mentioned was a crime scene. The cleaners just arrived to wash away the blood and the mess. The tenant—Lee Junyoung—is already dead. A week ago, he stabbed his girlfriend before killing himself—but I heard the girl survived and is currently recuperating at Taeho Memorial Hospital. It's better if you brought this basket there instead."

Mark and Yangyang went blank and dead silent at the information, felt like the whole world froze for a moment, both of their bodies frozen still—then they took off without thanking the old man, bringing along the fruit basket with them into Yangyang's McLaren. On the way to the apartment's parking lot to reach Yangyang's car, Mark was already dialing Jaehyun's number.

Jaehyun was in the studio, nodding along to a beat he was really liking when his phone rang, flashing Mark's picture on his screen. Mark knew he'd be busy, and Mark always liked to text instead of calling anyway. Suddenly feeling dread and a weird sense of urgency take over him, he quickly excused himself out of the studio to take the call.

"Jae, did you know?" Mark sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him, and Jaehyun frowned at the sudden question.

"Know what?"

"Stop fucking around! If you knew, why wouldn't tell me about it? I mean—you know I still care for her and that I'm still not over her yet, so why the fu—"

"Mark! Bro, calm down. What are you talking about? You're speaking in riddles, man—I don't understand what you're trying to say." Jaehyun walked to the windows, looking down on the city as he heard Mark take deep breaths before speaking again.

That was when Mark realised Jaehyun didn't know. He messed with his hair as Yangyang began to drive the car a lot faster than what he was comfortable with. Did the dude even know the directions to Taeho Memorial Hospital?

"It's Y/N, Jae. Junyoung's dead, he killed himself—but before that, he attacked Y/N and—and she got stabbed. She's currently recovering at Taeho Memorial Hospital. Fuck, this is why her lecturer wanted us to give her a goddamn fruit basket."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

You wheeled yourself out of Dr. Kim Sejeong's office. She was a wonderful therapist, and you could tell there was progress in your mental health after you agreed to take up therapy to heal yourself—but it didn't change the fact you had felt pushed to do this the first time you entered her office.

You came to a halt when you saw two men rose from the waiting seats outside Dr. Kim's office. You felt your face going stiff, when you realized Kyungsoo and Taeyong had been waiting for you.

These were the two sneaky assholes who roped Junmyeon into their plan in convincing you to get therapy. You still remembered how hard you cried on Junmyeon's shoulder five days ago.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So you found his body." You spoke out, sounding soulless.

Junmyeon nodded beside his old partner, Kyungsoo. Taeyong was busy getting coffee at West Wing's café. A kid ran past in front of your wheelchair, giggling as it chased a butterfly with her mother just right behind her. The hospital's garden was spacious, but there were still some tricky pebbles she should look out for.

"Yep. Yoonsu hadn't been lying—Junyoung was found at the abandoned plant nursery. They were just about to renovate it when we came with a search warrant—ah, the school's director was so annoying, kept bitching about how he didn't want it to leak to the media. People like them are the reason why I decided to become a cop." Junmyeon sighed deeply, loosening his necktie at the memory.

Kyungsoo smirked at the older man, making a snide comment on how the commissioner shouldn't be so crass in front of a civilian. Junmyeon slapped him at the back of the head—it wasn't like he wanted the position, but it was thrusted upon him. Turning it down would anger a lot of people, and that included his own grandfather who had given a lot of gifts to the old commissioner for Junmyeon to be selected as his successor.

You stayed stone faced as the two bickered, and when they realised you were staying quiet, Jumyeon looked at you then shared a look with Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo had told him over the phone you might possibly be suffering from a...kind of depression of some sorts after everything Yoonsu made you go through.

You needed someone to push you into the path of proper recovery.

Both men saw Taeyong walking out of the West Wing with a bag in hand, so Junmyeon nodded at Kyungsoo as he fished the inner pockets of his blazer, and Kyungsoo not so discreetly walked away, signalling Taeyong to turn on his heel too.

Junmyeon reached for your hand, forcing your closed fist to open and placed something on your palm. When you pulled your hand away, you saw it was Junyoung's nametag pin. You felt your heart skip a beat as you looked at it, buried memories unearthing themselves inside your mind.

"...you know, I couldn't stand Junyoung the first time I met him. He was more crass than me, arrogant, prideful—and most of all, he was so goddamn selfish. I hated that guy, if I have to be honest with you, Y/N." Junmyeon hunched over, placing his elbows on his knees.

He stared right ahead, watching an older brother carrying his younger brother on his back, probably boasting about how strong he was to be able to carry his little brother. Junmyeon let out a pained smile at the sight.

"But after he met you, that selfishness started to chip away. He was still arrogant and foul-mouthed—and if he was alive, I've no doubt he would still be that way—but he couldn't afford to be so selfish anymore when it came to you."

You felt your eyes water as you closed your fingers around the nametag, then you felt Junmyeon's hands cover yours, as if he was also trying to keep that nametag safe from the world like you were.

"Kyungsoo told me. About all the things you said Yoonsu said to you before he killed himself, how your own friend dismissed you when you asked to speak with your brother one last time—Y/N, you have to know that all those things he said to you will never be true, you're not selfish. You deserve to live a life beyond Yoonsu, Y/N. You deserve to live a life beyond Junyoung too. He didn't die because of you, he died because of Yoonsu's selfishness—not yours." Junmyeon spoke softly, watching you cry without making a sound.

"I know you resent your friends for leaving you, and I know you also feel like blaming yourself for it because you were the one that pushed them away first, but you can't keep wallowing in your pain all by yourself, Y/N. If they had hurt you so badly, they should apologise to you—but how could they realise what they did wrong and apologize if you're not letting them know?" Junmyeon started to wipe away your tears, even as you started to shake your head.

"But I can't seem to let it go. I don't know if I could forgive them even if they apologize to me. I don't think I'm strong enough to do it." You sobbed out, feeling so ashamed of yourself.

Junmyeon tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear before he placed a hand on the back of your head. This was the same head that his late step cousin loved so much, the same head that Junyoung sacrificed his selfishness for.

"Then get help. Get therapy, receive some counseling. Me and Kyungsoo are scared that if you continue to be like this, you might..." He trailed off, and he didn't have to finish it for you to understand what he was trying to say.

"Please? For Junyoung, at least? He loved you so much, kid. He deserves to see you live a life beyond all this pain, all this suffering...and you owe it to yourself too. Living in misery would just let Yoonsu win in the end. Don't let that asshole win, Y/N."

He saw how your shoulders slumped. You relented, and you started to nod. His hand on the back of your head stretched around your shoulders, letting you cry on his. Finally, Junmyeon felt like his debt with Junyoung was now paid tenfold. At last he got to find where Junyoung was after all these years, and the girl Junyoung loved so much was finally saved from Yoonsu's hold on her.

At last.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Detectives, if my memory serves me well, you belong to Gangnam's Police Force, not Seoul's." You grumbled, not having the strength to fight off Taeyong who was pushing your wheelchair for you.

"And that makes it illegal for us to visit you?" Kyungsoo scoffed from beside you, making you roll his eyes.

You began to tap your foot on the footpad. Kyungsoo caught it, and smirked when he realised he was annoying you. Great, he thought, it's payback for all the times you greatly annoyed him three years ago. It's even more fun when you can't find it in you to whip out snarky comebacks to use against him

"How was therapy? Can me and Taeyong finally go inform your family now? Or are you gonna stall our work for another week?" Kyungsoo side eyed you, and you whipped your head to look at him.

Taeyong cracked a smile, finding it both humorous and heartwarming to see you both bickering. You had been so despondent during the first days, it had him and Kyungsoo relieved to see you having a personality again, even if you were constantly grumpy every time they came and visited you.

"I told you already, Detective Do, I'll tell you when I'm ready. Stop trying to push me to—"

"Y/N?" The familiar voice had you silent in a heartbeat.

Kyungsoo and Taeyong stopped in their tracks, and you included since you were getting wheeled by Taeyong. All three of you stayed frozen at the doorway, seeing so many people in your private room that weren't your doctor and her usual entourage of medical students and nurses (Junmyeon pulled some strings to get you a private room once you were transferred out of the ICU ward. Sometimes you forget Junmyeon also came from a rich family like Yangyang and Chenle).

Inside your room were your remaining family members (Yuno, your father), your foster family (Geonwoo, Woojin, Soyeon), Mark, and your classmates (Xiao, Yangs, Aeri). They felt their breaths stop when they saw you sitting limply on your wheelchair, deep purple bruises all over your face.

You dug your nails into your lap and began to stand up from your wheelchair, alarming Kyungsoo and Taeyong who knew that you were supposed to change your stitches today. Everyone else in the room began to go after you too, seeing how the two men with you were panicking to see you walking by yourself.

You felt like Kyungsoo and Taeyong had betrayed you. You had immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was the detectives that called them over, even when they knew you weren't ready to face them again.

"Kid—" Kyungsoo yelled out, placing a hand on your shoulder when you were already out in the hallway, but you pulled your shoulder away from him so violently it had him going pale, worried that you might tear open your stitches.

And when Taeyong glanced down to the spot where you had been stabbed, he staggered when he saw blood seeping through the shirt the hospital had given you to wear.

"Y/N, stop!" Kyungsoo yelled out again, rushing over to stand in front of you.

The commotion caused everyone in the hallway to stop and witness the scene. Some nurses began to crowd you however, as some of them were already familiar with you and your injury, not wanting you to run and escape when your stitches were obviously ripping. Taeyong held your shoulders from behind while Kyungsoo closed in, forcing you into a bear hug to limit your movements.

You raised your arms and started to pound on his chest, tears streaming down your face at the pain of your stitches ripping open and at the betrayal you felt. The bear hug forced you to your knees, with Kyungsoo whispering something into your ears to calm you down.

"It wasn't us, kid. We didn't inform them. We don't know how they got here, okay? We wouldn't betray you like that. We didn't call them over, Y/N." He spoke softly, and quickly swept you up to carry you in his arms and into your room to lie you down on your bed.

As soon as he lied you down, your doctor came in with her team, immediately pushing everyone out of the room and closing the door in front of them.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Who are you people? How do you know my sister?" Yuno asked stiffly, obviously still frazzled from the commotion you caused earlier.

Taeyong and Kyungsoo stared at the people before them. Just right as Kyungsoo was about to tell them who they were, a voice down the hallway rang through, gathering everyone's attention.

"Detectives!" Dr. Kim, your therapist, appeared.

She staggered back a little when she saw national darling and viral sensation Jeong Jaehyun in front of her. Sejeong tilted her head at him then looked at the detectives for a proper explanation. She just heard that you made a commotion earlier and tore open your stitches.

"I'm sorry, but who are these people?" Sejeong asked sincerely, seeing that all of them were waiting in front of your door.

"Dr. Kim, meet Jeong Y/N's friends and family." Taeyong spoke tiredly, pinching at his temple.

Sejeong balked.

"No! Y/N wasn't ready to see them again, detectives, so how could you! Didn't you promise that you'd only reach them out and inform them once they're ready?" She nearly shrieked, now upset on your behalf.

Kyungsoo and Taeyong looked at your friends and family—well, former friends and family. Both detectives understood that they shouldn't let personal bias cloud their judgement on people (it's literally their job to be that way), but they couldn't help it when all they could see at the moment was Y/N's sole source of pain, now that Yoonsu's dead.

"That's the problem—we didn't inform them. We were wheeling Y/N back to her room so we could spend some time with her and see how she's doing, but when we got to her room, they were already there inside it. It's why she freaked out and tore open her stitches." Taeyong explained thoroughly, looking straight into Yuno's eyes.

"You didn't answer our question earlier, asshole—who the fuck are you, and how do you know Y/N?" Yangyang spoke out this time, stepping out of the group and coming face to face with both of the detectives.

"Okay, time out! Detectives, please take these people to the canteen downstairs to give them the rundown of it. You can't keep crowding the hallway like this, and it's also within Y/N's best interest that you don't overwhelm her once the doctor's done with fixing up her stitches." Sejeong did a karate chop in the air between your friends and family and the detectives.

"Why should we follow your orders?" Mark asked genuinely, and Sejeong sighed at him as she showed them her badges.

"I'm a psychologist working for this hospital, and I also happen to be Y/N's therapist. Please, I beg of you for the sake of my patient, go to the canteen with the detectives. I can't breach patient confidentiality, but these detectives are obligated by the law to explain to Y/N's family on what happened to her."

A/N : might post a pt. 3, but i also might not 🫨

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[velvetvexations]

slightly off-topic of this blog but i saw the weight kink anon and it reminded me of this video essay i watched about a person i know nothing about, except the video went into feederism in a really wild /neg way. like, i was really confused at first because they were using the term feeder as though it were synonymous with abuser, but like. i’ve come across a slight bit of feeding kink in my time and though im not invested in the community by any means, that seems like a bit of a jump. going through the video they kept equating feederism to abuser and it turns out they were using the term to reference specifically feeders that kill people. this isn’t hyperbole they were using the term feeder to talk about the people that get off to actually killing their partner through weight gain in real life. i’m not exactly an expert, but that feels out of line. you’re telling me the guy who likes fat women and enjoys feeding fat women is the same as the guy who has in real life killed his wife through a severely unhealthy diet? they acknowledged that feederism is an entire thing with varying levels and shit like any other kink and yet they kept describing feederism as specifically the ones that kill people. surely that’s not the majority of the community. can we not equate people with a kink to literal murderers. it didn’t help that i was sick when i watched it and it felt like i was having an honest to god fever dream it was that out of left field

sorry if this is an odd ask i just got very angry remembering that.

people are so fucking weird about weight gain kinks and it's frustrating because they usually dress it up in progressive language like "fetishization" and then sometimes they just go straight off the deep end into this bullshit

[silent-sanctum]

"Jotaro Kujo is Weak at His Core"

As a writer and avid character psycho-analyzer, I find this concept fascinating because I wholeheartedly agree with what OP has quoted from a "What opinion would get the community to do this? *Insert Johnny getting torn apart*" post.

Before I begin, I know some people will see this, misread it, and immediately say "lmao did we watch the same show? He's strong, badass, and can kick anyone's ass. Like do you know Star Platinum bro?". Trust me, I've seen the replies to this post and they said this same exact thing.

And I'm here to say that to said people, if you truly are not the illiterates I'd like to term you as, you'd take the time to realize that when we say "he's weak", we're not referring to his physical prowess because we know he's one of the strongest characters in the show.

If you don't like to, then you're just proving the accuracy of the last sentence: "You can't stand seeing your edgy badass image of Jotaro as vulnerable."

Pushing that aside, I'd like to expand on OP's opinion/headcanon with some depth to it and explain how exactly he's "weak" outside of being a skilled and strategic fighter.

I've learned that to be holistically healthy, one needs to develop and maintain all optimal functions of oneself: Physical, Emotional, Social, and Mental.

Obviously, Jotaro excels in the physical category. He's conventionally attractive, taller than the average male population, well-defined with a muscled build, fit as hell, street and book smart, and highly in tune with his environment making him adaptable in any circumstance.

He's "strong" in that aspect we all know at a superficial level.

However, we start to see the core problem once we strip this good-hearted man of his physical appeal:

Emotional? He believes he doesn't need to express them to others because why should he. He refuses to process them and instead keeps them behind a locked wall of stoicism and aloofness.

Social? Can't communicate to save his life. He's reclusive and doesn't know how to socialize outside of work. Guarded and skeptical around others. Too much of a workaholic to bother making new acquaintances (if he even knows how) outside of familial connections.

Mental? At 17, he went on a death crusade over Asia and the Middle East, almost died numerous times, and most likely lived with unresolved PTSD that carried over into adulthood, and further deteriorated his already poor social and emotional skills.

What do we have then? If we look past that powerful exterior of a man, we have inappropriate emotional expression, poor socialization, and constant fatigue of dealing with bullshit that relates to his trauma.

And this is what we mean by his "core": His mindset. His inner machinations. The soft spot his enemies would need to target in order to defeat or kill him, strategy-wise.

I. Emotional

We pretty much already know how this man handles emotions. And this may come off as "irrelevant" to the dudebros and the meme riders who believe "haha feelings are for pussies, I advocate for edgy autistic Florida man who don't give a fuck, elopes with dolphins, and berates women".

But believe it or not, he has them, just like any other human being on the planet. I said it once and I'll say it again: Not everyone will wear their heart on their sleeves. Some will convey emotions publicly with no issue, while others would prefer to keep to themselves.

But how does this contribute to him being "weak" at his core?

Essentially, it's similar to how someone with depression may behave (not everyone, some of them). One may appear friendly, sunny, and bubbly to everyone around them, not knowing they're actually suffering from a void that eats them up from the inside when alone.

For his case, it may look like he doesn't care about what happens to him and everyone around him, considering his nonchalant and aloof behavior, but beneath that cold exterior, he cares way too much for his family, friends, and allies. He feels too much to the point where once his allies are endangered, he would sacrifice his well-being without a second thought.

And that's an issue to him.

To him, emotions make him vulnerable and in his circumstance where enemies are actively hunting him down trying to find his weak spots, his emotions should be kept behind doors because he doesn't know how to regulate it on the outside so it's either total stoicism or lashing out.

I found someone saying this line about him that fits him so well: "He's a good person who doesn't know how to be a good person."

This is a man who means well and truly wants to help out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his inability to convey his emotions properly and is unable to pick up emotional cues, it can lead to shit tons of misunderstandings due to inappropriate tone & expression, and that can change how someone views him in the long run, thus leading to unintended deterioration of personal relationships (which contribute to the social aspect of his weakness).

The emotionally-reserved character here with the poor communication skills is the girl. She's a CEO who just received a call, came out from work, and meets with her husband, asking him to accompany her to a doctor's appointment.

I found a visual representation of what I just said above. Just to give context: The show is about a married couple who struggles to keep their relationship afloat, having to navigate through family politics, work & life balance, and miscommunications so they could find why they loved each other in the first place.

Observe how she thinks she views herself VS how others actually view her as.

Other's POV: Demanding, brash, and insensitive Her POV: Anxious, hesitant, and confused

Now remember what Araki had written about Jotaro? "He doesn't believe he must reveal his emotions to others because he thinks everyone can figure him out, leading him to be a victim of misunderstandings. Others think him to be cold-hearted, rebellious, and insensitive."

II. Social

With emotions as our base foundation to poor communication skills, this leads us to his weak socialization aspect.

In a recent quote reblog about how he was raised as a child may have contributed to his tough persona, I mentioned something about his need of "Security".

Growing up, it was mostly just him and his sweet pacifist mother Holly. Joseph couldn't have visited often (he hates Japan) and his dad is a busy musician with a packed schedule on tour. As a kid up to early adolescence, he was coddled by his mother and raised as a good student. Everything was going great for him.

[In popular headcanon] Once he passed puberty, the change to his Part 3 MC era began. People began picking fights with him and bullying him, and he began to see the world as a threat to his safety. Knowing his mother, he wouldn't rely on her to defend him against these dangers. She was too kind, too friendly, too loving for her to deal with the harsh life he now has to deal with.

So he had to be the stronger one for both of them. He already had the physical attributes for it, so why not use it to his advantage?

He got on the popular delinquent trend back in 80's Japan, integrated a couple of cool masculine-esque personalities as his own from his favorite Western and Crime media, and is then able to project this menacing aura everyone should be afraid of, to ward potential threats away from him and his mother.

But Mijin, how does this make him weak? What does this have to do with his need for security?

Think about it: The poor guy's already introverted, doesn't feel comfortable with his emotions that he can't express properly, and now he has to be skeptical with people around him because he realized how shitty society can be, which leads to intimidation that wards off not only potential foes but potential friends as well, making it look like he's anti-social.

On the outside, people are likely to think that he likes being this way when in reality, he seeks a reliable support system on which he can lean onto. Everyone with a sound mind wants that subconsciously because we are social creatures. It's part of our nature.

He's constantly fearful of his surroundings, growing even more vigilant as he ages, but he doesn't look afraid because he chooses to put on a brave face to challenge said fears instead of acknowledging he's scared. I read somewhere in an ask that's not mine that in the manga, some panels actually depict Jotaro shaking/trembling in a mix of fear and adrenaline during some of his fights.

He wants to be around people who he can trust. People who he can lower his defenses with. People who are capable of protecting him just as he is capable of protecting them. People who can face his intimidating aura and challenge it to stand on equal grounds with him or to remind him of his place when he goes too far with certain things. Hence, why he seems comfortable being with the Crusaders.

For once, he wants to feel safe.

To not feel like he has to be this strong pillar of hope that everyone depends on.

To be someone being protected, instead of the other way around where he was always the strong protector. He wants a life of normalcy where he can just be a marine biologist and a professor with a loving family he can come home to.

But that can't happen. The inner circle of friends he counted on is either dead or far away, leaving him even more fearful of the world around him. This results in even more guarded skepticism, always watchful of who's an enemy Stand user and what their Stand could do. Because of his cautious nature, this leads to minimized socialization with others.

With little to no solid support system he can count on, he has no one he feels completely secure with because he believes danger will always come to hurt and/or kill those near him. He doesn't want to burden others with the issues & responsibilities of dealing with Stand users. He wants them to live the normal life he could no longer have.

He doesn't trust in the capabilities of his loved ones when it comes to defending themselves against the amount of potential threats and dangers he has faced, and yet he cares about them dearly. So, he commits to what seems to be the most practical solution in his mind: Self-Isolation.

To be a distant beacon where danger is attracted to and away from those dear to him.

(As we see in the beginning of Part 3 where he willingly locks himself in jail as soon as he sees himself as the threat, and in Part 6 where he stays away from his family once he realizes his enemies were targeting him).

"Your family is your weakness."

All this leads him to become what Araki always envisioned him to be: A lone hero.

III. Mental

Now onto the last part, this part of the essay will focus more on the popular headcanon the community has made about him: "Jotaro has PTSD."

Considering what he's been through at only 17, it would be no surprise that he'd acquired major trauma after those 50 days. Think about it- he gets injured more times than he can count, almost dies numerous times, sees his grandfather get "killed" in front of him, and all this combined with the constant reminder that his mother's life is also on a time limit. A failure to kill DIO meant a failure to save Holly.

The amount of pressure and risk he had to endure for her (and there will still be people who adamantly believe that he hated Holly because he said "bitch" to her twice in the first two episodes).

Now, remember when I said about him having this mentality of over-independence when dealing with stressors? It was still manageable during Stardust Crusaders, but because of what had transpired in Cairo, that mindset carries on to the rest of his adulthood, more so if we consider that he most likely didn't get any therapy or treatment for his trauma.

It might be normal for a teenager to hold onto this stubborn notion of "I can do this by myself" and it's all casual, but with trauma now involved, that notion warps into a persisting belief of "by doing this myself, no one else will get hurt" (i.e. refusing help, doing solo fieldwork, self-isolation).

But Mijin, you keep saying "mentality" this, "mindset" that. What are you talking about?

There's an old Tumblr post I found that talks specifically about this in great detail, but to put it shortly: Jotaro has always wanted to do things by himself because he believes that not only will the task be done with, there would be no one else involved with it, making it better for him to cope mentally if ever shit hits the fan (tying back to poor emotional expression and insecurity in bonds).

If any injuries were to be inflicted, he would be the one to receive them, and he alone, because who knows how he'll react and/or cope when his allies are harmed instead of him over and over again? (refer to the trauma of Jotaro surviving Cairo while the majority of the team that went with him died a.k.a "survivor's guilt")

(Also, refer to how he had exhibited great distress when Jolyne was about to be struck by a rain of knives that Pucci sent)

This might also be the reason why he's more self-sacrificial as an adult: Will be the bait during the rat episode instead of Josuke, takes the brunt of Sheer Heart Attack's explosion to spare Koichi, dives straight onto a path of bullets to save Jolyne, etc.

The only possible solution so he could snap out of that belief he holds on to is that strong, reliable support system he internally needs. People who can help him without sustaining fatal injuries in the process [social]. People who he can approach to release any pent-up frustrations and inner conflicts [emotional].

If he had found those people, then he might have been able to deal and/or cope with his trauma better instead of letting it linger and change his outlook in life [mental].

But we all know how his life went in canon. One moment he's a kid playing ball with his mother, then in his last, he dies by having his head bisected by a time-altering Stand.

Jotaro is a person with a gold heart and a rough exterior. Someone who wants to help and protect his loved ones from the unpredictability of the world the best that he can. But even then, his best wasn't enough. His fear was masked with an air of strength and capability, perhaps as compensation for everything else he lacked:

Adequate processing of emotions.

Stable connection with familial, platonic, and romantic bonds.

A sound mindset that stems from effective coping for his PTSD.

We could only hope in headcanon land that he had a better chance at life in the Ireneverse where he finally could develop his inner core better and get that long-deserved break he had always wanted.

[tigersharktheautisticseawing]

okay, so add-on Autistic Ford theory, I've always had it brewing in me somewhere (not sure if it's canon, fanfic or mine) the Ford has the "either you're a genius or a freak who doesn't deserve to exist" and that Stanley has the parallel "If you don't do everything I tell you you don't deserve to exist and nobody wants you", but this just ADDS to that!!! Also with the autism I mentioned, I genuinely think he likes the idea of knowing how things work, of learning and stuff, but he doesn't want to discover. He wants to learn. He doesn't want to do research on Gravity Falls and it's weirdness, he wants a book called "1001 facts about Gravity Falls and it's weirdness", which he can read in like two weeks and then spout the information back at anyone who will and won't listen. He doesn't want to do the complicated scientific method proof and stuff, he wants to understand why stuff is like that, best if someone else already did the heavy lifting and he can just gleefully agree with them. Maybe he even completed like 1 or 2 PHD's, like a physics one or like biology or chemistry or something that needs you to understand to proceed (and also lets you fuck around with stuff), but the 12 PHD's thing is bullshit. Actually, I think he actually tried, burnt out, dropped like 9 subjects and then tried to make ends meet until he's done with this shit. (also if he's OOC I may be projecting onto him accidentally, if so please cornobble me immediately). And the idea that they're both exactly as smart as each other, but maybe Stanley got idk like adhd too or smth or a different special interest or sum shit and he was worse off academically (aka worse grades), but better at picking up shit on the fly (aka rebuilding the portal basicallyon his own for all we know, using only the aformentioned rambly diaries journals, meanwhile Ford got the other end of the stick

Idk man I was expecting to be angry and completely disagree with you, but came out enlightened. OP you're really forcing my third eye open with a crowbar and I'm here for it.

Also why in the everloving fuck did you have to call me out like that in the gifted kid w/ burnout section

I have a Gravity Falls Theory I've been meaning to write down for a WHILE so here goes:

Stanford Pines is no genius and I'm gonna pick apart every single one of "Ford's" scientific inventions/accomplishments to prove it.

Grab a beverage, this is gonna be a long one

[Gravity Falls spoilers, a little bit of The Book of Bill]

Contents:

Ford's "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness"

Codes and Secrets

Inventions

Ford's Tragic Backstory

McGucket

Why Would He Do This??

After Weirdmageddon

TLDR

1. Ford's "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness"

I can support most of my claims with the help of Journal 3. Unless Ford had actual, scientific research papers, this is the only research we have from him and it's... not scientific in the slightest. Ford treats his "research notes" like a personal diary. I get that they had to design the Journal to be entertaining to kids, but from a scientific lense (which is what he wants to be perceived through), most of Ford's discoveries are very surface level and sometimes (especially later on) border on paranoid conspiracy theorist rambling.

His Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness is the reason he came to Gravity Falls in the first place. His goal is clear:

but, on the very next page, the ramblings start.

It gets worse once he finds the invisible ink.

"The pyramids were built to appease Bill!" sure, buddy.

(And yes, Bill confirms most of these ramblings about his history in The Book of Bill, but a) he too could be lying about this and b) I don't think he had a nice chat with Ford about who he tricked and tormented to build his portal. It wouldn't really fit into the timeline.)

The one bit of "science" I found him doing was his experimentation with the Bottomless Pit. He threw objects in the hole and only saw some stuff coming back while other stuff went missing. Ford hypothesizes it might be a "Möbius Pit" and even spends enough time experimenting on it that he found out "nothing ever seems to get lost on Friday the Thirteenth". Credit where credit is due.

Anyway, he's documenting all kinds of fantastical creatures in the Journal - adding his whimsical commentary and making random assumptions about stuff without any scientific basis. As he admits himself later on, this is getting him nowhere to actually start his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, let alone finish it. It's been SIX YEARS.

BUDDY WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

It took a spark of "divine intervention" to even start doing any meaningful research and it was just Bill telling him "hey there's a weirdness dimension btw".

Ford even admits that he didn't come up with it himself. The next pages are the first actually scientific looking ones so far, but more on that in the Inventions section.

He doesn't really advance on his Weirdness Theory for a while (see McGucket chapter for more), but later in the Journal, Ford has a little adventure with Dipper, talking about "The True Theory of Weirdness". He drops a "weird" jelly bean on the floor and watches it roll uphill towards Gravity Falls. He then states that Gravity Falls is a "Weirdness Magnet" and every oddity is eventually drawn to this place. Which is not a theory scientifically speaking, more like an unproven hypothesis. He didn't develop a model to, let's say, predict which oddity will find its way to Gravity Falls next or when it will happen.

"I explained that I felt in my bones that my arrival at this town, and perhaps Dipper's, too, was not an accident. That we were part of some greater fate the town had in store for us." Very scientific.

2. Codes and Secrets

The Journal has several hidden messages from a good handful of characters, some more encoded than others.

We all know about the Map leading to the secrets of Nathaniel Northwest's fraud from the show. Ford found it somewhere in the library.

It just needed to be folded. Layton ass puzzle. A 12 year old figured it out. Ford couldn't do it. Even Mabel is poking fun of him.

Now on to the ciphers.

One of them is a letter from Blendin, encrypted with the Vigenère cipher. To this, Stanford "aced cryptology" Pines says the following:

He was given the key and still couldn't make sense of it. Of course a cool puzzle for people reading the Journal, but not really helping Ford with upholding his image of being an undeniable genius.

Ford himself mainly uses the Atbash and Caesar ciphers, both being a) literally thousands of years old, b) incredibly simple and c) not his own invention.

Bill uses two symbol substition ciphers.

Now I don't know about you, but if a divine being chose me as the genius of the century to inspire me and said being left tiny hidden messages in my diary, I would stop at nothing to try and decipher what they're trying to tell me. For some reason, Ford did not do this. The first message Bill leaves says "I'VE BEEN INSIDE YOUR MIND SIXER, I KNOW YOUR SECRETS". He could have seen all of this coming wayyy earlier (or just had yet another red flag to ignore).

Anyway, I accidentally solved the code before finishing the Journal just to discover that Bill is literally handing him the solution on a silver platter towards the end.

Girl, what do you mean "???" ??

Now, I know Ford at this point is incredibly sleep deprived, paranoid and traumatized. But come on. If I can solve it 6 coffees in while dissociating, our genius can find the solution to Bill's alphabet using the A1Z26 cipher that he put in the journal himself. Plus, as mentioned, he could have deciphered his alphabet way before The Betrayal when his mind was still sound.

So again, not a good look for Ford in the whole genius department.

3. Inventions

Now let's take a look a the inventions which are most commonly associated with Stanford:

The Portal

The Bunker

The Magnet Gun

The Quantum Destabilizer

The Perpetual Motion Machine

The Portal is not one of Ford's inventions, that much is pretty clear. He "comes up with the idea" after Bill told him about some kind of "weirdness dimension".

Now maybe Ford built the portal. Or McGucket built it (which I find more likely due to his tendency to build large scale metal structures) and Ford helped him. We can't really say for sure.

What we CAN say for sure is that McGucket left the day before the big test, which means the portal was basically finished at that point. So if there was still any work left to be done, it would have been minimal and "even Stanley" could figure it out without help, so Ford probably could have, too.

The Bunker. Designed and built by McGucket (and possibly the lumberjacks before zapping them with the Memory Gun), including the death trap of a security system.

Notice the wording. McGucket insisted he could do it on HIS own. But then went out of his way to ask the lumberjacks and not Ford to help excavate the whole thing.

Why? Why not include Ford? Maybe because McGucket could tell Ford was overworked. Maybe because he thought even with Ford's help, they wouldn't have been able to do it in a timely manner and he didn't want to memory zap more people than neccessary, I'm not sure.

Anyway, the Bunker consists of the Bunker itself, a Security Room, an Observation Room and a Storage Room. On top of that, a Temperature Control Apparatus, a Cooling System and a Cryogenic Tube.

Again with the phrasing. "HIS skill for construction". "telephone HE built". "my assistant really topped HIMSELF with the security precautions". "once F starts inventing, HE can't stop".

A man like Ford wouldn't pass up on an opportunity to tell the world about his own accomplishments, yet they are strangely missing in these pages. However, the sketches documenting McGucket's work have become more technical than they've ever been. They even have small annotations that seem as if Ford asked McGucket what he was currently building.

"F has explained" implies McGucket was once again doing this on his own. Why else would he need to explain anything to Ford if they were doing this together? Plus, again, surely Ford would have mentioned something, anything, if he had participated in any way.

The things he DID mention is that he found a mole man skeleton and "Shifty", the shapeshifting creature. And he saved McGucket once Shifty broke out of their cage (Remember this for later, it'll come in handy). And he conducts tests on Shifty (remember this as well).

On to the Magnet Gun.

Again, passive form. If Ford had modified the gun himself, he would have told us. Chances are it was once again McGucket. Or it was just taken from Crash Site Omega as Ford says in the show that he and McGucket came down there often to loot the UFO for tech.

Lastly: The Quantum Destabilizer.

He actually admits he worked on it. However, he spent 30 years between dimensions. In these 30 years he couldn't find anyone (including himself) to get the Destabilizer working. The Other McGucket, however, was able to do it in less than a week.

Ford claims he was missing a suitable power source which The Other McGucket found, but there's no way of knowing if there was more to those "minor adjustments" to Ford's blaster than Ford would like to admit.

The only invention left is the Perpetual Motion Machine which I will save for the "Tragic Backstory" section.

Honorable mentions:

The Hyperdrive needed to power the portal:

While between dimensions, he was given a Dimensional Translator. Also not his own invention.

"F's mechanical know-how" vs. "my keen intuition." implying Ford merely found the Hyperdrive, but McGucket extracted it safely.

So the Hyperdrive was looted from Crash Site Omega. Plus, McGucket was the one to realize it was even needed in the first place.

The metal plate in his head? Not his invention. Not even his idea. The Oracle did that for him.

The Book of Bill has another example that Ford can't invent for shit: He found the blueprint of Abigale Blackwing's Anti-Bill-Suit in the library (once again, not even his own invention) and drafted a more modern blueprint. And either he completely failed to build it or it didn't work because we never hear from it again. Instead, he installs a retina scanner to keep Bill out of the lab. Which he (probably) ALSO didn't build himself.

In summary:

Portal: blueprint by Bill, (probably) built by McGucket.

Bunker: designed and built by McGucket (probably with the help of the lumberjacks).

Magnet Gun: likely looted from Crash Site Omega.

Quantum Destabilizer: a mess before McGucket fixed it overnight

Perpetual Motion Machine: see below.

Dimensional Translator: Not Ford's invention.

Metal Plate: thought of and installed by The Oracle.

Anti-Bill-Suit: invented by Abigale Blackwing.

4. Ford's Tragic Backstory

In fact, he mostly doesn't even say that he did any of this. He openly admits whenever he took something or McGucket built stuff, and barely calls any of the inventions his own. We just assumed that he can (on account of him being a genius), so we assumed he did.

would only make sense if he ACTUALLY couldn't get the Perpetual Motion Machine to work. We already know Ford is an unreliable narrator and I'm probably not the first one to point out that it doesn't make sense that Stan supposedly cost Ford his entire scholarship by breaking his Perpetual Motion Machine (accident or not).

Think about it from a college's point of view: You hear about a young man who apparently built a machine that violates the laws of thermodynamics. You don't just pass up on something like that just because it didn't work the ONE TIME you came to visit. That would be an exceedingly stupid thing to do. I think they would have given him that scholarship if he even got close to achieving such a feat.

Does he even have 12 PHDs as he keeps claiming? In what? For what reason? Wouldn't he get a scholarship for his dream school at some point given his seemingly endless potential? It all seems like overcompensation to me. Reminds me of Tommy Tallarico and his ever-increasing number of Guinness World Records.

Now let's briefly assume Ford IS a genius whose invention got sabotaged. Ford could have easily fixed it and asked for a second appointment with the judges. This did not happen. And even if he didn't get into his dream school, he could have used this perpetual motion machine for the good of humanity. He didn't do that. If the Machine had ever worked, it would have made international news. It didn't. He would have been world famous. He isn't.

What does that tell us?

However, there is a reason Ford is like this. It is connected to his tragic backstory, but I will include this in the final chapter for narrative reasons.

Also note how even in A Better World, he did not go do his dream college. The science center was built around the Shack that he went to later in life:

And even there, he only manages to make a name of himself with McGucket's cooperation. We already established he couldn't build the portal on his own. My guess that McGucket once again did the heavy lifting and didn't mind Ford taking the credit (as you will see in the McGucket chapter).

5. McGucket

At this point we've already gone over how McGucket built (probably) most of the Portal, the Bunker and everything in it, and got the Quantum Stabilizer to work. We also know that in his free time, he loves to tinker. He canonically built a laptop (with extra keys for Fords fingers), a cellphone, the Memory Gun, several killer robots, the Shack-O-Tron and started an entire ass cult along the way.

And that's just what I picked up on from skimming the Journal.

I think Ford was McGucket's assistant. He didn't get ANYTHING done before he called McGucket over for help. In the bunker, all he did was find a skeleton and conduct "experiments" on Shifty (by showing them pictures of creatures and documenting what happens). He led McGucket to the UFO crash site, McGucket was the one to actually extract the Hyperdrive. All of the stuff Ford does sounds more like an assistant's job to me.

We only see McGucket make stuff on screen. All this time he's welding together contraptions, piloting giant killer robots, having a blast.

We never see Ford tinkering ONCE. Still, he constantly praises McGucket for his "brilliant mind", "mechanical knowledge" and "skill in construction".

I'm also pretty sure McGucket knows that Ford isn't the genius he claims to be. Upon seeing Bill's blueprints, he immediately gets suspicious:

Why would he say this to a fellow genius?

And he's the one who recognizes something is wrong with the portal earlier than anyone else.

The day before the test, he meets Ford at the diner to warn him cause he knows something is deeply wrong - and offers him a thesis paper.

Now here is where things get interesting.

Ford gets angry. But instead of saying something like "How dare you insult my scientific integrity / intelligence", he thinks McGucket wants the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness to himself, which obviously couldn't be further from the truth. But Ford is too insecure about his intelligence and too curious about the portal to care.

This makes me wonder if McGucket had done this before. They went to college together. What if McGucket wrote Ford's final assignment as well? What if he'd seen him have a meltdown over the introduction and whipped up a fantastic final thesis in an afternoon?

We know McGucket cares deeply for Ford, and we can tell his intentions at the diner were sincere. He doesn't really want or need any credit - meanwhile Ford is starved for it. This is probably also why he's fine being "Ford's assistant" even though he's the one putting in most of the work.

6. Why Would He Do This??

Before we talk about Ford's plans after Weirdmageddon, I have to mention that there's a good reason Ford is pretending to be a genius. This is pretty speculative territory, but I think it makes sense given what we know about the Pines family.

When you're a twin, at least in the Stan Bro's case, you're constantly being compared to one another. Once it has been established that Ford is the "smarter" of the two (true or not), their father latches onto that and soon Ford's intelligence becomes his entire identity. I think just like Stan was looked down upon and neglected for being the "stupid" twin, Ford was burdened with expectations for being the "smart" twin. "You're gonna go far, kid. You're gonna make us so much money, you're gonna get us out of this dump." An INSANE thing to burden a child with.

This goes well for a while - Ford gets straight As and is the pride of the family. His ego inflates. But then something strange happens which I'm sure many "gifted kids" can relate to - he hits a wall. At some point he can no longer brute force things with his intelligence and he has trouble keeping up with his family's expectations. His massive ego gets damaged beyond repair.

Soon, he starts questioning everything. "If I'm not the smart guy, who am I? What's left?" He's been living like this his entire life. It's way too late to turn back so he moves forward. And if intelligence can't get him there, at least he can use the smarts he does have to make sure nobody else ever finds out. It's not unlikely for him to develop this attitude and it's the same kind of mindset he brings to taking the Hyperdrive from Crash Site Omega:

In a way, this makes him a con artist like Stanley. Which, after everything that's happened between the two, must feel like such an insult to Ford that he'd rather live in denial than face reality. The reality being that he is about as intelligent as Stanley, too. This doesn't mean that Stan is dumb (he managed to get the portal to work with barely any help, after all) - just that Ford is not as intelligent as he (and everyone else) thought / expected of him. AND that Stanley isn't as dumb as everyone always told him he was.

I think while yes, Stan broke the Machine, Ford couldn't fix it. Or it was never even a Perpetual Motion Machine to begin with. Yes, Ford couldn't go to his "dream college", but was that really his dream? Or his father's? Remember when McGucket offered him the Weirdness Thesis on a silver platter, saying with this he can finally "get his life back", and Ford still refused it? Maybe he didn't want his old life back. Because his old life SUCKED without Stanley in it.

7. After Weirdmageddon

Now that we established what Ford's dad wanted him to be, let's explore what Ford actually likes doing.

Obviously journaling and sketching what he sees, but what else?

Ford loves exploring. He goes on hikes, climbs mountains, visits caves, goes ham on Crash Site Omega. In the Bunker he looks around and discovers a mole man skeleton and Shifty while McGucket did the inventing/building.

He's also great at action hero stuff. He saves McGucket from the Gremloblin, and later from Shifty, he's jumping around the UFO with a magnet gun as if it's the only thing he's ever done, and saving Dipper from the security system, just to name a few.

He even says this in the episode: "I need to train an apprentice to help me fight monsters, solve mysteries, and protect this town." This doesn't really sound like science stuff to me.

So yeah I think Ford lied about being a genius to compensate for his (self perceived) lack of other qualities, he lied about his 12 PHDs, his scientific accomplishments, maybe even some inventions. He sucks at decoding things despite claiming to have "aced cryptology". Instead, he spends most of his time exploring, fighting monsters, stealing shit and getting in all kinds of dangerous situations. Truth is, he is much more similar to Stan than he'd like anyone to find out.

He also doesn't even WANT to do science. He likes the idea of science, like in Sci Fi movies, but not the actual labor that comes with it. Ford has been travelling between dimensions for 30 years. He probably is the only human to ever have done that in his dimension. Surely he spent these 30 years on research? Well...

There's only a single line mentioned in the Journal about doing anything scientific and he didn't even dedicate the entire sentence to it.

He "compared notes with scholars". That's it.

But surely he has so many papers and theories he can finally publish to fulfil his initial goal to "join the ranks of Newton, Tesla, & Einstein in the pantheon of science"?

Nope. He goes treasure hunting with Stanley. Ford seems to have forgotten all about his research. And I think that's not just because he wants to make up for lost time, but also because this is what he truly wanted to do in the first place, before he was forced into the "genius" mold.

To go adventuring, to be creative, to spend time with the family that matters.

8. TLDR

Ford didn't manage to write his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.

His Journal is entertaining, but ultimately full of unscientific ramblings.

He didn't build the portal, bunker, magnet gun, quantum destabilizer, or any other invention I could find.

All of his accomplishments can be traced back to either Bill, the town library, or McGucket.

He didn't write his own codes, he couldn't decipher any of the codes or secrets he found, including the ones he was given a solution to.

The Journal makes it look like Ford is McGucket's assistant and not the other way round.

McGucket is amazing and needs to be protected at all costs.

The tragicness of Ford's backstory makes no sense if he actually WAS a genius.

He needed to keep up the genius act because that's what his family expected of him and now he's con-artist level good at it.

He spent 30 years between dimensions committing crimes and preparing for revenge instead of doing science.

he seems to not even LIKE doing science. he prefers exploring, drawing, and getting into dangerous situations.

Once back in his home dimension, instead of doing anything science related, he goes adventuring with his brother.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against Ford, if anything this adds to his character cause I haven't seen anyone even so much as question his status as a genius yet. I just needed to get this out of my system cause this has been brewing in my brain since JULY.

This took me 10 hours to write. Thank you so much for making it this far, this post was brought to you by Autism™

[ssinnerplazahotel]

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, yandere elvis, elvis has a gun, it’s the 50s/60s, painful-difficult-devastating-life-changing-extraordinary love

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

Note/: this is part five of a five part series and was intended for black readers but written with no physical descriptions——all reader’s welcomed

“I can’t believe you’re going through my stuff~”

“I can’t believe you’re still adding numbers to your little whore book~”

“I wasn’t going to call him, Elvis, I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“The only man’s feelings you need to be concerned about hurting are mine.”

“Here you go again with this possessive, macho-man bullshit~”

“You’re the one who said you wouldn’t screw around on me.”

“Like you’ve been celibate since I’ve seen you last.”

“It’s been a month since you’ve returned my calls, birdie. If you let me come see you more often I wouldn't have to resort to~”

“Baby, what do you want me to do? I said I wasn’t going to fucking call him!”

Your voice echoed in the silence that followed and you slammed your purse down on the counter. Elvis glared at you, his eyes grazing over your body—vivisecting every aspect of your appearance.

“Who was here tonight?”

“No one~”

“I can tell.”

“How?”

“I can always tell.”

“…Your senses must be off.”

He thought for a moment. “Take off your dress.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take it off.”

“Why?”

“So I can check for myself.”

You waited for him to say something that suggested that he wasn’t serious. He only shrugged expectantly. You contemplated for a moment what you could get out of the situation.

He didn’t seem surprised when you reached back for the zipper of your dress, he only watched you very closely. You slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders and his eyes followed the blue fabric of your dress as it pooled around your ankles—raking back up your body with an expression that can only be seen and not described. You wondered if he’d try and consume you if you got too close.

When he motioned for you you stepped out of your dress and walked over only wearing your heels.

He stepped around you and you couldn’t see him but you shivered when you felt him put his nose to the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, doing the same to the other side.

“Do you believe me now?”

“Almost.”

He made you face him and you couldn’t disguise your surprise when you saw him sink down onto one knee.

“Really?” You wondered in awe, too full of lust to actually be upset.

You moved to brace yourself on the counter and he kissed your hip. “You could just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“If I’m gonna taste another man on you.”

“Oh, bunny.” You pouted, taking a handful of his hair into your fist. “You know you’re all the man I need.”

“Are you saying anything to make me happy?”

“All I want is to make you happy,” You said. “It’s what I live for.”

“You’re getting desperate.”

You shifted onto your other foot. “I don’t know how long you expect me to stand here waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“What do you think?”

There was an amused gleam in his eye. “Who said I wanted anything to do with you after the shit you pulled?”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Conducting an inspection.”

“Well can you conduct it a little faster?”

He proceeded to spread your legs further, using his fingers to get a clear view of your cunt. You thought you saw his mouth watered at the sight before he went for a taste. You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue traveling through your arousal before the contact came to a screeching halt.

You opened your eyes to find him standing and wiping his hands on the seat of his pants. “Elvis.”

“What? I’m done. I believe you.”

“You’re crossing the line.”

“I said I believe you~”

“If you don’t get me off tonight you’re going to regret it.”

He laughed. “That’s a threat I ain’t heard before.”

You shook your head, disguising the disappointment in your voice as a warning. “You gotta learn to choose your battles more wisely when it comes to me.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“I know. That’s the problem, bun.”

You knew the amusement behind his eyes would only last so long, so you let him have it.

“Good night.” You started to walk away, grabbing your purse but leaving your dress on the floor. “You can show yourself out, you know the way.”

“I planned on staying.”

“So?”

“So I’m staying.”

“To do what, cuddle?”

“I like that idea.”

“You must have me confused for one of those other little girls~”

“Oh, birdie~”

“I don’t fucking cuddle,” You snapped. “And I don’t play fair, so tell me if you really want to take it this far…this is me giving you a chance to correct yourself.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Then make the right decision.”

He stepped towards you, laughing when you retracted. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’m going to bed.”

When followed you to the bedroom he found you laying back stark naked in bed, holding your infamous notebook—your ‘whore book’ according to him. A pocket size, black leather notebook with enough numbers to fill a telephone directory.

“What’re you doing with that?” He wondered as he joined you.

You ignored him and picked the phone up. The first number you dialed rang out and you tried another.

“What are you trying to do?”

“Hi, is this Ray?”

Elvis scoffed in amusement. “Really?”

“Guess who…that’s right.” You held up a hand when Elvis neared you, warning him not to come any closer. “Did you miss me?”

He didn’t give up on his pursuit and tried to lean in next to the receiver to hear the voice on the other end.

“Stop,” You laughed at him. “…Nothing, baby, just…trying to scare off my dog. Yeah…he’s been a real bad boy lately. I’m thinking about taking him to the pound.”

Elvis kissed your neck when he was close enough, nibbling softly at your skin.

“Mhm…” Your movements faltered as you tried to push him away. “I was just laying here thinking of you and I thought it was late enough to call…she is? Well…be real quiet then…I just need to hear your voice for a minute.”

You switched the receiver to your other ear and turned onto your side to avoid Elvis’ touch.

“Remember what we talked about last time I saw you?” You asked Ray. “Y’know before I left…yeah. Tell me what you’d do again.”

“How long are you gonna keep this up?” Elvis asked.

You closed your eyes. “How bad do you think it’d be if she found out?”

“Birdie.”

“I know that’s what you want…I don’t know if I can stand it. But it hurt so good last time, I just want to do over and over~”

Elvis finally sat up and snatched you up, pulling the phone from your ear and putting it to his. “Hello?”

“Nadine?”

He groaned in disgust upon hearing Ray’s voice, slamming the phone on the hook. “I can’t believe you were really talkin to someone.”

You laughed and fell back on the pillows behind you.

“Where do you find those kinds of freaks? I-I mean—what was he even saying?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“You’re dirty, bun, but you’re not that dirty.” That seemed to really piss him off. “I signed an NDA when he gave me his number,” You quickly added. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone what we talk about.”

“You just call and talk each other’s rocks off, is that it?”

“I like the way you said than.”

“Is that what you do?”

“You’re acting like you’ve never heard of phone sex.”

“You get more and more interesting, it’s insane.”

“Are you going to block every call I make?”

“I’ll do that before I sit here and listen to you get off to some other man.”

“It could be you. You’re the one being insane.”

“Just because I won’t get you off doesn’t mean you can’t still get off.”

“What?”

“Get yourself off.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do~”

“Not with the phone.”

“How?”

“With me?”

“With you?”

“Yeah.” He focused on the way his fingers traced patterns into your hip instead of meeting your eyes—as if he was somehow timid about what he had been suggesting.

You took his chin and made him look at you. “Say it.”

“Use me to get yourself off.”

Your heart was suddenly between your legs. You would’ve had more shame if you’d been less desperate for his touch. You moved to straddle him and he instantly looked less nervous. “Is this what you want?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You rutted your bare cunt against the rough fabric of his slacks, sighing softly at the friction. “All you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to be so mean to me.”

“I wasn’t mean. You just can’t handle not getting your way.”

“Don’t make your power struggle into mine, E,” You said. “I only want one thing.”

“You don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve anything,” You agreed. “Is that supposed to make me want it less?”

“Take it if you want it.”

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You kissed him and continued rutting against him through his slacks. You closed your eyes and focused intently on moving your hips enough to feel the perfect amount of stimulation on your clit. It was taxing work but you knew your body well enough to get something out of it. He moved to undo his belt but you stopped him.

“No.”

“Birdie.”

“Stay just like that, baby…fuck, I’m coming.”

Of the rare occasions that you had to fake an orgasm in your life, you’d never tried to be so convincing. You trembled through your ‘orgasm’ before attempting to move out of Elvis’ lap.

He stopped you. “Really?”

“Let me go.”

“Birdie, I swear.”

“I did what you said, E, I got myself off. You should be fucking happy~”

You released a surprised yelp when he sat up and suddenly forced you onto your back.

“No,” You complained as he pinned your arms by your head and bit your neck. “Fuck…it’s not fair.”

He let your arms go and positioned himself between your legs. “Get my cock inside you.”

“Now you want me?”

“I do whatever I want, birdie. That’s what I’m tryna get you to understand.”

“Not when it comes to me, you don’t~”

“Why are you still talking?”

“Because I do whatever I want.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Then shut up and get my cock inside you.”

You clenched your teeth but ultimately reached between the two of you and unbuckled his pants enough to free his cock.

“I hate you,” You whispered as you guided him inside of you. “I fucking hate you.”

It was a lie and he knew it, but he still let it rile him up. He growled deeply and rolled his hips into yours until you were tensing with pleasure. He was angry, and you felt it in every snap of his hips.

He didn’t care about making you come in that moment, he only cared about making you his. You broke the fastest when he had a point to prove.

Your soul had a way of separating from your body when he fucked you that way. There was nothing tactile holding you to the earth, only him. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move—you could only let him devour you.

You trembled and he held you down as he came. You felt the weight of his body on yours but it wasn’t enough to make you stop feeling like you were floating away.

“Birdie?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong?”

You frowned and opened your eyes—you hadn’t realized they were closed. “N-Nothing, bunny, are you okay?”

“You don’t have to sit up~”

“I’ll get s-something to~”

“That's okay, honey, I’ll grab something,” He insisted. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” You swallowed. “A-Are you okay? Was that…I’m sorry~”

“It’s okay, baby…I’m fine.”

You nodded. “Good. Okay. That’s good.”

He nodded with you. “Stay right there, okay?”

You nodded.

He nodded with you.

“Okay?”

“Okay, bunny.”

*

When Jerry showed up it was always because there was a mess to be cleaned up that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

“What are you doing?”

“Jerry, don’t come to my door asking vague ass question~”

“It’s not a vague question~”

“I’m not in the mood for your shit~”

“You know where you’re supposed to be.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not supposed to be anywhere.”

Jerry crossed his arms and took a breath. “He said he’s not going on until he sees you.”

“You don’t actually believe that do you?”

“It’s only a few hours until the show and he’s not even dressed. He refused to do a sound check.”

“…He didn’t do sound check?”

“And he won’t let anyone in his dressing room.”

“Well…if he’s stupid enough to be that unprofessional then it’s his fault. Sue him, I don’t know.”

“What’s your problem? What do you want?”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

“What’d he do?” You fell silent. “Tell me, I’ll fix it.”

“We just…he got pissed at me for the skirt I wore to the party the other night.”

“Okay?”

“He got rid of all my clothes. I haven’t had anything to wear for the past two days.”

“Got rid of them how?”

“He threw all my luggage away. It’s gone and all he left me with is this.” You untied your robe to reveal your outfit.

“That’s…I mean, it’s not so bad.”

“You can’t even look at me.”

“Because it’s—I-I mean, you’re~”

“I look like a whore.”

“No, o-of course not…”

You closed the robe and tied it in a huff. “He’s trying to humiliate me by making me wear this and you know it.”

“It’s not as bad as some of the stuff you see in the city these days.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not going.”

“I need you to. I know I ask a lot of you~”

“Every time you people put him in a shitty mood you look at me to fix it.”

“I know but this…this is different. It’s too important for him to fuck it up because he can’t get out of his head.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to show up in your little outfit and stroke his egos if it means he’ll put on one hell of a show out there.”

You rolled your eyes. “I haven’t felt this degraded in years.”

“You’re beautiful,” Jerry said. “And you know who you are, we all do. But I need you to…I need you to be his girl for now.”

You contemplated his words. “Fine, Jer, alright. For you, I’ll play.”

“Play nice.”

“I’ll play nice.”

“Thank you. God, you’re saving my ass here, believe me.”

When you got there Elvis immediately dragged you into his dressing room and shut the door.

“Where the hell were you?”

“You’re really holding up an entire production because you can’t handle not getting your way for once?”

“You should’ve been in place when I asked you to be.”

“I’m here now.” You threw your hands. “Elvis Presley’s whore, present and accounted for.”

“It’s not any different than your get up last night. I thought you’d be happy.”

“Get dressed, Elvis. I’m going to find my seat~”

“You don’t get to leave until you tell me why you were so late.”

“I’m late because I just spent the last five hours having a nervous breakdown over this outfit.”

“Is that really why?”

“Just come right out and fucking say it~”

“I’m sick of you and Jerry disappearing~”

“You sent him to come get me! Are you joking?”

“I don’t trust you! I never have. Even today I didn’t expect you to show up.”

Then you understood why he’d been so adamant about seeing you before going through with the show—he thought you’d disappear and not show up for him.

“Damn you,” You sighed. You felt bad. “You can’t expect me to keep up with all your issues.”

“You weren’t going to come, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t. But luckily I worked up the courage to go outside with my ass hanging out~”

“As much as I needed you today and you weren’t even going to show~”

“I’m here, I came!”

“You were gonna screw me over!”

“It turns out I didn’t, so why does that matter?”

“What’d Jerry do to make you change your mind?”

“He didn’t do anything~”

“What’d he say?”

“He said it’d be my fault if this entire thing fell apart.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I told him that you weren’t enough of an idiot to ruin the production.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I think you would’ve been up on that stage regardless of if I showed up or not.”

He didn’t confirm or deny your statement. “…I think you look good in the outfit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s exactly how I imagined it.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it. I only wore it to make you happy.”

“It’s making me very happy.”

You swallowed, pushing your pride aside and crossing the room to meet him where he was standing by the vanity.

“Do you want to know something?” You leaned back against the counter and he immediately turned to stand in front of you.

“What?”

“Even if all I had was a bath towel to wrap myself in, I was gonna be here tonight.”

“Really?”

“Really…I was already dressed when Jerry got there.”

“You were?”

You shrugged. “I knew you’d send someone eventually.”

“You’re always playing.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would stop trying to beat me at my own game.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

“For what I said before a-and for hiding your luggage.”

“And for the outfit?”

“I had the outfit picked before you showed your ass last night.”

You were bewildered. "What made you choose this?”

“I knew I’d need you before the show. To help, y’know, clear my head.”

“So?”

“I thought we’d speed the process up a little if you wore something sexy for me.”

You punched his shoulder. “You’re such a sneaky bastard.”

He laughed. “How’s that sneaky?”

“You picked a fight last night knowing you were going to make me wear this?”

“I just wanted to get in your head.”

“Well, you did.”

“I already apologized.”

What an asshole. You loved him too much for your own good. “Is it working?”

“What?”

“The outfit. Is it speeding up the process?”

“I’ve been ready for you since I got word that Jerry went to get you.”

“Should we clear your head a little before you get dressed?”

“Please~” There was a knock on the door and suddenly a crew of people spilled in.

“We’re backed up and we need to get back on schedule.”

“Sorry, E.P. I tried to stop em.”

“You couldn’t try for five more minutes?”

“Elvis, baby, look at me.” You took his face between your hands and met his eyes. “You know what to do when you get out there, you’ve done it a million times before. You don’t need me to clear your head, you never had me before.”

“That’s not true.”

“How?”

“I-I’ve always had you. Since that night i-in Ohio.”

“Well…you wanna know what’s different about today and all those other times?”

“What?”

“When you look out there today, I’m gonna be right there in the front row cheering you on. That’s never happened before, has it?”

“No.”

“Hair and makeup in five.”

“Don’t look at them, look at me.” You waited until he met your eyes again. “You remember what to do?”

“Huh?”

“About our little problem?”

“Little problem?” He ribbed halfheartedly.

You pouted. “Come on, E, I’m trying to~”

“Alright, yeah, I know.”

“Just tuck it away for later.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done.”

“I love you, alright? I’ll meet you right back here whenever you get a break.”

“You love me?”

“Yes, baby, I love you so bad.”

His eyes lingered on your face for a moment. “I better let them have me.”

You smiled softly. “Just for a little while.”

He kissed you once more and pulled away, winking as you were escorted out of the room and to your seat. You noticed a few more stares than usual and heard a few comments about your skimpy outfit. Despite the initial urge you have to cringe, you stood tall and even pulled your plunging neckline further down to expose more of your cleavage. You enjoyed the shock factor more than anything.

When you saw Elvis again after the performance you were essentially a walking puddle of lust.

“What’d you think?”

All heads turned to you when you entered the room and you realized he was addressing you in front of a room full of people.

“O-Oh, it was good.”

“Just good?” He laughed, watching you squirm. “Tell me what you really think.”

“…It was amazing.”

He wasn’t the only one to laugh in response. You wanted to die.

"C’mere, honey,” He said, motioning for you to finish crossing the room. The others in the dressing room must’ve taken that as their cue to continue as usual. “You looked so damn good out there.“

“I-I loved it, really…the whole thing, it was so, uhm…" You couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “Sorry, I’m just so…”

He tried to meet your eyes. “Just so…what?”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me in my ear.” He looked amused as he made you lean all the way in to talk into his ear.

“I’ve never wanted to fuck a man so bad in my life.”

“Mhm?”

“When I s-saw you up there it’s like…the adrenaline—it was just such a-a rush seeing you up there, I think I…”

“Say it.”

“I-I think you made me come.”

The dressing room was immediately cleared and you couldn’t find it in your heart to be embarrassed as Elvis sat you atop his vanity and fucked you for all to hear.

“I-I just pressed my legs together and it just…it just happened.”

“Fuck, keep going.”

“You were s-so powerful up there…I saw all those people reaching for you a-and all I could think about is how much they wanted you. And how I wanted you just as bad. W-When you got down right there in front of me~”

“Yeah?”

“It just happened~”

“Fuck~”

“I pressed my legs together and it fucking radiated through my entire body~”

“I’m coming.”

Every inch of you was electric and you were buzzing with desperation. “Let me have it, bunny, please, I need it~”

“Don’t do that~”

“Come on my thighs, baby.”

You hugged him as he came, guiding his flaccid cock back inside directly after. You didn’t want to let him go.

“N-No~”

“Push back in.”

“Birdie, I-I~”

“Please, keep going. I need it.”

His hips stuttered away and he shuddered as he braced himself on the vanity.

You shook your head disapprovingly. “Don’t run from it. You can take it.”

“I can’t.”

“I know you can. Please, I’m gonna come.”

“Oh my god…”

You felt him twitch helplessly inside of you and before long he was fully hard again. With the adrenaline of the day’s events still running through his veins, he had the libido of a teenager. He reached between your legs to force you over the edge quicker, he didn’t last long the second time around—he never did.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as you came down.

“Nothing…why?”

“You’re cuddling me.”

You were aware that your arms were still around him but you denied it. “I am not.”

“What do you call this?”

“I’m just—I don’t know, hugging you…?”

“You never hug me.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, birdie.” He squeezed you tighter and you laughed. “I don’t want you to ever stop.”

“…I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Liar.”

“I do.”

He knew it was true; but he still asked: “Why?”

“A million reasons.” He fell silent and you imagined he was overthinking something about your response. You tried to get him out of his head before he got too lost. “Baby, my back hurts.”

“Oh, sorry.” You laughed as he carried you from the vanity to the couch.

“Get yourself together, E. I’m sure they’re gonna keep the ball rolling.”

“The first time you cuddle me and you want me to let you go?”

“You don’t have to. I would just hate for someone to walk in and catch you with your dick out.”

He laughed and moved to find something to clean the both of you up with.

*

You had always been eager to please—you enjoyed it. But he brought something new out of you.

You wanted to please him, at times it seemed like all you had to live for—more than that, however, you wanted him to love you. Sometimes, that meant altering the very fiber of your being, and the fact that you were willing to do so made you want to curl up and die.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Leave me alone.”

He kept pushing. “What’d I do?”

“Why do you think you did anything?”

“Because you’re being shitty.”

“I’m tired.”

“…I had a great night.”

“So did I.”

“So what happened between leaving Robbie’s and getting back here?”

“Nothing. I just want to go to sleep.”

“You weren’t tired before~”

“You’re badgering me~”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me what it is. I already know, so tell me.”

“You already know?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what you think you already know.”

“You’re trying to make me leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“It doesn’t seem like you want me to stay.”

You sighed. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“So?”

“So why would I make you leave when you’re going to leave on your own in a few hours?”

“…I’m so confused.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, you have to talk about it. That’s how you work shit out.”

You tried to hide your tears but he saw them before you turned onto your side.

“I don’t understand,” He said, placing a gentle hand on your thigh. “I’m not mad, little, I just want to understand.”

“…I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hate feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t want you to leave tomorrow.”

He fell silent for a moment and when he did speak again, he was laughing. “Aw, honey~”

“If you fucking laugh at me right now I’m going to scream~”

“I’m not,” He chuckled. “Come on, I-I just…I never heard you say something like that before.”

“It’s not funny,” You whispered. “I have a bad feeling…like I’ll die.”

“You always say that.” It was true, but the feeling you had was real.

“My chest hurts. You might as well shoot me in the back of the head when I’m not looking and put me out of my misery.”

“Birdie, come on~”

“I don’t do anything when you’re gone, I just lay here waiting for you to get back.”

“You don’t have to do that. You’ve always known how to have a good time.”

“You get mad at me when I go out.”

“That never stopped you before. You were M.I.A. all summer in Miami~”

“I was miserable in Miami.”

“You still went.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t feel good when you aren’t here.”

“…This is so unlike you.” He laughed when you sat up suddenly and punched him in the arm. “Ah, alright, shit. You hit like a man.”

“You don’t make it any better by not calling, you asshole. I talk to your fucking friends more than I talk to you. It’s like exchanging urban legends.”

“Baby,” He drawled, taking you in his arms and forcing you to sit in his lap despite your protest. “Quit acting like a baby.”

“I wish you’d just…go away so I can start getting used to you not being here already.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes…but you’ll break my heart if you go.”

He tapped your chin and you met his eyes. “What if I’m gone when you wake up?”

You nodded, avoiding his eyes to hide the tears in your own.

“Don’t cry, honey. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t say that.” You hated when he said that.

“I’ll think about you every second and I’m gonna call every chance I get.”

You nodded.

“You can’t leave the phone off the hook all the time,” He said. “I only have so many chances to talk and shutting me out won’t make it any easier.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll leave it on the hook.”

“…Do you wanna cuddle?”

You shook your head, cracking the smallest of smiles.

“Come on, pun’kin, let me hold ya,” He chided, making you laugh despite your tears. You met his eyes and brushed his hair from his forehead. He looked up at you with a fond smile.

“What?” You wondered.

“Nothing, you’re just…pretty when you cry.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You aren’t.”

“It’s so stupid.”

“Birdie~”

“I’m such a fucking~”

“Hey.” His stern tone cut you off. “Why are you going there?”

You tried to cover your face but he stopped you.

“It’s fine,” He insisted. “You’re just being a girl.”

“A stupid girl.”

He laughed.

“How long?” You didn’t want to ask, but not knowing was more torturous.

“It’s four weeks.”

“Are you gonna forget about me while you’re there?”

“No. I’m gonna talk to you every single day.”

“Jerry’s gonna talk to me every single day~”

“I’m not gonna forget about you. I want you to come out for the first show. We’re having a party the night before.”

“You want me there?”

“Of course. I need my girl there.”

“Won’t all your other girls be jealous?”

“Maybe, but I’m gonna be there with you.”

The phone rang and you both sat there listening until it rang out.

“Bunny?”

“Hm?”

“Put me to bed.”

He didn’t say anything as he stood and laid you down on your back. You didn’t let him go when he moved to pull away and he shifted on to his side to hold you.

Silence fell over the room, and you each tried not to anticipate the emptiness that the following weeks would bring.

*

One second you were telling Elvis that you were going to the kitchen for a drink and the next you were being forced against the counter by one of his drunk friends. You pushed him away easily at first, he wasn’t the first drunk man you had to ward off.

“Robbie, you’re drunk,” You had said. “You don’t even know what you’re doing right now.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing right now.”

“Stop.”

“Come on, just let me feel it a little.”

Gross. “Robbie, seriously, you’re being a sleeze.”

His actions persisted and just when you were about to apply the necessary force, it entered the room.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“E-Elvis.” You pushed him away once and for all but the damage was done.

“E.P., I know what you’re thinking~”

“Rob, man, you got about five more seconds to get out of my sight before I decide to ruin everyone’s night by snapping your fucking neck…five.”

He scrambled to leave, adjusting his pants as he went. You sighed when he was gone but your relief was too soon.

“Really?”

You looked at Elvis. “What?”

“Robbie?”

You were confused. “What about him?”

He scoffed, astonished. “You were gonna screw him.”

“Is that what you think?”

“What else am I supposed to think after what I just saw?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, E. He’s out of his mind right now, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Sure, but you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You went back to fixing your drink. “What do you want me to say?”

“Wow,” He laughed, but it didn’t seem to hold any humor. “You really have no shame.”

“What good is shame?”

He fell silent and if you would’ve turned your head you would’ve seen the livid expression on his face. But you were oblivious and by the time you looked he was already storming out of the kitchen.

“Where’d Elvis go?” You wondered as you returned to your seat at the dinner table.

“He went upstairs,” Charlie said, handing your hand of cards back. “I got back ahead. You’re almost even with Joey.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You see this?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a good thing.”

You nodded but you didn’t care. “You finish, baby, I’m gonna go check on Elvis.”

“Alright.”

“Bet’s still mine if I win.”

“Alright, alright.”

When you got up to the bedroom you found him there.

“Baby?” You wondered. “Why’d you come up here? What’s…why do you have that?”

“I need it…”

“Why?”

He shrugged and checked the pistol’s clip. “I think somebody deserves it.”

You felt frozen. “…Who?”

“That’s what I was just trying to decide.” He stalked over to you slowly. “Is it Robbie? Or is it…”

You wanted to back away but you couldn’t. He brought the gun between you and held its cold barrel to your chin.

“You?”

You shuddered. “P-Please, d-don’t do that~”

“‘P-Please, d-don’t do that—’ Why? Why shouldn’t I?” He pulled back the hammer of the pistol and you couldn’t think. He was demanding a legitimate reason but all you could do was stammer in response.

“I-I’m~ I don’t—Elvis~”

“You think I’m just gonna let you screw around and do nothing about it?”

“N-No~”

“Maybe back then but not anymore~”

“Elvis~”

“I’ll do something about it now!”

“P-Please—”

The gun fired and suddenly the room was silent. Not because he had stopped yelling. No, he was still doing that. He was still fuming, his arms were still waving wildly as he cursed you—you feared the veins in his neck would explode if he screamed any louder. You felt shot, you were sure you were, but no. He’d pointed the gun upwards just as he squeezed the trigger. You weren’t hit but all the air had left your lungs and it felt like you had been.

You didn’t notice it before but you began to hear another voice. It was your own and it was repeating something, quietly at first but eventually it was as loud as everything else.

“Stop. Stop.” Stop. You were begging him but he wasn’t listening. You covered your ears and let yourself sink onto the floor. It was too much.

“Don’t curl up now,” He shouted, trying to drag you back up by your arm. “You weren’t that pitiful when you were getting ready to screw my fucking friend~”

“It wasn’t like that~”

“What was it like?” He snapped, letting you fall to the ground. “What were you doing in there?”

“I didn’t know he followed me~”

“I saw you talkin to him all night, so just shut up, alright? Nothing you say matters, it’s all lies!”

He threw the pistol across the room and you thought it’d hit the wall and go off, injuring or killing one of you. It clattered to the ground without discharging and you started to cry. You thought you’d been crying already, but you would’ve noticed the way your tears made everything blurry. Everything wasn’t so blurry before.

“Now you want to sit there crying like you’re so fucking innocent.” He scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I waste my time thinking you give a shit about anyone but yourself. I’d call you a whore but whores screw people for money, you’re different. You have some other twisted reason. You’re on this constant and never ending search for validation. It has to be exhausting. And you’ll get it just about anywhere you can find it—even if it means screwing the man that raised you.”

That was it. That was the one.

“You spell it out for me time and time again and I still choose to ignore it. You’ve been telling me this whole time that this is who you are. You had me fooled into thinking you changed but you know what? Nope. Not anymore, you’re done.” He was still saying something as he straightened his clothes and prepared to storm out of the room. “I want you gone when I get back. I don’t care where you go—go to hell. Actually, no, go home with fucking Robbie. Do you want to go home with fucking Robbie?”

The door slammed shut after him and you were left in silence. Your ears were still ringing and even though you couldn’t feel your heart beating you could hear it as loudly as the ringing. It was too fast. If it didn’t slow down you worried you might have a heart attack. The door opened again and you wondered if Jerry had been waiting outside or if he’d come up when he heard the gun.

“What happened?”

You shook your head and looked down to hide your eyes.

“Come on,” He encouraged, stooping down to help you up. “Forget about him, don’t let him ruin your night.”

“…I need you to get away from me, Jerry.”

“I don’t want you to~”

“I need you to get away from me right now, Jerry, please.”

He sighed and stood to leave. “Y’all are gonna be fine tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Y’all are gonna be fine tomorrow. So can’t y’all be fine now?”

You were crying again. “I don’t think he wants anything to do with me.”

“You know that’s not true~”

“You didn’t hear what he said.”

“What’d he say?”

You must’ve leaned to the right, and you must’ve kept leaning because eventually you were laying on your side. You curled yourself up and stared at your distorted reflection in Jerry’s shiny shoes.

“What are you doing?” He wondered.

“I like your shoes.”

“What?”

“Your shoes…I like them.”

He didn’t say anything—you imagined him frowning but you didn’t check. You only stared at yourself.

“Come back downstairs.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…I want everyone to think he killed me.”

“Why would you want that?” He stepped back and you were gone.

“No,” You protested, reaching for the shoe.

“Stop,” He complained, pulling his foot away. “What’s that matter with you?”

“Jerry, please.” You looked up at him. “Give me the shoe.”

He stared at you for a long time. “Why?”

“Because I like it.”

“Will you come back downstairs if I do?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

He turned to leave and you were crying again.

“You’re all the same,” You shouted as he left. “Heartless. Fucking cold and heartless people who don’t know how to care about anything that doesn’t directly benefit them. You’re all addicted to instant fucking gratification—” The door slammed shut and you were alone. You relaxed onto the floor and stared into space. You wanted to fly away but you couldn’t move.

When Elvis returned to his room you weren’t sure how much time had passed.

“What are you doing?” He asked as he walked past you into the bathroom. It didn’t seem like he cared. “Jerry said he talked to you. What’d he say?”

You couldn’t speak. You could but you didn’t. You were silent.

“Birdie?” He walked out of the bathroom. “I asked what he said.”

“…nothing.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

You heard him shuffle around some more before climbing into bed. “Why’re you still here if he didn’t say anything?”

You were silent.

“What are you doing down there?” He asked. “Come get in the bed.”

You weren’t sure if you were the lunatic or if he was. Maybe it had been more time than you realized. Maybe it had been more than a night—maybe it had been years again.

“Birdie,” He repeated. “Are you ignoring me?”

“No.”

“Get in the bed.”

“No.”

“I’ll come down there then.”

“No.”

“No?” He wondered. “You don’t want me to?”

“No.”

“Have you been down there this whole time?” There was more shuffling and you felt him near you before his sock clad feet came into view. “How long have you been laying here?”

“I can’t move.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “…Do they think I’m dead?”

“No.” You could hear the frown in his voice.

“Damn it…”

He got down onto the ground and laid on his back next to you. “Did you ask Jerry for his shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I could see myself in them.”

“So?”

“I never see myself in anything.”

He chuckled and you opened your eyes.

“Did you laugh?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“What?”

“How can you laugh right now?”

His smile faded until he was serious again. “Why’d you stay?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t?”

“No…”

He looked up at the ceiling. “I know I lost my temper the other night.”

You closed your eyes and imagined you were in Jerry’s shoes again.

“I couldn’t handle seeing you and Robbie. Everybody knows you’re my girl—can you imagine how it made me feel to be humiliated like that? Even if you didn’t screw him you had every intention. That’s what made me snap.”

“…He followed me to the kitchen.”

“I didn’t see that. All I saw was~”

“Him forcing himself onto me~”

“It didn’t look like~”

“That’s what it was.”

He sighed. “I believe you, alright, I’m just telling you what I thought at the time. It looked like you wanted him to…”

Your mind finally processed his words “the other night” and you were suddenly too consumed with figuring out what day it was to listen to him rattling off his list of reasons why he did and said the things he did and said but it didn’t matter anymore because he already did and said them and you were already hurt.

“I don’t want you to think I meant anything I said, I didn’t. I don’t even remember half the shit I said I was so pissed off,” He was saying when you started listening again. “I-I’m glad you stayed. I don’t want you to leave. I didn’t see you downstairs and I thought you had went off somewhere.”

You were silent.

“I’m sorry,” He finally said. “I-I didn’t mean to get so upset.”

“…It’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you look at me and say it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of me?”

“Yes.”

Now he was silent. You wanted him to say something. You couldn’t imagine his expression so you had to open your eyes—you wish you hadn’t because then you wouldn’t have had to see the utter devastation behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry…” His words trailed off like it hurt him to speak.

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I wasn’t~”

“You made me feel like you were.”

He apologized to the ceiling again and you told him that it was okay.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yes. I accept your apology.”

“But you don’t forgive me~”

“I do forgive you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know….” You wish you knew.

“Are you going to leave?” He wondered.

“I don’t want to.”

“So?”

“I’m not going to.” He didn’t seem relieved.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, bunny.”

He turned onto his side and put his arm over your waist. “I’m gonna make it up to you.”

You spent another long night on the floor, except this time he was here and it didn’t feel like the last time you were going to see him again anymore. And no matter how much he complained about it being uncomfortable, he didn’t leave.

*

Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. Every shoe. The shiniest shoes. Every shiny shoe that he could find.

Were you content?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“You aren’t serious,” You laughed, jumping into his arms. “You’re a lunatic.”

“I told you I’d make it up to you.” He smiled. “I went after Jerry, but man he really loves his shoes.”

“Shut up,” You said, pushing him away and going over to where the shoes had been laid out across the den.

“They’re custom, look.” He took a pair of silver kitten boots from one of the boxes. “You should definitely be able to see yourself in these.”

You held them up and they glittered under the light. “I can see both of us.”

He kissed your cheek and you smiled. “Are you happy?”

“Yes.” You put the boots down and turned to hug him. “You did good, bun.”

“I want you to pick a few pairs to take with you on the road. I’ll send the rest back to LA.”

“On the road?”

“I want you here more.”

“Really? B-But the colonel said~”

“I’ll deal with him,” He said dismissively. “If you can’t tell, I miss you when you’re not here.”

You felt an odd sense of comfort in knowing that.

“Okay.”

“Come on, little bit. I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

“I’m always awake. I don’t sleep when you’re gone, I'm like the walking dead.”

“I don’t like hearing that.”

“It’s true.”

“I’d see you more if you’d tell the Colonel to slow it down~”

“Hey, hey, hey~”

“‘Hey, hey, hey’ yourself,” You said. “I can look at you and tell you’re exhausted.”

“Then let's go to bed. I’m not in the mood to talk about work.”

“Fine. Let’s put my baby to bed.”

You chose the shiniest shoes out of the bunch to wear to the show the next night. You watched the entire thing from the wings and it was everything you expected it to be and more. Something changed in him that night and he wasn’t the same man walking off stage that he was walking on.

“What’d you think?”

“It was…everything.”

“Yeah?”

“You were everything. You were amazing.”

He took your face in his hands. “D’you think they thought so?”

“Yes, baby,” You said, bracing yourself on his chest as you stood up on your toes. “You were electric, we could all feel it.”

“Let’s go, E.P., they wanna talk to ya.”

“I’m heading that way,” Elvis called back before kissing you. “I gotta let ‘em have me for a little bit but I’ll see upstairs. Find Jerry, he’ll show you how to get back from here.”

“Okay, bun. You did great tonight,” You said, letting him go. “I love you.”

“I love you…” He hesitated before he walked away. “I’ll see you tonight?”

You nodded and smiled encouragingly for him to go. You tried not to let it show but you think he saw it anyway that he wasn’t going to be seeing you again.

Jerry showed up as soon as he was gone. “Ready?”

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

He took you to the door backstage that led to the street outside. The rain had picked up but you were glad it hadn’t seemed to put a damper on anyone’s night. “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright?”

“Yes, Jerry. If I get to the airport in time I’ll get back to LA before it's even midnight.”

Jerry held his umbrella over your head as he checked the trunk for your luggage. “I don’t know why you have to go right now.”

“I have to,” You said. “It’s better this way, baby, trust me.”

“How?”

“He’s busy. He’s distracted. He feels really good about himself right now.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than Jerry. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to take his mind off it anyway.”

“Of course not~”

“Just make sure she looks nothing like me.” You opened the door and prepared to climb into the car. “I love you, Jerry, you’re the best. Get out of this rain.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?”

“You never saw me.” You gave the driver the go ahead as soon as you shut the door and the car lurched into motion.

“Where’s your flight headed?” He wondered.

“Los Angeles,” You told him. You didn’t disguise the sadness in your voice as well as you had hoped.

“What’s in Los Angeles?” He saw the tears in your eyes and he ignored them. He was trying to take your mind off of what was troubling you but he was only bringing the issue to the forefront of your attention.

“Nothing, I’m just…” You couldn’t think of anything interesting to say—you had no bizarre ideas or truths to bend. You couldn’t think of anything but the look Elvis would get on his face when Jerry told him he hadn’t seen you. “It’s just me.”

He must’ve decided that you were too pitiful to cheer up because he didn’t say anything else.

You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes.

“It’s only four weeks,” You repeated to yourself in an effort to stop your tears from falling. You couldn’t see out the window past the rain, you were glad that you couldn’t. It meant that you couldn’t look out and watch the building—the entire building, as if it was somehow a giant, looming embodiment of him—disappear into the distance.

It also meant that you couldn’t see the semi truck in the lane to your right hydroplane and spin out of control. If you’d seen that, maybe then you could have moved away from the window. Maybe then it wouldn’t have hit so hard, so fast. Maybe you could have even braced yourself for the impact, but no. It didn’t happen like that.

Instead, you were talking yourself out of a breakdown one minute and the next there was chaos and you couldn’t see.

Although it was black and you couldn’t feel anything, you saw his eyes—his deep blue, grief-strickened eyes. There they were, so rich and full that you could taste them.

And then there was nothing.

❦ fin. ❦

[soulc-hilde]

Arcane, Season 2... I had to stop everything I was doing, because I am irritated.

Arcane: League of Legends as the entire show has been beautifully written - outside of S2's ACT III, I better see some fix-it fanfics like y'all's name is Felix. And despite all of the things to list about ACT III that has been rushed, a totally different thing has caught my eye and my irritation.

Caitlyn Kiramman's character arc from Season 1 - Season 2 shows us how she evades the legacy of her family only to be forced as the leader of her house's name after the murder of her mother and how she grieves while trying to understand her way through the politics of her new role.

From the jump, I did not like Caitlyn. She is beautifully written and the way her character spirals is written well. The reason I do not like Caitlyn is what she reenacts and that's because it is a part of my daily life as a black woman.

Now, I'm not ranting because of her actions. I'm genuinely pissed at the ignorance some folks have towards this and I wanna sit you on your ass as I tell you this.

Yes, folks can divert the fantasy from the reality. However, if you are an actual writer or have studied creative writing (not your typical English Literature classes) under someone who has published books then you know that an author finds inspiration in everything that includes the scars of history told and untold as well as the current disasters our society faces in the present.

Hell, we unconditionally have the power foretell whenever the government decides to pull some bullshit out on us [The overturning of Roe v. Wade and The Handmaid's Tale + Many More].

Caitlyn's actions are not to be excused just because her mother died in a terrorist attack. They are not to be excused because she's a lesbian. They are not to be excused period.

Everyone in the damn show are war criminals. The point of the show is to describe just how far everyone will go to even the scales and find balance within their own beliefs. It also covers that there is no distinct hero and its villain. Everyone just wants to live. That's all they want.

Which is insane to me because that's a typical dystopian theme in every book/film - which by the way, genres like dystopia are based off of reality. They are based off of the actions of the past and the present and what type of future they can conjure for us and our descendants.

It sickens me that a lot of you think that Caitlyn's blatant ignorance and fascism towards Zaunites is just a thing the writers had pulled out of their asses when it's a dark belief that people still carry to this day and teach their kids. Caitlyn and Vi should not have gotten together at the end because of Caitlyn's actions towards Zaunites and the hell she drug Vi through.

No one is excusing Jinx's actions or Ambessa's. As I said, everyone is a war criminal. The only difference is ... Caitlyn came out with her home in tact and with the girl as if she's some fucking hero.

And I can guarantee that the lot of you who hold this mentality are the exact white women who favor the beliefs of Taylor Swift [White Feminism] and will continuously endanger the lives of women of color, but when shit hits the ceiling all of a suddenly it's a 'we' problem.

Y'all are so attached to consuming brain rot or content that contains no form of substance other than to people please that when a bomb ass show with an even greater story comes out with a purpose y'all will say the most dastardly thing ever. No wonder why good shows and even better writing is so few and rarely seen nowadays because no actually listens to the story.

You all just want sex. A poor excuse of "representation" that's just of another white cisgendered couple with an opposites attract trope or a doomed / romeo & juliet trope. You are boring, you are flat, and folks like you suck the creativity - the art - out of people's writing.

[mattsmiddlepartt]

When words collide.

Warnings: arguing, cursing, angst, fluff if you squint, idk anymore.

Matt × !reader

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the soft glow from the overhead light casting sharp shadows. Matt leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching. You stood across from him, matching his tension, your arms stiff at your sides.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” Matt said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I knew how you’d react!” you shot back, your voice trembling slightly.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” he snapped, his brown eyes narrowing. “Classic. Blame me for your bullshit!”

You huffed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t lie, Matt. I just... didn’t tell you right away. There’s a fucking difference.”

“Bullshit!” he spat, his voice rising. “If you’re hiding something, it’s a lie, plain and simple.”

Your throat tightened as his words hit, sharp and unforgiving. “Goddammit, Matt, why do you always have to be so black-and-white about everything? Not everything is some huge fucking betrayal!”

He pushed off the counter, pacing now, his hands tugging at his hoodie strings. “You went behind my back,” he said, his voice lower but no less cutting. “You made a decision that affects both of us, and you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

“It wasn’t your fucking decision to make!” you fired back, your anger bubbling over. “Not everything in my life has to revolve around you, Matt!”

That made him stop. He turned to you, his face twisting into something you’d never seen before. Hurt. Real, raw hurt.

“Wow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s how you see me? Some... controlling asshole who needs to know everything?”

You froze, your anger dissolving into regret as his words sank in. “Matt, I didn’t mean—”

“No, you fucking did,” he interrupted, his tone bitter now. “And you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do try too hard to be involved. But it’s only because I fucking care, okay? Because I actually give a damn about us. But if that’s too much for you…”

He trailed off, looking away as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

“Matt,” you said softly, stepping toward him, but he shook his head, holding up a hand.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need a fucking minute. I can’t… I just can’t do this right now.”

You watched as he turned and walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps heavy as they disappeared down the hallway. The silence he left behind was deafening.

And all you could do was stand there, staring at the empty space where he’d been, wondering how something so small had spiraled into something so goddamn big.

____

Matt sighed, his shoulders slumping as he pushed off the desk. Slowly, he crossed the room until he was standing right in front of you. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes softer now, though the frustration still lingered.

“I hate this,” he muttered, his voice quieter.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Hate what?”

“Fighting with you,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s exhausting. And... it fucking sucks, okay?”

You felt your chest tighten, guilt wrapping around your heart. “I hate it too,” you said softly. “I hate that I make you feel like this. I just—” You paused, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a walk in the park either, Sturniolo.”

That earned a faint chuckle from him, the tension in the room easing just a little.

For a second, the two of you just stood there, neither sure what to say. Then, with a sigh, Matt reached out, his hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice genuine. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just... I hate feeling like I’m not enough for you to trust me.”

Your heart ached at his words. Without thinking, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. “You are enough,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his hoodie. “I promise, Matt. I just... I’m a mess sometimes, okay? But you’re the one thing I’m always sure about.”

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words—only the warmth of someone who cared too much to stay mad.

You laughed, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He smirked, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, your smile soft. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Always,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

And just like that, the fight was behind you. Because no matter how messy things got, you both knew that at the end of the day, you’d choose each other—again and again.

Tags!🌬

@chasekeithh @sophiabirlemm @delilahsturniolo @chrisfavoritewhore

Angst idea from!: @stvrnioloslvt ♡

First divider from!: @bernardsbendystraws I think!

[doomtrooper77]

I've got a story to accompany this image. You can read it below. It is not a cute romantic story; it is more like my images. So, if that is not your thing, skip the story. If you do, let me know what you think of it.

Wrong Side of the Tracks

I had been in the bar for an hour already. It was one of those places off the beaten track where everyone went from what some would call the wrong side of the tracks. Mind you, this place wasn’t rundown. It just wasn’t fancy. The long wooden bar was polished, and the stools were worn but comfortable. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar. In the back of the bar were some big couches and chairs in an open area. Every seating surface was made of that old-school leather that got patina but never grew thin, never ripped. It was all cushioned just right for sitting and drinking the night away. Behind the bar was bottle after bottle of every liquor you could think of. Cases full of bottles of beer and more than a few on tap. However, don’t come in asking for some fancy new-fangled Microbrew bullshit. This wasn’t that kind of place.

Most people who came here were working-class people who came in for drinks and bar food. People who worked with their hands or on their feet all day. You had some white-collar folks sprinkled in, but mostly people who grew up in the neighborhood who managed to get a job downtown but still came back to visit friends and family in the area. That’s not to say it also didn’t have more seedier visitors. It was also a place where locals on the "wrong" side of the law congregated. Depending on the day of the week and the time, there was little you couldn’t find here if you knew the right person to ask.

You need a loan. There was a table in the back where some gentlemen of Italian persuasion sat most days. They were happy to give you some money for a hefty fee. If you needed something to bring you up or down, there was usually someone you could talk to to provide you with whatever you needed. But they couldn’t sell it in the bar. Business of that sort was not allowed in the bar; discussing it was different. If you needed someone’s leg broken, there was someone who you could talk to about that.

The bar was situated behind several warehouses and buildings in an old light industrial part of the city. You had to know where it was to find it and drive a maze of access roads and streets to find it. The bar had an address but didn’t appear on Waze or Google Maps.  The lot was big enough for everything from Harleys to big rigs.  The lot is dim, with most of the light coming from other businesses outside its perimeter.

I was on my 3rd beer when I heard the Harley outside. It was cold in the Midwest in November, but the hardcore bikers rode in the cold air. I was sitting midway down the bar when the door opened, and the crowd started parting. People quickly moved aside, even to the point where they pressed against others to get out of the way of the approaching figure. I got a glimpse of him just as he passed. I thought, “Jesus, he's gotten even bigger!”  He walked past, and you could feel his aura move with him. Predator. It was the only way to describe it. Some construction workers were drinking a few feet down, and one of the bigger guys either didn’t see him coming or had decided he was the alpha in the room. The biker didn’t change his step; his massive shoulders plowed through the big construction worker, pushing him into his buddies and spilling his beer down his shirt.

“Hey FUCK WAD, watch where you’re going!” The big construction worker said. He was big, about 6’5, and easily 280-290 solid pounds. You can tell he was used to being the big guy in the room. The area around them quieted as the biker turned around and took two steps back. I got a good look at him then. He was about 6’2, so shorter than the construction worker. However, everything else about the biker made the construction worker seem small. He had actual doorway-wide shoulders.  Arms are truly as thick as a healthy man's leg. Massive pecs encased under the leather vest. His lats push his massive arms away from his body at a freaking 45-degree angle. A neck so massive that it seemed like his huge shoulders just met his head somehow.  The part of my brain that was pretty damn good at calculating a man's size and weight told me at least 375 actual pounds.

One of the construction workers whispered “shit” as he pulled on his friend's arm. The bigger construction worker was wiping beer from his shirt and shook his friend's arm off as he looked up. Both men’s eyes met, and something happened. Guys know the feeling when you are in a situation where you quickly find out that you are not the alpha in the room. The biker took another step forward and pushed his chest into that of the construction worker. The biker tilted his head to that angle some guys do when trying to figure out how badly they will hurt someone. Not if, but how much. Everything around them quieted and stopped.

I could only see part of the construction workers' faces, but I could see the anger drain quickly away to be replaced by fear.  The Biker saw it and stepped into him more, pushing him back on his friends. Something like a wave of heat seemed to pass over me, and I could feel the raw dominance coming off that biker. It was like being on the edge of a violent storm. You can feel the air pressure change and smell the lightning as it crashes just feet away. Or it is like being on the edge of a vast forest fire, watching a fire tornado spin feet away and your skin both dry and slick with sweat simultaneously.

I felt my balls shrink up and throb at the same time.  “Sorry. Sorry.. man, I’m sorry,” the Big Construction worker was saying. No longer meeting the biker’s gaze, he said, “Sorry I bumped into ya. My fault. Sorry, sorry.”  The Biker stayed crowded in his space for another 15 seconds, stepped back, and looked at the construction workers' buddies, who all looked away. He turned to walk to the back of the bar to the area where the couches and chairs were. There was a dangerous and knowing smirk on his face.

Within seconds, the bar's sounds returned to normal, and people moved on as if nothing had happened—except for the construction workers. Those guys threw money on the bar, paid their tab, and quickly left.

However, I was now intrigued—no, make that obsessed—with the monster in the back of the bar. Over the next hour, I made my way down the bar toward the back of the room. I could see he was sitting with several other bikers and rough-looking men. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing but could see them on the sly. He filled one of the club chairs, his mass covering it completely. He wore this leather vest, black jeans, and big black harness boots. Out of the group, he talked the least.

A couple in the booth was just on the edge of the sitting area, which had a perfect view.  They left when I almost convinced myself that my little spy game had gone as far as it should. Before they could get two steps away from the booth, I slid into it. The waitress came over, and I got another beer.  I took out my phone and pretended to be scrolling on it while I was sneaking peaks at the monster. My cock was so hard in my pants that I had to squirm around a bit to give it room.  Knowing I might never see this guy again, I discreetly turned on my camera and videoed him. I kept making gestures like I was scrolling and typing, but I was filming his every twitch and flex.

I ended up drinking another two beers while getting more and more footage. The angle I had the camera meant I really couldn’t see my screen. I might have noticed when he started looking at me if I had. Only when I looked up to sneak another peek I saw two pools of steel looking at me.  Eyes so bright and grey that they seemed to glow, and they were looking at me. Not glancing but staring at me. I could feel the weight of his attention. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck” was all I could think.  As nonchalantly as possible, I slowly angled my phone away, and while pretending to be texting, I shut off the camera. It was time to go. I couldn’t dare look up at him to see if he was still looking, but I knew. I could feel it—the heat and pressure of his attention.

I had two problems. My cock was still rock hard, and I needed to piss badly. So badly, I thought that if I tried to make it to my car, I would piss myself. SHIT. I took out my wallet and threw 50 bucks and an OK tip on the table. Every second felt like my bladder was going to burst. SHIIIT. Taking a deep breath, I causually stood up with my hand in my pocket, trying to hold my boner down, and started walking across the bar to the hallway with the bathrooms. My brain screamed don’t look at him, my cock, on the other hand, throbbed under my fingers and said, come on one last look.

Glancing in his direction as I walked past the men who sat in front of him, I saw his head turn and track me. Like some goddamn tiger or something. I got to the bathroom and made it to the urinal, and let out 5 beers worth of piss. My hard cock throbbing in my hand the entire time. When I finished, my cock had gone to semi-hard. Stuffing it back in my pants, I washed my hands, took a deep breath, and told myself to walk out of the bar. Walk out of the bathroom and straight out the bar, not looking at him or anyone. Out the bar and to my car.  Go home. Go home and watch all of the videos you took of that beast. My cock twitched and started to harden again.

I opened the door, turned to go down the hallway, and ran into a wall of beef. He stood there, his massive body filling the dim hallway, waiting. I bounced off him and stumbled back two steps. I looked up at his face and those eyes. My body froze. I can’t explain it. I FROOZE. He looked at me, his head tilted as if he were deciding something. My heart was racing, and my mouth was dry. For seconds, I couldn’t say anything. Then I remembered what happened with the guy up front. I quickly said, “Sorry. Excuse me for bumping into you.”  

He started moving toward me. I backed up a step, thinking he was headed to the bathroom. But he wasn’t. He kept walking past the bathroom, and now he was against me. His massive body pushes me forward, my backward pace struggling to keep up. “Uh wait, hey, umm, excuse me.” Every nonsensical word came out of my mouth, and he kept pushing me back down the hallway. I started to fall backward, and I felt this massive hand grab my shirt and keep me upright. With no effort, he lifted me on my toes and carried me down the darkening hall. I kept mumbling until he said, “Shut up.” He didn’t yell. He gave an order and expected it to be followed.

We turned a corner and went down another short hall. There was an exit door. He pushed me through it into the night. Behind the bar, it was virtually pitch black, only lit by moonlight and his eyes. He walked us 50 feet behind a brick shed and pushed me against the wall.  His beard split into a hard grin, and he said, “Phone.”

Stunned and terrified, I said, “What?”

I have never had anyone grab me by my throat and lift me off the ground before. His massive hand clamped around my neck; his other hand went to my pants pocket and ripped out my phone.  Still holding me up with one hand, his other expertly clicks the button to turn the screen on. It was locked. He looked at me and then at the phone. I expected he would demand the lock code. Instead, he turned my head to face the phone and held it up. Even in the dim moonlight, it recognized my face and unlocked it.

The massive hand that wasn’t throttling me expertly moved over the screen. His big fingers press and swipe my screen. The screen lit up his face. Harsh, rough, brutally handsome. In a few seconds, I heard the sound of the bar playing from my speaker.  His hand tightened on my throat.  I watched his face as he scrubbed through the video. His brutal features were darkening. The aura of potential violence made the air thick.

He turned the phone so I could see the video playing, which showed him staring at me and the camera from minutes ago. He pulled me down and leaned all of his weight into me, crushing me to the shed wall. He leaned in where our faces were touching. His steel grey eye was less than an inch from my own, staring into my eye like a laser beam. His beard rubbed against mine as his mouth was next to my ear. His hot, angry breath blew across my ear and neck.  It was intimate. Fear can be intimate.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you videoing me.” He said. His voice was deep, and his words were spoken normally, but the power behind them made me shiver.  My brain went blank. Words just tumbled from my mouth. Apologies. Explanations. Gibberish. I could see the rage ignite in his eyes as he pressed himself against me fully and repeated himself more forcefully. He asked again, and the anger and potential violence in his voice made my legs weak.

Then froze.  His eyes stayed locked to mine. His head tilted. He let go of my neck and reached down between us.  My brain may have been terrified and incapable of action; however, my cock was having the time of its life.  It could care less that this 390-pound monster was about to rip us apart. All it cared about was that 390-pound monster crushing and grinding me into the wall behind us. I felt the biker’s massive hand grab my hard cock.

The heat in his eyes was still there, in suspension.  Lifting my phone back up, I watched as he expertly tapped, swiped, and scrubbed through my phone. We stood that way for almost 3-4 minutes. I heard numerous videos I had saved to my phone from Leather sites, Raw Fuck Club, videos saved from Twitter and Pornhub. He flicked through them, and all the while, my throbbing cock was crushed by his hand.

Looking back at me, his eyes were still full of heat. “Is that it puppy? You getting some more jerk off material on your phone?” My fear is now joined with shame. SHIT. Shame giving me the power to look away.  His big hand squeezes my cock painfully, and he says, “I asked you a question, boy! You’re videoing me so you can jerk this thing off later?” His hand squeezed and pulled my cock roughly through my jeans. It throbbed and twitched with excitement.

I mumbled, “Yes.”

His face gets close to his mind, and the anger is back in his voice, “Speak up, boy! You got the balls to be filming me for your personal pleasure, be man enough to say it!”

“Yes, that is why I was filming you,” I said.

“Why me?” He said, his voice clearly expecting an answer.

I paused. Thinking of what to say.  Decided on the truth. “I’ve never seen anyone like you. As big as you are.  As tough as you are. As strong as you are.  As mean and scary.“ I stopped myself from going further.

He let go of my cock and pressed himself hard against me, crushing me more than before. “You like’em big and scary, huh?” His face was close to mind. “I’m 400 fucking pounds of the meanest and scariest motherfucker you gonna ever meet, boy.”  He pushed his mouth close to my ear and said, “I do mean and scary shit for fun. Are you sure you want that?” He fucking growled like a beast in my ear.

My cock didn’t give my brain time to think, so I quietly said, “Yes.”

He growled in my ear and crushed me even more against the wall. “Mean and scary it is.” He said.

Spinning me around, he pushed me face-first into the brick wall. He reached around, grabbed the front of my pants, and unbuckled my belt. He slid the belt off. Before I knew what was happening, he had made a loop out of it, put it around my neck, and pulled it tight. “There we go, puppy needs a leash.” He said. I was up on my toes. My skin was hot and cold. Excited and scared.

I felt his other hand grab the back of my jeans and yank. There was a ripping sound, and I tried to grab his hand to keep him from ripping my jeans. “Hey, I can take them down…” I never finished that sentence because I felt a fist hit me in the kidneys. Bright pain lanced up my side, and my legs went weak.

Pressing up against me, he said, “Understand this puppy. You’ve got three jobs right now. One, do what I say and nothing but what I say. Two, do whatever you can to make sure I enjoy using you however I want. Three, Survive. Do one and two well, and three shouldn’t be a problem. You fuck around thinking this is some date, and I can show you a whole other level of mean and scary. Do you understand me, boy?”

“ Yes, Sir.” I said.

He laughed roughly as his hand grabbed my jeans and ripped a big hole in the center. His hand reached through the hole to grab my shorts and grab one of the ass straps of my jock. He chuckled, “You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

I felt him step back and heard a zipper. He growled deeply again and pressed himself against me. I could feel his hot throbbing cock rub against my ass. He ground his hips back and forth and side to side. Fuck, it was huge. I could feel it throb and twitch as it moved across my skin. He slid it up my back and around my hips so I could feel how big it was.  I whimpered a bit in lust and fear. Leaning in, he growled, “Everything about me is big and scary.”

He slides his now hard cock between my ass cheeks, stretching the cheeks apart with-it’s size. I feel him let out a deep, growling breath as he crushes me between him and the wall.  I felt the big, veiny flesh slide up and down my hole. Yanking on the belt, he growls, “Open up.” He pushes his way in. Fuck its, huge. So damn thick. It just keeps sliding and sliding in. My breath is coming in short gasps. He chuckles as it pushes all the way in. I can feel his pubic hair and zipper teeth on my ass.  I want to yell, but the belt is pulled tight on my neck.

“That’s it, puppy. Take it. Take it all.” He says, grinding his massive body against mine. His cock throbbing deep inside me. Soon, he got a steady stroke going. His strokes are solid and deep. His powerlifting hips alternate from jackhammering into me to crushing me against the wall between him and the shed. He’s growling and breathing behind me like an animal. My legs are weak from the pounding.

I feel him loosen his grip on the belt, grab my hair, and pull my head to the side. I feel his thick beard rub across my neck. I moan as he rubs across that spot. The spot that makes me squirm when the right man finds it. He knows and licks across it. My body shakes. Then I felt his mouth bite down on that spot. Every nerve in my body cuts on and off. His hungry mouth bites and gnaws at my neck. Never breaking the skin. Holding me in place as his massive body goes into overdrive. Powerfucking me against the wall. I feel like a rhino is ramming into me. Time blurs and I don’t know if it has been 5 minutes or 15, but this monster has stamina. His pounding has never stopped.

I’ve never been used like this. I feel his stroke change, and by the 4th stroke, he explodes inside of me. Shot after shot, painting my insides. So much cum. So much I can feel it leaking around his cock and down my legs. He keeps his cock inside me until the absolute last twitch is done. When he pulls it out, I can feel more of it soaking my jeans.

I feel him step back and hear him say, “Turn around, boy.”  My legs are weak and wobbly. I feel like I have just lost a boxing match or been used like a tackling dummy.

He’s looking at me. Fuck he seems even bigger now. A huge fucking shadow in the moonlight.

I can barely see his face, but his eyes shine as he says. “You are not fucking done.” Looking down and then back up, he says. “Clean me up.” I look down, and his cock is still semi-hard and twitching. “You can get on your knees, or I can put you there. Get to work.”

Getting to my knees, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Just like when he was fucking me against the wall, his hands were soon clamped on the side of my head, and his hips were thrusting his cock deep into my throat. The more I choke, cough, and sputter, the more he likes it. By the time he was done, I was a messy fleshlight. He dumped three more loads down my throat. His big dick was like a firehose. I was so full, weak, and used that I just lay on the ground.

I felt his boot push me over to my back. His huge shadow was standing over me. He puts his boot on my chest, bends down, and shines my phone in my face again. He turns it back around, and I watch as he flicks through it again, stopping a few times.  “You didn’t do lousy tonight, boy. You managed to survive.” Putting real pressure on his boot and my chest, he repeats my home address, work address, and that of my sister. Nothing more, his threat was implicit.  “You better start working out more because next time, tonight will look like foreplay.” Then I watched his massive hand squeeze, and he crushed my phone like it was nothing. It sparked, and smoke started coming out of the cracked sides. I watch him lean back and throw the now burning hunk of glass and metal far further than anyone should be able to. “You need a new phone, puppy.” He says as he walks off into the darkness.  In the next few minutes, I heard a Harley start up and drive away.

Sometime later, I managed to get up and find my way to the parking lot. I smile as I gingerly get in my car, thinking about the cloud backup I have turned on for pictures and video on my phone. I do need a new phone. My dick twitches in anticipation.

[sparklepocalypse]

Soapbox moment incoming --

We love a rarepair writer, but -- there's evidence that one of the most prolific Alex/Raf posters on Ao3 right now is using ChatGPT to generate their fics instead of actually writing them. They removed the line when they were called out on it, but when they initially posted one of their works, they left "Chat GPT said..." at the top of a chapter. They've also evidently systematically deleted any comments suggesting they're using AI.

This same user "wrote" a POV switch of a fic that another person in the fandom put actual, significant mental energy and time into creating, and there's no doubt in my mind that this was also ChatGPT-generated. I have blocked this user on Ao3, but blocking someone on the site only prevents their works from showing up in search for you, and prevents them from commenting on yours. It doesn't prevent them from seeing your works, or you know, copying and pasting them wholesale into a natural language processing site or app and having it word vomit out "their" version of a work so they can post it as their own "writing."

If your immediate response to this is "Telling people not to use AI to write is ableist," you can shove that bullshit right up your ass, because they're stealing words that other people in the fandom have created and claiming they put the same sort of time and energy into them as people who actually write. But, if your immediate response is "Yeah, fuck this noise, who the fuck does this person think they are," then you are precisely my sort of person.

And listen, I'm not saying AI isn't useful. There are certainly a lot of practical applications for AI. However, there's a line about a mile wide between using AI as a tool to help you when you're stuck or looking for ideas (or hell, using it professionally to turn your recorded meeting transcript into meeting notes), and just saying "fuck it," and passing off AI's regurgitation as your own work. It's not your work, nor will it ever be; it's other people's work and you are using AI to steal it, and then basking in the easy dopamine hit from the recognition that it gets once you hit post. Fucking stoppit.

If you find works on Ao3 that are generated by AI, please note that while AI-generated works are not in and of themselves banned by the site (because, sadly, it'd be almost impossible for the Ao3 team to identify and ban them all at this point), plagiarism is explicitly against the site's Terms of Service and you should report plagiarized works for content violations. (Don't submit more than one report per user; their small but mighty team of volunteers doesn't need to be spammed about the same person to address a concern.)

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Dune: Prophecy episode 2 thoughts:

[SPOILERS]

NOW WE ARE COOKING WITH GAS

Everyone continues to speak in Exposition Dump; I have accepted that the dialogue will just be Like This and have made my peace with it

I knew that Lila was gonna turn out to be Raquella's descendent!

TULA MOTHERFUCKING HARKONNEN your sister is underestimating you. Tula was kind of a nothingburger in episode 1 but goddamn, that conversation she has with Lila where she convinces her to undertake the Agony was so manipulative and creepy. And you just know at least some of what she is saying is lies even if you don't know quite which parts yet.

Everything with Lila was completely harrowing. She looks so small and young in the white robe in the lab. The fact that everyone at the school is watching from the gallery, fucking yikes. Chloe Lea who plays Lila did a fantastic job. Olivia Williams is terrifying. That whole sequence was by far the most riveting part of the episode.

Love how much they're doing with the Other Memory, which the films don't really have time to get into. Love that they're highlighting the idea that the ancestors aren't just passive conduits of information; they have agendas and can influence you. You can see the call-forward to Alia's storyline in Children of Dune.

The ancestral plane or whatever you wanna call it looked creepy as fuck, good job. Also love how the shrouded gray figures look a little bit like the silver-plate icon of Raquella that's perpetually looming over all of them.

LILA KNOWS THAT VALYA KILLED DOROTEA. Oh that's great. Especially since I am pretty sure that Lila is only mostly dead. That Chekov's gun is gonna go off at some point.

Dorotea says Lila's mother is "not here." I sort of thought the Other Memory included all your ancestors whether they were alive or dead but maybe not? In any case I assume the implication is that Lila's mother is alive.

Actually love that Tula got genuinely upset at the thought that she might have killed Lila. Love a fucked-up surrogate mother-daughter relationship.

Unsurprisingly I am becoming a bit of a Jen stan. You question that propaganda girl!

Continually getting jumpscared by the GoT rejected plotline/early 2000s Syfy miniseries/CW show based on a popular YA franchise vibes of the younger Corrino generation. Could've done without the sexposition. Ynez and Squareface Atreides continue to be so so so boring.

Squareface Atreides talking about the "rebellion" of what seems like Houses Minor/less powerful elements of the Landsraad as if it's some kind of popular revolt was great actually. I don't know how much this was intended, but classic Atreides bullshit of always thinking they're the Good Guys.

Desmond in floaty jail. Sorry I just could not take it seriously. I laughed every time they floated him around.

The fact that Desmond can resist the Voice makes me think he is not fully human, or not human at all. I was originally thinking he's just got a fucked up Tleilaxu robot eye that can fry people, but now I wonder if he's something else entirely.

Oh I am fully on board now and ready for more!