#let’s disregard that this is the 80’s

[theonotti]

MIO | OS | t.n.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!Hufflepuff!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Voldemort won. Harry Potter is dead. But the Order of the Phoenix is still fighting, with two surprising allies who have very different reasons for aiding their cause.

Warnings: Pretty angsty. AU where Voldemort did not die at the end of DH.

Notes: This is heavily inspired by Secrets & Masks and Manacled. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

That Final Night One Shot

Late.

They’re fucking late.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Theo looks down at his watch. 

Twenty minutes late, to be exact.

“How long are we expected to wait here?” Mattheo growls, pacing across the wood of the decrepit bar. The floorboards creak with every step. Theo is sitting at one of the tables, a sigh forcing its way out of his lungs as he watches his friend. In one hand is a cigarette, the other hand mindlessly tracing the vandalism that had been scratched into the top of the table. 

“Another ten minutes and then we’re fucking off.”

The bar has been long abandoned, making it their top choice for discreet meetings. They had cycled through a few different locations before they finally found the bar. The walls are a sloppy black color, which is mostly covered in 80’s posters, both movies and musical talents alike. Theo’s eyes drift from poster to poster. He’s seen them what feels like a thousand times, and yet he still finds it hard to tear his eyes away when he stares at them. 

An hour has already passed since their arrival, but that was due to the ungodly amount of wards and disillusionment charms that they needed to cast before the meeting, a ritual that has become quite routine. Once everything is set, they’ll briefly discuss what they’ll say, and then they wait. Theo finds the extra waiting time peaceful, usually. It gives him a chance to mentally prepare for the carnage that comes to his psyche afterwards. The guilt. The fear. But this time, the stakes are higher, increasing the tension in his muscles much too soon. He can feel the pain already in his lower back, and he doesn’t want to imagine the aches he’ll be feeling once he returns home. 

“Can’t we just kill them?” 

Theo considers this question as he lets his eyes jump back to Mattheo.

“That would probably defeat the purpose of why we’re here.”

“Sure, but I still hate Weasley and his stupid face. Just one Cruciatus curse at his ugly face would be okay, surely. I won’t even make it a long one. Four minutes tops.”

Theo boredly watches the smoke from his cigarette float up towards the ceiling as he ignores Mattheo. Every moment that passes increases his irritation. He finds himself wondering if it’s a power move on their part. They hold all the cards, so they can keep him waiting. 

Something in the air triggers, both men looking towards the door. Theo’s fingers tense around the cigarette as he brings it to his mouth to take another drag, his other hand dropping down from the table to clench around his wand as it rests on his lap. The dimly lit room has a smoky haze, all thanks to Mattheo and Theo disregarding the “No Smoking Allowed” sign that is appropriately starting to fall off the wall.

The door opens, Ron Weasley followed by Hermione Granger walking in. Theo has long lost count of how many times they’ve met with Granger and Weasley, yet it still feels jarring every time he sees them. Maybe it’s because their appearance catches him off guard each time.

Despite them all being in their mid twenties, they all look tired and worn. The rosey cheeks that Granger sported while they were in school are now gaunt and hollow. Dark circles are painted under her eyes, along with Weasley’s, and she keeps her bushy hair contained in two french braids going down her back. Weasley keeps his hair short now, and his body is more built than it had ever been when they were at Hogwarts. His boy-like features are long gone, with gray already peppering his ginger hair, and if Theo didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that Weasley was in his late thirties at the least. The life in their eyes had long drained out, replaced with a coldness that chilled anyone who happened to be stuck in their gaze.

War hadn’t been kind to Theo or Mattheo either.

Mattheo has more scars on his face than he did back in school, and he grew his hair long in a feeble attempt to hide them. There was a time that he wore them like a badge of honor, but since the start of the war and his PTSD becoming worse than ever, they no longer were something he pretended to be proud of. He’s since developed an anxiety twitch, his whole face seeming to spasm whenever there’s a loud noise not caused by him, or tense moment. Though they don’t live together anymore, now that Theo has full ownership of Nott Manor, when they had, Theo could remember all the nights of hearing his best friend scream and cry in his sleep from across the mansion. It was more often than not, and it was unbearably hard to get Mattheo to calm down from the vivacious nightmares.

The opposite could be said for Theo. Instead of nights filled with intense dreams of death and melancholy, Theo simply doesn’t sleep. He couldn’t, for the life of him, shut his brain off. And while that had always been an issue for him to some degree, it had become exacerbated since his transition from student to soldier. Theo doesn’t know what being tired feels like anymore. It’s so ingrained in his psyche that it would be more abnormal for him to not be tired. All he can do is adjust, living off coffee and the occasional upper to keep him moving.

Weasley leans on the wall beside the door. His demeanor is much more unpleasant than normal as his eyes flit between Theo and Mattheo. Theo pretends not to notice as he looks at Granger, who’s standing in the middle of the room. She always did all the talking. Theo assumes it’s because of the way she carries herself, and they certainly take her more seriously than they could any Weasley. Besides being a fighter for the Order of the Phoenix, Granger is a war negotiator. She deals with prisoner exchanges and, eventually, peace talks. Although, considering it’s been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Theo is less confident of the possibility of any sort of peace treaty happening any time soon. For the entire duration of the war, it was her that Theo dealt with when it came to these sorts of things, before and after their betrayal. 

She clears her throat.

“What information do you have for us?”

The strain in her voice is lost on no one. The tension in the air is so thick, Theo is convinced he could grab it if he tried.

Mattheo stops his pacing, turning to face her full on. His anger is palpable.

“Stop with the bullshit,” He snaps. “Let’s talk about why we’re really here today.”

Weasley’s hand tightens around his wand, but he doesn’t move. Theo keeps his eyes on him to ensure it stays that way before turning back to Granger. 

“You have Malfoy.” Theo’s voice is quiet, tone neutral.

The corners of her mouth twitch upward.

“We have Malfoy.”

Mattheo lets out a frustrated sigh.

“We can’t continue to cooperate with you until you hand him back.”

Granger’s expression doesn’t change, making it clear that this reaction was expected. 

“He’s quite the bargaining tool. What are you willing to give for him?” A beat passes. “Or I guess I should say, who?”

Mattheo turns to look at Theo, who can tell just by that exchange of a glance that his friend’s patience is wearing horrifically thin.

“We can ensure the release of Luna Lovegood and Seamus Finnegan. And we’re prepared to give you the maps of the hidden prisons in Sussex.” Theo conveniently forgets to mention that they were already planning to give them the maps, regardless of the way things went at this meeting.

Granger turns to look at Weasley, who merely raises his eyebrows, before turning back to Theo.

“He’s Draco Malfoy.” 

Theo’s hand curls tighter around his wand.

Mattheo huffs loudly, throwing his hand down and smacking it on the bar top. The sound is so loud that Granger flinches, and Weasley pushes off the wall suddenly, but doesn’t move forward.

“You know bloody well that our heads will be on a fucking spike if we don’t get him back,” He hisses at them. “Then who will aid your bloody Order? You think there’s anyone else who will risk their necks like we have? Honestly?”

“Regardless of your help to the Order, do you really think we can just hand Voldemort back one of his best fighters?” Granger's voice raises just a touch. Mattheo takes a step towards her.

“You’ll be singing a different fucking tune when we’re dead and you realize the next on the list is you. You’re losing the goddamn war. Biblically. You need us. Alive.”

Theo waits for Mattheo to finish his outburst before he turns his attention back to Granger. He knows where this is going.

Fuck, he knows where this is going. 

“What else do you want, then?”

Theo’s hands tremble slightly. He clenches his right fist around his wand even more, the left bringing the cigarette back to his mouth quickly. 

Mattheo shakes his head, turning away as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with his want.

Granger tilts her head as she looks at Theo, her expression shifting to a tired one, as if the answer is obvious. When she speaks again, her voice is just above a whisper.

“You know who we want, Nott. It’s been almost a year.”

Theo’s nostrils flare.

“Not on the table.”

~

Suffice to say, the raid couldn’t have possibly gone worse.

How the Order could’ve been so prepared for them was beyond Theo.

One minute, everything seemed to be going to plan as Theo, Mattheo, Malfoy, Blaise and a few others sauntered into the safe house. Quick in and out. Nothing too complicated. The next, it was like the floor fell out from under their feet.

How did things get so royally fucked up?

Theo woke with a start, sitting up abruptly, covered in a layer of sweat as his eyes darted around the room. It took him a minute to get reoriented, and only then did he realize that he was in his own living room, laid on the couch with a blanket draped over him. Ripping the blanket off, his hands flew towards his abdomen. When he looked down, he found he was shirtless, but his skin was unharmed, save for some minor scarring. New editions to the collection. He then reached up and touched the top of his head. Nothing. Not even a scrape.

What?

Slowly, he kicked his feet over the side of the couch and stood up. The room spun for a moment, and his joints ached, but otherwise, he was completely normal. 

The manor was silent. So silent that it made the hairs on the back of Theo’s neck stand up. Almost automatically, he walked across the floor, his bare feet cold against the hardwood. He tried to keep his footfall soft as he continued listening for any sort of sound. There, in the faint distance, he could hear… something. Grabbing a hoodie off the back of a chair, he slipped it over his bare torso and zipped it up halfway before making his way towards the sound. 

Theo stepped into the kitchen. A flash of movement came from the other slide of the sliding door that leads to the courtyard. His hand instinctively went to grab his wand from his pocket, only for him to realize it wasn’t there. At the same moment, he also realized the person outside was Mattheo, having a smoke. His tense fingers relaxed, his arm falling back to his side.

Mattheo looked over as Theo slid the door open and walked out. 

“Look who’s awake. How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Who healed me?”

Mattheo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

“You wound me, Nott. You don’t think I’m capable?”

Theo shook his head almost immediately.

“It’s not as… clean when you do it. And I have the scars to prove it.” He pointed to his back, which was covered in scars thanks to a nasty run in with a car, a Bombarda cast, and Mattheo’s lack of concern to learn basic field emergency spell casting.

Mattheo sighed in resignation before saying, “You’re right. It wasn’t me.”

Theo waited for Mattheo to give elaboration, and when one wasn't given, he could feel his fingers curl into fists. Though Mattheo’s face was neutral, the tension radiating off his body could be felt a kilometer away.

“What did you do?”

Mattheo took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils before turning back to Theo.

“Theo…”

“What did you do, Riddle?”

Swallowing hard, Mattheo looked away from Theo.

“We got their best healer.” 

Theo blinked. A hostage?

“You took someone?” He asked, voice low. “That… that wasn’t part of the plan.”

Not that things ever went to plan. And not that they hadn’t ever deviated so far left and forced them to take hostages before. But there was something about the way Mattheo couldn’t look at him that made Theo’s fingers run cold. 

Mattheo shook his head as he took a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He let his head fall to his chest, as if it were too heavy to hold up anymore. “That wall fell on you. You were going to die, Theo. We needed…” He inhaled sharply before looking up again. “It was beyond us. We needed the help. We needed her.” 

Theo wracked his brain. The Order’s best healer? The Order’s best healer. Why does this mean something to him?

“Who is it?”

Mattheo leaned backwards in the seat so his back laid against the chair before he pointed at Theo, as if he was preemptively defending himself.

“You’re going to thank me. You’ll be pissed. But you’re going to thank me, ultimately.”

Theo’s nose twitched.

“Mattheo… who is it?”

Mattheo nodded back towards the house before vaguely replying, “She’s upstairs, in the North wing.”

Theo’s feet didn’t move, stuck to the floor like ice. His mind was running, a plethora of questions all begging to be answered. But his mouth forgot how to work as well. For a moment, all he was able to do was stare at Mattheo, who stared back briefly before nodding towards the house again.

“Go on.” His voice was soft.

Theo’s feet kicked on again, taking him back into the house as if they were on autopilot. 

Why the hell are you so nervous? You don’t even know who it is.

His wand was laying on the end table next to the staircase, which he grabbed and shoved in his pocket. His knees buckled as he walked up the stairs. Distantly, he could hear the sound of yelling and objects being thrown around. It didn’t take him long to figure out which closed door the sounds were coming from the other side of. He stood outside the black wooden door, listening. Trying to maybe discern who it was before he went in. 

He could just make out the wards that had been placed on the door. Laying a hand on the knob, he was relieved to find that he was able to touch the brass of the handle. Mattheo had been known to incorrectly cast the spell so no one could get through, which had more than once sent Theo or Malfoy through a wall. 

A shaky sigh pushing its way from Theo’s lungs and out of his mouth, he turned the knob and let himself inside the room. 

The color drained from Theo’s face.

Standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving and anger radiating off of like a stove top, was you. 

Suddenly, Theo was back at Hogwarts, standing in the Astronomy Tower. You were no longer in your casual shirt and jeans, but instead, in your Hufflepuff robes as you looked at him and told him you were leaving to join the Order.

“This war is above us, Theo. Dumbledore is dead. Harry Potter is dead. I can’t stand idly by and watch people die. I need to do something.” 

“Yeah? And what about me?”

“You could come with me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And you know I can’t stay.”

The memory hit Theo like a train. His breath hitched in his throat.

You turned to face him, freezing in the headlights of his gaze. The way your fury faltered at the sight of him made it clear that you were having the same out of body experience that he was. 

You certainly had been busy. All of the furniture in the room was broken. The night stand had been thrown against the pewter colored wall, leaving a dent in the dry wall and the wooden pieces scattered across the floor. A picture frame that Theo hung and forgot about was in ruins, the brunette girl in the picture cowering in the corner of the shredded pieces of photo paper. Feathers from the pillows littered the carpet. The mattress had been thrown off the bed frame, which was also now broken. 

Though he couldn’t focus on the damage that had been done to his guest room. He was too busy staring at you with the same confounded look he’d had when he first entered the room. 

Your hair was longer than he remembered it, pulled back so it was out of your face. Your features had grown with you, your cheekbones more prominent, your eyes with more bags, your cheeks with less color. There wasn’t a corner of Theo’s world that wasn’t burdened by war, and, unfortunately, that included you. His heart raced in his chest as he looked at you. He had locked the memory of you deep into the catacombs of his brain, not allowing himself to bring them out for any occasion. There wasn’t the time or need for it. This is war. When is there a moment for reminiscing on the worst day of his life?

But now there you were, standing in front of him, with a dumbfoundedly angry look on your face, casual clothes and longer hair. The flood gates were now opened, and he was overwhelmed with memories of you, running through his mind so quickly that he felt like he was spinning. 

Your eyes still twinkled in the light that streamed in through the curtains.

“You tell Mattheo Riddle that he can give me back my wand and we’ll see then if he’s able to force me into this room again.”

Theo flinched.

The sound of your voice alone made him feel the need to have a complete mental breakdown. You could’ve been cursing him out or singing in German and he would still feel the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball on the floor. Even with your anger, it still felt like a sweet symphony to Theo’s ears. 

He never thought he’d hear the sound again. 

Hell, he never thought he’d see you again.

Realizing you had spoken and he was just staring at you like an imbecile, he cleared his throat.

“You healed me.”

Your expression shifted, an emotion crossing your face that Theo couldn’t read. Standing a little straighter, you nodded.

“I’m a healer,” You said slowly, distantly. “It’s what I do.”

He snorted. That bleeding Hufflepuff heart.

“You could’ve let me die,” He pointed out, cocking his head to the side. 

You seemed to consider this briefly before saying, “In theory, yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Silence hung in the air between the two of you, coupled with the unmitigated tension. Theo’s hands were curled at his sides, not from anger, but to stop himself from giving into the inordinate compulsion to reach out and touch you. To prove to himself that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. That you were actually in front of him. You shifted your weight to your other foot.

“I don’t think I really could’ve, even if I wanted to.”

The words unsaid in this moment would keep Theo up at night for weeks.

Your eyes trailed down his body, studying him, taking in his bare chest underneath the hoodie. He swallowed hard, his body seeming to freeze under your gaze. Maybe he should’ve changed before coming into the room. At least maybe thrown on a proper shirt. He’d never had a hostage in his home before. There was no protocol book on the proper etiquette. 

Especially not when the hostage was his ex-girlfriend who’s now working on the opposite side of the war. 

You let out a strangled sigh.

“You have to let me go back, Theo. They need me. No one is trained on some of the things I am.” 

The shake of his head was immediate.

“You can’t even begin to comprehend what he would do if he found out Mattheo and I had you and then just let you go back,” He said in a strained yet soft voice. “I can’t. We can’t.”

Your nose twitched as you closed your eyes.

“I won’t fucking heal for him,” You declared in a low tone. “I’d rather be strung up in Godric’s Hollow to rot like all the other people he’s executed than heal for him.”

Theo tried to be rational as he considered what to do. There was a tug of war in his mind, his loyalties competing to decide the best course of action. The obvious answer was to turn you over to The Dark Lord, where you would be put on trial for the crimes he deemed you guilty of, and then punished accordingly. With the skills you hold, Theo knew that you would more than likely be put under the Imperius curse and forced to act as a healer for the Death Eaters. 

Though the answer was obvious, that didn’t make it correct. Not to him or to anyone else.

Theo knew. He knew you’d rather die than breathe the same air as the Death Eaters, let alone fix their wounds and send them back out to kill your people. His head throbbed as he tried to think of the best direction to go in. 

Because, in his head, letting you go was simply out of the question. 

~

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” Granger asks. “We have something you want, you have something we want. We exchange.”

Theo shakes his head as he smashes the end of his half smoked cigarette on the top of the table.

“She’s not for trade.”

“Well, she’s what we want.”

A bead of sweat trails down the side of his face. He ignores it.

“She’s nowhere close to being worth the same as Draco Malfoy. This isn’t a fair trade.” He means it, but not in the way that he presented it to them. Nothing they could offer would make it a fair trade in Theo’s eyes. They could offer the end of the war. They could offer his freedom from the Death Eaters. They could offer endless riches, or immortality, or anything else he could possibly dream up. None of it would equate.

“Then we’ll gladly take Luna and Seamus back as well,” Granger says through clenched teeth, expression reading that her patience is wearing thin. “To make up the difference.”

Theo opens his mouth to respond, but Mattheo cuts in before he gets the chance.

“You’ll take what we fucking give you.”

Granger shoots him a dagger filled glare. 

“We can no longer afford to play these games with you. You have our best healer. And we need her back.” She rolls her head before her eyes fall back on Theo. “We have been patient. We have accepted that we had nothing worth trading for her. Now we do. Malfoy’s importance to the Death Eaters is well known. Don’t patronize us by pretending we don’t have the upper hand here.”

A chill runs through Theo’s spine.

She’s right.

God dammit, she’s right.

Theo runs a hand through his messy hair, the most he’s moved since he sat down. His brain scrambles to come up with something, anything, that he can offer to remedy this. There has to be something of equal value. There has to be something he can give that would make them decide to let you stay. 

“Before you try to come up with some feeble offer, know that we won’t be backing down from this,” Granger says as if she’s reading Theo’s mind. “You won’t be getting Draco Malfoy back unless we get her, regardless of what else you give. She’s the only card you have that could get him back.”

Theo’s eyes snap back to Granger, the anger boiling in his chest.

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” He repeats her words back to her. She smiles at him, but the gesture does not reach her eyes.

“Maybe negotiation is the wrong word for it.” She hums thoughtfully. “It’s more like a plea deal. Take it or leave it.”

~

“You’re up late.”

Theo jumped at the sound of your voice as he quickly flicked the light on.

He didn’t expect to find you in his kitchen, sitting cross legged on the island counter with the lights off. A bowl of what he could only assume was cereal was in your hands.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s four in the morning.”

You glanced up at the clock as well, before shrugging. 

“Fine, you’re up early.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Theo’s mouth. 

He could feel you studying him as you brought the spoon to your mouth. A flush of warmth filled his cheeks as he made his way to the fridge, making it a point to turn away from you. Still, he knew your eyes never left him. 

“You still don’t sleep much, huh?” You asked, mouth full of cereal.

He sighed as he pulled the carton of orange juice off the shelf.

“I’d say I don’t sleep at all these days.”

He popped the top of the carton before bringing it to his mouth and throwing his head back. You watched him carefully, seeming to pause your eating.

“You’re a feral one now, aren’t you?” You asked in a playful tone. “Drinking right from the carton? Who have you become, Theodore Nott?”

He laughed, the sound being so foreign to him these days, before saying, “I generally live alone, and I never host other people. No need to waste a glass, as far as I’m concerned.”

Him ignoring the last comment of yours was intentional. Despite the playfulness behind it, Theo doesn’t know how you would feel about the man he’s become, and he doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. 

You continue to laugh as you shake your head.

“Mad behaviour.”

Theo eyed you. 

“Says the girl sitting on the counter, in the dark, eating cereal.”

You smiled as you take another bite.

“Got me there.”

It had been almost two months since Mattheo had taken you hostage and made you Theo’s problem. In an attempt to keep peace, Theo gave you free reign of the entire manor and all of the land around it. After repairing the furniture in the guest room (multiple times, as you had to get your frustration out somehow), Theo allowed you to stay there. Before his death, Nott Sr. had created a dungeon-esque holding below the house, with cage like cells and torture weapons, but Theo had the area of the house completely closed off upon his arrival as head of estate, and he wasn’t planning to reopen it anytime soon. Besides, the thought of locking you in an actual cell made Theo physically ill. 

“How’s the escape plot going?” Theo asked as he leaned against the counter adjacent from you, juice carton still in hand.

“Considering I can’t apparate because you already had anti apparation wards in place, the wards Mattheo placed that are linked to my DNA so I can’t leave the estate at all, and that bed being the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on…” You listed, raising a finger with every reason. “ … I’d say it’s going quite terribly.”

Theo’s eyebrows hit his hairline as he let out a surprised huff.

“Mattheo has always been quite meticulous.”

“Well, he said he was afraid you’d let me go.”

Theo’s smile faded quite quickly. 

The first couple of weeks following your capture, you had made yourself scarce around the manor, mostly spending time in the North wing. Theo made it a point to stay out of your way. Not only for the sake of your anger, but because he needed to work out his own emotions about you being there. Even in this moment, looking at you in the kitchen, he still hadn’t quite worked out how the whole thing made him him.

After the first couple of weeks, you had slowly started making your way through the manor, exploring every crevice. Every nook and cranny. Theo knew it was to look for a weakness to exploit that could lead to your escape, but he didn’t comment that to you. Just let it sit in the back of his head.

With your emergence from your room also came your increased interactions with the dark haired lad. It was painful at first, just a curt nod here and there, but it slowly built up to exchanging jokes and sarcastic comments, and even as far as the two of you reading books in silence together in the library.

It was almost as if there was never a moment between the days you and him spent together at Hogwarts and now. Just cut the time apart out and sew the rest together like the war never happened.

Theo often found himself wondering if he was one of the weaknesses you were attempting to exploit. 

Your comment about Mattheo believing Theo would let you go did nothing to snuff out that thought.

He tried not to think about it too much.

You watched him carefully as he took another long sip of juice from the carton.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with me yet?” 

Theo rolled his eyes, setting the juice on the black countertop next to him. 

“Nope.”

He didn’t bother to ask how you knew it was even up for debate. You’d always had a knack for just knowing things. And he couldn’t imagine that his debates with Malfoy and Mattheo were as quiet as he would’ve liked them to be.

“What are you leaning towards?” You asked innocently, your eyes studying him. He bit the inside of his cheek as he considered how to answer.

“Let’s see,” He mumbled. “Malfoy thinks I should turn you in. He doesn’t see why you’re useful here, and says you’d be better suited as a healer for… them.” He decided not to say Death Eaters, but you flinched at the idea anyway. “Mattheo thinks I should keep you here.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him as you took another bite of your cereal. Theo mirrored you with the orange juice. 

“But what are you leaning towards?”

“Not turning you in, that’s for damn sure.”

Your gaze pinned him, as your eyes narrow only slightly.

“So I’m stuck here then.” It was more of a statement than a question, and something about it made an ache burst through Theo’s chest. He had no idea how to respond, so he opted to say nothing, instead bringing the juice carton back to his lips. Your eyes followed him. “Theo, you’re a rational person. You know that I don’t want to be here. Why can’t you just let me go back to the Order?”

His eyes fluttered shut.

“It’s complicated.”

You set the bowl down on the counter before looking back up at him.

“Then simplify it for me.” 

All he could say in a breathy whisper was your name.

He didn’t know how. He couldn’t even simplify it for himself. 

~

It all happens at once.

Theo quickly stands, pushing the chair out from under him so quickly that it glides across the floor and into the wall. 

Weasley rushes forward, his wand pointed at Theo.

Mattheo grabs Weasley by the scruff of his shirt, roughly shoving him into the wall with the tip of his wand jabbing into the ginger’s jugular. The impact of his back against the hard surface causes Weasley to drop his wand, which Mattheo swiftly kicks across the floor. 

Granger puts her wand only inches from Mattheo’s head, though he doesn’t appear to notice. 

Theo directs his wand to Granger.

“The difference between you and I, Weasley,” Mattheo hisses in his face. “Is that I don’t have any pathetic qualms about making a person suffer. So please. Point your wand at one of us again. We’ll see who comes out the bigger man.”

“That’s enough, Riddle!” Granger shouts, pressing her wand into Mattheo’s temple. Theo steps forward and jams his wand through her hair and into her occipital scalp.

“Drop it.”

A beat passes.

Mattheo’s face twitches.

Granger slowly lowers her hand, her jaw clenched so tight that Theo is convinced her teeth will crack.

“We all want the same outcome,” She says in a quiet voice, still glaring daggers at Mattheo.

“It’s how we get there that we can’t seem to see eye to eye on,” Theo growls. 

Letting his hand drop back to his side, Theo takes a step back towards the table he had previously been occupying. 

“Let him go, Mattheo.”

The curly haired man glares into Weasley’s face for a moment longer, letting his deep breath smack against the ginger’s face before he shoves him away. Theo’s eyes follow Mattheo as he walks back to his pacing area, and then they flick back to Granger. She looks incensed over what just occurred, as Weasley adjusts his shirt, embarrassment painting his cheeks pink.

Theo opts to stay standing this time. 

“She’s not a part of the equation,” He says in a low tone. “We can give you the maps, Finnegan and Lovegood for Malfoy. Or we can give nothing at all.” 

A draft fills the room as the wind can be heard whipping outside over the silence. 

“And again, we are well aware of Draco’s importance to the Death Eater army,” Granger says in a tone that matches Theo’s. “There is no option. It’s her or nothing.”

Theo fights the urge to curse her.

“Then it’s nothing.”

~

The door hit the wall so hard, Theo could almost feel the drywall dent. In the moment, however, he couldn’t give less of a shit.

You whipped around to face him. The anger on your face couldn’t be missed, but neither could his. For a while, the two of you just stared at each other, speaking through daggered glares and heaving chests, as if words weren’t necessary. 

It was a moment of deja vu, calling back to the first time the two of you met in what became your assigned bedroom of the house. Both times equally as tense, but for radically different reasons. And this time, all of the pieces of furniture were entirely intact. 

Finally, Theo broke the silence.

“What business do you have, entering the field?”

Your nostrils flared.

“What business do you have, almost getting yourself killed?”

A breeze came in through the window, chilling the room further. As if it needed the help. 

“I was handling myself fine,” He said in a low voice. “Injuries are bound to happen-“

“A pelvic fracture and an open head wound are both severe injuries,” You countered in a raised voice. “You may have felt fine in the moment but you wouldn’t have after you lost two liters of blood just from the fractured pelvis alone. You needed care.” 

Theo felt like throwing things as the anger flared heavily in his chest.

“I could’ve apparated back to the manor after-“

“You would’ve splinched yourself with that severe of injuries, Theo,” You snarled, looking exasperated. “Mattheo came and got me.”

Theo made a mental note to kick the absolute shit out of Mattheo the next time he saw him.

“You could’ve said no!” He shouted. “You’re not my bloody on-call healer who gets to risk her life whenever I almost die.” The image of you in the middle of the fight, dodging multiple green casts in your wake, was burned into his retinas. Despite being safe in the Manor now, his chest was still reeling from the panic that flooded his heart and lungs when he fought to get to you.

You took a rushed step forward.

“Don’t fucking do that,” You said in a strained voice. “You don’t get to drag my arse back into your life-“

“You think I wanted this for you?” He shouted, cutting you off. “I didn’t drag you anywhere. I didn’t bring you here. I didn’t ask for this.”

You took another step towards him, more controlled this time. Theo almost took a step backwards to keep the distance.

Almost.

“But you kept me here. Why am I still fucking here, Theo?”

The words left his mouth before his brain had a chance to even consider them.

“Because you fucking left me before I was fucking done with you!”

Theo’s chest heaved, as he stared down at you. The room became painfully silent, the only sound being Theo’s breathing. You were holding your breath. 

“What does that mean?”

Theo didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“You left me to join the Order. You left me behind and I went bloody maniacal. I didn’t know a person could be touch starved for a specific set of hands, but your fingers burned their prints into my skin and I can’t get them to goddamn heal. And then Mattheo dropped you on my fucking door step and it was like I was an imprisoned man who just felt the warmth of the sun for the first time in years.”

You were frozen, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Theo…” A breathy whisper.

Theo shook his head, feeling a mix of anger and desperation in his head and heart. When he spoke, his voice was more calm this time, taking a low tone. 

“If love were a language then the only one I know how to speak is the one we wrote together. I couldn’t lose you again. I can’t lose you again.”

It was unclear who moved first. Maybe Theo. Maybe you. Maybe both. But somehow, the distance between the two of you closed, and Theo’s mouth was crashing against yours.

His left hand was on the small of your back, the other on the back of your head. His fingers weaved through your hair with a firm grip, as if to keep you from pulling away. Your hands were on his cheeks, lightly cradling his head between your palms as your fingertips teased the beginnings of his hairline. 

“I love you,” He said in a silent voice, his lips still pressed against yours in the desperate kiss. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too.” Your words came without a sliver of hesitation.

His tongue parted your lips, as your fingers moved to the back of his head. A groan forced its way up his throat. Your nails against his scalp drove him insane. It always had. Theo knew you knew that well. 

And with that, he pushed you onto the bed. 

~ 

“So…”

Theo closes his eyes at the sound of Mattheo’s voice. His steps are slow as they walk up the pathway of Nott Manor. In an effort to prolong the inevitable, Theo pulls a cigarette from his pocket, setting it between his lips before lighting it with his wand. 

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

Theo looks up at the sky as he blows a plume of smoke upwards to join the clouds. He can’t look at Mattheo.

“No,” He finally says. “We don’t.”

Mattheo pulls a smoke of his own out, lighting it before taking a deep inhale. The only sounds in the air are the wind and his exhale.

“What if we just stopped aiding them?” He suggested after a beat too long of silence. “They’re losing. They need the information we’re feeding them. A few weeks without it would have them feeding out of our palms.”

Theo considers this as he plops down on the top step leading onto the porch. The cold from the wood seeps through his trousers.

Not that his body held any warmth to begin with. Not since he walked out of that bar.

“We don’t have a few weeks.”

Another cloud fills the air.

“The Dark Lord wants Malfoy back now.”

Theo’s heart already feels hollow as he thinks about what he is getting ready to do. 

Mattheo paces the cobblestone pathway, running his fingers through his curls as he takes another long drag of his cigarette.

“There has to be a way.”

Theo studies his friend. There’s very few people Mattheo holds loyalty to. The Order wasn’t on the list, despite the way they were risking everything to help them. The other Death Eaters didn’t have it. Hell, even his own father only held enough of Mattheo’s loyalty to keep him alive. Not enough for it to matter.

But Mattheo, from the moment they met until this moment in front of Nott Manor, was always fiercely loyal to Theo. And the way he desperately tries to come up with a solution to fix this for Theo pulls at his heart.

Because his loyalty to Theo also extends to you. When Theo told Mattheo that he was planning to betray Voldemort’s army in an effort to end the war and keep you with him, Mattheo wasted no time in joining him. No questions asked.

Mattheo was willing to risk his head to keep you safe if that was what Theo needed. And in this moment, Theo knew he didn’t thank his friend enough. 

His hands shake slightly as he brings the cigarette back to his mouth.

“I don’t think there is.”

He doesn’t want to sound as defeated as he does. But as his mind runs a million kilometers a second, it still comes up short on a way of getting out of this. 

Mattheo shakes his head angrily.

“This is bullshit.”

And Theo says nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground as he finishes his cigarette, and plans what he’s going to say once he goes inside. 

~

Oh Merlin, do I really have to leave?

Theo sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your sleeping form. Your back was facing him, the blanket low enough to show the bare skin of your upper torso. 

He swallowed hard.

Five minutes. Just another five minutes.

But he knew he wouldn’t stop at five.

He was in his Death Eater robes, dressed to leave. This meeting wasn’t one he could afford to miss, and yet, watching you sleep in his bed was enough to make him at least consider it. 

Reaching over, he traced the lines of your right scapula, moving down to the left, feeling your smooth skin and shoulder blades beneath his fingertips. Your body rose and fell with every breath you took, but you did not stir at his touch. He brushed your hair down to the side so it all fell concurrently onto the sheets. 

Every time he tried to stand, his legs would defy him. 

Bloody hell, this is impossible, he thought to himself.

The temptation to kiss you was strong, but he resisted. He didn’t want to wake you, because then you would know he was leaving, and then you’d ask questions. One’s he didn’t yet want to offer up the answers to.

You didn’t know what he was about to do.

The door creaked open, making Theo jump. Mattheo stood at the threshold, also in his robes. His eyes flitted between his friend and you, before they settled on Theo again. All he did was nod, a gesture that Theo returned, before turning and leaving once again.

A sigh forcing its way out of his lungs, Theo stood up from the bed. Before walking out the door, he threw one last fleeting glance your way.

This better fucking work.

Once the door to his bedroom was shut, Theo walked through the manor in a flash, before finding Mattheo standing in the front garden. His friend gave him a look, and it was not lost on Theo the anxiety in his expression.

“Are you sure about this?”

Mattheo’s words hung in the air, swirling around above them with the wind. Theo slowly let his head fall backwards as he stared at the sky. For once in his life, his thoughts weren’t racing. He was confident in this decision. He had never been more confident about anything. 

“I’m sure.”

No more words were said. 

Grabbing Mattheo’s forearm, the two men apparated. When they reappeared, it was in an empty warehouse in Sussex. Windows lined the walls just a meter or so below the ceiling. The walls themselves were painted an off white colour that left them looking dirty, with hand prints and muck dusting the paint. It felt too big, in Theo’s opinion. If this were to become a regular thing, they’d need something smaller. With seats, preferably.

The two got to work, placing wards and disillusionment charms everywhere they could. Before they knew it, a whole hour had passed, and they were just finishing up. 

“You know I hate this right?” Mattheo asked as they regrouped in the center of the giant room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not what we’re doing necessarily but this meeting?”

Theo had to fight the urge to laugh.

“You think I like this any more than you do?”

Mattheo shook his head as he looked around the warehouse, taking in the metal beams that lined the ceiling. 

Theo took the moment of quiet to get his thoughts in order. Ever since he sent that damn letter, he had dreaded this moment. And now it was here, and though he had spent countless hours stewing and preparing, right now, he felt completely naked and defenseless. 

A sensation filled the air. Theo looked over at the same time that Mattheo did. The door creaked open, the sound echoing off the walls and around the air, before Hermione Granger, followed by Ron Weasley, the Weasley twins, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, another Weasley they couldn’t place, and the blonde Triwizard Tournament champion from fourth year who Theo, for the life of him, could not remember the name of.

“All Gryffindors, mostly Weasels,” Mattheo mumbled under his breath. “Too much bloody red around here.” 

Theo fought the impulse to laugh.

The crowd of Order members approached them, all looking apprehensive. Granger stepped forward, her eyes jumping between the two of them.

“Nott.” When her eyes bounced back to Mattheo, the disdain became more apparent. When she spoke again, she spat the word out. “Riddle.”

Mattheo gritted his teeth as Theo took a step forward, saving them the risk of what would happen if Mattheo were the next to speak.

“Granger.”

He debated on greeting the others, but decided against it. There simply wasn’t time for pleasantries. Besides, Theo didn’t particularly want to be polite to them. And he knew that Mattheo wanted nothing more than to raze the whole warehouse just because he saw that familiar flash of ginger hair one time, let alone several. So it was probably best to get right to the point.

“What’s this about?” The unfamiliar Weasley called out. 

It was hard for Theo not to grow annoyed. The amount of people in the building had him feeling overwhelmed, though he couldn’t exactly blame him. How else should they have responded? It could’ve been a trap, for all they knew. 

The moment Theo reached into his back pocket, a swarm of wands were pointing in his direction. In his periphery, he could see Mattheo’s fists clench. though he was grateful that his friend didn’t immediately start spitting off hexes and Unforgivables. Theo froze more out of politeness than fear, then slowed his movements down. With the same speed as a snail, he pulled out a couple of scrolls, tossing it on the floor halfway between where he stood and where she stood. The wands all moved to point at the scroll in the same way they would point at a bomb. 

“Those are plans for upcoming raids on your safe houses,” Theo explained. “Now you can be better prepared.”

The reaction was comical. At least, to Theo, it was.

Granger stared at the scrolls, her mouth agape. Ron and Ginny kept their wands pointed at it in a way that suggested they were convinced it was anything but a scroll. The twins backed away from it entirely. Dean Thomas stared not at the scroll, but at Mattheo specifically, confusion painting his expression. The unfamiliar Weasley with the scars on his face jumped away when Theo threw the scroll, and had not moved since. And the blonde looked like she wanted to approach it, but was too afraid to let her feet move. 

Granger was the first to speak.

“Why should we trust you?”

A draft filled the room.

“Trust us or don’t,” Mattheo quipped. “You’re losing. You’ve been losing. Pathetically. We’re guaranteeing you a win right now. Whether you decide to take that chance is up to you.”

The silence was deafening as the members of the Order all exchanged looks, looking absolutely flabbergasted by this turn of events. It was clear they were trying to have a conversation through their facial expressions. Every muscle in Theo’s body tensed as he waited for their reaction. 

This has to work, He thought to himself. 

This will work.

“What do you get out of this?”

Granger’s words hung in the hair, and though the question was for the both of them, her eyes were pointedly trained on Mattheo. When the two Death Eaters remained silent, she continued. 

“You’re betraying your families. Your fathers. What could you possibly have to gain, besides maybe a pardon from execution if we win?” She sneers. “And even that isn’t guaranteed.”

Visions of you lying in his bed, only covered by the duvet cover, overtook Theo’s head. He found himself wondering if you’d woken up yet. If you’d eaten. If you’d slept well. If you’d realised he’d left. The lump in his throat felt like a bolder when he swallowed it down. His fingertips burned with the feeling of your bare skin underneath them. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Theo sees Mattheo glance over at him. 

This is, after all, Theo’s doing. So it’s his question to answer. 

“Family isn’t everything,” Theo said in a low tone. “And some people are worth yielding for.”

~

Rise.

Fall.

Rise.

Fall.

It takes Theo a full half hour before he finally finds you in the manor. Here you are, curled up on the couch in the library with one of his robes covering you like a blanket. Your back faces him as your face is nuzzled against the fabric of the back of the couch. 

Deja vu hits him hard.

Instead of waking you, Theo sits on the ottoman beside you and counts the amount of breaths you take. At the moment, he’s up to about sixty since he started. It’s easier on his heart to sit in the silence, only filled with your quiet snores.

It’s easier for his heart to handle than what it knows he has to do. 

But he knows that he’s only prolonging the inevitable.

Letting out a deep sigh, Theo reaches over and places his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. 

“Hey,” He says in a low voice in an attempt to not startle you. “It’s me. Wake up.”

Your head springs upward, looking around at the back of the couch before you roll over to face Theo. The way your eyes light up at the sight of him makes his heart ache in a way he’ll never be able to describe. It’s like he misses you before you’ve even left. 

A soft yawn takes over your face for just a brief moment, and is quickly replaced with a tired smile.

“How’d it go?”

Theo bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste blood.

I can’t do this.

I can’t do this.

You have to do this.

“Not great.”

The smile fades from your face. As quickly as your still waking up body allows, you sit up, rolling over to face him entirely. Theo sits up straight as you pause, watching as the wheels turn in your head to process what he had said.

“What happened?” Your voice is so small, and something about it gives Theo the impression that you already know where this conversation is about to go. He sighs heavily. The pain in his upper back makes it feel like he has the entire world on his shoulders.

“They wouldn’t return Malfoy to us,” He explains. In an effort to hide the shake in his voice, he speaks slowly. “They… they had specific conditions for his release.” 

The hush blanketing the room is only pacified by the pounding in Theo’s ears. 

If there is one thing about you that Theo knows deeply, it’s that you can’t keep your emotions off your face. So it’s to his great dismay that he watches your expression shift from confusion, to thoughtful, to realisation.

“They want me, don’t they?”

The words feel like a bullet each, piercing through Theo’s chest and implanting straight into his heart. 

I can’t bloody do this.

“Yes.”

Suddenly, the quiet that overtakes the room is less welcome as that one single word hangs over the two of you like a storm cloud threatening a downpour. The way Theo’s mind runs a million kilometers a second makes it so deafening. He can see the conflict on your face as you consider what needs to be done. The downward cast of your sleep stained eyes and the way you curl your lip in thought makes him want to burn the entire Order to the ground so he doesn’t have to even consider losing you.

He sucks in through his nose as the hand on his knee clenches tightly into a fist.

When your eyes drift back up to meet his, matching resolve in your expression, Theo has to swallow down the urge to cry. 

“When?”

His nails dig into his palm.

“Mattheo’s going to take you once you’re ready.”

A frown crosses over your face. 

“You're not going?” 

Theo can’t recall another time in his life where he’s felt as broken as he does now, looking into your sad stricken and confused eyes.

He’s losing you again.

He’s losing you again. 

“I can’t.” He swallows the lump in his throat that makes his words come out choked. “I… I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

He lets the rest of his thoughts remain left unsaid. That he would kill them before they could even leave the area with you. That he’d kill every last one of them for taking the only good thing he’d had during this god forsaken war. The entire reason he had broken his loyalties to the Dark Lord in an attempt to put it to an end. 

And now, he has to watch you leave him.

Again.

Anguish and surprise conflict your face, making him take your hand in his and hold it tightly.

“I’ll figure it out, okay?” The desperation in his voice is so palpable that you can feel it bleeding onto the skin of your fingertips. Theo’s eyes never leave yours. “I’ll finish this. For you. For us.”

You fill the spaces between his fingers with your own.

You haven’t even left yet, but Theo begins to dread the ghost of your touch that will be left behind once you are. It’s a feeling he knows too intimately.

“What if we lose?” You ask him in a soft whisper. “Or what if one of us doesn’t make it?”

The air leaves Theo’s lungs, evaporating from the heat of your words.

He wants to dig a bunker and hide you in it, keeping you far away from the sins of the war and the pain of ever leaving his side. He wants to blow up the world and watch from space with you on his arm. He wants to do anything, literally anything that would take away the hurt in your eyes. 

Images of the many ways he wishes to kill the Dark Lord and end this devastation flash through his mind.

“I need you to hear me when I say this,” Theo says in a slow tone. “I will do whatever it takes to ensure my return to you. Even if that means I have to blow through the gates of hell myself and crawl out of my grave. Make no bloody mistake. I will come back for you.”

[whatislovevavy]

Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure

Jake Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Hangman and Cherry have never been able to be in the same room as the other without nearly ripping each other's throats out. Hangman provides a solution that provides her a sense of freedom and pleasure that she begins to crave.

Warnings: Smut, P in V, degradation, hot pilots being delusional and horny

Word Count: 3.4k

Soph's Collection of Literature

A note: This is a nice little piece I made for @roosterforme's TopGun 80's Rocktober Challenge using Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to Rule the World. The lovely divider was made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more. I hope you enjoy <3

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

“God, you’re such a dick,” 

You almost missed the way his lips curved into a smirk into the sensitive flesh of the column of your neck. Hands gripping into his shoulders as he sucked at your pulse, pushing your hips into the cold metal lockers behind you with a resonating bang, his broad hands digging into your Nomex clad waist enough to leave marks.  

Time was not in your favor, and you could sense that the team had their suspicions about what Hangman and Cherry were doing while they weren’t trying to rip the other to shreds on the tarmac.  

“I always did like you more when you were too busy takin' my cock to say your little bratty comments,” he growled into your throat. 

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way his gravelly tone and filthy words made you want to clench your thighs around his lean waist.

A huff left your lips. 

He was absolutely vexing. 

His hands gripped harder into your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your ass, making you let out what could be best described as a repressed sigh. 

And shameless and cocksure. 

He harshly sucked at the flesh of your neck, sure to leave angry, deep purple marks in his wake, the act making you hiss.

A significant part of you had stopped caring to cover up the traces of your rendezvous; new ones would be there the following day or later in the week anyway.

And was absolutely filled to the brim with brazen confidence and a glaring disregard for others. 

You had to bite into the soft, plump flesh of your lip to silence yourself as his mouth made you want to softly whimper. 

Chewing him out only turned him on, and ignoring him just made him press harder into your nerves. 

You couldn’t win with him. Maybe that was why you let yourself have this arrangement. 

To see if you could win, and claim victory over the infamous Hangman that had women for miles lined up for a chance to warm his bed. 

Because just like him, you craved victory. 

His fingers frantically reached for your front zipper, pulling the dark green material down your body, exposing more and more flesh by the second to his ravenous mouth. 

A sigh passed your lips as he fondled your breast, bringing your tank top down to expose your pebbled nipple to the cooler air of the locker room with a gasp, taking the sensitive flesh into his warm mouth with a deep growl. 

You hated that he had this effect on you. 

Not in a way that itched your skin, but in a way that made your insides swirl and buzz with…

A low whine pulled its way past your lips as he let the rough pads of his fingers run through your folds. 

“Mhm, so wet, Cherry. This all f’me?”

His chest inflated with pride at the glare you shot him. 

He watched with salacious eyes as he removed his fingers, “Come on, sweets, we both know ya don’t get this wet for just anyone.”

You watched as he let his tongue glide over his bottom lip, his gaze heavy on your flushed cheeks and glazed over eyes. 

Agitation overcame you at the sight of him as he closed his eyes, humming at the taste of you on his fingers, trying to ignore how much you ne-wanted his touch again. 

And trying to remember how much you hated it when he called you that little endearment with that irritating southern drawl of his. 

Maybe this whole arrangement was to gain some freedom from this chase you both did with each other, to put your hatred for him to better use. 

To have an outlet. Yeah that was it. An outlet. A reprieve from your hatred induced frustrations. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His dry laugh made your insides burn and your nails dig into his shoulders just that much harder. 

He nipped at your jaw as your nails dug harshly into the back of his neck.

The act made him growl into the column of your throat, the vibrations making you almost shiver. 

“I already do, sweets. You wouldn’t keep coming back if it weren't the case.”

You scoffed. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

His lip quirked. 

“And so god-damn frustrating.”

He hummed, his ego growing like his cock in the thin confines of his flight suit with each breathless word that passed sweet, no-faults-in-sight, perfect straight shooter Cherry’s lips. 

“But I’m not wrong,” he replied, giving your neck a playful nip. 

“I never said you were right, and don’t call me sweets,” you quipped back, trying to keep your voice steady as he sucked at your pulse point. 

He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot against your skin, “always so feisty, Cherry,”

Your words died on your lips as his lips lathed at your chest, softly biting into your nipple. A soft sigh left your lips as he soothed your flesh with his frustratingly nimble tongue. 

His touch almost made you miss him as he took a second to pull down his flight suit, his white undershirt clashing with his golden tan skin and clinging to his biceps. The imprint of his dog tags showing through his cotton shirt. Your eyes followed the path of the white fabric as he unveiled the sharp ridges and dips of hard muscle from his defined adonis belt, to his marble carved abs that seemed to go on for days, to his pectorals and thick, broad shoulders. 

"We don't have all day, Bagman," you said, voice lacking the authority you hoped it would still have.  

His muffled dry laugh made your jaw clench and stomach flip. 

Your voice couldn't have sounded that desperate, could it? 

His lip quirked, revealing pearly white teeth.

"Didn't realize you were in a rush, got a hot date later?"

Your eyes narrowed, his teasing smile grating on your nerves. 

"As a matter of fact, I do," you managed to say without your voice sounding too breathless or shaky. 

His eyes narrowed for only a millisecond. 

A flash of something you've never seen before.

In his eyes, at least. 

But as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

"Mhm," he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning down to kiss at your neck, coming up to your tender ear lobe, giving the soft flesh a delicate bite that had a hitched breath leaving your parted lips.

You hated how well versed he was in the subtle language of your body.

He firmly squeezed your hips in his broad hands, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your bunched up flight suit to your ass.  

You almost shivered at his warm breath settling against your ear. 

"Does he know he's gonna be getting sloppy seconds?"

A scoff passed your lips, "I don't see how that's of any concern to you."

He hissed as your nails dug harder into the back of his neck. 

"We both know you don't date. That's why this works so well, "he said dryly as he kissed at your neck, slowly pulling the Nomex material below your waist, your legs moving at their own accord to step out of the sleeves. 

He had a point. An annoying and frustrating point.

"It's the first date anyway," you replied, choosing to ignore the evident vibrations of the chord he just struck through your chest.

He let his jade, evergreen eyes settle on you. 

Those same eyes that could read you like a book he's read a hundred times over. 

His lip quirked, eyebrows scrunching in amusement.  

"That's really romantic, Cherry, really. Showing up with another man's cum dripping down your thighs as he sweats himself on the first date." 

Your mouth dried up, utterly speechless at the  words he said with that trademark Hangman confidence.  

Your eyes narrowed, eyebrows softly pinching together. 

A smirk grew on his lips that made you want to slap him, or pull his lips towards yours. 

You couldn't decide. 

He kept his heated, lust-bright gaze on yours as he trailed his calloused fingers in between the material of your panties and your soft, supple skin, relishing in the feel of gooseflesh he left in his wake. 

You watched as let his gaze shift downwards, clicking his tongue. 

"Cherry, you shouldn't have... you wore my favorite pair just for me?"

You bit your lip as he continued to toy with the soft, blush pink material of your undergarment. 

That same full-of-himself smirk that you hated curved his lips. 

But do you know what you hated more?

The fact that you couldn't help but feel like some part of you purposely decided to wear the pair, and not because you purely wanted to, but because there was a part of you that wanted to wear them just for him. 

He gently rolled them down your thighs, letting you step out of them. 

He let his hand drift under the back of your thigh to behind your knee, grasping your leg and lifting it to bend at his hip before snatching the pair of pink panties that hung off your ankle. 

Your eyes followed his hand as he bunched the material between his dexterous fingers. 

"Excuse me, I'd like those back," you snipped.

His lip quirked. 

"If you're good, I'll consider it, sweets."

You huffed, glaring at the smirk and subsequent wink he sent you. 

Your glare worsened as he brought the material to his nose, taking a deep inhale, a deep sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips, doing your damnedest to ignore the soft throbbing of your clit at the sight, and to suppress the whine that threatened to bubble up in your throat. 

"Always smell so sweet, Cherry, like a perfect, little cherry pie." He murmured as he placed the debauched material into the pocket of his flight suit.  

"You're disgusting and don't call me sweets," you gritted back, raising your voice with a snarl that Jake knew was all bark and no bite.

At least with him. 

He gave that salacious smile that always made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or knock his perfect teeth out. Or fuck him. Or grab him by his hair and-

Your jaw tensed, nostrils flaring. 

His smile widened, evidently proud of the rouse of emotion he pulled from you. 

You were too much fun to tease. 

"Shhh,” you could have sworn that you saw red the moment the condescending noise left his lips, “someone's gonna hear ya if you keep that up, and ya wouldn't want someone to see just how well I can get along with ya, right Cherry? Make ya make such sweet, absolutely sinful sounds f’me?” 

Heat rose to your cheeks, much to your unending irritation with the visceral response this man managed to pull out of you each time he had you. 

Whether it was the Hard Deck bathroom during the saturday night rush, that one time at the beach long after Bob Floyd’s birthday celebration, or on the other side of Admiral Simpson’s white fence during the Fourth of July BBQ that past summer. 

A chuckle broke free from his chest as you laid a smack to his thick pectoral, eyes still sharp and full of what could be described as a cauldron of hate and lust to anyone else who had the misfortune of interrupting their, what could be described as, animalistic rutting.  

He pulled down his flight suit to settle down to the tiled floor with a small thump, his body only clad in his signature pair of Calvin Klein briefs. 

That was another thing you hated about him; he looked good in anything. 

It pained you to say that he could easily have become a model if the Navy hadn't worked out. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders before softly tracing down his body, over each ridge, each chord, each plane of muscle and bulging vein that made you salivate more than you would care to admit. 

He pulled his briefs down, letting his thick cock that always forced you to take a minute to adjust to sprung up against his adonis belt with a soft tap. 

A soft sigh passed your lips as he gently traced at the embarrassingly soaked folds of your cunt with the pads of his fingers.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin would never admit it, but he was disappointed he didn't have the time to taste you, to savor what he would describe as the intoxicating taste of candied cherries that dribbled down your flushed folds like a sweet nectar. 

Sweet nectar from a poisonous, intolerable, type-A personality fruit. 

He hated that he wanted to quirk his lip at the birthmark just above your soft, sensitive little clit. To hear that sweet sinful sound he, disappointedly, hadn't been able to find in anyone else when he fucked you with his tongue. 

A soft puff of breath passed your lips as he lined up the angry, red bulbous head at your flushed cunt. Grunting as his sensitive head met your drenched folds. 

His entrancing eyes hurriedly met yours. 

You feverishly nodded. 

Jake pushed his length into the delicious inferno of your tight, little pussy. 

Your breath felt like cement in your lungs as he let his full, long, thick length accommodate itself into your welcoming heat. 

He let his head fall to the crook in her shoulder, her nails still gripping into the thick cords of muscle of his shoulders, trying to ground yourself. 

"Jesus, Cherry,” he murmured. 

God, the way his voice graveled out praise was the most unfortunate consequence of this arrangement that still affected you hours after your trysts. 

His cock seemed to push any capability of forming coherent sentences out of your body. 

All that passed your lips were sharp intakes of breath and low mewls that left your throat without your consent. 

He gave an experimental thrust into your heat, letting your soft sighs of pleasure meet his ears as you adjusted to his length.  

Your breath hitched as he brought your other leg around his waist, his biceps bulging with the effort of thrusting into you against the smooth, metal locker doors. 

"More."

"Come on, sweets, you can do better than that." 

He smirked at your breathless tone.

If his cock didn’t feel like the only thing you needed at the moment to live, you would have told him to go fuck himself. 

You laid your head back against the dark gray metal surface, eyes meeting his fiery, lush, emerald gaze, voice frozen in your throat, lips parted. 

He manhandled your legs, forcing them to cross around his waist, gripping your waist in his broad hand in a borderline painful grip. 

His other hand brought up to grip at the sides of your throat. A low moan came from your lips that had him smirking deviously and your cheeks turning red, utterly at the mercy of him and his thick cock that was rubbing deliciously at that spot he always found with maddening accuracy. 

“Please, more,” 

Those two words made you cringe with embarrassment, unable to stop the small whimper that passed your bite swollen lips. 

His salacious chuckle met your ears, making your cheeks burn brighter.

“God, I can never get used to you like this… so needy and desperate. You become such a sweet girl when I get my dick in ya. Haven’t even started yet, and you're already babbling like a cock-drunk little slut.”

All you could do was part your lips and muster enough composure to utter two simple words. 

“F-fuck you,”

His eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, leaning his head towards your ear. The scent of bergamot and cedar wood filling your senses.

“You already are, sweets,” he growled, sharply thrusting into your sopping wet cunt. 

Your gasp and tightening of your grip into his shoulder and hand that settled at your neck had him throbbing against your velvet walls that oh so begged him to never leave. 

“Fuck, Cherry, I bet you don’t even hate me,” he panted, “not,” thrust, “even,” thrust, “a little,” thrust, “bit.” 

Your cries of pleasure spilled from your lips and into the empty on base locker room, fingernails gripping and scratching into him almost enough to draw blood.  

He gripped your throat just a bit harder, enough to have your eyes rolling back, wanton moans pouring from your lips as he pistoned his hips into your cunt. 

He yanked your neck closer to his. Close enough to see the small specks of hazel in his almost unending green eyes. And the kink in his nose he got when he broke it back at the Naval Academy. And to smell the potent scent of you on his breath. 

“I think you just need someone who can fuck you like this. Treat you like a slut and fuck your tight, little hole. Just like you need.” He gritted out, continuing to pound up into your dripping heat that dribbled your arousal to the tile floor below. 

You couldn’t help the labored pants of breath as you nodded feverishly, your consciousness shutting down and your own body taking over. 

He let out a dark chuckle with a carnal grin, his abdomen feeling tight as his balls slapped against the underside of your ass, his release building. 

“God, you’re fucking adorable for thinking anyone else could fuck you like this,” he snarled.

Your high pitched whines and obscene moans had him gripping you that much tighter and chasing your high. 

“Oh, fuck, please!”

He could feel the sweat building at his forehead and chest as he pistoned his hips into your pretty pink, flushed, little pussy.

He ne-wanted you to come first. His ego demanded it. Demanded that he bend you to his will. 

His spine tingled at the feeling of your walls spasming around his dick at his brutal pace.

You shuddered at the feeling of his mouth near the soft cartilage of your ear, breathing caught in your throat.

“Please what, sweets? Use your words.” he growled. 

“Please, Please… make me cum.” 

A deep chested groan rumbled through his throat at your pathetic whine, “fuck, I’ll make you cum, sweets, I’ll make you cum,” he growled. 

Your body was wracked by tremors as he thrusted, channeling each ounce of strength in his body into pummeling your flushed cunt. 

He watched as your eyes clenched shut, eyebrows pinching together as your feather soft lips parted into a strangled moan that was much louder than the previous ones.

In a split second, he crashed his lips to yours, swallowing each sound of pleasure that escaped your body as he finally felt your walls choke his cock for all he was worth. Your breath mixed with his as your chest heaved, his hips still pistoning into your no doubt raw cunt. 

Oversensitivity wracked your body, making you cry out as his chest heaved and lips swallowed each cry and moan. Stars and galaxies flashed before your eyes as he kept his grip on your throat, chasing his high as your second one consumed you.  

You could feel with each thrust, how his cock throbbed against your slick, sensitive walls.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he grunted out, a gut punch groan resonating against the locker walls that encased you both. 

Your clit tingled at the feeling of his release painting your walls, squirming with each soft impact they landed against your delicate cervix.  

His head fell down to your shoulder as his chest heaved, breathing heavy. 

You felt as though your head was spinning as your breathing evened out, absentmindedly running your fingers along the pebbled chain of the dog tags that settled between his pecs on a soft bed of sparse, golden chest hair and freckles sparingly scattered across his chest.

Your fingers paused, retracting them to hold onto his shoulder as his breathing settled.

This arrangement was meant to get you both the most of freedom and of pleasure. 

Nothing more and nothing less. 

He placed a kiss along your neck. His soft touch almost made you sigh.  

Almost.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut, basking in the moment of feeling him still inside you. His softening cock letting his release dribble around the seams of where his cock perfectly encased itself between your folds.  

His head rose up to meet your face, cheeks flushed and sensuous evergreen eyes that seemed to glow with a post high gaze.

“Meet same time tomorrow?”

People who may be interested <3

@roosterforme @sebsxphia @mamachasesmayhem @withahappyrefrain @entertainmentgirl80 @teacupsandtopgun @seresinhangmanjake @goldenseresinretriever @sailor-aviator @hello7442 @gigisimsonmars @yepyeahuhhuh @tess-lecter-blog@hookslove1592 @86laura11 @seresinsbrat @isabelstardis @shamelessghostwagonwobbler @emma8895eb @taytaylala12 @kmc1989 @h-ngm-ns @hangmans-wingman @marvel-hotchner @nemesis729 @a-lil-bit-nuts @justagirllivinginaghibliworld @mizzzpink @themusingofagothicsoul @potato-girl99981  @a-beaverhausen   @callmemana@joalslibrary @peachiicherries @whiskeyswriting @jkbindigo11 @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @chaoticassidy @superskittles @cherrycola27 @cheekymcgrath @djs8891 @novastories@urmom-999 @zombicupcake3 @catsficrecs @abaker74 @kmc1989 @hangmanshoney @caidi-paris @i-wanna-be-your-muse @shara-ne @memeorydotcom @memoriesat30@shanimallina87 @whoeverineedtobe @slippinginto-theairwaves

[edelgarfield]

"so much of our history tells us that pain is what gives purpose" essek im going to need you to unpack that for like three hours.

like is he specifically talking abt his experience after meeting m9, where he thought suffering was the only way to atone for what he's done?

OR is essek saying that's what he thought his whole life prior to meeting m9 and learning there was fulfillment in happiness? (and i think this is the case bc the use of the phrase "our history" seems to imply essek sees this point of view as common, or "default" and that it's something that needs to be unlearned, which he's done)

because essek's moral philosophy & past is a big mystery prior to m9, like we know the broad strokes, he was isolated & prized knowledge above other lives, but we don't fully know where those ideas sprang from. and to some extent, I think it ultimately doesn't matter, bc so much of m9's personal philosophy is about letting go of past pain & choosing to be better moving forward, but that's a whole other post.

but this line imo gives a small peek into how he viewed the world before m9, and it's like. it makes sense, for someone who feels isolated & ostracized for thinking differently to view that struggle as a necessary burden. the idea of the "tortured prodigy" is extremely common, that great accomplishment whether artistic or academic necessitates suffering, both as a result of one's status as a genius & as a means of further developing that skill.

I just think it's super interesting bc imo it implies essek pre-m9 was FULLY aware of how miserable he was, but never took any steps to change it bc he thought suffering was the cost of success. which given it was his radical viewpoints that isolated him, that makes sense. the thing he wants most, knowledge & study of dunamancy, is the very thing that causes him the most pain. this viewpoint is one that not only disregards personal attachment/happiness, but actively discourages any attempt at making connections bc being happy means failure. (and I'm sure if you were to go back & show 80 year old essek his current circumstances, he WOULD consider it failure. essek gave up on the pursuit of knowledge in favor of forming connections with others & atonement.)

i also think this ties in with essek's superiority complex pre-m9, like, he thinks he's better & stronger than others bc he's able to endure suffering. other people pursue happiness & essek see that as a flaw in their character, he's better bc he's able to forego happiness for loftier goals. and it lends itself to the apathy necessary to sacrifice thousands of lives for the pursuit of power. sacrifice is an inevitable cost of advancement.

and i also think that encapsulates the struggles within bell's hells atm, the idea that pain needs to have a purpose, that there has to be a REASON for the trauma & pain we've experienced and as a result, holding onto that pain instead of letting it go

[witchy8464]

Let Go of Me - Anthony Lockwood x gn! reader

This is my first oneshot! Let me know if you have any feedback.

Summary: The reader takes the place of Lucy, and contacts Annabel Ward. They end up possessed, and bring up all sorts of emotions in Lockwood.

Lockwood & Co. isn’t the most prestigious agency. They lit a house on fire, investigated the death of an 80’s actress, jumped into the River Thames in the middle of the night, and had a certain disregard for the rules that tended to get them in trouble. But 35 Portland Row was your home, and would be for a long time coming. You possessed the talents of Touch and Sight, but while your Touch was exceptionally strong, your Sight was not, and you couldn’t see visitors all that well, so you spent more of your time doing research for missions, more of the logistical work. Having worked for Lockwood for almost as long as George, the three of you were a very tight knit group.

Lucy was a very welcome addition. You couldn’t keep up with Lockwood in the field, and George wasn’t exactly able to curb his self-destructive tendencies, so when Lucy proved to not only surpass Lockwood’s own abilities as well as provide him with a new found will to live, you could feel nothing but happiness for them, right?

The real problem lay in your heart, where concerning feelings had been bubbling for a while. Every night that George and Lockwood were on another case, you had been unable to sleep, petrified that it would be the last time you would see either of them. Lying awake, you would nervously think about what you would do if Anthony had died. You certainly cared deeply for George, but not quite the same as you did Anthony.

For the longest time, you had convinced yourself that you were more concerned for Lockwood because he was so self destructive, and while that was certainly part of the reason, you eventually couldn’t deny the fact that you were deeply and truly in love with Anthony John Lockwood.

__

Lockwood was apprehensive about waking you. You were a very polite person, and wouldn’t really mind, but he knew about your stress filled nights, staying awake until he and George showed up on the doorstep. 

On the other hand, he knew if he didn’t you would berate him in the morning for not letting you help. 

Lockwood snuck into the corner of the basement, rapier at his side, and gently shook you awake. He had originally tried to get you to take the room in the attic, but you had insisted on sleeping in a corner of the basement, claiming that it was cozier down there. 

You awoke groggily, emerging from your cocoon of blankets. 

“Annabel Ward’s ghost’s here.”

“...Shit.”

__

Every time you thought you had lost all sense of sanity you manage to find a scrap to lose. Now you were sitting in a chair, in the middle of the library, about to try and commune with Annabel Ward’s ghost. Whoop de doo. 

Lucy had wanted to do it, but you had insisted, knowing your Touch was much stronger and that she’d had a long day, and you didn’t want to stress her anymore. 

walks

Lockwood walked up to you, ring in hand, “If she takes any liberties, we’re right here, okay?” 

Gently lowering the ring into your hand, you raise your thumb to brush his, as if to say ��it’s okay. I’ll be okay.’

As Lockwood steps back, fear brimming in his eyes, you close yours, wrapping your fingers around the ring. 

You feel a chill immediately rush over you body, quickly replaced with a kind of fuzzy warmth. You feel joyous, light-hearted, and… and like everything is perfect. 

“She’s… happy.” you say, feeling Annabel’s lover watching her. Is it admiration in his eyes? Is it love? “She… she loves him.”

You feel a swirl of adrenaline, dancing to a song. It’s an important song, their song. Annabel spins and spins, her skirt flowing around her legs. The sun shone through the window, lighting your face as he smiled. He… He loved you right? That was what he felt for Annabel? For you?

You stood up, your eyes still tightly shut, and took a step forward. And another. 

“She… she doesn’t know if he loves her.” And another. “I… I don’t think he does. She’s trying to convince herself.”

You feel the warmth creep a little too high. Slowly, slowly it feels oh so uncomfortable, beginning to feel fear, as he stands up. As your lover stands up. He’s saying something, calling you a liar. And another step. You’re begging him now, telling him to listen, that you didn’t do anything.

Your eyes fly open, inches away from Anthony.

“He’s angry,” you whisper, as if afraid you’ll set Annabel’s lover off. “She’s… She’s so afraid.”

Some kind of switch flips, and now you’re smiling at Anthony, but it’s a pained smile, he can tell. Your hand reaches out to cup his cheek, and the touch burns Anthony’s skin. His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away.

“It’s all right,” you reassure him, looking at him with such love in your eyes. “He loves me. You love me, don’t you?”

Your face is pleading, begging him to tell you ‘yes, yes I love you’ but in his heart, Anthony knows this is not you. But when you look at him like that… How long has it been since someone held him gently? Since someone loved him? Is it okay for him to love someone like this again? What if… what if you see him for who he is? What if you hate him for it?

You lean in, “You gave me the ring. He’d never hurt me,” you plead with Anthony, tears beginning to bubble to the surface. “He doesn't mean it.”

You’re trying desperately to convince yourself that it’s all okay, that loving him isn’t causing you so much pain. That Anthony isn’t hurting you. 

“You love me, right?” your voice is straining, desperate to reach him. “You’d never…”

“We need to stop this. Now.” He can’t bear to watch you like this.

“Let’s just see what happens,” George says.

“Lockwood’s right,” Lucy interjects.

“No, don’t.” You interrupt, “Look at me,” your arms are gripping Anthony’s tight, drawing his attention back to you. “Look at me.”

Anthony whispers your name gently, as if speaking too loud might shatter you into a million pieces. 

“Look!” you shout, the tears at the edges of your eyes just now beginning to fall. 

A feeling of tightness begins to constrict around your throat, and all of a sudden you can’t breathe. You grip Anthony harder, your nails beginning to dig into his skin.

“No, stop,” you plead, looking for some semblance of the man you fell in love with. 

You gasp for air, you’re not ready to die. Anthony looks at you, nothing but horror on his face. He’s terrified, he can’t lose you, but what should he do now? What if he pulls you out and you die right then and there?

“Stop,” you beg, pulling yourself back, away from Lockwood. 

“Stop, please!” your yelps are getting more desperate as your grip begins to hurt.

Anthony doesn’t know what to do. 

“Ow! You’re hurting me! Don’t,” you’re begging him, trying to convince yourself that it will all be okay, that the mere sight of him isn’t causing you pain, that Lockwood doesn’t kill everything he loves.

“Look! Stop, please!” your shouts are tearing through every wall he’s ever built., “Let go of me!”

Your arms are tearing at your neck, pulling at your sweater, trying to get air into your lungs. Tears are streaming down your face.

“I can’t… Let me breathe!” you choke out.

Anthony grasps your shoulders, trying to shake you out, to do anything, because you are dying. You are dying and he can’t help you, just like he can’t help anyone.

“Annabel, Annabel stop it!” he shouts because he can’t lose you too.

George runs to the window.

“Let go of me!”

The curtains are flung open, the light of dawn filling the room as the chair you had been sitting in minutes prior flings itself into the bookshelf, narrowly missing Lucy.

Anthony had grabbed you and thrown the two of you against the couch, shielding you with his own body. 

“He… choked her to death,” you whisper, body trembling.

As soon as you got the words out, you pass out in Anthony’s arms, your tear-stained face landing against his arms.

[bricky-brikson]

I am perfectly normal about the Psychonauts timeline

Spoiler warning for...everything.

As I was playing Psychonauts 2, I had a vibe that Ford and the Psychic Seven were active during the late 1920s, early 1930s, mostly because of the Model T Ford in Cruller's Correspondence, but also because of the biplane in the diorama of Ford fighting Maligula from Fatherland Follies. But there were some issues with that - namely the Feel Mobile which resembles more a model of van released around 1964. I feel compelled to mention it looks like the Motherlobe is trapped in the 70s, technology-wise.

So I looked up the timeline on the Psychonauts fandom wiki, as well as the blurb from Psychonauts about the history of Whispering Rock. And while clicking through the wiki, I found a copy of the Li-Po document, which contains the following line:

[...] when [Ford Cruller] was [...] away fighting for the Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War [...]

Firstly, based.

Secondly, that means Ford had to be at least 16* by 1937 (when American volunteers were sent to Spain). At least if we are to believe that this...very specific part of the Li-Po document is still canon. Which...I mean, we could. We know Ford was already an adult when he assembled the Psychic Seven, but we don't know how old he was. From the looks of him in the mental vaults and illustrations, he was definitely older than 16 (considering the full moustache). Meaning that it is possible Ford spent his younger years fighting in the Lincoln Brigade, then when he matured started looking more into his and others' psychic powers.

Possible? Yes. Plausible? Ehhh...considering the story of Psychonauts 2 is deeply tied to the trauma the Psychic Seven endured surrounding the Grulovian Civil War then the Deluge of Grulovia, I doubt that Ford's previous involvement in a very bloody battalion (22.5% of Lincoln Battalion fighters died in the Spanish Civil War) would have gone unmentioned. Since it makes no appearance in Psychonauts 2, I think it's safe to say it's no longer canon.

So where does that leave us? With the only statement from the devs (specifically Tim Schafer himself) that points us towards a date for the game's events:

"We think of it as taking place in the 80's but not necessarily the 80's, in case we need a piece of technology that we're stealing from the 90's."

So...that leaves us with a year range of 1980 to 1999. However, if technology is an issue (specifically, taking place during the 80s but needing some tech from the 90s), that means the game probably takes place in the late 80s, early 90s. I interpret this as being between 1987 and 1993. So, we've narrowed it down! Based on my arbitrary definition of "late" and "early"!**

Is there any way to narrow it down further? Unfortunately, not from what I can find - the tech we see in the Motherlobe is more reminiscent of the 60s and 70s (the computers we see on peoples' desks and in Sasha's lab look akin to a Xerox Alto, which came out in 1973), and I don't know enough about the history of other technology we see in-game to infer information about the timeline. If someone else has knowledge about things I may have missed that point us towards a date, please reblog and let me know!

Now, before I get into what I see as the timeline, I do want to address Maloof's line when you release him from the GPC.

"Nah, the staff hasn't put any kids in the GPC since the fifties."

Which goes against the timeline written on the log in the parking lot (which states that Whispering Rock Summer Camp was only created 5 years ago). I'm leaning more toward the written lore, since it's entirely possible Maloof is misinformed. After all, this is his first time at the camp. It's entirely possible Bobby (or another camper) has been lying to Maloof about the history of the staff's use of the GPC. For this reason, I'm disregarding this conflicting bit of evidence.

So! On to the actual timeline - at least, what I think it is. Starting from the beginning and working our way to the present day. I will represent the dates as a range, so "1987 - 1993" means "between 1987 and 1993." It doesn't mean that whatever event took place took that long, just that it happened at some point within that range. Good? Good! Let's go.

Brick's Speculative Psychonauts Timeline

1487 - 1493: A psitanium meteor strikes the area that will eventually be known as Whispering Rock, leaving behind a psitanium deposit.

1787 - 1793: A local indigenous group starts working with the psitanium, creating the arrowheads found in the first game, and names the area Whispering Rock (just, in their language, not English)

1887 - 1893: The mining town of Shaky Claim is established as part of the gold rush, except they're mining for psitanium. The psitanium deposit severely worsens the mental health of the people there.

1888 - 1894: The first case of 'Paranormal Hysteria' diagnosed in Shaky Claim.

1912 - 1918: Houston Thorney constructs Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed. Ford Cruller is born.

1927 - 1933: Houston Thorney commits suicide. The town's population is less than the amount of patients in Thorney Towers.

1932 - 1938: Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed is closed but some patients still remain. The remaining residents of the valley leave and the area is flooded, resulting in Lake Oblongata.

[At some point, Ford assembles the Psychic Seven]

1967 - 1973: The Psychic Six fight Maligula. Grulovia is flooded then trapped below the frozen floodwaters. Helmut Fullbear is presumed dead. Shortly thereafter, Ford uses the Astralathe to modify the memories of Lucretia and Augustus, then to break his own mind.

[At some point, Charlie Psycho Delta is established then swiftly abandoned]

1982 - 1988: Whispering Rock Summer Camp is established.

1987 - 1993: The events of Psychonauts, Psychonauts: The Rhombus of Ruin, and Psychonauts 2 take place all within about a week (and that's being generous).

So there! That's what I think the timeline is. Again, if you have any feedback or want to point out something I missed, please let me know! I'm new to the games/lore/fandom so 'tis entirely possible!

The implications of this timeline are...interesting. The fact that during the fight with Maligula, something that was supported by multiple countries, they're using planes from the 1910s when it's at least 1967...the world of the Psychonauts isn't less technologically advanced - they have a jet that rivals ones from 2024! So I have no clue what that biplane is doing in Gristol's memory of the fight with Maligula. Unless we consider Gristol an unreliable narrator for that detail - but even then I'm unsure why he wouldn't have assumed they were using modern technology...? IDK. It's weird.

Anyways, if you got this far, thanks for reading! I'm flattered. I always love picking apart lore and timeline details like this, no matter the fandom I'm in. So consider this my hello to the Psychonauts fandom :-)

*According to the Wikipedia page for the Lincoln Battalion, that's probably the youngest any American volunteers were. ** The way I see it: if it ends in 1/2/3, it's early. If it ends in 4/5/6, it's mid. if it ends in 7/8/9, it's late.

[clarabowmp3]

I think some fans enjoy the Tayvis Love Fest (tm) solely because it's so public and like a tv show you can watch, and those are the same fans who refuse to let Joe Alwyn go even though they know their being pathetic obsessing over that guy. He does not matter and does not want to matter. Nevermind the selective denial of Matty Healy and how much he mattered to her and how she's probably still mad at him, and like 80% of her last album was about him if you're reading the text and working with the facts and engaging with reality. Swifties selective reality is exhausting and there is only like 15 people on here who are willing to be real about what happened last year and it's implications. Not her finest hour but it's thing (s) which happened and Taylor's last album discussed it pretty honestly and uneditedly.

True true, I think those kind of fans loveee this relationship so much is cuz of the stark contrast it has with her previous one, which by extension implies Joe being a ‘worse’ partner. It’s so annoying how Joe has done literally everything he could to put this thing to rest and the second he (allegedly!) slips up and gets overheard ppl are all ‘keep her name out ur fucking mouth yb 🤬🤬’ like 😭😭😭😭😭 give the man a break damnn

And it’s so funny to see those fans jump through hoops to justify hating Joe more than matty, only because “he made her happy!! 🥹🥹” like…if your fave is so in love/obsessed with a shitty man……maybe that speaks more to her character rather than his. Even now an embarrassing chunk of them probably hate him (or at least started hating him) for breaking taylor’s heart rather than for all the terrible things he has done and said.

I think I posted abt this before but I find ttpd a refreshing change where she filters her actions or motivations less or doesn’t sweeten it into smth palatable. I don’t know how self aware she is but in more than one song she portrays herself as morally grey or worse, be it intentionally or otherwise. My only issue is that she doesn’t seem to see a need to address those issues or flaws, like her disregard for the minority groups her muse has hurt. It almost feels like a taunt, that she can say or do whatever she wants and there will always be enough people defending her/spewing vitriol at the ‘haters.’

[jacquelinemerritt]

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 20 Review

Originally posted on October 30th, 2015

Conflating anime with wrestling is, unsurprisingly, an amazing decision.

“Namekimania 2011” is my favorite episode of Dragonball Z: Abridged, and it is my favorite for very good reasons: the episode is packed to the brim with great jokes, Team Four Star experiments with their approach to adaptation in it, and it even manages to find time to focus on the heroism and honor that are the crux of the source material.

In fact, “Namekimania” is so good that I could just list off all the great lines from the episode and end the review here. But I’m not gonna do that, because that’s no fun (though the strays are loaded with quotes this week because I have no self-control).

Let’s start with the key joke/device of this episode. “Namekimania 2011” has Team Four Star making the bold decision to reframe a somewhat inconsequential fight between Vegeta and Recoome (played by Ganxingba delightfully mimicking the staged charisma of a professional wrestler) as a live televised pro wrestling match.

And it works wonderfully, because Team Four Star commits fully to this device, incorporating an audience track of cheering and booing, having Jeice and Burter serve as announcers/commentators, and giving us “recaps” of what we’ve missed on the few times they cut away to other characters.

The “anime fight as pro wrestling” device also works extraordinarily well because it captures the ridiculousness of both of the mediums. Fights in anime are generally ridiculous affairs, with characters breaking the laws of physics and rules of the established universe very frequently, coupled with over the top blood, screams, and emotions. Wrestling similarly is over the top, with heroes and villains appearing as ridiculous caricatures, as well as allowing the wrestlers to clearly and blatantly disregard the rules in order to get an audience response.

When combined, the ridiculousness from both mediums complement each other, with the unreasonable action and caricatured fighters blending seamlessly, and it’s especially fun to see how the live commentary of Jeice and Burter serves to enhance the thrill of the fight itself.

“Namekimania” also finds time to embrace the hyperemotionalism of anime (its other extreme) in two scenes. The first is Gohan’s speech, as he walks slowly towards Recoome, broken and battered, that he is the son of Son Goku, the one man who can kick Recoome’s ass, and the second is the scene where Goku steps out of the spaceship, which pairs an 80’s rock song with a series of slow clips showing him gradually exiting the spaceship. With that scene, we know something is coming, and some serious shit is about to go down.

Rating: 5/5

If you like this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

Stray Observations

Recoome’s introduction speech is the greatest thing ever, and I will fight you if you say otherwise.

Gohan: “Who are you talking to?” Burter: “The audience.” Jeice: “We’re doin’ commentary, mate.”

Recoome: “Because the name’s Recoome. And it rhymes with doom. And you’re gonna be hurtin’, ALL…TOO…SOON!”

Recoome: “Silly Vegeta. The only thing Recoome sells, is merchandise!”

Spokesperson: “Spacey’s. It’s good food. In spaaace.”

Krillin: “Hey, Gohan, look! He picked Vegeta, like a…” Gohan: “Like a Vegetable, yeah.”

Krillin Owned: And we’re up to 12 with a lovely Recoome Kick.

Krillin: “Seems he threw my nervous system out of whack there. Can’t quite feel the pain. There it is. Owwwwww.”

[lionews]

Not to defend ocean but I’m also really tired of seeing people wear their sexuality on their sleeves for oppression points. It’s not the 70-80’s you’re not getting dragged in the streets so calm tf down. Yes it’s a bad move to name the space “straight space” but I feel like there’s really no difference. After all what’s wrong with being happily straight? In fact it’s literally allowing a space for gays, bisexuals, etc to have their space be exclusive to them.

I’m bisexual, I don’t like to mention it to randoms unless trying to pursue a romantic relationship- this the only reason why I’m bringing this up is to further my point. Nobody cares what your sexuality is, you can still be a person without just being part of the “lgbtq+”. Let’s try acting like civilized beings. I for one just want to go through life normally without having to throw labels at people and segregate and divide us even more. I grew up in a household that taught us to respect all people regardless of who/what they are. The only time respect didn’t have to be shown is if they had a disregard for respect.

Also discrimination doesn’t discriminate, if you wouldn’t do it to a lgbtq+ member or a POC then you’re likely discriminating. We’re all human at the end of the day. Also treat others how you wanna be treated. Hope this helps a few people

.

[marvelmultibitches]

Alfhildr Eira Sjöfndottir

SHE DID NOT WILLINGLY ABANDON LOKI

Also if you are a Heimdall rper and would like to disregard the shippy thing that’s fine, I mostly added it in for an explanation of Boastful Loki in the show. The reasoning being that she was very newly pregnant when the arrangement was made and she was sent off to be married but didn't realize it because when he was born he was in his frost giant form bc of being on Jotunheim.

Eira was born to Sjöfn who was known as the Goddess of Love to Midgardian’s and her husband Tormod when her elder half sister Hela was just past what would be considered her toddler years on earth, Even though she sister tended to give her the cold shoulder she always looked up to her sister’s strength and hoped to be strong enough to protect the people she cared about like she was-even if she didn’t agree with all of her methods and ideologies. Because of this she went into training the be a part of the Asgardian Guard that stood watch over the kingdom when Odin and Hela were away fighting to bring the Nine Realms under Asgard’s rule.

Growing up Eira’s passion for being a great warrior who could protect those around her never waned, however she did hope to one day find love and start a family; that only strengthened her resolve to be as strong as she could be however. It was a few years before Odin decided to try to find a less bloody way to bring peace to the Nine Realms that Eira began a courtship with Heimdall, the two becoming serious enough that they had begun talking about the possibility of marriage. When Odin sealed away Hela in Hel and tried to broker peace between Asgard and Jotunheim and Laufey chose to demand an arranged union between the two of them due to the belief that her potential for magic from her mother along with her Frost Giant lineage on her father’s side would produce him a strong heir, she accepted despite her parents protests and the look he had given her when she told him of her decision.

The last time she saw her Mother she was crying, her Father looked like he was ready to tear down the bifrost himself so that she didn’t have to go, and Heimdal refused to look in her direction  as he opened the bridge for her to go through. When she bore Laufey his first son(Loki) and it was seen how small he was though Laufey threw her out with a curse and banished her to Midguard before abandoning Loki, only for Odin to find him later on when he went to Jotunheim to confirm what Heimdall had told him about what had happened to Eira; though he ended up telling her parents she had died as he assumed that without the aide of the bifrost no one would survive the trip to Midguard. Eira survived though thanks to the bit of magic she had learned from her Mother and Aunt when she was young and fought to get back to Jotunheim and her son, however she wasn’t able to.

Many years later when Loki attacked New York she had given up hope, figuring that her son had died after being abandoned. At one point she was in the far north, in a cold abandoned cave allowing herself to go into a sort of hibernation in the frigged cold for as long as her body would let her. She stayed like that for a few hundred years before waking up some time in the 80′s and has been working with S.H.I.E.L.D. for about 10 years now. However she questioned Nick Fury about the battle of New York she was given information about Loki and who exactly he was, before that the S.H.I.E.L.D. director had had no idea that she was Loki’s birth mother. Soon after she began trying to contact Asgard, however she’s had no luck so far.

[viscerasmoothie]

The Shitty Laptop: How Has It not Fucking Died Yet

Aka the story of this piece of shit, how it's doing, and why I want to mail it's life support to the sun. Also, warning for massive walls of text ahead.

The Specs

So, in case you haven't decided to stalk as much of my Tumblr account as you physically can, The Shitty Laptop is a 2016 HP ENVY x360 with an Intel i5 6200U CPU, an Intel HD 520 GPU (that I'm pretty sure is an integrated GPU which is kinda shit but eh), 12 GB of RAM, a 918 GB HDD, and a touchscreen with 10 touch points and some lighter spots around the edges and one that only appears on white for some reason. So in other words, it's actual garbage even disregarding some of the other weird issues I have with it!

Let me break that down: Some Intel i5's are decent, mine absolutely isn't. Integrated graphics are bad because corners have to be cut to keep the CPU small (which is kinda fine for modern shit but this is FAR from modern in terms of gaming). The RAM is fine, it'll run most things but 16 is probably better (Yes yes, bigger number better but I don't need 64 GB of RAM for anything other than opening Steam /s). An 8 year old HDD is REALLY bad though, it's not like, say, your Xbox where you need to replace that things hard drive like a decade ago, but it's an active bottle neck as far as I can tell. I LOVE the fact that this has a touchscreen but the screen issues (Okay, light spots aren't that big of a deal imo but this thing is NOT real color at all bc I opened TF2 and thought that they put a sepia filter over the bw images until the menu screen popped up lmfao) and the fact that this thing is GIANT (picture below) make this thing SUPER awkward to draw with (Not even mentioning the fact that I have no stylus sadly). Also this thing has a couple of dents (pictured below as well) and the left Ctrl key if fucked because I've tried cleaning this things crusty ass keyboard and I broke both of the plastic things on the key so it stopped staying secured (but it WAS fine cus I didn't move this thing around much) but then after the battery swap the thingy above the contact left like how my mom left me and so now the key sits flush with the keyboard and pressing the contact works like 50% of the time :(.

Anyways breaking up the wall of text with a wall of photos

Not copy and pasting the image descriptions here so read those for context or die idk I can't make you do shit lol.

Anyways, if you know fuck all about computers and their components like a goodish chunk of people, then basically nothing above the photos makes any sense to you, so let's look at the practical side of things:

How Shit Runs

Firefox (and any browser as per usual) eats up my resources, mostly my RAM. Roblox depends on the game, but it has crashed about 3 times, twice in TPRR (Please play it if you're into FNaF I beg you) and once in Royale High Campus 3, specifically the entrance, although both games are a bit demanding. Also note that I almost always keep my graphics settings on either the lowest they'll go manually or auto. Here's some 2 games you wouldn't expect an almost 14 year old to play or even know of; Koikatsu Party runs fine, it eats up my GPU and a good chunk of my CPU when in Chara editor,but according to the FPS plugin it runs at around 40-30fps. Koikatsu Sunshine on the other hand runs around 15-20fps in the Chara editor and also eats up my resources. I don't know why there's such a performance discrepancy when they're almost the same exact game, but since I've had Rivatunner running on Sunshine, my CPU hovers around the 170's to low 180's (Fahrenheit) or the mid 70's to low 80's (Celsius), with CPU usage being around 1/3 I think, and GPU probably hanging around over 50% but not over 75% (Source for these numbers: my shitty memory and estimates made from said shitty memory). I'll probably reblog this at some point with better specifics, but while my CPU isn't actually melting, I still like to say it is because I could probably cook something on it. Also, forgot to mention this earlier and feel like mentioning it now: PCGame Benchmark ranked my laptop at 8% which is very terrible.

Why I Want to Kill It With Hammers

Disclaimer: I don't actually want to kill it, but I definitely need a replacement.

I'm gonna be honest, I've been bitching and moaning about this hunk of junk for a while because it gets hot, it's too big, it runs terribly and even blue screened after trying to sign in once (It hung on this picture of seals for a couple of minutes before it decided to blue screen). It also used to be my Aunt's, where she got it for college, mostly used it for the Sims (Which CAS runs fine with higher settings and laptop mode but I currently need to fix my mods), then left it to rot in her closet for a couple of years until around June/July 2021 when she gave it to me as an early 11th birthday present. I, being an idiot 10 year old who didn't know that this was a TERRIBLE idea, decided to keep it plugged in ALL the time, which lead to it having an abysmal battery life which exacerbated the problem, which lead to it giving me the old blinking caps lock issue which rendered it literally useless for a little while until one Wednesday when my grandma brought the issue up to my uncle, a tech enthusiast, while babysitting his kid because he was sick, and he said that he had the right screw (A torx t5 if I remember correctly) so when she came over to see if I wanted food, I decided to go back with her to open this shithead up (Btw I did get sick bc of him, and considering the fact that I'm not hospitalized it wasn't COVID, probably just a head cold). I'll add the photos in a reblog because of the stupid 10 pic limit in the app, but this thing was FILTHY AS FUCK after it was opened. Of course the battery was a complete mess and a free fire hazard, but this thing was just dirty as shit. I forgot to bring my phone so I took photos with my grandma's phone and I learned that only 1/3 of the back vent thingy is functional, with the remaining 2/3 being blocked off for some reason. Also I got a free bootleg classic snes with stuck power buttons and the opening for the controller ports feels AWFUL to open, so that's fun I guess. So we went a week later on Friday to pick it up but when we got home it was still giving the same error. At least it served as a good power bank for my shitty tablet I got for my 8th birthday because my grandma takes away the electronics I usually use at night (Laptop, phone, chromebook) on school nights but the laptop wasn't actually booting and I don't usually use the tablet (It literally has 2gb of RAM, why the fuck would I lmao) so she didn't take away either of those. Anyways the next day we went over, he fixed it with a YouTube tutorial by force rebooting it with the power button (Yes I know that turning it off and on and holding the power button is basic IT knowledge but if my brain doesn't see a straightforward path to whatever I want to do then it gets really confused unless someone else helps) and then it pulled up the updating thing because it was doing that before the old battery decided to go fuck itself. The weirdest thing about the old battery though was that it was providing enough power to make the fan spin and for the caps lock light to blink but apparently not enough to properly boot I guess. Anyways uhh yeah the only thing I've really changed in relation to usage is to unplug it whenever I notice that the battery is full and plug it back in when the battery saver kicks on, it's still sitting on top of a plastic laptop cooler that's too small for it because my grandma forgot how to measure this shit (I love probably toxic fumes coming from the heated plastic/j) that needs cleaning again. Also, I usually keep the external cooler plugged in, but there's only 2 USB ports on this thing and I'd rather die than live the dongle life so it's either I sacrifice that or my wireless mouse and I would rather not navigate through Windows file explorer with ONLY a touch screen.

FAQ Except Nobody Asked These Questions and I Made Them the Fuck Up

Q: What laptop alternatives have you looked at?

A: Whatever is at display at the local Walmart and Best Buy (Though the former has had issues with there not being ANY display laptops), though it's not a "serious" browsing as anything decent (and some things that are absolutely garbage) are almost certainly out of me and my grandma's price range (Thank Charlotte for getting her own fur stick in her intestines twice).

Q: What about used laptops?

A: My first Chromebook used for online learning was a used Chromebook from Best Buy, but the E key force turned it off, a couple of the other keys were also fucked (One of the Ctrl keys also turned it off), And eventually the hinge died and fucked the screen, and I'd likely have to order a used laptop online which means that sellers could lie about it's condition and I don't wanna go through some shitty websites support because I got scammed, also used usually means that it's old, somethings (somewhat commonly) very wrong with it, or both so I think I'll pass. /nm

Q: Why not get a PC

A: Idk, I just prefer the keyboard being attached to the screen.

Q: Why not make The Shitty Laptop not shitty?

A: Because the CPU is soldered to the motherboard which either means get a new motherboard or let my uncle desolder it, and if I do get a new motherboard I'd have to make sure that it fits in the case. And again, this thing has other issues (Fucked screen, fucked left Ctrl key) and I'd just rather get a new one.

Q: Where can I give you money for a new laptop?

A: I do technically have a Patreon account but I haven't set up payment on it so you can't shove your money in my face sadly.

Q: Can I mail you a new laptop?

A: Fuck no, that would require either getting a PO box or giving you my address and if you're not in the immediate area one of us is gonna have to pay for shipping and/or gas.

I ran out of question ideas anyways uhh i took way too long to write this shit out lmao (I think it was around 3 hours as the first photos timestamp is 7:43)

[sonneillonv]

you can tell your dem representative(s) why you didnt vote for them via email or phone call... no psychic powers needed

Yeah but you can't do that with Joe Biden. He's one dude. 2020 had record voter turnout and 80 million people still didn't vote. If he did nothing but read or listen to each of those people explain in no more than 6 seconds why they didn't vote for him, if he didn't eat, sleep, play minecraft, or keel over dead, it would take him more than 15 years to get through all of it.

The US Census does a voting report after every election for precisely the purpose of figuring out why people didn't vote. So you and your 80 million other "Don't care"s can pass your opinions along to them. And you can hope that your specific reason is popular enough to make it into a report. And you can hope that report mentions real numbers, as opposed to 2020's report of "Oh, 4.3% of registered voters didn't vote due to COVID" because that kind of phrasing minimizes impact. And you can hope the democratic party pays attention to that report in 2024.

But let's just say they do. Let's say that at that point, having gotten the Census results, they'll tell their shiny new candidate, "Lots of people hated Biden's policy on Gaza so be sure to side with Palestine this time!"

Their candidate is going to go "LOL what? Palestine is gone. Israel burned it to the ground and massacred its people with the help of US weapons and the 'security consulting firms" Trump generously provided to prop up Netanyahu's failing regime. Also he told the UN to go suck a dick and told Israel, quote, "Kill 'em all, no survivors!" Now the only 'Palestinians' are in diaspora and the entire strip's been razed, annexed, and rebuilt to sell to foreigners (mostly Americans) as time shares. How am I supposed to have an opinion on a nation that doesn't exist anymore?"

And the party will go "LOL IDK, we're just telling you what the polls say! loveyoubye!"

But what will actually happen is that the party leaders will look at the number of people who didn't vote due to Biden's policy on Palestine (assuming the Census bothers to track that specific concern and assuming people bother to respond to the Census) and go "LOL there is no more Palestine, so we can just toss that issue in the trash, but hey, Republicans are turning out in record numbers, I wonder what we'd need to do to get some of their votes?"

And then they'll shift right.

because they only care about people who vote.

You and your protest non-vote are a non-entity. Nobody in power cares, and nobody cares why. You're just helpfully making it easier to ignore you, which is what they wanted to do anyway.

Also it doesn't actually remove your culpability in the result, so there's that. You aren't pure and perfect and guilt-free if you abstain. You knew you had a two-party, first-past-the-post system. You knew what the choices were. You knew that the objectively worse choice had a rabid fanbase, a callous disregard for democracy, freedom, and basically anything leftist, and a "hell yeah kill 'em all" attitude toward Palestinians. Unless you live under a rock, you're aware of all these things. You were given a shovel and a pile of dirt and you made a choice not to shore up the dike. You stood there and watched while the rest of us worked because you figured "Hey, country's already pretty flooded. Who cares if a tsunami is coming?"

That makes you culpable. Also a coward. But like, hey, see where it takes you!

(Hint: It's worse than here.)

[jetravenex]

Speaking from what I've learned secondhand from my Dad.

I do not think we should have a draft in America in this moment in time. I don't know all the logistics, but my Father has told me that had he not been in the military when he was (joined in the 80s got out somewhere 80s and 90s). If he'd joined like in the 2000's, from my limited understanding, you could be called back. Even if you'd already served your country.

Now I could be talking out of my ass as again this is coming secondhand but that's what my Dad told me.

On top of, y'know the rampant lack of real prioritizing caring for our veterans. Or even a certain political figure belittling them (despite dodging the draft through bone spurs). And that guy is working to become president which is telling of America's disregard for those who serve her.

Which admittedly, without a draft is now only those desperate enough to sell their bodies, and even their *lives* (or been tricked by the extremely vast military propaganda pumped out through video games, television, and movies).

The one thing my Dad said about a draft WAS it meant everyone theoretically had skin in the game.

However, a certain individual born to wealth proved that with a draft those who felt they were 'too important' could dodge it by inventing excuses.

The reality is we have a society that's geared towards producing soldiers. We have vast wealth inequality and we already know even the draft couldn't stop wealthy draft dodgers. So those 18 year olds fresh out of high school with limited prospects for the future are presented with the military as one of their few routes for prosperity and opportunity.

And that was the case still back in the 80s when my Father joined the military. Because as far as he knew his prospects were limited.

Not to mention our Physical Education classes in high school seemedgeared less towards teaching kids how to stay fit and healthy. But throw them through the meat grinder and produce viable potential soldiers for their country. They don't teach you to pace yourself, everyone's limits are different they have expected numbers for your age range to meet because if you can reach them they'll have you off to a good start when you're fresh out of high school and primed for boot camp.

I think in theory there could be benefits to a draft. It could mean everyone has skin in the game (if politicians family were in the military they'd think more carefully or be less inclined to treat them as disposables. It could mean people get a better respect for fire arms and that having a gun is a BIG responsibility that has been thrown to the wayside as of late

However, both these ideas fall apart outside of theory. Even if we had a draft, people would dodge it. Even if we had a draft people wouldn't respect or recognize the full responsibility of carrying a gun. If we had a draft we'd be giving a system that has proven to let those that came out of it, fall to the wayside. If we had a draft, we'd be feeding a machine that already treats the people that are part of it as simply tools for the job.

If we had a draft we'd be denying young people a choice. While I do think some of those who are lower class are already stuck in a tough spot, they do still have a choice before throwing themselves into the military machine. It's a choice under duress as we are willing to throw our own to the wayside, but still a choice.

And ultimately with who could possibly BECOME commander in chief, I don't think we need to make it so all our youth have no choice but to be subjected to his whims. Because in the military under Trump, he declared on twitter a trans ban which threw things into chaos. He encouraged an increase in racism, he made it so far more individuals wound up sexually assaulted because he spewed harmful rhetoric and it led to the military becoming unsafe for women and POC.

And I don't mean just him alone disqualifies our military system from freely having our youth pumped in. We've seen the most dysfunctional congress the past 2 years. I think until we stop this idealizing of military that we've had while leaving our veterans behind. While leaving people in our country behind. We should not have a draft. Especially when we can put in power obstructionists who'd rather score political points than to govern. And would back a president who dodged the draft in the first place.

It is as long as people like that can get into power or get BEHIND someone like that. That any theoretical benefits of a draft in America imo fall apart.

I find it weird when people defend the existence of the draft because it's not happening but we might need it just in case

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

G.HURDER Y ESTEBAN “GIFTED” Gregorio BOOMHAUSER all the go quick after the drunken wedding fun had come to a close… hammered sitting on my sofa GREGORIO and myself reflected quietly on the evenings doings… while contemplating the arduous labor that awaited upon the COCKS CALL AT DAWN… so we did what YOU FELLAS would have undoubtedly done had you been standing in our sneakers perspectively.. we agree’d that we simply COULDN’T BARE THE THOUGHT of our snippy significant others finding say joy supplies and riding dirty on our GOOD TIMES… so naturally we consumed it all and wished each other a good eve and morrow in but a few short hours… My memory is foggy as I’ve bashed my CPU into CONCRETE one too many times perhaps… but I recall this being my final DO SE DO around the B’n’G sawing my bandana and reminding them AGAIN that I WOULD NOT BRING THEM THE FOOD THEY WAITED OVER AN HOUR FOR DRESSED UP IN DRAG…. My utter distain for the the over-top and just SPECIAL BEHAVIOR of our beloved benefactor and leader CLIFFORD had reached a many years King fever pitch. I’d taken years of punishment and the delicious duo of sleep deprivation and chemical stimulation had turned up to do the damn thing that day…

CHANGE IT!!! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!! WTF ARE YOU THINKING YOU DUMB BITCH?!?! NO!!! THEY CANNOT HAVE DAIRY FREE GRAVY THATS MADE SOLELY OF HEAVY CREAM AND CHEESE…

All things I heard repeatedly… But on this morning my houndstooth was foaming at the mouth… my tolerance for the PRI-MADONNA antics and flippant disregard basic modicum of decency shown to every human being be they prince or pauper… The music would suddenly grind to a halt and KREMER would belt out that it was some person’s bday and the whole NIGHTMARISH RITUAL resumed… Yet another revolution round the blazing ROKKO as the old ladies hoot and holler.

Clapping and screaming in terror as GREGORIO battles the urge to projectile vomit thick chunks of EVERYTHING BAGEL, ESPRESSO, BEER, COCAINE SNOT and his SELF RESPECT on the TITS on some 17 year old he’s pined over like a man on death row eagerly rubbing together the paws awaiting that bowl of ice cream they give you just before they slap the wet rag and 10,000 VOLT shower cap to your CRANIUM and set loose the JUICE till you SHIT and PISS YOURSELF TO DEATH…

GREGORIO would lift his tired unwashed skirt and approach his victim like a flasher picks the mark they will egregiously exposure themselves to. This charge forward paired with him exposing his even more unwashed HORSE COCK SOCK that he made stupid HORSEY noises as the room clapped along in utter hysteria… The victim would pretend not be excited as GREGORIO ground his unwashed manhood in a manner more TITTY BAR than brunch destination… as he completed his MAGUM OPUS of public humiliation and VILE SEXUAL ABUSE in a SHOWGIRLS like context the applause would thunder and AQUA or some other deplorable BULLSHIT would bellow back over the greasy speakers…

Often he would withdraw from the ritual having left a wee snail trail of PRE-CUM on his victim/birthday person’s blouse, trousers or fleshy thigh….

Such was life for almost a decade… I wouldn’t let the TOXIC VIBES get me down.. oh no… not for me… I would always take the high road and simply excuse myself to the front and grab any old coffee mug that fit in my palm and slip right through the packed dining room to calmly step into the parking lot. I’d take out my DUG OUT and rip and angry blast of the REEFERINO strait to my nut, holding my breathe and hurling the ceramic mug at the red brick shattering it into a million pieces. As the glass cascaded into the alley I’d blow out my hit and set strait back into the kitchen stinking like 80’s COMMERCIAL with NANCY REGEAN narrating a montage of a my life in a HOW NOT TO CONTEXT INSTRUCTIONAL video. Highlighting key moments in my life where I made and did ridiculous and terrible things that would ultimately lead me to living in a blood red attic apartment, dating a lady 9 years younger than me, an abject failure of a man pretending to be a professional artist, completely delusional and letting life rip by while licking imaginary wounds… NANCY would be especially scathing as the mug exploded and I exhaled the DEVIL WEED and returning to the work place where I posed a very immediate threat to myself and others… CLIFF was screaming about food being reading where the FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!?!… i grunted and took the plates with piping hot RUEBENS on them. They are like two monsters that smell like McDONALDS fart breath in my hands… the poor choices that lead to this moment gurgled in my guts. The weed, drugs, exhaustion and RONETTE’ MCDONALD QUEEF in my PAWS was more weight then I could bear… I could feel body preparing to show just how pissed off it was with me…

I charged out of the kitchen so as to avoid blowing chunks all over the food and creating a scene. I was desperate to find ANYONE to take these GODDAM RUEBEN’s out of my hands before my stomach garnished them in sick…

I came upon LUCAS first.. Good old agreeable, hard working and reliable power bottom extraordinare’… Rather open my mouth and barf on him as I feared… I used nonverbal means to hand off the RUEBENS and run out the back door. I kicked him in the shin as hard as I could without warning and jammed both plates in his hands as he belted out a scream of pain… I screamed out a battle cry and charged out the door, falling to my knees on the asphalt wrenching and blasting juices from my nostrils and mouth profusely… Through the TEAR & PUKE I could see a family cautiously inching past me in the parking lot… surely any establishment who’s employees are barfing in the back lot is a top notch spot well worth waiting over an hour for the table….

The rest of the blur was spent in excruciating pain. BLUNTING telling my dear friend and mentor to:

FUCK OFF AND DIE, EAT SHIT YOU MISERABLE CUNT, YOU CHANGE IT MOTHERFUCKER!!!

The crescendo and final note of this symphony or pain was struck when carried the final RWK plate to the deuce out side, gently settling them down before the final hungry guest of the day… then I sneezed and mocked the giant oversized neon coffee mug directly into both plates of CLIFFORD’s legendary CHEESY STRADA HEART ATTACK HELPER… the guests looked terrified I let out a WOOKIE roar of FUUUUUUUUCK!!!! NOOOOOOO and grabbed both soaked plates. Hurled the JAVA SOAKED contents into the bushes and casting both cheap plastic plates like frisbees into the parking lot… I’LL BE BACK… My time with CLIFFORD and the MOTLEY CRUE we called a family at the BUMP AND GRIND had come to a close.

(9.23.23)

[tired-bisexual-brainrot]

i wanna make a post abt my own personal hc for each of the characters sexualities and stuff because i think it’d be fun

also pls remember that these are my personal hc for these characters, if you have different ones that’s perfectly ok but pls respect other peoples opinions, thanks :)

with that being said:

steve: bisexual, he/him

robin: lesbian, demigirl, she/they

nancy: bisexual, she/her

eddie: gay, he/they (he’s not too bothered abt his gender, he isn’t cis, but they don’t really care to label it. “my gender is whatever tf i want, i’m me, i exist here, i’m metal asf, that’s all you need to know”)

will: gay, he/him

mike: bisexual, he/him

max: bisexual, demigirl, she/they

lucas: straight, he/him (speak valentina! ally!)

el: pan-romantic, asexual, non-binary, they/she (they were raised in a lab away from the rest of the world, they never really understood social norms, let alone fit in to them. being non-binary just feels right to her)

dustin: hetero-romantic, asexual, he/him

suzie: straight, she/her (while she grew up mormon, she is incredibly supportive and understanding, she’s a woman of science first, religion second. speak valentina! ally!)

jonathan: demi-pan-romantic, asexual, non-binary, he/they

argyle: pansexual, he/him but wouldn’t care if you used they/them (“gender is a social construct my guy! be who you are, ride the waves of gender until you land on an island full of your own personal happiness. life is short dude, have some fun, relax, eat some pineapple pizza”)

eden: bisexual, she/her

joyce: probably bi but doesn’t really know it, she/her (she used to kiss girls in high school, you can’t prove me wrong. specifically, i think her and karen wheeler used to make out behind the bleachers during gym. it’s a byers family tradition to like wheelers ig)

hopper: straight, he/him (a little confused, but supportive, he’d never judge his kids, or anyone of their friends. he may not fully get it but he tries. the party gets together once a week to try and explain lgbtqia+ topics to him. speak valentina! ally!)

[artsyjesseblue]

THE TWO ALLURAS

So, here’s a little detective work I did on some (suspected) altered scenes in the last episode of Voltron Legendary Defender. I’m very new to this show (yep, years later… I know… facepalms, better later than never) - I watched it for the first time a couple of months ago and since then I’m obsessed with finding out more about the true finale of the show.

Before I start doing a little slideshow proof of altered animation in S8 last episode, I’d like to give a little intro into my journey here.

- I come from being a fan of an 80’s anime called Saber Rider and the Star Sheriffs (my avatar name here pays tribute to one of its characters), to being an even bigger fan of VLD. Not by pure coincidence. SRatSS is owned by WEP, and going down the Netflix “suggested” shows, DotU sent me to VLD. It grew on me really fast. Like binge-watch fast. Unfortunately, the ending completely clipped my wings.

- The first reason why I started feeling (first it was a feeling) that something was wrong was the complete mismatch between the tragic finale of Allura, a goddess leaving the show with the saddest drawn face (and a missing in action Lotor, for that matter) and the super-cheesy optimistic, last minute slapped ending slides showing the ‘successful’ future lives of the Paladins, completely at odds with their previous careers (Keith, a rebellious half-Galra now running a humanitarian relief organization? Lance the sharpshooter with a rake in his hand?? What the heck, man? Shiro, the larger than life figure in the show, marrying some random guy we never learned about before? Seriously, I kept saying at the end: “Is this a joke??” It felt insulting on so many levels, rushed, like “let’s end this and get over with it” )

- Another big reason why I felt this was not supposed to be the real finale was my absolute gut feeling that a kids’ show needs a different kind of moral closure, based on classic arcs that would fit stories I’ve been used to reading in my childhood. After all, it’s rated 7+ . In my opinion, from the perspective of a 7 year old kid, S8 is a horror story, glossed over with a ‘happy’ ending. Thus, it should not be rated 7+. But hey, maybe I’m just too old-fashioned.

- In my frantic googling about VLD, I stumbled upon TeamPurpleLion’s website, which completely opened a new level of information and confirmation for me. The first article I read was the one about the The Dark Youth and Heroine’s Arc, which went straight to my pain point, confirming my intuitions about how a well-written story for children and teens should look like. Then, the ‘Seek Truth’ article about all the animation edits totally solidified my beliefs. Then followed the analysis about the Feud episode, the Clear Day episode and the ‘meta within a meta’ stuff going on there… All the foreshadowing, the purple lion toys, the parallels between different heroes’ arcs… The VLD staff tweets and instagram posts in total contradiction with the release of the season… The last nails that hit the coffin were the interviews with LM and JDS and their own “feud” with the inter-dimensional beings at the top of the ladder, which were absolutely eye-opening. It made total sense now, and I immensely appreciate the work that TPL has done unearthing all these facts. I feel like the EP’s need so much more recognition for the work and love they poured into this show. Not to mention the animation, which is a work. of. art. Studio Mir forever.

- Anyways, here’s me, 4 years later, rocking a boat that has long sailed away… Being so late (I usually am late to a lot of new things haha) I feel like I’m sort of lonely in my quest.

—————

But recently, I found out that the FreeVLDS8 party is still alive and kicking, so I’m emboldened to throw in some of my own discoveries as well. If this stuff has already been unearthed, disregard my little detective work that I did here. But if it’s useful new stuff, I hope it will benefit somehow in the grand puzzle you guys have set about to solve.

In the past couple of months, I’ve read tons of articles and metas, interviews, videos. Pros and cons about the EP’s, about the animation, interviews with actors, tweets, etc etc. All the good stuff piled up in the past 4 years that I completely missed. My head is spinning right now.

So rewatching the last episode and being aware of all the edits discovered so far, I stumbled upon some animation flaws that I believe Studio Mir would not let out their door. Disclaimer: I am a professional artist myself. I do not work in animation, but I did illustrate kids books for a while, and being a graduate of an Art School, I believe I have a bit of knowledge about the laws of perspective, proportions and character design. Keep a pin in each of these three, because there are flaws about every one of them in the next two screencaps. Plus more flaws on top of these three. Whew!

________

Let’s look at a couple of screen shots I did from S8 final episode, when Allura and the Palladins talk to Honerva. Go to the scene where Allura starts saying “there is beauty in their flaws” (first screenshot below - I will call it Screenshot A)

And now take a look, a minute later, when she is doing her mind meld with Honerva (Screenshot B). It’s supposed to be the same scene, but the image is terribly zoomed in, with Lance almost completely cropped out. There is a slight camera tilt effect, but the image remains zoomed with a piece of Lance on the left. Who would do that in cinematography?

So I tried to see what will happen if I “un-zoom” and add Lance back into the picture. I approximated where the original shot was relative to the whole image by keeping Honerva in the center line of the image, to make sense compositionally. And voila (Screenshot B zoomed out below)

Here’s Screenshot A, also zoomed out, below:

Now, in both recreations, Honerva is right in the center. Before, the center of the image was somewhere between Allura and Honerva. Doesn’t it make more sense now, with Honerva in the middle? It makes sense compositionally, but also from a storytelling point of view. We, the watchers are positioned right behind Honerva, at her eye level, seeing the Paladins “through her perspective”. A very empathetic way of making the viewer feel closer to her character.

And now, of course, you’ve all noticed the big red ‘elephant’ in the room, in the newly created space to the right. I am not making any speculations who it might be, because things are actually more complicated than they seem. Wait, Hunk wants to say something:

“Uh, guys, did you notice Pidge next to me looks shorter in B than in A? And what’s up with her not standing up straight in A? Draw a line from her nose to her belt clip. Since she’s facing you full front, it should be vertical, right? Um, well, it’s not.”

Hunk is right. Pidge tilts towards right, she looks like a crooked sticker, plastered on a wall.

———

OK, let’s move on to the next issue. The “Alluras”. Here’s where proportions, character design and perspective come into play. I will call them Allura A and Allura B, from their corresponding screencaptures.

Let’s start with proportions. First, scroll back up to the first two image captures, take a look at them, and then come back and look at this:

I juxtaposed the two Alluras, rescaled so that both of them have the same shoulder width, so X is equal to Y. The desaturated Allura is B, and the colorful one is A.

I placed both of them with their belts at the same horizontal line. Behold, what do we have here? Z is not equal to T, so Allura B has a longer upper body than Allura A. Also, look at the hips, and where the crotch starts.

Now, some of you might argue that this is a perspective distortion, because Allura B is the one that just walked forward a few steps, toward the viewer, so she should grow taller and the proportions might get warped a bit. Well, if it were a forced perspective, from a very close angle, I’d partially agree. But this is not the case. There are tons of forced perspective shots in VLD (especially fight scenes), but this is not one of them. So in this case, if Allura comes forward, she does indeed grow taller, but she should keep her proportions, so X/Z =Y/T (Pidge just confirmed, my math is solid). (and no, please don’t tell me that Allura shapeshifted, just because she’s Altean and decided to do that, without reason).

Moving on to the next issue within the same image above: character design. Compare the two Allura faces… One is round, one is more elongated. Why this sudden transformation, when this is supposed to be one continuous scene? I doubt the studio animators would do something like this. Which one looks more like Allura? I’d argue that the Allura A (the colored one) does. She has a more round, feminine face, with a sweetness in her features. Then who’s that guy in B? Oops, I said guy. Because the whole physical appearance is that of a man. Tall and slim. Wondering who he might be? I’d humbly guess Lotor, but if you find me a more important tall and slim Galra or Altean character that would get access to the Connected Consciousness, then go ahead and write a fanfic story about it.

A little thing I just noticed: Allura B’s neck is crooked, not going up straight from the shoulders into the head. Drawn in a rush? Drawn over Lotor in a rush?

The third issue with the Alluras, and with the other Paladins as well, is perspective. Here’s a little sketch I did over Screenshot B, to understand what I’m talking about:

The horizontal red line is the horizon line. That is the line where our (the viewer’s) eyes are . At the same level with Honerva’s. The vanishing point should be right in the middle of the line. On the right side, in red, I sketched the paladin suits, with their collars as they should look if properly following the laws of perspective. Anything below the horizon line should look like the collar below, anything above should look like the one above, in perspective. Check out which ones match… And then check below if Allura A fairs better:

Indeed she does! And doesn’t she look so natural? Coincidentally, she is Allura A, the real one, not the redrawn Lotor. But oh, wait, Lance, Shiro, and Hunk don’t have correctly drawn collars. What a mess! (this reminds me of Slav saying: did you wear the right socks today?) Let’s play a game: how many of them are wearing the right ‘socks’ in these images?

Again, some of you might say, “c’mon, such a tiny detail, the illustrators and animators probably didn’t even think about this kind of stuff.” Oh no, no, no. This is basic skill. Like, the ABC of drawing. You don’t mess up basic perspective drawing, if this is your daily job. Again, I am convinced that Studio Mir did not release this version. It was altered post production. If I’d have to guess, because this is one of the last animated scenes of the show, they were getting very close to the deadline. They were tired, overworked, most likely dissatisfied that they had to butcher a wonderfully crafted show that everyone worked so hard on. I can even imagine some red-eyed employee with a big cup of coffee, at midnight, in an empty office, tracing over Lotor’s drawing.

Whew, are you ready for another weird flaw?

Look at their eyes. Where is each of them looking, both in A and in B? Well, some of them are looking up, some of them at Honerva. What is up there, that Shiro and Keith seem to watch intently in shot A? Another mishap during animation? Or, they’re just stock images plastered like Pidge? Not sure. Although, at a closer look, Keith in image A is wearing the right socks - his collar is drawn in the right perspective. I’m just speculating, but it seems they’re looking at a tall structure. At that point in the plot, it’s probably Honerva’s mech or Voltron. Who knows.

Honestly, this puzzle is missing so many pieces. Are all these Paladin drawings basically reshuffles of a scene that evolved from us looking down at the Paladins from a higher vantage point (probably Honerva in her mech) and then gradually descending until she is on her knees and we’re looking up at the Paladins? Because judging from the perspective of their collars and the fact that their eyes are either looking up or down, it might seem so. And, as per previous analysis articles, someone said the transition from their fight for realities to them all being in the Connected Consciousness plane looks very abrupt, so there must have been some other action going on there. This seems like the most reshuffled muppet show of the S8, down to the last character on the screen.

Also, a few more things and I promise I’ll wrap up.

If we assume that Allura B was actually Lotor, then it makes sense that Lotor goes and does the little “mind meld” with Honerva (forgive my nerdy Star-Trekky reference). He did say, somewhere in S6, that when the time will come, he might have pity on her. This would beautifully close the circle of that arc, but would also mirror Allura’s mind-meld with Zarkon, when she did her little trip into Honerva’s mind, I can’t remember which episode. This would also not look cheap at all, because right before the mind meld, after each Paladin does their own plea, Honerva says: “You think your words mean anything to me?” No, their words don’t, but Lotor’s words and touch DO. And knowing how vitriolic she can be, I bet she won’t accept Allura touching her so easily, but coming from her son… I bet she would. She looks surprised and not irritated at all. Would she be like that with Allura, after she just fought them almost to death and told them that their words mean nothing to her? But Lotor touching his mother, it makes more sense, doesn’t it? The wayward daughter of Altea heals the father, and the lost son of Daibazaal heals the mother. How beautiful. Psychology at its best. Oh, but these are just my speculations…

I’m not sure if Allura’s VA was called to record more lines back in 2018. If she was, then the lines she said about Lotor who may have been misguided but ultimately wanted to preserve life might be just a way through which the creators left the door a little open to interpretation about Lotor. But if that was the actual original, unaltered line, then Allura is talking about him in the past tense. So then… was the Lotor behind Allura B just a ghost, like Zarkon and the old Paladins in the other episodes? So, just a supposition, completely unsupported by any palpable facts, but it’s fun to explore: Lotor lost his body, but Allura rescued and redeemed his consciousness, not from the Sincline, but actually from Honerva’s mind (I’ll explain in just a sec); and then together they fight through all realities and defeat Honerva. And then Allura rejoins him in the afterlife. And this is the end of a coherent story. If I remember correctly from a previous episode, when we saw Honerva standing in front of Lotor’s melted corpse (which makes no sense to throw in there from a narrative standpoint unless something else happens further along), didn’t she say something like “soon, we’ll be together, my son”. What was that all about? Did she actually trap his consciousness into her own mind like she did with the old paladins? Was that her possessive way of being “together” with someone? And then Allura goes on and frees him from the trap and THAT’S when Honerva goes ballistic looking for another Lotor in another reality, because she lost the object of her obsession. And that would explain why they ended up in the Connected Consciousness in the last episode, to heal her of her vicious possessiveness. Just a weird thought, I might be completely wrong.

If anyone has the patience to untangle who is who and who goes where in these two images, go on, give it a shot. I know I’m too tired. But nevertheless, have fun!

I noticed these glitches but wasn’t convinced that anyone is still out there to read my ramblings, after so many years. Now I believe there are still people that care, so I decided to go forward with my little analysis.

Thank you @leakinghate for relighting the flame of the FreeVLDS8 in 2022. Wishing TeamPurpleLion all the best in their new effort! It means so much to me, especially coming in as a fresh fan of VLD.

[wizardwomenwisdom]

Yeah the 80’s argument. Uh, who back then was out? Oh nobody, right. And who was Elton John married to in the 80’s - ya know, that nice LADY? Someone (Mike) can date and even marry the opposite gender, but that isn’t proof they’re sexually attracted to the person. C’mon!

ima keep it real with you: i cannot tell if this is a “gay people in stranger things” truth post or a “gays didn’t really exist in the 80s” post but i think it’s the second so let’s just talk about this.

elton john famously came out at bisexual in ‘76. so like. he was out and attracted to women (and still identifies as such! he says he has more romantic relationships with men but that he is sexually attracted to women and that doesn’t disregard platonic emotions!!!) which makes this kind of a moot point. bowie was also out, and reportedly fucking mcjagger. freddy mercury was mostly quiet about his personal life, but still a well known bisexual. these people were out and proud about it—because people were out in the 80s.

the queer community was ridiculously strong then, too, because of the aids crisis. it came with fear and terror, yes, but it also came with intense support and love for each other. and also not everyone was an asshole and showed love to their family members who were out. (most queer adults i know have siblings who were willing to leave the family for them.) also with the cosmopolitan incident in ‘89, where they falsely claimed women couldn’t get aids, plenty of women joined the movement. it wasn’t just queer women. (paraphrasing this stuff please feel free to research it yourself)

i think the big issue with the people being gay in the 80s argument stems from a lot of people just straight up not knowing anything about queer history apart from stonewall when in fact the 80s were a huge part of the queer rights movement. AND with ryan white living in indiana, hawkins would’ve been near a hotspot of protests and work to destigmatize queerness and the AIDS crisis in the united states.