#morty is really getting worried at this point

[misslisamiray]

Here's Chapter 12 of Down With the Rickness - we're only a few chapters away from the ending now and I am NOT ready. I just love sharing this fic with all of you so much, and I'll be sad when it's over.

Anyway, this is (mostly) another chapter of just Rick and Morty, but there's one brief appearance by Jerry. New chapter below the cut!

“Mom’s gonna be late.” Morty informed Rick, who nodded, rubbing his throat again.

“Ugh. Morty, remind me to stop including tonsils in any and all future clones. They just sit there doing nothing 99% of the time, then get all inflamed and painful the few times a decade I get sick. Talk about a design flaw. It’s *Cough!* *Cough!* like the little pick-me ass bitches are mad at me for typically forgetting they exist. Ow. Also, remind me to remove these the second I feel up to it.” he complained.

“Uh-huh. I promise I will.” Morty agreed, trying to decide if it was a good or bad sign that Rick was talking about removing his own tonsils when he felt better, as opposed to right this second.

“You planning to stay up for a while?” he asked, getting another nod as an answer.

“Okay, well, it’s lunchtime. Did you want to try eating a sandwich or something?” Rick gave him a look that was meant to be angry, but came across more pitiful.

“Fine, I’ll just bring you more ice cream.” Morty gave in.

“Thanks. Oh, and Morty? I’m kinda *Cough!* empty here. Think you can help me out, buddy?” Rick asked, shaking his empty flask.

“No way. You’ve had plenty already. I’m not gonna get into a whole thing with you about how much you drink normally, but you’re way too sick for it today.” Morty refused.

“Pick a lane, Morty. I can’t be *Cough!* ‘too sick to drink’ and ‘not sick enough to cure using one of my supposedly crazy experiments’ at the same time.” Rick pouted, putting the trash can and tissue box aside to put his labcoat back on and retrieve the blankets from the floor again.

“Yes, you can. Both of those things can be true, Rick. And they are. You’re not guilting me into refilling your damn flask. I’m bringing you more juice.” Morty told him, starting to leave the room.

“But *Achoo!* my throat hurts. And my head hurts. And I’m cold again. It’ll help with at least one of those things.” Rick whined, throwing his head back dramatically and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He snuck a glance at Morty to see if this was working at all.

“No. It’s probably why your head hurts in the first place. Or at least one of the reasons. As for the rest, I don’t see how it’s supposed to help…” Morty made the mistake of looking over at Rick, seeing again how disheveled and miserable he looked. And asking for more booze, while not a good idea, was tame compared to every other idea Rick had come up with today…

“Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. I still refuse to bring you any of the stronger shit you keep in the garage. But I’m pretty sure there’s sofa wine left, and if you drink it, I won’t tell Summer it was you. I should since she’s mad at you anyway, but I won’t. Deal?” Morty compromised.

“Fair enough.” Rick agreed. With an annoyed sigh, Morty went to the kitchen to get lunch for the two of them. 

Rick felt around under a cushion until he found the half empty bottle of wine. The overly colorful, badly designed label had silhouettes of about a dozen dancing figures, all in obnoxiously bright colors, in front of a disco ball. It looked as much like something teenagers would sneak as this particular bottle was. He unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sip.

“Eww. How long have we all been sitting on this shit? I doubt it was great to begin with, but it’s definitely seen better days.” Rick complained to himself. He looked the ugly label over again and saw the alcohol content: 7%.

“Ugh. It’s terrible and weak as hell? One or the other I can deal with, but this is just awful. *Cough!* Dammit, Summer. I would’ve expected better from you.” Rick took another sip and shuddered. He recapped the bottle and started to put it back, then reconsidered. This stuff was giving the cold medicine a run for its money in terms of what tasted worse… but the warm liquid sliding down his throat did feel sort of nice. Soothing, even. It didn’t burn like the liquor he would have preferred to be drinking would. And sure, the alcohol content was a joke, but it’s not like he was starting from sober…

“Fuck it. Beggars can’t be choosers and all.” Rick muttered, deciding to drink more of the sofa wine.

Meanwhile, Jerry was sulking in his mancave. He turned the Sailor Moon tape over in his hand repeatedly and sighed. Finally deciding to put it down, he checked his phone to see if either of the Beths had replied to any of his texts. Neither one had. Jerry frowned and sat there for a few minutes, looking even more dejected and forlorn. Then he thought of some more messages to send, and immediately proceeded to do that. 

Another thing Morty became aware of throughout the day was that, besides not sleeping well when ill, Rick also rarely seemed able to get comfortable for more than a few minutes at a time. The tossing and turning was just as bad, if not worse, when the man was awake than when he was sleeping. When he was lying with his head at the opposite end of the couch, Morty kept getting kicked, usually in the back of the head. If Rick was lying with his head at the end of the couch where Morty was sitting, that meant more getting coughed and sneezed on, and sometimes being hit by a bony elbow or shoulder.

When he wasn’t sprawled across the couch (and Morty), Rick would try to sleep sitting at the opposite end of it, usually with at least two pillows under his head. Apparently, this helped with the postnasal drip, but sleeping like that hurt his back. Morty had to stop himself from pointing out that Rick fell asleep sitting on the couch all the time and didn’t usually complain about that afterwards.

Then of course, there was the temperature issue. Rick alternated between freezing and not being able to get enough blankets, his thin frame shaking despite all the layers… and the exact opposite, tossing all the blankets aside as quickly as he could, complaining that the thermostat must be broken. He kept going from one extreme to the other, with very little middle ground.

During the few moments of calm when Rick slept, or at least had settled down temporarily, Morty kept looking at things on his phone and scribbling down notes from what he read. As the day went on, what he was looking at progressed from benign things like the debate on whether or not vitamin C did anything for a cold and memes about watching game shows while home sick, to distinguishing colds from more serious illnesses. And from there to complications of those more serious illnesses, and how they could be worse and more likely in someone older…

While Rick seemed to be sleeping soundly enough, Morty decided to risk sneaking upstairs to grab his laptop. His phone was nearly dead, and besides, he was tired of staring at that small screen (and Rick sometimes kicking the phone out of his hand). He came back downstairs about 10 minutes later to discover Rick awake and glaring at him. The tissue shoved up his right nostril undercut how furious he looked, but only slightly.

“Morty…”

“What? I wasn’t gone long, and you’re the one who wants me to leave you alone all together. If you’re mad again because I won’t bring you more booze, too bad.” Morty said, trying to figure out what the newest problem was.

“Where’s my portal gun, Morty?” Shit. Morty gulped, but quickly tried to act nonchalant and lie his way out of this.

“You mean you don’t have it? Aw geez, Rick. I don’t, don’t know anything about that. You probably dropped it in the garage earlier and didn’t notice. You have been pretty out of it today.” Rick considered this. He hated to admit it, but that was possible. After all, he still hadn’t figured out why there’d been a shoe in his pocket earlier. But Morty was clearly more anxious than usual, and it was a dead giveaway he was hiding something.

“Uh-huh. Can’t argue with *COUGH!* that. So how about you help me find it?”

“Maybe later. You need to get some more rest, and what’s it matter where your portal gun is when you’re in no condition to use it?”

“I’m not going to use it. Just getting up from this couch to go look for the thing sounds like a huge pain in the ass – forget about going to another dimension. But it’s mine and I want it. Besides, *Cough!* *Cough!* if I’m not going to use it, what does it matter if I have it?” 

Morty couldn’t think of a reply, and for the second time that day, Rick found himself locked in a staring contest with one of his grandchildren. Also for the second time that day, he lost when he sneezed.

“Ugh. Dammit, I hate this. At least it’s almost over. I mean, it has to be – I’ve been sick for days.” he complained weakly after blowing his nose.

“I hate to break this to you, Rick, but it’s only been a day. More like half of one, actually.” Morty informed him, feeling another wave of sympathy and worry. He plugged his laptop in, plugged his phone into it, and sat down next to Rick again.

“That’s not funny, Morty.” Rick told him pitifully.

“I know it’s not. But I also wasn’t joking. Sorry, Rick.” Morty apologized. Rick grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it.

“Stop that. You’ll just make your throat hurt worse, and for what? Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to help anything.” Morty told him, patting his arm.

“You don’t know that it *SNIFF!* won’t.” Rick argued, still talking into the pillow. Realizing how pathetic that sounded, he tossed it aside and slumped against Morty, resting his head on his shoulder.

 “But… probably not. *YAWN!*” he admitted.

“Aww, come on, Rick. Don’t fall asleep on me. I’m covered in your germs as it is. Move.” Morty protested, trying to nudge Rick off him.

“You gonna tell me where my portal gun is?” Rick asked, struggling to stay awake.

“Nope. You say you aren’t going to use it, but I have zero reason to believe you.”

“Fine. Then I’m not moving.”

“If you fall on the floor, I’m leaving you there.” 

Still trying unsuccessfully to make Rick move, Morty was surprised there was no sarcastic response or further argument. He turned his head slightly and saw it was because Rick had fallen asleep. With a sigh, Morty tried one last time to nudge Rick off his shoulder. When it didn’t work, he resigned himself to being used as a pillow for a while. He turned on the laptop and went back to his questionable research. Another episode of the fishing show came on. This time, the man who looked like Gene with a beard was listing facts about salmon.

While Rick had slept half an hour at most any other time during the day, of course, now it seemed like he was going to be out for much longer.

“How is this the one position you’ve managed to get comfortable in all day?” Morty asked, feeling some drool drip onto his shoulder. Besides being awkwardly slumped against Morty, Rick had one leg draped over the back of the couch, and the other dangling off the front of it. It was surprising he hadn’t fallen yet. Having given up on getting Rick to move, Morty decided to see if he could slip free without disturbing him. He put his laptop aside and tried to stand up… only to realize that Rick had grabbed onto his arm at some point without him noticing.

“C’mon, really?” Morty whispered, carefully trying to free his arm. Rick groaned and coughed a few times.

“Shit! Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Morty apologized.

Either ignoring or not hearing him, Rick sat up a little straighter and took a half asleep look around the room. He pulled his blanket pile up to his chest, then immediately rested his head on Morty’s shoulder again. He also tightened his hold on the boy’s arm.“Fine, I give up. At least you’re not trying to ‘fix’ this with something that could kill us, and you’re finally getting some sleep. You win. *YAWN!*” Morty gave in, accepting that he wasn’t getting up any time soon. He suddenly realized how tired he was, too. The sounds of the rain, the boring TV show, and of course, Rick’s snoring, weren’t helping. Morty looked back and forth between what he’d been reading on his computer, and Rick sleeping up against him. He debated whether it was alright for him to take a nap, too. After a few minutes of just watching Rick, who appeared to be sleeping soundly, Morty closed his eyes. Within a minute, he was also fast asleep.

[hanamukes]

Uika in Ave Mujica episode 4

For episodes 1-3 of the Ave Mujica anime, I felt like while there was definitely stuff going on with Uika that's worth unpacking, the scenes were straightforward enough in what they wished to convey that I didn't feel like they warranted explanation. Episode 4 has completely turned my view of this character on its head though. It feels as if her every word and action in this episode completely contradicts what we knew of her prior. What is going on with her?

I wanted to talk about her in a longform post, so here I am. This is maybe half analysis, half just me rambling my thoughts on what's happening on screen.

DISCLAIMER: If you're not familiar with the way I discuss this character, let me make it clear now that I absolutely love her! This post is essentially a love poem dedicated to how fantastic I think her writing is. That said my tone here might come off a bit sharp, because of how contradictory she is (which I say as a compliment) and how I want to grab her by the scruff and shake her until she tells me what's going on inside that head of hers. Just wanted to mention something before anyone gets the impression I'm criticizing her or the writing when I'm doing nothing of the sort.

Her first moment happens and immediately a lot stands out to me

First: the models in this anime fall under two specifications, girls who always have a blush programmed in and girls who don't. For instance, Sakiko has one so she's always blushing no matter her mood. Uika doesn't. But throughout this entire episode, she does. Why? Why is she so... eerily happy, in a way we have never seen her before?

Secondly, what is her aim here? Sakiko expressed her discomfort with everyone's attitudes, and rather than just being "Sakiko's second voice" as she has been up until now (take the episode 3 fight as an example), she's taking everyone else's side. Her actions are already in total contradiction with the Uika we've seen up until now, who didn't care about anything except easing Sakiko's feelings

Then this happens. Uika is basically in la-la land daydreaming about having her destiny tied to Sakiko's forever (especially because Nyamu points out that sounds like something Sakiko would say), yet she's ignoring her beloved who sits on the other side of the table

Uika, do you really love Mujica as it is when Sakiko's expressing to you directly that she's unhappy?

Ironically, when she does acknowledge Sakiko directly, it only leads to further frustration for Sakiko

Because she's focusing on the wrong thing. She's more worried about Sakiko's exhaustion from writing songs (which is something she can physically see, thus easily pick up on) rather than Sakiko's concerns with the band (which is something she'd have to actually stop to think about). It really feels like she doesn't understand Sakiko at all. How much does she actually stop to think about her feelings? How surface leveled, rose-colored lens does she view her?

Her actions here scream, "well, so long as I get to stay with Sakiko, I don't actually care if she's happy," regardless of if that's her intent. Sometimes your inner feelings aren't enough, Uika. Sakiko is actively looking miserable in front of you and what are you doing about it?

Are you really just going to leave without saying anything to her? You express concern when halfway out the door, yet when face to face with Sakiko, you act like nothing is wrong?

Again, yes, Sakiko is exhausted, but that's not all there is to it Uika. And she hasn't exactly been subtle about what she's worried about!

Mortis keeps the focus of the conversation to Sakiko having to write all the scripts (thus prompting Uika to point out that she's been pulling all-nighters and maybe that's the problem), but I quite like this line, as there's a lot to unpack here

前はそういうの絶対見せなかったのに

The translation gets the idea across fine to be clear, but in Japanese, there's an emphasis on the "never" part. It feels unthinkable to Uika that Sakiko would perhaps lash out, or show her exhaustion to the others. Kind of putting a mental pin in this because that's not the impression we, the viewers, have seen from prior episodes (Sakiko in this episode was acting incredibly in line with what we've seen of her already in this anime), so I wonder where Uika got this idea from. It makes you wonder just what Uika's impression of "normal" or "prior" Sakiko is

This line is genuinely sweet of her, if not a bit ironic because Uika's already absolutely overworking herself for Sakiko, which Sakiko pointed out in episode 1 (a lot of the officially published interviews have been pointing this out over and over too, just as a side note). They really want to ease each other's burdens...

Yeah, we're not even being subtle about Uika having to "borrow" ways to cheer people up anymore

I actually noticed this about her even back in It's MyGO. When Uika comforted Tomori in episode 10, it was eerily close to what Sakiko did in episode 3. Tomori even associated Uika's actions as being reminiscent of Sakiko's behavior. I had no evidence about Uika copying what Sakiko did then (I don't... think? know? that Uika saw Sakiko's meeting with Tomori and thus could copy it), but now? There's evidence that perhaps her acts of generosity are in fact just things she's imitating from others. If you're curious about the It's MyGO example of this, I highly recommend watching this for yourself

Oh, I'll also mention that in my pre-anime analysis post for Uika, I mentioned she probably doesn't "shine" at all as an idol without Mana, and she more or less just confirmed that for us

Again there's a lot to unpack with this part

Hoo boy. Let's go back an episode. In episode 3, Uika was feeling insecure about the fact Sakiko "knew" Mutsumi "very well since they were kids." She looked visibly bothered by it before changing the topic. So hearing from "Mutsumi" herself that "Actually, you're the one closest to Sakiko, not me" must be making her day. Mortis is actively using Uika's affection for Sakiko against her (well, for the sake of the band, but she's still manipulating (for lack of a better word) her regardless). It's a bit harrowing when you realize that Uika's happy that her "competition" for being close with Sakiko is dead, despite her not realizing Mutsumi more or less is dead at this point...

Moving on to the scene in her apartment, my only addition here is... well, it sure is something how the only things she said to Sakiko were what Mortis told her to say. She has no lines here that weren't just parroting advice. Is that really all you have to say to your beloved?

This is an interesting comment from her

Because there's a couple ways you could interpret this. Is Uika referring to the "stiff" expression, or the close proximity? We know for Sumimi, she views herself as having a "terrible expression" (when Mana's not around to change her energy), but it's also not lost on me that it could also be referring to "my image of Sumimi [where we take photos together in close proximity]"

Sakiko's reaction to this is what makes it so meaningful to me

Nyamu and the photographers are saying "this doesn't look like Mujica at all, but that's a good thing," which Sakiko is obviously displeased about. Why would going against Mujica's worldview be a good thing? And yet... even Uika, who founded the band with her and who writes all their songs, is saying she likes the photo. Once again, Uika is completely disregarding Sakiko's feelings despite how close she is to her. Physically, they're almost close enough to brush shoulders, but emotionally, I don't think Sakiko's ever felt further from her. The betrayal in her face and voice feels so obvious, yet Uika's still in la-la land like she was earlier in the episode and doesn't acknowledge it at all... we really can put ourselves in Sakiko's shoes throughout the whole episode, because truly, what is going through Uika's head?

Uika doing sweet gestures for Sakiko. This is the character I recognize!

It's not lost on me that 1. she has two umbrellas like she does in her apartment, and 2. there's this almost eerie focus on Uika making coffee for people. I say this because the opening itself has a shot of her mugs, there's that weirdly placed clip of coffee dripping in episode 2 (it's also in one of the trailers), the donut scene in episode 3, and now this. I'll be interested in seeing why this is so important to her

I do wish we had gotten to see the conversation Uika and Sakiko had here. Sakiko has a habit of brushing Uika off, but she was finally able to open up to her about something. They finally talked together amidst all of this miscommunication and not understanding one another, but we didn't get to see it... (which may be a sign they didn't really talk about much, but hey, I like my Uisaki crumbs where I can get them)

Thank you for the confirmation that Uika would be the first victim in a slasher film. Moving on

I love the way this comment is framed. If Sakiko left the band, who would be most hurt? Sakiko or Uika?

Uh oh. She's having her words used against her

What she said in episode 3 was honestly a bit careless* (she said it in front of Sakiko, who famously broke up Crychic by leaving it)... but she did have a point. She just wanted to articulate that Ave Mujica should be the 5 of them, and that surely they have a strong enough bond that if one of them left, they wouldn't be able to carry on and just "find a replacement," right? She's our kindhearted front of the band who loves everyone equally, right?

Well

(To clarify the translation, it's not super clear whether Uika said this directly to her, or if Mortis just hit the nail on the head)

Oops! Now that's an awkward position to be in, especially in front of Sakiko herself! Zero denial either...

(*I'll just tack this thought on here, but there's potential Uika's "Please don't hate me" line from the trailer could be because she feels guilt for having said the "if one member quits it's over" line (and thus bringing about the downfall of the band))

Last thing for this episode...

Same, Mortis. What? Why does she have no fight in her? Why doesn't she care? Why is she not saying anything? Are her feelings of guilt, embarrassment and self-hatred actually overpowering her drive to be with Sakiko? Is it over for her, now that the cat's out of the bag regarding the fact she only ever cared about the band to be with Sakiko?

I noticed she acted like a kicked puppy in episode 3 as well. When someone points out how selfish she actually is, she loses all her edge and goes quiet. She wants to escape the situation. She can't fight against what's true about her (the ugliness in her heart), after all, lest she drives herself into a corner as a hypocrite even more than she already has. But her reactions are fascinating to me, because you'd think the front of the band, and someone who swore her life to Sakiko out of profound love for her, would put up more of a fight to keep the band together so she can stay with her. She's not doing damage control at all, she's just taking the hits and all the impact that comes with it. Maybe it's some form of self harm...

(I'm also incredibly curious to know what Sakiko thought of all of this, but maybe that was the least of her concerns...)

Anyway, we'll see what happens next week. I wonder if and when we'll get closure on why she's been so apathetic to Sakiko, despite her claimed devotion for her. I get the impression Sakiko will be moving out (next episode?), so we'll have to see how she reacts to that...

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 7)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 6, Part 8

summary: You spend some time with Miguel.

warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all-consuming grief,

It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps. 

Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.

Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop. 

He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.

He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep. 

Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening. 

“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair. 

Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.

“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.

His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.

They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.

“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”

“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”

It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges.  “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.” 

“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.

“Discúlpame, tío.”

They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.

“I spoke to your mother.”

He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”

“She hasn’t called me either."

“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"

Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it. 

"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”

"You know it's all been hard on her." 

" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words. 

He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."

–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash. 

Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager. 

"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."

He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day. 

"It's today, isn't it?" 

All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back. 

“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.

Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick. 

Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.

His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.

“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.

“Hmm?” 

They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.

“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”

Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe. 

“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”

“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"

“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”

“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."

“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”

“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t– rot feels a little–”

“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”

They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.

“No promises, tío.”

“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”

He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.

“...best behaviour, I know.”

“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”

“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”

“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”

“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”

The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.

~~~

There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning. 

Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes. 

And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest. 

And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most. 

"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window. 

You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.

"I…I do."

You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered… 

Miguel is doing okay.

“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”

Really, actually; he’s doing fine.

“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”

Maybe even… good. Better than okay.

“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”

He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.

Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.

You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes. 

“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”

His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.

“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”

“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”

“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs. 

It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course. 

Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.

"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt. 

Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face. 

"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips. 

"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?" 

You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest. 

"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit. 

Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words. 

"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question. 

"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?" 

That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm. 

Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move. 

Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–

"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.

"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed. 

"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force. 

"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts. 

Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence. 

"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure. 

"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."

"...now?" 

Tomorrow. Miguel mouths. 

"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt. 

"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."

You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out. 

"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things." 

Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation? 

What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you. 

You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.

He cradles your chin, angling you upwards. 

"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips. 

You shake your head, writhing against the sheets. 

"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."

His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“Eyes on me, baby.” 

He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big. 

"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”

~~~

When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up. 

He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes.  You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all. 

"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first. 

"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?" 

Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes. 

He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter. 

You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum. 

"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course. 

"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–

He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead. 

"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?" 

He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways. 

"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."

He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad. 

But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck . 

You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.  

You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own. 

"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?" 

It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate. 

He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?" 

His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?

"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.

"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above. 

Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–" 

Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."

Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin. 

"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."

You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next. 

He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.

“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug. 

“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”

You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.

“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”

Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him. 

After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole. 

"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen. 

It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths. 

"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?" 

He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine. 

With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure. 

"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement. 

"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there. 

He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck. 

You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea. 

"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."

"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before. 

"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–" 

You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter. 

"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits. 

Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it. 

He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made. 

He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa. 

You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers. 

He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good. 

You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time. 

"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?" 

"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful. 

You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers. 

You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer. 

Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine. 

_

_

-

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[eunandonly]

exhibit a : you

୨୧ ; you and riki, on a date solving murder cases gone cold? that’s going to end in another murder!

pairing! criminaljusticemajor!riki x criminologymajor!reader | wc. 0.9k | warnings: atempted humour, incorrect law and forensic terms, homicide mentions EN-

🖇️ : riki version finally!! sorry it took so long ㅜㅜ

riki has been majoring in criminal justice for some time now

you two never really talked properly, most of your conversations were trivial things like “can i borrow your pencil” or “when does this lecture end”

you never expected your first proper conversation with him to be an argument about who can solve a cold case faster

"of course i can solve it the fastest, what are you talking about, y/n?"

that just pisses you off bc who does he think he is

let's be so fr why is he so full of himself?

you had just been listening in on his conversation about a case study and you couldn't help but jump in

and riki had the audacity to mock you

"you're really going to stick with that theory? it's clearly wrong- come on, even i know that."

you were ready to bash his pretty little face in

bc your theory about the jane doe case is definitely right dafuq.

the time window, the evidence, the interview transcripts... it all fits your narrative

and the more you and riki discuss the case, the more convinced riki is that your theory MIGHT be right

of course he won't admit that though

but when you start talking about livor mortis he can't help but stare at you with hearts in his eyes

like DAMN he loves girls who recite shit like that as if it's the alphabet

one day you're just packing up your bag to leave after a lecture when riki comes over

"hey, you wanna study with me this evening? get some work done on the cold case project?"

riki's tryna be all nonchalant but he's screaming inside PLEASE SAY YES PLEASE SAY YES

you say yes.

you two meet at riki’s dorm room and tbh it’s kinda messy in there

i imagine criminology major riki to have lots of books regarding criminal law and stuff lying about everywhere and js have a lot of stuff in general

like the only place that’s not covered by some book or paper of some sort is the bed because he needs sleep (but he stays up till 5am anyways)

he probably listens to true crime podcasts all night

riki and you start get into your work right away but both of you keep getting carried away bickering

don’t worry it’s just playful banter ☺️

“i said stfu his rigor mortis had only started on the head and neck of the body but livor mortis had fully set- that's just says that someone manipulated the factors”

you’re just sitting on his bed pointing at the case file and trying to prove your point

riki’s smart but dense at the same time

you both have some genuinely concerning conversation starters

“oh yeah so this girl apparently got burned alive on a wooden pole outside a school campus!”

"do you think the car air conditioner will be cold enough to use during the winter when trying to onset rigor mortis of the body?"

"if someone dug up a already dead body murdered by someone else and re-buried it to hide it from the officials, what charges would they get?"

you guys say it so casually too like you're discussing what to have for dinner

you always thought riki was cool and had a little liking for him but working on a project together and really made the feelings more intense

sure he’s an annoying little menace who’s way too stubborn

but he’s smart. and he’s pretty.

you really are going to bash his pretty face in one day.

even when you two are not working on the project you two meet up in each other’s dorm rooms to play games, talk, etc

like you two make plans to meet up at your room to play fortnite (you carry his ass through the game)

oh but he won't admit that

i feel like riki would prefer staying in for these types of activities

you know those little packages of fake crime cases you can buy to investigate and stuff?

that's what you and riki do on friday nights except it's not a fake crime

it's all real

you guys research serial murder cases, disappearances that went cold YEARS ago, heists... the list just goes on and on

yeah but these little dates are probably going to become a homicide case itself

no bc why is riki not shutting up his narrative is so wrong

he ends up confessing to you at the end of the month after both of you submitted the most beautiful thesis on a double homicide case

you got lots of help from riki on the criminal law aspects of it and you helped him with the profiling and forensics part

"no y/n, he would be charged for perverting the course of justice, what are you on?"

“riki, stop being such a dumbass. the offender and the victim had no connection whatsoever.”

riki was so scared to confess to you, he was overthinking for days straight instead of sleeping at night

so for your first date you just have him come over to your dorm and make a murder board with you

not exactly a common first date activity but both of you have fun with red string and evidence so it’s fine

you and riki later on create your own true crime podcast except you're not just talking about the crime

you're both solving them (agggtm anyone?)

i'd like to think that you and riki's podcasts went viral and everyone gushing over you two

you and riki just make a really cute couple

[sharenadraculea]

The primarchs having dinner together

Lion: He is a cat. He only eats the meat. Not even touching his veggies. He doesn‘t really get why they are having this dinner, but Luther thought him some decent table manners and he is happy to eat the meat of everyone who doesn‘t want theirs. He is eyeing the pidgeons sitting outside the window. They are gone by the end of teh evening. Fulgrim: He has some really bad allergies. Like one small bite can easely turn into a medical emergency. He really hoped to eat the same food as the others, but it‘s not safe. He takes his own food with him and feels pretty bad about it. Ferrus needs to comfort him. Perty: Grumbeling the whole time. Magnus dragged him here, saying it would be fun. Maybe it kind of is. But Calliphone still cooks better. Jagh: He is very excited to try some new food, very adventurous taste. He‘s having a great time, very supportive of his brothers who are a bit more picky than he is. Offers to buy everyone drinks. Leman: He has a lot of fun too, needs to be stopped from drinking too much. He is a bit sceptical of everything more complicated than bread and meat. A chocolate dessert needs to be ripped from his hands to avoid a medical emergency. Rogal: He has ARFID, so eating in general and especially going out to eat is difficult. Brought his own food with him and when told he eats like a toddler, goes on a extended rant/presentation about ARFID. Brought some extra dino-nuggets to share with his brothers. Ends up distracted and builds a fortress for the dino-nuggets to live in. Konrad: So much food! He has no idea where to look first. Eats very fast and has no table manners. Despite this, he won‘t touch his veggies, because cat. Heroically liberates Morty from both his meat and dessert. Somehow catches the rat which he nibbles on between courses.

Sang: He has perfect manners. Tries everything on the table, does a extensive food criticism. Definetly asks for the recipies of some things, the cook is crying in joy. At some point goes on a long tangent about food on Baal and how good snakes taste. Everyone is shocked that Sang would be a fan of raw snakemeat. He isn‘t very picky. Also eyeing Konrads rat and Lions pidgeons. Ferrus: Not enough stones for his taste. Attempts to also eat the plate. Very worried about Fulgrim and kind of hoovering around him. Lactoseintolerant and is carefull not to end up having a horrible stomach ache, Angron: The nails make tablemanners difficult, he has decided that everything is fingerfood. Surprisingly calm, ripping apart food probally helps. Rob: He got the menu weeks in advance to mentally prepare. Still, it is difficult to eat so much new food. He is kind of regretting that he didn‘t bring his own food like Rogal. Someone notices how stressed out he is and asks the cook if they can send him some spaghetti. This helps a lot. Morty: Meat just gives him the ick. Can‘t eat it, very glad to give his to Konrad. Very happy to eat Konrads and Lions veggies. Kind of intimidated by eating with so many people and very quiet. Looks like he thinks someone will take his food away any moment. Ends up hiding some food in his pockets to eat later, Magnus: He has brought his books with him, just in case. Not all that interested in the food, but keeps three conversations going at the same time. Later drinks two glasses of wine and is passed out, transforming into a blob of warp-goo. Horus: Loudly commenting on everyone else and what they are eating. Then Rogal lectures him and he is humbled for approximatly three minutes. Lactoseintolerant, which he fully ignores. Later loudly complains about his tummyache. Lorgar: His religion has pretty strict rules about what you can eat, so he is very angsty. But he also doesn‘t want to cause problems and it looks and smells so good and Angron keeps handing him squished things and that‘s weirdly cute… Vulkan: He is just so happy that they are all here. Buys everyone some icecream for dessert. He has brought his mothers extra spicy BBQ-sauce with him and puts it on everything. It is classified as a weapon of mass destruction by everyone not from Nocturne. Corvus: Has some food-related trauma (specifically the hadn‘t had emough as a kid) and so keeps eating pretty much everything handed to them. Evem tries Vulkans BBQ-Sauce, which does not end well. Vulkan buys them birdseed in exchange, which makes them very happy. Alpharius Omegon: Somehow got their hands on a McDonalds Happy Meal. Very happy to witness all the chaos

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Despite Both Being Toxic Figures, I Am More Worried About Those Who Relate To Stolas Than Bojack

The reason I worry more about Stolas' fans relating to him is because of the fact he's more openly soft and effeminate than Bojack thus people underestimate him as a predatory scumbag and don't think he's as bad. While Bojack shows he has a vulnerable side, he fits more of a traditional masculine build where people will call him out more for it in comparison with Stolas where people will say bs that a "bottom" like him can't be abusive or a pos. But as Ricky and Morty stated:

And that's why I really am concerned to people who look up to Stolas because it could enable a lot of toxic traits found in them. While Bojack is someone who meant to be written as such, Stolas is an unintentionally written toxic predator because his writers don't perceive him as that and endorse his more abusive traits. Unlike in Bojack where the lessons are he has to take responsibility and not rely on his past to justify or excuse his behavior, the narrative does that for Stolas from making his wife abusive to avoid taking him to task for cheating on her to now having Octavia being mad at him taking meds so that it makes her look like a prick for choosing to cut ties with him. Also notable in his relationship with Blitzo despite making a grand gesture out of tring to win his love he still thinks he's entitled to a relationship and is ignorant about how bigoted he is towards his kind and his social status. Frankly, where he is now with Blitzo he's already shown he's leaching onto his kindness and taking him for granted but is not called out by the narrative or fanbase.

I do think another thing that really worries me about the harm that Stolas fans could find in relating in him is the victim complex narrative. I am saying that the Stolas narrative of him being a victim of abuse is used to justify his own abuse towards Blitzo and neglect towards his daughter. This is in contrast with Bojack that never lets him off the hook for being abusive towards other people just because he himself had a hard life. Having an excuse of being abused doesn't absolve you are hurting others and it hurts even more when the narrative tries to "both side" or "treat the other party as wrong" when someone points it out. The guy only pities himself but never is made to reflect on his actions and have empathy for the people around him. The narrative expects him not to really have long lasting conseuences to his shittty behavior like Bojack but instead eventually get rewarded for it like the entitled pos he is. The gives the message that as long as you can cry about how you are the victim you can get what you want and not have face the fact you brought this on yourself.

With Bojack there is an encouragement to change, while Stolas there is a message stay shitty self while everyone around accommodates you. Stolas isn't encouraged at all to stop treating people like crap just because of the issues that Goetia life foisted on him but instead have everyone else do the heavy lifting. The show has an idea of Stolas being wrong, but doesn't go through with it because of his creator's pet status. They treat his shittiness like it's a quirk little aspect rather than how it should make him justifiably hated by others. They treat him like he's has the worst life out of all the characters while not being sympathetic to anyone else's circumstances but his. He is essentially what the show condemns Bojack for doing, but is going to continue to be rewarded because it's deluded he's just some sad boy whose only crime he loves too much.

[glitteringcrab]

During the first re-watch of this scene, my thoughts were:

1. That faint in the end was so graceful that it was totally fake

2. That the "I'm okay, I'm okay" part was part of the "nice Morty" persona that he had put on, in a "I'm so nice I'm trying to reassure my bodyguards not to worry" fashion

3. That Evil Morty set up his own campaign manager to try to assassinate him to gain sympathy (I mean, he had no good reason to fire him, and Campaign Manager Morty never spilled the beans to the authorities about why Evil Morty was dangerous and yet we next see Trenchcoat Rick dead in space, so either Evil Morty already knew Trenchcoat Rick was stalking him, or Trenchcoat Rick was also planted by Evil Morty, possibly being the very Rick with cables in his brain that is seen in the incriminating photo)

4. Points 1 and 2 and 3 culminate in the conclusion that Evil Morty is like an evil manipulative soulless robot, not caring about getting himself shot, managing to put up an act even in such a stressful moment.

HOWEVER.

After re-watching this scene like a billion times (and, uh, creating a gif and splitting it lol), while I still think he arranged his own assassination attempt to gain votes through sympathy, I no longer think this is the face of someone who doesn't mind getting shot:

This is the face of someone who is in shock from the pain.

And, mind you, these are right after he gets shot. His fainting afterwards might have been a predetermined act (although it could be real, he was losing blood at a record rate), but at this moment there's not really a lot of time to school his expression nor think about his reactions.

And he immediately lowers his gaze and checks where the wound is, realizes it's nowhere vital (so the Ricks with their amazing technology could fix him in time) and only then he begins saying "I'm okay"...

But I no longer think he was talking to his bodyguard. He didn't glance to his direction once (and he actually turned away from him). It seems to me that he was talking to himself, that he was trying to reassure himself that things would be okay.

And. Well. When we next see him, he has a forcefield that protects him from getting shot.

Evil Morty very much DID NOT not mind his scheduled assassination attempt.

[taylor-titmouse]

2023 Book Retrospective

it's pretty much the end of the year, and i've never done this before, but i wanted to take a look at what i managed to do in 2023 and share some of my thoughts on it! i published five novellas this year (though i didn't actually write one of them) plus the public release of the demo and first huge update to You're A Mage on Monsterfuck Mountain. that's a lot!

so let's dig into all that. this will contain some spoilers for the books, because it's hard to talk about them without talking about what's in 'em, so maybe check out my itchio first and grab anything you missed! (but also.... perhaps wait until this weekend before you buy anything. shh.)

You're A Mage on Monsterfuck Mountain, released in March

TECHNICALLY, the demo was finished and available on patreon around the end of last year, and didn't become public until I'd finished the garden update, which i did finish this year. and what a massive fuckin THING that was. 60k words! 50 illustrations!! the biggest thing i ever put out and technically finished, and the beginning of a move to being less afraid of writing "weird" sex. there was so much bee sex in it. arguably too much bee sex in it. which i'd left entirely til last to do which meant i was writing nothing but bee sex for weeks.

this was the first time i let myself really indulge in writing dubcon for the bad endings, and it was a lot of fun. very often it was more interesting than the deliberately horny routes, because it meant writing a way to be put in the situation, and also making it hot every time. i'm very much of the philosophy with dubcon that even if the situation wasn't Ideal for the character, they're still going to get good sex out of it. i believe i put it at another point as, i'm here to write the pleasure of helplessness, not suffering. to that point, the dubcon endings for the armor, the dryad, and the queen bee were my favorite bits from this.

the fact i never got a second update out this year is a big regret. i finished a bunch of the routes for it, but ultimately i wanted to have things i could release! shortly after publishing the demo and update, i officially put my webcomic on hiatus so i could focus more on my graphic novel, and also spend more time on my writing. having that extra time is probably the only reason i was able to write as much as i did this year, and i didn't want to spend it toiling away on a serial project i couldn't release for months at a time.

which leads us to the release of my first novella of the year...

House of the Risen King, released in April

now this is when i truly said "i'm just going to write what i think is hot and interesting and not worry about how it's perceived!!" and went whole hog on exhibitionism and monster dubcon cult horror. house was mostly inspired by the ending of Hereditary, and was originally going to be more poltergiesty and played more straight, with vee being harangued by a bunch of horny ghost-demons and nothing more sinister than that. but i've had cult shit percolating at the back of my brain forever, and i wanted to play with ideas i'd first developed in shadow in the shelves with rituals and shadows, so here we are! the scene of hettie fingering vee in the bathtub while vee's god-fucked out of her mind is my favorite.

fun fact, the original seed for this book was actually going to feature max and mortis, my photographer/model couple (that link goes to cohost because i wasn't posting here yet when i was drawing them the most). the idea was they'd go do an urban exploration shoot and mortis would start getting fucked by a ghost while max filmed it, but the more time i spent with those characters the less i wanted to involve the supernatural. which meant i never wrote their book, and had to make a new character to do the idea. and then it wasn't even that idea anymore.

that's writing, folks

Roger Crenshaw: The Dogs at Duskfall, released in June

... which makes it ironic that the next book is one i didn't even write! r/l monroe @mortalityplays has been my friend for years, and was my editor for a long time (until he got a REAL JOB and didn't have TIME to edit anymore. sobs, cries, kicks a stone and walks into the distance). he's also always been an incredible writer, and for my birthday this year i asked him to write me something. i asked with the expectation of a little short story about our old tabletop RP characters, or a fanfic scene for one of my books he'd edited.

and then he wrote me 20,000+ words digging into the character of roger crenshaw and who he is that perfectly summed him up and tied all his stories together, such that i don't think i ever need to write another one. he did it, he wrote the perfect ending to roger. AND he did it using my favorite of his ocs from our tabletop campaign, AND there's some really hot and sweet smut in it. AND HE DID IT IN LIKE TWO WEEKS.

i loved it so much that i asked if i could illustrate and publish it as an official novella, and to my delight he agreed, and it was so so nice to collaborate with him on it. even if it meant beating our heads against the wall for 30 minutes about the placement of certain images on the page.

this was a great tragedy. i'd drawn the vagina one first, but an image earlier in the book had to be moved, which affected the placement of everything else. the vagina image had been perfectly at the start of a new page, and then suddenly it wasn't. so i had to do the penis one instead for better placement. tragic!!!

it's hard to pick a favorite scene in something written entirely, lovingly for you. how can i choose between the characters' pitch perfect semantic arguments on the nature of folk lore, the millenium princess-ass memory hopping, or the really really hot smut? i can't. i love it all. thank you r/l for being so good at what you do and writing this for me, i'll treasure it always.

The Dragon Double Feature, released in May

apparently this came out in may, and not july. i don't know why i've been convinced this came out in july. oh well i can't be bothered to insert it on top of the roger one.

anyway. THIS book. this book exists because i believe at the time i was a bit blocked, and wanted to just write SOMETHING. for a long time i've had the idea of a dragon wrecking a princess' wedding and fucking her in front of the congregation just sitting in my back pocket. it was the 'i know i could just slam this out if i wanted. i don't have to care about it it's just sex and then it's done' fallback idea, and i finally did it!

and then it was too short. i don't like the idea of publishing anything less than 10k words for full price, so i was like. okay. alright. i've always thought fucking an eastern dragon would be hot and have this other idea i was going to use for roger (back when i had an idea for every monster possible for roger), let's just write that. kenta is only kenta because i took a poll for what body type i should pair with a dragon (he was 'big boy', i think the other options were twink, older woman, and average woman). and i was also Really into the movie inu-oh at the time, which is probably obvious with kenta being a blind musician, lol.

the musician and the waterfall was tougher to write because i didn't have a clear vision of how it should end or even how they should fuck (the mechanics of fucking long noodle dragon have challenged me for years) but i'm ultimately pleased with it. it would have been a long time since i wrote something sincerely romantic, and it was nice to go back to it. i'm a HUGE romantic at heart.

both stories are pretty much one extended scene so it's hard to pick a favorite moment from them, but i will say i'm very pleased with how i approached writing the musician and the waterfall, specifically in the challenge i set myself to never use visual description kenta couldn't reasonably guess. writing from the POV of a blind man made me focus in on different senses and ways to describe them.

this book is also, as of right now, my best seller. which is great! i love that for me.

The Dragon Double Feature 2, released in July

okay i guess THIS one released in july.

anyway i got stricken with the curse with this one. a lot of people wanted me to write a sequel, but i wasn't going to. and every time i say i'm not going to do something, i end up doing it. it's so annoying. this one only happened because i wanted to write a SHORT! a SHORT extra for patreon describing kenta and wakatake's first time having sex as humans.

and then i wrote too much preamble describing their time on the beach. and then i got emotionally invested in unpacking their actual relationship, and also added a third character with mrs arakawa, and had to bring it all together into a story that was coherent and had something to say about the way they loved and ALSO ended in a THREESOME because WHATS THE POINT OF INTRODUCING A THIRD CHARACTER if they aren't all going to FUCK TOGETHER!!

it was tough. but i'm really, really happy with it in the end, and think it's one of the best things i've ever written. my favorite scene is definitely them playing with the hermit crab on the beach. metaphors babie.

the gundrid/eveline story is fine too. lmao. i NEVER PLANNED TO WRITE ANOTHER WITH THEM!! i only did it because the idea of publishing a sequel to a story from a double feature without writing a sequel to the other half of the feature was insane. and now eveline and gundrid are some of my most beloved characters, to the point of writing another book featuring them...

The Tenebrous Tower, released November

yet another book i'm pretty sure i was like 'i don't need to write this. this character doesn't work for a story on his own, what am i ever gonna do with him' and then i dumped a bunch of fantasy characters into a jar with him and suddenly i had a story. I ONLY MADE ROMICK BECAUSE I WANTED TO DRAW FUCKED UP WIZARD PORN AND MY ONLY OTHER OPTION WAS A GRANDPA!!!

anyway i started writing it as something to do on vacation, and it was just gonna be a bunch of dungeon bdsm vignettes until i hit on a throughline and suddenly i had a story and an emotional arc and damn i did it again. i did it again. i have a book.

i was expecting this one not to do very well because it had multiple prerequisites, but because i am a master of my craft i made sure to write it so you didn't need to read those. and then people read it without reading those. so it worked out anyway and now it's done just about as well as dragons 2. the people love romick, but they especially love the idea of him being destroyed. maybe someday. maybe someday. (except on patreon, where it's already happened)

the final vignette with the doll is, of course my favorite. i think it was a lot of people's favorites.

............................................

and that's everything i published this year! honorable mention to my novel starbuster, which i'd written most of last year, then spent all of october this year revising with the intent of finishing it, only to run out of steam by the time i was done revising it. so it's exactly where i left it last year. just better written. god it would be nice to finish that fuckin thing next year.

my goals for 2024 are, of course: release more books!! i have a big project i've been working on illustrating for the past month that i'd like to release in january, and i've also been working on a spin-off one-shot with mrs arakawa and an oni. i think this coming year i want to Try to blast through some of the one-off ideas i developed this year so they'll quit banging cowbells in my brain. like the sleeping garden. it makes me insane i never actually wrote the sleeping garden.

anyway if you actually made it to the end of this, thank you!! if you've bought all of these books, double thank you!!! i've been able to pay my rent and expenses just with my adult work this year, and it's been amazing and fun and super fulfilling. thank you for supporting me in 2023, here's to a horny 2024!!

[conanssummerchild]

i was watching meeseeks and destroy today and in the beginning of the episode when morty tells rick that he's done with their adventures i couldn't help but remember a similar situation with evil morty and his rick in the flashback at the beginning of unmortricken and i think its very notable to see the difference between the two scenes:

(please forgive the shitty pictures, theyre taken straight from my laptop 😭. blue is morty prime and rick c-137 and orange is evil rick and morty)

both scenes start with the mortys having an objection about the adventures

"Wow, another adventure where I went up an ass."

"I just killed my family! I dont care what they were."

and both ricks act generally dismissive about it, although evil rick does go for more of a kind of mocking approach while c-137 is just plain dismissive, almost distracted kind of like hes not really paying attention to what morty is saying

"Oh, good, are we having this fight again?" Let me guess, you're gonna leave or throw a sulking fit?"

"I don't know, Morty. Some people would pay top dollar for that kind of breakthrough."

dismissive at first (like i've repeated 3 times already, sorry i cant think of another word 😭), but his face changes when he realises morty's being fr

evil morty's response is, justifiably, to insult his rick, but morty primes response is not meant to be insulting, and its kinda more telling rick how he feels (traumatised) and showing rick his frustration with their adventures as they are

"You think you know everything, Rick, but you're basically just a giant 8-year old." (accurate and also not the only time evil morty has expressed this sentiment)

"You know what, Rick? Thats it! I'm done with these insane adventures! That was really traumatising! I quit! I'm out!"

It's also notable that morty prime is the one who says he's done with ricks stuff, while evil rick is the one who challenges morty to leave

"I'm not doing this anymore! Either you're in or you're out, Morty. I'm tired of you weaponising this half-assed threat. You want out, then fucking quit!"

so evil rick's reaction to morty complaining is to challenge him to leave, but, while initially dismissive, as soon as c-137 realises morty's serious, he immediately tries to stop him

"Woah, woah, woah! Come on, Morty, don't be like that. The universe is a crazy, chaotic place."

look at him, he's so worried about morty leaving

and lastly, evil morty agrees and apologises (ofc we know it isnt sincere, but still, he doesn't even try to get his rick to understand his perspective because he likely never has before), while morty prime doesn't back down and stands his ground

"You know what, you're right. Sorry to be such a high-maintenance Morty. Why don't i get you a drink?"

"You're the one that's crazy and chaotic! Adventures are supposed to be simple and fun."

evil morty then goes on to kill hundreds or thousands of ricks and torture their morties and do a bunch more unspeakable shit, all to escape his rick and the cfc, while rick c-137 and morty prime continue to argue for a little bit longer, but eventually come to a decision together and go on the very first Morty Adventure (which is definitely quite a rocky road, but establishes morty being allowed to pick some of their adventures, which is what he wanted)

also very notable is when evil rick starts shouting and leans into evil morty's space, morty flinches and falls back, shielding himself with his arm (which is something i didnt actually notice initially but that @/fandomwe1rd0 pointed out in this post right here) and he makes a small noise that sounds like one of fear (a video of the scene is in the post i just linked if you want to take a closer look at the interaction). at no point during c-137 and morty prime's little argument does morty flinch/seem afraid of rick physically harming him, granted c-137 didnt really yell at him like evil rick did, but evil morty flinches away when rick leans towards him, not when he starts yelling, and c-137 doesnt just lean towards morty, he actually puts his hands on his shoulders, actually touching him, and morty seems in now way deterred or afraid.

apologies for any spelling mistakes its 2am lol, i hope this made any sense at all! :)

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Hi, sorry to ask but have you written any fanfics where Jerry is autistic? I've read your autistic!morty fic and thought that was excellent. I'm trying to find Jerry-centric fanfics where he isn't mischaracterized/demonized. (Way too many people write Jerry as transphobic which -_-ll no he isn't)

Hi, no need to apologise! I haven't written any autistic Jerry fics and I'm not sure if I know of any (if anyone else does, please leave recs on this post!). I do 100% view him as autistic though. Thank you!

Yeah honestly Jerry being portrayed as transphobic is something that bothers me as a trans guy? I headcanon him as supportive but clueless/cringe at times (he a little confused but he got the spirit).

I do have a trans Morty WIP with a scene between Morty and Jerry, although Morty is still very early on in figuring out that he might be a guy, and Jerry kind of knows something is up but assumes Morty is a lesbian rather than a trans guy and so kind of fumbles but ultimately is trying to be supportive/nice. Morty does worry about Jerry not loving him anymore if he's trans, although this is Morty's POV rather than being objective/a thing that actually happens.

I'll leave the scene below the cut in case anyone's interested. Warnings for mention of periods (and them being referred to in a gendered way), fear of transphobia from parents, accidental misgendering (and misgendering/deadnaming of Morty in the text since this is only the very start of Morty's gender questioning).

“Morti? Rick said you’re sick. Are you OK?” Jerry opens the door. Morti quickly shoves her phone under her pillow. Thankfully, her dad is as oblivious as ever as he walks over and rests a hand against her forehead.

“You don’t feel warm. Is it, uh, you know,” Jerry points down towards his own abdomen, “woman troubles?” he asks in an exaggerated stage whisper. Morti wants to die all over again. She presses her face into her pillow.

“Hey, sweetheart, i-it’s OK.” Morti feels Jerry rest a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

Morti takes a few deep breaths to calm herself and then sits up.

“N-no, Dad, I’m OK.”

“OK, honey.” Jerry wraps his arms around her and Morti can’t help but wonder if he would still hug her like this if he knew what she’d spent the past couple of hours reading about. She hugs him back tightly, suddenly unable to stop thinking that she might have to make the most of the affection while it lasts.

When Jerry pulls back, his face clouds with concern and Morti realises she’s once again been crying. She’s getting really sick of that.

“Morti, honey, what’s wrong?”

Morti feels the question writhing around in her gut until it chokes its way out of her mouth. “Dad… you’d love me no matter what, right?”

“Of course, sweetie. No matter what, you’ll always be my daughter.”

The words are meant to be a comfort, but all Morti can think about is the possibility that she’s not his daughter.

“Morti? Are you gay? It’s OK if you’re gay, you know.” As always, Jerry is well-intentioned but clueless. Truthfully, Morti’s not really put much thought into her own sexual orientation, and it’s not her main concern right now. She shakes her head, and Jerry looks doubtful but leaves it. 

After a few minutes, Morti works up the courage to speak again. “Dad? Could-could you… tell me a story? Like when I was little?” she cringes as she says the words, knowing she’s far too old to be asking for something like that. To her relief, Jerry smiles.

“Sure thing, sweetie.” 

He launches into an improvised story, very similar to the ones she remembers him coming up with when she was younger. She has a memory of Summer complaining Jerry’s stories were boring, always demanding more action. However, once Summer had aged out of wanting a bedtime story and left Morti as the sole listener, Jerry had settled comfortably back into his original stories, which Morti found calming and reassuring. 

Her dad’s voice relaxes her and she rests her head against the pillow, feeling her eyelids begin to droop. Jerry’s hand rests on her hair and strokes it gently, just as he used to all those years ago. It’s enough to block out the negative thoughts for the time being, and Morti is so exhausted from the recent events that she soon drifts peacefully into sleep.

[proxylynn]

Lynn, what do you know about Tate Frost? I only know that he does not like liars, cats. He loves gambling.

{I'll be using quotation marks when using Mortis and Bile's lore. Seriously, they are amazing people. I can't thank them enough for making weird and messed-up characters that are also loveable. Lore and art provided below is by the wonderful creators mortisfox & bileshroom.}

[This is a bit of a hard one as Tate is in two projects. He was first introduced in Mortisfox's first game Purple and Frost Bite is set before the events of Purple. WARNING/TRIGGER WARNING (certain themes) Massive TATE FROST LORE drop!!]

"Frost Bite is set in 1995 and PURPLE in 1996. In Frost Bite, Tate is a butcher. In Purple, Tate chops wood and works on cars for a living. Tate is 6'1, his b-day is April 28th, he's 33 years old in Frost Bite and 34 in Purple. He's bisexual."

Why does Tate dislike cats? "he's just one of those cis guys who has never been around cats before and thinks they're weak and stupid. if Tate got a cat, he would hate it at first until it slept on his chest then he would take it with him everywhere and kill anyone who touched it. Tate just honestly needs to have a cat for a while. he'd still be a dog guy though."

"Tate LOVES to grill, but he's not like...the best at it. He sure knows how to heat the meat up enough for him to eat it but just barely, the bloodier the better! Tate would probably love someone who could cook for him though, anything to be lazier and still have food in him. But he's not very picky! He's usually a bit buzzed so pretty much anything you feed him he'll think is really good."

"so Tate would probably enjoy a feisty and rougher MC, especially if they're harder to kill cause he really likes the challenge."

Has Tate ever tried to track down or find out who his father was? "Tate's mom had a lot of partners before he was born, so she's not even sure who he is either. One of those random bar hookups ya know growing up, Tate wondered about it for a while but he lost interest. when he got older and has no desire to figure out who it is, at this point he's happier being independent with no familial ties, that way he can move around the country and not worry about connections. he likes to call himself a 'lone wolf' cause he's a dork."

Since Tate likes drinking, what kind of person is he when drunk? "OH lord he's usually really good at not seeming drunk when he is, but if you get him past that he gets REALLY handsy, very touchy, but after about an hour of that he becomes extremely sad and depressed, he has a hard time hiding that part of himself when he's shitfaced, but it does take a LOT to get him there and more than likely hed just pass out before that. He's not a violent or angry drunk at all though, if anything he gets more silly and nice."

Is Tate just, not interested in a real relationship like at all/ever, or is he open to it but it's just never really happened that he actually wants to stick around? "Tates has been very unlucky in love. he tends to get with people who arent really great people (not that he's any better), and he also struggles with feelings of caring or empathy for other people. I think in the EXTREMELY rare off chance he meets someone that's perfect for him that he doesn't just want to kill, the relationship most likely wouldn't last long cause he'd be the one to fuck it up. Tate's current mindset is that relationships are more trouble than they're worth and he'd rather just fuck around with people, but I wouldn't say him getting in a relationship would be impossible."

Who or what was Tate's first kill? "Tate's first murder (he was 18) was an old girlfriend (whom he lived in a trailer with at the time) who he caught cheating on him, they did not have a good relationship- often having screaming matches that lasted hours, so no one thought much of the screaming while he hacked her up with an axe."

"another bit of Tate's baggage He's always at least 25% drunk, but he gets these very depressing episodes and becomes very suicidal, these don't last too long, maybe a few days to a week, but they're very bad for him."

"anyway lore drop Tate has a younger half-brother (on their dad's side) Dean or 'Coyote' as everyone calls him, they'd never actually meet in canon but Tate would hate his guts lol"

Does Tate eat meat raw? Or does he prefer them cooked? Is he messy when he cuts meat up? "Tate loves meat that's been cooked for all of 15 seconds, the bloodier the better!! he also loves to just eat with his hands anytime he can, he doesn't care what other people think of him so he just does that in public."

Is Tate a cannibal? "yep, and there will be a lot of those themes in the game! we'll be putting a content warning when the game is released, but just in case that's not something you're into heres your heads up."

Is Tate good at aftercare? What does he do for it and how would he react to a mc that cries after sex from all of the brain chemicals and such? "Tate, being the man he is, doesn't think of aftercare all that much mainly because he doesn't have sex in a lot of places that allow it- usually in his truck or a closet or backroom of some sort, BUT on the occasion he does end up in his trailer or your place he'd very much be the "no talking I'm holding you" type of aftercare, if you can really call it that lmao. BUT if the mc was a crier after sex, he might be a bit more gentle, more back rubbing and if you're real lucky some forehead kisses that he won't talk about the next morning. (though he does enjoy the sound of pleasured crying so it might just turn him on again)"

Does Tate enjoy warm cuddles all night long or is he more of the 'needs his space' type in bed with only some cuddles? "Tate is very much a 'grabs onto you and doesn't let go until he is awake' type, even worse is he a very naturally hot person so I hope you can stand sweating buckets all night."

What is Tate's ideal type of partner? "Tate is one of those people that gets very easily bored with any one type of person, he's very selfish and doesn't care much about anyone else's feelings. Like there are certain things that draw him to someone: -shorter -shy timid people -people he reads as prey -small soft hands but he doesn't stick around any one place for too long and he has trouble forming real relationships (not that it's impossible, it would just be difficult lmao he is VERY stubborn)"

"Tates favorite animal is wolves obviously, but he likes rabbits and pigs and LOVES to play with people who have aspects or identifies with those the best."

"If Tate decides he likes you, really likes you, he's going to become extremely territorial, making sure everyone knows you belong to someone, to /HIM/, by leaving any marks he can on you. Tate does not like to share, he'd barely tolerate you even talking to anyone else if he decided you belonged to him."

Why did Tate become Slasher? "this isn't going to be touched on in the game, so ill answer it since it's not a spoiler! Tate doesn't really have any specific trauma or mental illnesses or any real reason to be like he is, he just does what he wants. He sees himself as an animalistic predator that wants to hunt and he gets excited when he kills people. he hunted a lot when he was younger and grew up doing that and it just escalated into adulthood and it went from hunting animals to hunting people because they're smarter and have a high capacity for fear, which he enjoys seeing. he thinks of himself as a wolf. but this isn't to say he's just a wild animal, he's actually very charming and can convince people to trust him easily. The game takes place around 1994-1995 too so it was a little easier for him to get away with things and he moves around a LOT from state to state. I imagine the state that Frost Bite takes place in is the new england area, but he's originally from Louisiana and he's actually in another game that takes place about a year later and he's living in California in it (Purple) -fox"

[Lastly...We now have pics of not just Tate or that one of his mom, but of his dad and half-bro! Also if you think Tate is huge, think again, because his old man is giant!]

(Lore and art provided by the wonderful creators mortisfox & bileshroom.)

[hazelnut-u-out]

Helloooo 👋

I bet you didn’t expect me to actually get around to posting a fic request, did ya? Tsk, tsk, tsk… Ye of little faith!

Anyway, sorry these have taken so long. I have the other four I’m prioritizing drafted up, but considering my health decline and full-time job, it’s not been easy to find the time to finish them. I’m doing this because I love writing them, so it was really rewarding for me to finish something up today— even if it’s just short and sweet!

Enjoy! I’ll post this on Ao3 as well and update this with a link when I get around to it. Sorry I can’t tag you, anon. 🤷

———

Rick clenched his jaw, stretching out further on his cot.

He’d been lying in the dark for what must’ve been hours now, nearly comatose. When he felt himself slowly slipping closer towards sobriety, he would unfurl his cold, ghostly fist and fish for the bottle of vodka resting on a pile of dirty laundry to his right.

This time, he noticed that the sliver of light leaking in through the crack in his door lit up the alcohol to give it the illusion of a gently glowing halo. Rick moved his digits closer to the neck of the bottle, soaking in the warmth as the soft projection lovingly traced his fingers with its proximity.

The sun must’ve gone down at some point. Rick could smell the scent of spice that hung heavy in the air while the typical humdrum of Tuesday evenings droned its way up the stairwell to his nearly-numb ears.

He closed his eyes, pressing his left thumb and index finger into the lids. He abandoned the bottle.

Rick knew things were getting bad when he couldn’t even find the energy to lift alcohol to his lips.

He was empty. He could feel everything dissipating inside of him, forming a vacuum beneath his ribs.

Morty laughed from somewhere downstairs and Rick heard the distinctive murmur of Beth’s cheery voice follow.

He was so close to life that he could taste it, the essence of of steak and potatoes soaking into his dry tongue.

So close, just to feel so far away.

Rick wrapped his mechanical arms around himself, squeezing tightly– holding himself together. His nose was cold, and he felt like he would either fall apart or plummet into the deepening pit in the center of his chest if he moved too much.

He didn’t know if he really missed people or simply mourned the idea of having people around him.

In concept, it was great. He wouldn’t be lonely; He’d have a hug or two when he needed it; His grandson could catch a marathon with him on interdimensional cable so he wouldn’t drown in his own thoughts.

On the other hand… Did he even want people around him? Did he even like other people? Did they even like him? Was he really worth that sort of thing, or was he just a burden that burnt bridges the moment they were built?

He heard meek footsteps approaching his room, not acknowledging Morty’s silhouette as he gently pushed open the door with a soft creak.

“Rick?” Morty said, his tone downy and careful.

“Hmm?” Rick grunted, turning his head and squinting until one eye was closed to block out the offensive light from the corridor.

“Mom said to tell you dinner’s ready,” the boy whispered, twirling his fingers nervously.

“I’ll eat later,” Rick replied with a huff, turning over. The coils of the cot groaned beneath him.

“I– uh… I convinced Dad to go get some ice cream for us! I thought we could have dessert and watch Summer and Mom play video games after?” Morty said a bit too-quickly. Rick was familiar enough to recognize the worried tone in his voice. His grandson was probably leaning forward expectantly, hoping Rick would oblige. “Space Mom, I–I mean, haha… Space Mom brought home some new console she got for her ship. They’re gonna test it out– see if it’s worth it, sort of thing. I thought maybe we could heckle for–for a turn!”

Rick laid in silence, Morty’s words lingering in the air for an uncomfortably long moment. The elder winced. He couldn’t exactly tell the kid ‘no’ without worrying him more.

“Pshhh…” Rick let out as he gave in, stretching his arms above his head before yawning. “Yeah, sounds fun, buddy.”

Rick sat up too fast, rubbing his eyes as he felt a bit unsteady.

Oh, yeah. He was still drunk.

“Thanks,” Morty said, smiling a bit more naturally as his shoulders fell forward with relief. “I-I’ll, uh…” Morty stuck a thumb out and gestured towards the stairs. “I’ll just go set the table, then?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, burping a little. He shot Morty a subtle embarrassed look and brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

“Cool,” Morty said, turning and walking away awkwardly. Suddenly, he paused, poking his head back in the doorway. “You sure you’re okay, pal?” The boy’s brow furrowed in concern.

Rick gave a half-hearted smile, shrugging off the way the younger’s question stung.

He blinked a few times. Rick hated when he wasn’t going to cry but someone had to go ask that stupid question. It always burned his eyes, something miniscule inside of him crumbling.

“Yeah– Yeah, I’m good,” Rick chirped.

Morty’s expression relaxed. “I love you, Rick. You’re a pretty cool best friend.”

Rick cleared his throat, pulling his shoulders up and giving Morty an awkward thumbs-up. “Thanks, dude.”

Morty smiled softly and finally turned away. Rick listened as his footsteps grew quieter before sinking his face into his hands and gasping for air.

God, how could he do this to him?

Not only did he have to pretend to be sober, he had to pretend he could feel. He thought of how to smile convincingly when Morty effectively bartered a turn on the game or handed him his bowl of vanilla ice cream.

Rick sighed.

“I know you’re not real, but…” Rick clasped his hands together and looked up. “I mean, if… Whatever’s out there other than me– than him…” He paused, his mouth going dry. “Eh… Nevermind. Fuck you.”

Rick waved a hand dismissively, standing on unsteady legs and heading for the hallway.

———

[fandomwe1rd0]

This is something that's been bothering me for a while so I'm gonna post a rant about it. So male abuse victims aren't really shown in the media, I can only think of like 2 that were shown well, which is Hunter from the Owl House and Bojack Horseman from, well, Bojack Horseman. Now I don't watch a lot of TV, but that's still a little in comparison to the female abuse victims I know that were portrayed well. Diane, Adora, Amity (You could agrue that her parents aren't abusive but they do seem emotionally neglectful and that is a form of abuse sooo) Etc., etc., you get the point.

And now we've got Morty, a male abuse victim, and the show just completely ignores his trauma! And it makes me upset! They have this golden opportunity to show a male abuse victim and the effects the abuse has on him, especially since we already see the low self image he has curtesy of Rick, and that he has repressed rage towards Rick, but that's just about all we get. We never see anything more. And it's upsetting, ik the show isn't over yet, they still have 3 more seasons, but I'm just starting to worry. While I love Morty as is, he has so much untapped potential that, if it was unleashed, it would make me love him even more. I just really hope they use Morty more, but I'm scared that they won't explore his trauma because (Credits to @hazelnut-u-out for pointing this out) it would make Rick less sympathetic, since it would be hard to sympathize with an abuser with the effects of their victims being shown, although I would agree Rick could still remain sympathetic since Bojack is sympathetic to many people despite the effects of his horrible actions being shown, I don't sympathize with him but that's for personal reasons.

I just really hope they care less about making Rick sympathetic and more about giving Morty the attention that he deserves and giving our boy justice. What do y'all think?

[pondhue]

just wanted to say thank you all for the love you have shown on my work so far. it is so nice to be able to have something to enjoy/enjoy with other people

i happened to get into the show october 2022, when i was at a very low/scary point in my life (i am much better now ☺️). i got very attached to the show very quickly. it felt good to distract myself with a (controlled?) chaotic thing as it helped me escape from my own. and of course i got very attached to rick. im sure freud would have a field day in my brain trying to figure THAT out but anyway-

i see ALL of your tags (i literally scroll and read ALL of them like if you think 'oh haha not mine' yours too), replies, i see the asks (don't worry i will get to them, im working on a rickxdiane being domestic one as i type this) and read them with a big grin on my face.

the level of enthusiasm and excitement shared here is so nice and lowkey refreshing. it really makes drawing fun for me again. i get excited to pick up my tablet pen again for the first time in 2 years! im like "people like my stuff!! they get excited for when i post!! all those little people in my phone are so nice!!!" to my partner bc i just get so pumped lol (he begrudgingly accepts my rick obsession, love him) and he's really happy for me.

i've also noticed my artistic skill and visual library improved and expanded significantly upon making this side blog and delving into doing fanart for rick and morty. i just love this show so much and i wanted to say that in a way that best suits me. i'm very proud of myself and appreciative of all the support! it pushes me to do more/better in terms of my art

this post got suuuuuper long but the edible kicked in and i'm feeling ✨sentimental✨so yeah. thank you all. you guys are great.

- pond 🩷

[sharenadraculea]

The primarchs on a bus

So, the primarchs take a roadtrip, in a doppeldecker-travelbus because I say so:

Lion: He drives the damn thing. Doesn‘t talk to anyone, just stubbornly looking at the road. Very good driver. Either listening to a very disturbing true-crime-podcast or caliban-lovesongs Fulgrim: He and Fulgrim secured the last row on top for themself, so they have a lot of space. Laying down and using Ferrus as a pillow. Occasionally is struck by creative inspiration when looking out the window. Has all his painting supplies with him. Perturabo: pretends to be grumpy but is very excited. He sits at the bottom so he has a proper table to draw on and right next to Magnus. Drinking lot‘s of coffee Jagh: The whole polycule/lovetriangle-thing around Magnus sits at the bottom around one of the tables, so he is there too. Kind of sad that he can‘t take his bike but hanging out with his brothers is fun too. Tries to do some throatsinging to impress Magnus but get‘s glared at by Lion. Leman: Sits opposite of Magnus and tries to do his best to not start a fight. Rob has taken away his Mjod and stops him from taking more from the minibar. His wolves are under the table and he pets them the whole time. Started a fight with Jagh about who get‘s to sit at the window. They switch every few minutes now. Rogal: He sits in the trunk/luggage storage to give emotional support to Konrad. Has built a pillowfort, it‘s very comfy. Appears a few times to sternly talk to people who aren‘t using their seatbelts. Konrad: He‘s a very happy bat right now. He sits in the luggage area, it‘s dark and comfy, Rogal has snacks for days there and gives lot‘s of hugs and headpats. Was very sceptical about going at all, he had some visions. Sang: With his wings it‘s quite klaustrophobic. Also on the bottom floor so he can be next to Lion and Rob. Might be stresseating. Very glad Lemans wolves are there for emotional support. Ends up falling asleep, a lot of cute pictures were made. Ferrus: Currently beeing used as a pillow by Fulgrim. Is prepared and has some books and snacks with him. The two regularly get yelled at to stop making out. Angron: He is watching a movie with a lot of gore and cuddeling with Lorgar. Falls asleep eventually. Everyone is surprised at how calm he is. Turns out he is like some toddlers/babies and sitting in a car/bus calms him down very fast. This knowledge will be used in the future. Roboute: Lion has entrusted him with the minibar. He is vigilantly guarding it, making sure no one get‘s drunk. Drinks a lot of coffee and tries to get some work done. This is made harder by everyone (but especially Sang) Morty: Sits on top, kind of in the middle. Was very nervous but then Vulkan sits a row behind him and just starts talking? And it‘s nice? And he is listening to Morty talking about bugs? He bluescreens. Magnus: Sitting at the bottom, with the rest of the polycule-lovetriangle-thing. He has a lot of fun. A lot of drama happening. Makes out with Leman, Perty and Jagh at least once, Rob threatens to leave him behind on a rest stop. Horus: Can‘t decide where to sit. Switches places every few minutes. Wants to sit next to all his brothers. This was his idea and he is very happy how well it‘s going. Constantly on call with Emps of Malcador to tell them that everything is okay and everyone still alive. Lorgar: Cuddeling with Angron, doesn‘t really want to watch the movie so he listens to a audiobook. Once Angron falls asleep he starts writing on his own book. Vulkan: Sitting behind Morty. He has brought a ton of food and drinks with him and shares with everyone. Very, very happy. One of the few to properlly wear his seatbelt. Corvus: Sits in the overhead bag-storage-space. Probally sleeping, has plenty of birb-food for snacking with them. Alpharius Omegon: everyone feels like they forgot something, but they aren‘t sure what. Don‘t worry tough, the two sit under the chairs and have fun watching the drama. At some point just appear in the seats at the very front on top so they have the best view.

[olderthannetfic]

I wasn't an anti but I logged back into tumblr after a few years of not using it (2018-19 exodus), and that's when I first heard about the anti vs proship deal. When I was a teen I often read incest/underage/gore/abuse/rpf whatever category of things that are supposed to be brain rotting for you and I never thought twice about it. I never felt guilty, I didn't think it was wrong, and it never crossed my mind to think "this royed fic is depraved and the author a sicko". But when I logged back in, I started reading arguments from both sides.

While going through my blog, to my horror I discovered I had long ago reblogged some rick and morty ship fanart, the grandpa/son messed up relationship version. I thought what if someone finds this blog and connects it to me irl? How would I explain this? Why do I even like this? I thought they would think I was a pedophile. I quickly deleted all of it that I could find.

I also came across a bunch of kylux fanart. I had recently been seeing posts about how that was racist because of course some background white dude with two lines is in a more popular ship then the leads of color, right? Racism. I deleted those, too.

And now I feel so stupid for getting caught up in it. I never outwardly expressed any of this but it was an internal I have to be careful about what I reblog, what art I appreciate, and what I write. I chalk it up to being a year into covid and being isolated, wishing I could be physically in my uni classes, and being incredibly burnt out. I thought what people filled their heads with was really important- because so many people were not wearing masks and covid was overloading hospitals. I was incredibly worried about killing my immunocompromised coworker by giving them covid and resented everyone who wasn't following distancing guidelines (which was a lot of fellow students, my roommate, the public). And I thought if people considered more about what information they shared, and realised their capacity to harm, then this wouldn't be happening.

Plucking the potentially "harmful" things from my life felt like I was helping something. Though I'm not acting like I was operating selflessly. A lot of it was fear of how others would judge me.

After reading what you specifically had to say about kylux I realized how stupid I was being. Because the whole appeal of them is hot kylo ren and the BDSM villains fucking each other in leather. There is no other ship combo in the prequels that delivers that as naturally. It really is super lamentable that m/m juggernaut pairs trend white but it really is 1. lack of nonwhite main characters in popular media in the first place, and 2. lack of nonwhite woobies and characters that fit into that shippable mold. And these things being controlled by the profit margins of hollywood. I thank you for pointing these things out, and snapping me out of being an idiot.

A lot of people my age seem to believe you can change the world by sharing an infographic on instagram. Or here. I don't want to be too harsh on people for clinging so hard to the power of the internet for positive change!! during the most isolated moments of this pandemic, but I really recommend 1. killing the cop in your head and 2. seeing what sort connection you can make with the people in your area. I love logging off and being around people, and I love logging on to read my favs banging with tags that would make a priest infarct.

--

That feeling of impotence during a time of ongoing stress is exactly what gets people reaching for the fake activism. They've got to do something, and all the actually productive things are out of reach so...

Emotionally, it's just how we're built, I'm afraid.