#pre banana incident

[ricky-mortis]

Going insane over my new hyperfixation

[evil-ontheinside]

Forgot how much fun it is to write silly little spy stories. Heists and undercover missions and interrogations and underestimating your opponents and stupidly high risks and unspecified document retrievals. It's so much fun and just flows out of my brain like soup

[scientia-rex]

I've been trying to figure out what the deal is with prediabetes so I can write a meaningful response to an ask I got about it, and I just keep going wait--okay--here's one paper--but here's another one--here's a Cochrane review--but here's a different meta-analysis--and here's newer data from an RCT...

It's nuts! It's bananas. And anybody who says we have good, crisp, clear guidelines around what prediabetes even IS, much less what to do about it, is FULL OF SHIT.

What I really need to know in order to feel more confident about my handle on whether to medicate pre-diabetes is the population incidence. Not prevalence. Because if I take the most optimistic studies about medication as an intervention, specifically, I could be looking at about a 30-40% reduction in risk of progression to diabetes. But! How many people is that, actually? Because medication is not without its harms! We need to compare number needed to treat with number needed to harm, we need to have high-quality evidence that says yes, if we give this medication to everyone who meets X level of criteria for pre-diabetes (it's different in different sources AND it's changed repeatedly over our lifetime!), we will see a level of benefit sufficient to justify making these other people who would not have progressed to diabetes without it endure the hassle and side effects of taking a medication for the rest of their lives.

AND HERE'S THE REAL FUN PART: we don't really know where tissue damage begins! We thought we did! 6.5-7ish A1c. But it turns out there is a marked risk of retinopathy beginning at 5.5! Which is considered normal. AND ALSO we should probably be thinking of it as at least three separate disease based on our current ability to measure--A1c is a broad marker that collapses multiple forms of dysregulated blood sugar, and when we use more fine-grained tests, we see meaningful distinctions that probably affect preferred treatments between people who have impaired fasting glucose, people who have abnormal values on an oral glucose tolerance test, and people who have both. We should treat these groups differently because they reflect different underlying pathways: elevated fasting glucose means your liver is breaking down too much glycogen while you sleep, which is one issue, while elevated post-prandial glucose means your skeletal muscles (OR SOMETHING ELSE they're not totally sure) are behaving abnormally in response to insulin. IT'S NOT THE SAME THING and people with both impaired fasting glucose and abnormal post-prandial glucose are at higher risk of progression to diabetes/tissue damage than people with just one of those. AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, what is diabetes? What's the best cutoff? What's the best measure? How many underlying pathophysiologies are getting collapsed into the same group????

THE MORE I LEARN ABOUT THIS THE MORE QUESTIONS I HAVE and experts are all being serenely confident while contradicting each other so I have to actually dig in the data a lot harder than I usually do. I've been meaning to do this for months, but one of the presenters this morning made a comment about the benefits of putting prediabetics on metformin that made me go "hm, do I need to start doing that?" and I've gone from my kneejerk answer being "no, we studied this and it doesn't help" to "I don't fucking know and neither does anyone else."

...as always, Cochrane is probably right.

[darlingdekarios]

look upon me.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 7,381 content: Jonathan Ohnn / The Spot x f!reader, pre and post-incident Jonathan / Spot, reader is described as being shorter than the Spot but everyone is, established relationship, fluff, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [hair pulling, biting, scratching, orgasm control], hurt/comfort, brief obsessive/possessive behavior, this was not edited because I'm lazy

of the things he’d lost that day, there was one in particular that weighed on Jonathan's mind like a bad conscience.

"Stop looking at me like that."

You hadn't changed your gaze to look at him, still locked-in on the meticulously organized papers in front of you as you scanned for the patterns and knowledge you needed. From across the table he was slumped forward, his chin resting on his hands as he did exactly that - look at you. It was so often that he needed to do little more than that to pass the time.

"Like what, baby?"

You couldn't help but smile at the false innocence in his voice. He knew what he was doing, he didn't care.

"Like you're just waiting for me to stop," you replied, eyes still locked on the scratches of ink beneath you. "I'm doing important stuff here."

"I'm trying to do important stuff to you."

The kind of embarrassing laugh that was accompanied by a snort left you, your head shaking slightly as you continued your steadfast refusal not to look at him, unwilling to have your concentration broken completely.

"Jonny, seriously," you were trying your best to sound serious and stern, but the smile on your face didn't quite match it. "I'm trying to make sure no one blows up in this deathtrap you're building at work, and your notes are nonsense."

"My notes are perfectly -"

"In the middle of this sentence you just wrote 'banana'," you pointed out, sliding the paper in question across the table and pointing to the word. "Do you know why you did that?"

"Because I needed them from the store."

You laughed again, the sound he was convinced was the most beautiful in the world, your eyes finally raising to return his gaze. When you made eye contact with him it sucked a deep breath from him - he was always struck by you, even after years of knowing you. He'd accepted long ago it would be this way until he died.

You looked annoyed, yet at the same time so profoundly in love he couldn't believe you were looking at him. You laughed again and he took your distraction as his cue to reach across the table, one of his hands laying atop yours gently.

"You're absurd," you stated, punctuating your words with a nod. Your hand flipped beneath his, threading your fingers together as your thumb brushed over his knuckles - the ones you could reach, anyway. "You either make complete sense or you don't make any at all. Black or white."

Sometimes you talked about him like another subject you wanted to figure out. If it meant you'd stay around until you did so, he was content to continue coming up with ways to puzzle you.

"But you chose me, Atom," he replied, reminding you of something that needed no reminder. Your cheeks burned under his special name for you, eyes locking on his as any annoyance left your body. He knew exactly how to melt away any negativity from you.

"Why do you call me that?" you questioned, head tilting slightly to the side in an adorable fashion that always made him love you just a bit more than he had a moment ago. So many things you did caused the reaction from him, and he was happy to continue to add to the list. "Anytime I ask you just smile. I want to know."

Something in the look in your eye and a feeling that now was when he should give you the answer you wanted had the words spilling out of his mouth. Compared to how long you'd waited it was rather unceremonious, but so many things between the two of you had always been as such. Neither of you were incredibly concerned with things being made into a big deal, and now was no different.

You already knew how much he loved you.

"Atoms make up everything," he explained, his hand squeezing yours lightly as he spoke. "You're my everything."

Your eyes softened further as you took in his words, your heart tightening just as his hand had around yours. With a smile you shook your head again, using your other hand to mark your place on the page you'd abandoned.

"How am I supposed to keep reading through this when you say things like that?"

"I could've been the next Shakespeare if I didn't love science so much."

"Did you even take theatre at any point? Or creative writing?"

"No, I took anatomy instead," that cheekiness was returning to his tone, the need heavy in his tone. You raised an eyebrow at his words, already expecting something along the lines of what would come next. "Wanna see what I learned?"

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, a grin that you loved more than anything in the world spreading across his face as he leaned forward in his seat, waiting for permission to come closer, waiting for you to give in. You couldn't help it when you looked deep into his eyes, seeing how badly he needed you…you had to give him something.

As you nodded he immediately grabbed your chair to move it closer, only for you to reach out and grab the table, clicking your tongue against your teeth.

"Well, I still have to finish reading, don't I?"

"But…"

"Aw, don't pout, Doctor," you cooed, turning your head and leaning to kiss his cheek softly. "I'm sure you can find a way to prove how hard you studied while I finish up."

Yeah, he could.

The security deposit the two of you had put on this apartment was forgotten as he yanked his chair across the wooden floor, settling it right next to yours. As he got comfortable you began your work again, the switch of your own activated - when it was time to focus, you could always be relied upon to do so.

Even when one of his large hands slid across your chest, cupping one of your breasts tenderly. The first touch from him was always cautious and respectful, waiting for you to say a single word of disagreement. You nodded, eyes briefly flickering to his before you focused back in one your task.

Thankful for the oversized v-neck sweater you'd worn today he slid a hand into the soft fabric, mentally thanking you for having removed your bra already when you got home. The soft flesh of your breast felt perfect in his hand as he massaged it tenderly before his attention quickly turned.

His thumb brushed over your nipple gently before circling the sensitive bud, his eyes still focused on your face and searching for any sort of reaction. Even when he pinched not a single sound left you, your face unchanging as you read his words.

And while he wanted to let you focus, he couldn't stand to not hear you at least moan for him.

He abandoned his hold on your breast to hike the knee length skirt you were wearing up around your waist, gently pushing your panties to the side - still somewhat waiting for you to stop him. You didn't, convinced you could outlast him in this little game the two of you were now playing, but honestly not really caring if you lost.

You almost lost completely when he leaned down, his tongue circling your nipple as his index finger circled your clit. You slipped - it was understandable - and a soft moan filled the room, your eyes momentarily falling closed as he sucked your nipple gently before looking back up into your face.

"Well finally," he dragged the final letter out as he pushed his middle finger into you, running his tongue over the same nipple again. "You're so wet already."

"I like reading your work," you confessed in a broken voice, allowing yourself a brief moment to forget your focus. You felt his mouth fall open in shock and the groan that he let out at your words.

"Oh."

He kept his mouth busy, as he often liked to do when you were alone together in various ways, but where he chose to focus his attention on proving his anatomy skills was with his hand. As he pumped his longest finger into you he stroked your walls lovingly, pushing against the spongy spot behind your clit carefully and with the perfect amount of pressure each time.

When he pushed his index finger inside you as well, with ease considering how wet you were now and with a downright pornographic sound he couldn't help but moan as he suckled on your breast.

You were trying to focus still - a remarkable feat, mind you, considering how good his fingers felt pumping into you at this speed and with this amount of care - but one of your hands came up to hold the back of his head, fingers pulling at the messy strands of his hair.

"Jonny…"

Your moan immediately had his attention, his mouth abandoning you so he could flash you a cheeky grin, his cheeks deep red in color and pupils blown wide as he took in your face again.

"Oh, now you want attention?"

You blew a deep breath out of your nose, giving his hair a gentle tug as you met a pump of his fingers with a grind of your hips.

"I only have one more page to make sense of…"

"But…"

"You can wait five minutes…"

"I can't," he whined, his voice ridiculous in this tone but earnest - he really couldn't wait for you much longer before he got excessively needy, but you loved pushing him to the edge sometimes. "I swear to…whatever the hell scientists swear to I can't, my tongue needs to be in you now or I swear…"

You pushed his head upward to claim his lips in a heavy kiss, a heavy groan from him falling against your mouth as you licked across his bottom lip before whispering lightly.

"If you're a good boy and let me finish I'll let you cum in me tonight."

If he wasn't so excited about the promise you'd made he would have been embarrassed by the high pitched moan that he allowed to rip through his chest, instead he could only sit spellbound as you sank your teeth into his bottom lip lightly, pulling back slightly before pulling away entirely. You licked your lips slowly, eyes holding his gaze for a moment before you continued.

"But only if you let me finish, Jonny," you warned, turning your attention back to the documents on the table and releasing your hold on his hair. "D'you think you can manage that?"

"Yes," he promised with a huff, rolling his eyes at the fact he had to wait…he understood your fears about his job but at the moment would insist there were other things that deserved attention. He tentatively pumped his fingers back into you, not even risking a glance at your face now. "But…to clarify, I still want my head between your thighs first."

"Jonny," you warned again, flashing him one last serious look with your eyes, though a light smile played on your lips. He removed his fingers from you with another huff, lifting his hand to wrap his lips around them with an appreciative groan.

Aware of your attention on him again and your mouth falling open he grinned as he released his fingers with a pop, shrugging his shoulders unceremoniously.

"Sorry," it was the fakest use of the word he'd ever used, you were aware of that. "Just speaking my truth."

But he was capable - hell, he had a PhD, he could be patient if he really needed to be…no matter how badly he didn't want to be. No matter how hard his dick was throbbing against the black sweatpants he had chosen to wear around the apartment.

He waited until you started putting the papers back in a neat stack, instead choosing to stand quickly, grabbing you by the waist and leaning down to claim your lips in a hungry, somewhat messy kiss. Thankful you returned his kiss and chose calculated movements to encourage it into something more precise, he focused on turning the two of you until the backs of your thighs were hitting the edge of the table.

"Now," he whined out in a heavy breath. "Need you now. Please, now."

He was begging against your lips as he worked the zipper and button open on your skirt, pushing both it and your panties to the ground and kicking the fabric out of the way in hopeful anticipation. You could feel his hard cock pressed between the two of you and knew he had done the best he could in waiting, but that didn't affect how you loved to tease him still.

"You're ravenous tonight," you pointed out in what could be described as little more than a purr, nipping at his bottom lip again to pull another moan from his chest. He returned the favor before he stood straight - well, straight for him - encouraging you to lay back against the table.

"I'm about to show you how much."

He found his own seat in the chair you had been in and leaned forward as his hands slid to grasp your knees, encouraging your legs apart and baring your dripping sex to him. One of his hands trailed upward and he watched in awe as his fingers glided up and down her soaked folds, back and forth, spreading the slick he had already earned.

He continued this motion, adding in gentle rubs to your clit, as he kissed up your inner thigh, enjoying the soft feeling of your skin against his lips as you moaned at the familiar scratch of his beard.

"Jonny…please…"

"Oh, now who's needy?"

But he didn't tease like you, he wasn't able when it came to you, and it wasn't like he could wait any longer. Before you could blink again he had leaned forward, parting your folds with his tongue as he ran the thick muscle through them, well intent on tasting every inch of you again like it was the first time.

"Oh, you're indescribable," he grumbled against you after he'd flicked his tongue against your clit, glowing as your fingers found their way into his hair again, holding him close. Any complaints you'd ever made about his smart mouth were always forgotten when his tongue was worshipping you.

"Feels so good, Jonny," you moaned breathlessly, pulling his hair to encourage him back to what he had been begging for.

With a deep groan he continued, alternating between sucking on your clit and running his tongue between your folds, filling the apartment with lewd sounds as he slurped at your soaked pussy, ensuring every inch received his attention. He began to fuck his tongue into you, his nose pushing against your clit as he devoured you exactly how you wanted.

And that's how he got his first reward, your walls fluttering around his tongue as you came around him, your vision clouded as your orgasm rushed through you. As you moaned his name and your shaking thighs came closer around his head he didn't stop, instead continuing to lick at your sex like he was already setting out to pull another from you.

Your whines and whimpers of overstimulation filled the room, pulling at his hair as you fought to catch your breath and wiggle. He took the silent instruction and removed his mouth from your core, instead kissing along the thigh that hadn't received any earlier. He couldn't resist in full, though, his index finger slipping through your folds and into your still quivering sex.

"So wet," he cooed, just before he sucked a purple hickey to the inside of your thigh. "My dick's gonna slip right in."

"Please," you whined again, fully aware that now the tables had turned and you were the desperate one. You knew what Jonathan fucked like on nights where he was feeling like this and you were eager to feel him stretch you again, but through your orgasm's lingering haze you weren't sure how constructed of a sentence you could muster.

"Aw, baby, that's so cute," you could hear the smile in his voice and against your skin as he continued to kiss wherever he could reach, his lips now pressing to the hips he loved to grab so much. "Beg a little more for me?"

To be clear, he was asking - not telling.

"Jonathan," you whined, releasing your hold on his hair to instead reach for his shoulders, hoping to encourage him to finish his climb back up your body. You weren't thinking clearly, it was obvious - you may have thought the two of you were in bed but you weren't, and there was no way this old wooden table would support what he was about to do to you. "Please. Oh fuck please just…please. I need you."

"What d'you need?"

Okay, so maybe he could tease a little…he so rarely felt like he had any power in this world and these moments where he had you, the most beautiful woman in the world, at his fingertips were irresistible.

"Want you to fuck me," you whined, heart bursting as he finally gave into you and reached to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. His finger was lazily pumping into you still, holding you on the brink of overstimulation - he truly did know exactly what to do to your body.

"You want me to fuck you?" he questioned, a falsely puzzled tone behind his voice. "Or you need me to fuck you?"

"Semantics."

"Say it."

His voice snapped slightly lower, just enough in the way it did when he was trying to communicate his seriousness - something he honestly rarely did with you. He would never yell at you, but that didn't mean he couldn't let you know the gravity behind his words in other ways. He needed you to say it - exactly it, and to accentuate his point, he removed his finger from you altogether.

"I need you to fuck me, Jonny," you begged against his lips, turning slightly to press lazy kisses to the corner of his mouth until you reached lower, kissing his neck in the spot you knew would melt away this dark streak.

He stood up immediately, shoving his sweatpants and boxers down to the floor and kicking them to join your skirt, fisting his cock and rubbing it through your folds to gather the mixture of cum and his spit that lingered between them.

"Don't tease," you whined again, eyes meeting his in a hope to convey your desperation. His other hand reached to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across the bone before it trailed to your bottom lip, repeating the gentle motion as he quietly shushed you.

He started slipping his painfully hard, leaking cock inch by inch into you, trying to take his time and savor the feeling of each push, but by the time he had sheathed his cock fully in you there was something already unmistakably unhinged about his movements, his hand that had been between your thighs grasping your hip tight.

"Fuck…fuck…" he groaned as he tried to force himself to still for a moment, instead finding he couldn't help but pull completely out and thrust back in roughly, his fingers holding you hard enough to bruise - which honestly, you hadn't been aware he was strong enough to do so until now, and this was far from the first time the two of you had fucked.

"Jonny, o-oh my…"

"Fuck," he groaned out as he continued to thrust into you desperately, his movements hard and a little sloppy as he tried to find a pace he liked. When he finally settled on one he leaned forward to kiss you again, pounding into you with your bodies pressed so close together you could hear obscene sound of his balls slapping against you. "You're so perfect. You're so so so perfect."

You kissed him until you were breathless, repeated moans covering his lips as he continued with the perfect pace to match how feral he felt for you now - quick and hard, almost bruising, desperate to coax you toward another orgasm and earn his own.

You dragged your nails down his back - you might had even drawn a couple of specks of blood with how rough you accidentally slipped into - kissing back down to his mouth as you fought for a desperate breath through moans and mewls. You made a mark of your own on his neck, a spot he would wear with pride for the days it would last on his skin.

"I want you to cum again for me," he managed out between heavy breaths, one of his hands sliding to hold the back of your head gently. "Before….before I…"

"Before you fill me up," you finished for him, your tone breathy and lascivious before you ran your tongue over the hickey you'd just given him.

He moaned - whether it was at your words or tongue didn't matter - and grabbed your hip harder, his pace faltering again into something much for harder and carnal as his mind was overtaken by the idea of spilling his hot load into you.

"Gonna…gonna fill you…" he began muttering promises through breaths and thrusts, any semblance of normal speech pattern forgotten. "So fucking full."

"Please."

"Yeah, baby," he promised, managing to fight through the primal thoughts in his mind to carry out another delicate action, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Know you love it. Go ahead and milk it out of me."

His hold on your head remained as he released your hip, slipping his hand between your bodies instead to rub your clit with purpose, fully intent on not allowing himself release until he felt you spasm around his cock.

With the loudest moan of his name he'd perhaps ever earned you threw your head back, thankful his hand was there to protect it from the hardwood as your vision turned white, the temperature in the room seemingly one-thousand degrees as you clasped your legs around his waist, holding him closer.

His thrusts continued to get sloppier, and when he felt your orgasm approaching a more manageable end, he opted to ask before finding his own release.

"Can I…can I…"

"You owe me two minutes that you interrupted…when I was trying to clean…"

"Baby, no," he begged, his head shaking as he pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead and nose, hoping his sweet affection would earn him favor. "Oh, please, no…"

"Not yet."

It was a wonder that he could continue fucking you like this with how hard he was, the discomfort and need to cum evident by his begging and whining. When you finally gave him the permission he was seeking his orgasm was immediate - thick, hot ropes of his cum filling you so much it didn't take long for the thick liquid to start leaking out around his cock.

You were both overly sensitive, but that had never stopped him before and it certainly wouldn't now as he continued to drag his half-hard cock through your painted walls, content on doing so until you were a mess, pleading with him that you'd had enough and it was too much.

He listened, removing his cock from your freshly fucked sex and sitting in the chair that waited beneath him, eyes fixated on your leaking cunt. He couldn't resist - three fingers gathered the mixture of fluids that was flowing from your pussy and he pushed it back in with little consideration toward your overstimulation.

You shot up with a gasp, sitting upright just as he removed his fingers again, wasting no time and unwilling to hear complaints as he dove back between your thighs, messily licking and slurping at your hole until he felt enough of your combined releases were on his tongue. He leaned back up, one of his hands coming to the back of your head to pull you down to meet him in a heavy kiss, passing you the thick liquid he held on his tongue and continuing to lick at your mouth as it slid down your throat.

When he broke the kiss for breath his eyes were full of so much love you thought he might break your shared "no marriage" rule and propose.

"I fucking love you," he finally breathed out, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap gently to continue the shared moment of pure bliss.

"I love you, Jonny," you promised in return, nuzzling your head against his shoulder as you curled against him. "In every universe."

There was no way for you to know that, and yet, it didn't sound like too much of an impossibility.

"Atom…"

His affectionate tone was matched by the loving way he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before he claimed your lips again in the softest kiss of the night, letting you climb out of his lap afterwards knowing there were things to be done after sex.

"'m ordering a pizza before we go to bed," he called after you as you grabbed your sweater from the floor, using your other hand to attempt to run your fingers through your messy hair.

"'m gonna shower," you replied, grabbing the other pile of clothes to add them to the hamper. He loved how easy things had become between the two of you in these recent years - he wouldn't give it up for all the power in the world. "Extra cheese or I'm breaking up with you."

"What kind of monster do you take me for?"

"The kinda monster that better hurry up so he can join me in the shower."

You took him by surprise by leaning behind him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as your arms hugged around his neck briefly. Sometimes he didn't know how or why or for how long it would last, but he knew for now, at least, you loved him in ways writers try to convey in novels.

"I'll be so fast you'll think I teleported there."

Of the things he’d lost that day, there was one in particular that weighed on his mind like a bad conscience. The reason for so many of what he used to hold in his heart as his best days, the very same that now incessantly repeated in his mind, an unremitting reminder of what he used to have. 

When he declared he had lost everything due to the incident, he was speaking of you. 

It hadn’t taken long for him to reach through to steal a look at his lost love, and while he told himself it needed to be something that didn't become a habit that's exactly what happened. Some things never changed - he was still more than happy to do nothing more than gaze at you in silence, enjoying how you adjusted annoyances as you read, the way your nose crinkled in focus, the way you fell asleep on your desk, the way you played with the necklace he'd given you when you were nervous…

He'd almost broken his promise to himself several times now, happening across you on a bad morning and an even worse night when the emptiness in your chest at the loss of him was too much to bare, the false face you normally wore too much effort to carry on forever. You missed him, and sometimes you couldn't bring yourself to do more than sob that fact into the night, clutching the lab coat wearing teddy bear he'd gifted you to your chest.

He was positive he still had a heart, because he could feel it breaking every time.

Now was one of those times, perhaps the worst he'd seen you endure, and he'd only been watching for a minute now…at least, that's what he thought, though he wasn't keeping track of time. Your eyes were burning red and you had a framed photo of the two of you lying on the bed next to you, one of his old shirts hugging your frame in familiarity.

“Jonathan?”

The sound of his name from your lips again punched another hole somewhere in him far deeper than any other. You felt him - without words you knew he was there, his presence occupying your space in a familiar comfort that you’d come to accept was irreplaceable. So he had lost track of time…enough time for you to feel him again, the man you'd spent so many hours with in the past exactly like this.

“Jonny?”

He wanted to disappear, a war waging in his mind between the profound desire to hold you again and the need to hide what he’d become from you. Instead, he was frozen, even his mind quiet as the way his name rolled off your tongue again filled his ears sweeter than any memory. He'd promised himself that you would never have to look at what he had become, insistent that you thinking he was dead was better.

“Please, Jonny…I can feel you,” your voice broke more and more with each word, desperate to plead to him enough to persuade him. “I know…I know you’re there, somehow. Please.”

What was he supposed to do when you begged like this? You used to beg in the sweetest ways, he'd never made you beg for anything in earnest, not through tears like this…

Seeing you like this because of him made him feel more villainous and monstrous than anything else he'd done. It was anxiety inducing to watch you beg for the man he used to be, knowing he could never again give you what he once did. It made him sick - every cell felt sick, every portal poisoned and shrinking, withdrawing within himself.

But one more sob from you and a lapse in judgement from him led to a wrong step, his form stepping through a portal directly at the foot of your bed before he could take it back.

Oh, how he'd missed your bravery. You were sitting in a flash, eyes wide and puzzled but not at all afraid as you looked upon him - the new him. For the first time he had to wonder if this form blushed - he felt his cheeks heating like he would have before, but that didn't mean they looked the same. You leaned against the headboard, away from him which was exactly the opposite of the pull you felt to him.

A familiar pull - one that you'd only ever felt before with one person, with your person. Your eyes resolved in knowingness and you glanced at the photo beside you before your eyes found what was technically his face again, eyebrows pulling together as you worked through your puzzled thoughts.

At least you'd stopped crying.

"J…Jonathan?"

A breath was sucked from somewhere in him and filled the room with a heavy sigh saturated in relief - he couldn't deny how right it felt that you were speaking to him again, seated in the same room…seated in the room you'd shared.

"Remember…you used to say I was so black or white," he cleared his throat that suddenly felt far too dry, an oversized hand coming up to the back of his neck to rub nervously. This is where he used to run his fingers through his hair, you noted internally as your eyes watered again hearing his voice. "Either a genius or an idiot. Now I'm black and white all at the same time…"

His rambling was cut by your arms flying around his middle, the size different between the two of you that had always been there now even more significant in his new form. He stood frozen in his place, form rigid as you squeezed him as though you would never let him go.

"You're here."

"I…I'm here," his voice was shaking and he wanted to run, he could feel the unease spreading across his body and expanding like a sickness. But the worse he felt, the more the holes shrank…everything about him was on-edge. "But I'm not me anymore, baby. I'm…this."

"You're you," your voice was that sweet, understanding tone you'd used in college with him, before the two of you had even dated and when you were both pretending you were nothing more than best friends. He'd always said it was like a lullaby to a baby. "I felt you."

But he didn't want to hear it now, and something dark and incendiary inside him screamed that you were lying - that there was no logical scenario where you were okay with how he looked.

"Don't patronize me," his voice snapped into something dark, holes flaring out again and spreading to almost encompass him in darkness, almost like a shield. "Don't. I know what I look like. I might not have eyes but I can see. I can see that I look like…a fucking freak. An abomination."

You couldn't imagine what he was feeling. There was no lying to him, he was a reasonable, intelligent man - he knew that this form was not what anyone would describe as perfect and was certainly not what you had fallen in love with, and there was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise.

"You look like something tragic happened to you," your voice was unfaltering, the delicate tone coaxing him into the relaxation he used to always feel with you. "But I don't care what you look like, and I never have."

"It's not like a bad haircut or weight gain, Atom," he snapped. The vulnerability he was displaying was difficult to navigate as there was truly never someone to go through what he was…there was no anecdote to help him. These days, his default setting was anger.

Anger was better than anything else.

"I'm hideous. Look at me."

"I am," you said quietly, your voice dropping to just above a whisper. You looked right in his face, unwaveringly. He longed to kiss you more than ever before. "I'm looking right at you, Jonny."

That quieted him as he lost himself in the tranquility of you - you were the only one who had ever understood him enough to walk him through the difficult emotions and that was still true, even with his sorrow and rage felt and expressed tenfold. He'd thought so before, always known so with no scientific way to prove it until now…you were made for him.

And him alone.

"My Jonny."

Before he could register the movement your hands were resting on his chest and the walls he was trying to built crumbled, the spots essentially exploding into dozens of smaller ones all across his body, avoiding where your hands rested. As you lightly stroked your fingertips there they merged again to several larger, relatively heart shaped blobs.

He hadn't felt a gentle human touch since the incident, and he'd never thought he'd feel your touch again. If it was possible, he could have died on the spot. It was obvious that he was lost for a moment, forgetting the danger he presented to you, forgetting to maintain control.

But only for a moment, the horrors ever present.

After temporarily losing himself in the haze of feeling your touch again his shaking hands flew out, grasping your waist tight as his breathing came in heavy, concentrated breaths. Instead of letting him retreat within himself you stepped closer, hands slipping as close to his shoulders as you could reach.

"I thought I'd lost you forever," you said quietly, already teaching yourself how to get used to looking up into his face and not seeing his eyes. "And here you are."

"I lost everything," the vulnerability was shining through more as he opened himself to you again, almost having to reteach himself for a moment that you were someone he could share his emotions with. "My dream job…gone. My body…which was no temple to begin with but now I'm just this…this thing. I lost…I lost you. My dream girl…my everything. I lost my everything."

He saw the pain flashing in your eyes as you listened to him - as you empathized as you always had, your heart connected to his.

"You found me again," your voice was breaking again as you spoke, desperate for him to understand that all the times you'd said you'd love him no matter what you'd meant it. "I'm right here."

You moved your arms lower to wrap around his waist, stepping closer - but he ripped himself from you the moment you were close to connecting your head to his torso, the holes once again flaring in fear.

"No!" he shouted, immediately kicking himself for shouting at you. He took a deep breath to steady himself, swallowing hard as he calmed his emotions enough to speak again without lashing out. "You can't…the spots…the holes…"

Your brow pulled together like it always had when you were feeling inquisitive and you only sought to close the distance between the two of you again, stepping forward as you took in every inch of him.

"Holes?"

"They're portals," he explained, suddenly feeling self conscious about himself in ways he hadn't experienced since his one attempt at a high school dance. "I'm still figuring out how they work…and I don't want to lose you. I could really…really lose you."

He had missed this expression on you - when you were so deep in thought it was obvious your full focus was on solving the puzzle presented to you. He'd thought of this long ago and come to the conclusion that you would want to study him - to understand him more.

He wasn't sure he was ready to be the experiment under your scrutiny. But he was certain he could never be away from you again.

"Portals to where?"

"Everywhere," just like a doctor and patient, you were asking questions, formulating a hypothesis, he was providing the data. How many times had the two of you lived this scenario? Was now really so different? He remembered how you used to look at him in amazement…your expression now was truly no different than it ever had been. "Sometimes just back through another portal. Sometimes to other dimensions to other…universes. I've gotten lost and…I'd never forgive myself if you fell through. You can't be close to me."

"You just need to learn how to control them."

"I can't," he breathed out, his words exasperated with a break in the middle to accentuate it. It was all he could manage - it was all he had to.

"You can," it wasn't a tone full of false hope, it was decisive and resolute - you believed he could, and with your belief, he would try. "It's just another thing to learn, and you're the smartest man I know."

Before he could react to your sudden movements you closed the distance between the two of you again, sticking your hand through one of the holes in his arm with a deep breath.

"Hey -!"

Almost instantly your hand reappeared through his chest and a sigh of relief ripped through him, a puzzled smile spreading across your face as you wiggled your fingers. "Intriguing," he swore he could hear a familiar purr behind your words, and he had to wonder if you were trying to distract him from the complex mix of emotions he was experiencing. "How unique."

"You…you mean how freakish," he attempted to correct, focused on the feeling of you reaching into him. "This uhm…this has to be weird."

"You've stuck fingers in me," you defended, the playful tone in your voice one of the exact things he'd missed. Then again, in truth, he'd missed everything about you, even the parts he once didn't love.

"Atom…"

You pulled your hand back through him which earned another relieved sigh from his chest, his nervous breaths returning as you wrapped your arms around his torso again, your head finding a rightful position lying against his chest.

"Just hold me. You'd never let yourself lose me."

Your faith in him was misguided and foolish, the love you felt for him clouding your mind from the horror that you held in your arms - he was convinced of it. He froze, unwilling to give into even the slightest movement that would create a domino effect, unwilling to do anything to increase the risk he posed to you.

But seconds passed without incident until he'd been allowing you to hold onto him for several minutes. You were still here, still against him, still warming him up in ways he had longed to feel again for what had already felt like an eternity. Slowly, his arms circled you, pulling you slightly closer, clutching to you like you might still disappear at any moment.

As the minutes ticked away his arms got tighter and tighter, his hands resting on your lower back like you were made of porcelain.

"You kept all of my stuff…"

His voice was still so unsure, like he felt he was intruding…like he didn't belong here, in his own home. Like he didn't deserve to be holding you again. You nuzzled into him further in response, your hands flattening against his back to hold him against you tighter.

"I could never get rid of anything that makes me think of you," you whispered, eyes closed as you soaked in the moment, feelings both familiar and new.

"I haven't…laid in a bed since…"

He trailed off and you could feel the energy around him darken - you knew anger was a secondary emotion and in this instance it followed unimaginable hurt.

"Come to bed with me," you weren't asking, it was an instruction - voice unwavering and unquestioning. You looked up into his face again, and it was just like it had always been - you looked at him like you loved him.

"But why would you…ah -"

You really didn't mind the new height, in fact him towering over you more than ever before was causing other feelings that weren't quite appropriate for this sweet lovers' reunion, but it did make standing on your tiptoes more obsolete than ever, your lips barely reaching his chest. His words were cut off, a whine taking their place when your lips connected with his skin. He melted like it was the first time you kissed him, any residual panic withdrawing further into him as he held you tighter.

You felt the shift in his energy and smiled against him as you pressed more kisses wherever you could reach, mindful when you approached a spot, lips continuing to brush against him as you spoke.

"If you get into bed with me I can kiss more of you," "You're so tall now, Jonny. Can't reach."

One thing that hadn't changed was his complete willingness to obey you, to give in to your every request, to fulfill every instruction…it continued to be true as he scrambled into the bed, nearly groaning at the familiar feeling of his pillow and the sheets you'd insisted they needed again. The seconds that passed with him alone - with him getting used to his new height in the bed he once fit comfortably in, getting used to controlling the holes (when was the last time he'd laid down?).

But when you climbed into the bed beside him, the anxieties vanished. You moved as close to him as you could, one of your hands delicately resting on his torso while the other reached to his face, stroking your thumb across his cheek delicately.

It was the kind of moment where your eyes close in serenity, and somewhere inside him he felt it. Maybe he was a fool for thinking this could last, but with the multiverse at his fingertips, he'd always reach out to you.

All of the versions of you were meant to be his.

And they would be.

masterlist. marvel masterlist.

[soapymansuds]

Eternity and counting

Pt 5

(Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4)

(Ok y'all, going on vacation and this is the last chapter I have pre-written SO the next upload may be late. Apologies in advance.)

Obey me! X Angel!MC (They/Them Pronouns)

TW: Suicide, depression, self-deprecation, death, big feelings, lots of sad.

MC just can't handle anything anymore and takes their own life. Imagine their dismay to find even death isn't the end for them.

~/\~

And so I do. Because I'm stupid. And selfish. And did I mention stupid? There is literally nothing dumber I could be doing. And that thought doesn't stop me. I trace a long since overgrown path around to the back of the house. Lifting the ancient stone of a raven statue, I reach blindly underneath in search of the spare key. Mammon told me about it during my first week here because he so frequently forgot his own keys inside. I chuckle softly at myself as my hand makes contact with the delicate key, the idea of something so small being so unchanged for so long being a little bit silly to me.

The key fits as snugly in the door as it always has, and I revel in the soft click of the lock as I twist it. I take a moment inside, breathing in the soothing smell of the house. It's peppery and smokey, but something sweet hides beneath the muskier smells. Like marshmallows on a campfire or a sweet oil rubbed into old leather. It's warm in my lungs. The air itself feels like soothing aloe on my hot skin. The thought makes me smile, conjuring half-muttled memories of Asmodeus hunting me through the house in an attempt to care for a sunburn I more than earned. I take a gentle half-step further inside, reminiscing on each small scuff and half-fixed crack on the wall as I unconsciously wander the halls.

I find myself strangely unbothered by the fear of discovery that drips its way down my spine. My wings brush against walls and decorations in the same way they did when I was first reborn, still getting used to their presence and the new space I took up. But I simply can't wrap my head around being here in any other way than how I always was. So I continue my venture through the halls like I'm human once again, with no regard for the gentle swish of feathers on the walls.

I stop for a moment in front of a mirror,, and the sight of myself, or more accurately, the cloaking spell covering me, makes me shiver. It feels so wrong to try to be someone else here. And so I drop it. The spell falls from my skin like a peel from a banana, and I sigh with the relief of it.

I feel nearly entranced by the whole experience. Head soft and clouded, as if I were dreaming. Maybe I am? It's been a year since I've seen these halls in the waking world so it's not totally impossible, but I struggle to remember falling asleep.

A gentle sound rouses me from my thoughts, a huffing of some sort. Or maybe a gasping? It's breathy regardless, so I follow it to its source.

My room.

Or, my old room, I suppose. Can't imagine it hasn't been taken over by somebody else's hobby.

As I approach the door, though, it's cracked open, and the light that flows through is the same as it's always been. The gentle golden glow of my desk lamp dances over my toes and across my cheek as I peek through the crack. To my surprise, it's exactly how I left it. My pens lay haphazardly across my desk, and my slippers are tucked at the foot of my bed. Even the vines of my ivy are thriving. What catches my attention the most though, is the way my lamp light shimmers on his head.

That snowy white hair I could pick out of a crowded club, even after all this time, shakes gently on my pillow. The shaking wracks his whole body, despite how tightly he's curled into himself. I realize with a cold wave of sorrow, that all that huffing was sobbing. I haven't seen Mammon cry like this since the Belphegor incident and the sight of it resonates in the pit of my stomach.

He's mourning.

He's still mourning. After all this time.

I consider running again for just a moment, but even if I could convince my mind to leave, I'm certain my body wouldn't follow suit. I feel faint as my knees melt from below me. Unfortunately, my efforts to keep myself up are in vain, as not only do I fall to the floor, but I press the door open further in the process.

The sound seems to startle Mammon, because, despite my focus on the floor, I can hear him shuffle in the bed.

"Fuck off Lucifer..." He mumbles, voice achy and raw. He waits in silence for what he's definitely expecting to be Lucifer's stern remark.

I attempt to take his moment of silence to press myself up and out of the room, but my movements are sluggish and awkward, and my wing bashes clumsily into a table, knocking over my lamp. I watch in near slow motion as it falls and I reach to stop it. But it's too far and I'm too dazed, and before I know it, the room is dark.

I whimper pathetically as I stare at it, delicate glass thrown across the floor. I scoot to pick up the pieces, cradling them in my palm.

"Who are you?!"

Mammon yells at me, suddenly shot out of bed. My head snaps up to look at him and I feel my heart crack. He's broken out into his demon form, but in spite of the attempted threat, all I can see is the pain in his eyes. His cheeks are red and shiny in the moonlight and his eyes carry bags deep enough to swim in.

"I-" my head rattles with the force of looking up at him, down at the shattered lamp, and back up at him. "I'm sorry..."

It's pathetic. What am I even apologising for? For scaring him? Breaking the lamp? For leaving? I'm sorry is hardly enough of an apology for all of it. It's barely enough for a single grievance.

His gaze though. It pulls me from my thoughts. His snarl falls and his forehead smoothes as he stares at me, and it hits me with a wave of terror that I am no longer hidden. Why would I have dropped the cloaking spell? How could I be so stupid? Did I want to be seen? How fucking selfish.

"M-mc?..." He whispers my name like it could scare me away. Like he's praying for something.

"I... I'm sorry, I just..." I stutter out words with no real meaning as I try desperately to justify myself. I stare back down at the shards in my hand like they hold some sort of solution, but they fall from my fingers with a clink as I'm slammed backward into the floor.

Mammon has plowed straight into me and taken us both down. He grips onto me like I'm going to fade straight through his fingers if he lets go, and I can't rightly blame him. His shoulders shutter with each fanning of his breath over my shoulder. It takes several moments of listening to his combination of whines and sobs for my brain to restart, but as I come to my senses, I wrap my arms around him in turn.

And it breaks me. I've spent a year carefully storing and sorting all my emotions. Handling problems without worrying about them. Actively avoiding any big feelings. And all it takes is Mammon to throw all that effort to the wind. Tears flow from my eyes, hot and heavy as they drip past my ears. My breaths shake in time with his and for several moments, there is nothing. The world falls away and we're not an angel and a demon. We're not even people. We're just two old friends crying in each other's arms. 

(As always, thank you for reading! Comment to be added to the tag list!)

~Your friend, The Author

*tags*

@spffldlbrnf @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @seraphlies @averageradstudent @sasa-mya @ayshela @miracl3d @mehkers @fersitaam @crywicked @crypt-exx

[matcha-milkies]

OCTOBER 14, 1977

Summary: Gravity Falls is a backwards town in more ways than one.

Alternatively: A twenty-something Ford has to listen to the ramblings of two homophobic diner patrons and it is not improving his already questionable emotional wellbeing.

Content Warnings: Homophobia

Tags: Young Ford Pines, Gay Ford Pines, Pre-Portal Incident, Greasy’s Diner, 1970s, Gay Rights, Anger, Loneliness, Estrangement, Ford Pines Has Issues, Ford Pines Needs A Hug, Emotional Constipation

Word Count: 1,013

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Gay pride is over. Time for gay wrath

Ford is bent over a newspaper at a booth at Greasy’s Diner, hand in his hair, pretending to be focused on the crossword. He taps his pen against the table. If he were actually paying attention he would be done with this “puzzle” in the time it takes to write the answers, but his mind is elsewhere. He picks up his coffee and sips at it tepidly, while the two truckers at the counter rattle off complaints about the state of the country around stacks of pancakes and smiley-face eggs and bacon. Every so often, words like “unbelievable” and “indecent” waft across the space. None of these are the words he needs.

5 across, four letters, unflattering rumors.

Mother. Jobs. School. Children.

5 across, four letters, unflattering rumors.

Right. Wrong. Trees. Fruits.

5 across, four letters, un…

Ford sees the waitress coming his way and flags her down. “Excuse me. Could I get…” A thought occurs to him that almost makes his mouth pull back in a guffaw. He taps his pen a little faster, reconsidering. “…do you have any banana cream pie?”

She doesn’t read the news. She takes the request at face value. “Sure thing! I’ll have it right out.” Hefting a stack of empty plates from another table, she saunters around the counter. Ford watches her leave without really watching her, head perched glumly in his hand. His mouth pulls taut again, and this time it’s in a thin, fleeting frown. The truck drivers are washing their breakfast down with a couple of glasses of orange juice. Ford fixates on the color, his mind beginning to wander as their conversation finally, finally fades to blissful background noise. He sips his coffee.

5 across…

He remembers when his father used to sit him down and explain certain universal truths about the nature of humanity. To watch out for people who would try to tell him lies. Ford had believed so wholeheartedly back then. And how easy it had been, how good it had felt, to be on the right side. The good side.

Maybe he should call his mother. Maybe there are things that she should know. Maybe if he explained them to her, and she explained them to Dad… 

He closes the newspaper. On the front page is a picture that’s supposed to be indecent. Stanley would probably find it funny. Wouldn’t he? Ford thinks about writing in the margins with a Sharpie and looking up Stanley’s address and mailing the paper to him. “Look at this. Look what happened. Isn’t this just hysterical?” That was absurd, they hadn’t spoken in years, why would he send this to Stanley?

The corner of the newspaper is pinched between his fingers and he realizes they’re trembling. Too much coffee. He stows his hands in his lap and waits for his banana cream pie. Unfortunately, somehow, this brings the truckers’ conversation back into full focus, and God, they just will not shut up. Ford has a very active imagination. In his mind’s eye he shoots out of his chair and waves the newspaper around in a half-crazed tirade and starts shouting them down with logic and common sense. He does what he knows he will also do in the shower next week and gets into a full-blown argument with himself, acting out some imaginary scene where he plays all the parts. He tenses in his seat and his fingers curl against his thighs and—

A plate clatters onto the table next to his coffee.

“One slice of banana cream pie!” the waitress chirps. “Can I get anything else for ya?”

“Uh,” Ford says, blinking. “No. Um. No. Thank you.”

“Alright then, enjoy!” She smiles and walks away again. He picks up his fork and just stares at the thing, like he’s going to somehow consume it with his eyeballs. That’s an odd mental image.

It’s a very tasty-looking pie. The white cream on top looks light as a cloud, the crust is golden and crumbly. He can’t remember the last time he treated himself to something like this. Of course, one cannot have the thing and eat it too. He frowns, side-eying the truckers not for the first time. They’re laughing and nudging each other, maybe at someone else’s expense.

He gets up from the cushioned seat, plate in hand. He realizes his hand is still shaking. Too much coffee. Is he really about to do this? His feet move without his permission, one after the other, oh my god I’m actually doing this. He slips into the seat right next to the truckers, an odd smile on his lips. He leans over like one of them is about to tell a joke and he wants to hear it. The two of them stutter and eye him with mostly confusion. The plate lifts in Ford’s hand, heavy at first and then suddenly weightless as momentum builds. He pushes it into the nearest truck driver’s face, and it smears white chunks all over from his dark eyebrows down to his beard.

“Hey!” shouts the other one, shooting up from his seat and knocking the stool over in the process. Ford somehow can’t bring himself to care. He’s doubled over laughing, and he can’t stop, clutching his sides, giving himself stitches, practically suffocating. The first trucker, the one who got hit, is in shock, picking sugary bits of pie out of his beard, more confusion than confection smeared across his face.

Ford wakes from the daydream. He’s still seated at his booth, his pie still sitting neatly in front of him. The truckers are still blabbing on, although they’ve moved on from talk of the press conference. Maybe they did a long time ago. The moment passes. He doesn’t want to get banned from the diner is all.

Still, Stanley would have done it.

What an absurd thought to have. Stanley would never be here.

Ford stabs his fork into his pie and eats it, and to be fair, he does enjoy it very much, although maybe he would’ve enjoyed having it a little more.

A/N: I wrote this to work out some frustration I’ve been feeling lately with gay acceptance, which is better than it used to be but I still encounter people online comparing it to alcoholism which almost makes ME want to dive headfirst into alcoholism so

It was either this or smash mailboxes with a baseball bat

[suenitos]

help ive been in this fandom for nearly 4 years and ive heard about the banana pudding thing many times but never knew the full story 😭 whats the context what even happened?

so i initially thought this was before my time because he said he loved banana pudding before i joined but this actually happened january 2022?! if im not mistaken, but i very well could be so if anyone has more info about if another banana pudding incident happened pre 2022 lmk

relevant tweets where he says he loves banana pudding (first one has been deleted):

thats all fine and dandy no issues there. but then, someone asks him if he has a recipe later in 2022 and his response is cute because of course it is its dream

this is unfortunately where the reddit is useful as this is where i found the actual screenshots where a random/anti gets pressed about multiple things here but most infamously the part where he doesnt know how to make it:

i think some of the other tweets theyre talking about that they made have been lost to time but like its just really funny for multiple reasons 😭 me when i hate joy and whimsy like bringing out the legal name was not necessary omg who is CLAY 😭 other than stan twt and some mentions in different places it didnt really get much traction which makes sense cause it's all a bit silly lol

[smytherines]

What we have as canon for Spies Are Forever is sparse. It's a spy comedy parody musical, it's ambiguous because that's all they have room for, leading to a lot of different readings that all have their arguments for or against. None of those are "correct" they're just interpretations.

So, keeping that in mind, we know Owen Carvour for around 10 minutes before the banana incident. A few minutes of that is him pretending to be another person, so I'll set that aside for now. Here are things Owen does in A1P1 in order of how I remember them:

Saves captured boyfriend from goon

Shoots goon in knees

Beats up a lot of goons

Reassures Curt's boss that the mission will be completed successfully, gets mildly insulted by a jealous Curt

Pushes Curt out of the way to shoot an armed guard that was aiming at him

Mildly chastises Curt for drinking on the job

Takes one swig after being teased and makes a face

Mildly chastises Curt for leaving a banana peel on the staircase

Agrees to four minutes on the timer

Attempts to re-lock the safety barricades to limit the explosion (I think?)

Gets cornered by goons

Building starts to explode, he finds out Curt set the timers for 3 minutes, they run

Slips, "dies"

Building explodes on him

The first part is the most ambiguous- when he's pretending to be a goon and Curt is being tortured. My personal read on it is that either Owen was already there for his own spy-related reasons and rescued Curt, or he somehow found out that Curt had been captured and went on a rescue mission. He does tell the goon to crush Curt's testicles, but I dunno immediately before that the goon tries to break Curt's fingers and gets his own fingers broken instead, so it feels like Owen is reasonably confident in Curt's ability to take care of himself? The worst thing that happens to Curt is that he gets tickled.

I do love the thought of Owen finding out Curt has been captured and packing a feather just in case he gets a chance to fuck with him. They don't establish who brought the explosives I don't think, but given that Barb doesn't say "use the explosives you already have" and that Owen spends so much time setting them, it was probably Owen?

Here's a list of things Agent Curt Mega does in A1P1:

Admittedly cool spy guy shit (breaking fingers, whatever was supposed to have happened with the pipe- its unclear to me)

Gets spotted by guard who hits the alarm

Talks to boss

gets annoyed that his boss likes Owen better, drinks, makes fun of Owen

Beats up goons

Eats a banana, leaves peel on stairs

Didn't wear rocket shoes because they didn't match his outfit

Ignores Barb explaining how the camera works to take the pictures they need

Suggests blowing the whole facility instead

Convinces Owen to try to beat their record of 6 minutes (Owen says to set for 4, I think)

Sets the timer for 3 minutes

Tells Owen they don't have time to do the safety barricade thing

Building starts to explode, tells Owen he lied, he set the timer for 3 minutes and they need to run

Tries to reach Owen when he falls, fails

Runs away before building explodes

What I'm saying here is that my read on A1P1 is that Curt sucks. Owen comes across as a decent enough guy, he comes off as a guy who cares about his partner and is looking out for him, and Curt is kinda the bad influence on him. Curt comes across as jealous and petty and egotistical, which is interesting because in so many pre-canon fanfics Curt is the pure precious babygirl and Owen is already a monster. I'm not saying it's wrong, I've read and enjoyed a lot of those stories and theories. It's just very interesting to me to see how the post-banana and pre-banana versions of Owen and Curt are sort of meshed together in a lot of fan imagination? I don't see it that way, but that's totally fine.

I wrote everything but this paragraph before the Mega bastards lore dropped. I already made a big big post about that, and it does sort of change my perception of Curt in some ways, but just on a basic level this is where I'm at

[kairithemang0]

Here's why it makes sense for Curt to know it's Owen in A1P1 but for him to not know he's the DMA

Owen is wearing a full-on mask as DMA, in A1P1 he's only wearing a mustache and hat. He's also using an accent as the DMA that fits him better, Curt even comments on how his Russian accent could use some work. If Owen only needs to slightly change his voice, it's easier to mask himself.

He has had 4 whole years to make this role perfect, and he is so deep into it that it's likely second nature for him. It's like he said "it takes quiet a bit of discipline to research, and rehearsal to perfection". He has spent nearly half a decade perfecting this for this moment right here. Meanwhile for most other times he just needs to play some nameless goon and probably ends up wanting Curt to know it's him when they're in these types of situations. Play it well enough for the dumb guys in the room, but play it bad enough for the dumb guy you know to figure it out.

An argument has been made that Curt maybe didn't know because he was scared when Owen shot the gun, but personally who wouldn't be scared when someone who was interrogating you shoots a gun, whether you think you know them or not

Just my thoughts on it, I personally prefer the idea of Curt knowing it was Owen the whole time during A1P1 because it makes the whole thing more interesting, and gives just a little more to their pre-banana incident relationship

[not-sure-what-im-feeling]

Chat, I’m gonna make a visual novel

[emerald-onion]

SCP-99: King of Negativity (Finished!)

Author Note:

I read back and decide to change some stuff from the Containment Procedure, mainly the request featuring Ink, because at that point in time they still haven't joined the Foundation yet, and also a note about Dream!

Random fun fact: Banana is Dream's favorite food. :)

Item #:  SCP-99

Object Class:  Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-99 is to be contained in a humanoid S-2 cell, comprised of corrosion-resistance aluminum. The containment cell is to remain under total observation at all times and to be fitted with TOF-Gold gas harvested from SCP-100, capable of flooding the entire assembly in no less than 5 minutes. Any items, movement, or non-normal activity observed on the containment cells or other site locations within one hundred meters of SCP-99 is to be reported to Site Security immediately. Any objects or personnel lost to SCP-99 are to be deemed missing/KIA. No recovery attempts are to be made under any circumstances. 

No physical interaction with SCP-99 is allowed at any time. All physical interaction must be approved by no less than a two-thirds vote from O5-Command. All staff (Research, Security, Class D, etc.) are to remain at least thirty meters away from the containment cell at all times, except for mandated maintenance and re-evaluation checks. Personals are only allowed to work with SCP-99 on the condition that they have no pre-diagnosed cases of mental illnesses.

Feeding is to be provided at least twice a week. SCP-99 is allowed to make requests. However, all requests must undergo review to discern any attempt to injure others. So far, subjects have requested:

Softer pillow (approved)

Several books (approved)

Scissors (denied)

A change of clothing (approved)

A mop (denied)

A lemon cake (approved)

A rag (approved)

A hot dog (approved)

A change of bedding (approved)

A cleaner cell (denied)

Internet access (denied)

An increase in feeding (approved)

Contact with Dr. Dream (approved) (denied)

Pencils and erasers (approved)

A new book (approved)

A bag of sour gummies (approved)

A banana birthday cake (approved)

Contact with Dr. Killer (approved)

Note: SCP discontinued due to escape. (Read Incident 2016)

Revision 2:

SCP-99 is to be contained in a humanoid S-2 cell, comprised of corrosion-resistance aluminum. The containment cell must be held suspended in a secondary cell, the walls of which must be at least ten meters distant from the outer walls of the primary cell. The secondary cell is to remain under total observation at all times and to be fitted with TOF-Gold gas harvested from SCP-100, capable of flooding the entire assembly in no less than 99.1 seconds with no direct human involvement.

Both containment cells must be always kept at a perfect temperature of 30'C. Any items, movement, or non-normal activity observed on the containment cells or other site locations within three hundred meters of SCP-99 is to be reported to Site Security immediately. Any objects or personnel lost to SCP-99 are to be deemed missing/KIA. No recovery attempts are to be made under any circumstances. 

No physical interaction with SCP-99 is allowed at any time. All physical interaction must be approved by no less than a two-thirds vote from O5-Command. All staff (Research, Security, Class D, etc.) are to remain at least thirty meters away from the containment cell at all times, except for mandated maintenance and re-evaluation checks. Anyone who comes into contact with SCP-99 is to be given a daily psychological evaluation. Personals are only allowed to work with SCP-99 on the condition that they have no pre-diagnosed cases of mental illnesses. Personals are only allowed to work with SCP-99 for three months before they must be moved to another Site.

Feeding must be provided only twice a week. Additional feeding may only extend to testing situations. SCP-99 is not allowed to make requests.

"dr. dream is not allowed to interact with scp-99 no matter what. after all, attachment is what helps it breach containment once, who says it won't happen again?

dr. sans"

Description:  SCP-99's body is comprised of a black, sticky, tar-like substance, which also covers its right eye. The subject has four appendages that grow from its back, made out of the same substance its body is made out of.

SCP-99 has the ability to sense and absolve any negative emotions in the proximity of exactly one hundred meters. If the environment is negative enough, not only can it create more tentacles out of its back, but it can also use its goop to shapeshift into other people and even grow massively in size. The subject's preferred weapon is its appendages, which it uses to restrain, terminate, or seize the victim. So far, SCP-99 has been proven to be near unkillable, capable of regenerating itself even when 90% of its body has been destroyed.

Psychological analysis has discovered SCP-99 to possess a highly manipulative nature, capable of forcing sudden and profound changes to the interviewer's psychological state. A long period of time under SCP-42320’s mental erosion will lead to depression, anxiety, paranoia, and an increase in aggressive behaviors. SCP-99 has proven to be majorly sadistic, prompting some to commit suicide and transforming others into near-mindless servants. It is unknown whether this proclivity toward negativity is the subject's original personality or a change brought forth by its transformation.

Twice a week, a D-Class diagnosed with mental illnesses must be given to SCP-99 for feeding. Feeding time will take a total of 30 minutes, during which any signs of the D-Class's psychological distress must be ignored. If the D-Class is still alive after a feeding, they are to be euthanized painlessly.

SCP-99 was born from an experiment gone wrong with SCP-100 (Read SCP-100: Tree of Feelings), resulting in the death of Dr. Nim Joku and the mutation of Dr. Nightmare Joku. Two years after being registered as an SCP, the subject breached containment with the help of Agent Killer. Their escapes caused the death of exactly 2364 personals, most notably Dr. Outer, which was the head Doctor assigned to SCP-99 at that point in time, and Dr. XFrisk, son of the Head Director Dr. XGaster. Although SCP-99 was recaptured on [REDACTED] by Agent Cross in [REDACTED], attempts at locating Agent Killer have been unsuccessful.

Addendum SCP-99-A: Despite suffering from a large alteration in personality, it has been proven that SCP-99 still possesses some habits and memories of Dr. Nightmare Joku. Please keep in mind that under no circumstances is Dr. Dream allowed to know this information.

Addendum SCP-99-B: Although SCP-99 is responsible for Dr. XFrisk's death, it is uncertain whether or not the subject also has a hand in the subsequent actions of Dr. XGaster. (Read Project X) Yes, what he did is horrible; yes, millions of children have suffered from it; but we all know that sometimes humans are capable of cruelty that far exceeds any monsters.

[loverlylight]

Okay, since I'm hoping to start writing again, I figured I'd jot down my current fic ideas and status to try and reorient myself and hopefully get myself in a good position to get back to them. (Not listed: Benjamin Comes Along visual novel idea because while I still really want to do it that's. A lot more involved than what I'd be able to make any progress on anytime soon.)

Top priority:

-The Battle AU (AIO), one-shot where Whit got injured instead of Lucy and Blackgaard succeeded in threatening Richard into continuing to work for him. Status: Outline complete, partially written.

-Your Pygmalion (Hatchetfield), multi-chapter sequel to Knight Moves. Status: Need to compile ideas and begin outline.

-A Second Chance (Pulp Musicals), one-shot sequel to A Chance Encounter, originally intended to fulfill the "possession" prompt. Status: Outline complete, partially written.

-Last Waltz (Spies Are Forever), one-shot where Curt fails to kill Owen and is trying to track him down. Status: Outline in progress, partially written.

Mid priority:

-What I'd prefer to call you (AIO), multi-chapter fic examining the ways Richard and Eugene have referred to each other over the course of the show. Status: Need to confirm information and begin outline.

-Forgiveness (Pulp Musicals), one-shot where Samuel tries to reconcile with Benjamin before leaving New York. Status: Outline in progress, partially written.

-Liar (Spies Are Forever), one-shot pre-show where Owen scolds Curt for putting himself in unnecessary danger to save him. Status: Outline in progress, partially written.

-Roleswap (Spies Are Forever), one-shot where, in the first scene, Owen is captured and Curt is undercover. Status: Need to finish outline, partially written.

-To make my kind extinct (Spies Are Forever), multi-chapter fic where the Banana Incident never happened but Owen was still working for Chimera. Status: Overall outline complete, need to finish outline for individual chapters.

Backburner:

-Richgene fic (AIO), one-shot where Richard keeps ramping up his flirting with Eugene, who is oblivious. Reason for being on the backburner: Not really having enough in-depth ideas so far to be worth pursuing.

-Something Familiar (Hatchetfield/Spies Are Forever crossover), one-shot where Uncle Wiley goes back to recruit Agent Mega for the Lords in Black. Reason for being on the backburner: I am gonna be so honest with you guys right now I only wrote down the first part of my idea for this and I know I had more but can't remember it right now. Hopefully I will later.

-Fortnight Adjacent fics (Pulp Musicals), notably a Radiant Words fic, a Starstruck Hearts fic, and more snippets for the Anna&John and Margaret&Benjamin roleswap AU. Reason for being on the backburner: while I want to write these at some point, they're not hooking my imagination as much as some other ideas are currently.

-Whipping Boy (Spies Are Forever), multi-chapter fic that I've been fiddling with for about four years and highly doubt will ever get written. I still hold the idea dear so I'm not fully shelving it though. Reason for being on the backburner: see above, also I believe last I checked the outline had it at 19 chapters and that's a bit overwhelming right now.

[fetabathwater]

slides in here 🧎‍♂️ Fans, Baby, Wild card!

questions here!

This got so long I had to stop myself finally.

Fans: How is their relationship with their fans? Do they go out of their way to interact? 

Look, Jennifer Lamb is a category 5 hurricane of emotion on the average day, but something about the fans just twinges something in her brain. In the small bars, yeah she'd be more than happy to sit around the bar later, chatting with the ones who'd hung around, let them buy her a beer or two, and go on her way. Sign some things, and y'know throwing out the usual guitar picks and broken drumsticks to the local small crowd. Discounting shirts and homemade merch at a bar while they were one of the bands to float through the night. Maybe throwing everything in a free tote bag that has a scribbled logo. Especially as favours to any bar owners who let them in, then it'd probably get a lil more of a personal touch especially if they had kids of their own who were fans and/or they were fans themselves, then it would still largely be merch. More or less short circuits her because people like the band. And Her. And the Music. And they want to HAVE something of hers. Wild.

But her interaction with fans is actually her being an absolute nutjob and trawling fansites. Most of her private life has already ended up online or splashed across local magazines, especially because of the very public fight/breakup with Seven, and then recently finding out from Maya that the number one fansite is run by a teenager… it's quite accessible in the worst way. Jen is super interested in reading fansites, just to see what they've posted/what they know. The kind of manic 'I should be sleeping 3am but I'm on wikipedia energy' but instead she's going down a rabbit hole of her own history, especially when people still keep up photos of Seven in the band - and she fucking loves polls. (Jen you would've loved og gossip girl fr). Definitely has made a throwaway account on a forum more than once (she forgets the password not long after making an account) and like. Loves to deep dive on timelines and people breaking down the meaning in her songs. She is that one person who responds to the song meanings like 'its about having sex relax its not that deep' and then is like. Told she's wrong and banned. Also it's so funny for her, when she's wrangled into appearing on their social media, to drop like some batshit insane comment or demo, and then has her little 1 hour scroll through these people going bananas. She has a few favourite accounts bookmarked, even. Stupid head.

Sheenas as the fan name for her came about after one of Jen's first solo covers (pre-breakup actually) was her doing 'Sheena Is A Punk Rocker', but also dressed like Sheena, Queen of the Jungle from the comics, at a Halloween party for the local crowd, and it kind of stuck... she only found out why recently from Maya. So not only is she like, confused anyway, but then she's like doing maths about when this kid would've seen that video. Did they see all of it? Should she check what versions were uploaded? Can she get a copy?

But essentially she's now very much publicly in the space of actually having Orion largely coach her through interactions because... she's floundering. Literally becomes a publicist's wet dream with how she can get the smiles and the eyes and the hand movements, and mostly manages to not let her mouth run, but it's like she needs to be micromanaged because this is no longer the comfortable small bar shit she loves and wants to go back to. Even before ending up on the TV, really. A lot of the focus is also on (pretty much) deflecting questions about Seven, but in particular the like months following it all. There was one very salty former fan who took it quite personally and just missed Jen's eye with a pin (that they actually had handed out at one gig many moons before). And her pre-pin incident comments about him weren't even bad! People just lost their marbles.

She did actually set up a PO Box at one point, with the intent of people sending fanmail to because she has a soft spot for handwritten letters, but it hasn't been advertised since the pin incident. Superfans may know about it, but Jen also hasn't checked it in years.

Baby: How do they feel about Jazzy leaving? How are they coping? What are their plans to stay in touch?

I looked back on my answer for this and. Okay no, we're changing our tune a bit.

Whilst Jen is happy for her, and knows that fundamentally Jazzy wanted something different from her life than Jen did... a part of her resents that Jazzy was able to walk away. And it's not even resenting Jazz! Realistically, it's easier to think that, even for Jen, that she's just so mad that even after everything, Jazz is able to walk away with the house and the husband and the white picket fence (not really but y'know). Those are also just like little bitey thoughts that plague her and make her do the what-if spirals that always end up "why didn't I just walk away, too?" because Jen doesn't even know if she wants any of the other things, anyway.

So Jen's coping is like correlation and causation type scale nonsense going on, especially with choosing to tour with Soft Violence, the way Jazzy reacted, even, and she's like. In such a place where she doesn't even know if she wants to reach out, keep updated and update Jazz, etc, etc. Because she also absolutely loves Jazz, and is so happy for her, and honestly wants to be there with her through this rollercoaster she's about to get on, because it's Jazzy. It's Jazzy. And god, she misses her so much already.

Wild card: Tell us something about your MC! Feel free to really just roll us over with an emotional steamroller and crush the souls out of our bodies, if you’d like. (You’re also welcome to choose one of the other questions to answer!)

Only other tattoo is the one on her lower stomach (Medusa head) (yeah that got repurposed sry Harper I'm doing smth else with you) but she absolutely loves the awful jokes she can make about it when people react after seeing it for the first time. "If someone is getting to a point where they can see it, [she] definitely knows that something turned to stone."

Jen does not understand how her putting on her glasses and Depression Greys™ makes her like. Walk around Clark Kent style. Fascinates her and compels her to try to do stupid shit with it.

This combined with her absolute inability to understand nor use social media has compelled some to see her as a #cryptid, which just further confuses her. She's seen her face on a post. She knows it exists. Yes she knows the name of the app? (don't embarrass her, man, there's hot people here)

Oh! And combining this with her Average Voice Resting Time™, where she's Clark Kent-ed out, wheat bagged and this close to just turning into a burrito, she uses a small whiteboard to talk. She's quite verbose, unfortunately.

Her fave flower is Queen Anne's Lace, because its a complex lil flower made up of dozens of others, and at the centre is a tiny lil red bud. The apparent story for it's naming is a provocation of Queen Anne to make a more complex lace flower than another king's wife, and in doing so she pricked her finger, so a little droplet of blood landed in the middle. There's also a poem! It's also for safety and refuge, because it turns inwards and seemingly 'dies' when it is actually ready to grow. Also attracts wasps lmao. It's commonly mistaken for baby's breath, which is everlasting love… which isnt wrong for Jen either, however it is that inward protection. At the centre of it all, there is a burst of colour, and she wants to protect it… the internalisation of it all.

During high school, she ran one of those ‘Ask Annie’ columns in the school paper. Her advice was ridiculous, and it was really well received even if she was pulling answers out of thin air. She's not sure if anyone cracked that it was her.

It did lead her to testing out some situations on people before answering, even. Or outright going 'hey if xyz happened do you think doing abc would work'. She wasn't even trying to be subtle by the end.

Jen has a pet bearded dragon. Named Lizanardo Da Vinci.

Just like how she has Vlad the Impala

Was voted most likely to date a rockstar. Made out with her own mirror image in response.

Turns out she’s got a real knack for maths. No one knows where it came from. Jen was one of those 'coasted through on C+/B-' kind of students. But no one is ever ready for the quick maths.

The first time Jen went in to get contacts, and was trying to put them in, and her arm was weirdly angled and the optometrist was patient but it freaked her out to think about putting something basically on her eye. Seven kind of like, went through the motions with her until she was comfortable.

He still has the pair of glasses that were always left in the right side pocket of his jacket. The case is worn and faded and cracked and still has all the stickers and scribbles on them, but the frames are still fine, lenses are only a check or two old, but Jen never knew how to ask for them back.

With Seven, especially when they were much younger, watching scary movies was such a big deal and like they were breaking the rules at sleepovers, even if it meant they were literally terrified. For days. It became "their thing" and especially as they got older with rewatches and marathons, and then the band, and eventually dating, the inside jokes were always there. Sometimes, they even used it as bad flirting, which weird people out just as much, if not more, than the fact that they were attached at the hip. Jen hasn't even looked at one of those movies since, and deleted OSTs, etc, off of any and all things.

Is a big fan of meditation because a girl sometimes has a lot of pent up energy and just wailing on the mic doesn't cut it. Quiet time, Jen is in her attempt at a lotus position.

[backupherewego]

72 HOURS IN BUDAPEST WITH JAMES VOWLES

Date: 2022/7/27 Source: 404 (Sorry)

James Vowles, a key figure on the Formula One race circuit, quite literally breezes through Budapest as the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team strives to be named the World Constructors’ Champion for the eighth year in a row. As one of the team members responsible for navigating the road to the top of the podium, however, he does manage to sneak in some local sights and a decadent dinner at The Ritz-Carlton, Budapest. Read on to discover his secrets to race-day success and learn about the culinary competition on this year's itinerary.

WHAT IS YOUR MOST MEMORABLE MOMENT AT THE HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX?

“Mine actually stems back to 2006 [when I was working with Honda]. We'd had some successful races and been on the podium a few times, but we hadn't won anything up to that point. Budapest is a track that is very difficult to master. I know it looks simple because it's small and there aren’t that many corners, but it's incredibly difficult to get right for the drivers and engineers. You also have rain that comes in and out. 2006 was my first-ever win as an engineer, as well as the team's first win. It's something that means a huge amount to me because we had to fight for it. It wasn't given to us on a plate. We really had to make the right decisions at the right time. A number of cars had a number of incidents, and we came through the field and did the right thing, so Budapest rests strongly in my mind as a result of that.

The second was with Mercedes in 2013, which was Lewis Hamilton’s first year with us. It was at that point we realized how special he was in Budapest. We didn't have the fastest car—Red Bull was by far the leader that year—yet Lewis was able to win that race fair and square. He did it because [Budapest] is just where he feels comfortable. It's a track he loves, so it holds a strong place in my heart because of that.”

"So often in life, you celebrate on your little podium and then bam, you're straight onto the next thing ... Whether the result is good or bad, we always pull together as a team."

DO YOU HAVE ANY PRE-RACE RITUALS?

“I do. I have to have socks for the current year. For example, the Tommy Hilfiger socks [that are part of the official Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team 2021 uniform], they have to be of that year. They have to be Tommy and they can't be anything different, which I know sounds strange, but that's me!

I also always go out to the pit wall with my water bottle, take it back, empty some water out and put in a Berocca, which is a vitamin pill. It’s something I've always done and always will do. Then, I'll go to the grid. There's a specific time when I set my IWC watch to the exact time of the day. It's just something I've always done to make sure that everything is in sequence. These are odd things to be admitting, but I always make sure I walk through the same side of the garage. Normally, it's Valtteri Bottas’ side, but I don't mix and match. They're all strange things I do out of habit, but they've worked!”

WHAT FUELS YOU ON RACE DAY?

“I'm really particular on what goes into my body. I’m generally on the pit wall for qualifying and the race, which is about two hours. You have to hydrate to the right level. If you over-hydrate, you're just desperate to go to the loo in the middle of the race, which is the most distracting feeling in the world! So, step one is actually controlled hydration throughout the day. Step two is I always have a banana and an apple straight after qualifying and the race. There is a tremendous amount of adrenaline that goes through your body and you have to put food in to absorb it to a certain extent.”

DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE WAY TO CELEBRATE POST-RACE IF YOU WIN?

"The trackside team that you see at every race spends more time together than they do with their respective families. We use celebratory occasions to pull together as a team, to strengthen the team, and to create a bond. After Silverstone, we all went across to the motorhome, every single engineer, and we took five minutes to breathe, relax, and enjoy the moment. So often in life, you celebrate on your little podium and then bam, you're straight onto the next thing ... Whether the result is good or bad, we always pull together as a team.”

WHAT DO YOU LOVE MOST ABOUT VISITING BUDAPEST?

“There are two things that not just myself, but a number of us like. First, there is a dedicated running track along the Danube. Then, you can run around Margaret Island in the middle of it. Everyone is there exercising, which I love because you miss that in a lot of other city centers. The second is that there are literally hundreds of restaurants that I would recommend, be it in the old town or the city center. I've never really had a bad meal in Budapest.”

ARE THERE ANY MUST-SEE SIGHTS?

“You can’t go wrong cycling or driving from the city center [where The Ritz-Carlton, Budapest is located] to Heroes’ Square. You’ll see some of the most incredible parliamentary buildings and hotels along the way.”

IF YOU HAD ONE DAY OFF IN BUDAPEST, WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

“I'd go to the water park. I've never been there, but it looks amazing! I often find myself sitting outside in 34°C [93°F] heat looking up at the hills and all you see is people amusing themselves in splashing water.”

WHAT IS THE BEST MEAL YOU' VE EVER HAD IN BUDAPEST?

“The best meal would be the one that I had with The Ritz-Carlton. I was fortunate enough to be invited to a dinner that they hosted and you can't really compare—it’s just the highest level of quality that you could possibly have. After that, there's a steak restaurant called La Pampa. It's covered in cowhide and it’s truly amazing as well. You get the choice of either Hungarian, Argentinian, or U.S. beef. For what it's worth, the Hungarian beef is my favorite. I’ve been there enough times that I've tried everything! I also had dinner on a boat while sailing up and down the Danube, which was quite a unique experience. Nothing, however, tops a chef looking after you for the night at The Ritz-Carlton, Budapest.”

IS THERE A TRADITIONAL HUNGARIAN DISH OR BEVERAGE THAT YOU’D LIKE TO TRY?

“There are a lot of Hungarian dishes, goulash being the most well-known, but I haven't really tried any of them in depth. I find that the cuisine in Budapest is quite international. I've had curries there—our team has a fascination with curries. This year, there's an engineer's curry-off that's going to take place in Hungary. If things go wrong, we’ve got a few weeks to recover in August!”

[iamtryingtobelieve]

4, 9, 61 :)

4. What is your favorite book? I don't know if I have a true favourite at the moment as I've been slacking on my fiction book reading as of late. I've been reading more non-fiction in regards to topics that interest me really but I'm working my way back to reading more fiction.

One of my favourites I read when I was younger was Malorie Blackman's Noughts and Crosses which is sorta a Romeo and Juliet set in a reverse segregated London. I know Malorie has written more since then so I will have to check them out.

Some other books I vividly remember reading at school were Blood Red Road by Moira Young, Maggot Moon by Sally Gardner, Wonder by RJ Palacio, The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night Time by Mark Haddon, The Bunker Diary by Kevin Brooks, Looking for Alaska by John Green, Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Septya, Heroes by Robert Cormier and there's definitely plenty of others that I'm neglecting but if I saw them I'd likely remember.

Recently I did read and enjoy a partly fiction, partly inspired by true events book called Sylvia by Leonard Michaels which details a slightly more dramatised story inspired by a real life relationship he was in. The book partly inspired an album I got heavily into early this year The Antler's Hospice.

9. What CD did you play to death as a kid?

I was 7 years old and I could recite this from start to finish I played it so much

Another worthy shoutout goes to the album that instantly takes me back to being 10 years old...

It's a European thing

61. What’s your guilty pleasure movie?

Not Another Teen Movie is an absolute great time. Especially as someone who's sisters subjected them to a number of classic 80's/90's movies growing up, it's a really fun time watching a lot of these classics get sent up with love. And plus you can see pre-Captain America Chris Evans with a banana stuck up his ass... it's a win win

Thanks for asking Jamie :)

[sailors-fightinginthedancehall]

If you want a bit more info:

5 Times Owen Carvour Nearly Died (+1 time he did) - what it says on the tin, basically. The majority are pre-canon apart from where I retell the Banana Incident and the Staircase Scene (apparently it's a ritual for a saf writer to do the Staircase Scene, so I'll give it a go)

Lexthan post Yellow Jacket - Ethan's just so in love with Lex that he's going to go find her. No matter what. She told him to live a life, but she is his life and he's going to find her. Will have a happy ending.