#revisions i would make are under the cut lol

[chibishortdeath]

Goodness, these doodles were all staggered in a way on the pages that made it really hard to take pictures of them and get everyone in there (>< ).

Explanations for all of it under here ⤵️ :3

I drew my Ratchet!!! My little guy!!! I’ve looked him up and he’s a little like “authentics” line one. He’s got really loose joints and his knees don’t bend hahahahsjdksjsjk, but yeahg. Tbh the big outer shells kind of design goes hard. Ratchet could benefit greatly from having shields on him, second doodle is a demonstration of those being used lol.

Hehehehehe he’s so fucking cute oh my god how did they make this one robot design to appeal to me specifically I’m gonna die— he’s sitting there so pleasant and polite :3.

This is an attempt at a Ratchet design that combines a bunch of other ones! I was trying to pick out stuff that I liked (big collar looking part, massive tiddie window with the ECG display, G1 as a base because G1 Ratchet is so aaaoiugauaugoihghgghhgh), but eh idk. I’m gonna go through a couple revisions of this design before I decide on one. Cause I did like uh start writing a fan continuity 💀💀💀. Like deadass I binged two seasons of G1 and was already so hooked and hyped that I started making OCs and plot lines and shit LMAO. The transformers hyperfixation got hands fr. Also, next to him is Starscream and a little very not finished Drift for size comparison :).

The largest Ratchet here was my first attempt at drawing him! I spent an unreasonably long amount of time trying to get his legs correct 💀💀💀. Directly next to him on the top is a little doodle that says “usagi ringo” and it’s comparing his forehead chevron to the style of cutting apples to look like rabbits of the same name hehe. And next to that is a bishoujo figure design because oh my god it would be so easy to make one of him and so peak— more on that later cause I’m proud of the design so it’s on here twice XD. Below those two: doodles of Starscream getting shot! 💀 There’s a lot of context behind these, but shortened version is Megatron got mad and shot him 💀💀💀. Any other explanation would be getting into continuity ideas I have not finished nor finalized yet lol.

Guys hear me out it would be so easy— he’s already got a boob window— and the red section of him looks like a bodysuit— it would be so so easy and so so peak please bishoujo line figure company— I would pay an unwise amount of money for silly anime girl pinup hahahajdkskkdksjskdkdahsj. Also smaller not skirt version as well if they wanted to go full “the red section looks like a bodysuit” lmao

Megatron!!! I tried to incorporate a lot of details that the original toy had like the chest decals and the gun elements :3c. The g1 toy is so funny holy shit dude, he’s so top heavy and has like teeny pencil legs it’s so dumb I want one 😭😭😭. Next to the ref image of him, there’s one doodle that’s like a shitpost of this stock photo of a guy drinking while watching TV, an unfinished doodle based on a pose ref from Pinterest, and an even smaller shitpost with him and Starscream and their shirts say “I’m high as fuck and have a gun in my backpack” and “cunt era” hahskdjkssj (X X).

Another Starscream practice and some other characters that require a lot of explanation— So, this big combiner guy that’s in this and the next photo is a combiner named Modulus and I found out about him in a very goofy way. A friend of mine saw a figure of a little known character (Medix) at Walgreens, didn’t get him, looked him up later, and went down a rabbit hole on the wiki, finding out this guy is part of Modulus, a combiner who… doesn’t exist??? 💀💀💀 Modulus only exists as a concept that was included in the instructions of one of his components and NOTHING ELSE HAHSJDKSHSJK. It is the most batshit insane thing, tiny wiki article and everything X,,,,,,D. But what’s really WEIRD about him is that— HE KINDA FUCKING FITS WITH AND TIES TOGETHER A BUNCH OF LOOSE IDEAS I HAD FOR CONTINUITY STUFF 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀?????????????? Idk it’s so scarily close it’s like as if I willed this guy into existence LMAOOO. Anyway, members of Modulus include: Scattershot, Medix, Ratchet, Starscream, and Rook. Two of these characters are like replacement members for other combiners that were basically created just so random games could function. One is the leader of another gestalt, BUT he’s also been in a TON of other ones. And then suddenly Ratchet and Starscream??? And in the original incarnation of the character, it was SG Starscream too????????? It’s not gonna be in my continuity (I have ideas—), but lol they just dropped the guy from another universe in there what 💀. Insane, deranged, maybe peak even. Why the hell did I end up latching onto the combiner that isn’t real help me (ToT ).

Above Modulus, there’s some doodles of Ratchet, Cliffjumper, Mirage, and Bumblebee, BUT these aren’t just those guys, oh no, it’s something worse hahahahahhasjsksk. My raised on undertale dumbass got plagued with the cursed idea of “huh, if Shattered Glass is like the Hasbro official swap au— F e l l A U” and uh… this exists now 💀. Fell AU (name pending) is basically just “the thing but edgier”, so in this universe the Autobots are still like The Good Guys™️, but they’re stuck in bad conditions. For that to happen, they’d have to not have access to renewable energy, meaning either humanity did not welcome them with open arms, there’s some kind of general crisis happening on Earth, or some mixture of both. So Fell (name pending) Ratchet is basically G1 Ratchet, but wayyy more stressed out cause they’re always short on things and barely scraping by. He’s visibly missing parts and damaged and he just does whatever quick temporary fix about it because his focus is on everyone else over himself; he lost an optic, a hand (that he’s replaced with his main tools), he’s got a crack in his screen, etc etc. Procedures are always messy and painful cause he’s just using what he has and the whole time he’s apologizing and trying his damndest to do the best he can— He’s a sweetie still, but man he could use a break (he will not get one alas). Cliffjumper is even more high strung and tempered than usual, he’s also got a nose ring and sharper horns for the edge lol. Mirage has his darker mask like coloring from the toy and typically is invisible far more often. They used to really fight a lot, but they’ve since gotten to a point where they’re the two each other trust the most. Cliffjumper does a lot of reckless shit and gets injured a lot (_ _ ). Then there’s Bumblebee. His colorscheme is still yellow and black, but they’re reversed. The reason for this is Edgy™️ but the in universe is that darker paints is just what they have. He’s also not the plucky rookie at all, he’s already gotten pretty jaded and hardened by everything, which makes Optimus really sad— he does get some rare moments of lighthearted antics because of Spike though. Idk it’s a funny AU concept and I might do more about it simply cause I think the Ratchet design goes hard lol XD.

[astralis-ortus]

sunday, sunday, sunday

✱ husband!bc × fem!reader

— now, and every sundays to ever come. i want to spend them all with you.

w.count → 1.1k genre → fluff, fluff, fluff. just tooth rotting fluff. warnings → very minor cussing (just once)(atp cussing is a given lol), kissing, time jump (twice), chan referred to as chris a.n → blame the man for putting the idea in my head like what can i do??? his insta post??? hello??? not to mention his song recommendation while i was writing this??? laufey's like the movies??? what??? he wants me dead atp<////3 ⋆ see masterlist

it’s sunday.

to be fair, it has been sunday since the moment chris’ eyes flew open a few hours ago. it’s sunday when he got ready, it’s sunday when he got his light makeup and hair settled, it is sunday when he finally wore the crisp tailored suit that has been turning his heart into the loudest marching band ensemble he’d ever known.

but to be fair,

it’s not just any sunday.

“bring those shoulders down, hyung. you’re gonna get cramps at this point.”

“oh shut up,” chris groaned, feeling more embarrassed about the fact that he got caught more than the fact that his nerves are firing non-stop at an untraceable rate. “just take the pictures, felix.”

albeit rolling his eyes at chris’ rather feisty comment, it was proven impossible to wipe the cheeky grin off the younger’s clearly ecstatic face. after all, it’s a monumental day in chris’ life—and he’s very honored the older trusted his (and technically hyunjin’s) skills to capture the day’s earlier moments.

“see? that’s already all better,” felix cheerily quipped, snapping several pictures as soon as he caught a glimpse of chris fixing his posture. besides, a little movement here and there does make the picture come out a lot more natural, which was the one thing you repeatedly told him (and hyunjin) as something you wanted to see most in the final cuts.

you.

the mere thought of you was enough to melt the remaining stillness present in chris’ face.

it has been a wild few months; meetings after meetings, fittings after fittings, testing, changes in plans, some other minor revisions, checklist, checklist, checklist. chris was justifiably spent, and so were you. there were arguments (you refused to call them fights, knock on wood), there were a couple of shed tears (out of frustration, of course), there were a few hours of leaving each other on read (justifiably so, considering both of you are quite the stubborn pair), but there were also a lot of make-up dates, plenty of exchanged giggles of excitement, and bountiful of prayers for the days to come.

those days have been wild, and this sunday will begin to prove that every second of it was worthwhile.

“chris hyung!”

woken up from his trance, the glint on chris’ eyes finally returned as he found hyunjin’s head peeking from inside the room—the one he’d been waiting on for the past 10 minutes while his head was busy creating bits and pieces for his life montage.

“ready to see your bride?” asked the younger, grin replicating the ones felix is sporting behind his lenses.

am i ready?

palms running over the fabric of his carefully crafted suit, ones you finally chose after debating over a dozen others you deem was ‘not grand enough for someone about to spend the rest of my life with’, chris took one final breath.

“ready.”

it’s sunday.

it’s been exactly a week since your wedding day, and you finally got your hand on the stack of developed pictures courtesy to your now-husband’s talented teammates. originally, you wanted to take part in picking the films, but the duo was pretty convincing when they said waiting for their pick would make a good little surprise to enjoy on your honeymoon trip.

“come on,” chris beckoned, curls framing his beautiful face while his hand motioned to the empty spot next to him on the bed; one you just left after a call from the front desk informing you about the tiny package under your husband’s name. “let’s see how hyunjin did at taking your pictures.”

“and felix at yours,” you added with a grin, swiftly claiming your throne while your fingers were busy ripping open the brown envelope. “i want to see my husband as much as you wanted to see your wife, you know. not to mention, that suit was absolutely perfect on you.”

“not again,” his defeated giggles has been chris’ way to answer to your every compliment on his look since the day of your wedding. “you need to stop that before my head blows up to the size of a hot air balloon, my love.”

“well,” you shrugged, finally getting your hand on the stack of pictures before then snuggling right into the warmth of chris’ arms, “have you ever thought about trying not to be so hot all the da-“

and of course, stealing kisses has also been his alternative should you continue to run your mouth and try to turn him into a blushing mess.

as if that’s not exactly the reason why you kept up with the praises.

“can we start looking at the pictures,” he muttered over your lips, evidently smiling as his lips brushed against yours, “or do i still need to shut you up?”

you hummed, letting the warmth of his skin hover over your face before your lips captured his in a quick peck, “pictures. need to see my cool husband.”

the way his laugh reverberates against his chest never fails to warm you up.

“okay, picture it is then.”

it’s sunday.

you didn’t expect moving to be this hard—sure, you’ve been living together with chris even before you two got married, but had you really been accumulating that many stuffs?

“fuck—i think it’s not the right screw,” your husband’s mutters forces your line of sight to gravitate towards his hunched figure, still hovering over the half-built shelf on the floor of your living room.

“you reckon it should still stick out this much?” he questioned, beckoning you to look at the silver piece, sticking out like a sore thumb. “no, right?”

“think not,” you huffed, crouching next to chris to look at the scattered pieces around him, “was this all? did they send the wrong one?”

chris groaned in defeat, deciding to lean onto your warmth instead of voicing his answer. maybe building your own furniture was not exactly a good idea to spend your first weekend home after your honeymoon trip.

treading your fingers through his soft curls, you then came up with a suggestion, “i’ll get you a pineapple juice then we’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

and it sure perked him right up.

looking at you with sparkles lighting up in his eyes, it felt right—it felt like even through the worst sundays, chris would still be the there to welcome you home.

“thank you,” he grinned—the boyish kind. the one that made you feel like a swarm of butterflies, one that gets you blushing like a schoolgirl in front of her first ever crush. his lips then found its home on the bare of your thigh, printing a quick kiss on the surface, “you’re the best.”

“mm, i know,” you answered with a giggle, feeling the warmth breaking through your skin before returning the kiss on his plump lips while feigning ignorance to the way your heartbeat grew louder by the second.

“you’re still the bestest of the best, though. can’t beat you.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[chiscribbs]

Updated Future Donnie Concept Art!!!

So, I've been hesitant to try my hand at designing an Apocalyptic Future version of Donnie for a while, for a number of reasons - mainly that I just didn't have a clear idea of him in my brain yet and the thought of attempting to update his already pretty perfect design was highly daunting - but I finally caved and decided to take a crack at it. A couple months and several revisions later, I'm actually genuinely happy with the result. I'd still consider this "concept art" more so than a final design, elements of it could definitely be improved, but I really do like the concept as a whole - I think it could work!

The main goals I had in mind while working on this were: A. Must fit the character/look like something Donnie would canonically wear and still be easily recognizable. B. Must work in the Rise world & style (i.e. not be overly detailed or have too complex a silhouette.) C. Must fit in with the other (canonical) Future Rise designs.

I was also thinking about what problems Donnie might be trying to solve, which is what inspired the belt (more info on that below). All-in-all, although there might still be a few kinks to work out, I think I managed to come up with a pretty solid base design for my favorite Warring Warrior Scientist (Jr.)

Some additional character tidbits under the cut.

Also, I can't draw mechanisms to save my life, so just pretend those vague ninpo-gun-things make sense lol

Donnie has a mechanical prosthetic leg. How'd he lose that leg? Up to interpretation - my working theory is that it was a minefield accident that occurred when he was trying to blow some Krang dogs to Timbuktu. Naturally, since it's Donnie and they are in the midst of an alien apocalypse, he designed the leg to do a whole lot more than just help him stand without falling down. It's a multifunctional tool that contains a plethora of secret uses - including, but certainly not limited to, sawing off ugly Krang faces. It's essentially his new tech bo.

Bonus leg tidbit: Casey Jr. saw him deploy the saw blade in battle once when he was little, he then proceeded to beg for a saw-leg of his own to fight the Krang with. Donnie, realizing that amputating a perfectly healthy child's leg is probably not that most morally acceptable option, instead made him his own "sawing stick"(AKA, his motorized hockey stick)...which the others then made him wait until Casey's 10th birthday to give him.

The belt that Donnie's wearing here is a prototype of his latest invention. Its intended purpose: to deflect the Krang's mystic-blocking attacks, allowing them to use their ninpo in close combat. It took a lot of risk-taking to collect the necessary information to create such a device, and he experienced a number of way-too-close calls (one of which may or may not have resulted in that large gash across his plastron), but he finally managed to crack the code and pinpoint the frequency of the Krang's sound waves. He's testing it out right now to make sure that it works and is safe to use, but once it's out of beta, he plans to mass-produce them for every mystic-wielder in the Resistance to use in battle. He believes it could turn the tides of the war...unfortunately, the device never makes it out of beta, as he dies before its completion.

Donnie's gloves are fashioned after the ones his dad used to wear in his Lou Jitsu days (with some modifications, for comfort and to make working with screens a little easier and less annoying.) The material they're made out of is far more durable, of course, since he's working with them near-constantly and under varying conditions. But maybe he designed them to look like this as a way of keeping his dad's memory close, similar to Leo's sword hilt?

Ironically, Donnie uses his ninpo probably the most consistently out of all the brothers (even though Mikey uses his to the greatest extent, hence his rapid aging). He's constantly using it to check on the base's security status and multitask while working on other projects. Because his ninpo takes a good deal of brain power to operate, it puts a significant amount of strain on his nervous system and this causes frequent complications. Seizures, spasms, and blackouts become a semi-regular occurrence - especially in the latter part of his life. Donnie does his best to manage them, but the workload makes it almost impossible to do so properly. Mikey is able to help with these attacks when they happen, but Donnie - not wanting his brother to overuse his powers any more than he is already - usually opts to just ride it out and save the mystic healing for people who need it. The exception to this rule being when he's in the middle of an extremely important procedure and can't stop long enough to let the attack pass naturally, then he has no choice but to accept Mikey's aid.

This is probably needless to say at this point, but much like Leo and his other brothers, he is a giant. Equal in height to Leo (if not slightly taller, even without the goggles.) The doodle in the top-left corner of the sketch page where he's next to April is meant to be them sitting, so don't take it as anywhere near an accurate representation of their height comparison. It is not, he dwarfs her by several feet, lol.

[meanbossart]

Lore Ask Compilation: "Every Other Question Is About The Drow's Dick" edition

Oh I LOVE Minthara, her dialogue is absolutely fascinating and in my opinion some of the best written In the game. Experiencing her in my Evil Durge playthrough without having been spoiled to her companion scenes prior was great - the amount of depth they managed to add to her, without it at all feeling forced or rushed, and considering how much less time she gets to develop at our side is really well done. While nearly everyone's quests had me immersed, she was one of the few characters who really made me pause and think about the things she had to say to me, what she truly meant by them, and what they meant for me as an avatar doing an evil run.

We have a lot of characters in this game that are meant to be full of wisdom and experience, who are meant to be the ones who say the right thing at the right time that inspires us to make the correct choices, but I don't think either Halsin or Jaheira (and I love Jaheira) made me feel like I knew so little about life quite as Minthara did.

And, of course, she's absolutely hysterical. 10/10 I wish she had a proper companion quest past being rescued but I understand why she doesn't.

[MORE ASKS UNDER THE CUT]

It doesn't connect to the urethra since the slit in on top, so he nuts and pisses normal.

Also you 100% are not sorry, stop lying to me.

Man, I thought a lot about this one because I play so fast and loose with the content the game gives us that I'm positive there must be SOMETHING I'm completely disregarding, but I couldn't think of anything! I've chosen to pick slightly less obvious interpretations to some lines and text but nothing that completely deviates from canon, I don't think. If anyone has noticed something I neglected to mention, feel free to let me know - not because I want to revise it, but just because I'm curious!

For the second part of the question, not really. Larian did a great job of giving us plenty of room to play around in the dark urge's background, I think I'm yet to see something that I find to truly "not fit" in the ample freedom they've given us. I have my preferences, of course - I'm shocked to find that most dark urge's are NOT big hulking beasts, for example - in fact that seems to be the minority by far, but I realize that I have my... Uh... Biases.

You can see a cute little divot through the fabric if you look closely LOL

And nah, I think his penis has seen enough sharp points for a lifetime.

Well.

Unless someone decided to add some bite-marks to it.

HMMM, I... Don't think so.

He didn't cry as a baby, he didn't cry as a child (and this isn't something I just decided on now - this is a major reason why his foster drow mother even kept him around) he didn't really cry growing up or at any point during the campaign. I think he is capable of it - sadness in him just tends to be far more confusing a feeling than anything else.

He will have emotional moments in ANE, whether or not that will culminate in crying is something you will have to wait to find out LOL

Astarion has noticed this and just took it as a character trait - the drow doesn't cry, he just gets confused, angry, frustrated or simply bottles it up. While he can be demanding of his emotional maturity, he isn't going to try and dictate how he should experience his own feelings. If it did happen it would definitely catch him majorly off-guard, perhaps even shift the perception he has of him to a certain extent.

Oh my god you just know they All managed to be utterly quiet about it for as long as humanly (and unhumanly) possible until like, I don't even know, halfway through the Shadow-cursed lands where one day Karlach finally turns back to the group around the campfire after a half-nude drow has strut past and she's like "SO

"DOES ANYONE KNOWS WHY HIS DICK HAS A SNATCH"

And Wyll is like :0... Karlach you can't just ask people that.

And then she pointedly turns to Astarion and starts trying to interrogate him on how it works while Gale covers his ears and Shadowheart is like:

This is gonna blow you guys backwards but he does not do those things in front of people and thinks its rude if you do.

HMMM Mostly physically but it's a little subtle. He really enjoys interacting with Astarion's (and previously Orin's) hands - kissing, holding, caressing. Touching hair and faces as well. He can engage in more overt physical affection but usually Astarion has to be the one to initiate.

A disarmingly earnest proclamation of love and adoration here and there as well - he isn't shy in the slightest to tell people how he feels about them, he just isn't constantly reminding them of it unless inspiration strikes.

Most of all I think he expects his loved-ones to see his care for them in his tendency to go out of his way to help them achieve their goals.

He went with them to the Shadow-cursed lands but I never helped him fix the curse, so he stayed behind when the gang went onwards to the city. DU Drow didn't really like him so it was good-riddance as far as he was concerned.

If he had come along and propositioned him during act 3 - uh, you know the really mean rejection line you have as a choice during that dialogue? Yeah, that one lmao.

Alas, DU drow is just monogamous. He could entertain group-sex with a partner for fun at the most, but not ever a third person in the relationship. And In my personal interpretation (but by all means - everyone else have fun with their poly arrangements!) of Astarion and his delivery of the "this is about Halsin" line, I also thought he was lying about being comfortable with it, so I write him as monogamous as well.

Nothing. Nada. Not a thing. Say what you'd like about Bhaal but he sure knows how sculpt them out of his murder-meat.

(Thank you!!!)

[exeggcute]

well it's been almost six months which I think is long enough to break my posting embargo, so, uh: guess what! I got liposuction lol. specifically hip/thigh lipo to quell some pretty wicked dysphoria that stemmed from having such a feminine silhouette… and I have to say I'm really, really pleased with the results.

tbh my initial plan was to keep things under wraps for good which is why I haven't said anything about it yet (and even as I'm typing this up I keep debating whether to post it or trash it)—partly because I was/am worried people might Act Weird about it and partly because I get a little embarrassed talking about bodygendershit in general. but here we are. one reason I do feel compelled to finally share, other than being super happy about how everything went, is that I haven't encountered a lot of discussions about body sculpting as a possible avenue of gender-affirming care (although, to be fair, maybe I just haven't been looking in the right places) and I figured at least one person out there would be interested to learn about what I did and where I've ended up so far.

anyway. pics/details under the cut—nothing even remotely risqué (or yucky), I just know that body image stuff is fraught + not everyone is eager to hear surgery talk.

to be precise: I got tumescent liposuction of the inner and outer thigh, plus this ultrasound thing to help the skin shrink. a different surgeon who I consulted (but ultimately did not go with for a number of reasons) said that even if I got the results I wanted from lipo, which he claimed was unlikely, the affected skin would look loose/baggy/weird forever... and that surgeon was wrong on both counts lol. my elasticity was great bitch!!!!

they didn't take out that much fat overall, only eight pounds or so, but it's way more about the Where than the How Much. my actual surgeon (who kicks ass btw) said lipo isn't that great for weight loss per se, and what it's really good for is sculpting targeted areas—so basically exactly what I did. six months post-op I actually weigh about the same as what I did pre-op, but the distribution has held steady; more weight goes to my stomach now and less, proportionally, goes to my hips since there are fewer fat cells in that area now. so my silhouette retains its new shape!

the overall change is admittedly on the subtle side, since I'm pretty short and have wide hip bones (and you can't change your literal skeleton) but it's still gone a looooooong way. the main thing I requested from my surgeon was "I want to fit in men's pants" and boy did he deliver.

also a good place to note that if you're in the las vegas area looking for a plastic and/or cosmetic surgeon—this guy is board-certified in both btw—then I absolutely have the guy for you. feel free to DM me for details. lipo is clearly his specialty (and it shows!) but he also does a lot of breast revisions/mastopexy (i.e., fixing implants that other surgeons did a bad job putting in), regular implants, and face work (particularly facial feminization surgery). one thing that sold me on this guy was an enthusiastic yelp review from a local stripper who said he hid the incisions for her breast lift in her armpits so none of her clients would notice that she'd had work done... a true master of his craft

okay you've scrolled enough so I'll give you what you're here for lol. I don't have many pre-op pics because I was obviously unhappy with how I looked and was not taking full-body selfies on a regular basis, but here's a few I took ~2 weeks beforehand:

these super thin men's joggers were my go-to dysphoria pants, to the point where I bought five pairs in different colors, but now they're so baggy on me that they have the opposite effect and make it look like I have wider hips than I do. so I retired them from my wardrobe...

...except not immediately because I had to wear compression garments 24/7 for the first three months post-op and these joggers were just loose enough to comfortably wear a medical girdle underneath them at all times, 110° degree temperatures be damned. (not that I was going out much for the first month since I was soooooooooooo fucking bruised and sore lol.) here's a few post-op pics in the same style pants:

(first pic is less than 24 hours post-op, about to go to my follow-up appointment, looking greasy as fuck because I wasn't allowed to shower yet; second pic two days post-op and also post-shower, thankfully; third pic is about a month post-op.)

so, like, CLEAR improvement already. I will not be posting pictures of my black-and-blue-and-swollen-all-over legs but considering how puffy I was from getting internally pummeled with a cannula it's wild that I still saw improvement literally as soon as I came home.

recovery was obviously not a blast in the moment but I got off easy, all things considered. I was supposed to get drains put in and was Not looking forward to that at all lol. the first thing I asked when I woke up after surgery was "how many drains?" because they weren't sure if I'd end up needing two or four, but it turned out the answer was zero. no drains!!!

I did have to lie with my feet elevated for the first two weeks straight, and had major bruising that receded over the first month (you could barely see my regular skin underneath all the mottled spots), but little to no nerve pain, no weird complications, and I was more or less back to normal after six weeks. also noelle took very very good care of me and was brave about injecting me with blood thinners so I wouldn't get clots and die :)

when I went into it I was fully expecting to get huge vertical scars up and down the sides of my legs (and had made peace with it!) but instead I wound up with four tiny incisions like this, each less than two inches long:

what's totally crazy is that the scars are basically Gone now. like even when I'm trying to find them I struggle to locate the ones in the front. I joked to noelle that if someone did an autopsy on me they might not figure out that I'd had cosmetic surgery, especially since the skin on my thighs is back to its normal color and texture. (in this scenario I like to imagine that it's dana scully giving me the autopsy and I'm in an x-files plot where instead of regular lipo I got alien lipo and mulder figures it out purely by accident.)

with lipo it can take up to a year to see the full results but I already feel so much fucking better in my body that seeing old pre-op pics throws me for a loop. and I can absolutely wear men's pants now—pants for short and stocky men, to be fair, but actual regular men's pants and not exclusively Pants For Men With Huge Butts And Legs. which is the only style I could even hope to fit in before. and even then it was a stretch.

big pic dump of shitty mirror selfies taken over the last few months:

:)

(also I really debated sharing this one but I already included it in the yelp review I left my surgeon so fuck it: here's a tasteful before-and-after in my undies where you can see my bare legs for easier comparison. left pic is one week pre-op, right pic is about five months post-op. including it as a link instead of embedding it in the post in case your boss happens to be reading over your shoulder at this very moment. also this is the one and only time you will ever see me stripped down on tumblr dot com so don't get used to it lol.)

[kevin-the-bruyne]

Sometimes having horrible memory is rereading whispered secrets for the fourth time and still being deeply affected like wow wow Wow what , mmm delicious, this is spectacular. Special shoutout to my guy “Do you ditch your friends to come see me?” “Don’t do it again”, he makes my kidney want to jump out each time without fail

not an ask I have things to say ت

well anon you seem to have struck a moment of some potential energy in need of a motivating push. I promise I am writing the epilogue however, it is still one (1) page long kzdfjskdfh. I'll get there, they will have minor disagreements and some honest communication and then romantic sappy sex. there is even an outline!!!!

BUT I have unearthed some whispered secrets never before seen goodies. These are scrapped scenes from earlier drafts of the story. By earlier draft I mean the draft of chapter 3 that was written before the first episode aired or sometime that week according to my draft revision dates lol and boy does it seem like I was going wild places with this lol

I think I should update to AO3 but I am too scared of people being mad at me for not updating the epilogue djfsfhglfjgh

There are two scene here under the cut for now:

Scene 1:

This is the exact start of the current chapter three through to the end of their first time and of them hanging out at the balcony. I put this here in full because SO much of it is similar that I had to pull up the published chapter and compare to be like why did I even bother changing these little details? But re-reading the whole thing I think I get why, curious as to what you think since you just read it

----

Kid: Mister, can I come over?

Alan finds the message odd. Be it the hour, the lack of frills or that Kaipa has never initiated a meetup - always so happy to wait for him - but Alan can tell that this is a request he should fulfill. 

It’s not even a full ten minutes after he responds with a ‘yes’ that there is a soft double knock at the front door. For a second, he’s worried that Wen has returned home but remembers that Wen would just use his key. Alan opens the door.

It’s Kaipa, standing in front of him in a way he hasn’t seen since the first night they met. Eyes vacant in the remnants of a storm that’s been through them, leaving them red and puffy. The tip of his nose is red like he’s been rubbing on it and his hair crumpled like he’s been pulling at it.

He moves back so Kaipa can walk in. Kaipa has been here before on multiple occasions, anytime really that Wen was scheduled to be away overnight, so he trusts that Kaipa can find his way inside while he locks the front door.

But when he turns Kaipa is still standing there, not even having taken off his sandals, looking at him intently. 

‘What?’ Alan asks a little unsurely and Kaipa stays silent. He keeps looking at him for a few long moments before he is pushing Alan back against the door, pressing his body close and taking his lips in a kiss that can only be described as ferocious.

Alan cups Kaipa’s jaw and tries to control the pace, tries to bring them back from whatever seems to be building in Kaipa’s chest. But Kaipa only grips Alan’s wrists and the obstruction away from chasing his kisses, pushes it against the door behind them.

Unable to calm Kaipa down through his kisses, Alan finally puts his free hand on Kaipa’s chest and pushes firmly. Kaipa moves away from him, his eyes still closed and brows furrowed, his fingers still curled tight around Alan’s wrist. 

When he opens his eyes, it’s the anguish in them that shatters Alan first, ‘can’t you do it for one night?’ Alan is too scared to ask what he means and he hopes that Kaipa will take a hint from his silence and not elaborate, because he knows, he knows what people who look like that ask for. 

Kaipa continues anyway, ‘love me.’

Sincere and straightforward to a fault.

Alan’s first instinct is to refuse but the truth is that he doesn’t know how. Alan’s heart feels like it’s caught in his throat, the rise and fall of his chest the only signs of it still beating. In the end, the silence stretches too long and Kaipa lowers his gaze, releasing Alan from the intensity of it just as he releases Alan’s wrist from his iron grip.

When Kaipa moves away, Alan feels the loss like a fresh wound. And perhaps what he really wants to say is: ‘I wish I knew how.’

He’s gripped by an impulse he forgot he possessed. 

To hold on.

He turns them around so that it’s Kaipa pressed against the door, drinking in the frenzy of Alan’s kisses. Alan forgets the seams of where their bodies meet; Kaipa is pressed so close, with his grip so tight around him. His fingers dig into Alan’s back with a searing ache.

They part when their lungs start to burn and lips start going numb from being fused together too long. Even then, Alan only moves away just so, held close by Kaipa’s fingers gently scratching at the hairs on his nape, breaths mingling.

Kaipa finally starts, ‘can I-

‘-Yes.’ Alan responds before he can make the request.

Kaipa is surprised at being cut off, and even more so by the answer. Even though Kaipa manages to suppress his need to confirm with a disbelieving, ‘really?’, his eyes still dart down in pleased shyness.

Kaipa buries his face in the crook of Alan’s neck and takes a deep breath, ‘Alan,’ he whispers followed by a deep shuddering breath that reverberates through them. It brings about a release somewhere within Alan as well, unclenching just enough for Kaipa to take a peek inside.

Alan places a messy kiss on his temple, ‘Hmm?’

‘Can you take me to bed?’ Kaipa’s words are slow and careful as though he’s afraid someone will come and snatch them away. 

Alan bends a little to tap on the back of Kaipa’s thigh, Kaipa gets the hint and hops into Alan’s arms, his legs wrapped tightly around Alan’s waist. Kaipa looks right at him, eyes tired but adoring, and Alan finds himself unable to look away, the attention oddly comforting as he carries Kaipa to bed.

Permitted within the fantasies of this one night, Alan pretends that it’s theirs, full of warmth and laughter instead of the cold emptiness it wraps him in every other night. Pretends that the joining of their bodies is an adequate proxy of the love that Kaipa seeks. *

Later, they stand huddled next to each other on Alan’s balcony, sharing a cigarette and looking out at the skyline. Alan absently massages at Kaipa’s lower back. He apologizes softly when Kaipa winces but Kaipa only shakes his head and presses his nose to Alan’s jaw. 

It has been a while for him and he might have gotten a little too excited, intoxicated by the sweetness of Kaipa’s kisses, the thrill of the little gasps breathed into his ear and the feeling of home between Kaipa’s legs that he hadn’t thought he would ever feel again. Alan had wanted to take and Kaipa had given it all up so sweetly.

Alan sees Kaipa’s lashes flicker quickly as he blinks and then trains that soft but intent gaze on Alan’s face, ‘do you love him?’ Kaipa asks curious, shivering like he can’t help himself, can’t hold back how much he wants to know. Alan wonders if he should draw the line here on the liberties that Alan will allow tonight.

‘I have never thought of my feelings for him as anything but love.’ Alan finally decides to say, he blames the way his head swims pleasantly in the nicotine rush for his undue honesty. Alan watches as Kaipa blinks again like he’s confused, then laughs. He presses his thumb on Alan’s cheek, rubs a line right at the bottom edge of his glasses, ‘you would do that,’ Kaipa says, ‘just decide to love a person like that.’

Alan is surprised at the comment, at the way Kaipa talks like he knows Alan. Alan doesn’t know when it could have happened but the familiar gentleness in Kaipa’s smile and the little hickey forming on his neck in the shape of Alan’s teeth, makes him think that Kaipa just might. Kaipa might know who he is.

‘Doesn’t mean I can,’ Alan replies and even though his voice doesn’t waver, it grates along the sharp edges of his fractured heart.

‘You can.’ Kaipa responds instantly like he always does when Alan says anything negative about himself. He trails his thumb down Alan’s sharp cheek until the pad of his thumb comes to rest softly at the corner of Alan’s lips, ‘you do.’ Voice quick and sure.

Of course Kaipa doesn’t know him. 

He’s just like this. 

Always so sincere. So ready to draw the silver lining.

Kaipa will say these things to anyone who stands before him feeling sorry for themselves. He enjoys Kaipa’s platitudes more this way, it comforts him that he doesn’t have to earn them even though it means they hold no value.

‘Doesn’t mean that he will love me back.’ Alan says around another drag of the cigarette.

Kaipa’s face falls suddenly, but only a little and just for a second before he turns it back up once more. It’s different Alan notes and once more he’s surprised that he knows this, that Kaipa has smiles that bare his heart out for the world to see and smiles that hide it.

‘But that isn’t the point, is it?’ Kaipa says. He takes the cigarette from Alan, takes a long drag and immediately starts coughing, Alan laughs, rubs his back. Kaipa looks at him when he finally stops and the moment stretches between them until Alan has the urge to ask, ‘what?’

‘Mister, will you hold me?’ Kaipa says, and he purses his lips in a little plea that catches Alan off guard. Alan wonders if this is yet another one of those liberties Kaipa takes that he’s better off refusing. They’re pressed so close already, yet Kaipa wants to be closer still.

Alan slides his hand from Kaipa’s back and curls around his torso. Kaipa tucks himself into the little space that opens up between Alan’s body and the railing of the balcony. He wants to be surprised at how easily he gives in to Kaipa tonight.

But he also can’t remember the last time he’d refused Kaipa anything.

Or the last time that Kaipa asked.

Alan is tempted to ask after Kaipa’s own unfulfilled love.

But then the night breeze is cool against their clammy skin and Alan’s heart feels settled wrapped up in the warmth of their fantasy.

So Alan just holds him.

----

Scene 2:

This is how I had Alsn find out Kaipa loves uncle after he’s already ghosted and comes back to take care of Alan. And honestly, I am BAFFLED. where the fuck was I going with this? This was the first scene Alan realizes that he's actually in love with Gaipa???? And then what?? I was expected this Alan, the beat down loser (affectionate), to go fight for him????

----

Alan is surprised to see his secretary bring in a familiar face he’d had dinner with just the night before. It’s been a little more than a week since Alan’s little outburst at Jim’s restaurant.

Kaipa darts his eyes down in embarrassment as Alan gestures to the seat in front of him. Kaipa’s face is unnervingly stoic as he hands Alan the documents the secretary had prepared for him for Alan to sign.

Kaipa isn't keen on letting it be known that he knows Alan, let alone knows him enough to have had dinner with him every night the past week, so Alan doesn’t push.

Alan signs and pushes the contract back towards Kaipa, ‘did my secretary go over the terms of the loan with you?’

Kaipa nods.

‘And you know that if you default, we’ll repossess your collateral.’

Kaipa nods and signs on the pages that Alan flips over for him. When they’re done Kaipa thanks him and starts stuffing the papers he’d received into his little satchel. Alan can’t help himself because he recognizes the property on file, ‘that’s your house and you will give the money to,’ Alan pauses because doesn’t know if he can really utter the name.

‘Uncle Jim,’ Kaipa finishes for him.

There’s so many thoughts swirling in Alan’s head and he can’t decide on what he’s really allowed to feel about this. What does Kaipa owe him after all? He settles on confusion because he has to know why and he’s about to ask when it suddenly clicks together for him.

‘You love him.’

Kaipa nods even though it was rhetorical.

Ah

He knows this feeling well. 

Heartbreak.

And it always seems to happen just like this, in the quiet of everyday life, slowly amassing a mountain of evidence that Alan can never seem to recognize. He feels wave after wave of shame wash over him and he marvels at how his heart can still feel heavy, how his eyes can still manage to prickle with unshed tears.

‘But he doesn’t love you.’ Alan remarks in his quiet panic. More than anything Alan wants to understand, he thinks. He wants to understand what someone has to do; to be loved like this. 

‘He doesn’t have to.’ Kaipa responds, his quiet determination holding Alan hostage in his seat.

And perhaps what he should have said when Kaipa asked him if he loved Wen is that he doesn’t want to.

[starlightseraph]

comrades, don’t kill yourselves.

edit april 2025: as i’ve learned more and become more radical i see huge issues with what i said here. i viscerally recoiled just reading it, lol. revised below the cut.

my views aren’t actually too different from what they were when i wrote the original, but i’m now far less concerned about the possibility of hurting the feelings of usamericans who still subscribe to a mythologised view of “our nation” or “our values” or “the constitution” that has never truly existed. all of that “what is happening to america” is pure bullshit. internally, i felt just as blunt and harsh as i’m about to be now, but i was a coward and i didn’t want to alienate myself from the vast majority of the establishment-loving people that surround me.

(as i indefinitely live in the usa, which, don’t get me wrong, i love and it is now just as much my home as my actual home, but still, it’s insane just how deluded the average person is without realising it. it’s like that joke where the cia agent congratulates the kgb agent on the quality and quantity of soviet propaganda and the kgb agent says that it’s nothing in comparison to american propaganda. and the cia agent is confused and says “but we don’t have propaganda”)

my more developed line goes something like this: fuck trump and fuck harris and fuck both democrats and republicans and if you honestly think that democrats are even slightly left wing or in any way progressive or working towards change, you’re either propagandised to the high heavens or just wilfully blind.

democrats are disgusting, spineless, posturing idiots who have no clue how to even pretend to care about people. and they honestly don’t. why do you think like half of their campaign platform for decades on end was “we’ll codify roe!” but they literally never did, even when holding as much power as possible? because it was a bargaining chip. as long as they could make a promise like that, people would keep voting for them, hoping that this time it would really happen. but it didn’t, because they care more about not upsetting people and maintaining their careers and the absurd amounts of funding they get from every kind of lunatic lobbying group you can imagine.

democrats fund the right. democrats are funded by the right. democrats are the right. this shouldn’t be surprising, if you’ve been paying any attention at all. the democratic party is not and has never been representative of any minorities or marginalised groups and it has never actually tried to make things better for them. people often say “but oh, this or that issue would’ve been so much worse under republicans” and that may be true, but it misses the real point: democrats grudgingly give concessions, they don’t enact change.

obviously the maga-qanon crowd is particularly demented and i so have a special hatred for the nordic-aryan-alien-space-nazism thing that they have going on. but the point is that just because republicans are bad, it does not mean that democrats are good.

there’s a crucial difference here: a very mildly lesser evil versus an active force for good. democrats are an active force for bad. being in ostensible opposition to republicans just mean that they want to carry out their atrocities with a reassuring smile. republicans are just saying the quiet part out loud, and, if you’ve been listening, the quiet parts have never even been all that quiet.

if you actually wanna be of help to any oppressed people in the united states and especially if you want to help the literal billions that the united states oppressed abroad, you have to let go of the attachment to this idea of america as a place that could ever have turned out as anything but an evil, imperialistic genocide fanatic that’s badly masquerading as benevolent.

this is the inevitable outcome of the ideological foundations of the united states. a party, an election, all the votes in the world won’t change that. this is the system working as intended, slaughtering and enslaving and torturing incomprehensible numbers of people to line the pockets of ceos and politicians, just as it has always done.

get your head out of the sand. open your goddamn eyes. marching with a sign or posting on social media (unless promoting fundraisers) doesn’t do shit. if your “dissent” is in any form that the ruling class doesn’t try to stop, it’s because you pose no threat to their establishment. resistance has to be disruptive, it cannot be anything that gets support from the very same systems you are protesting against. i don’t know why people think that any movement protected by cops or that involves politicians will have any effect. it’s obvious that it won’t.

no matter how much they smile and say “oh but we love women and gay people and muslims” they’re not actually going to do anything but enthusiastically support the genociding of muslims, the pseudoscientific queerphobia, and the forcing of women into a box. they’re all part of the same money and control driven machine that has sadistically ended or destroyed the lives of countless people in a lost every single nation, including at home.

anyways, peace and love on the planet earth and all that. i love my fellow humans so much, i want nothing more than for us to just be chilling together like picking berries in a field and drinking tea or something. i’m so tired of this essentialist civilisation vs savagery or this nation against that one shit. we’re just a bunch of creatures trying to exist and be safe and not miserable and the people of the world fundamentally have the same interests at heart. constructed divisions have made us so focused on how we can dominate, when the natural tendency of humans is to cooperate. if your ideology isn’t fuelled by love, it’s worthless. i don’t mean this as some lofty flowery shit, i just mean that our end goal in everything should be the ultimate decrease of suffering and increase of happiness on as large a scale as possible.

the earth is beautiful and humanity is beautiful and we really can do something beautiful together. stay alive, stay fighting as hard and as tangibly as you can for days when the capitalists of the united states and imperial core no longer have a monopoly on the most basic elements of human existence.

in the words of our comrade yugopnik: my homo sapiens patriotism can no long be held at bay. lol

[audrey-carr1]

The Heiress and the Lady of the House (part 7)

A/N: I'm not dead! Just overworked and underpaid lol. Anyway, this update took me a bit longer than I thought because I have rewritten the ending a total of 3 times. Honestly, this may be going under some heavy revision, but I'll keep it. Count all my mistakes for me lol.

warnings: fem!reader, Hetty X Reader, mentions of death

Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Want to Read on Ao3? Click here

“What a twist! See that wasn’t so hard to admit was it?” Lydia says in a mocking tone. 

I give Lydia a pointed look. 

“Alright, now let’s unpack the rest, sassy pants,” Lydia says. 

“I was eavesdropping on my parents. I didn’t mean to I just couldn’t find out a way to move without being noticed. They were arguing about me and my friendship with Arabella and how our friendship was going to bring nothing but trouble,”

Once more a bright light overwhelms my eyes, and I am back to my childhood standing in my parent’s study as they argue quietly.

—--------

“They were bound to be friends, they share more than just a neighborhood,” My mother says.

Don’t you think I know that? But what happens if they are found out? Dale’s entire fortune would be wiped clean. They wouldn’t have a pot to piss in,” My father says.

“I told you 15 years ago that this was going to end poorly,” My mother responds.

“I was helping a friend! If they did not have an heir to their fortune, he was going to be cut out of the will, and they needed the money,” My father hisses.

“I know that! I said I was okay with that, but the other end of that deal was that they were supposed to move to avoid this happening,” My mother shoots back.

“So what do you want me to do? Break up their friendship of fifteen years? Think of our daughter,”

“I am thinking of my daughter! Now imagine how she would feel if she were to find out that her best friend is actually her sister. Imagine the public scrutiny that would cause on every family involved. We lied to make sure that it looked like the child was his. We did some very sketchy things, and if that was found out-”

“I know this!” My father shouts in a whisper.

—-------

I’m brought back to the beach, and Lydia is looking at me with expectant eyes. 

“I kept quiet to prevent the scandal my parents wanted to avoid so much. So what? There isn’t any resolving needed there,” I tell Lydia. 

“Doesn’t that feel good getting that off of your chest?” Lydia says

I narrow my eyes at her, “How is me talking about the past going to help me get back home?”

“Have you ever wondered how one event changed the trajectory of your life,”

“Sometimes when I’m in a 3 am spiral in the comfort of MY HOME,” I emphasize. 

“Would you change it?” Lydia asks

“Change what?” I ask.

“Your past? If you could change your past and give yourself a new future would you?” Lydia repeats her statement once more. 

I don’t have time to answer before the light returns.

—-----

When the light fades, and my eyes adjust I find myself in a neighborhood. I’m dressed in my college sweatshirt and rolled jeans with my favorite pair of white sneakers. I look around taking in my surroundings, and I can’t help but notice it resembles the neighborhhod I grew up in. 

“Because this is the neighborhood you grew up in. Now go inside,” Lydia says and then she disappears. 

I turn the knob to the front door, and it opens. The familiar scent of home hits my nostrils bringing back memories, that were so long forgotten. It feels so different but it’s exactly how I left it. I haven’t been back since after my parent's funeral. I’m sure the place is collecting dust. Tears spring to my eyes, and I quickly wipe them away when I hear footsteps approaching. 

“Oh look you’re home!” My mom says. Her hands are covered in flour. She must have been cooking. 

“I am home…why are you here- I mean home…now…at this particular time?” I quickly try to cover my words.

Mom tilts her head, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. 

“I’m always here at this time,” She says

I pull out my phone and check the time. She is usually home at this, so nothing odd there is nothing odd about that. I nearly drop the phone when I see the year 2024 staring back at me. 

She wipes her hand on her apron coming to play a hand on my forehead to see if I have a temperature.

“Are you okay sweetie? You look a bit worn,” She says. 

“I um…I got go and lie down,” I say racing to my room.

I nearly knock the door off its hinges when I open it and accidentally slam it shut. 

“Holy fucking shit. Holy shit! What this can’t be happening. What is happening,” I ask myself out loud. 

I begin pacing in my bedroom floor, trying to figure out what was going on. I pinch myself, and I discover that I am in fact not dreaming. A knocking on my door brings me from my thoughts. 

“Sweetie, are you okay in there? Your mom says you're acting weirdly,”

“You’re here too?” I say a little louder than expected. 

“Well, I do live here. Are you sure you’re okay? Is something going on?”

I quickly move to hold the door closed, “No just a little uh headache is all nothing to be worried about!” 

“Alright, well if you say so,” Dad says. I slump against the door. 

“This is happening. I’m home!” I think to myself.

I go through my room looking for photo albums, and I find them on the lower part of a bookshelf. I grabbed the one starting in 2018, the year my parents died. I open the book and I see it’s flooded with pictures of me with my parents. A couple of pictures of Nadine and Riley are sprinkled in too. I lay that book to the side, and grab the following year’s photobook. One followed right after the other until I was caught up. 

After hours of going through my room, I hear my mom call my name telling me it’s time for dinner. I get become nervous. I haven’t had dinner with my parents in years, what if they ask about what’s been going on in life? What do I tell them? 

Instead of creating more suspicion, I go downstairs to meet my parents in the dining room. 

“Are you feeling better?” Dad asks. 

“Much thank you,” I reply. 

“That is good to hear, I was worried all my cooking would have gone to waste,” My mom sitting down in the chair next to me. 

I take a moment to look at my parents. They haven’t changed much besides the signs of age. A couple of grey streaks in my Mom’s hair, and my Dad’s hair has gone full grey instead of it’s usual salt-and-pepper look. 

“You seem to be in deep thought,” Dad says scooping some salad onto his plate. 

“Just really happy to be home right now,” I say. 

Mom grabs my hand and squeezes it. I move closer to embrace her in a hug. I don’t fight the tears that fall. 

—-------

End of January

Hetty has been up for hours scouring her brain for hours for an idea on how to bring her love back home. 

“What about a seance?” Hetty asks.

“But she’s not dead…technically,” Trevor points out.

“A reverse seance we could try that. Send me to her, and I can find a way to guide her back.”

“Hetty if that were to work that would be dangerous. You could end up trapped yourself,”

“That is a risk I am willing to take,” Hetty says not budging. 

“Hetty what if it doesn’t work?” Alberta asks a bit concerned.

Now Hetty was getting annoyed, “Am I supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs like some fool?”

Everyone sits in silence for a moment contemplating what Hetty has said. 

Isaac finally speaks up, “Hetty we cannot risk losing you both, we won’t send you,”

Hetty storms off,  returning to your room, and lays on the bed you two once shared. She wishes the bed still shared your scent, but time has caused it to fade. Her chest aches, and all she does now is sit and wait for your return. She learns your condition doesn’t worsen, but it doesn’t turn for better either. Yesterday she searched the ground fearing that when you hit the ghost boundary you had somehow gotten stuck somewhere. It took Thor having to carry her back to the house for Hetty realize she had been searching from sun-up till sundown. Her feet ached once Thor had set her down on the couch and begged Hetty not to do that again. Instead, he would search for her, and Pete was more than happy to go along. Hetty was hopeful once they said it and prayed that even a hint of your presence was found. When they returned empty-handed, Hetty didn’t leave your room for two days. 

Hetty had never experienced this kind of grief before. Grieving for a lover is something that Hetty was not familiar with. She was heartbroken when she and her painter had to call things off, she practically rejoiced when she found Elias had no happy ending, but now she is in despair. Her days seem bleak without you in the home. 

She feels as if she is in one of those tragic novels she used to read, never to escape. Doomed to rot. 

She tries to keep up with the ghosts, but she cannot shake the feeling of you. She knows that you are out there, it’s like you are tugging on her heart pulling her in your direction. Hetty just cannot figure out which way to start. Hetty turns to her side and tries to sleep. 

—-

In the living room, the rest of the ghosts continue to ponder Hetty’s request. 

“What if she’s right? What if she can bring her back?” Pete asks.

“What if she’s wrong, and Hetty gets stuck in who knows where?” Isaac points out.

“How do we know that she is in there?” Flower asks

“We don’t but how will we know if we don’t try,” Pete replies.

“Haven’t we lost enough? What happens if Hetty gets stuck over wherever it is we might send her” Alberta says.

“We can ponder these questions all night long, but it won’t change anything. I’m afraid that Hetty may even try to do it herself,” Trevor says, “Once she puts her mind to something she won’t stop until she gets it.”

Still having not reached a consensus, the ghosts stand around each other. Just as puzzled as before. 

—-----

I went to sleep in my own bed, and I awake back on the beach dressed in the nightgown I had gone to bed in. I can’t shake the feeling of disappointment I feel. Now that I’m back without my parents, it’s like I’m grieving them all over again. Lydia’s questions weigh heavy on my mind. If I had the option to choose that future, would I take it? 

I shake the thought from my head. No. I need to get back to Woodstone. Back to my friends. Back to Hetty. 

“So you are the half-ling everyone has been talking about,” A voice says.

I turn in the direction of the voice and see a dark figure. I don’t even have to guess who they might be, “So I’ve been told. You must be Death.” 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Death says holding out a hand. I look at it, but I do not take it. 

“You are upset,” Death says putting their hand back at their side. 

“Do not patronize me,” I grumble. 

“I would do no such thing,” Death says.

“Yet here you are,” Your eyes don’t leave them watching for any sudden movements. 

“I am sure Lydia explained to you that you had a decision to make,” Death says

“She did and then she disappeared. How convenient,” I yell hoping Lydia could hear me wherever she went. 

“Oh, you are a spitfire. Just like that Hetty of yours,” Death says. 

My head whips around at the sound of her name. 

“Oh, that struck a nerve didn’t it?” Death teases.

“I swear if you,” I say my jaw is clenched and my hands balled into fists. 

“If I what? She’s dead, what could I possibly do to her? Take it down a notch, I’m not going to hurt you or any of your little friends. Living or dead,” Death says.

“What do you want from me?” I ask 

“I want you to stop being stubborn, and come with me,” Death replies

“I do not want to. I want to go home,” I say, “That is all I want. Is to be with my friends at home.”

“Home. You humans get so attached,” Death spat, “The place you want to go isn’t your home. You knew that the moment you saw mommy and daddy,”

“I have lived a life without them. I will be fine going back. Now if we could please,” 

“I only want the truth, and the sooner you get it to me. The sooner you get what you want. Otherwise, you come with me,” Death says. 

—---

Back at the manor

After one more night of consideration, the ghosts decide this may be their best bet to bring you home. If you are indeed lost, then you would need guidance to get back to the other side. 

The seance is held the following night with a full moon. Items belonging to you lay in a pile on the table. The ghosts surround Hetty in a circle joining their hands and begin chanting. 

Sam enters the room and stops just at the entrance. “Hey, what’s with all of the - What is going on?” 

Sam can't get an answer before Hetty is enveloped in light and disappears before their eyes. 

“What did you guys just do?!” Sam asks looking at the ghosts who also can’t believe what they just did. 

—------------

Annoyed I say, “I have told you what I would like, so if you could get to soul swappy thing that would be great,” 

Death doesn’t move, and neither do I. We both wait, watching the other to see whose bluff would be called first.

“You really are stubborn aren’t you,” Death mumbles.

“You have no idea,” A voice from behind says. 

“Hello, I am right here,” I say quickly not registering who had replied. I stand still for a moment. I know that voice. I turn around, and there she is. I have to have to be hallucinating. I must be hallucinating. She says my name, and I know this is real. She’s here with me.  My heart feels like it could fly from my chest. 

“Hetty!” I exclaim. 

My feet take off to meet her. Hetty’s arms are outstretched, and I nearly topple her with the force of my body weight. She grabs me by the waist and pulls me in immediately peppering kisses all over my face but delivering a kiss to my lips. A kiss so full of passion, it takes my breath away. Her hands tug at me, and I pull her in closer.

Hetty breaks the kiss and embraces me in a bear grip of a hug, “My darling! I have missed you so much. These past couple of weeks have been unbearable with you,”

“I have missed you!” I pull away from the bug and give her another kiss. 

“These past couple of weeks” Hetty’s words echo in my mind.

“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? It’s only been a day,” I say to her. 

Hetty looks at me a sadness returning to her eyes. Her thumb runs over my cheek, and a tear escapes her eye. 

She takes a steadying breath before she speaks, “Darling, it’s been almost 3 weeks, since the incident. ”

“3 weeks? That means it’s almost February,” I exclaim, “A day hasn’t passed here, the sun never set. There is no way I’ve been here for weeks. That’s impossible.”

Noticing that I was spiraling, Death speaks up, “The sun will never set here. It never will.”

“I’ve been here for weeks?”  The question is mainly for myself as I wrap my brain around all of this. Then another question pops into my head. 

“Hetty how did you get here? You shouldn’t be here,” I say.

“Finally you and I are on the same page,” Death says. 

Hetty scoffs and turns me to face her. Both of her hands are on my shoulder steadying as she looks me in the eye. 

“Don’t worry about how I got here, just know that I am taking you home,” Hetty says.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Death says coming to towards us. 

“And why the hell not?” Hetty looks up and her eyes are on Death’s form. A cold shock runs through Hetty, but she tries not show it. Instead, Hetty grasps my arm to move me of the way.

“Henrietta Woodstone, how lovely it is to see you,” Death says. 

“Oh now we want to do greetings? What is it that you want with her?” Hetty asks.

“She’s coming with me,” Death says. 

“I see you are sorely mistaken, she is coming home with me,” Henrietta says tightening the grip she has on my arm. 

Death laughs, “I have no time for games, and my patience is wearing quite thin.”

“I have told you that I want to go home. That is my decision that is my hold up?”

“You cannot lie to me. The home you are trying to return to is not the home you seek,”

Death pauses. I feel my heart hammer in my chest a dull roar of blood in my ears. 

“You want to be with your parents. That’s what home is to you. The sooner you stop denying that the sooner we can all get on with your lives,” Death says a tone of annoyance in their voice. 

“Your parents?” Hetty asks

“It’s nothing, just some little mind trick they do. Don’t worry about it,” I brush off the comment. 

“No, tell me please,” Hetty asks. I cannot deny her request, I never have been able to. 

“I saw a future of what it was like if my parents were still alive,” Isay

“And?” Hetty asks. 

Though the answer is on the tip of my tongue, I delay it. I try to look down, but Hetty tilts my chin up to meet her eyes. Her eyes tell me that she is expectant of an answer. 

“I loved it,” I say in a hushed whisper. I never thought I would feel ashamed for missing my parents.

“And that is what you want?” Hetty asks.

“No! No, Hetty, I want you and Woodstone Manor. That is my home,” I say hurriedly

“Darling,” Hetty cups the side of my face, “It’s okay to want your parents,”

I can’t find the right words to speak, so I just shake my head hoping that she would believe me. 

Hetty looks over my head and in Death’s direction, “If she were to choose this alternative future…”

“You wouldn’t remember her in your world, and she wouldn’t remember you in hers. It’ll be like you never crossed paths. If she doesn’t choose, she dies. Simple,” Death says.

-End of Part 7-

[hischierlovebot]

11, 12 and 17 for the fic writer asks <3

Hello my friend <333

fic writer asks

11. a WIP you’d like to finish someday

Oh there are so many. Right now, that's fake hanahaki, although that one should be getting finished soonish, because I'm 30k deep already and we will come out victorious. other fics that have been on the backburner for a while now are the auswilly fake dating, and the werewolves with no werewolves fic, which has been haunting me for around 2 years? And I hope I can get to those this year!

12. a trope you’re really into right now

Well I recently finished my leverage rewatch so I'm very into heists and cons but tbf most of my free time (dead hours at work) is spent fighting fake hanahaki so there hasn't been that much reading from me! I am, however, itching for the kind of fic that you finish and leaves you feeling hollow because of how good it was so if you have any recs, I'll take them <33

17. talk about your writing and editing process

Man this will be very long and also maybe a bit confusing. I'll post under the cut.

The most important part to understand about my process is that there's no editing. There is a final revision, where I go over the text to polish it and catch stray typos, but I don't really write in drafts: what you get posted to ao3 is what the fic has looked like, most of the time.

So, my process goes a little like this: I get an idea, I write down the scene that comes to mind (most of the times with the longer fics, we're not talking about a fleshed out idea, just a scene that I build the rest of the story around. In soulmates, for example, my goal was to tackle my issues with the concept as a whole, and in fake hanahaki, there's a scene that encapsulates this very well, but that I still can't share for obvious reasons), and then the rest of the story is built around it.

If it's a long fic, or a more complex one, say soulmates or hanahaki, to name hrpf examples, then I need to figure out the plot before I write it. It's something that only really happens with these fics because I can't write if I'm not satisfied with what I've written before.

I think of it as building blocks. I need to have a solid foundation to build on, because if it's wobbly, then I keep worrying it's going to bring down the rest of the structure, and there's nothing I hate more than spending hours on a thing, only for it to be absolutely pointless. Sometimes I get stuck with the base and I can't continue until i figure it out, but I can focus on other stuff, that helps me see the whole picture a little clearer. It's why I tend to write out of order, and, afterwards, I take all the pieces and line them up until they make sense. Currently, fake hanahaki is 60 pages long, and there's only like 45% in order. The rest are disconnected scenes that would probably confuse the fuck out of a reader, and that I have to line up to figure out what's still missing.

Once that's done, then the fic is pretty much done. Because I can't write if I'm not satisfied with the build up of a scene, I've gone over them a bunch of times, so there's no need for further rewrites. They were done as the scene was written. What it needs is a final revision to catch any typos, and then it's ready to go out.

If you're wondering, yes, this means that I rarely if at all use beta readers, also because I worry about annoying them with how much I write and switch wips and fandoms lol there are no deleted scenes either because if they weren't going to make it then they never got written and if they were on the page then I just have to figure out where they go. Is this method of mine the most efficient? Probably not, but it's what works with me and I don't think my works turn out that bad so I'm going to stick with it.

And I think that was it lol sorry for how lengthy this was, and let me know if there's anything that wasn't clear!

[campgender]

hey! I'm currently writing a paper discussing experiences of disabled and neurodivergent students at my uni (spoiler alert: it's not great lmao), and while I have a couple references so far (mostly Lund and Pearlstein) about the larger Disabled Student ExperienceTM I'm struggling to find academic papers talking about this, particularly since my field of study is psychology rather than disability theory/disability justice. are there any texts regarding this that you would reccommend? doing my best to lean on crip theory for this essay and you were the first person i thought of! no worries if you don't have the energy to answer this rn ofc, i hope you're having a good day ✨

omg what a fabulous & vital project! i’d love to hear more about your work both out of interest & to potentially refine my recommendations because this is such a complex, multifaceted area of experience + research + activism — i tried to draw from a variety of perspectives so you can dig deeper into what seems most relevant!

my number one recommendation is the book Academic Ableism by Jay Dolmage, i still need to read most of it rip but it’s absolutely considered foundational in this topic. the rest i’m gonna put under a cut because it got super long lol, i’ll also reblog to my disability sideblog @crippleprophet in case anyone else has suggestions!

best of luck with your work, i hope some of this is helpful! feel free to reach out for more recommendations, input, or encouragement❣️💖

on the built environment – eg, the physical campus & how it impacts students

if you’re in the US, this summary of colleges’ responsibilities under the ADA has been helpful for me (link).

Building Access by Aimi Hamraie

Accessibility for Historic Buildings: A Field Guide, 2nd Edition (link to pdf)

written by David Provost and revised by Joseph Hoefferle, Jr. as part of the University of Vermont Graduate Program in Historic Preservation

back in 2020 i used the first edition of this document in a project arguing my undergraduate university should make its historic buildings more accessible

lays out policies & options in tables with photo examples from their campus

Aimi Hamraie & Kelly Fritsch’s Crip Technoscience Manifesto (2019)

Catalyst: Feminism, Theory, Technoscience, 5(1), pp1-34.

this piece is honestly just incredibly life-giving for me in general so i highly recommend giving it a full read when you have time. specific parts that i thought might resonate with the experiences of students at your uni:

“user-initiated design” (Hendren & Lynch, cited p9)

“access as friction” (p10):

Emerging out of historical fights for disability rights, the terms accessibility and access are usually taken to mean disabled inclusion and assimilation into normative able-bodied relations and built environments. […] However, the etymology of the word access reveals two frictional meanings: access as “an opportunity enabling contact,” as well as “a kind of attack” (2016, p. 23). Taking access as a kind of attack reveals access-making as a site of political friction and contestation. While historically central to the fights for disability access, crip technoscience is nevertheless committed to pushing beyond liberal and assimilation-based approaches to accessibility, which emphasize inclusion in mainstream society, to pursue access as friction, particularly paying attention to access-making as disabled peoples’ acts of non-compliance and protest.

noncompliant users and assistive technology as friction (p11):

Lifchez and Winslow offer the concept of “non-compliant users,” illustrating this with an image of a powerchair user wheeling against traffic on a street without curb cuts (1979, p. 153). This technology-enabled movement against the flow of traffic marks anti-assimilationist crip mobility: not an attempt to integrate (as in the liberal approach to disability rights), but rather to use technology as a friction against an inaccessible environment.

collaborative mapping of (in)accessibility, something i know happens more informally among disabled students on many campuses (p15):

Unlike mainstream disability technoscience “crowdsourcing” projects, which invoke a charity model of disability wherein non-disabled people collect data but do not engage in disability culture or politics, emerging projects such as Mapping Access are making participatory access-making the basis of a kind of technoscientific “access intimacy” (Mingus, 2017) through practices such as “critical crowdsourcing” of accessibility data (Hamraie, 2018). […] Collaborative mapping visualizes the evidence of inaccessibility while creating opportunities for collective response. Crip cartographic technoscience thus enables more critical design, and interrogation of the everyday built environment.

access to education

the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities includes the right to inclusive education (Article 24). scholarship in this area is about primary & secondary education, not postsecondary / university education, but a lot of the concepts can be applied

in addition to inclusive education, “universal design for learning” (UDL) might be a helpful keyword but it definitely trends toward the liberal as a whole

“Hidden contradictions and conditionality: conceptualisations of inclusive education in international human rights law” (2013) by Bronagh Byrne (link)

references the importance of identifying barriers as a step in the process of accessible education, which depending on your work may be a nice succinct justification of its necessity (p234):

Inclusion ‘necessitates the removal of the material, ideological, political and economic barriers that legitimate and reproduce in equality and discrimination in the lives of disabled people’ (Barton and Armstrong 2001, 214). According to this view, an identification of barriers within the school’s environment, teaching and learning strategies, and attitudes that prevent the full participation of children with disabilities, will also be required.

argues for a focus on inability of schools to meet students’ needs rather than students’ inability to conform to an ableist environment (for example, p242):

International human rights law has conditionalised the right to inclusive education for children with disabilities by making inclusion contingent upon the extent of individual rather than institutional or structural deficits.

psychological/emotional impact on disabled students

“psycho-emotional disablism” may be a useful search term for you, with the disclaimer that a substantial portion of scholars in feminist disability studies are TERFs / express “gender critical” beliefs / etc. so like i’m listing one paper i came across that looked relevant + two from my grad program’s recommended reading, but i haven’t read these & suggest vetting authors before citing them:

“The psycho-emotionally disabling impact of academic landscapes of exclusion: experiences of a disabled postgraduate in perpetual lockdown” (2023) by Joanne Hunt (link)

Reeve, D (2004). Psycho-emotional dimensions of disability and the social model. In C Barnes & G Mercer (eds), Implementing the social model of disability: theory and research. The Disability Press, Leeds, pp. 83-100. http://donnareeve.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/ReeveChapter2004b.pdf

Reeve, D. (2014) 'Psycho-emotional disablism and internalised oppression', in J. Swain, S. French, C. Barnes and C. Thomas (eds) Disabling Barriers - Enabling Environments, 3rd Edition, London: Sage, pp. 92-98. http://donnareeve.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/ReeveChapter2014a.pdf

[kaiowut99]

Kotori/Rio Stories & Duel Lines Testing | Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V TFSP Re-Translation Project (WIP) Project-Announcement Blog Post

ZEXAL DONE ✨

After finalizing GX 126 a couple weeks ago, I went ahead and got to work knocking out translations for both Kotori and Rio's story events, along with their in-duel lines and bios, and I'm glad I was able to squeeze them both in relatively efficiently 😌 I like that Kotori's events show her POV as Yuma is resolving to face off against the Barians, while Rio's have her somehow there for some of Shark's biggest moments… 🤔 Also thought it'd be nice using Merag's Theme in the video, lol. (Also, for Yuma's whole "imo-Shark"/"Sis Shark" nicknaming thing for Rio, I lifted "Sharkina" from Duel Links since I thought it would be a better way to get the "little Shark" idea across, lol. "You're pretty good, huh, Shark's sister!"/"Don't call me that..."/"Then, let's cut it down to Sharkina!")

I also went ahead and revised the in-duel duel-system dialogue text (for things like "Will you activate an effect?" etc) to be more accurate to the Japanese text as applicable, working off the FLSGaming ISO's version of the cardinfo_jpn.ehp file's DLG_Text_R.bin and comparing it to the extracted Japanese text, while also fixing a few errors that were missed there with some missing words or text-color-coding (and capitalizing "Monster" like I do everywhere--I'll also be updating that in the card descriptions as names are also updated). You might see some of it in the video, but most of it showed up in parts of the recordings that I didn't use because of audio stuttering too much, lol.

I actually finished up with them a bit over a week ago and wanted to whip something up, but I'd noticed an odd texture issue with the duelist and deck name boxes in the Opponent Select screen in Free Duel and Duel-Confirmation screen (after the rock/paper/scissors turn order is set) that I wanted to fix--which also happens in the original game. Details under the cut below, but tl;dr I did fix them up and they do look pretty spiffy.

Anywho, yeah, with this, ZEXAL's done and we've brought it to 'em--now, it's time for the Pendulum of the Soul to swing as I jump into ARC-V stuff! I've already done Yuya's story events and duel lines/bio as part of my announcement video work; once I finish work finalizing my subs for GX 127-128 [which should be done soon! I'm halfway through 128 now], I'll be reviewing what I did for any touch-ups and then starting on Yuzu. Enjoying how the progress looks, though!

So, those name boxes...

See, they're drawn oddly--blank space where the names load and slightly shaded top/bottoms on each side of that, while the deck name box also gets drawn oddly, with the middle jutting out. I spent a bit figuring out how the game loads this texture .gim image from its title_menu_j.ehp file, how texture bytes and the GE Disassembly in PPSSPP works, and testing out changes to some of the coordinates involved with how parts are cropped and then pasted into place. Ultimately found which bytes to change how to make it look much better (opting for removing the shading on the name boxes but adding a "drop shadow" and bringing the top/bottom of the deck name boxes' middle down/up to make it a smooth box), but because the drawing instruction bytes are loaded into the "modehsys" region of memory and not within the game's Eboot or anything ("modehsys" actually covers the Eboot but also where save data gets loaded--things like the character-event-completion level which affect if the voicetest shows up in their bios), the related bytes don't seem to be firmly coded in anywhere and they'll always be set at random close-by offsets, so a consistent byte fix wouldn't work.

Ultimately saved myself the agony--after a day or two of going through the PPSSPP Disassembly and stepping into functions 🥲 --and just replicated the fixes I made byte-wise by tweaking the texture .gims involved slightly, and all looks good, as the second image above shows! I first did this to the title_menu .gim and then did the same to the same .gim file in the duel/start_j.ehp file for the post-rock/paper/scissors duel confirmation.

[readthephible]

Take A Chance On Me (Revised) — Chapter 2 💋🥂

PART ONE | word count: 7872

part two of my test run for this fic!!! slowly but surely i have been working on this story as well as managing college :D i only want to post it on ao3 once i have fully ironed out the plot wrinkles and get well ahead on writing. slightly unrelated fun news: i might (probably) be pitching a scene from this fic for a SHORT FILM PRODUCTION. CAN YALL IMAGINE HOW FUCKING COOL THAT WOULD BE?!? NO BUT SERIOUSLY IMAGINE IT.....if it makes big waves, i can be like "this was originally a phanfic lol B)" and WHAT IF DNP SEE ASOFVJFJIOSFFSJ anyway,,,,

please leave feedback if you feel so inclined. i love this universe with all my heart and any help expanding it is greatly appreciated<3 tags + story under the cut! (PS: tags are for the story as a whole, this chapter does not include smut)

Phil barely had enough time to adjust his shirt collar before getting dropped off in front of the completed Cat and Bear. Only months ago had he first gotten involved in the project, and he had  a surreal feeling seeing it come to fruition. 

An impressive line trailed out of the front doors, the club goers being checked and regulated by a few bouncers. The muffled music was pure noise, lyrics and notes indistinguishable. Lights  flashed like they had minds of their own, colorful and sporadic illuminations across the street. 

To avoid stirring his nerves up any further, Phil sent PJ a quick text that he’d arrived.  

He checked his watch to see it was fifteen minutes before the show was supposed to start. God, that seemed too close. He was waiting in line with the last minute outfit he’d picked out, since last time PJ told him he had dressed much too formal, hoping that the line would move quickly.

As though Phil's thoughts had summoned them, PJ was bustling through, there to make sure he didn’t have to wait in line like everyone else. They guided Phil through the doors, informing him that he could enter through the back employee entrance if he wanted.

The music was louder inside, and while Phil expected it, it didn’t stop him from wincing upon first entering. The bass of the music felt like it was cutting through his skull. He blinked, adjusting to the sound, then looked around to survey the completed area. There didn’t seem to be any sort of show going on yet. The bar had plenty of people sitting on the stools, the few tables on the opposite wall of the stage were all full, and groups of friends leaned against the walls to talk.

“You good?” PJ asked Phil, who stood awkwardly in place once PJ had stopped moving.

“Uh…yeah, it’s just loud,” Phil yelled over the music, nodding as he looked around.

PJ chuckled, “It’s a club, Phil! I gotta go, but make sure you get your tip money from an ATM. Cheers!”

“Tip money? Wait, Peej—“

PJ was lost in the crowd, making his way back behind the employees only hallway and presumably towards the dressing room.

Meekly, Phil retrieved cash from an ATM, thankful that there were multiple employees hanging around the area. After tucking the money into his wallet, he went up to the bar and ordered water with a lemon.

Looking around, the club’s walls were mainly black with silver diagonal stripes, colorful LED strips aligning them like a movie theater, and various tables with sofa chairs or booth seats. Some people wore body glitter, wigs, and eccentric makeup, while others wore more casual clothing like Phil was.

Phil squeezed the lemon into his water, not yet in the mood to actually drink something. He tended to not do so, only at a work party or friend’s party, on the rare occasion he was invited to something—drinking alone felt pathetic. He didn’t even know for sure if he owned any alcohol at the moment.

It’d been a long time since he’d done anything outside of work. But Phil liked working. He liked his coworkers and his steady, often easy going job. Many would call it monotonous, but Phil appreciated the routine, which rattled his discomfort to the newness of the club scene he was surrounded with. His business casual clothing felt out of place, stitched with too much formality to fit into the environment.

The show was supposed to start at 9, but it was nearing 9:15 when Phil checked his watch again. 

He watched a few younger guys with the logo of the bar on their cropped shirts usher audience members to back away from the edge of the stage. It was early in the night, which seemed to make them easier to manage. Then, finally, an announcer yelled through the speakers.

Phil looked around, deciding whether or not he should get up and get closer, the crowd looking daunting.

“You can keep your seat if you want. The performers will be walking around a lot,” a bartender said, walking over to his area, “Can you see okay?”

Phil turned in his stool to say, “Yeah.”

The bartender took the time to neaten up the counter space around him, pausing to look at his unsure expression.

“First drag show?”

“Oh…uh…yeah, it is,” Phil replied to them.

Phil could see that the bartender was dressed completely goth, with dramatic makeup and fluffy hair. They stomped behind the counter in platform shoes and made people’s drinks as easily as breathing. 

“You’re not gonna have any fun being so tense, just enjoy the show.”

“Right.”

“And you don’t seem like the type of guy to do this, but I tell everyone...don’t touch them unless they invite you to.”

“Got it, thank you,” Phil said, holding out his hand then looking at the bartender’s name tag, “Mars?”

“Yeah, Mars,” the bartender smiled and shook Phil’s hand back, “I use they/them pronouns, by the way. Your name?”

“Phil,” he said simply, then followed up with, “He/him. And speaking of pronouns, what should I call the drag queens?”

“She or they is fine for most of them,” Mars said, “I haven’t met all of them, but it’s always safe to use they. And you can always ask.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

As soon as he turned back around, the lights went down in the club and people crowded around, cheering and watching the performers of the night grace the stage.

His eyes went back and forth to take it in. All of them were very tall, especially with their heels and platforms on. There were four in total that were going to be performing, and they all lined up—posing, smiling, and waving to the crowd. 

It was hard to hear exactly what the queen hosting the show was saying, but Phil assumed they were announcing the stage names and making jokes, based on how the crowd was reacting.

He wondered how long PJ was expecting him to stay. Mentally, Phil had a timer for how long he could tolerate social interactions like this, especially ones at such a high capacity like at this club. He almost started plotting out his plan to leave, until he realized.

The brunet.

They were performing tonight.

The speed of Phil’s heart seemed to increase as he took in everything he saw—they wore a pretty, long, black sparkly dress, and the straps were super thin. On their head was a large wig—waves of deep brown cascaded down the back across their shoulders, looking soft to the touch. Heels made them super tall, and they seemed to be gazing out at the crowd, hands on their hips in a confident stance.

Their choice in makeup looked gorgeous on them. Shiny, silver eyelids with smokey liner and shadow, deep maroon lipstick overdrawn, bright platinum toned highlighter on their nose and cheekbones, and dangling earrings hung from their lobes.

For a second, Phil’s focus trailed off, and he imagined dancing with them later into the night. Why was he already going so far as to daydream about the person? He didn’t even know how to fucking dance, and they hadn’t even…looked at him.

As if reading his mind, they looked right at him. Undeniably and curiously, the performer looked at Phil. They even made eye contact for a second, the fleeting look bringing warmth into his cheeks.

Alas, the brunet covered the striking stage lights from their eyes and peered closer at Phil.

—

The performances of the others admittedly passed in a blur. Phil still tipped them, of course, and sang along if he knew the songs they were lip syncing to. He caught a few of their names, but quickly learned that the mystery brunet he had interest in was Daniel Howell.

Whether or not that was a stage name, Phil was curious. But his attention was soon drawn away from the thought when they came up to perform to Nasty by Janet Jackson, seemingly the last show of the night.

Daniel had changed into a sleeveless black leotard with ruffles. Their collarbones and shoulders were being shown off as they ran their hand across them, wearing black glittery nails. With a smile, Daniel poofed up a perfectly styled wig, long and flowy brown with volume as they stomped across the stage with thigh high black boots. They posed with their hand up in the air, pulling a sassy face.

Phil was mesmerized throughout the whole song. The world felt like it was in slow motion, the only indications that time was actually passing were from the synchronized movements Daniel made, following the beats like they had rehearsed them to perfection. Like a magnet, the spot light was on them, casting a shadow of a beautiful silhouette onto the stage. 

They knew how to use their body—shaking their lips or their ass, stretching out their legs, back, and arms, sliding across the stage so elegantly. And not just the stage—they even grabbed onto the rods of the truss, using it as a steady prop to dance against. 

Conveniently, Daniel was headed towards him during the bridge of the song, stomping like the world was their own. It was a stark contrast to how Phil felt, intimidated by the loud music, scantily dressed people, and the ease at which Daniel moved. Phil’s hands trembled to open his wallet, a problem he hadn’t encountered with any of the other performers. He flipped through quickly, in search of the highest cash bill he had to offer—a fifty. 

Fuck, they deserved way more, he was sure of it, but there was no chance in hell he’d be able to get to the ATM in time. All he could do was hope he’d get to meet with Daniel later, and hope that the fifty he waved in front of them wasn’t insulting.

As soon as the note caught their attention, Daniel’s eyes went wide and their smile beamed. Phil felt his heart skip a beat. They graciously accepted the note, making sure to pay attention to him as they added it to a wad of tips.

Swaying their hips and holding Phil’s hand gently, they looked into his eyes—Phil’s heart was soaring, his legs were shaky, his cheeks were amber. Daniel brought Phil’s hand up to their lips to place a kiss on it, which left a lipstick print, then slowly pulled away, tickling him with their painted black nails as they stomped off. 

Biting his lip, Phil watched Daniel’s hips move back and forth as they stepped back up onto the stage. After finishing the song with more gracious movements of their beautiful body, they placed the wad of tips in the plastic tub that one of the workers at the bar took to the back, aside from the fifty pound note, which was stuffed into the top of their costume. Daniel pulled it up over their chest, their bottom lip sucked in and eyes casting a wink towards Phil.

—

At the end of the show, all of the performers were back on stage, each of them holding a shot glass. The host introduced the performers again, Daniel being last in the announcement. 

They awkwardly smiled as the attention was on them. PJ had taken photos of each performer with a professional camera, and the other queens encouraged Daniel to pose. After a few pictures, someone handed them a microphone.

“What, why—okay, fine, I’ll talk,” Daniel said, “Thank you everyone for coming out tonight! We appreciate you taking the time to check us out, and uh…let’s try these shots, hm?”

Phil smiled awkwardly, less focused on what Daniel was saying, but instead the soothing nature of their voice. The performers took their shots, coughing and grimacing afterwards, making Phil chuckle a little.

“What the fuck is that? Battery acid?” one of the queens coughed. Daniel threw the drink back, making a similar face.

“That was strong, bloody hell,” Daniel complained, then sarcastically said, “I mean, it was lovely! Very enjoyable! Everyone should go to the bar.”

When the crowd was silent, they spoke again.

“Seriously. Go get a fucking drink or I’ll lose my job,” they scolded in a sassy tone, making everyone laugh.

Phil still hadn’t drank anything besides water. A worker came by to pick up the empty shot glasses from the performers, and then Daniel was talking again.

“Thank you to everyone for coming. We appreciate everyone’s support. And be sure to get a ride home if you are intoxicated,” Daniel said cheerfully, then waved at everyone as they left the stage.

The host had a bit more to say, then music started to fade in, gradually rising to a high volume. Colorful flashes replaced the stark white stage lights that had been on for the past hour.

Normally, Phil would have left by then. If it were any other social event, he wouldn’t have been more than eager to head out and get to bed. But he couldn’t just leave without talking to Daniel at least once, he still had their lipstick on his hand.

Their lipstick. Fuck.

Phil definitely needed to address this new revelation he’d discovered about himself. He couldn’t, realistically, recall a time ever in his life where he found himself attracted to people who usually wore makeup. Questions about the validity of his label—one that had comforted him for years when he accepted it and lived his life as it—suddenly struck, and fuck, he needed something stronger than water. Something with more taste so he could at least attempt to get his shit together before he got a chance to speak to Daniel.

“Hey Mars, could I get…like, any fruity cocktail you have?” Phil asked when the bartender had a moment. Soon, a cold, tangy drink was in front of him. He took his time being mindful about each taste, deciding that there wasn’t really anything he could do at the moment to fix his worries about his identity. 

That meant he could at least enjoy the night, but it also meant that the issue would be looming above his head until he did do something about it. But what was it that he wanted to do? Take another ‘Am I Gay?’ test and see if the results had changed since he was fourteen?

He’d have to remember to bring it up to his therapist. He had more important things to do, like figuring out how to strike up a conversation with Daniel, somehow.

As he took a sip of his drink, Phil was tapped on the shoulder. 

“Hey.”

Phil nearly choked, seeing Daniel standing behind him, smiling goofily.

“Can I sit?”

“Um, hi,” Phil greeted, blushing and setting his glass down, “Of course, go ahead.”

Daniel’s grin was bright and welcoming as they sat on a barstool beside Phil. They glanced down to Phil’s hand, seeing their lipstick print still on the back of it. If they had any thoughts, they didn’t say them out loud, but their knowing look said a thousand things.

“I, uh, wanted to thank you for the tip. I know you’re one of our investors, but you’re also one of PJ’s friends, right?”

“Mhm,” he introduced himself, “Phil Lester, the boring businessman friend.”

“I wouldn’t say boring. You’re cool enough to come to a drag show,” Daniel noted, pushing the hair of their wig over their shoulder, “How long have you been friends with PJ?”

“A long time,” Phil answered, “Since university, and I’m old, so it’s been a while.”

Daniel smiled, but soon squinted and gave Phil a look over.

“You don’t look that old. You’re probably, what, thirty…four?”

“Seven.”

“Okay, I was trying to be gracious, but you look a lot older than seven, mate,” Daniel teased, making Phil laugh and blush a little, “Thirty seven’s not old, though. Only a few years older than me.”

“Older than a lot of the people here,” Phil mentioned passively.

“And yet, not the oldest,” Daniel reassured, then ordered themself a drink titled The Princess, which was quick to arrive on the counter in front of them.

Phil had the urge to mend the break in conversation. He awkwardly apologized, “I’m sorry I didn’t tip enough.”

“You gave me a fifty pound tip, you spoon,” Daniel reminded Phil as they sipped from their straw with a wide grin, “That’s a big tip for a drag queen…aaand that’s what she said.”

Phil watched the crinkles of Daniel’s eyes as their loud, boisterous laugh filled the immediate area. He loved when a person could laugh at their own jokes, and god, their laugh was contagious.

“Did you enjoy the show, Mr. Lester?”

Phil blushed at Daniel addressing him so formally, giving them a pointed look as he replied, “Just Phil is fine, and…it was…my first show.”

“That’s not what I asked, Phil,” Daniel quipped, sipping their drink.

They really enjoyed teasing him, huh?

“O-Oh, I mean—“ Phil stuttered, “It was great. A lot to take in, but extremely impressive. Especially yours…you’re a really good dancer. I was, uh…like I said, worried that the tip wasn’t going to be enough.”

“Not enough? Hell, there have been times in my life where I was thankful for someone to give me ten pence! Let alone fifty quid!” Daniel exclaimed, then did a hilarious impression of an old English woman begging for ‘shillings’, which had Phil doubling over with stomach pain.

“When I say thank you, I mean it,” Daniel clarified afterward, “It’s very generous, and no, you do not need to worry about that not being enough, it’s plenty.”

Phil nodded, not quite sure where to carry the conversation next. He was a fucking public relations master at work, why did suddenly putting an absurdly pretty person in front of him cease his abilities to none?

“I…I like your hair,” Phil said, then mentally slapped himself in the face at how ridiculously pathetic that was to say.

“Oh, this old thing? Yeah, I haven’t worn her in a while, but she’s usually good about not giving me a headache at the end of the night, so I thought, why not?” Daniel replied, very interested in the wig on their head for a few moments, but it gave Phil a break from being looked at by someone he found intimidating. 

Phil couldn’t believe that the same person he’d had his thoughts dwell to since the weeks he’d first visited the bar was sitting right beside him. Surely he was dreaming.

“Does it actually hurt?” Phil asked.

“I mean, it’s glued to my fucking head,” they answered, “And if the wig is heavy, and it’s been a long day, then yes, it can give me horrific migraines.”

“I get bad migraines too. I sometimes have to wear my glasses even when I don’t want to, or try these weird treatments. It sucks when the majority of my interests revolve around a screen.”

“Right?” Daniel added, “Wearing heels can give you blisters, washing too often can give you infections, not cleaning your brushes enough causes weird skin outbreaks, tucking too long can give you aches in the weirdest places. Drag is not for the weak.”

Phil nodded, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“Okay, so I picked up on the thing about the wig, the heels, the washing…what’s the last one?”

“Oh, dear.”

Daniel rested their cheek on their fist in curiosity, taking the liberty to explain—well, ruin—something for Phil. He felt wildly uncomfortable after that, but still laughed through it, not expecting himself to be hyper aware of his own crotch so early in front of Daniel.

At least Daniel found it funny, having to grip onto the counter for dear life so they wouldn’t tumble to the floor with how hard they were laughing.

“I don’t know anything about drag queens,” Phil admitted once he finally caught his breath, “PJ’s told me a little bit, but I don’t know most of it.”

Nodding, Daniel said, “I can tell. Ask away. You have one right in front of you.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asked, “I do, actually, have more questions…but I’m sure you have more important things to do…”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Daniel assured, “I've been asked some of the most personal, invasive questions that the English language offers, so don’t worry about offending me, either. Not many things can offend us, anyway. And you don’t seem like the kind of guy to ask weirdly personal shit.”

“Okay. Uh…why drag?”

Smiling, Daniel looked down at their drink, “Mmm…a lot of reasons. Channel my creativity, find ways to showcase my interests and passions in a really unique art form. I actually really enjoy the activism side of it, too. I get to live a different life for a while, outside of the one I usually live. Like, she—“ they gestured up and down their whole body as they spoke, “Doesn’t have to worry about any of the other shit happening in the other version of myself’s life, you know? And this persona gives me a lot of confidence. I’m a Gemini and I was a theater kid, so of course I picked a job where I can get paid for playing a character.”

“That…makes sense,” Phil said.

“She’s not entirely a character, but she’s definitely a higher, better version of myself. I get to choose to make a political statement one night, an art piece the next, make people laugh, or literally if I want to just feel sexy, I’ll throw on lingerie. It’s like making myself into a Barbie doll. But that’s my personal story. If you want a general consensus, because I know you’re more of a business-y type,” Daniel said, pointing at Phil and nearly poking his nose, “You aren’t gonna get one. Drag is very personal. Everyone is going to have their own reasons and intentions behind what they do. If anyone says they’re in it for the money, they’re either lying, or a bad performer. No one in their right mind is in this for the money. They’re in it because they absolutely have to express themselves, so they don’t go crazy.”

Phil nodded, finding their answer absolutely fascinating. He could tell how much it all meant to Daniel, by the way they talked about it so passionately with both admiration and genuine truth. 

“Not to say that we don’t greatly appreciate money and aren’t greedy little rats half the time,” they joked.

“You’ve…insinuated it doesn’t pay well?”

“Mmm. Complicated answer to a complicated question,”  Daniel replied, “In the beginning, it didn’t. Then I made more of a name for myself and started making money, went through a period where I wasn’t but we don’t need to talk about that, and now I’m here. Blessed and booked, honey.”

“Oh, so you have to work a lot to get to a good place…money wise?” Phil asked. 

Daniel nodded and said, “Oh for sure. Whenever I first started, it was a new gig every night. Spent quite a lot of them wondering if this would ever be sustainable for me, and there were two years I basically performed for free, but I kept at it and I’m here today. This is the main source of income for me, but sometimes I go work other places.”

“Sounds a lot like climbing the corporate ladder, I’ve been there. Internships are terrible, in case you were wondering.” Phil joked, intentionally rolling his eyes to emphasize his distaste, “So do you work as often now? I’ve found I have to work less as I’ve kept working my way up.”

Daniel laughed, taking a sip of their drink as they teased, “Doesn’t seem to stop you from working all the time anyway, Philly. I’ve seen you prancing about here in your suits.”

Phil could only blush at that. The pet name, the call out, the way they were arching their back to lean against the countertop. It was all so…enchanting.

“But yes, I work a lot less these days. Luckily, I don’t have to do double bookings much anymore. Weekends of course, but Mondays and Tuesdays are usually when I’m not working. Even then, a lot of the time I’m rehearsing for shows, writing standup, getting fittings for costumes when I can afford it or have a special occasion coming up. Miss Daniel is very high maintenance, I’ll tell you that much. What days of the week do you work, hm?” 

“Uh, weekdays,” Phil said, still being awkward and anxious for some reason. He didn’t know why, the only reason he could pinpoint was that he was subconsciously wanting to impress them. “Nine to five, mostly.”

“Interesting,” Daniel said with a cheeky smile.

Phil’s initial thought was that no it fucking wasn’t, but it was nice of Daniel to pretend they were actually that interested. He played with his hands on the table, suddenly feeling a bit more shy, “It’s not that interesting, actually. I like the routine, but it’s much more boring than your job, Daniel.”

They nodded, a smirk growing as they replied to Phil.

“That’s okay. By the way, most people call me Dan, but you can call me whatever you want,” they purred, emphasizing with a few flutters of their lashes and a bite of their lip. 

Okay, they had to know what they were doing.

Phil felt thankful he’d invested in the dim lighting this part of the club offered, hoping that the ones illuminating from around the counter didn’t give away his fluster. Still, he tried to match their confident, unwithheld ability to flirt, wondering what he’d done to have Dan redirecting the tone of conversation.

“Dan, okay,” Phil watched them smirk, “Can I ask you another question, Dan?”

“Fire away.”

Phil still felt awkward asking even though the bartender had said it was okay. He disregarded the itching feeling of embarrassment under his skin and asked, “What are your pronouns?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you wouldn’t know. Sorry, any are fine. I’m not that strict about it. I’m just kind of like a…formless blob,” they answered, punctuating with a small smile, “She is fine to use while I’m in drag. And, just so you know, he is fine when I’m not in drag…if the rest of the night goes how I intend it to.”

Phil didn’t know what sensation was more glaringly obvious, the flare of heat in his face or the tightness in his abdomen. 

“A-Alright,” Phil stuttered, trying to catch up with the missed beats, “If I ever get it wrong just tell me.” 

He genuinely did care about Daniel’s pronouns, but the overwhelm of club ambience paired with intimidation had him struggling to maintain eye contact.

Dan chuckled, “I will. What are yours?”

“He/him,” Phil replied.

“Got it. Can I ask you a question this time?” Dan asked, smiling coyly as they played with one of their curls.

Phil watched her fingers, completely fascinated. Looking at Dan’s eyes for so long was starting to get overwhelming.

“Go ahead.”

“Why haven’t you drank for real yet on this fine evening?” Dan asked, playfully bouncing a curl. It sprung back towards her face, then she was coiling it around her finger again.

“I’ve had this fruity thing,” Phil fakely pouted, only now noticing how full his glass still was. 

“Oh come on, you’ve had like two fucking sips,” Dan giggled, “Let loose a little.”

“In truth, I’m a bit of a lightweight,” Phil blushed, having admitted it.

Dan cackled, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly to tease, “Aw poor, Philly. That’s okay, it happens to the best of us. Least you can have a good time for twenty quid.”

Phil shrugged, biting back a smile, “May I buy you a drink?” 

“Pour moi?” Dan jokingly gasped, “Are you trying to get me drunk instead? I’ll have you know I’m basically a professional heavyweight drinker. I’d be five hundred pounds deep if I actually wanted to feel something.” 

Phil laughed at that, relaxing some, “Well if you want a drink despite that, I’ll still buy you one…we can…call it an opening night gift?”

“If you insist, Mr. Lester,” Dan said, batting their lashes and pushing hair out of their face. The Princess drink was empty, so Dan lightly scooted it towards Mars who took it as they walked past. Dan nodded at them as a thank you. As it happened, Phil momentarily envied the smoothness of the action, trained gestures from years of doing so. 

“What would you like, then?” Phil asked, plucking a drink menu from nearby and trying to gracefully hand it to Dan.

“Hmm...I would like…” her voice trailed off as she looked down at the drink menu. They only glanced for a moment before looking up at Phil and poking him in the shoulder, “For you to pick.”

Phil froze, looking with concern, “What if you don’t like it?” 

Dan chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.

Phil began reading over the menu, overwhelmed by the neverending list of options. Dan then placed her hand over one section, making Phil look up at them. For a second, the thought occurred that Dan wanted to hold hands, but surely he was reading that incorrectly.

“What? Why do you look so scared? I’m only covering the whisky because I don’t prefer those,” Dan chuckled.

“There’s a lot to choose from is all…” Phil hesitated, not looking up from the menu. His hand tapped the table beside where he was anxiously reading.

Dan placed a gentle hand on top of his, “Relax there, bub. It’s okay. I like all of the drinks.” 

Phil exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, then asked, “Do you like…Bloody Marys?” 

“Oh yeah,” she mused, “That’s a good choice. I like the shrimp and vegetables they throw on top here, it’s a good little snack.”

Phil nodded as the bartender came by, and he ordered Dan’s drink. Dan removed their hand from Phil’s, grabbing the menu and tucking it back in the nearest bar organizer. Phil missed the touch as soon as it was gone.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” she giggled and teased, “Sorry to overwhelm you, though.”

Dan turned their head to silently watch the bartender in action. Once Dan’s drink was placed in front of her, she ordered a drink for Phil, too.

“You didn’t have to get me one,” Phil whined a bit, feeling guilty. 

Dan ignored him, making a couple of hand gestures to the bartender before the drink slid across the counter.

“Well, you may not be trying to get me drunk, but I never said I felt the same way about you,” Dan said with a wink, curling a strand of hair with her finger again. Phil’s cheeks began to burn, and he took a sip from the drink that was fucking strong. He tried to play it cool, but Dan could clearly tell he was uncomfortable.

Dan giggled at his reaction, reaching out to rub his side. Their tone was lighter as they said, “You don’t actually have to drink it if you’re seriously not comfortable with it. I don’t want to overstep, but I also want you to have fun, Philly.”

“I am having fun, it’s okay,” Phil smiled at her softly. It was nice that they actually cared about making sure he felt comfortable, Phil had had far too many experiences where he felt his boundaries were overstepped, especially at clubs. It didn’t feel that way with Dan at all though, which he was very grateful for.

He admired Dan as they ate some of the vegetables from the top of their Bloody Mary. It was then he noticed Dan’s hand still on his side. Dan looked unbothered for a moment until Phil watched her realize it, too—causing her to slowly retract her hand.

They sat in silence, eating the toppings of their drinks for a moment, giving Phil a moment to think. He really appreciated Dan taking all the time to answer his questions, not expecting to feel so welcome in a place like this. Usually, Phil didn’t enjoy going to clubs this much. He typically found them loud, smelly, and a sensory nightmare. 

Phil twirled his straw in his drink, before looking up at Dan, who was already looking back before he had even looked up. It took him by surprise, but he said what he was thinking anyway, “I didn’t expect this to be such a nice experience, honestly.”

Dan’s brow furrowed slightly, but her smile didn’t falter as she asked, “How so?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be this nice,” Phil admitted.

Dan chuckled, tilting her head in an adorable confusion, “Me? Or drag queens in general?”

Phil shrugged a bit and asked, “Is both an option?”

“I…think it can be,” Dan replied, smiling at him softly, “But it’s good to know that’s how you feel about me. Hopefully you’ll find the other nice things I have to offer.”

Before Phil could fully react, another queen approached them. They wore a blonde, slicked-back wig, and Phil had only briefly seen them dancing whenever he needed a break from being intimidated by Dan.

“Danny! Come dance with us!” they exclaimed. 

Dan’s confident, sarcastic persona resurfaced so that she could tease her friend. 

“Well hello to you too, A’Whora,” she yelled back to the queen, who was barely wearing anything at all.

Phil thought it was very interesting to watch Dan be able to switch up their personality so quickly. It was a talent that Phil definitely did not have.

The queen stomped over to scoff, “Don’t start with that, I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t being lame!”

“I’m having a conversation, if you couldn’t tell,” Dan sassed, flipping their hair for dramatic effect.

“Bring the hunk, too! It’ll be a good time!” the queen replied, wiggling their eyebrows at Phil before strutting back to the dance floor.

Phil chuckled lightly, half out of awkwardness, and half because he genuinely found it a bit funny.

Dan turned back to face Phil, “I’m so sorry about her. I promise you, she’s really nice too! Would you want to go dance with me?” 

Phil felt nervous at the proposition, “I don’t really know how…” 

“I used to be terrible too, it’ll still be fun!” Dan said, and okay, maybe her smile could brighten the darkest of rooms and, quite possibly, convince Phil to do something as embarrassing as dancing in public. 

Phil was having a very difficult time with the thought of telling that smile no. He pondered for a moment, taking a sip of his drink.

“I do need to go to the bathroom, though.”

“You don’t have to ask me permission. Go piss, girl.”

That caught Phil extremely off guard and he almost doubled over laughing. While he was distracted, Dan reached out to grab Phil’s hand—the same one with the lipstick print from before—and kissed it again.

An intense, warm blush washed over his face as Dan dramatically kissed it, yet again leaving behind another print and fluttering her lashes. 

“I’ll be dancing. Come find me.”

“All of this talking and not even a real kiss?” Phil asked, feeling emboldened all of the sudden.

Dan smiled back, booping him on the nose, “Not if you’re too impatient, honey.”

She smiled, winking at Phil then turning to leave. Phil watched her disappear into the crowd before walking towards the bathrooms. 

Once inside, he found it empty and he took a deep breath. A blurry recollection of what had just happened played in his head, less recollective of the conversation itself and more of the fine details. How passionate Dan had been talking about certain topics, that boisterous laugh, that sweet tone and side rub when comforting Phil from a wickedly strong drink. He looked at himself long and hard in the mirror, painfully aware of what he had just agreed to, and acknowledging that he was an idiot for agreeing to it.

He had just managed to make a new friend, and they were having fun clubbing together. And Phil had agreed to meet them on the dance floor. Nothing else to see there.

Unfortunately, it was far from that simple. Dan was not some person he’d just met—they worked at the business Phil had officially invested in. Phil’s public presence was mostly wholesome, from charity events and philanthropic donations while still performing well in a money making, corporate sense. A stake in a nightclub was already out of Phil’s usual wheelhouse in comparison to supporting animals or underprivileged youths. And the second he’d laid eyes on Dan, every ounce of professionalism he had brought with him at the start of the night had been thrown out the fucking window.

It wasn’t as simple as talking or dancing. It was flirting, it was touching, it was drinking. It was…risky.

Phil took a deep breath, took care of his business, and went back out on the main floor. The energy was still there. Loud music, bright flashing lights, and vivacious groups of people contrasted harshly against Phil’s deflated mood.

“Oh, Phil, hey!”

PJ, not now, nearly made its way past Phil’s lips. But he held his tongue with all the might in the world.

“Hey, Peej,” he tried to say without exasperation, “How’s it going?”

“Great, I reckon!” PJ practically cheered, “This turnout is amazing!”

“Yeah, it really is,” Phil said. Awkwardly sticking his thumbs in his pockets, he rocked back and forth to listen to PJ talk at him some more.

“I can’t wait for our next business meeting. I have so many ideas to share with you.”

“That’s great, I can’t wait to hear them!” Phil felt bad for sounding so fake, really. He wasn’t supposed to be here to be distracted by Daniel, but couldn’t help his annoyance that PJ was getting in the way. Luckily, the conversation ceased from there, aside from goodbyes.

After talking to PJ, he went straight to the bar, ordered a drink, and as he waited for it to be prepared, he turned his head to find Dan. 

There were so many people on the dance floor, and multiple drag queens towering over the crowd. Yet, somehow, Dan was easy to spot, dancing an actual routine as if she owned the place. A shining star, eclipsing the rest of the people shoved together.

Mars slid his drink across the bar, and he thanked them before chugging about half of it. He took a deep breath, sipped the rest more thoughtfully, then left the glass on the counter and went into the crowd.

Phil checked the time on his phone as he walked over, to see that it was nearly midnight already. A remix of a song he liked playing all over the club filled him with the last bit of confidence he needed. With a pep in his step, Phil walked across the dance floor to Daniel, who was beside their friends. Daniel spun around and they nearly bumped into each other. 

“Oh, hey,” Dan greeted, smiling widely, “You ready to dance?”

When Phil shook his head, Dan protested with a laugh, taking his hands and moving them. She looked into his eyes, dancing and lip syncing. Dan let go and spun, giggling, before grabbing Phil’s hands again and getting a lot closer to him. They were almost chest to chest now, if it weren’t for Dan’s extended height.

“Hi,” Dan said with a giggle. Phil was starting to realize that Dan laughed flirtatiously at nearly everything he did or said. It was really cute.

“Hi,” he answered. The song blaring from the speaker transitioned into another. 

Although towering above him, Dan looked incredible. Courage and confidence seemed to radiate with every breath she took, and Phil had to remind himself that he just needed enough bravery to be in Dan’s presence—everything else after that seemed tolerable. Dan continued to guide him to dance in different ways, encouraging him even if he felt like he did really badly.

Dan was talking, but not a word made its way to Phil’s ears. Instead, he was mesmerized by their gorgeous face and intoxicating perfume. After speaking, she looked down at him expectantly for an answer.

“Oh, ‘m sorry, I didn’t really hear you because of the music,” Phil lied.

“I was just saying that A’Whora was right, dancing would be fun. Especially with a ‘hunk’ like you,” Dan giggled again, rolling their eyes as they recalled the other queen’s antics.

Phil felt a blush creeping up his neck, but laughed anyway.

They continued to dance for a while, and as they did, Phil had much more of a blast than he had first anticipated. The alcohol melted his nerves like ice, his own confidence beginning to emerge like a morning’s sunrise. He didn’t even feel like he was embarrassing Dan by poorly attempting to dance. 

Moments with Dan were intimate and flirty, but also filled with jokes, short stories, tripping, and awkward moments. Dan eventually took off their shoes and had someone take them somewhere so they could be closer to Phil’s height. Songs would come on that Phil knew the lyrics to and Dan would be surprised as they sang or lip synced it together.

“You know this song?” Dan asked loudly at one point, “I’ve always thought of it as a hidden gem.”

“I’m still gay!” Phil yelled over the music, “I just didn’t know about drag queens.”

Dan laughed loudly, squeezing his bicep.

“What?” Phil chuckled.

“You just screamed ‘I’m still gay’,” Dan laughed, “It’s funny.”

“Oh, right,” he said, blushing slightly. 

“I’M STILL GAY!” Dan screamed, and because of the loud music and talking, her announcement barely turned any heads. She laughed hysterically.

“I’M GAY!” Phil added, laughing with them, “STILL!”

That made Dan laugh even harder, so much so that she was sarcastically getting onto Phil for ruining her mascara from tears of laughter. Some more songs cycled through, and they were perfectly shielded from the crowd, in their own personal bubble. 

However, the liquid courage didn’t overshadow his general discomfort of an extremely extroverted environment for as long as he would’ve hoped. He tried his best to mask it from Dan, not wanting his discomfort to translate and sour the mood. But he was growing tired of sweaty people with barely any clothes on rubbing against him to pass through, the strobe lights that made his eyes sting, and the music was starting to hurt his ears. 

“You okay?” Dan yelled over the crowd so Phil could hear.

Shit.

Phil quietly nodded, but thankfully instead of continuing to dance, they reached to touch his lower back. Dan shooed off anyone that tried to engage in conversation with her as she led Phil out of the crowd and into a quieter area—the VIP lounge.

There were much less people on the sleek leather booths, the few speakers in the corner weren’t pumping out music nearly as loudly, and it was better maintained by the waitstaff, who were actively cleaning tables and picking up leftover glasses. Sure, there were plenty of handsy couples, but it was the closest he’d get to a casual area besides hiding in the back.

“Thank you,” Phil eventually replied, then asked again, “Can I be honest?”

“Yeah, what’s up? Are you sure you’re okay?” Dan’s voice somehow managed to cut through the chaotic noise.

“I’m starting to get really overwhelmed,” he admitted, and then the sounds were muffled—Dan had placed her hands over his ears. 

The touch didn’t tip him over the edge, instead grounding him and calming him down a bit, and the reduced sound helped. Dan smelled really good, overpowering the sourness of alcohol in the air.  Their  hands were really warm and soft as they clearly tried their best to comfort him. Phil couldn’t make eye contact, but he knew Dan was looking at him, trying to read his expression. 

“I totally get that,” Dan sympathized, “Is this helpful?”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you,” he said. Barely noticing that he’d been bouncing on his feet, he tried to stop, but caved in. Dan had stayed with him all night, despite seeing him looking awkward plenty of times already.

“You’re so fucking adorable,” she said after a while, and Phil managed to look at her then, checking to see if there was sincerity behind it. The answer was yes.

He wondered if the warmth rising in his cheeks was evident, hoping Dan wouldn’t feel his blush on their palms. 

She started to ask, “Would you…”

Phil looked in her general direction.

“Want to go somewhere else? With me?”

So much for trying to hide his blushing face.

“I’d really like that,” Phil said, as Dan nodded.

Slowly removing their hands from Phil’s face, Dan said, “Okay, let me get some bags ready. I’ll meet you near the back in like…five to ten minutes?”

“Okay.”

Dan nodded again in acknowledgment. “Would you be able to get a lift while I get ready to go?”

“S-Sure,” Phil agreed, sitting at the bar while Dan went back to the dressing room.

“Make sure you tell them to come around the back.”

When Dan returned, she had two large bags, one duffel bag over her shoulder and a rolling suitcase. They stood in the hallway that separated backstage from the rest of the club, signaling for Phil to follow them.

The hallway was incredibly narrow, twisting and turning the longer they walked down it. Phil didn’t remember the hallway being that long, but he had been drinking a bit, and Dan, like always, was distracting. Dan shoved open the doors to a back alley, and Phil took the handle of the rolling suitcase to help. She casually strutted out of the building.

“I told someone to distract PJ,” Dan admitted once they were outside, “So we don’t have to worry about him.”

“Oh, okay,” Phil responded.

It took him a few seconds to realize the silence as the two waited for a ride. Dan was still dressed completely in drag.

“Hey, sorry if this is weird for me to ask, but…will you be safe?”

Dan snapped their head to turn and look at Phil, extreme worry suddenly apparent in their eyes.

“Did you…change your mind?”

“No, no, I meant—“ Phil started to speak, almost caught off guard by how terrified Dan looked. “I’m…I’m sorry. I meant, like, you’re still in drag. I don’t have a problem with it, I’m just concerned if the driver will be weird or hateful or—“

Dan audibly exhaled a sigh of relief, looking down at the ground. He was mindlessly playing with a Hello Kitty luggage tag attached to the strap of his duffel.

After clearing his throat, Dan said, “Oh. Um, when drivers can accept their rides, they know this is a gay area, so they shouldn’t if they’re homophobic or weird. Worst case scenario, I have like, pepper spray and stuff.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. I’m staying with you, don’t worry. But I also don’t want to force you, you can talk to me.”

They had a bit of a blank stare out into the dark alleyway, but nodded at Phil’s words.

[my-mt-heart]

Thoughts on the 206 Spoilers

I probably don't need to mention again that what's written on the page can translate differently on screen for a number of reasons — acting choices, editing choices, reshoots we aren't aware of. We know that. Some of us felt that with the opening minutes (if you want to read my page-to-screen analysis on that, you can do so here). But I also know changes don't always happen unless I'm willing to tell the people in charge why I want them in the first place. I believe the 201 revisions happened because we talked about it. I'll admit I don't know how fixable the 206 scenes are, and frankly the underlying issue aside from the writing is the writer, but I still want to talk about it because if Caryl's story is going to continue for however many more years, their fanbase has to feel like the storytelling is worth both the emotional and the financial investment. These sides don't help with that. Spoilers under the cut...

I want to start by clearing up some confusion I saw in the original post about Carol's scenes being crossed out. It doesn't mean her scenes were deleted; it just means they weren't shot on the same day as the other scenes on the pages. We don't have all the tunnel beats, but what we do have appears to be in chronological order for the most part, so that gives us a close enough look at how the tunnel scenes are being framed. The framing is what's troubling because Daryl and Carol are in their own separate corners, breathing in poison gas, losing their will to live, but never turn to each other (or thoughts of each other) to keep fighting for each other like their entire story since the start of the flagship show, the tagline "to find home is to find each other," and the SDCC synopsis would have us believe.

Carol is looking for closure with Sophia which I understand, although it's extremely underwhelming and it still doesn't explain what's tethering her to this world. For Daryl, it's the figment of Isabelle that represents his hope. Their bond, not Daryl's and Carol's, gets to carry the emotional weight of those scenes. I can't even begin to make sense of Isabelle being Daryl's savior and motivation to keep going while his brief interaction with Carol at the end may as well be between him and his mailman. Side note: I guess the poison gas isn't so poisonous anymore? Why are they having a conversation without masks lol

Okay, they leave together, but as what? Strangers? Is this where I'm supposed to get hyped for S3? Because Caryl will be in the same proximity while Zabel keeps them emotionally detached from one another? That's not the Caryl show I want to tune in for. I want their show to make their relationship the emotional core and I want to see their romantic feelings for each other become explicitly canon. They have so much shared trauma and so much shared history that hasn't been thoroughly explored. When do we get to see that?

I understand how ridiculous all of these concerns sound when we factor in Melissa's input and the excitement she showed at SDCC. I'm not discounting that at all (@9lives2mics posted a really great overview of the PR strategy for SDCC, which I highly recommend listening to btw). What I'm trying to get at is, as far as the material goes, Zabel's vision for his original characters and his original premise seem to be dragging down the story that Melissa and even Norman are trying to tell for their characters. There were even several instances in their interviews where McReedus didn't seem to be on the same page as Zabel and Greg Nicotero. It's disheartening because if the latter two can get away with shooting what we see in these sides and making a trailer centered on Daryl's French family, what's going to make the final cuts? Do I want to find out?

Final thought: If you're going to make allusions to gas chambers, then the scenes need to amount to a hell of a lot more than shipbaiting and being artsy. Otherwise, it's just tone deaf.

[captainjamster]

hihi!! I just seen your post about writing things for those who feel under represented in the community; and I was wondering... could you do one where Simon takes care of trans masc!reader on a really bad day of endometriosis pain?

Hey there anon, you're the very first request! Thank you so much for asking! This was originally going to be just 800 words, don't ask how we ended up at almost 3k lol. Sorry it took a few days, I hope you enjoy the fic! It's also on AO3 :)

Pairing(s): Ghost x transmasc!Reader w/ endometriosis (SFW) Warnings: Blood, menstruation, two off-handed mentions of sex Wordcount: 2.8k Summary: Simon takes care of your morning, despite your attempts to soldier on through a painful menstrual cycle. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: I hope this is enough "taking care" for you! Reader is indeed transmasc, but point of transition and upper anatomy is for you to decide. I might revise this one and upload an improved version, change the level of debilitation, add in HRT and increase how much Ghost does for you. But for now, here you go!! I think of Ghost as someone who conveys his love and affection through acts of service, and he'd die happy if you let him quietly manage every need you have. <3

Endometriosis currently affects around 10% - around 190 million – of women and girls of reproductive age. This statistic does not include the rate of endometriosis in non-women individuals with female reproductive genitals, which inflates the number even further. Despite the existing prevalence, endometriosis is underdiagnosed and overlooked within those who suffer from it, and this becomes even worse within trans individuals. I hope this fic can provide some love and representation for those struggling, especially my trans ppl <3

Full fic is under the cut <3

A dull throb in your stomach, pressed against the mattress is the first thing you register as consciousness slowly trickles through the thick fog of sleep. The sheets stick to your thighs as you try to roll over. Simon’s bulky, warm figure isn’t there to stop you from rotating flat on your back, encroaching onto his cold, empty spot.

You crack an eye open, looking at his vacancy in disappointment. The room is filled with an early, pale glow that peeks from around your curtains, brushing against the frame with each soft breeze from the open window. It’s not unusual for Simon to be up so early, but you miss the opportunity for morning cuddles.

A particularly sharp contraction in your stomach breaks the peaceful moment, your hand coming up to knead at the sore, bloated flesh. The last few days had left you in a pool of pain, the familiar ache creeping into your stomach and worming its way down your legs and up your back. Accompanied by the unsettling nausea and fatigue that wears you out even during a nap, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that your least favourite friend would be making a visit this week.

Rolling back onto your stomach, you sit with the uncomfortable sensation throbbing through your midriff. It takes a moment for the damp, coldness beneath your pelvis to register, contrasted to the dry sheet your back was just resting on. Your eyes fly open, pushing yourself up and back onto your knees with a pained groan.

Even such a simple movement has a strong wave of pain flare through you, but your dismay at the mess staining your sheets is stronger. Your friend has arrived earlier and heavier than expected. The dark grey sheet is soaked in patches of black, tacky enough that you know it’s had more than plenty of time to steep into the fabric – thank god for the mattress protector Simon persuaded you into getting for other activities. Looking down, your skin is dappled with red, crusty and dried around the hairs scattering your stomach. The worst is pooled between your thighs, boxer-briefs drenched with a sharp iron scent that crinkles your nose.

Pushing through the wave of dizziness persuading you to the floor, you grab at the blankets frustratedly. You check them meticulously, scrutinizing them for even a speck of blood, but they’ve been far luckier in their escape of your mess. Throwing them haphazardly onto the floor, you set into action, working to hide the messy consequences of your cycle.

There’s no real need for the urgency that you move with, especially as every aching fibre in your body screams at you to slow down. Rationally, you know Simon wouldn’t react poorly to your calamity in the slightest, even if you asked him to change the sheets while you cleaned yourself up. He’s stayed with you during other cycles, never blinking an eye at anything menstruation throws at you. Yet he’s not here to help, and interrupting whatever he’s doing just to do something you feel capable of seems selfish. On another level, you don’t want Simon to see this right now. Frustration eats at you – for being stuck with this, for being surprised with an early cycle, and maybe just a little bit because you really wanted those goddamn cuddles. You’ve wrestled three of the four corners off when Simon catches you stripping the bed, a towel drapes around his neck, shirt damp with sweat that still drips from his hair.

“What’re y’doin’, handsome?” He rumbles, an eyebrow raised as he stands on the other side of the bed. His eyes flicker between the blankets clumped on the floor and the sheet you’re mid-tugging off the mattress.

Though his question is fair, the obviousness of your situation, and your irrational irritation makes it feel like he’s rubbing your misfortune in. Gritting your teeth, you wrench a little harder than needed at the fabric. “S’my fault, I’ll chuck it in the wash.” You grumble, pulling up the mattress to unhook the last corner, ignoring how your back groans with the motion. Simon makes a noise of protest, not unkind as he snatches the sheet you’re trying to bundle in your arms. “Don’t be daft, mate.”

His tone is flat and slightly exasperated as he pulls the sheet from you, looking at the myriad of stains on your front, glazing over the angry expression you’re giving him at his little quip. Before you can open your mouth to say something, he turns you by your shoulders, escorting you to the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” You huff, taking your turn to ask an obvious question as you let him steer you to the ensuite. A grunt is your only response as he pushes you through the door, his warm hand leaving your shoulders to pull back the liner fully. You watch as Simon turns the taps, listening to the pipes creak as water begins to dribble from the head. He doesn’t make any move to pull off his sweaty athleisure, just fiddles with the tap, turning it much hotter than Simon would usually take his showers – oh.

Taking the hint, you pull off your boxers, wincing as the cold air hits your now-exposed, sticky skin. Simon’s hand is under the water, breaking the droplets’ fall as the water warms, but his attention is now focused on you. When you straighten up, tossing your briefs to the hamper, he meets your unhappy look with a question.

“Pancakes?”

You blink at him, indignance still plastered on your face in a grumpy scowl as your brain struggles through the pain fogging your thoughts, and Simon just raises an eyebrow.

“Eggs ‘n toast? Take-out?’

A moment of bemusement passes as you think for a second, until your mouth drops into a little o-shape, and guilt tints your cheeks red. “Oh.”

Simon huffs affectionately, echoing your “oh” as he pulls his hand back, waiting for you to answer.

“Pancakes?” You mumble, looking up at him through your lashes. The corner of his lips tug into what you’ve learnt is a forgiving smile, and he leans over your figure to press a soft, unexpected kiss to your forehead. His lips are soft – good, he’s had a drink after working out – and the appetising, musky smell of his BO fills your mouth as he leans in.

“Pancakes it is, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head as he moves out the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Before anything can drip from you and create an additional mess you can’t be bothered with, you climb into the showerbath, making sure the plug is hung up to avoid any water filling the tub. He’s perfected the temperature, and you feel like just lying down in the empty tub as your body goes boneless, feeling water drizzle down on you from the showerhead. It’s just enough to soothe the way your body aches, but not enough to make you feel any dizzier. By the time you’ve finished in the shower, your skin feels red and tender, but the heat has temporarily worked your muscles into a sleepy stupor. Though you swear the scent of metallic fetor lingers on your skin no matter how many scents you use, any visible remnant has been washed down the drain.

Pulling the liner back, a towel sits on the vanity, folded neatly with two painkillers resting atop the fabric’s surface and a half-full glass next to it. On the other side, a pair of your boxers and one of Simon’s shirts hangs from the edge. You didn’t even notice Simon slip in to leave them there – despite how long you’ve been with him, it’s still unnerving that such a big man can move without a sound.

Scooping the pills up, you take them with a mouthful of water, before unfurling the towel to dry yourself off. The ordeal is short, pausing to pull on your briefs and a sanitary product of choice before you finish drying your tender legs, hanging the towel to dry over the rail nailed to the wall.

A whiff of sweet, buttery batter permeates the bedroom as you step back into it, mentally bracing for a brutal war of ‘how many sides can I get on before one pops off’ with your goddamn super king sized bed. However, surprise stops you in your tracks, feet stuttering as you find the floor empty of blankets. They’ve returned to the bed, which has been made with a rehearsed, militarized perfection, corners tucked tightly in with barely a ripple across the taut fabric.

With one chore covered, you grab the hamper from the bathroom, walking out into the living room to the source of the smell. Simon is hidden in the kitchen, his back to the entrance as he stands over the stove, but the sound of your feet padding around the corner raises his head.

His hair is light and fluffy, the tips still damp as he puts down the spatula, walking over to take the hamper from you despite your objections. The musky sweat coating him earlier has been replaced with the artificial, clean scent of shampoo and soap - you have no clue how he’s managed to change the bed, wash himself in the spare bathroom, and make a start on breakfast before you finished your own shower.

Resigning, you move to the stove and take up the spatula, patting the pancake as bubbles rise to its surface. Barely a minute passes before Simon’s arms slip around you, taking the spatula back and letting it drop to the counter to interlock your fingers.

“Independent this morning, pet?” He murmurs, carefully placing his other hand over your stomach, feeling as it rises and dips with your laugh. The warmth that radiates from his palm is ridiculous, seeping into the sore muscles that are starting to ache again.

“C’mon, you’d call me feeding myself independent.” You tease, leaning back until your head meets his chest. It shakes as he huffs a quiet laugh, bouncing you slightly before answering.

“When I could be feedin’ you? Don’t reckon I’m wrong.” He grunts, wrapping your hand around the handle, his own still encompassing yours, smiling into your hair as he helps you flip the pancake with a flick of your wrist.

You give his retort an overly dramatic groan, but his attention is captured by an electronic beeping that sets off. The moment he pulls away, your body misses his heat, watching him open the microwave door to pull out a very familiar, tear-shaped heap of fabric. You step away from the stove, reaching out to take it from him as he extends it towards you. The cartoon-ish looking figure of a little ghost heatpack is hot to the touch, emitting the faintest smell of lavender and chamomile, and he gives you a small smile as you wrap your arms around it, holding it against your torso.

“You think of everything, huh?” You laugh, heart squeezing as he answers you with a lop-sided grin and turns back to the stove, pouring in the last of the batter.

“Not everythin’ – how ‘bout you make a cuppa and sit down, hm?” He rumbles, gesturing to near the fridge. Two cups are already coupled together on the counter, and you skip boiling the kettle again as lazy tendrils of steam already climb from its spout. Grabbing a couple of tea bags, you tuck the heating pack under your arm, filling up the mugs as you listen to the sizzling of the pan. Simon gives you a quiet “thanks, love” as you set down his mug next to the stove, but when you reach for a plate to start dishing out the cooked pancakes, you’re interrupted by a chiding “ah!” and large hands turning you around. “Go sit down love, I got this.”

The look you give Simon over your shoulder does nothing to sway his rejection of your help, big brown eyes staring back at you with an expectant look as he gently nudges you to the exit. Though it’s tempting to ignore him and stay, the effort of staying upright is slowly sapping any hint of energy you recovered in the shower.

Bringing your drink out and flopping yourself onto the couch, your legs scream in gratitude when your weight is finally shifted from them. The small ghost sits across your abdomen, radiating a relaxing warmth that soothes the muscles cramping violently underneath it.

Though it’s barely minutes that pass, Simon comes out to find you curled in the couch’s corner, wrapped up around the heating pad with a slight frown in your brow. The gentle clink of the ceramic against the coffee table stirs you from your light sleep, cracking your eyes open as Simon sinks into the couch next to you, his plate balanced on his thighs.

“Sorry love,” he murmurs apologetically, raising an arm to let you bury into him. You jump at the opportunity, shuffling yourself to press against his side, and a content relaxation falls upon you as his arm covers you protectively. Without moving you too much, Simon leans forwards to grab your plate, resting it on your lap and tucking a fork into your hand.

Looking at the pancakes, he’s given you an extra one in your stack, drizzled generously with your favourite toppings. Your chest squeezes at the sight, each carefully placed topping another homage to the tenderness that your lover struggles to verbalise.

“You’ve done so much for me this morning, Si.” You start remorsefully, eyes downcast to your stack of pancakes. With a grunt, Simon reaches for his fresh mug perched precariously on the couch’s arm, using a spare finger to hit the on button of the remote sitting next to it. “Not allowed to give my special boy some love when he’s roughed up?”

You give him a good-natured huff, digging into his side playfully. “Make it sound like I’m wounded, Si.” Simon snorts, pulling his eyes away from the TV to shoot you an amused look. “With the amount of blood, y’could’ve convince me.”

You laugh at the comment, letting the light warmth fill your chest until it’s dampened by the unspoken guilt still sitting miserably on your conscience. “Sorry for bein’ grumpy earlier,” you mumble.

Simon hums, pulling you tighter as he cuts into a pancake with his fork, raising it to your mouth. “Kinda figured you wouldn’t be top shape after seein’ the blood, s’alright pet. Y’ve told me that this shit hurts more than normal.”

Taking the mouthful, you give him a small, grateful smile, reaching for your own plate and cutlery to share a piece back. The pancakes are light and fluffy, not heavy enough to upset your stomach, but enough to be filling for how insatiable your appetite can get. “Thanks, Si. Still appreciate you’re patient with me, though.”

He hums thoughtfully as he chews, gently rubbing his thumb mindlessly against your thigh. “Patient? Nah. Johnny said y’deserve a ring for bein’ patient with my shit after deployment – he’d take the piss if I told him you’re thankin’ me for being patient.”

The way Simon drops the idea of marriage is so calm and casual, a significant contrast to how it makes your heart soars in your chest. Reigning in your excited response, you take another mouthful, giving him a grin that can’t quite hide how much you like the idea. “Hope you told him how useful this little guy has been,” you gesture to the ghost on your lap, “because it’s definitely my second favourite ghost since he bought it.”

The narrowed glare that Simon gives the plush heating pad has you giggling around a forkful of pancakes, looking at him with light-hearted exasperation. “Oh c’mon, I said second favourite!” You chuckle, watching him roll his eyes with a grumble.

“Yeah, yeah,” his tone is low and playfully grumpy, rumbling through you. “S’long as it’s me you’re cuddlin’ at night, ‘m not havin’ a toy steal my man.”

Mindful of your plates, you wrap an arm across his chest and ignore how your stomach complains at the movement, squeezing him lightly. “Never, Si. My favourite ghost.”

With a satisfied noise, he looks down at you, a mischievous half-grin on his face. “Good, that thing couldn’t fuck you half as well.”

The cheeky remark gets him a deeper dig in the side, enough to pry a grunt from him as he squirms, though he’s still careful with how much he jostles you. Silence quickly falls over you, Simon watching the news with a protective arm around you. He sips at his tea as you finish your plate, running a hand through your hair every now and then, placing a few kisses to your scalp.

When you’ve finished your meal, you put the plate on the coffee table, reaching for Simon’s to stack them together. Reaching forwards has you wincing, a pulsating pain in your core that makes your tailbone ache, and Simon swoops in to stop you in your tracks.

“Sit your ass down already,” he grouches, pushing you back into the couch as he scoops up your plate. “Told you, you’re bein’ dependent today.”

[midnightsequia]

Would people be interested in a zombie apocalypse au of a Jeff the killer x reader fanfic lmao I've been slowly writing one like here and there in my notes app so I have random scenes that are not connected at all lol here's a little sneak below the cut!

Basically a slow burn, xreader no mention of yn/__ I hate the underscores lmao and probably strangers to friends to lovers? Idk we will see ill probably post it all anyways

This is not edited!

This is not revised!

A true WIP!

"You are staying." Jeff poked your chest hard causing you to stumble back.

"In what world? There are dozens of dead in there and you expect me to stay outside?" Emphasizing 'outside' you swatted his hand away and pulled your fingers into fists by your side. In your eyes you had gotten better with your pistol and could be a great helpful asset to Jeff while scavenging.

"You're a liability and would get me killed." In his eyes you are a beginner. Someone who still shakes while holding a gun, afraid to pull the trigger in fear of blowing his head off. Your eyes flared with rage. Trying to calm yourself down from a loud outburst from frustration not wanting to attract unwanted attention. The two of you are getting too loud. "Just stay here for Christ's sake." His shoulders slacked, no longer holding annoyance and anger but instead his maniacal eyes covered themselves in guilt and sadness. He was looking towards your worn shoes. Pleading you wouldn't be stupid enough to follow him.

"Fine. If I dont hear from you in fifteen minutes, I will come in myself and get you." Crossing your arms you stood straight now almost the same height as him.

"No you will not."

"Yes. I will. I'm compromising with you." Jeff grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. Why doesn't he see that you do care about his well being?

"Fine," He spat "I'll go in, clear the area, like I usually do, and you come in and help gather everything. Hunter, gather style." When mentioning "hunter" He pointed to himself, and gatherer to you. Jeff pulled his knife out, the knife had aged terribly, causing your worry to only grow. He hasn't had the proper tools to efficiently sharpen the blade. The rock he had been using was causing more damage than sharpening the blade and there were a few chips in it as well. Staring at the knife with your worry written all over your face Jeff rolled his eyes and gleamed it in the sun trying to blind you. "It's gonna be fine. This is me we are talking about. Ill come back through this door." He gave a large smirk and left into the large department store. You went across the car riddled street and sat one that had crashed into a tree.

Jeff quietly made his way into the store. You had told him that this store would have clothes and food most definitely since it looked clean. He had wanted more than anything else in the world now something other than poorly cooked squirrel or chipmunk. He probably wouldn't get it since it's been months since the world ended but the canned food should be like new. The sliding door was unlocked and opened with a soft ding.

"Open 24/7" Jeff scoffed to himself, "now more than ever." He thought. He had nearly jumped in delight when he saw that the store was almost untouched. This was located on the outskirts of a small town, on a road down to the coast on the way here they had only passed a few empty, well now empty, homes and they had store brand food in their trash. This store, giving you two a lead on where to possibly find supplies.

Blood was splattered across the ground and there was a funk in the air making Jeff hold back a gag. He was glad you didn't come in with him, "Oh it smells atrocious in here." He had heard your voice in his head complaining, then holding back the little bile you had left. You couldn't handle the smell of more than two zombies at a time, he couldn't begin to imagine your laughable reaction to this.

Off in the distance of the store there was a rattle of some carts

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Would Spider in the games use a bow as his weapon of choice, like in the movie, or an ax, or maybe something else? And what about Kiri's weapons? (If they decided to fight instead of hiding)

So I went back and rewatched Hunger Games last night (and wow did I not appreciate that movie as a kid. I'm so excited to rewatch all the other movies now) so I've got a lot of new ideas for the Hunger Games Avatar A.u.

First I learned from an explainer video that kids aren't actually allowed to train for the Hunger Games. The career tributes get away with it because they're training to be peacekeepers but everyone else is just out of luck. So every character I mentioned training would have to do it in complete secret. So for Spider, since his parents live in victors village and are filthy rich after winning the games, they have a training room in their basement. It's not nearly as fancy as anything from the Capital. In fact Quaritch built most of it himself. And if anyone asks Spider isn't allowed down there. The training room is just for mom and dad. The room is stocked with every weapon under the sun, so Spider would be well versed in any weapon that could be put into the games but yeah he'd prefer a bow over anything. I could also see him with a knife or a spear but I think an ax might be too brutal of a weapon for him.

I think Kiri would also go for a less brutal weapons, bow, knives, those sort of things but really I think she'd get by more like Peeta, and Rue. Making alliances, using the environment to her advantage (I'm thinking of the trackerjackers here, which even though Katniss was the one to cut down the nest it was Rue who gave her the idea) and basically just surviving since they said in the movie that most kids die from exposure, dehydration and starvation.

Also after watching the movie I realized they kinda couldn't just hide the entire time because the gamemakers would push them towards the action. I guess the scene with Katniss and Peeta in the cave just took up way more of memory then it did the actual film. So yeah let me revise hiding to being stealthy, camouflaging themselves to blend with their surroundings, setting traps for career tributes but never going after anyone that's not down with the child murder games. I could even see them setting out food and clean water for less capable tributes.

Bonus thoughts you didn't ask for but I forgot to put in my original post because I was insanely sleep deprived when I wrote it:

In my head like how Katniss was nicknamed the girl on fire, I thought of Paz being nicknamed the spider queen after her arachnid trap won her the games. The Capital is obsessed with the fact that she named her son Spider ( and as I write this I'm realizing she pretty much named her son after herself instead of Quaritch which I kinda love) and low key I bet all the kids would be mini celebrities.

I started watching Catching Fire and in that Haymitch says flat out that the show never ends. That each family would get dragged out every year, there lives constantly watched for entertainment. Which was kinda what I was thinking when I wrote about the quarter quell. The citizens of the Capital would have watched each of these families grown. They would have seen the parents grow from teenagers to adult, probably cheered for them as they had their kids and built "happy" lives (i remember in an explainer video that averaged capital citizens actually didn't like the 75th Hunger Games too much because they had such an attachment to the past victors. Now imagine that, plus you watched their kids grow up, and now you're probably going to watch those kids die. I imagine the emotions of the watchers would be at a fever pitch)

Anyway this was a really long winded way of getting to what I really wanted to say and that is that I had outfit ideas for Spider and Paz's chariot entrance in the quarter quell, lol. They wouldn't be dressed up like trees or lumber jakes like most tributes from district 7, they'd be decked out in opulent spider motifies. I imagine Paz with a spider web vail fixed to her long dark curls by a silver circlet that has one ruby teardrop that hangs in the middle of her forehead, blood red lips, sharp red nails, and a tight black dress. Spider is high key uncomfortable because he can see everyone lusting over his hot mom, and he matches her, like her little spider prince, with an off the shoulder spider web capelet, a spider shaped cravat with a ruby in the center, and fitted black suit (like world war 2 dress uniforms. I couldn't find a better name for it) his hair pulled back tight and tucked into his collar. He fucking hates it and so does his mom but they have to play nice for the cameras soo...

I'll probably get more ideas for this au as I keep watching the movies so if you like this au send me ideas! I've got some thoughts on how to go about an ending now (who gets captured, who dies (though I don't want anyone to die)) but I do want to actually watch Mockingjay so I can fully form these ideas.