#space doesn't work regularly either so why would time?

[scrion7]

I FUCKING KNEW THERE WAS TIME SHENANIGANS

There was NO WAY for Neo to fall AFTER RWBY in Ever After, because she fell in at the same time as Ruby, so therefore time in Ever After must not be the same as time in Remnant.

Jaune fell in FAR after the rest of RWBY, and yet came in chronologically way before RWBY. At least, assuming that's the Jaune we know. There could be some shenanigans there too. We know absolutely nothing about how Ever After really works.

And, this calls into question where in the Remnant timeline the gang leave Ever After into. For all we know, it could be before Volume 1 and we get a STRQ centric volume or a massive timeskip after Atlas falls and we get to see Renora's kid.

Timeline shenanigans. In RWBY. Oh, this will be good.

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[goquokka00]

The Little Things (Jisung Ver.)

The small things he does every day that make you feel oh, so special.

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

| Compares Hands |

Jisung is one of those people where I just get the vibe where he'd be one to regularly compare his hands to yours. Why? I don't know. But I just get the feeling that whenever the two of you are cuddling, Jisung's got your hand in his, and he's just...comparing them.

Your hands are so different compared to his. They're smaller, so much more feminine. They're so soft, probably because you use that one lotion you hidden from him every day on them. They're nothing like his, which we've seen pictures of them and dear GOD, his hands are absolutely fine. They're veiny and long, they're probably rough, but are just so gentle.

A lot of times, Jisung will take your hand and place it against his to directly compare them. And he'll comment on it, too. "Your hands are so cute, baby," or, "Our hands look so perfect together." They're never bad comments, he just likes to tell you how he feels.

| Shares Earbuds |

This is probably a given. Jisung loves music, and we all know this. And that means he's open to hearing a whole variety of music, mainly to help inspire him for songs for Stray Kids. Where else is better to get that than from the person he loves the most?

If you guys are ever out in public or walking around, Jisung will almost ask for an earbud so he can listen to whatever you're listening to. It doesn't matter what you're music tastes are, either. Kpop, rock and roll, pop, country, hip hop, rap, indie, latin, jazz, he'll listen to it all. And if he recognizes the song, he'll happily sing the lyrics.

There are other times where Jisung will want to share his earbud with you, too. I feel like he wouldn't play any spoilers for upcoming albums (Bangchan would murder him alive), but he'd play music that he listens to regularly, wanting to expand your own horizons. As a bonus, I also think that the two of you would make one big playlist of both of your favorites, and you'd listen to that together a lot.

| Holds Your Arm |

Jisung really likes to be close to you at all times. And that means that whenever you two are shopping, or going to different places outside of JYPE or your work area, or even the apartment, there are times where his arms are wrapped around whichever arm of yours is closest to him. Sometimes your arms are linked, but other times, he's clinging to your arm.

I do have a strong feeling that he'd mostly do this if his anxiety was acting up. If he was starting to spiral because of crowds, or his thoughts were overwhelming him because of work, he'd cling to you to try and ground himself. And of course, you'd be there to comfort him.

He'd probably apologize for it. He'd feel bad because you'd have to put up with him like that. But you really don't care. You'd gently rub his hand, keeping it there while guiding him to a less populated area so you two could chill and just breathe. And while he'd feel guilty, Jisung would be so grateful for it.

| Back Hugs in the Morning |

I've said this once in my first ever post, and I'll happily say it again. I am a firm believer of Jisung not being a morning person at all. The late nights down at the studio, writing songs for hours until the early hours of the morning just drain him, and getting up is quite literally a chore in Jisung's mind.

And so, while you're probably making breakfast, I think that Jisung would be the kind of person to come up behind you and pull you back against his chest, the man still half-asleep as he rests his head on your shoulder. He refuses to talk, as it takes too much energy. And so all you get are grunts, hums, and any other noises he decides to make.

Jisung will just cling to you for as long as he needs. If you need to walk to a different area of the kitchen while you're cooking, Jisung will just follow you, not giving you any space whatsoever. Even when he's finally awake and alert, he's not letting you go. At least, not until he gets his good morning kiss.

| Spoils You |

Guys, I kid you not, Jisung will buy you anything and everything you want. You want food from that one restaurant you went to a few weeks ago? Done. You spotted a sweater that you really like? It's yours. You need something for a hobby of yours? Say no more. As long as you're happy, Jisung's happy.

It doesn't even matter how expensive it is. Nothing is too expensive if it's for you. You can complain all you want, too. You don't want him to spend all of his money on you? Too bad. You're happy with just being his? Yeah, but Jisung wants to make you even happier.

I also have this irk that Jisung would buy you souvenirs from wherever he travels to. If it reminds him of you, he'll buy it for you and then give it to you once he gets back to South Korea. And I'm not kidding you, this man would be like so giddy as he watches you react to each and every single gift. He just loves to spoil you beyond belief, and he will NEVER stop.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

[drdemonprince]

hey! i have a question abt your cruising guide if you don't mind, regarding something that (unless i totally missed sth, in which case i'm very sorry for wasting your time) i felt was completely absent but happens to be my main concern. (i'm already a huge slut, so anonymous/short term sexual encounters in themselves aren't the issue for me.) i'll put it bluntly: how am i supposed to pick anyone up in a gay male cruising space (irl/not on an app) when i look like a woman? i'm not a total stranger to gay bars, which is why i'm very sure that people in a cruising space are far, far more likely to take me as an intruder looking to be pleasantly scandalized than someone like them who they might want to have sex with, not to mention have sex with as a man(-adjacent). i also know it's likely that i'm projecting at least some of my dysphoria onto these hypothetical encounters, but it doesn't seem like an unjustified fear, either. i (fwiw: perisex, afab, some type of agender-nonbinary) have been on t for abt 9 months now, but i haven't had top or bottom surgery (i want both but so far it's unclear when that is going to happen) and my breasts are too large to be really concealed by a binder (not to mention that i can't fuck in a binder bc they give me awful headaches), i'm very short and ~curvy~, i have very little body/no facial hair, and people in casual daily interactions certainly don't hesitate to address me as a woman. it just seems preposterous to assume that there's anything abt me a man looking for another man could be attracted to. i guess it's possible someone could be a chaser after my specific type, but that's not an encounter i want to have right now. as far as my question to you is concerned, i want to have sex with a man who is into men, and at the very least won't see me as a girl wanting to be fucked like a man. i know that there is no way to objectively predict these things, experiences and tastes vary and so on, but i would be extremely grateful if you could share some of your experiences or give me some other pointers for how to approach this/what to expect. as it is, if i were to enter a darkroom, i assume i would be asked to leave, but preemptively telling myself that it's hopeless and to forget abt it for at least the next several years seems unnecessarily cruel, too. if there's any advice or experience you can share, thank you so so so much, and if not, thank you anyway for taking the time to read this letter of woe and for putting your perspective out there, it's been a balm to be understood. wishing you all the best x

Buddy -- it is (largely!) your dysphoria talking! Lots of queer men will wanna fuck you and they will wanna do it in a queer way. I walked around Steamworks fully tiddy out regularly and I had a great time.

It's true that in more general gay bars people will sometimes misread you, and that it will hurt, but trust me that lots of queer men are already attracted to you. If anything, I've noticed that in general queer spaces cis gay men sometimes default to assuming that you won't be interested in them and give a polite distance that they will happily do away with if they know you're looking and welcome their attention. A lot of guys don't want to accidentally be predatory to someone who they think might be a lesbian or not interested in men. (Again, being mistaken for something you are not really fucking sucks and can drive your dysphoria crazy, I get it, but do keep in mind that sometimes people do this out of a desire to be respectful, not because they're turned off that you're such a Womanly Woman or whatever.)

My first recommendation for you would be to GET ON GRINDR. Post some pics that make it clear what you're working with, physically, and list your identity clearly on your profile. When I first got a grindr I had a really slutty abs-and-underboob pic that got me a TON of attention from queer men, who treated me like a man, and it immediately assuaged all my concerns that I wasn't welcome on there. I think it will do a lot for your self-confidence and sense of belonging to try the same too.

Now, I don't want to be pollyannaish about any of this -- yes there are transphobes. In my experience they're mostly pretty quiet to trans men, they'll just pass you by for the most part. Yes there are people who will say awkward things. Block liberally and often and don't be afraid to stand up for yourself. But honestly, these are the kinds of issues you will run into within any dating platform, and the gay world is pretty damn blase and chill about the inclusion of trans men for the most part. You can absolutely put yourself out there -- and the sooner you do, the sooner you'll realize that your insecurities are not rooted in the reality of how other queer men mostly feel.

I wish I had put myself out there YEARS earlier! A lot would have changed for me if I had.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Meghan is still protected by the palace via being married to Harry.

No one will call her out as long as that protection is in place.

I don't think this is the reason why. If it was Catherine the media had dirt on they would be all over it, everything would be written about and everyone would have an opinion. Catherine as a senior member of the royal family couldn't just disappear in this hypothetical scenario of the media having dirt on her so the media wouldn't have to worry about loosing money they regularly make off her simply existing in the public space. (Look at the desperation for Catherine to return as her absence due to illness has put a dent in revenue otherwise expected) Meghan can only dream of having that kind of influence but she still makes the media money and if the truth about her was exposed she'd actually have to properly disappear and probably for a considerable period. The media want their cake and to eat it too, to have this situation they'll continue to not point out any contradictions, changing stories and the obvious lies told by Meghan and if they have any real damaging information that would destroy Meghan's reputation completely it will never be revealed.

This comparison doesn't work. Kate doesn't have that kind of dirt in her closet. The comparison is apples and filet mignon. That's why the press would be all over it if Kate did have this dirt - because her reputation and her image is so squeaky clean otherwise. It validates one of the biggest pieces of criticism about her, "no one's this perfect."

For the comparison to work, it has to be apples and apples. You have to assume that either Kate has the same/similar skeletons in her closet or that Meghan has a squeaky clean reputation and image.

And if Kate has the skeletons in her closet, she absolutely would be protected by the BRF. If the BRF wouldn't have done it, then William would have. He's shown us that he'd protect Kate (when he dealt with the phone hacking, when he sued over the topless photos, when The Tatler insulted the Middletons in their 'Kate the Great' article when he dealt with the medical privacy invasion, when he supported her convalescence instead of working through it), so it's safe to assume that he'd protect her in some way.

But if Meghan did have the squeaky clean reputation and image, the BRF wouldn't be protecting her as much, because there wouldn't be anything to protect. Just like they do with Kate currently.

Second, the BRF will always protect their own. Even if Harry is PNG'd and no one talks to him, they'll still throw down for him if he gets into serious trouble (and speculation is that they do - Charles sends money in some way, BP still takes Harry's calls, he can still arrange a meeting with Charles). I mean, Harry's not getting all these second, third, fourth chances with his lawsuits because he has the best lawyer in the world.

And because Meghan is married to Harry, that protection extends to her. Because why else haven't the things the media discovered in 2016 been published (like her debts, her addictions, her real connections to Soho House, her Flim Flam business and all her trademark/copyright applications)? After all, if they were hinting about those stories in 2016 and then got slapped down by the palace and Harry's love shield, that doesn't mean those things they discovered went away. It just means they didn't publish them. So why haven't they published them any time in, say, the last 3 years since the Oprah interview, if they really loathe Meghan as much as they claim to?

Because she's still protected by the BRF through her marriage. Once Harry says he's done with her, all bets are off and the dirt is going to fly. And we know this is going to happen because we see it happen. Any time there's PR about Harry and Meghan leading distant or separate lives, the press starts to drip and tease stories about Meghan, but before anything serious leaks out, there's a whole new wave of "Meghan and Harry are stronger than ever" PR.

[january-summers]

Just thinking about some AUs.

Like: Wash having served on a similar ship to the MoI pre-Freelancer. Similar, but ever so slightly different in lay out so he keeps trying to auto-pilot navigate and getting lost, and Alpha's watching on the camera feeds and at some point just hits "this is too pathetic, i gotta step in" like any back seat gamer watching a let's play, except he actually can... if he can figure out how to get away with it.

So he comms Wash, either through a direct link in his helmet or through a regularly intervaled wall radio. "Uh yeah, I'm... uh... you can just call me... Church? I work in the... uh... yeah don't worry about it but I can see you on the camera feeds, again, and man i gotta tell you for a bad ass space marine this is pretty sad. Tragic really, anyway, turn around, 200 meters and take a left-"

And it keeps happening, and sometimes they just hang out, Wash hiding in a storage closet eating contraband foods (the good chocolate) while Alpha drops some funny stories from the command deck.

And Wash casually mentions him in talk with the other Freelancers, but they never get to talk to Church, and Wash can't introduce him properly, so everyone refers to Church as Wash's imaginary friend.

(... and then no one can figure out why all the AI are low-key obsessed with Wash, like they need him to like them even though he's not their human operator.)

or like (possibly the same AU): There is no Epsilon, Alpha has a moment of clarity about what's happening to him, what's being done to him, and fakes a fragment in order to port himself out and get put wholesale (what remains of him) into Wash's head. It's still pretty traumatic for both of them.

And then they skedaddle, go into hiding somewhere no one would ever think to look for them. Disguised as a sim trooper in a box canyon in the middle of nowhere.

... also thinking about Price deliberately pushing Wash's buttons and trying to provoke his PTSD so he has an excuse to put him on meds, except the meds are (on purpose) meds that Wash knows messes with his head and leads to psychotic episodes and he wouldn't take them, damn the orders, if he knew what they were.

but he doesn't, and he gets into a fight in one of the communal kitchens without his armour on and the first thing the other Freelancers know about it is when they get called for back up to the kitchen to help subdue a man that just killed three other Freelancers (bottom of the pack no-name annoying assholes no one liked or would miss anyway).

'cept the other Freelancers don't clock that it's Wash, because he's out of his armour and Wash is almost never seen without his helmet, unlike the others, so they aren't used to his face, and when they think of wash they think of bright yellow and steady charcoal greys, not "holy fuck that's a lot of blood did he fucking roll in it!?!?" reds.

But by the time they get there, psychotic episode is over, and Wash is in a semi fugue state, kinda clock's Carolina's blue and that he might have done something really bad, so he just drops the knife away from himself and half collapses to his knees like a puppet with cut strings, manages to lock his fingers behind his head before they try to tackle him to the ground.

Wash gets away with a slap on the wrist, and like a months probation. (Director was in on the 'experiment' to begin with, and now they're already down three Freelancers, no need to make it four. ... also Director won a bet about whether Wash could take on/out more than two opponents at a time.)

[cocoa-rococo]

Koopaling Headcanons: Roy

Larry | Morton | Wendy | Iggy | Roy | Lemmy | Ludwig

The cool guy, the main muscle, the roughest-n'-toughest member of Bowser's army! Get a load a' them shades.

Left-handed.

Owns at least fifty pairs of those sunglasses of his. They are also pretty much indestructible, thanks to a certain brother inventor.

A root beer fan! Root beer floats are one of his favorite desserts and guilty pleasures.

His "tough guy" persona is mostly for show, but he really does love his siblings. This does not exempt them from noogies and teasing.

Regularly works out, and is happy to have a gym partner in Lemmy. Granted, Lemmy leans more towards acrobatics than athletics, but he likes sharing the space with him.

Likes watching professional wrestling with Morton in his free time. Also likes to wrestle with Morton. And his other siblings. And anyone willing. And anyone unwillingly, really.

Dyslexic. He'd probably like reading a little more if it was easier for him, but his dislike of "nerdy books" helps with his whole tough guy image. He's a better audio + tactile learner, anyway. Ludwig’s been trying to get him into audiobooks with varying rates of success.

He wanted to own a monster truck SO BAD as a kid. Getting to participate for the first time in the kart tournaments was the best day of his life, and one of the most terrifying for everyone else.

Has a pretty balanced diet due to working out a lot, probably compared to most of his siblings, but he'll never turn down a nice rack of ribs, especially BBQ. Slow cooked and so tender it falls off the bone? Roy would kill a man.

No one, other than his siblings, knows his eye color. The story as to why he never removes his glasses changes whenever someone asks.

Knows how to sew, though he doesn't tell people often due to his "cool" persona. He learned it because he wanted to have patches on his jackets, and after pestering Wendy to do it enough times, she taught him.

While Wendy's definitely the more beach-y of the two, he also likes tanning in the sun and surfing on the waves. He prefers hotter temperatures to cold, and while he hates the winter and snow, he loves snowball fighting (especially dumping piles of it on top of his siblings).

Has a high tolerance for spicy things. He chews fire flower seeds when he's stressed, and has a particular fondness for good chili.

Knows his way around a car and its engine, and keeps a collection of vintage magazines of older muscle cars.

He generally doesn't deal with flowers, but he's got a soft spot for hydrangeas and lavender. Reminds him of childhood.

He loves chip snacks, all flavors of them. Ludwig used this to his advantage as a kid and turned him onto apple and banana chips. He keeps a stash hidden for cooldown munchies after a workout.

If he ever learned an instrument, it'd probably be either the bass guitar or a drum set. Larry is trying to lure him into practicing more so they can start a band.

A fan of classic rock music, with some hints of metal. He partially gets this from Bowser; so much so, in fact, that when paired with his knowledge of car maintenance and learning about speakers, ended up spawning Roy's Smooth Sounds.

While he's all for bucking the rules, especially if they're stupid in his eyes or it helps him somehow, he's actually one of the few siblings who thrives on routine. Makes it easier to put his time in 'blocks' and work around them if need be.

He keeps a calendar and in his room for remembering important events, both for the castle and things his siblings have going on. Wendy keeps trying to gift him journals to use, he keeps trying to remember to use them, and ends up forgetting regardless.

Likes watching car showcases and auctions in his free time. Gives him inspiration for customizing his own vehicles, since he and Iggy are banned from collaborating on cars since The Incident™.

While he can do magic with his wand just fine, it's not his preferred fighting method; why waste time studying spells when you can just punch the thing in half the time? He was, however, the second to learn how to transform his wand into a weapon.

Not a big candy person, but his favorites are malt balls and anything with peanut butter. Will also never turn down a nice slice of chocolate cake, especially if Wendy makes it.

Favorite fruits are cantaloupe and mangoes, especially if it's hot out. Avocado is pretty good, too, but he prefers that in dips and spreads, especially if paired with bacon.

What makes him especially dangerous isn't just his strength and his Bill Blaster, but his stamina; his determination to win, along with his ability to keep going in spite of all obstacles or enemies in his path, makes him kinda terrifying to face.

He's a bit of a night owl, which works out well for night school. It also means he gets to affectionately bully any of his siblings who think not sleeping is a good idea.

His favorite school subjects vary. Literature he doesn't do well in because of how subjective and interpretive it is, but he's good at math because of the consistent formulas. He's not too bad at geography, either, and history is interesting in small doses. Shop classes he does very well in, too.

Most likely out of all his siblings to get a tattoo. Probably something across the knuckles or on his upper arm.

He's one of the stricter siblings when it comes to his army, and runs a fairly tight ship, but he's also the kind of higher-up who will take the select few who do well out to a steakhouse to celebrate.

Cannot, for the life of him, stand menial tasks and busywork like sweeping, sorting papers, organizing, etc. He feels like he’ll crawl out of his skin from boredom. It's why he bribes his siblings to do it whenever he can.

He's a fairly good cook, and can follow a recipe with ease, he just doesn't like how long it takes. He leaves that to Larry and Morton.

Knows how to work a grill like nobody's business. You invite him to a cookout and he’ll make you the best burger or hot dog you could ever want.

His favorite sport is wrestling, as well as all forms of boxing. He’ll respect the rules in the ring if there’s something important at stake, but with his siblings? He fights dirty and does not care.

[yan-randomfandom]

Hello! Call me Yan (any prns), and I'm honestly here to satisfy my cravings as a writer 😔

♪ REQUEST STATUS: OPEN—Although please understand if I was unable to answer yours, it might be for plenty of reasons.

WHAT DO I WRITE?

x reader, my beloved

Yandere. There are times I won't write yandere, but it's my blog's main trait.

Please read at your own risk. There will be warnings at the start of the chap!

Headcanons, one shots, and drabbles

Mostly SFW — Sexual themes are mild at most. I do not write smut.

My account is multifandom. I am in multiple fandoms, so expect my content to be different every once in a while!

☕support me on kofi!

MASTERLIST... LIST

PART I: Masterlist

Keep reading if u wanna request!

FANDOMS?

I lurk in many fandoms. I don't want to list them all but here's what's kinda popular right now: TADC, Cookie Run, Adventure Time, and so many more!

Please don't hesitate to ask from wherever fandom you are! There's no harm in trying! :) Except BNHA. Preferably, no anime.

Better yet, feel free to list down your fandoms in the comments! Anything that you would want to see yandere content in! Just so I can browse and maybe write for!!

LIMITS?

No problematic shipping requests.

Unfortunately, I don't do OCs (':

If the character is 18-, they can be aged up if you'd like, but strictly no NSFW, or in certain circumstances, romance. They're gonna be platonic.

I don't do intense gore. While I do have yandere content, I'm on the sorta wholesome side? Define 'wholesome' ... Implied scenarios are more likely😩

Minors, please stay safe. Don't go meddling around with adult spaces!

I often write non-yandere stories too.

Sadly, I'm lacking in knowledge of other popular media, so if you happen to request one of those, I might not reply. Instead, I'll be keeping your ask until one day I check that media out.

Doesn't matter if the character is well known or not! Cuz I WILL attempt to learn about your request!

Part 2s are my weakness. I'm sorry.

WHY IS MY REQUEST TAKING SO LONG?

...college

If it's something I've never posted about yet, then it's either I'm not in the fandom, or I'm just clueless.

But other than that... sometimes I take days— weeks— months? to truly click with an idea.

I want to enjoy whatever I'm writing, so I take a break until an idea comes up.

And there's also the fact that I'm working on multiple things at once 😭😭 I tend to focus on easier ones first!!

Also I usually think of ideas at night c:

Worst case scenario: I truly have zero idea for your request, I'm so sorry 😔

NOTES ABOUT ME!

I do not, and won't ever, condone the behavior I will portray in my writing. Please don't misunderstand, don't romanticize. They are purely fiction and for entertainment.

I regularly change my theme (profile, colors, banner, etc.) just so you know.

This account is for everyone,, we're all just trying to find content of our favorite character fr— so please don't hesitate to request :)

As I close my eyes to sleep, that's when I start imagining scenarios for my writing!

erm skibid toilet

[wxnheart]

Hi hi~ I looove read your work ! Can you make "their ideal type" headcanon but for Ghost and Soap please ?

note: this is written with the reader in mind as well.

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲

Ghost is Babygurl through and through but doesn't think he's Babygurl whatsoever. And believe it or not, he doesn't think he's relationship material.

By that, he doesn't think anyone would be interested in him romantically. Oh, babygurl, you are so, so, SO wrong.

Simon's childhood dealt a heavy blow to his self-esteem and no matter how talented and efficient a soldier he is, no matter how sure he is of his choices in the heat of the moment, outside of that, outside of war, he'll always question himself. He'll always question his worthiness when it comes to you, darling.

There's a recurring theme around having a significant other who can hold the fort down because they'll be gone often and Simon (and Soap) are no different.

Simon's ideal significant other is one who won't pressure him to open up and instead gives him time and space to process stuff.

A romantic relationship with Simon is more of a slow burn than anything else. If you're someone who works on timelines, when you're with him, that's a no-go.

He doesn't date for dating's sake, either. He actually dates to marry. Despite witnessing the relationshit that was his parents' marriage, Simon does want to get married. He wants a family which is why his significant other has to want that, too.

They also have to be as cool as a cucumber and quite reassuring. Despite Ghost's relatively calm exterior, he's actually quite a bundle of nerves on the inside. Hell, he and König might be more alike than what was previously thought.

Ghost isn't the type to tell you he loves you all the time. You'll hear it on occasion, though. He shows his love more through action more than anything. His s/o recognizing and accepting this will endear them to him even further.

Two words: TRUST. HIM. That is all.

I could go on and on but at the end of it all, he just wants his significant other to want him despite all of his flaws. Once you've won Ghost's heart, good luck getting rid of him (but why would you want to?).

Also, don't nag. His parents were nags (his mother out of desperation and his father because he was a giant asshole). Nothing makes Ghost shut down more than a nag.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 '𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩' 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡

Johnny, at his core, is fucking sunshine and soccer games.

A fun-loving guy, really. Doesn't really take much seriously aside from his duties. That isn't to say he's immature. Far from it. Think of it more as compartmentalization. He's actually pretty damn good at that.

That's why his ideal significant other is one who shares his zeal for life.

Soap's a bit of a jokester, too, so a sense of humor is a plus. Also, shit-talking and witty banter. Yeah, that's the stuff that life's made of.

His ideal s/o is also adventurous and able to handle themselves accordingly when he's gone. That's probably the ONLY time you'll really see Soap worry.

He'll also check on you regularly so be prepared for that.

Soap is also a bit of a hothead so he needs a relatively calm and rational partner to balance him out. He also doesn't like to argue with his s/o either. He prefers to talk it out.

Despite being a playful partner, he's actually quite serious about his relationship and relies heavily on his intuition (he thanks the military for this) when it comes to romantic partners. So when he feels you're the one, best believe YOU. ARE. THE ONE.

He needs someone who's willing to go the distance with him despite the shit he goes through being part of 141.

Also, ideal significant other, he's very protective of his lover. Please be prepared. He will wreck shit for you, no questions asked.

He's also very physically affectionate, too, but is considerate of his partner if they're not. He won't make them be anything they don't want to be. He's pretty compromising in relationships.

One last (cracky) thing, he's kinda-sorta-not really-but really adopted Ghost (against his will but who gives a fuck, Lt?) so he'll absolutely be over the moon if his s/o accepts Ghost as part of the family. The family that he wasn't even asking for but got anyway 'cause Soap doesn't give a shit. But it's all good.

[6okuto]

Listen… you said we could ask for more hcs pt.2…………………….

RAAAAAAAAAAH

Ais? PLS? YOUR WRITIJG IS SO GOOD I THINK ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME

AIS HCS (2)

gn!reader | (part 1) anon you GET ME! BUAAAAHHH AND OMGG THANK U... that's so crazy actually i hope u guys think about me today i will b thinking about all of u😙🫶🧡 YIPPEE!

so stupid /affectionate. takes photos of you and says "now a silly one." or starts taking selfies without telling you

will do cheesy romantic things with you because you ask. he can tease you all he wants, and he wonders how he's found himself swaying to a song with you in the kitchen,, but then you hold him a little tighter and he's like ah. that's why

tells you to be careful with his horns. not in a they're sensitive way but in a please do not get in a position where he could poke your eye out way. rest your chin in between them if you want though

asks you to pay for lunch. when it's actually time to pay he's like "what the hell are they doing over there?" so he can pay first. you guys fight to pay semi-regularly. You are the people who made me want to scream and cry when i worked retail.

do his make-up. i dare you. what. you don't want to stand in between his legs with his hands on your hips while you try to do eyeliner Be serious. he'll be your test subject for new looks

or let him do your make-up. you can match w some red eyeliner :)

doesn't do any little video trends with you without being a little annoying/difficult but he Will do them and do them extremely well in the end. everyone's jealous of your relationship

if you're having trouble sleeping and try to not move around a lot in case you wake ais up,, it's too late. bro is awake. he sighs and nuzzles into you before being like,, "if you can't sleep, you can wake me up you know." or "how long were you going to go before waking me up?"

^ late night snack runs.. he'll stay up as long as you do. hanging out in a mcdonalds parking lot at 2am eating chicken nuggets who gets me

pulls your head to lay on his shoulder if he sees you getting sleepy. rests his head on top of yours

silently comes and lies down with you if he's in a bad mood. you don't have to talk or really do anything, just being around you helps him feel better. he won't complain if you coddle him a little though :) you offer to get him some snacks or cuddle him and he smiles against your skin. "i'm starting to think you have a crush on me or something." you roll your eyes and flick his forehead but he just lets out a breathy laugh. "yes please."

cannot fucking play horror games/movies around this guy like why are YOU jumpscaring me Where is my safe space. he relishes in you clinging onto him / holding you from behind, but he also respects you scaring him back if you're more immune to horror

don't start a prank war with this guy because that shit isn't ending. he excels in annoyingly inconvenient pranks Don't Do It.

tells you about the dogs(/animals) he saw while out during the day. modern au he sends you pics either wordlessly or guessing their names. "meet nacho cheese" "why would u say that" "that's obviously his name? have some respect"

ohh. people watching...this sounds silly. but like i'm thinking about how he doesn't like being lonely/isolated but Is and how he has to watch others enjoy themselves and stuff. so you hanging out together and talking and guessing random people's life stories is just like. a casual thing but reminds him He Has Somebody to do that with now

why'd i say that

you know how he was in the rafters at the beginning. yeah he's asking if you wanna join him up there. you're like You do that Regularly? not just trying to intimidate me? and he's like 🤷‍♂️ it's comfortable enough.

promises he won't let you fall and keeps a steady hold. See? it isn't so bad.

modern au tattoo artist ais who gets me. anyone. anybody. helloooo? guys please i'm gonna pee my pants

🏷 | @lost-lonnie @screaming-wea-sel @dreamtydraw @respitable @semifilms @hexcoeur

[colderdrafts]

19: Spill it all out

The Great Assembly, gender neutral reader x monster (male naga). Sfw. First Previous Next

When entering Amren’s home, you’re struck by the slightly stale but warm air inside, walls well insulated to store heat.

A small entrance leads you into the living room, neatly decorated in earth colors and old, heavy furniture, most of them seemingly sized up a little bit from what you’re used to. A small fire place, completely vacant of ash that would suggest it's use, sits in a corner next to a very broad and soft-looking black couch. Sparingly decorating the walls are framed canvases with imagery of nature. A fine layer of dust coats the windowsills, signs of a home vacant for some time.

"I inherited this house from my grandmother. She got it a few years after the Assembly, but died herself only a few months later. She told my family she would pass it on to only me, and made sure her will would state so," Amren says, watching you look around. He joins your side, eyes somewhat dim. "I suppose she knew I would need the space."

“Sorry for your loss,” you say. “It’s a nice house.”

Clonk.

A sudden hollow sound rings out from somewhere deep within the walls. You look at Amren quizzically, somewhat on alert, but he doesn't seem particularly bothered.

“Old house, old pipes,” he says simply. “You get used to it.”

You look over to the kitchen, a fairly standard modernized outfitted, which is a slight contrast to the rest of the old house. A small hallway leading from the living room connects to, supposedly, the bedroom and bathroom, and a staircase going down to the basement. Out the window you spot a back garden that is fairly well kept, and a small shed.

"What’s that for?" you ask, nodding to the small structure outside.

"I take care of prey in there," Amren replies. He slithers over toward the kitchen, gesturing at the couch. "Sit down."

You snort, making your way over there. "Oh please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable," you translate for him.

He ignores you.

Five minutes later you're on top of a soft pillow on the couch with a cup of warm tea, almost bursting with anticipation.

"So.." you trail off as Amren reluctantly settles down next to you, balancing his own cup. He’s seemingly trying his best to become one with the fabric behind him.

Still, he cuts you off, getting right to the point. "I'm assuming you have questions of what transpired outside?"

"So many!"

He groans, and folds his tail as if bracing for impact. He scowls at you. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"You were getting married?!" you blurt at once.

“Yes."

"And you stopped it?"

"Yes."

"Because of family drama?"

Amren frowns. "Yes and no. Us eloping was supposed to solve an old business feud by legally connecting our families. I realized me being miserable for the rest of my life wouldn't solve anything, and called it off."

He pauses for a moment, reliving the memories. He grimaces. "I was the only ‘suitable’ suitor left. So they gave me a choice. Either I go through with it, or I'm out of the family picture. I think I surprised them when I chose the latter."

"Yikes. What a terrible thing to do to you kid," you say. "And - Mavis, was it?"

His grip on his tea mug tightens slightly. "Still firmly believes if we just follow through, things will change. Evidently my father agrees with her, otherwise he wouldn't be talking to 'the competition'. As she said, it doesn't matter we utterly despise one another, even without the feud.

"But I wouldn't throw my life away for that, so I went out on my own. Started working security at the company, and settled here. I don't know why I didn't move further away from them. It felt - wrong. To leave the house," Amren sighs, idly running a hand over the arm of the couch. "But that means they know where I am, and regularly comes by to taunt me. It's.. infuriating."

He pauses again, but you remain tactfully quiet. He more than anything look like he needs to get this off his chest. It's like a dam has broke, and you just happen to be the floating piece of driftwood to hold on to.

Encouraged by the patient attention, Amren continues: "Each time I leave the company I don't know if I'll catch the scent of either one of my parents or Mavis the second I stand in front of my own house. I always have to prepare for another argument, another shaming, another fight. I'm always defending myself. They're keeping me on edge on purpose. Probably hoping, one day, I'll break."

He looks at you again, suddenly exhausted. "I was .. sincerely hoping to spare you from running into them. They're not dangerous, but, now that Mavis has seen you, no doubt caught my scent on you -" he rubs his face, frustrated. "She might try to rope you into this mess too."

He glances over, scanning your face for your reaction.

"Well," you offer. "Then we're just in each other's messes, aren't we? Seems fair."

He cogs an eyebrow. "Fair?"

"I got you involved with an insane coyote. It's only fair I deal with it, if this Mavis tries to get at me."

Amren tilts his head at you. "I thought you said there's no point in fairness and '50/50 transactional business of exchanging favors' in these sorts of things?"

Huh. He remembered that.

You mull it over. "Well, since we're obviously not friends I'd say the rule doesn't apply," you nod sagely.

"Duly noted, Tiny," Amren says, nodding with you. He flicks his tongue. "I'll let you fight Mavis."

You bark a laugh. "Pleasure doing business with you. Let me know when you want to trade again, things have been very exciting since we started this shop."

Amren leans away from you a bit. "And - the other thing?"

"Other thing?"

"What Mavis said," he falters, trying to find the words. "You told her you already knew. So I'm assuming you're aware. But I suppose I haven't exactly done the best job at hiding it."

"Oh," you realize. "She said that you're 'feral'?"

It strikes a cord with him as he cringes. He quietly nods.

"Yeah, I have no idea what that means. I just told her that to piss her off," you admit with a shrug.

"To piss her off-" he breathes. He stares at you for a few seconds. Then his stoic expression cracks as he starts laughing.

You just watch him for a second, enjoying the sight. It's so rare he does so, especially so genuinely. It's raspy and infectious, sharp teeth on full display and uncaring who sees them.

"I mean, it was kind of satisfying, but why is it so funny?" you grin, relieved your antics has taken some tension off this serious conversation.

"Just - you, Tiny. Just-" he snickers, gathering himself.

"I really like it when you laugh," you tell him.

That makes him pause.

"What? You have a nice laugh. It's nice to see you loosen up a little," you elaborate.

"..I see," he says.

Feeling brave, you tap at his forehead playfully. "I do wonder how many other emotions you've got hiding in there, that you're too stubborn to show me."

He averts his gaze, and carefully reaches up, using a knuckle to gently move your hand out of his face. "I know you do. That's why I should tell you this. Despite her horrendous outing just then, Mavis was right. Since we're .. business partners, I should explain."

"’Business partners’?" you repeat. You send him a teasing smile. "Elise was right. It's literally impossible to make friends with you."

"Do you want to know or not?" he growls impatiently.

You delicately fold your hands in your lap and look at him expectantly. Amren sighs.

"A more official term is ‘aggression induced shutdown’," he begins, doing air quotations. His face falls. "Feral is the slang for it, I suppose. I inherited the condition from my mother. Think of it as a conflict between survival instincts and rational thought. Too much emotion, too much stress at once, and instincts win," he explains.

It’s not entirely surprising Amren’s got a word for whatever he's dealing with, given what you’ve seen so far. You're not unfamiliar with heightened aggression in particular mons, either - you've got the nightmares to prove it - but this is the first you've heard of there being an actual condition.

"That night in the forest, where you stopped me from crushing the coyote? That's what it looks like," Amren continues. "There’s a reason the authorities are aware of my abilities. Sometimes, I just - lose it."

You recall the malicious look on his face, the beastly snarling, the pure unadulterated rage - the revolting sound of Mira's bones snapping is a noise that can still be played on repeat in your mind, stuck like an ad jingle.

You try once again to make it fit with your current Mr. Grumpy sitting next to you, avoiding your eye and uncomfortably flicking the tip his tail. They're two completely separate people.

"You were defending us because we were in danger," you reason. "Everyone responds to danger in different ways. If anything would set anyone off-"

He shakes his head. "You don't understand. This is not mere fight or flight. I lose all cognitive function momentarily. I do not recognize who's dangerous and who's not, completely blind to remorse. If you hadn't stopped me, I would have crushed her, most likely killed her," he says, dead serious. He lets the silence hang for a little while, considering his next words carefully. As if debating whether to say anything other at all. "If you hadn't stopped me - I'm afraid I might not have snapped out of it killing only her."

You swallow, the implication quite clear. "But I did stop you," you add.

Amren nods. "You did. And as I said. I won't forget that."

The familiar pit in your stomach churns as his words settle with you. It seems that at least some of its previous anxieties about Amren proved to be correct. But having a medical condition is one thing, where actively wishing you harm is another. So far, Amren has only proved to you that he wants anything but the latter.

It doesn't excuse his previous behavior, but it does help explain it.

"This is why you insisted on always being on your own, isn't it?" you ask. "You're scared you'll end up hurting somebody."

"I have, before," he admits quietly. "But I'm older now. I've practiced, and learned to maintain a clear head on a day to day basis so I can deal with the common stressors of life. There's medicine to help if it gets harder - but it's not always enough. In certain circumstances - there's not really anything I can do to control it. So I do my best to avoid getting under those circumstances."

You nod, taking the information in. "You avoid it by not socializing?"

"Partially. Elise has been - well. Elise. She could handle my condition if it ever came to it. But no, I've always preferred the peacefulness of solitude, and trying to keep it that way. And it worked. No one ever bothered me. Except you," he says, exasperated, though there's no malice in it. Resigned, accepting of his fate. "Infuriating, stubborn, annoying you."

You puff your chest out proudly. "I know, I'm pretty good, right?"

"You're like a small wooden splinter that has wedged itself underneath my scales, and now I can't get it out," he sneers.

"You're welcome!" you grin. "Anything else I should know about this shutdown thing?"

He considers you for a moment. "No. No, I believe that was all."

"Well, good to know what's actually going on with you," you nod. "Thanks for telling me all this. And - I'm sorry you've been carrying all of this around on your own. It couldn't have been easy."

"Don't waste your energy pitying me," he says. "This is my own issue. I don't want it to affect you any more than it already has."

"Well, so far it hasn't been doing much else than keeping me alive," you shrug. "That's one effect I will not be complaining about."

Amren squints at you, quietly letting you know the comment was not appreciated. "I will give you this warning once. Do not look for it. I'm not myself when it happens, and if I ever - I could never -"

You pat his hand reassuringly, giving him the grace of not having to finish that sentence. "Sorry, that wasn't what I meant. I won't joke around with it again. But hey, nothing is going to happen. I've helped you out once, I can do it again if necessary, right?"

He doesn't look convinced. "Let's just try not to get to that point. I'd advice we split up but -"

"Nope," you cut him off. "Ain't happening."

He snorts. "I’m aware."

He looks relieved and a little tired, the kind of contended emotion that comes after sharing something you've held onto for a while. You're glad you got to be the one to help him with that - it would appear you have a common history in carrying things you shouldn't.

At least he's practicing doing things differently by talking about it now. That’s something.

"Wasn't that nice?" you ask.

Amren casts a wary glance at you. "What?"

"Sharing your troubles?"

He huffs, leans back, closes his eyes and gives in to the exhaustion. "Absolutely not."

Around the afternoon you text Marcus for an update. You receive shortly after a court promise that ‘things are in motion’ and to ‘sit tight’ for now.

You frown, staring at the borderline order in slight annoyance. Sitting like a duck, more like. It's probably foolish to trust him with this, he's a shady stranger who just happened to have motives that align with your own - does he have a moral compass that matches that ambition?

You’ll have to put your faith in Irwin’s uncanny ability to connect with people, like he’s simply capable of seeing anyone’s heart at full display. If he's given Marcus the time of day, perhaps there is something good to his character.

Amren is meanwhile pacing back and forth in front of the window to the garden, phone at his ear, his face blank. He's trying to reach Elise to keep her in the loop too.

He frowns as the phone once again goes to voicemail, the dull automated voice ringing through the room and casually informing him Elise is indisposed at the moment.

He closes the call, and turns to you.

"She didn't mention anything of her brother visiting, did she?" he asks, putting the phone down on the table. The tip of his tail curls around the leg of it.

You shake your head no. "Not as far as I recall. But maybe she's just busy with something and not around her phone? She's a powerful lady. Whatever she's doing, I'm sure she's fine."

Amren nods, but you get the feeling it’s more to reassure you than actually agreeing. "She is."

You lean back down on the couch. It is odd she's been gone all day – she would at least have left a message if she was going somewhere, wouldn’t she? You feel slightly guilty for leaving her behind - but, on the other hand, if she's out of this mess doing something different, perhaps that's actually safer for her.

The less people involved in your problems the better. Especially considering the current dangerous plan set in motion. It's bad enough you have to rely on Amren's powerful ability for this to work, considering his reservations using it. And still, he's agreed to do so for your sake. Hell, you're in his home right now. He took charge of this situation, and you just let him.

"I hope this plan works, and Marcus knows what he's doing," you say, hesitant.

"Worst case, nothing comes out of it, and we'll have to think of something different," Amren says. "In any case, someone intruding my home will not be here for long without me picking up on their presence. We'll both be safe here."

"If it doesn't, do you think helping us out will have consequences for Marcus, too?" you wonder.

"Don't worry about the slime, Tiny. If he's affiliated with traffickers, he's not worth the effort," Amren grunts, waving it off.

You eye him. "I get you don't trust him, I don't either. But I got the sense he's not really there voluntarily? Like, maybe he's in as tight a spot as we are?"

"Perhaps. But his actions are his own," Amren argues. "We will put our minds to this plan for now, because he's on the inside, and we don't have any other options. But because of that position, we shouldn't do more than that."

"Irwin cares about him," you note. "So I'll expel my right to be 'cruel' a little."

Amren flicks his tongue at you. “I’ll be cruel enough for both of us, then."

He turns and heads toward the hallway, apparently done with the conversation.

"Good talk, bud," you call after him.

Amren looks over as if only just remembering your presence. "I'm going to check on my rocks while we're waiting for news," he says.

You blink. "Rocks? Oh, right! Can I see?"

You don't wait for a response, getting up to follow him. He eyes you walking up behind him, but doesn't comment.

Amren leads you down to the basement, opening a heavy wooden door with creaking hinges at the foot of the stairs. The space inside leaves you pleasantly surprised.

The basement is a square room hosting a large collection of different gemstones and rocks sitting atop multiple shelves hanging on the walls. The light down here almost makes it look like they’re glowing, dousing the otherwise bland gray walls of the basement space with all manner of colors.

In a corner you spot a piece of machinery almost looking like a barrel atop of a spinning device, in a corner and equipped with what looks to be a timer.

The door Amren’s held open for you closes with a dull thud as he slithers in fully, going toward the device.

He opens a lid, and pulls out something from it, dusts off some excess gravel, and absentmindedly throws it to you, eyes still on the device. You fumble, but manage to catch it – in your hands is a newly polished amethyst. You run your fingers over the surface of the purple rock, marveling at how smooth it is.

"Amren this is really neat," you tell him, observing the pretty surroundings. "You really did all of these yourself?"

He nods, but doesn't reply.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yes. Fine," he says. "It just didn't occur to me that someone else might find all of this interesting."

You chuckle. "You've been dealing with me blabbering and pulling you left and right, and now you're worried I wont take the time to look at what you're interested in? Also, rocks are cool, so there's that."

He nods again. "That they are."

"How does it work?" you ask.

Amren starts casually explaining about roughness and hardness scales of different gems and minerals, which he prefers, and what he does to each of them. Apparently he makes a little on the side by selling specific things he creates to small shops in town, but it's a hobby he's been at for a few years.

It brings a little smile to your face to see Mr. Grumpy finally speak more than one sentence at a time.

He stops a little later, realizing he's been talking for a few minutes. "You made me monologue."

"I'm a sly dog," you shrug, and hand the amethyst back to him.

He shakes his head. "Keep it. They’re supposedly good for anxiety."

"Psh, who said anything about being anxious?" you joke, but pocket the thing regardless. "It's not like we're in a very unsafe situation, and I'm being hunted for sport."

Amren turns to put up the other amethysts to their correct place on the shelves. He glances toward the ceiling momentarily, as if listening for unfamiliar footsteps, flicking his tongue. Evidently finding nothing, he settles back down. "At least not currently," he mutters.

He watches the gentle glints of the surrounding gems for a moment. “I'm mostly kidding when I say amethyst are good for anxiety, but did you know some people believe gemstones hold magic on their own accord?"

"I'm familiar with the concept," you nod.

"If they do, it’s not something you can manipulate, so it has never been proven. If you want a gem to actually be magic, you have to actively put the energy in them.” He eyes you. "I have been thinking a bit. What did the coyote mean when she said you hums respond to magic differently? I've never heard of such a thing, but I suppose it makes sense. Since before the Assembly, you had no access to it, did you?"

You shake your head no. "Not as far as I know. Before the Assembly, I guess a lot of us believed in it, but no one's ever heard of anyone doing things like what for example Mrs. Hansen can do."

"What does she do?" Amren asks, curious. "I wasn’t aware she practiced."

"Well - she's fae, isn't she?" you deflect, perhaps a little faster than necessary. "She made the clovers and all."

Amren suspiciously squints at you, expression silently but sternly telling you to fess up. "Gnomes enchant clovers. You know this too.”

You concede, and reluctantly explain to him your estimations that she somehow magicked a golden clover into your backpack. And that you used it. And that nothing happened when you did.

Amren stares at you, and you mentally prepare yourself for the drama that's about to unfold. "Why didn't you tell me!"

You groan. "Because I knew you'd react like that."

"You should have let me know the second you found it. They're sensitive! You need to choose your words very carefully when you make the wish,” he urges. “Word for word, what did you say to it?"

You repeat it as it is. "I wish for luck to save my friend."

Amren stutters. "Tiny, that's way too vague. 'Friend' could be anyone you share a positive relation with. 'Luck' can come in any shape or form. You need to be specific with these things!"

"I know!" you growl at him. "I know it was stupid. Don't you think I'm regretting wasting a clear shot at helping my friend without you rubbing it in my face?"

"I'm not rubbing it in-" he huffs, readjusting himself. "No. I don't want to turn it into an argument."

"Really? That's a pleasant surprise," you grunt.

He glares at you, crossing his arms defensively. "And you know why that is now, so I don't particularly understand why you're reprimanding me for it. I'm trying to prevent anyone from getting hurt."

You don’t buy it. "So instead of hurting people on accident, you just hurt them on purpose? How does that make any sense?"

He takes a breath to argue, but halts himself, seemingly trying to cool his temper. He breathes out whatever quip was on his tongue instead. "It's in a way that I can control," he asserts.

You sigh, recognizing the effort he's putting in to keeping his cool. Perhaps you’d do well to return the favor. You slowly walk forward to put your hand on his arm, and he silently uncrosses them to let you.

"I guess I understand where you're coming from," you give. “I know I should have told you about the clover. I got too excited to have it, I guess. Thought it could solve everything instantly, got caught up in the moment.”

".. they can be tempting," he says. He follows your hand with his eyes, so you reach up to poke his cheek to get him to focus on you.

"We are probably going to hurt each other sometimes," you tell him, as gently as you can. "We already have. That's just how it is when you spend time with other people, sometimes on accident. When it happens you communicate, and figure it out."

He sighs, leans down to your eye level and stares at you. "We can't exactly communicate our way out of it if you're dead, Tiny."

You stare back. You won't be intimidated that easily. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Push like that. It’s not good for anyone, least of all you."

"It's the ugly truth, isn't it?" he mumbles, his voice turning softer. He still hasn't pulled away from your grip on his arm, and he keeps the proximity. "I'm trying to prevent the inevitable outcome of all of this."

"What makes you think that's the only outcome possible?” you ask. “We’ve been stuck like glue since the conference through multiple dangerous situations together, and nothing has happened.”

His eyes glance over the still raw and delicate skin slowly forming over the wounds on your cheek and arm. “You've got the scars to prove that it has.”

“It would have been a lot worse than a little scarring if you hadn’t been there,” you counter.

He can’t exactly fight that argument, and he doesn’t try. Instead, he looks to where your hand meets the scales on his lower arm. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Touch,” he elaborates. “Put your hands on people around you and just hold it there. I understand embracing for comfort, but what does this achieve?”

You take your hand back. “It’s – I don’t really know. I don’t really think about it. Sorry if it’s uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. Well, not when it’s you, for some reason. I enjoy your warmth.”

“..you do?”

“Yes? Obviously I would. I can't regulate temperature myself, I rely on outside sources to manage the cold. You spared me a lot of pain that night in the forest.”

“Oh," you say. "And here I was, worrying I overstepped every single boundary you had. I thought you intended to keep me at an arms reach forever because of it.”

His brow furrows. “Keep you at – what? Why would I do that? I thought you only shared your warmth out of necessity. I didn’t think you’d - want to do that.”

“Well, I did try to tell you,” you mutter.

He gives you a weird look. “When?”

You cringe, preparing for the most pitiful admission of your life. “At Elise’s house. After Mira called.”

He looks even more baffled, but then it looks like a puzzle piece clicks into place in his mind.

“Oh,” he says, voice low, eyes widening. The tip of his tail flicks slightly. “I though you were worried about-”

You interrupt him with a groan. “Goodness, no, I wasn’t thinking about the cold. I was thinking about feeling safe in that moment!”

“Safe?” he repeats, astonished. “You feel - I had no idea – why didn’t you just say so? This wouldn’t have been an issue at all then!”

“Because you haven’t said anything either!” you argue. “How should I know what you wanted?”

“Well, maybe you could have figured that out if you had just asked,” he huffs.

“So could you!”

“I didn’t ask because you didn’t correct me back then!”

“I didn’t correct you, because I thought it meant you didn’t actually like having me close!”

He looks completely bewildered. “Tiny, what the devils are you talking about? I go completely out of my mind whenever you’re not close.”

You just stare at him for a bit, and it seemingly dawns on him what he just said, though he doesn’t try to steel it or make turns. His stubbornness may not allow him to back down on his word.

“I thought that was very obvious,” he mumbles after a beat.

“Honestly, Amren? Around 80% of the time I’m not even sure if you want me around. You’re not exactly a friendly open book.”

“I. Know!” he sneers, punctuating each word. “So allow me to make it redundantly clear.”

He leans down into your space again with a scornful expression. You can feel you heart-rate picking up as he does so, though quickly reassured by the fact that this is just Amren. You've grown quite familiar with his unseemly behavior by now.

“You have lodged yourself to my senses, and now your absence feels wrong. Your presence is reassuring, and it calms me," he all but seethes. "So no, Tiny, I don’t particularly mind if you wish to use me as a place to rest. And I am flabbergasted you haven’t been able to see that.”

He speaks with an exasperated resignation, glaring like he’s blaming you for this. The audacity, causing the fact he may consider your proximity as something to be wanted.

You stare into the golden sheen, slightly intimidated by the borderline antagonism daring you to argue the statement.

“Did you know your eyes are really pretty?” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He deflates like a balloon from utter bafflement, gawking like you’ve grown a second head. “My – what?”

“Eyes. Pretty,” you repeat, determined to finally get this out of your system. No backing down now. It’s about time he knew. “The whole golden thing. It’s very nice to look at.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before you start spluttering. Amren just keeps staring at you.

“It’s so stupid!" you groan, hiding your face in your hands. "You're such an ass! I can't believe how dumb you are! How dumb we both are."

You feel cool hands carefully grasping your shoulders, and dare peek out through your fingers. When you do, your heart skips a beat.

Amren is actually genuinely smiling at you, all ragged teeth, soft eyes and unused laugh lines. You can feel your face warming as you take in the rare sight, almost stunned.

“What?” Amren inquires after a beat, and you realize that, once again, you’re staring.

“It’s not just your eyes, you know,” you clue him in. You offer him a careful smile back. “Your joy’s real pretty too.”

And, of course, Amren’s expression evaporates, turning oddly blank. Then he leans in to push his face against your shoulder.

You put your arms around him in turn, putting one foot back to support the sudden weight pressing against you. His cold hands ghost over your shoulder blades and settles around your back.

“Woah, you alright?” you ask, slightly concerned. It’s unlike him to suddenly seek you out like this.

“Peachy,” he grumbles, raspy voice muffled by your shirt.

You try to pull back to look at him, but he doesn’t let you, stubbornly keeping his hold. And you realize this isn’t exhaustion. This is hiding.

You have just managed to fluster this antisocial living sledgehammer. Someone give you a fucking medal.

“Amren. Are you blushing?” you ask. You just can’t help yourself.

He growls, and suddenly his intimidating grip strength increases as he yanks you upwards, easily pulling you off the ground and into the air, balancing on his tail. Your legs dangle uselessly off the ground, and you can’t tell if this is affection or a threat.

“I’ll take that as yes,” you laugh, holding onto him for dear life. “Okay – okay, sorry, I'm sorry! Put me down, please?”

Amren mutters something akin to a curse under his breath, and coils his tail to sit back more comfortably and better support your weight. He graciously allows you to sit on it as well, keeping his arms around you.

“What did you do to me?” he hisses against your neck.

“Pissed you off a lot?” you offer, sportively patting him on the back.

He snorts. “You have no idea.”

"Nothing tonight. I'll update you tomorrow."

You almost growl in response to the curt text Marcus just sent you.

You're sitting on the couch, the bright light of the phone screen in your bleary eyes, the contrast of the dark living room increasing the strain on your eyes. You look at the time. It's around midnight. Amren went to his bedroom about half an hour ago, while you stayed up in case of any late night news.

Well, you got them, as unhelpful as ever. Couldn't Marcus at least clue you in on what he's actually doing? Who he's talking to?

You glance at Irwin's phone at your side, the halfway peeled and faded frog sticker quietly smiling at you, and feel a rush of determination. Whoever is coming for you, they'll sing to the heavens with answers once you get your hands on them.

For now, it seems you're due for some rest. You leave Irwin’s phone to charge on the kitchen counter, and make your way to Amren's bedroom to indulge.

You pause momentarily in front of the door. He said it’s fine, right? It should be. You try to ignore the feeling of your heart rate suddenly picking up, your hands slightly clammy.

..Maybe you should you knock?

You shake off the cold feet, and grab the handle. Fuck it. He can tell you to piss off if he wants, you can handle whatever he throws at you. You slowly push the door open.

Entering Amren’s bedroom is like stepping into a warm void. You can barely make out furniture in here from the minuscule light source of the hallway (a single desk and some book cases?), but you hurry inside and close it behind you, lest you trigger Amren’s light sensitivity. Even if you have no idea where he is in here.

Navigating the pure darkness is an ordeal all on it’s own, especially when feeling like you’re being watched. You stand there in the dark for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do next.

A cold hand suddenly grasps your wrist, and you suck in a startled breath.

“Come here already,” Amren grumbles, and deftly yanks you to him.

You all but fall onto him, feeling the smooth scales of his tail settling under your legs, letting him pull you into his chest.

“-it’s alright?” Amren asks, perhaps noting the startle and thinking better of his actions. He halts his motion to let you better settle against him.

“Yeah.” You breathe out the anxiety, maneuvering around to lean against him better. You find his chest, and rest your head there. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He leans back, taking you with him, and you can feel his tail shift, partially settling over your back while your front is pressed against his torso.

He wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Still warm,” he comments idly. You can feel his muscles relax.

The feel of his cool skin against yours and the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, the pressure of him all around you like a cool, weighted blanket. In the quiet darkness, the only thing you can sense is his presence. Your shut your eyes, feeling the stress in your body melt.

Quietly, softly, grasped tight, you fall into a much needed sleep.

Clonk.

A sudden sound interrupts your peaceful slumber, eyes shooting open.

The dark room lies quiet save for the sound of Amren calmly breathing right next to you, still tangled around you. He’s still out cold. You don’t think you’ve slept for long.

Seems like a pipe is settling somewhere in the house, and had the gall to wake you. You contain the urge to groan in annoyance to not disturb your business partner just yet.

But while you’d give anything to stay put and go right back to sleep, it seems the tea has run through your system. You’ve got other needs to take care of in the bathroom. Since you’re awake anyway-

You find it's even more difficult to de-entangle yourself from Amren while he's still adamant on sleeping. You gingerly stretch and try to sit up, and he hisses at you, clearly not happy with the disturbance.

"Would you rather I piss on the floor, numbnuts?" you grunt back at him, still bleary.

"Hrmph," he replies, and finally uncoils a bit. You can just barely make out his silhouette, laying down flat on his back with his arms to the side so you can slip out of his grip.

You roll off of him, purposely putting weight on him to be a nuisance, though unfortunately he doesn't really seem to register it, much less be bothered by it. Your troll deftly outmaneuvered by Amren's sheer mass, you get to your feet.

He stays right where you left him, arms spread wide on his back, like the space you just occupied is either still there, or simply awaiting your return.

"You look like a venus fly trap," you comment.

"’suppose that makes you the fly," Amren counters groggily.

You ignore him, and head to the bathroom.

Once finished, you're staring at yourself in the sink mirror while washing hands. You observe yourself, squinting in the harsh bathroom lights, investigating the delicate new skin from the cut on your cheek, the heavy bags under your eyes – since when have you started looking this weary? It's not unlike the way you used to look, back when things were a lot scarier in your life.

Now things are getting scary yet again, and with its return comes your constant vigilance.

Still, tonight's been one of the best sleeps you've had since Irwin vanished, and it's not even a full nights rest. You manage a small smile at yourself, thinking how ridiculous it is you could have had this all along, if only both you and Amren weren't completely incompetent communicators. Thankfully, you won't have to deal with that anymore.

Clonk.

Drip.

Something wet lands on your shoulder. You shake it off, startled.

On the floor lies a small drop of a gooey blueish substance.

You quickly take a step back, alarmed, staring at the little puddle.

Another drop follows it, landing on top of the first one – upon colliding, something akin to small tendrils suddenly appear from it, dragging across the floor. The thing is moving.

"The fuck-?" you utter, and look up.

A large mass of teal goo is writhing in between the pipes running across the ceiling, slowly emerging tendrils squirming around in the spaces between them. You're about to take a breath and call for help, when the mass drops, and everything comes crashing down on top of you all at once.

[findafight]

I apologize, you hit another one of my buttons but like I have mixed emotions on the whole basketball/DND thing in season 4. The way the show punishes Lucas choosing basketball over DND, as if other party members don't have interests outside of DND, is so frustrating. Lucas has to realize that "normal is a raging psychopath" when it's really not? He wasn't dropping his friends or interests to play basketball. He just had a conflict on one day. And if the Duffers didn't have an agenda, this is all it would be. Lucas likes two things and once they unfortunately happen to collide and he has to skip one of them. It's not a punishment, but rather something that people have to deal with sometimes. It's just so frustrating that the show punished Lucas for having interests outside DND, when Will has art, and Dustin has his radios!

But as someone who organized events when I was in high school, it is so hard to schedule things so that everyone can attend if they want to. Especially in the evenings. And at some point if you can get most people that you need at a time, you take it. So I can understand where Eddie is coming from, that it might not be worth it to cancel/reschedule the last session at the last minute when only one person can't make it. So I understand why Eddie might not want to move it. But again, they shouldn't have made it seem like it was a punishment for Lucas doing jock things.

But like Dustin and Mike! These two chose a game over supporting their friend and then they dragged that Lucas's sister into the game as well, so she wasn't there either! And Dustin and Mike did have a choice to say to Eddie, no, we want to support our friend, you can run the campaign with or without us. Because missing one person is one thing. Missing three is an entire other ball game.

And like all of this could have been resolved if they talked about it but now Eddie is dead so it's just a loose thread and a win for the Duffers in the nerd vs jock battle that only exists in their head.

Seeeeee the thing for me is, while I totally understand trying to coordinate a time to meet with everyone being difficult. It is! Group projects in uni are bonkers. But, Hellfire is directly called a club, meaning it has regularly scheduled meetings, presumably scheduled at the start of the semester (January) if not the school year. So it's not like they have to rearrange their schedule for this particular meeting, it's already ON the schedule. The make up might take work but. Postponing two weeks to do it on regular night isn't the end of the world. If the space is in use for whatever reason, people have basements and dining room tables.

I think it's mentioned that the championship game wasn't scheduled until like, a day or two before? If not it was likely at most a week and a half. With how Eddie talks about basketball, despite one of "his sheepies" being on the team, I don't really blame Lucas for being nervous to ask him directly. So like, there's a scheduling conflict, and literally any other session I wouldnt be upset. Stuff happens, sometimes you're down a player! You work through it with them doing something off screen. It's whatever.

It sucks but it can drum up whatever conflict they want from it I guess. It'd be a dick move to bring Erica (and his best friends) in when she could be supporting her brother at the championship but whatever. (Also. Introducing a new player character is kinda complicated? That's not something I would want to do in a finale?) It can be worked through. But. My experience playing dnd with people is that, y'know. The whole point isn't to beat the bad guy, it's to have fun with your friends? In S3 they sort of address this when Mike and Lucas half ass their way to finish Will's one shot faster! He's hurt partially because winning isn't what it's about! So having a player not able to make a major session for me just doesn't compute. I want my friend there! Who's been there from the beginning! I want to win with my friend.

Listen. I love Eddie! But he's clearly stuck in highschool clique mode, despite his anticonformist talking points, (something that is never brought up! Eddie's like stick it to the man! But as soon as someone steps out from the box he views as acceptable, he doesn't know what to do with them) and thus does things that are dickish. Someone in hellfire is on the basketball team, yet Eddie rails against them, doesn't even try to understand there's nuances. No wonder Lucas got Dustin (Eddie's favourite) and Mike to ask for a raincheck. Dustin and Mike could have stuck up for Lucas and said they couldn't find one, let alone three subs between them and the game. They could have gone! They should have gone! And the fact the didn't isn't brought up when it's already been an issue in S3 with Will, is a shame.

Having to cancel plans you're looking forward to sucks, but honestly it's more fun to reschedule big things (like a campaign finale) so everyone can make it than just. Replace them. Idk that's just me and my experience playing. We don't actually know how hellfire usually goes so maybe it's normal? Idk.

The show has this very bizzare view of jocks v nerds. As though every person who has ever touched a ball willingly is automatically a terrible person and only likes sports. There's sooooo many layers to it. Because people are complex. My brother was on like three teams in school, and a guy he was on football with that had a friend of a friend in common later said that he wasn't a jock! When I would have said he absolutely was. A nerdy one, absolutely, but definitely a jock.

It's annoying that the show just. Doesn't accept that people have many interests and sometimes those interests are sports. Sports are fun! Exercise is good for you! While, yes. Absolutely sports teams can cultivate a toxic environment, they can also be incredibly fulfilling.

It just feels like the Duffers want to punish anyone who dares like sports in any way tbh.

[neallo]

(girl who was supposed to write 3k of vaguely serious pining tonight, or at least some weird smut) so about the furby au...

uhhh okay im gonna TRY to come up with some additional thoughts since i am going to the trouble of making this post. i guess one question is— does mello RESPOND to the emails??? probably. he loves to be mad about stuff and he hates not being heard when he's mad about stuff. so like. initially he's just replying to the emails from matt with “i hate that stupid fucking furby” and “how much money do i have to give you to set it on fire, or at least stop emailing me” but when matt points out that mello could just auto sort the emails to spam mello pretends as if he doesn't see that one. eventually, as mello's responses become marginally less hostile, matt is like 😌 it's time to up the ante. and begins including his Fun Near Facts. these include but are not limited to:

- he took college level differential equations when he was 14! 🤓 (mello response: okay, so he's a loser??)

- he's not a loser he's REALLY cool (note: matt loves to lie. or he actually has an unrealistically kind view of near's swag levels) (mello does not dignify this with a reply)

- he loves talking about math! don't worry though it's really easy to tune it out and he doesn't really care if you're not listening (mello response: i don't know why i would need to know that.)

- one time he saved me from drowning 😳 (note: matt also loves to embellish. near “saved him from drowning” by telling matt to not try his luck at jumping over a river, which wasn't actually even deep enough for him to drown in)

uuhhhhh okay running out of matt's fun facts about near BUT. the point is that he is wingmanning so hard. i guess another question is whether or not near picks up on the fact that matt is regularly taking candid photos of him? my thought is no. i could see near being sort of a space cadet in this respect tbh; if he's absorbed enough in something he tunes everything else out)

hmm. genuinely running out of steam so lemme just jot down a few more ideas and then someday maybe i will add more when more comes to me.

- near: lives in... actually, fuck it, NOT new york. he and matt room together in minneapolis. near is in a PhD program for math— either complex analysis or topography. idk. something. matt is a programmer of some kind bc i am not creative.

- mello: i think i already said but he lives in LA, works for the mob. probably isn't really that Into It but he got in when he was pretty young and it's not like he has a lot of other options at this point? i imagine it isn't something he spends a lot of time angsting over but he's probably kinda unfulfilled.

OH okay sorry i got an idea. these stupid emails from matt go on for a few months, with mello gradually responding in very slightly less mean ways & occasionally asking questions,,, and then one day the Daily Near Email comes through and it's a picture of near somewhere in LA. probably griffith's observatory actually. and matt (knowing full well from mello's social media that he lives in Los Angeles) captions the image something like “where did you say you lived again??? 🤔”

okay now i'm REALLY out of ideas. not sure how the fact that mello has barely Actually spoken to near would be resolved!! thanks for listening to the Morgan Being Deranged podcast, tune in next time for another incredibly niche stupid idea 🥰

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - October 1

 Ok, so I’m SORRY!!! This week is probably the least I’ve read since I started this rec blog. I had a lot of work and prepping for being out of office on vacation. Next week should be fairly ridiculous since…vacation reading. So that’ll be nice for all of us. 

~*~ 

In Too Deep by fohatic

Steve knew that he was asking for trouble when he agreed to let the gallery auction off a date with him for charity, but he needed to get in the director's good books if he wanted to make it as an artist in this cutthroat town. He never imagined that his participation would ignite an outrageous bidding war, or that the infamous, billionaire ex that he hadn't seen since their sudden breakup two years prior would show up and stake his claim.

a slightly twisted, darker spin on meidui's "frequencies of sea and space"

Just a Jump to the Left by captainmistyknight (vicspeaks)

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the man out of time. Are you prepared to be eliminated from the current timeline?” Ugh, Kang. It was too early for this."

Kang gives Steve the chance to hop back into the past right where he left off, no strings attached. Tony doesn't like that at all. Steve figures out when he's meant to be, in the end.

Mr. July by jibrailis

Tony is the only one who can defend Steve's virtue. Tony hates his life.

Reasons To Love You by ItsMayBiTheWay

There is  98% chance he is not reading this wrong, but for the sake of his sanity, Tony feels compelled to ask. He wants to lighten the mood a little, let out a chuckle with his question but it all comes out so earnest, too honest. “So you’re telling me you’ve been listing all of my worst traits to tell me you’re worried about me?”

“Well…” Steve lets out a little laugh. “You do have far worse traits than the ones I’ve listed.”

“If I’m that terrible, why do you care?” He doesn't mean for his words to sting, but they leave on their own accord, carrying little needles.

the truth is by JenTheSweetie

“This is one of the top eight worst things that has ever happened to me,” Steve said.

“That’s… specific,” Tony said.

Who's Scruffy Looking? by JenTheSweetie

“I don’t know,” Steve said, after Tony finished a six-minute ode to The Dude’s beard. “I mean, I’m not really a fan of beards.”

Tony gave Steve a look of such horror that Steve almost wondered if he’d misspoken and casually mentioned that he’d been tossing puppies off the top floor of Stark Tower.

“You’re not,” he said, “a fan of beards? I mean – but you like my beard.”

Steve tilted his head. “Uh. No, not really a fan of yours, either.”

just another morning in the stark mansion by calciseptine

At 7:34 a.m. on a random Tuesday in October, one enraged Pepper Potts interrupts Steve Rogers' and Tony Stark's simple eggs-and-toast breakfast.

Fog in a Snowstorm by ladyshadowdrake 

Tony had been dating Steve Rogers regularly for three months. The only problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure if Steve knew it.

angels who sin by meidui

Summer air is thick and sweet, like Tony's voice pouring honey into Steve's throat, telling Steve more than he needs to know. He's here with his parents for the summer, he just finished his first year at college, he doesn't believe in God but his parents make him come to church.

"They said you can help me find faith," Tony says, as mischievous as he is innocent, and Steve is as good as gone.

I Bet You Think About Me by iam93percentstardust 

But now that we're done and it's over

I bet you couldn't believe

When you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave

And I bet you think about me

~

The breakup wasn’t amicable.

Steve had always liked most of Tony’s friends. He’d gotten along well with Rhodey and Bruce and Pepper and Natasha. He’d even gotten along reasonably well with Happy, who didn’t like anyone other than May. It had been the other side of Tony’s friend group that Steve hadn’t liked and who had, ultimately, been the wedge that broke them apart.

Visionary by Captain_Panda

As a Captain for Starfleet, Tony takes a rare opportunity to pursue enemies into Deep Space.

Unfortunately, his decision might just cost him his crew--and his one-of-a-kind First Officer.

[PODFIC] Guilty Lovers by where_thewind_blows

Tony plays matchmaker for Clint and Bucky during a mission to retrieve weapons from Hydra. Things would've gone a lot easier had the townspeople nearby not have already met (and hated) the Winter Soldier as Hydra's Asset.

[wack-ashimself]

For the hype, 'The Creator' was actually quite fucking basic.

Sure, it had a few good twists and turns but....I have a rule.

If your movie wasn't super expensive and pretty, would I still watch it?

And the answer for this one is a pretty sturdy 'no.'

Because this movie is ONLY worth the watch for how stunningly beautiful it is AND how visually entertaining the fights are.

Plot wise, story wise....weak as fuck. ESPECIALLY the lead.

SPOILERS.

AI robots nuke LA. USA goes genocide on all AI (mostly in Asia for some reason). Lead is USA solider who hates AI, sees them as things, treats them as such the WHOLE ENTIRE MOVIE, then, changes his mind at the last minute because of his dead ex, who was super Pro AI (tho he spent tons of time with her where, logically, if he was gonna change his mind, it would've been when she was ALIVE.)

His motivations made NO fucking sense. He was allowing the kid AI (ultimate weapon that can control everything) to stay alive to find his ex, then, he does, and goes 'well, after killing countless innocent humans AND robots, I guess I was wrong.' There were WAY too many moments before this he SHOULD have changed his mind. When he did was convenient for the script, not logical for his character.

So lame story. BUT here's more plot holes cuz I was REALLY looking forward to this movie, and it pissed me off.

-The nuke in LA? Tho they GLOSS OVER IT, they basically say there was no way it was AI, it was a human computing error. But they don't say if it was USA people, foreign governments, etc. So the REASON THE MOVIE HAPPENS was a lie, then they never clarify the lie AT ALL. LAZY.

-How his wife survived a DIRECT BOMBING and was rescued: never covered.

-His wife KNEW he 'used' to work for the enemies. And, it turns out, she's the fucking leader of the AIs. SO....WHY WOULD SHE NOT KEEP EYES ON HER HUSBAND THAT JUST TURNED SIDES?!

-How his wife created the super AI, before she went into a coma, it was hidden for 5 years, and only THEN the bad guys figured out it existed. The Ai was underground, in a vault. WHO THE FUCK TOLD THEM? It wasn't the god damn lead! I mean, if his wife DID trust him (at least at the moment) why did she not tell her husband of the AI based on their unborn child? Either she DID trust him or not. Cuz it seemed like she was 1/2 way both ways. Contradiction.

-The first sky bomb knocked the lead out, made him forget some things. The 2nd sky bomb....he just ended up in a boat. Cuz why the fuck not?

-Where is literally any of Asia's federal government's military? They say it is new Asia, small vulnerable towns (and they all look poor) so...HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY REGULARLY AFFORDING TO BUILD COMPLEX AI ROBOTS!? THEY DON'T HAVE THE RESOURCES OR MANPOWER!

-Where is literally the rest of the world? No joke, most of the movie is the USA using a sky bomber to bomb all of Asia. Without proof or reasoning. The rest of the world is okay with this? Also Asia is the ONLY country working with AI?

-Again, anti AI usa. THEY USE AI. Primitive stuff, but still use it. And you're telling me a SPACE BOMBER doesn't have SOME level of AI? Fuck off.

-This is just me, personally, but if someone was hit with a remote sticky grenade and got on my helicopter, no they didn't; I'd kick them the fuck off. Mofos-this is war. And I ain't going to kill 5 people in hopes I save 1. That's just stupid. Looks good in movies; stupid on fucking paper.

-The bad guys had no reason to bring in the lead alive (and prove that by letting him roam free) outside of 'for the movie to happen.' Nor to let him kill the super AI except, AGAIN, 'for the movie to happen.' TERRIBLE fucking logic.

-If AI have a sleep mode, known to all, why would they not either uninstall it or block it? Sorry but if I was an AI, I'd spend all my time finding out ways to upgrade my body.

-Once on the space station, why in the world would the bad guys only send PART of their solders? If this is a 'they could destroy the base' kind of moment, SEND EVERYONE. Within the base and outside.

-How did the AI child know to upload her mom's consciousness into another AI body? THEY HAD NEVER SEEN OR HEARD OF IT DONE! ('The lead told the AI.' Only that her mom was on the stick. She still should not have known what to do with it.)

-How did some of the escape pods land after the ship? How did the ship crash, and escape pods that launched BEFORE it crashed, land after? It looked good; made no fucking sense.

-Space base of not, the bad guys still have tanks the size of 20 city blocks. ....this better not open for a sequel.

-I'm sorry, but at the end of the day, with how many humans and AI he killed, the lead isn't even an anti hero. He's a bad guy that did the right thing in the end. BIG difference.

-GPS. Sorry but super AI, space bombers, space shuttles flying like planes...BUT YOU DO NOT HAVE GPS ON EVERYTHING?! People to tanks to anything else. SO many future tech movies do this: we can go into your BRAIN....but fuck if we cant find you within a city of 1000s of cameras. DUMB.

Worth seeing, not worth thinking about. It will make you dumber. I will never understand how me, a regular guy, can find plot holes in multi million dollar movies which the script had to go thru MANY levels of approval. But this is what happens to 'art' when you want it to be profitable, not make a point.

'The Creator'. 6.4/10.

ps-best part? Ugh. Do I have one? It was a pretty movie. Hm..I liked the lead AI kid. Good actor. Actually, all of the acting was spot on. It was...what they had to work with script wise...ok. I do have 2 fav parts. Both DUMB AS FUCK, but I loved them. Not once, but TWICE in this movie animals unintentionally killed the bad guys. It...was unexpected, but fun. DUMB, but fun.

Side note: for how much this movie pushed the idea that AI and human were equal, make a note every time an AI is killed. A good...1/4 of the time, they play it off as comical. Not the human deaths, but the AI ones....

[noridal]

free space just means you get to check it off no matter what, no conditions for acquisition :) and do u have other Florida man ship u like besides the pinnacle of Florida? letting u choose 🩵

Oh so you really want to watch the world burn, uh? Well, you'll get a long post about my thoughts on what I've seen in my time of hyperfixating on our lovely Captain.

Starting off strong, we have Flyoming:

The fandom decided that these two gotta be married for that one scene where they stand next to each other, and I'm not having it™. Don't get me wrong, asshole/ray of sunshine is a delicious dynamic, except this is not what's going on here. I like to think that if they're married, they're constantly trying to poison each other or choke their husband in his sleep. They're fucking the same guy because their marriage is open (of course) and enjoy having threesome or regularly attend their favourite swinger's club (to distract themselves from how bad it's going). Why don't they get a divorce? The hatefucking is too good.

Honestly, Wyoming is secretly terrified of Florida (as everyone should be) and Florida, well, dislikes Wyoming (as everyone should), but they can't say it out loud because it wouldn't be nice :)

As colleagues they totally work, maybe even friends. But romantically? This is a trainwreck, RvB fandom.

Let's move on with exactly fucked once(1), Flucker:

I'm unsure wether this would be marked as canon or not. Because Florida definitely would fuck Tucker, but Tucker is too caught up in his "must pretend to be straight" pantomime. Still they both fucked Church at least once. Either way, Flowers/Tucker is either one sided (from Florida's side) or Tucker secretly wants to bang but he isn't ready to admit it.

The potential is there, though. Florida has a daddy kink? Well, Tucker got pregnant. It would make sense if Florida was into that too. Parenting Junior is something Florida would mess up terribly, although I'm pretty sure he'd love his alien kid as much as he seems to love everyone in blue base.

Setting that aside, I'm pretty sure that if Tucker ever got curious enough to try, that would be his first and last time doing whatever Florida's into. Kid's too proud to have someone call him baby boy more than once.

It's great material for a long fic which is half about Tucker coming to term with the fact he's bi and half about how much fucking Captain Flowers was weird af. Or, a pretty steamy single chapter smut fic talking about that one time. Either way I'm going through their tag because there's so little material it only takes 10 minutes.

Talking about daddy kink, it's time for the daddiest ship of them all:

This is the kind of ship that at first you see and think "wtf this doesn't make any sense", but the more you look into it the more you realize these two dads have something in common.

First of all, the comedy here. The irony of Sarge falling for the blue Captain is pure gold. In a barbecue situation, they'd talk non-stop about their adopted kids. They both are definitely into fishing/hunting/diy shit, and exchange progressively more huninged survival tips to each other. Honestly, they just get along.

Another version of them that tickles my brain is "dating before PFL/Blood Gulch" so that. Makes them exes? Either way these guys are old and must have their fair share of dating experience by the time we see them, and once again it would be ironic putting them against each other. Or, since Florida was the one picking the people on red team, you can also picture this as "he just wanted really really bad to have his lover back".

Also, they both have a boner for murder.

In conclusion, there's lots of room for comedy and angst, according to the way you decided to frame it. This could be the dumbest enemies to lovers (to enemies again?) ever, with a twist of feelings in between.

More red team shipping! We have Flonut:

This is THE comic relief ship. Honestly. Flowers and Donut would simply get along, talk about interior design, yoga, and make double entendre 24/7. It's impossible to tell wether they're talking about some Bulgarian sex position or just pudding. The ultimate twink/daddy relationship in RvB.

I like to think they are dating and pretend this doesn't get in the way of their job because they only do it on the weekends, or something. The odd thing is that it works, I can totally see Florida complimenting Donut's aim after getting shot in the stomach, which makes everyone else uncomfortable. The rest of the blues and reds currently discuss wether or not they're really dating despite the both of them stating it openly more than once.

I also like to think that when Doc shows up, he'd join their dates and the three of them definitely have the best of times.

Flowers' death robbed us of many nice things but this is probably one of the best ones.

Bonus crackship:

When confronted with the question "would you fuck your clone?" Florida definitely answers that he's done it already. I'm scared and I will not elaborate further.