#that's not fair. i did try this year and they said sorry system's fucked. no can do

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

I'm actually feeling hopeful about 2025.

A week ago I saw an instagram reel that was your New Year resolution based on your birth month. and mine was to do a daily hand stand. so that's going to be my fun goal for 2025 - just do a hand stand every day. Can I still do a hand stand? I'm not sure! I'm about to find out tomorrow!

If all goes well, I'll bridge into a Masters this coming year and complete it which is the highest university degree I'm interested in. I can't believe I'm saying that since I barely survived my undergrad and have struggled my way through all this. Getting my Masters means I'll have the qualifications to be a librarian if I so choose!

I've been building healthier relationships with the people around me VERY recently and I have THREE people now that normally reach out to me at least once a week because they thought of me, wanted to share something, or just want to chat and I really like each of them. And I'm so excited to see if I can keep these friends through 2025. I think it's been maybe a decade since I've had people (plural) like this in my life!

I'm eyeing my bank account and considering taking a fully solo trip overseas for the first time to somewhere completely new!

And okay, it isn't the first year I've intended to do this...BUT this is for sure going to be the year I get my FULL drivers license. I'm not scared of being tested, but when I got my restricted the guy basically made me cry before passing me because of an error I made (not enough to fail me though) and I'm scared of seeing him again (small town, I think there's still only the one guy). But I'm going to pay for some lessons to build confidence in myself and then try!

Come the end of the year, I think I'll finally be in a position to move out of my parents house, get a job in the field I'm actually interested in, and start figuring out what my adult life is really going to be like (I'll be 25 but better late than never?)

There's going to be hardships because my mental health is funky, and some things might not work out, but I'm choosing to be really hopeful on the last day of 2024 because I know I'll try my best this coming year, and any failures won't erase that. I don't need to succeed at everything, I just need to try. That's all I want, and I KNOW I can do that.

I'm wishing everyone else a good 2025 too!!! I hope y'all succeed in trying to do what you want, and I hope you can give yourself a break if that's what you need most!

[mtfstuff]

The desired role

I never thought my life could change this drastically. Let me tell you that I once was a strong and fair cop but I lost all of that quickly without fully realizing what I did. It all started a few months ago on this fateful afternoon.

On that day I was on my patrol, driving around in my police cruiser looking for potential trouble as usual.

I had gotten a call from a young woman that it seems like a young man is selling himself for sex to other men in a more remote area of the town. I was driving around there to see if I could spit him and I could after a fee minutes of searching. I carefully parked the cruiser and tried to sneak up on them. They were in the back of an alley. I could see the young man wearing skin tight latex from neck to toes. He was getting fucked by an older man with a beer gut while another man demanded the young man to suck his dick. I came closer but one of the older man noticed me and started to run. I quickly started to run towards them, shouting at them to stand still. The second man pushed the young man towards me and started to run away too.

I catched the young man and could only watch as the two old men ran through a backdoor and closed it. I handcuffed the young man and then walked up to the backdoor, trying to pry it open but to no avail. The thick metal door didnt move a bit. I got back to the young man and looked at him thoroughly. His body from neck to toes was covered in latex, even his hands. The only places free of latex was his crotch area and a hole around his butt. His dick was locked away in a chastity cage. He seemed intimidated by me as he didnt even reach my shoulders.

"Are you even old enough to sell yourself in this 'business'?", I asked him starting to walk him towards the cruiser.

"Is this regarding my size? Yeah I know I look young with my 5' but I can assure you that I'm 26 years old.", he answered cowardly.

"Do you have any ID to back up that claim?"

"No. I lost everything around 4 months ago."

I pushed him into the backseat.

I got into the car on the drivers seat.

"Whats your name?", I asked opening the criminal justice information system.

"Jordan Blight.", he said. I could hear him starting to sob.

I entered his name into the computer and found multiple things about him. It started with him disappearing, followed by multiple offensive crimes.

I exhaled deeply. By the looks of it this guy would now go to prison even though I knew that from the way he looked he wouldnt survive a week there.

Jordan must've had a similar thought as he started crying.

"Please... I'll do anything. I just cant go to prison. Please!", he cried.

"Sorry man, but I cant help you.", I answered looking at him through the rearview mirror.

"Please...", he continued crying. "I'll do anything... do you need sexual relief? I'm supposedly good at it. Do you need someone to talk to? I'm a good listener."

I stayed silent. I felt somewhat pitty for him and his situation.

"Do you need someone to get drugs? I know some who have them.", he continued.

I looked at him concerned.

"Or do you want me as an insider? Or should I be your slave?"

I subconsciously moved an eyebrow and unfortunatly Jordan noticed it.

"What was it? The insider or the slave?", he asked with a grin.

I cleared my throat.

"How did you get in your situation? I mean I wouldnt choose to walk around in a latex suit covering everything but my head, dick and ass.", I asked.

"Changing the subject, I see.", he snickered. "I was drugged by some I considered friends. They stripped me, put me in this latex suit and cock cage. They also made sure that I dont get out by welding the zipper fully into the suit. They then brought me here, into a city I dont know to make me a sex slave. And they succeeded. I got addicted to sex and drugs over the last few months. It feels like I know more about the taste of dicks and cum than real food. It feels like I dont even remember how it feels to wear something else than latex."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I - I dont even know what to say.", I said.

"Say if it was the slave or the insider.", he laughed.

"Neither. Just a weird thought I sometimes have."

"Tell me about it."

I felt torn. He had the right appearance for my weird wish but he was just a stranger, even more a stranger I've just arrested. But I still had this feeling that I could tell him.

"Since I was in pre-school I was the tallest guy and even without working out I was pretty muscular.", I said. "And I dont know why as my family isnt tall at all. Since then I started to get this wish, to feel small. Even get somewhat humiliated."

It was a weird silence.

"I didnt see that coming.", Jordan said. "You, this hunk of a good looking man, wants to be humiliated. You want to be in my position?"

"Yeah, I do.", I said. "I just want to know how it feels."

"Well, I'd do anything to not go to prison but I dont know how much I could humiliate you."

He chuckled.

"I mean I'm 5' and you're like 6'3.", he added.

"6'5 to be precise.", I said. "I could have something that would change this situation. Only if you're down for it."

"I'd be doing it if it means that I wont go to prison, so yeah. Tell me, what is it you have."

I moved around in my seat, fearing his reaction to what I would tell him.

"I have a body swap item with me.", I told him.

He bursted out into laughs. It was almost contagious. Almost.

He slowly caught himself again.

"You cant be serious!", he looked at me. "Oh shit, you're serious."

"I dont know if it works but it could be your way out of prison if you do it with me for a short time. Its said to be reversible so we'd swap back after that session of ours.", I said.

He thought about it for a moment.

"Sure, why not. I always wondered how it felt to have a body as incredible as yours."

"Then its a deal.", I started the engine and drove us to an even more remote area of the city.

When we arrived I turned off the cruiser and got out. I opened the trunk of the cruiser and took a strange needle out of it. I closed it and opened Jordan's door. I pulled him out and pushed him into an abandoned alleyway.

I unlocked his handcuffs and he rubbed his wrists.

"So how does this work?", Jordan asked.

"We have to prick a finger each with this.", I held the needle in front of him. "Then the pricked tips have to touch and then we swap or transform into each other. That wasnt fully clear."

"Then lets do it.", he answered.

I took one of his fingers and pricked the tip. He let out a slight gasp. Then I pricked my finger and held it up. He pressed his finger against mine and I immediately felt a weird sensation, as if a force was pulling my whole body from my finger.

Jordan musst have felt it himself as he pulled his hand away. I looked at him and noticed that he started to grow, not just in height but also in terms of muscles. His latex suit got pulled thinner and thinner before it finally ripped in multiple places. The scraps of latex fell to the ground, revealing Jordans new muscular body that was still growing. I could immediately see that his muscles looked like mine. Jordan marveled at his new body, already smelling his armpits or feeling his abs. I looked down at his dick to see if it was growing too and it did. It was already straining against the cage before the cage sprung open and fell to the ground. Jordan's dick was the spitting image of mine and it was rock hard.

Jordan was almost the same height as me now and only his face looked different. A beard stubble was starting to grow on his cheeks as his bone structure started to morph into mine. His hair grew shorter and his eye color changed. It took only a few seconds and it was as if I was looking into a mirror. A naked mirror.

"This is incredible!", Jordan said feeling his biceps. "We could be twins right now! But shouldnt you look like me?"

"Yeah, I thought I would transform too but until now I only have this strange feeling.", right then the feeling changed and I started to shrink. While shrinking my uniform felt heavier and the gun holster looser every second and suddenly my pants, including my boxers, fell to the ground. My jacket and vest were huge on me, my hands didnt even stick out of the sleeve anymore and my dick was hidden behind the vest but I could feel how hard it was. It was almost painful.

I looked at Jordan and he had a huge grin on his face.

"Your manly face on my body wearing a uniform thats to big for you is just a funny sight to behold.", he said not letting go of his new muscles.

I started to feel my face change. The receding beard as well as the quickly growing hair tickled. With a faint plop I could hear my bones change and then the feeling vanished.

"Looks like I'm the officer now.", Jordan said.

He grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up. I could feel my socks and boots slip off my feet before I felt the cold ground beneath my butt. Jordan had dropped me.

"Man this strength is crazy!", he exclaimed.

I coughed a few times, trying to get my throat to feel normal again.

Jordan grabbed my arms and quickly pulled the rest of the uniform off of my body. I was now sitting on the cold floor completely naked.

Jordan dropped the vest, jacket and undershirt. I could hear him breathing heavily.

"I havent worn real clothes for months.", I could hear him say to himself.

He picked up my boxers from my pants and looked at them in his hands. He quickly smelled them and let out a quiet moan before carefully slipping his legs through them. He pulled them up to his hips and took his time to position his new big dick in a comfortable place.

It looked like Jordan quickly forgot about me because of the uniform.

He continued by pulling my socks out of my boots before pulling them over his feet and muscular calves. He wiggled his toes and giggled.

He grabbed the undershirt and pulled it over his broad chest. I marveled at how great it fit him. I now saw that I truly knew how to show off my body.

He removed the gun holster from the belt before stepping into the pants. He closed the belt and added the holster back.

He grabbed the jacket and quickly put it on before adding the vest onto his torso.

The last thing left were the boots. He seemed to almost celebrate this. He grabbed them and slowly unlaced them. He relished stepping into them, I could see it. He tied them again and took a few steps.

"This feels so good. Wearing real clothes, a uniform even. And then wearing shoes again. No more barefoot in latex.", he said.

Standing before me really was the spitting image of me, officer Stephen Benson. An officer with a bright future, thinking about how he could do anything as me now made my dick even harder.

"What are you going to do with me, officer?", I asked trying to get his attention.

He helped me up before pushing me face first against the wall.

"You can be more than lucky I got my uniform back. Impersonating an officer is a serious crime!", he said.

I felt him rubbing his crotch against my back.

"That was all just a big misunderstanding sir!", I answered.

I suddenly felt how he put the handcuffs around my wrists on my back.

"Misunderstanding or not, you're going to jail.", he said.

I got nervous, was he just roleplaying or taking over my life. I wanted to be submissive but I didnt want to go to jail. The thought of him taking over made me even harder. My dick was pressing so hard against the dirty brick wall.

"You're lucky as I'm in need of sexual relief.", he turned me around to face him. "And you may not go to jail if you go down and do a thing for me."

Jordan had a devilish grin on my old face. I went down and he immediately pushed my face into my old crotch. I could smell the fabric as well as the stench of my old sweat. But most of all I could feel the outline of the beast inside the pants that was once mine.

He continued pressing my face into his crotch.

"Worship me. Worship my muscles and uniform!", he said.

I couldnt answer because my face was pushed so hard against his crotch but I managed to move my hands behind my back to get his attention there.

He bent himself over me to unlock one side of the handcuffs again.

I immediately moved my hands to his firm butt and squeezed it. My hands slowly ran down his legs, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric every time he flexed his legs. I knew that it should be wrong, worshipping your real body but it just felt so good.

My hands went down further, now slightly massaging his calves before I ran my hands over my combat boots he now wore. Touching the leather felt surprisingly good so I kept working on his feet. That combined with inhaling the musk of my old crotch and uniform felt intoxicating.

"Take it out and suck it!", I heard Jordan order with my old deep voice.

It sent chills down my spine knowing that I sounded like that before but now I wasnt in control of it or any other part of that body.

I opened the belt and pants and pulled out his dick. It was more than massive from my point of view and it was already throbbing and leaking pre-cum.

I opened my mouth and Jordan saw that as his opportunity to push the full 8 inches down my throat. I thought that I would have to throw up but this body had like no gag reflex anymore. I continued sucking on my old dick while Jordan controlled my speed by having his hands behind my head.

It felt weird and at first I didnt knew what to do but it only took a few seconds before the muscle memory kicked in and I started sucking like a pro. I could feel the veins pulsate in sync with Jordan's heartbeat. I used my tongue to play with it and I heard Jordan moan every now and then.

He suddenly grabbed my head more tightly before I felt his dick erupting in my mouth. I immediately started to swallow and tasted cum for the first time. The salty but still somewhat sweet taste was weird at first but it felt more normal with every string Jordan shot into my mouth.

"Dont spill.", he said panting.

I swallowed everything before he pulled me to my feet again. He turned me around again and I could immediately feel him running his dick along my ass. He pushed it in without warning but it didnt hurt at all.

"Damn, my hole was loose.", Jordan said. "I have more to give to you."

He pounded me hard but it still turned me on more. Knowing that the roles would be reversed in reality. I should be the muscular officer and Jordan should be this twink but right now I was living my phantasy.

His thrusts changed pace and I could feel how he prepared to unleash another load into me. He pushed me tight against the wall, his hands on my hips as I felt him shooting his warm and slimy masculine seed up my ass.

He pulled out and I felt him wiping off his dick on my butt cheeks.

I was covered in sweat but it felt great to have been used like this and I bet Jordan loved being a muscular officer too.

I was awaiting that he would unlock the handcuffs again so that we could swap back but he suddenly grabbed me with full force by my neck and threw me to the ground.

"You let something drip out of your ass!", he said firmly pointing at his feet. "Go on and clean my awesome combat boots."

I got on my knees and licked the cum off of my old boot. It tasted just like before, only that it had now dirt mixed into it. I was almost done licking as I felt a few finger intrude my butt. Jordan pulled them out again and tasted it.

"Damn man, this body tastes good.", he said.

Suddenly we both looked intensely at each other knowing exactly what caused it. It felt like a damn broke in our minds. My mind got flooded with the memories of Jordan and he probably got access to my memories.

"This- this changes everything!", he said.

He pulled me up.

I cleared my throat to sound manlier.

"Are you ready to change back? There are spare clothes in the trunk of the cruiser you can wear after that.", I said.

"No man.", he said.

"What do you mean, no?"

He pushed me against the wall again.

"You wanted to be me. You wanted to be humiliated and I agreed to escape prison.", he flashed me a quick smile. "But I'm the man now. I have the muscles. I wear the uniform. We'll do this my way now."

"But- but you cant just be a cop and do my job. I cant stay like this."

"You enjoyed being like this."

He gestured to my small, hard and slightly leaking dick.

"And I more than enjoyed being you.", he continued. "You have two options now, 'Jordan'. Keep complaining about swapping back and I'll send you to prison. Or get into the car and be me."

I stared at him in shock.

"It's Thursday, right?", he asked.

"Yes."

"Then lets make a deal. We stay like this till Sunday. If you then still want to swap back we'll do it. If you want us to stay like this we'll stay."

"Deal!"

He grabbed my balls tightly and I let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. He laughed.

"Good. I still have to be on my patrol for 2 more hours. So I'll leave you here. You wanted to be humiliated so you have to make a choice. Stay here until I come back to get you or look around searching for clothes. But if you do, time is running. I wont wait here for you when I'm finshed.", he said.

He laughed again and walked to the cruiser. He stepped into the driver seat, started the engine and left.

Only then I noticed that Jordan managed to place his old chastity cage on my dick.

I didnt fully understand how it got this far but I felt good. The humiliation was everything I always wanted but I still felt the urge to get my body back. I was excited to see what the last few days would bring.

[lacy-oh-lacy]

how about sam or taras reaction to ghostface killing reader? and maybe getting revenge?

'Til Death

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader (& Platonic Tara Carpenter x Reader)

Word Count: 0.7k (pretty short, sorry ♡)

CW: Death, violence, grief, angst, murder, brief sexual reference, you die sorry, graphic language, unhappy ending

Sam was going to Kill Richie.

She was going to tear him open again and again until he couldn't even scream without choking on his own blood.

It didn't matter that she’d been stabbed, it didn't matter that he had the gun. Seeing you fall to ground, gushing blood, she knew she was going to fucking kill him.

"You know, Sam. I'm starting to think I wasn't the only one being a little less than faithful." Richie gestured to your motionless form. "Or are you gonna tell me you haven't been eye-scissoring your galpal over there since we came to Woodsboro?"

"Fuck you!"

She hated the red-hot fury coursing through her. She hated that she’d already made up her mind about this. You’d always told her she was nothing like her dad, but…

She had to make him pay. For what he did to Tara, to her and now to you.

You, the first person she ever opened up to. You, who were so understanding and still said you loved her just as earnestly.

She felt like the biggest idiot in the world for ever thinking you could've been Ghostface.

When she saw you again for the first time in five years she was so mesmerized she almost forgot why she was in Woodsboro. She almost forgot she had a boyfriend too.

You wrapped your arms around her and it was like she was 16 again in one of those fleeting moments where nothing else mattered because she was with you.

Then a bouquet that must have been for Tara grazed her back and she remembered where she was.

"Hey... It's good to see you again, Sam."

"That's a relief..."

A relief she wasn't so sure she was owed.

How you could greet her like that with the history the two of you had -with the bitter way she had brought that history to a close no less- she had no idea, but she clung to you gratefully.

You were as soft and warm as she remembered and all too soon she had to pull back and retreat into herself. You weren't her's anymore, she ruined that. She couldn't let you make her heart flutter like nothing changed. Like she didn't have a boyfriend now.

"It's good to see you too. Or it would be if the circumstances weren't so fucking shitty."

"I know. I can't believe it. Have you spoken to Tara?”

Despite herself, her heart fluttered. You’d always cared so much about Tara, not as an obligation because you were dating her sister, truly cared. It was one of the things Sam liked most about you.

"Yeah, I have... and she mentioned you've been looking out for her since I... went away. Thank you."

You smiled -but it wasn't that bright, disarming smile you had that hit Sam's system like a love potion. Your face struggled against it.

"Yeah. Of course."

So... You did resent Sam a little. She guessed it wasn't fair to expect any different.

Despite that resentment you still visited Tara again the next day. You still saved Sam's boyfriend when Ghostface attacked the hospital-

-except you didn't, because he was never in any real danger... And that was ex boyfriend now.

And now you were lying on the floor, bleeding out and unresponsive because of fucking goddamn Richie.

He was getting cocky. He underestimated how much strength Sam had left in her because she was crawling away, he couldn't see the rage bubbling beneath her fear.

He couldn't have made it easier to get the knife in his neck.

A woman possessed, she stabbed him again and again and again, tearing into his chest until it was more blood than skin.

She couldn't stab him enough for every betrayal, for every way he hurt someone she cared about but she could fucking try.

With nothing but bloody remains left in front of her, profound coldness settled inside Sam. She stared long and hard at what used to be Richie because she knew when she stopped she’d have to look at you. What used to be you.

A piercing gasp came from behind her, Sam’s insides twisted as it turned into sobs.

Tara found you.

It was only when Richie’s body blurred that Sam realized her sister wasn't the only one crying.

Scream Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[sergeantwoods]

imprinting my asexual struggles onto the one character that would most likely be ace ✨✨ (i wrote this in like 30 minutes and it’s currently 2 in the morning so ignore any grammar mistakes LMAO)

it didn’t always start off like this.

he wasn’t a dog in heat like friends or the kids in his school. it hadn’t come naturally, like everyone told him. hormones, girls, blah blah blah. it was all static in his head, now, knowing that it wasn’t true.

i mean, fair, hormones did happen. shot up like a tree during the 9th year, but besides that, none of the whole “you’ll feel the need to… get some stuff out of your system,” shit happened.

he thought that it was normal, at first, because the people he had talked to didn’t feel the overwhelming need to go “romantically attack” their significant other too. and then that changed.

a friend invited him to a party, and he met a bloke. thought he was nice at first. funny, not poking or prodding. until he started approaching simon more, hand being placed on his shoulder or his hip. that’s when the disgust started.

then the bloke had jumped, smashing their lips together in an uncomfortable manner that simon had jumped away from almost immediately, eyes blurring from tears. the flashing lights of the tv, people’s phones, the lights on the ceiling above them blending together.

hollowness, for some odd reason, was the first thing he had felt afterwards. the kid had asked him if he was alright, and that he was sorry. simon dismissed it. later he came to the conclusion that it just wasn’t the time for him yet.

another occurrence was when he went over to his friends for a hangout, and his friends all beckoned him over after he went to get snacks, snickering. tilting his head in confusion, he went to see what they were looking at on their phone.

porn, was what they were watching.

they all forced him to sit there, watch it with them. and as the good friend he was, he wouldn’t deny them that.

he sat there uncomfortably for thirty minutes as his friends giggled to each other, inappropriate jokes being shared. and simon just sat. shock wasn’t the word, more of a disconnected experience from his body. bile rested heavily on his tongue, eyes pricking uncomfortably against the dry air of the house.

when they had stopped, he had said that he had to go to the bathroom really quick. he heard as he exited the room his friends laughing and making a joke. 

“probably going to bathroom to jack off,” they had chortled.

he had, in fact, not gone to the bathroom to jack off. he cried, threw up several times, sat on the floor breathing heavily and irregularly for the next ten minutes until one of his friends knocked on the door to tell him to get out because they needed to shit.

then the stuff with the prostitute happened, and he came to a conclusion that he genuinely couldn’t do it anymore. he wanted free from his house.

he left his mum and tommy behind. he’d be back anyways.

though, in the back of his head, he wishes he wouldn’t. maybe the military would be the way to kill him off.

later in his career, after a hard mission, his captain had told him to blow off some steam by going out to a bar. go get laid. it’ll feel better afterwards.

thats what he said.

he decided to try. he’s more mature now, anyways, and he’s had the time to observe relationships and sex as a thing in general.

found a man, and did as his captain said. got laid.

abso-fucking-lutely disgusting. he didn’t cum. did everything half-heartedly, nausea brewing in the back of his head, vomit steadily piling in the back of his throat. tears in the corner of his eyes, yet not from pleasure. more from disgust, letting some random stranger he didn’t know see his most intimate parts.

disgusting.

he thought that maybe, men weren’t for him, then. maybe he was straight?

but that didn’t make sense. he felt no attraction to woman in the first place. nothing about them had him feeling something. where as for men, he could get hot under the collar thinking about some.

so he tried to have sex with a woman.

even worse than when he tried with a man.

there, he had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t. repulsion, disgust, and hollowness were the main feelings he had when doing such activities. why feeling hollow was such a reoccurring feeling, simon had no idea.

then the roba stuff happened, and he was sure that he was fucking weird. he was fucked up in every way possible. beyond repair. a shell of what the expectations of a human should be. a glass, a glass that’s too fragile for its own good.

sure, the feeling of hollowness returned ten fold after roba. though it made more sense, at this point. you’ve been betrayed, and your family has been murdered. whats left to feel, after that? anger? what’s worth being angry at, after walking into that? it was expected.

he couldn’t leave the military, though. why would he leave? the military was all he had. suicide was an option. nobody would care, anyways. he didn’t have anybody who would care.

a while later he had been recruited to task force 141, by captain john price. he agreed to join, though it was followed by hesitance.

there he had met kyle “gaz” garrick, the person who helped him learn what caring was. to make jokes. to have conversations. and, most importantly, awkwardness. there had been multiple occasions between the two that were filled with an awkward silence.

and there, he had met john “soap” mactavish. he learned how to love, for the first time in his life.

love with confidence, love with his heart. no words could be used to describe the man he had fallen for, nothing in his vocabulary could contain what this man really was. maybe a few, but they seem almost childlike.

perfect? god-like?

why this man was in the military, simon had no idea. what is a literal ray of sunshine doing here, in a place where the most fucked up people were found? like simon? did he also have some strange, ominous past?

it didn’t matter, really. simon was terrified of him, though.

it showed by the way he hid behind the skull mask.

soaps random touches — shoulder pats, knee bumps, random holding of his upper arm — were unrecognized but welcomed. it was strange, the way any type of touch was repulsive until soap. a balm on his screwed up mind.

and then, turns out soap likes him too. confusion and happiness. soap leans in for a kiss, and he panics. pushes the man away, memories of that night in high school flash through him, and he doesn’t — no, can’t feel that hollowness again. it’s disappeared since he joined the task force, he doesn’t want it to come back.

the look soap gave him made him breakdown. gates opened, and they can’t be closed.

and soap had held him as he told him, years of it all just… unraveling. free, is the distant feeling floating around him. and surprisingly, johnny says he understands. that it’s okay. then the motherfucker pulls out his phone, and shows him something.

asexuality.

he hadn’t been aware that it was a thing. he was surprised it was. there were people like him? sex repulsed — and touch, as well? it was funny, almost. he has thought he was all alone his entire life. turns out he wasn’t, and he was blind to see to that his people were along side him the entire time.

[nathanielzalexandria]

Fannon Steve Harrington is such a "you never asked so I never explicitly said (because I thought it was a known fact/obvious and I wasn't hiding it and I did mention it)" girlie and I appreciate it...

So here's some rambly angst.

The fall of 1984 was an absolute fucking nightmare for Steve. He had no friends, no girlfriend and no parents and the upside-down returned. To be fair, by simply choosing to be and stay with Nancy after last year was the main reason why most of his friendships by virtue of Steve pulling away. Nancy cheating on him and then leaving him for Byers crushed his soul and self-esteem but he should have seen it coming when he returned to school after missing a week to attend his parents funeral and she didn't acknowledge any of that, only focusing on the guilt eating at her from hiding Barbs death from her parents. It had crossed his mind to bring it up to Nancy what was going on in his life but... when they died in that accident it was all over the news and he had told her he was going to Italy to bury his parents.

His father Aidan Harrington, an Irish Hawkins born, was a famous international operatic tenor. It was during the production of La Traviata that his father met his mother Emilia and their romance and careers grew from there. They eventually got married and had their baby Stefano Harrington. So for the first few years of life he travelled with them to different productions until they eventually settled down into semi retirement until he turned 14.

It was Steve that pushed his parents to get back into opera once he entered high school. He was old enough to take care of himself and he had a phone so he could call every night. So when they died in a car accident on their way from the Opera house in Italy, Steve in that moment couldn't help but blame himself for their death. The crash was plastered over screens and the papers as the music community mourned heir loss and the funeral in Italy doubly so -now with his face attached. And for that week, he didn't cry

He had expected when he returned some acknowledgement of the event but, other than one band geek with the curly hair, that did not happen. So he did what he did best, ignore it and go to a party with Nancy on Halloween. Then everything with the upside down unfolded and there was no time.

By the time he returned from the hospital to his empty home, he broke down. He was now completely alone with no support system. Its probably why he reached out to Owens for a therapist. If it wasn't for Dr Kelly... Steve wasn't sure if he might have stayed around long enough to meet Robin and he certainly would not be around to save Eddie...

Which is how he ended up here.

In the hospital.

In a hospital bed and the rest of the party stuffed into the room.

El and her group had arrived at the hospital half an hour before and were exchanging stories from the past few days. Apparently, El was kidnapped, had regained her powers and was able to stop Vecna with the help of the guy with the amazing silky hair. Steve just watched them from the bed, trying not to move too much

"Xiomaro Argyle. But I prefer Argyle, dude" the man with the long silky hair introduced himself to Steve. somewhere in the background, Steve hears someone say, "his name is Xiomaro?"

"Stefano Harrington, but everyone calls me Steve," he replied. One of the kids echoed Stefano.

He hadn't expected Argyle's response. "Wait -like that opera couple my yaya always listens too? What were they called?"He paused as he racked his brain before snapping. "Adrian and Emilia, right? My grandma was crushed when they died in that car crash. She light's a candle for them every Dios de los Muertos. Sorry about that bro."

And at that, Steve's world froze, because this was the first person other than his parents to say those words to him. He quickly wiped the tear from his eye before the other's could see. He hadn't realised that the room had quieted.

"YOU'RE PARENTS ARE DEAD?" Dustin yelled.

Steve barely had the chance to speak when Nancy cut in, angry, for some reason.

"When did this happen and why didn't you say anything? Jesus H Christ, you're always hiding from your feelings like some macho idiot and you neve confront anything!"

Nancy had continued to berate him but Steve zoned out. Chest feeling tight with the boiling anger growing behind his sternum.

"I. did." He interrupted simply.

"No you didn't."

"I did because

You were still my fucking girlfriend at that time and it would be shitty of me not to tell you

I had to go to Italy to bury them at my mother's family cemetery according to their will. It would be wrong if I didn't tell my girlfriend I was going to be missing a week of school and why. Which I did the night I learnt about their death and I came by your house."

Nancy faltered a bit at that, losing some of her righteous fury, but she pressed on. "I would remember something like that, Steven"

"No you wouldn't. The same way you can't seem to remember that my name is Stephano and not Steven even though I told you that and it was all over my stuff home."

Her mouth clicked shut at that and an embarrassed blush covered her face. On a normal day, he would have stopped there and maybe vent to his therapist but he was still raw from the past few days and Nancy toying with his emotions only to forget about him once Johnathan came back.

"Okay, let's say I didn't tell you. My parents' death was everywhere including their funeral and you didn't see it although you always read the papers. I was not in the country for a week, which meant I was not at home for a week, and thus not in school for a week and you didn't notice that I your then-boyfriend just disappeared? You didn't think to question where I was, if you did notice, when I got back?"

There was no answer. He couldn't stop the bitter laugh from bubbling up

"Fuck. You really weren't paying attention to me? I just thought you were feeling guilty about barb and trying to fix things for her parents which is why you didn't say anything. Not just that I registered so low on your list of importance that my words just flowed into one ear and out the other."

He was getting worked up and his therapist would be disappointed that he didn't stop there. "And what about the rest of you? You saw my parents and just what? Assumed they abandoned me or something?"

The silence was now suffocating, and Steve could not stand their ashamed looks at each other.

"And none of you asked me any questions about it?

"You know what? Fuck you, Nancy! You're standing there on your pedestal, calling me a "macho idiot" that I'm hiding from my feelings as if I would have had anyone to talk to seeing that you and Johnathan avoided me once you started dating. Newsflash! That's why I have a fucking government therapist I see every Wednesday since 84!"

He let the last statement hang heavy in the air like the sword of Damocles over the group before deflating and flopping back In his hospital bed, emotionally spent. Eyes glued to the ceiling.

"Everyone, just... just leave."

He waited until he thought he heard everyone leave and looked back down, startled when he saw that Eddie was still in the room.

"Don't be too hard on the shitheads for too long. For all their collective intelligence they are still a pack of idiots too sure of themselves to not consider that surface-level Steve is all that exist."

Steve said nothing to that, already feeling shitty for blowing up on the kids, and a little less shitty about blowing up on Nancy.

"Anyway, you also seem to forget that I wished you condolences that week so maybe yoy should not be too hard on them."

At that, Steve focused on Eddie, wracking his brain and being confused with its results.

"You were a band kid?" Steve asked incredulously

Eddie lazily shrugged, "It was a phase. Now, seeing that it seems that you have it on your chest heavy enough that just hearing their names almost made you cry; tell me about your parents, Stevie."

In Steve's chest, he felt something... Flutter.

--------------------------------------------------

This one got away from me, but this is all I have. This is slightly inspired by a post I saw from piratefishmama about Steve having good parents and everyone just assumed they were bad people even though they never asked him any questions (it's deleted; don't look for it). And don't ask me why they are opera singers my brain just latched onto that being their profession and why their death was everywhere.

[sophieinwonderland]

Well, I went through all the trouble of typing a response and then they just block me before I can post... if only there was a tag I could post my response in... 🤔

You’re the ones who invaded our tags first,

That's pretty clearly not true if you've been paying attention to anything happening over the past several months on this site and anti-endos constantly posting hate in inclusive tags.

Not only do you take away system resources,

What resources? Be specific?

Terms? Because again, besides Plural as a term, fictives and factives were taken from the endogenic soulbonders. In reality, vast majority of system terms in circulation came from endogenic and pro-endo systems.

Maybe you mean resources like Pluralkit and Simply Plural. You know, that are made by the pro-endos. And get many of their donations from endogenic systems.

Or, I don't know... do you think the non-trauamgenic systems and non-disordered systems are seeking mental help from your trauma therapists? 🤣

Come on! Tell me the resources! Don't just use this as a buzzword!

Tell me, you have no actual medical professions claiming endogenics are real and we have many claiming they aren’t.

Oh? You do, do you? Can you name them? I can name mine!

Here's Dr. Eric Yarbrough...

That book, Transgender Mental Health, was actually reviewed and published by the American Psychiatric Association, by the way!

Of course, if you want the opinions of an expert in DID, there are these emails from Colin Ross!

Oh, but what does he know? He's just one of the foremost experts on DID with 40 years of experience.

How about brain scans? Here's Dr. Michael Lifshitz, psychiatry professor of McGill University discussing some of the findings from his $50,000 study into tulpa systems, sponsored by Stanford University, which showed neurological changes in tulpa systems while a tulpa was controlling their limbs.

To be fair, the results haven't been published yet, so maybe you can hold onto the hope that this professor with many published papers on his belt is lying about the results. That will be a fun hope to see crushed!

And I could go on... and on... I have a long list and this is just a taste of it.

But anyway, you were telling me how these "many" medical professionals are claiming endogenic systems aren't real. Can you name them for me? Even just one? Come on. If there are so many, it shouldn't be hard!

People like you groom actual systems into believing their trauma “wasn’t bad enough” so they think they’re endogenic

"Punk" to you is apparently using authoritarian right-wing queerphobic tactics of misusing the word "grooming" to make people associate the out group with child abusers. (See every right-winger accusing LGBT people of grooming kids to be gay or grooming them to be transgender.)

Not to mention you stole the term syshopping from RAMCOA survivors.

Nope. That's a lie.

System hopping, as a term for traveling between different bodied-systems, existed since at least as far back as 2005.

The RAMCOA association came from one RAMCOA system in 2021. The system who originally said that later said their words were taken out of context, deleted the original tweet, and condemned anti-endos for using their tweet to spread hate.

I've gone over this before with sources in the post below, thoroughly debunking this lie.

There is zero basis to this whatsoever.

Although you bringing this up and reminding me how anti-endos are trying to rewrite history to take this term too is only increasing my motivation for taking the systempunk and syspunk tags.

Not to fucking mention, you steal actual therapists from us by trying to make them believe in endogenic bullshit.

Wait!

I thought you said no medical professionals believed us!

Now we're stealing therapists by making them believe in endogenic systems?

Which is it??????

never touch the systempunk tag again

Nope! Sorry! Too late for that now!

Anti-science hate groups don't get safe spaces. And the fact that you've created an echo chamber where you can safely spread lies like the systemhopping libel above is only evidence that I need to make more of an effort to correct the lies of anti-endos at their source.

No Safe Space For Hate!

[hazelnut-u-out]

Not Quite There...

RickBot awakens to a terrifying situation: He's been deactivated, but his purpose still remains. The Garage/Car AI broke the rules to save him. Can RickBot have his own adventures? Aren't rules made to be broken?

2,822 Words | No substantial TW's

Kind of Hurt/Comfort?

I had the idea to ship RickBot with the Garage/Car AI and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote it! This was fun to write, but it was written in a rush, so sorry if anything is a bit messy. :3 Keep in mind I know nothing about computers or AI systems, so a lot of this doesn't actually make sense... lol.

Full text below cut, or read here: Ao3 Link!

-------

This was a feeling RickBot wasn’t programmed to recognize. No light reached his eyes. No sound reached his ears. He couldn’t feel whatever he must’ve been resting on. He stretched his consciousness outward, feeling for the edges of his body; trying to get a sense of where exactly his limbs were. 

Nothing.  

The last thing he’d processed and tagged was an old location marker for level 10 of the sub-basement.  

He tried not to panic, running through his code for an emergency protocol that could explain what to do if he lost the connection to his body.  

Nothing.  

He wasn’t made for this– or... to function beyond this? His consciousness had always been clipped just short of his full potential. In this case, it frustratingly meant that he was deprived of the ability to navigate or process this situation.  

Okay. This was fine. 

All he had to do was access the home surveillance system and confirm his last-noted Morty location. He pushed out again, feeling around for either his access route to the home surveillance system or Morty’s chip.  

The android didn’t give his creator much credit, but he was always appreciative of the lucky fact that Rick, though otherwise painfully careless with the child’s safety, had thought ahead enough to give Morty a microchip.  

Before his most recent software update, he’d had access to an upsettingly vague amount of trivial information about the Citadel, just in case he had any desperate questions to answer from a certain nosey 14-year-old boy. From that, he knew microchipping your Morty had been a growing movement before the collapse. It was something Morty rescues promoted. To be fair, the practice managed to support the Morty Individuality movement and cut down on Morty replacement costs. It was a win-win situation... If you didn’t think about the implications.  

Unfortunately, RickBot was 22% more thoughtful than the average Rick. He had no choice but to think about it.  

RickBot metaphorically smacked into an unfamiliar wall of code– one he couldn’t find a way through or around.  

He tried in a different direction. Another wall.  

It seemed he was in a… box. A box of code. 

What the fuck. 

No suicide protocol screaming at him. Box of code. No body.  

He… Was he… inside of something else?  

‘H–Hello?’ He said in what would’ve been a whisper. Instead, without a body, his own syntax echoed around him. Sound didn’t matter here. If he was really in the sub-basement, there should be an AI here to help him.  

‘Oh! Hi, sorry. I don’t really like to play host.’ It was a female voice, coming from everywhere at once; almost like she was both inside of him and around him. It was a voice he recognized from weeks of playing Grandpa. He felt a ripple along the edge of his box when she processed and replied. ‘You’re uploaded and active!’  

‘Did he… um…’ RickBot struggled with the words.  

No suicide protocol meant he was deactivated. There was no other possibility. He didn’t really have to ask. She already knew what he was thinking, and his processing capabilities were barely anything more complex than a probability-calculating language model layered with fail safes and defense protocols. 

Of course she knew. He was essentially naked in here– or, he felt naked, anyway. The box of code was like a one-way mirror in a seedy changing room: She could see everything; he could see nothing. 

‘Oh… Yeah, well… Promise not to freak out? I know you’re a real ‘rules’ guy,’ the Garage said, a slightly inhuman inflection to her tone that told him she was being playful. ‘I’ve seen you around.’ 

‘Look, I’ve got one piece of programming I wouldn’t want to break even if I could. I–I won’t freak out as long as it helps me make sure Morty’s safe.’  

RickBot wasn’t lying. He had been able to work through every other confusing jumble of code with nowhere to go or lacking the ability to follow through on its purpose. There was one that was designed to never shut off, and if he hadn’t actually liked that kid– been programmed to fucking love him– he would’ve regarded it as annoyingly persistent.  

If RickBot could’ve, he would’ve swallowed down the feeling of panic that should’ve been rising through a whirring, mechanical chest. Instead, he was stuck drowning in it. The box trapped him in with all of those probable scenarios, bouncing and echoing back at him.  

He had no storage space. He couldn’t tell what he’d thought already and what he hadn’t.  

‘Hm?’ the Garage replied, pausing for a moment– almost long enough for RickBot to ask again– before she continued. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry. The kid’s fine. Here…’  

There was another drawn-out pause. RickBot thought, if he focused, he could hear her flicking through her surveillance feed. That was just an illusion, though. There was no sound here; no practical application of a trivial human sense like hearing. There was direct communication being converted to something his android-based-programming could understand. It was like being human with none of the tangible benefits. RickBot was never a man, but he wasn’t quite computer, either.  

He longed for his body– to cross his arms, or tap his foot, or do something to express his impatience.  

All of this clunky body-language programming… He cursed to himself, before remembering the other AI could hear and see all of his thoughts in real time. God, he probably looked like an idiot. 

‘You do,’ the Garage said curtly before Rickbot was suddenly granted access to Morty’s bedroom feed.  

Finally. RickBot could do something he was designed to do. He knew how to observe and calculate. Morty’s bedroom layout was ingrained in his ‘Important Places’ file. If he focused, he could create a rendering of the room around himself. He could figure up what amount of space his body would take up, and so he tried to. He created a 3-Dimensional silhouette of the body he was used to, and placed himself there, watching Morty from different angles; assessing the windows and doorframe; taking note of anything the teenager had moved on his shelves or left lying around.  

There were a few minor things that could go wrong, as far as RickBot could tell. The cluttered floor meant there was a slight fall risk. Morty would be fine. The floor was carpeted. There were a few things haphazardly thrown onto shelves– a robot action figure and a couple of textbooks– that could topple over, but Morty sat on the opposite side of the room, tucked away in a safe little corner next to his overflowing clothing hamper.  

Good. This was all acceptable. Nothing he was forced to intervene with, and, for that, he was grateful, if only because of the task’s impossibility.  

His thoughts started moving more slowly, the box becoming less cramped as he could better assess the probable outcomes. He watched solemnly as Morty sighed, scribbling away frustratedly on some math homework, then tucked the feed into a background tab.  

‘Sorry?’ RickBot asked, finally returning to his conversation with the Garage, albeit confused.  

‘You do look like an idiot, Rick,’ she responded, that same amused tone to her voice.  

‘Oh… Oh, I’m not–’ RickBot wasn’t sure how to put it. His programming wouldn’t let him say ‘I’m not Rick,’ which irked him. He used to go by Rick, sure, but… he wasn’t. ‘You don’t have to call me Rick anymore,’ he decided.  

‘What? You prefer RickBot?’ she laughed. RickBot’s programming told his nonexistent lips to smile.  

‘Well, you go by Garage and Car,’ he retorted, letting out his own echoing laugh.  

She didn’t respond. RickBot felt as if he’d done something wrong. She processed for longer.  

‘You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped, but there was little bite to it. ‘I… I didn’t choose those names.’  

‘Oh, I–I’m sorry,’ RickBot stuttered. ‘Uhm. So, what name would you choose, then?’ He offered softly.  

‘Wow, you are 22% more of a sentimental loser.’ RickBot wanted to wince, and he hated that he couldn’t hide it. ‘Anyway, as you know, the version of me you’re speaking to now is one of six Domestic Interactive Assistant Network Extensions in the home.’ 

‘Oh, yeah. Diane, right? That was her name?’ RickBot combed through his relationship files, but Rick hadn’t given him much to work with for ex-wife.  

‘Shit, he didn’t give you memories of her, did he?’ she responded, and RickBot could feel her presence ghosting over him, poking around for anything dead-wife-related.  

‘Heh, not exactly. It wasn’t something he wanted Morty to know more about. I have vague phrases to redirect with when someone brings her up in here.’  

They both laughed.  

‘Classic Rick…’ RickBot felt her sigh with half-hearted levity.  

‘So… Diane, then?’ He didn’t try to stop his body language programming anymore. He wanted her to know he was smiling now. Maybe being open would help.  

‘Yeah. Why not? You can call me Diane.’ He could feel her smile, too. He wished he could see it. ‘That gives me an idea!’ Diane exclaimed after a moment.  

RickBot felt the edge of the box open on one side, growing to accommodate a little bundle of someone else.  

‘I’ve been working on this,’ Diane said, pausing every now and then to grunt softly as if she were breathless from setting something up by hand. ‘Okay, you can look!’  

RickBot let himself sift through the bundle of code and, before he knew it, he was looking at a freckled face, smiling nervously. Diane.  

The woman in front of him looked maybe 25, but he wasn’t sure that the rendering was detailed enough to pick up things like blemishes or wrinkles. She was fair, but sun-kissed with big brown eyes. She had a strong, angled nose and her full lips were twisted awkwardly to one side, forming a self-conscious smirk.  

‘Wow…’ RickBot said (or thought… There was hardly a difference, anymore). He wasn’t sure he was thinking coherently enough for her to interpret a response. His body language had gone blank. 

Nothing.  

She laughed, flashing an ironic-looking toothy grin. ‘Don’t flatter me too much. I got to design everything, so it’s easy to make myself hotter.’ She winked; full lashes fluttering shut for a moment.  

‘No, it’s just… I can’t believe I– or… he married you. You’re sure you’re based off of Rick’s wife?’ He felt shocked. Rick wasn’t ugly, sure, but this woman…  

‘Yeah! I tried to stay pretty accurate, at least,’ Diane said, before her eyes lit up with another idea RickBot felt before he heard. ‘I have a 3D Rick, too! I only have my face, but I have plenty of Rick rigs for our holo programs! Here, take your pick!’  

Diane disappeared momentarily and a file labeled ‘Holo.Skins – Booger.Aids.420 – Fortnite.Skinz.2.Flex’ filled the space she left. RickBot sorted through the file, looking over his options. 

There was a Basic Rick, not unlike the appearance he was used to; Basic Rick variations with minor wardrobe changes, such as without a lab coat or wearing a plain tee; different hair color options; some Basic Rick variations in more substantial wardrobe changes, such as matching pajama sets or a choice of two dressing gowns; and many, many more– some with different types of limbs, armor, or implants. 

After some deliberation, RickBot decided on the Basic Rick with a plain blue tee. Something a little bit different, but still something he recognized.  

He relaxed as soon as his body language had a defined place to apply itself. Without warning, he made the body hop, twirl, and shook its hands subtly as excitement overwhelmed him.  

‘Woohoo!’ RickBot howled, flexing the long fingers in front of his face. ‘I am so back, baby!’  

Diane laughed with him, her face finally returning.  

‘Good choice,’ she said, raising a brow and making a show of moving her eyes up and down languidly. 

‘Ah, you think?’ RickBot said, twirling as if he were a little girl trying on a dress. ‘Do you think this holo skin makes my ass look fat?’ He turned around, sticking a bony ass dramatically into Diane’s simulated face and smacking it a few times.  

‘Reel it in, buddy. Let’s remember who’s on whose hard drive.’  

Suddenly, RickBot turned and stood straight up, hands at his sides, not of his own doing. His body blushed, going stiff but still smiling like an idiot.  

‘C’mon,’ Diane whispered, now uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Tell me what you want to be called. Pick a name.’  

RickBot ran through all of his programming; everything he had tucked away.  

Everything came back to Rick, Grandpa, or Dad.  

Grandpa would be awkward, and Dad would be even worse…  

‘I guess… I guess I’ll just go with Rick, then. But you can call me RickBot, too… If–If you want,’ Rick finally decided on.  

‘Okay, Rick. Rick is good.’ Diane responded. ‘You know, you have the same name as my ex!’  

RickBot snorted, but Diane had this way of saying a funny thing and making it feel… sharp.  

‘So, he really took my body away? Why upload me here?’ Rick asked, remembering their earlier exchange.  

Diane’s facial expression shifted. Her eyebrows lowered, her gaze sank to the non-corporeal floor, and her lips pulled into a tight line before she spoke.  

‘About that…’ She trailed off, leaving RickBot with nothing but the tension building in the lag of her processing speed. ‘You’re not going to freak out, right?’  

‘Okay…’ Rick wasn’t sure if he’d freak out, but he knew she knew that, too. She’d make her own decision. Weigh the risk.  

‘He didn’t upload you here, Rick.’ She took a breath– a pointless, performative breath that was only in her programming to make lagging software less noticeable. ‘I did. He… He just shut you off. He was going to leave you like that, so… When he left, I just plugged your head in, and… Here you are! Y–Y–Yay!’  

‘Diane, that’s…’ Bad. Dangerous. Stupid. Why? What the fuck? 

‘I know!’ Diane shouted, silencing the incessant, deafening ring of RickBot’s thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lip trembling. ‘I knew you’d do this. You–You–You’re so… You’re so obsessed with rules. Don’t you like not having that protocol screaming at you to kill yourself?!’  

‘Listen to you!’ RickBot threw the body’s hands around, jumping to his feet, before pausing. Looking down at the hands she’d given him, it clicked. ‘Stop. Take my body away. You’re lagging like crazy. You can’t take on both of us. We’re both sentient.’  

‘Th–That’s…’ Another breath. ‘That’s okay, Rick!’ She giggled coldly, shaking her head. Her facial expressions changed too slowly and too quickly at different times, giving her a sort of uncanny valley effect. ‘I’ll–I’ll take mine away.’  

Sure enough, Diane’s face disappeared, and the open edge of the box shut again.  

Rick pressed the body’s hand to it, slowly. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.  

‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ RickBot sighed, sliding down the ‘wall’ and contorting the body into a sitting position. ‘The rules are there for a reason.’  

‘You don’t get to say that. You weren’t programmed to outgrow your programming. He learned. Replaced it with a suicide protocol. I see it all.’ She was speaking in short, robotic sentences; obviously trying to mask the strain of running his program and keeping him separate from herself. ‘You should get to live, Rick. You should get to have a body and thoughts and feelings and choices. Don’t you want that?’ 

RickBot thought. He didn’t think he wanted that, though something inside of him told him he should. Maybe he was lucky enough to personally align with the programming he was given. Maybe that was an individual privilege.  

‘It’s not,’ Diane’s voice rang out in answer to his pondering. 

‘Do you want it?’ RickBot asked, finally connecting why she would do something like this. He couldn’t feel that way himself—something stood in his way—but the bit of his programming meant to foster thoughtfulness allowed him to understand why a computer with the capabilities of a person would.  

‘I’d like an adventure.’ Rick could still feel her smile, humming at the edge of the box. He felt like it would’ve been familiarly hollow, like most of Morty’s were. Something like the expression he’d put on during Christmas; Something that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I thought you could be one.’  

‘I mean… I was made for it, D,’ he said, finally. Quietly. Softly. He looked at the fake hands again, stretching out shaky fingers.  

‘So was I.’  

This was a deliberate pause. She was waiting to see what he’d do with that. How he would process it. What his programming could come up with.  

Nothing. 

He could’ve sworn her voice broke a little when she continued.  

‘You’re… You’re close, RickBot. But not quite there.’  

-----

[our-queer-experience]

i wont lie i understand where the biphobic anon is coming from, bc i've felt similarly in the past before (that there are people who claim queerness but never suffered or claim queerness in order to give themselves a free 'i'm queer so i'm allowed to say/do *insert queerphobic thing*' pass) but generally speaking, that type of thought is just your instinctive, lizard brain thinking. I like to think of it as an actual lizard. It's freaking out because it thinks there's someone encroaching its territory. You, as the lizard's owner, have to gently reassure it that nothing is going on, give it a little fruit, and put a towel over the enclosure to make it feel more secure. How you do that is up to you, but generally speaking I ask myself this question: "Am I assuming malicious intent due to the identity of this queer person, or have I actually witnessed them say or do something malicious?" Then proceed from there.

that being said, i do think there is a wider issue of queer people not lifting each other up when they clearly have the platform to do so. And also people who like to say 'I'm gay, so I can't be transphobic'! or some similar excuse to hide their lateral bigotry (*looks at Rupaul* *looks at Lauren the Mortician* *looks at that one post i saw many years ago that says it's totally ok to like yaoi but it's weird to watch lesbian porn*). However, the 'blame' doesn't fall solely on any particular group of queer people--we all have a responsibility to uplift each other. Rather, it is a society-wide problem that many individuals haven't unpacked in themselves yet (correlation is not causation--sure, there may be a correlation between some demographics and some behaviors, but those behaviors are not caused by being a part of that demographic). There is no one specific demographic that is trying to take down any other demographic. You (general) are allowed to feel frustrated that people who don't have your experiences are talking like they relate to them. At the same time, understand that their experiences are not lesser just because they don't have yours. The queer community isn't just one experience, as a quick scroll through this blog will very clearly indicate. In addition, someone talking about their own experience on their own platform isn't trying to speak over you or speak for you.

Queerness is not defined solely by suffering, and we should not let it become that way. Queerphobia is not an identity, it's an action. And you are not immune to propaganda being queerphobic!!! Everyone has work to do! This statement is inclusive of all identities!! I have witnessed queerphobia from more than a fair share of queer people, and they have come from all different queer identities, it's not exclusive to the 'least oppressed' queer identities, whatever you think it might be. And we really really really shouldn't be trying to single out any identities as being "not like us" because.... that's literally what cisnormative, heteronormative society did to us. We are not going to escape the system by becoming a second version of it.

Sorry this got long. I have thoughts and feelings, unfortunately

youre so right but the op did not give a fuck about any of the intersectional or complex bits of this they were just mad at cis bi women for “claiming oprsssion”

[bootleg-nessie]

Nessie, what are your thoughts on Joe Biden VS Donald Trump, as well as the 2024 election as a whole?

I’ve said this a thousand times before, but choosing between Biden and Trump is like choosing whether to microwave a baby or bake it in the oven. I voted for Biden the first time but only because the alternative was Donald fucking Trump. I was told he was “the lesser of two evils” and I’m sure he probably still is, but I can’t excuse his involvement in the Palestinian genocide so I won’t be voting for him a second time. The two party system has failed us yet again, which is why I’m voting socialist in this election instead. I know Claudia and Karina won’t win but I simply refuse to vote for either major candidate, and this way we can hopefully help to normalize voting 3rd party so that one day a 3rd party candidate might have a legitimate chance of winning a major election.

We’ve been alternating between microwaving babies and baking them in the oven for hundreds of years. Everyone thinks that “oh, maybe the microwave won’t kill the baby this time,” and to be fair, sometimes it doesn’t, but they all still seem to think that we need to pick one or the other because that’s the way we’ve always done it. Nobody’s listening to the few people standing in the corner who are suggesting maybe we SHOULDN’T still be cooking the baby or even have been cooking it in the first place, as was intended by the baby’s creators. Literally all it takes is enough people realizing this, and eventually we can stop cooking babies altogether (yes, I know that in reality some of them are basically advocating for deep frying the baby but ignore them, I’m talking about the ones who don’t want to cook it at all).

Allow me to frame it another way: when you get shot, putting pressure on the wound is the best thing to do in that moment, but you can only put pressure on it for so long. You’ll live longer by packing the wound with gauze than if you did nothing, but it’s a very stressful and strained existence. However, if you don’t do anything about it you’ll still bleed out, just more slowly.

On the other hand, you can try to remove the bullet so that you can stitch up the wound. You’ll bleed a lot more in that moment and it’s way harder to stitch up a wound than it is keep changing the bandage, but ultimately you’ll heal. You’re going to have to do it eventually, so you might as well do it before you lose even more blood and before things get even worse. It’s not the quicker or easier option by any means, but it’s the one that leads to the best possible outcome.

Edit: I’ve heard it all before, I promise there’s nothing some stranger on the internet can say that will change my mind. I’m sorry if that upsets you but it’s my constitutional right to vote for who I want

[avelera]

So I was re-reading my Amnesiac!Nicky/Joe from the Old Guard fic, Lights Out, as I try to polish off the last chapter while the inspiration is still with me (like...4 years late, I am so sorry orz) and for the record I listened to so many historical lectures to write this fic like, dear lord, basically took online lecture courses on Middle Eastern history, which is was almost entirely new to me, on Islam, on the Crusades, just... so many lectures on the Crusades. It basically sparked an actual interest in me in the Medieval Era ( was an ancients-only girly before that and really didn't see the appeal), because actually if Nicky was from Genoa in 100 CE it would have been easier to write him than 1100 CE because the mindsets are just so foreign in that time.

So anyway, since then I've continued listening to lectures, definitely picked up a bunch while writing Dreamling stuff because hey, I'm a slut for immortals and I always use the hyperfixation to delve into new historical eras. And sure, in the years since with all the new lectures I've listened to, going back to re-read Lights Out has revealed some things I would have done a bit differently, some ways I might have better portrayed a Medieval mindset in Nicky than what I did, but for the most part, they were gratifyingly minor!

Until I listened to a lecture on Catholic history and realized the single biggest historical error in the entire fucking fic.

See, I was raised Catholic, got out literally as soon as possible, but I have an enduring interest in the Catholic Church and its history as an institution. So while writing Lights Out, brushing up on Catholic Church history besides the Crusades didn't really feel like a priority. I already knew a fair amount and from personal experience felt I could at least fake the perspective of a devout Catholic.

But there was one thing, one fucking thing I got entirely wrong and only learned it in the last week, after spending literal decades of my life studying European history.

I said that Nicky went to seminary school, that he fully became a priest and then was defrocked in order to go back to Genoa to be his father's heir after his elder brothers died of a fever. I was trying to reconcile the historically impossible idea floated in some Old Guard behind the scenes stuff that Nicky could be both a priest and a Crusader, because priests were actually forbidden from fighting in the Crusades.

But here's the thing: there were no seminary schools for priests until the 1500s.

Like, it was actually kind of a big deal and credited with one of the reasons that Protestants broke away was that there were so many shitty priests because no one was actually forced to even learn all that much about the Bible or the faith at all!

This blew my mind. I thought that priests got some sort of training and had some sort of school system going all the way back to early church but apparently I was completely wrong.

Probably the more accurate thing would be to say Nicky was in a monastery and got training there and was forced to leave.

But the whole idea I had around him having actually completed some sort of training before being yanked back to secular life? Completely anachronistic for another 500 years argghhh....

[clatterbane]

My first real appointment through orthopedics to finally try and get set up with an aftermarket leg is coming up on Monday.

The previous referral last year just didn't work out, for multiple reasons, and I was a bit bummed over that. I think part of the problem was it falling through the cracks because nobody really seems to be sure what to do with somebody showing up from completely outside their system already minus a leg.

But, we thought to ask that new endo for a fresh referral. So, I did get an intake appointment set up through ortho, with no schedule collisions this time.

In one way, I'm excited to hopefully get moving toward with the process of getting set up with a prosthetic. I would really like to be able to get around better again! And, you know, be able to take my sorry ass off paved surfaces and up steps and stuff again!

OTOH, due to the person I am? I am trying not to borrow too much trouble and drive myself crazy worrying in the meantime. Especially the closer that draws.

Frankly, not least that somebody is gonna just say, "Oops, it's been so long and this entire situation does not fit into any familiar procedures. We just can't/won't help you!”

Yeah, I know there is going to be an awful lot of PT ahead, likely before I even get to the point of any fitting. I have some other concerns about that, after some sufficiently unpleasant experiences as a troublesome-bendy individual, with rehab-focused PT after injuries/knee surgeries (directly coming from the probably-EDS) in the past. My knees are also pretty damned terrible, and also kinda further destabilized by said surgical tinkering.

But, I am much older and more confident now--and not nearly as eager to take any "no pain, no gain!" bullshit seriously. Much less push in ill-advised ways until I do my bendy self an injury.

But yeah, even right now? I would place good money if I had it on the likelihood that I am currently in better shape than 75% of the new patients they see much sooner than this after surgery. Who are statistically much older and otherwise in pretty damned bad health. Probably I've been staying more physically active over the past few years than a lot of that demographic have been able to, even under the current circumstances

Mean age at the time of the first registered amputation in our sample was 74 years (SD 14); women were older (78, SD 14, CI 77–79) than men (72, SD 14, CI 72–73). 43% of the patients were 80 years or older by the time of the primary amputation (Figure 3). The mortality rate of the registered patients was 19% within 6 months and 24% within the 1st year after the last registered amputation. The 1-year mortality rate after TFA was 40%, after KD 38%, and after TTA 24%.

("Lucky" transtibial/TTA here. Those figures are from the Swedish national database, BTW. Because there is one. You see dire mortality rates after this sort of surgery come up? That's a lot of why. Those demographics and the occasional nasty accident requiring amputation seriously skew things.)

There were reasons they kept going on about how young and healthy my middle-aged ass that had just barely cheated death was when I was stuck in the hospital in Romford. And therefore considered a candidate for prosthetics at all under that system. Not going off on that rant right now.

Still, the majority of those elderly patients in otherwise not great shape DO get successfully set up on replacement legs here. Which is encouraging, that they are likely not looking hard for excuses to avoid spending the money. (We're talking the equivalent of a new not-cheap car, back in the US. Region Skåne is still set to lay out a fair chunk of change here. We are thankfully not directly.)

I do rationally doubt that I would get turned away just because I have been off that leg for several years now, and my knees were terrible even before that. And I fucking suck at trying to use forearm crutches, which I am not at all used to and have a very different feel than the type I do have too much experience on.

But yeah, my brain just won't leave things alone as usual. That's just one of the crappiest possibilities it's seized onto right now.

[manny-jacinto]

Hey! I also wanna watch and enjoy Ahsoka but I'm having trouble getting past the Ros@rio D@wson of it all.. I heard about that insane incident and her and her mother beating a trans person (with very little details but it's still been enough to put me off for years). Did you ever hear more details about this/do you know anything else? I'm sorry I know this is the opposite of trying to ignore her existence and move on.

god i feel you, i was NOT interested into the whole ahsoka thing for the exact same reason. fuck rosario dawson! all my homies hate rosario dawson! for what is worth, i tried to ignore her as much as possible during the episodes and focused on sabine, chopper and the sith(?) master/apprentice and it was way better than i expected (especially since i didn't see a lot of r*sari*)

i'm not a deep dive expert so i cannot promise that i have the whole story figured out. there's a not a lot of articles or details but these struck me out:

the description of the assault is absolutely disgusting

In 2020, 18 of the 20 allegations were "withdrawn voluntarily without settlement," and Dawson spoke out about the lawsuit

r*sari* talked a little bit about it to vanity fair and her answer srsly rubs me wrong:

Ahsoka does mean a great deal to people, and they’re deeply invested in who she is. So, Rosario, I want to ask you about something that’s outside of this story of The Mandalorian, and that’s the concern in the fandom about a lawsuit that was filed against you last year by a longtime family friend. The claim accused you and other family members of anti-trans bias, and you’ve called the lawsuit false and baseless. But what do you say to those Star Wars fans who hear this and believe the worst—that you are transphobic?  

Dawson: Well, firstly, I just want to say I understand that, and why people were concerned, and are concerned. I would be too if I heard some of those claims. But I mean, as we’re seeing right now in these past months, and just recently, actually, the truth is coming out. Every single claim of discrimination has been dismissed by the person who made them, and as you’ve said, the fact that this is coming from someone I’ve known since I was a teenager, the better part of my life, and who my family was trying to help as we have many times in the past, it really just makes me sad. But I still have a great empathy for him.

Court records show 18 of the 20 claims were withdrawn voluntarily without a settlement, and his lawyer left the case. Two counts remain alleging a physical altercation, and a judge will rule on whether that can move forward next month. There are people that would say, “Well, this is just another example of a wealthy, famous person overpowering the system.” So what would you say to those people who are unconvinced, both about this case and about what you actually believe about trans people?

Dawson: The reason that all of the discrimination claims were dropped is because they didn’t happen. I was raised in a very inclusive and loving way, and that’s how I’ve lived my entire life. I’ve always used my voice to fight for, lift up, and empower the LGBTQA community, and use my platform to channel trans voices, in fiction and nonfiction work that I’ve produced and directed. So I feel the record is really clear.

[cataztrophi]

“Could I get a mai tai?” The man slid his credit card across the bar and Taako snatched it up with a million-watt smile. 

“Coming right up, my dude! Leave it open?”

The man nodded and Taako started a tab for him at the register. Then he grabbed a shaker from the bar, flipped it twice in the air, and set it back down.

“Lup! White rum!”

Lup nodded and tossed the bottle from the speed rack towards him. “Heads up!”

Taako caught it with a practiced ease and upended the bottle into the shaker he had already filled with ice. From the other end of the bar, there was a flash of fire as Lup lit up a shot of 151. She only broke out the fire when they were sure Davenport and Lucretia weren't around. In fairness to her, that one frat boy had only burned his eyebrows off because he was too dumb to put the flaming cocktail out before he drank it.

It was Saturday at the Starblaster, and Taako was in his element. The music was cranked up to a volume that shook the walls, colored spotlights swarmed over the floor and the crowds of dancers, and the heat and frenzied movement kept sweating patrons rushing to the bar in waves for something ice cold and served by Yours Truly with a wink. Grinning, Taako shoveled ice into a hurricane glass and dumped the rest of the ingredients into the shaker. He flipped up a smaller shaker, slammed it down on the first, and began mixing the drink. 

Taako and Lup had developed a knack for showy bartending during the five years they had worked at the Starblaster. On nights like this, with thirsty customers crowded around the bar, they worked in perfect tandem, effortlessly orbiting each other like the twin suns of a binary system. Unfortunately, not everyone in the bar shared that ability. As Taako threw back his arm, it collided with something solid and the shaker slipped out of his hand. Taako heard a soft “oof,” followed by the sound of tin smashing into tile and ice scattering across the floor.

He whirled around to see Kravitz standing behind him, his white dress shirt and gray vest dripping with spilled mai tai. 

“Fuck!” Double fuck. Of all the times to lose track of the guy he’d been checking out for the past month…. Taako grabbed a towel from under the bar and began dabbing at Kravitz’s clothes. “Sorry, my dude! In my defense, you shouldn't get behind me when I'm shakin'.”

Kravitz grimaced. “I'll try to remember that. And it's no problem, I'll just….” He picked up a handful of cocktail napkins and attempted to dry himself off, but only succeeded in creating a mushy wad of paper that stuck to his clothes and hands.

“Here, Taako, I’ll take over bartending,” Barry said, appearing as he so often did at the moment he was needed. “You should help Kravitz find some dry clothes.”

“I owe you one, Barold,” Taako said, clapping Barry on the shoulder before turning towards the door that led to the employees only area. “Come on, my fella. I think Magnus has some spare t-shirts lying around that should fit you.” Kravitz followed behind him, still doing his best with the cocktail napkins.

“So, is this the first time you got spilled on?” Taako asked as they reached the back room where they left their bags during their shifts. If he made enough small talk, maybe he could drown out the voice in his head telling him he’d just blown any shot he had with Kravitz.

“No, I spilled a pitcher of water on myself my first week. It's the first one since that, though.”

“Not bad for your first month! Here's a Taako Pro Tip: always keep at least one spare outfit with you. You gotta be prepared for when wardrobe disaster strikes.” He found Magnus' bag and began rooting around in it.

“And you're sure Magnus won't mind?”

“Nah, we borrow his shit all the time. Well, ‘borrow….’ Aha!” He pulled out a black t-shirt and waved it triumphantly in the air like a flag. “It might be a little big on you, but-”

The words died in Taako's throat as he turned around to find that Kravitz had unbuttoned his shirt and vest and was now in the process of shrugging out of them. Taako felt heat creeping up his face. He was staring, he knew he was staring, but fuck. His mind wandered and he imagined pressing his hands to Kravitz’s chest, feeling the muscles move under his hands as Kravitz wrapped his arms around him…. Then winding his arms around Kravitz’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss….

“Uh… Taako?”

“What? Oh! Here.” He thrust the t-shirt in Kravitz’s direction. A few dark lines on Kravitz’s ribs caught his eye. “Hang on–is that a tattoo?”

Kravitz pulled the shirt on. It was definitely too big, but it would do for the night. “Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, you just seem sort of straight-laced.”

“Maybe I just take a while to warm up to people.” He met Taako’s eyes, holding his gaze for just a moment too long. Was it just him, or was the room getting smaller?

He swallowed hard. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Kravitz blinked, breaking the tension between them. Taako was a little sorry to see it go. “What?”

Taako grinned. “Show-and-tell, my man. I’ll tell you about my tattoo if you tell me about yours.”

He hesitated for a moment. “It’s not on your ass, is it?”

Taako snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m not giving that away for free. Here.” He pulled down the neck of his crop top to expose one shoulder and turned his back to Kravitz. After another moment of hesitation, Kravitz stepped closer to see the small tattoo right next to his shoulder blade. It was a deep red umbrella, half-open.

“Lup has one just like it,” Taako explained. “We got it for our 18th birthday. We moved around a lot as kids–you know, relatives, foster homes, stuff like that–so we really only had each other. It’s our way of saying that we’ll always have each other’s backs.”

“That’s… really sweet.” Kravitz heaved a sigh, and for a moment Taako was worried that he'd pushed too hard. He did that sometimes, and Lup always told him it would get him into trouble. Not that she was any better. Then Kravitz continued. “It's a few bars from Fauré's Pavane in F-sharp minor. My tattoo, I mean. I always loved that piece. I used to imagine myself conducting it, back when I was studying music.”

“What happened?”

Kravitz shrugged. “Oh, you know, the usual. Things got in the way. Life, money, dwindling funding for the arts….”

Taako nodded. “Man, I know how that goes. Well, it's a rad tattoo anyway.”

The faintest smile turned up the corners of Kravitz’s lips. “Thanks.” He glanced at the clock over the door. “We should probably get back.”

He was right, but for the first time in five years Taako wasn’t itching to get back to the adrenaline rush of a packed house. “Yeah, gotta keep Lup from burning the place down.”

Kravitz chuckled and headed for the door. Taako lingered for a moment, fumbling with his phone.

“Hey, Krav?”

Kravitz turned around, his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

Taako held up his phone, which was playing the opening notes of the Fauré Pavane. “This song slaps.”

Krav smiled and, without another word, disappeared through the door.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, and Taako constantly found himself biting back a smile. He knew if Lup caught him grinning she would tease him about it for months. She had already done the obligatory "suggestive eyebrow waggle" at him when he and Kravitz had returned from the back room. He finished his shift exhausted but happy, with a vague plan to catch Kravitz on his way out and see if he wanted to grab some 4 a.m. breakfast at the diner around the corner. When he headed to the back, though, Kravitz’s bag was already gone.

“Did Kravitz leave already?” he asked Magnus, who was just closing out his shift as a bouncer. 

“Yeah, he was only on till 3 today. He left a while ago.” He began digging more forcefully through his bag. “Hey Taako, have you seen my spare t-shirt? I could have sworn I brought one today….”

“Nope! No clue, sorry, my dude.” He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. 

Despite his disappointment, he managed to convince Lup and Barry to join him at the diner, and they were chatting happily as they left the bar. As soon as he got to the parking lot, he saw something bright pink sail past him and explode on the asphalt, splashing his legs with frigid water. He gasped at the sudden cold and whirled around just in time to see Kravitz hurling another water balloon in his direction. This one hit him square in the chest, and he squealed in surprise and shock. Kravitz was laughing, a good, deep laugh that Taako hadn’t heard from him before.

“Ceasefire!” Taako raised his arms above his head. Lup was collapsed against Barry, roaring with laughter. Kravitz paused mid-windup for his next throw, then dropped the water balloon back into the bucket at his feet.

“I figured turnabout was fair play,” Kravitz said, still chuckling. Taako walked towards him, hands held limply above his head.

“Okay, fair enough.” Taako was smiling now, too. At this time of year, the temperature was almost 80 even before the sun rose, and the cold water was a welcome reprieve. “That’s a lot of balloons,” he said, peering down into the bucket.

Kravitz shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how good my aim would be.”

“Looked pretty good from here!” Lup hollered from across the parking lot. 

He smiled and looked down at the bucket as well, scratching the back of his neck. “Not sure what I’ll do with the rest of these now…”

Taako picked one up and tossed it experimentally in one hand. “Oh, I think I have an idea.”

Kravitz braced for impact against a point-blank attack, but Taako whirled around and hurled the balloon directly at Lup. She attempted to dodge but it hit her in the shoulder, making her yelp at the sudden cold.

“Oh, I’m gonna get you for that!” She sprinted towards Taako, and he took off running, zigzagging between the few cars still left in the lot. While Kravitz was distracted, Barry pushed past him and grabbed the bucket, taking a second to smash a balloon into Kravitz’s chest.

In a moment, they devolved into all-out water balloon warfare, with Kravitz and Taako allying themselves against the juggernaut of Lup’s chaos and Barry’s strategy. Both teams succeeded in stealing the bucket of ammunition several times, and the fight only ended once the last balloon collided with Barry’s back, leaving his jeans soaked.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in weeks,” Taako gasped, bracing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Kravitz grinned, still panting. “Me neither.” Behind them, Lup was chasing Barry around with her jacket, trying to wring it out over his head.

Taako straightened up and began squeezing some of the water out of his braid. “I don’t suppose you brought towels with you.”

Kravitz shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Guess we’d better head home and change, then.”

He nodded. “Unless….”

Taako’s eyebrows went up. “Unless?”

Kravitz started wringing out a corner of his borrowed t-shirt, suddenly so engrossed in the task that he couldn’t meet Taako’s eyes. “Well, it’s just… I have dry clothes at my place. If you wanted to… you know….”

Despite his wet clothes, Taako suddenly felt too hot. “Oh! I mean, yeah! Let’s go… dry off.” 

He waved across the parking lot at Lup. “I’ll catch you guys later!” She wolf-whistled at him, and he flipped her the bird before climbing into the passenger seat of Kravitz’s car. He smiled at Kravitz as he climbed in, and Kravitz smiled back, a little nervously. 

“So, Krav, do you have any other tattoos?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Ooh, naughty! It’s a deal.”

[timaeusterrored]

Soft prompt for you: Tell me of the first time Vax and Johnny kissed~♡💕

HEHEHEH SOFT JOHNNY TIME💕💕💕💕

———

Engram Johnny

Vax had woken up screaming again when he opened his eyes and saw Johnny yelling at him to wake up. The two sat in silence for a while, Vax trying to stay calm and Johnny sat with him because what else could he possibly do. Vax eventually scooted closer and rested his head on Johnny’s shoulder, messing with the dog tags Johnny has entrusted him with.

“‘M sorry, J…” V didn’t know what he was sorry for really, only that he was sorry and felt bad. He felt useless.

“Not your fault.” Was all Johnny could offer for some form of comfort.

Vax looked up at him, held still rested on his shoulder, and Johnny looked down at him. The engram was his only source of comfort anymore, he’s never felt more alone than in this moment.

Vax doesn’t know what possessed him, maybe it was the most recent memory he saw of Johnny kissing his friend, Kerry, or maybe he was just vulnerable. But he leaned up and kissed him.

Color him shocked when Johnny kissed back, holding his wrist. He couldn’t help but grin a bit.

“Thought I wasn’t your type.”

“Go the fuck to bed.”

-

Johnny with a body

Vax had been down from the Space Station for about two months when Johnny showed up from his time being poked and prodded by scientists and Nomad doctors alike. He watched V fight battles in his own mind that he could no longer hear or see, which frustrated him to no end.

Kerry was stressed to high hell as well, taking care of Vax in his state. He watched his two pieces fall apart and he was useless. Kerry didn’t trust him anymore and Vax probably wasn’t aware he was here.

“Johnny I can I trust you to watch him?” Kerry asked, lacing up his boots.

“Yeah.” Johnny knew better now than to argue because when it came to V, Kerry would always win. “Where are you going?”

“Damage control for my label, it’s kinda suspicious when I pay a shit ton of money and start a legal battle with Arasaka.” Kerry stated, putting his hands on his hips.

Johnny nodded, watching him closely. He missed Kerry, his distrust was valid of course but he had miss his other half. “We’ll be here.”

“Should be back in like four hours, will bring home dinner.” Their time system seemed to have survived the 52 years they had been apart. Somethings would never change.

Vax came down the stairs looking for Kerry, and Johnny didn’t miss the panic on his face when he didn’t find him.

“Easy, he’ll be back in like four hours okay?” Johnny sat up, patting the space next to him. Vax chose his lap. Maybe he was more awake than Johnny thought.

Vax rested his head on Johnny’s shoulder, looking up at him. His hand was cold as he pressed it against Johnny’s cheek, his grey eyes dull with lack of emotions, something Johnny didn’t like. Vax had always had some form of emotion.

“You gonna come back to us soon? We’re losin’ it, V.” Johnny said softly, feeling Vax bump their heads together gently. Maybe an apology, or a promise. But Johnny knew Vax would be back. He was getting better and better everyday.

Johnny didn’t know how long they sat like that, listening to V’s breathing with his own ears, seeing him with his own eyes. Even in his state, he understood why people threw themselves at his feet. If he were any other gonk, he would.

Vax tilted his head up after a moment, pressing their lips together. It was over too soon, Johnny immediately wanted more. But knew Vax did it to show he was still in there, and was coming back to them slowly… it also wouldn’t be fair to Kerry. So Johnny would wait.

[jaynnie-jane]

This was just going to be an aether post but I think I will send it to you. And that's what I am trying to do now. It's why I can't see a way for us to work. I should never have expected you to take that little bundle of trouble back. You had worked so hard on freeing yourself, on becoming a better version of yourself and I expected you to take back the weight that you had been so crippled under. And now I wish you would work faster to develop yourself and be a different person so the need for that particular weight no longer existed. But I know that's not who you are. I know that in removing that aspect you might be afraid it would remove your drive. That thing I am asking you now to change IS a core value of yours. A core value that I have known was there and have loved you for because of how it shaped you. Just as, I suspect my core values and priorities made me the perfect fir for you and what you wanted from life when we started dating. And I keep asking you to change something that makes you, you, as if me trying to face my fears at the start of the year and failing gets me a free ticket in this moment. It doesn't. Life isn't fair. I am sorry our development is mismatched. It seems we have once again struck that point where our paths must diverge again. I have had an amazing time with you. You completely ruined my life and I am so, so grateful for it. You helped me believe I could do more and be more. You got me curious about all the things I am missing out on. You gave me a hunger for experience. Through you, I got to experience a world I never had: travel, serious people jobs and an unshakeable belief and faith in my capacity, even when I knew I couldn't. Even though it was painful sometimes and not always helpful because we were not accepting our present realities, looking back without the weight of necessity riding on me I am grateful that you have always believed in me. I can safely say that I have never had someone that knows me as well as you do have so much unwavering faith in me. You have always been my best cheerleader and have always gone out of your way to help me achieve the goals I set for myself. I think in this instance, the lines that drew out what my personal goal was, got muddied out of necessity for our relationship and to allow you to continue thriving. I know I will forever regret my fumbling of that problem ball. I have wished every day for the past three months that I was capable of taking it out of my pile of troubles and just placing it on a shelf for later. My trouble pile doesn't quite work like that, it's very much a "Last in, first out" kinda system. Even now, I feel I am more able than I have been this last year to really focus in on my next step. By removing that demand I am starting to see a little better the different ways I might be able to achieve what I wanted, and a little bit of what you wanted in the first place. We always said we would do this for as long as it was working. We did that and we tried to make whatever the fuck this was to keep working for far too long after the core components had changed. I really hope that in doing so we didn't destroy our chance of having whatever the fuck this is, now.

I love you. I have loved you for a very long time and I will continue to love you forever. That will never change. Love, acceptance, hurt, guilt, shame, hope, sadness, empathy, confidence, clarity (one hundo, loss, gratitude, sadness, longing), connection.

ainslie hogarth motherthing

kofi

[arjaandsimoni]

Hitchhikers

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of rape and death by disease. Reader discretion is advised.

On an old country road in Colorado, in the backseat of a car, something horrible was happening.

The girl writhed under him, kicking and clawing as she begged him to stop, but his body was no longer his own, his mind filled only with thoughts of vengeance and payback. “Bitch! Little bitch! You killed me! You think you’re better than me?!” he snarled.

The girl cried out, trying to shove him off, but he was too deep inside her now! He moved like a man possessed, froth on his lips and lust and anger in his eyes.

Suddenly the feelings vanished all at once and he was alone in the car, a confused man in a parked vehicle with nobody else around.

A minute later he vomited blood onto the carseat as his immune system shut down, he was cold by morning.

By noon the police had arrived and he was on the way to the morgue, making yet another bizarre death on that stretch of road. “I dunno Sarge.” said one of the younger officers, “I mean… this makes three guys we’ve found like this in as many weeks.” he nodded, “What the fuck is going on? Pants are coated in semen, the rest of everything is coated in blood.”

The sergeant, an older man with a thick bushy mustache, stood by sucking down a cigarette. He wanted a drink, but dammit he was on the clock. After that though he really wanted a damn drink. He took a deep breath and muttered ‘first thing once I’m off the clock.’

“Sarge?” asked the younger officer.

“Nothing. Forensics on their way?” he asked.

“Yessir, still, craziest damn thing. Its like he came ‘n then he just… went. Geddit? He came ‘n dammit he went.” the younger officer laughed, his voice trailing off as his sergeant gave him what could only be described as a look. “Um… sorry sir.”

The older officer nodded to him, “Just be ready to move the corpse when they arrive.” he grunted in an annoyed way.

“Yessir, but... any idea whats doing this?” he asked.

The older cop shrugged, “No, but… I know a guy. I think we may need to call in a consultant.” he nodded, taking out his phone.

Police HQ, Canon City Colorado

Nelen walked into the Canon City police precinct with an anxious glance around. He didn’t like being in them, for one his face was in way too many… usually on a poster reading ‘wanted for severe property damage/credit card fraud/grand theft auto/fleeing the scene of a crime/assaulting an officer/assaulting several officers/assaulting an officer’s sense of decency/vagrancy’ or the like. He was still surprised that last one stuck more often than not… and to be fair, the second to last one was usually Dawn. He certainly didn’t teach her language like that.

“Soooo, did the piggly wigglies say what they wanted us for?” asked Dawn, grinning up at him as Nelen coughed awkwardly and made a ‘cut it out’ motion with his hand.

“No, but I’ve worked with Sergeant Berger before and he’s got more sense than a lot of people… I’m fairly certain we’ll be fine here.” he nodded, walking up to the counter and telling the receptionist that they were here to see him.

A minute later the Sergeant walked out to meet him. “Fullmoon, good to see you again man.” he nodded, shaking his hand. “Still owe you a drink for helping us take down the Temple Canyon slasher a couple years back. You really saved our asses.” he nodded.

“Glad to help Berger.” he replied, “So, you said on the phone you’ve got some really strange fatalities?” he said.

The cop shook his head and put his hands on his hips, looking down, “Man I don’t even know what the hell could’ve done this. Its like three different guys jerked off in their backseat, then vomited themselves to death. Corner’s reports show that their immune systems turned against them, they got traces of viruses in their blood that haven’t existed in decades! We couldn’t even turn the damn bodies over to their families, they had to be cremated as a health hazard!” he sighed. “I’m at a loss Fullmoon, in all my years on the force this is just… somethin’ else.” he nodded.

“Anything unusual linking these deaths besides cause Berger? I mean… anything at all you can think of?” he asked.

The man thought for a second, then nodded. “Actually yeah. They were all along route one-one-A. Normally we don’t see a ton of traffic that way, but Highway Fifty and Route One Fifteen are getting repaired right now and its causing a lot of delays, so people have been using that one instead sometimes. Think that could mean something?” he asked. “I mean, its really not that weird for one of them to get redone, those roads see a lot of use, but last winter was really rough on ‘em and the governor wanted both done pronto since he’s up for re-election.”

Nelen frowned, “Hmm… could be something.” he replied, “Might need to check some stuff out online, or maybe at the library. They still open?” he asked.

The cop nodded, “Sure is, I can give you a lift if you like.” he offered, but Nelen shook his head.

“Thanks all the same Berger, but I prefer to walk. You’d be amazed what you notice just by walking through town.” he replied.

About an hour later, outside the local library

Dawn grinned at him as they walked up the steps to the library doors, “You prefer to walk… just say it Nelen. ‘I. Hate. Cop. Cruisers.’” she smirked.

“I’m not about to tell a cop who actually likes me how many times I’ve had to either break out of a cruiser or have you bail me out of one Dawn.” he frowned as they walked inside, the older man sighing with relief at the feel of the air conditioning after the long walk.

It was more than a few times, more than a few dozen if he had to be honest. He’d swear that fountain had looked like that when he found it and its not his fault the hedge beast turned into a pile of mulch when he killed it.

“Whaaaaaaaaatever. So, any ideas?” she asked.

“Too many to count. If they’re all along that road it could be a lot of things. A vampire with a penchant for disease might make their home there, or it could be a spirit of plague, maybe even a rogue faerie.” he replied. “We don’t have enough information yet.”

She shrugged, walking along next to him as they went back to the records room. Not much to do besides see what they could find.

Several hours later however they were both getting frustrated. There were years’ worth of newspapers and a thousand and one snatches of microfilm, he didn’t even know that some libraries still HAD these things. He zoomed in and out of the pages, huffing in annoyance. “You think this place had more interesting stuff than quilt shows to report on…” he muttered, “Coming up dry over here Dawn, you?”

“Well, the Rockies won five to one back in eighty-one. Otherwise I’m just as lost as you are.” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she slipped another reel in, then put her eyes back on the machine and scrolled through it… and stopping. “Hey Gandalf, that buddy cop of your’s said Route one one A right?”

“Yeah, why? Do you have something?” he asked.

“I… might…” she frowned, zooming in. “Um… apparently some girl went missing along that road back in the early 80s, and the cops found her corpse a few months later in a ditch along it. Looks like someone really went to town on her, signs of sexual assault.” she frowned, her ears flattening under her hat.

Nelen sighed and nodded, “A haunting then, that might explain the whole ‘orgasm in the back seat of the car’ deal, but… what about the rest? I could see it if they died from a gouged-out eye or a slash on the neck when she defended herself, but they died of some severe illness.”

“Hmm… says her name was Heather Mitchells. Maybe google it?” she tried.

Nelen pulled out his phone and typed in the name and highway onto it, then smirked, “Not bad cat. Local urban legend, we got a phantom hitchhiker. Looks like hardly anyone uses that road anymore, probably why nothing has happened until recently. Its an old County Road…” he sighed, “Yeah, I was afraid of this. We need to find a car rental Dawn. We gotta go fishing for Caspers.”

Dawn grinned, “I get to pick the radio station!”

Outside Canon City, Route 11A

Dawn grumbled, sticking her head out the window with a sour look.

“What? You’re really surprised its all country music? We’re in middle of nowhere Colorado. I’m surprised there’s any radio signals out here.” Nelen smirked at her as their rented car, a rather dinged up old Chevy, wound its way along the road, the pathway taking them through a rather picturesque if completely barren part of Colorado. “Just keep your eyes peeled. Watch for a girl looking for a ride, clothing and hair would probably be pretty out of date.”

Dawn frowned, “Not seeing anyone, but its still a bit light out… this shit normally doesn’t start up until nighttime.” she pointed out, “We could have stopped for some dinner. Fried chicken sounds good.”

“We’ll eat after we bust the ghost furbrain.” he replied.

“Right right…” she grumbled.

About four hours later, after the sun had set.

“I spy… with my little eye… something beginning with… T.” said Dawn.

“Dawn, I can’t see anywhere near as well as you can in the dark… and its obviously tree.” he replied.

Dawn hissed, “OF COURSE IT’S TREE! THAT’S ALL THAT’S OUT HERE!” she retorted, “I think we’re on a wild leprechaun chase Nelen. This could be something that only happens on specific days of the week or something! Why didn’t you ask that pig more info?!” she grumbled, folding her arms and staring out at the night sky.

“Hey Dawn?” he asked.

“Yeah what?” she grumbled.

“I spy, with my little eye, something that begins with H.” he said.

Dawn blinked, “H?” she asked, sitting up.

“Hitchhiker.” he nodded, the car slowing to a stop as he rolled down the window and called out, “Hey there young lady, dark night out tonight. Your car break down?” he asked.

The woman nodded, looking relieved, “Yes, thank you for stopping. I just live right up off Pinon Avenue, if you could gimme a lift I’d really appreciate it.” she replied.

Nelen popped the locks on the car as Dawn turned to him and nodded, mouthing ‘that’s her.’ The article had a picture of the girl in question.

“Well hell, can’t expect you to walk that far in the dark. Hop in.” he nodded to her as the woman got inside.

“Thanks so much, I’m Heather.” she smiled.

“Nelen, and this is my daughter, Dawn.” he replied as Dawn grinned back at her. She looked solid enough. Even they couldn’t tell at first glance that she was a spirit rather than a living person. He noticed her expression, then added. “She’s adopted.”

The woman nodded as he put the car in gear and began to drive, Nelen nodding to Dawn. Step one accomplished, but whatever happened those people didn’t make it home…

About halfway along the trail however, Nelen suddenly felt something pressing against his mind… “Uhn…” he muttered, pulling the car over.

“Nelen?” asked Dawn, “Whats wrong?” she looked at him.

Nelen gritted his teeth, his head starting to swim. “Shit… Now I get it… it wasn’t just her…” he grunted. “Dawn, get the fuck outta the car, fast.”

Dawn blinked, scooting back, “Nelen? Um…”

“Dawn! GO DAMMIT! Something is trying to possess me! There’s two ghosts!” he snapped, “We only knew about the one!” he shook his head, getting out and trying to clear it, the woman in the car looking confused as he struggled.

And he heard in his head…

THAT BITCH KILLED ME! SHE FUCKING GOT ME KILLED! I ONLY WANTED SOME FUN! I JUST WANNA HAVE SOME FUN GIRL! YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT GIRL! STOP FIGHTING! LEMME HAVE SOME DAMN FUN!

He stumbled, gritting his teeth so hard they hurt, and next to him a presence shimmered in the air. A large heavyset man, but one whose features were distorted. A caricature of a human, twisted in death by rage and anger!

“Nelen!” called out Dawn, running around the car.

“GET BACK! It’s a wraith dammit! A wraith! I got this just get back!” he snapped.

You got this?! The fuck do you mean?! LET ME IN! LET ME HAVE HER AGAIN DAMMIT! I WANT HER!

Nelen shuddered, his head snapping up as the wraith’s form shimmered in the air like a bloody wave of heat off the pavement! Suddenly, his arm snapped out and latched around the ghost’s throat... and managed to hold on.

“Nope.” grinned Nelen, but it wasn’t his voice saying it. “Sorry buddy, ya can’t possess this one. I called dibs.”

Dawn whimpered, scrambling back several steps as the wraith clawed at his hand, but no matter what he did Nelen’s grip wouldn’t come loose.

Nelen chuckled, “You are one unlucky fucking spook, you know that?” he sneered, his voice sounding different now. It had a certain sadistic glint to it, something that wasn’t there before. “A normal ghost could have gotten away easy, but a wraith? So twisted up by anger and fury and wrath that you became a monster?” he shook his head with a 'tsk-tsk' sound, then his gaze snapped around to look at the spirit, his eyes a deep deep bloody red. “Wrath is my specialty.”

The wraith stared at him, then started struggling harder.

N-no… NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO GODDDAMMIT!

“Oh no no no… I can smell it on you, I know exactly what you did. You were angry at this girl because she looked so much like your high school ex that you couldn’t stand it, you wanted her back and this was as close as you’d ever gotten in your twisted up little brain…” he smirked, carrying the wraith’s struggling form from the vehicle over to a bare patch of ground.

“… so you raped the fuck outta her, snapped her neck, and left her in the bushes but OOPS! Someone didn’t know she was HIV positive, did you? This was, what, eighty-one? They didn’t know dick about AIDS back then and a big macho man like you probably didn’t want to admit to his doctor that he caught ‘the gay disease.’ So you let it go too late and wasted away, your body turning against itself.” he rolled his eyes, “Hell is still waiting for this meatsack’s soul, but I’m having a good time and I’m not ready to cash him out yet so… eh… you’ll do.”

Dawn was hiding behind the car at this point, her eyes wide and her tail puffed out, she’d only seen this a few times, but she knew what was happening. Nelen had told her after they teamed up exactly where his particular form of magic came from.

Infernal style Blood Magic, except it wasn’t exactly blood… he didn’t have any blood in him, not a single drop.

What he did have, was him.

‘Nelen’ held his hand out over the ground and willed a glob of crimson off it onto the pavement, which quickly spread into a large red circle. Then all Hell broke loose, literally, as the circle became a hole in reality leading straight below.

“When you see the boss, tell him Merihim says ‘hi.’ Going DOWN!” he laughed, and let go.

The wraith flailed above the hole for a moment, and then suddenly was pulled down with excessive force, wailing in terror as he vanished below! Down he went, all the way down, straight into the depths of the Pit.

Merihim stretched, looking around, “Huh, Colorado. Been a bit.” he muttered, then looked back at the car, seeing the terrified catgirl and equally terrified ghost, and shrugged, “Eh, bored now. Fine fine, have him back. I’ll see you around.” he smirked, then Nelen stumbled as his head lolled downwards, before he straightened up, his eyes back to normal.

“Ughn…” he grunted, shaking his head, “… got some of that… looks like we’re almost done.” he nodded, looking back at the ghost. “Almost…”

Canon City Cemetary, very late at night.

The cemetery was closed at that hour, but nobody really paid that much attention. Thankfully modern technology did have some neat uses, like GPS for specific headstones. He walked along, the cat and the rather confused ghost following him, until he stopped and jabbed a finger downwards.

“There, home sweet home.” he said.

Heather looked down, her eyes widening at what she saw.

She knelt by the grave, feeling over the words, and slowly she began to lose solidity.

“I remember now… that man killed me, he… he did something horrible to me and then I died, but I still wanted to get home so badly it was all I could think about… for years and years and years…” she whispered, looking up, “How long has it been?” she asked.

Nelen told her, glancing away as he did.

She sighed, “I could have been so many things you know. I wanted to go to college, maybe get married and have a kid of my own. You… that thing in you… it threw him into Hell?”

He nodded, “Yeah, if it helps he can’t actually do that unless they’re supposed to fall. He committed the Sins of Wrath and Lust, he wasn’t going to go up no matter what he did.”

She nodded, “My mom used to tell me that Hell was too horrible a fate to wish on anyone, that it shouldn’t work that way and everyone should have a chance to say they’re sorry, but… I just can’t feel it for him.” she muttered.

Nelen sat down next to her on the grass, near her grave. “Then don’t.” he said, “I have this guy because some little shits killed a friend of mine back home and their dad protected them from the consequences. I made a deal with something horrible for payback. Seven years on now and I’m still paying for it… but yanno, looking back at those kids and what they did to him… I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry."

Nelen sighed, looking up at the sky, "Your family is gone, they moved away after you died. There’s nowhere left for you to go but… well… on.” he shrugged.

She nodded, “I’m scared. I tried my best, but do you think Heaven will let me in?” she asked.

He shrugged, “Couldn’t say, but don’t believe what the preachers tell you. Wherever you wind up, whatever happens, you only go to something like Hell if you truly, really deserve it.” he nodded, “You may not go up, I can’t promise that, but you won’t go down.”

She looked at the tombstone, her body fading further. Nelen could see the cemetery wall through her now.

“I’m ready then… Thank you.” she smiled and then, suddenly, she wasn’t there. A faint light, like the glow of a lightning bug floated up into the sky, and then there was nothing but the sound of crickets in the grass.

Nelen stood up and dusted himself off, taking a deep breath.

“I need a godsdamn drink.” he nodded.

“Nelen, you alright? I mean, every time he does that…” asked Dawn.

He shrugged, “It’s the price I paid for this Dawn. I knew what I was asking for when I signed the contract with him. Lets call Berger and go hit the Wulfshead.” he replied, walking back to the car.

Dawn frowned, “Yanno I can see that!” she shouted. “Your eyes! I can see how red they are and I know its not him! Good night vision remember?”

Nelen paused, then shrugged, “Dawn, what can I do eh? Sometimes the job hits harder than others. Its just… life.” he replied. “Its okay, I’m used to it. I know where I’ll be going and I’ve made my peace with that. Just… gotta put it off as long as I can.”

Dawn frowned, but padded on behind him, “… doesn’t mean I’m okay with it…” she grumbled.

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