#the two i most hated to cut are actually from shows I recommend over chains of heart or minato's laundromat s2

[twig-tea]

Top 5 moments of yearning in 2023 bl (no cheating you can only pick 5)

WOW. wowowowowowow. Wow. It's almost as though you saw my other answers before asking this (which I know you didn't because this came in first and I am Slow). Rude.

First, I need to establish a very important distinction: Pining (my beloved) is when you think or are determined that it will never happen; yearning (also my beloved) is when you think it could and are really struggling to hold yourself back from just going for it right now for Reasons. The possibility of fulfillment is the main difference.

Second distinction: Yearning is not necessarily sexual tension. It can be an element of it, but yearning is about wanting something, whether that's sex, closeness, acceptance, or something else. It's about wanting existing barriers to drop that are preventing you from having the thing you want most in that moment, whether they're internal or external, physical or metaphysical.

Finally, as much as I would love to talk about only my favourite shows exclusively forever, you did ask for my top five moments rather than top 5 shows that contain yearning, so I stuck to the rules. All that is to say, there are a couple of series on this list that I don't actually recommend lol

With that out of the way:

Top [For Real Only] 5 Moments of Yearning in 2023 BLs Because Shan Hates Me

1. Jae Won yanking and then patting down Ji Hyun before putting him in a cab, The Eighth Sense

Basically this whole show is yearning (except for the brief interlude for pining). I chose this moment because this was the first moment I was certain they both actually knew what was going on and it was clear to them both that they could have this, at least in theory; the tension felt palpable, and I really wasn't sure whether they were going to hold back or not. Jae Won is supposed to be saying goodbye, but he can't keep it in to the point where he just can't stop touching Ji Hyun (that backpack pull that happens immediately before this, guh), and Ji Hyun is also so clearly soaking it up. When the cab pulls up and they just keep staring, there was a real question in my mind about whether they were going to break and just go for it or not. For these two it's not just about sex; they yearn for version of one another they are when they're together, and they don't want the spell to end.

2. Khun Lu and Ken almost kiss while naked in bed, Chains of Heart

I'm still not entirely sure I know what happened in that show, but the yearning between these two was palpable the whole time. In this particular scene, Ken has just seen a hint the previous night that Lu is in fact Din, his missing-presumed-dead lover, and he's already previously rejected Lu on the premise that Din is still alive and is the only man he'll ever love, even though he feels drawn to Lu. Up until then, his yearning was for Din, though he also felt something for Lu. Now suddenly he's presented with the possibility that he's already reunited with his lover, which is all he wants, though he's unsure that's what's happening. On the other side of this equation, Lu has been wanting as much of Ken as he can charm, trick, or beg for. He just wants him now, here, under the pretense of this new body, because he knows Ken will never be safe if Din is thought to still be alive. At the same time, he is torn between wanting to be near Ken to keep him safe and wanting to stay away to keep him safe. Yearning barely covers it.

3. The post-sex breakdown of Yai and Jom in I Feel You Linger In The Air

This scene was particularly painful because the yearning only hits harder after his orgasm, rather than the catharsis Jom was probably expecting. In this scene they weren't just yearning for one another physically like in earlier parts of the show; they are yearning for a future they can't have together but both want and in this moment feels like it should be possible. Yai really looks like he wants to meld into Jom's skin. The way that sex does not break the yearning is quietly devastating. Is there anything worse than having everything you want in your arms but knowing you can't keep it?

4. Patts desperate to get through to Saengai on the other side of the door, La Pluie

@liyazaki the tumblr gif search is not crediting you properly so adding a tag to you here!

Listen, Patts has been yearning for reciprocation from his soulmate for years before he meets Saengtai, and it did not at all stop once they met, it just changed in quality. He's always yearned rather than pined because with soulmates comes the expectation that it will work, because of 'destiny'. We saw him say in a flashback that he thought his soulmate could be platonic, and I do believe him when he says to Nara that he'd be fine with that, because what he really yearns for is to be understood and wanted for himself (hence the heartbreaking line "is it that hard to choose me?" that comes before this). The fact that someone had a "destined" connection to him and rejected him for years took a real toll on this man. The way he claws at the door in this scene will stay with me into 2024.

5. Minato and Shin at the Onsen, Minato's Laundromat s2

As much as I dislike where this season went, a yearning list would not be complete without Shin and Minato. We spend a lot of time with Shin's yearning in this show, but we get glimpses that Minato is actually yearning too throughout the season and especially at the onsen. In this scene, he tries to get drunk to get past his own insecurities, but it doesn't work as well as he wanted. This scene was all about Minato articulating all the ways he also yearns, and how it's overwhelming for him--and how that overwhelm is frustrating. I love this outpouring of Minato's frustration around his own internal blockers to what he wants. Also Shin swallowing in this gif makes it perfectly clear he is also Suffering. Perfection.

Bonus and it doesn't count as cheating because it's not a BL SO THERE:

Sam and Mon comforting one another after Sam's grandmother found out about their relationship, GAP

This show was such a mess but my god these two women wanted one another so badly, and I appreciated the hell out of that. It felt like yearning rather than pining until near the end, because all through their getting together phase they insisted on such an intense level of denial that they didn't even seem to worry about what they wanted being impossible, they just knew they didn't have it yet. So they did things like bite one another and pretend it was platonic and wonder why they weren't satisfied. I was thinking about going with an early scene where they barely resist the urge to make out, but instead I went with this one because I think it's a double-whammy. in this scene, Sam is trying to get Mon to tell her what's wrong, and Mon confesses that Sam's grandmother saw her at her house and asked her to leave Sam. Instead of pulling away, Mon clings to Sam, and Sam apologizes to her for not being there for her. Sam thinks she can talk her around to accepting Mon. "Don't worry; I'll talk to her. We'll get through this". The yearning here is for them to be together and safe; accepted by their families and happy, and not feeling this pain. I don't recommend this show, but there is something to be said for the way it showed the impact of intergenerational trauma and the very real yearning so many of us feel to just be accepted as we are.

[sukirichi]

acquainted

You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.

REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place

WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex

WC. 5.4k+

NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑

There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.

So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.

“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.

The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.

“I believe you’re in my seat.”

You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”

Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”

“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”

“You little — who do you think you are?”

“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”

His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”

“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”

“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”

“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.

That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”

“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”

“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson.  “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”

It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.

You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.

No wonder that name was so familiar.

The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.

Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.

You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.

It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?

For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.

You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.

The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more.  Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.

You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”

Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.

He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.

You were beyond appalled.

“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”

“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”

“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”

Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”

“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”

“I have nothing to prove to you.”

“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”

“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”

Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.

From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.

“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”

“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”

You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?

Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?

If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.

God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.  

Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.

“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”

For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”

“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”

“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”

You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”

“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”

“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”

“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”

A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”

Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.

It was a blurry mess from there.

Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.

It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.

Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.

Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?

Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?

Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.

“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”

“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”

Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress.  “Get on your knees. Now suck.”

He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.

Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.

Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.

You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.

While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.

A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.

You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.

“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”

“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”

Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”

Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.

Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”

“Go faster. This is unfair!”

Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.

“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”

You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.

The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.

You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.

Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.

“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop ­— and by then Naoya was losing his mind.

Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”

You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.

“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.

“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.

Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”

Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.

You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.

The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.

Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”

“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.

Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.

“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”

“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”

“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”

Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.

“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”

“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”

All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.

Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”

Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.

You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”

“You’re the one who brought me here.”

“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.

“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”

You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.

As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.

Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”

“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.

Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.

It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.

“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”

There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.

“Be ready for me, Zenin.”

“I always am.”

All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?

[lazywitchling]

Alright friends, buckle up, pretty sure this is going to be a long one.

Let me start off by saying that I am about to bring up a problem to which I have no solution. I will say what I think we shouldn't do, but I don't know what we should do instead. Someone smarter than me will have to cover that one.

Anyway, all this is regarding this post I made this morning after seeing yet another one of those asks floating around Tumblr. "What do you think of [website]?"

(Actually I'm going to toss this under a cut because it's WAY longer than I meant it to be, but I still think it's important to say)

It seems like a harmless ask. It usually comes with an explanation as to why there's something interesting there at that URL. Maybe not correct or good, but certainly interesting. Just enough to make you curious to go check the website. It's even in the phrasing of the question! They're not telling you they're good or bad, they're just asking what you think. That's harmless... right?

Yeah, no, it's definitely nazis. Not "nazis" as in "uhhh everything I don't like on the internet is nazi", it's nazis as in full-blown anti-Semitism, reptillian-people-control-the-banks... it's gross. I looked up what they're about just so I could tell you, and it's gross. 0/10, do not recommend.

Anyway, here on Tumblr, they send these asks out to various blogs. And over the past couple weeks, I've seen an increasing number of these asks published on my dashboard.

Now, every time I have seen them, the person publishing it has absolutely called it out for being what it is. They'll go into detail about why it's filth, or they'll go for the short-and-not-sweet "Fuck off, you nazi piece of shit". Every time I've seen the ask, it's been refuted.

But I've seen the ask. A lot.

Now... why is that a problem? Why is it a problem to publish the ask and call it out for what it is? Isn't it better for your followers to know what it is so they don't get taken in by it?

Let me tell you two stories.

1. The Cheeseburger

So yesterday for dinner I had a cheeseburger from... the Large Burger Chain (you know the one). Earlier in the day, I had read a post here on Tumblr about a lawsuit involving this Large Burger Chain, in which they had done a shitty thing. It was a funny story, where we got to laugh at the Large Burger Chain for being greedy and awful. "Look how awful those people at Large Burger Chain are. Aren't they the worst?"

So why did I go get a cheeseburger from them? Well, 'cause for the rest of the day, I kept thinking "Damn, a cheeseburger sounds delicious right now." It managed to weasel its way into my brain, and I couldn't stop thinking about cheeseburgers. And of course, that one cheeseburger place stands out in my mind. Until eventually, when out for a drive with Dad, he asked if I wanted anything in particular for dinner, and I said I had a craving for a cheeseburger from Large Burger Chain (It was Burger King).

Now why did I go there after having read about the shitty lawsuit?

Here's the thing about advertising. They know they can't sell you a cheeseburger from one advertisement. One commercial on TV does not make you go "I will now go get a cheeseburger from Large Burger Chain!" It doesn't work that way. But they want to be sure that when you DO want a cheeseburger eventually... they are the one you think of. They want to be the first place you think of.

Let me ask you something. How did you react when I said the name of Large Burger Chain? Because I said it up there in the strikeout. You might not have had a fully thought-out reaction, but I bet you had an instinctive moment where you either thought "I KNEW it was Burger King", or "Oh, I thought it was McDonalds."

Why did you think of the place you thought of? Is it because you like that one better? Is it because there's one down the road from your house that you pass all the time? Did you recently see a commercial for that one? This is a rhetorical question that probably doesn't have a specific answer. But somehow, for some reason or for many reasons, one of those burger places has made it's way into your head and is now the first place you think of when you hear "Large Burger Chain". One place stands out in your mind as The Fast Food Place With The Burgers. Even if you don't like either place, you've heard them advertised enough that they've got into your head.

You seeing where I'm going with this?

The more these asks show up on my dashboard, the more it gets into my head. I, knowing full well what that site is about, have wondered more than once "Hey, I've never actually looked at that website. What does it look like?" or "What is actually on there?" or "I want to go look at how bad it really is."

I can't name off the people who have received and published the ask. I didn't pay that much attention. Each time I saw it was insignificant at the time. But I've seen the website often enough that I can name its exact URL without ever having intentionally memorized it.

BUT JES, you say, WHY IS THAT A PROBLEM? If you KNOW the site is garbage, and you CALL it garbage, then no one is going to get taken in by it, right??

2. The Price Tags

So, I'm a cheesemonger. My job is to sell things to people. I've been in this business for nearly a decade, I've got certifications you probably don't even know exist. I am trained and paid to know how to get you to buy shit.

It's gross and I hate it and I don't use those skills if I can help it, but I have them.

But there's one very very easy tactic that I do use in my cheese department. It's very easy, takes no effort on my part, and it's really effective.

Every price tag is on the back of the piece of cheese.

These are cheeses that are cut to variable weights, with a certain price per pound. Because these cheeses are cut individually, they are priced individually. Smaller ones, bigger ones, whatever you need. Now, the thing is... if you are browsing my cheese wall looking for something interesting, you are going to see cheese, you are going to see names, you are going to see types. You are not going to see prices. If you want to see the price, which is on the back, you know what you have to do?

You have to pick it up.

I have now got the piece of cheese into your hands. And that's one step closer to it being in your cart.

It's not 100%. It's not even 50%. The majority of people who pick up a piece of cheese on a whim to check the price will then put it back down. But not all of them. A lot of people will pick it up, just to check, just to satisfy their curiosity. That one sounds odd, I wonder how much it is? And then it's in their hands, and they shrug, and they toss it into the cart. Because why not?

So WTF does this have to do with anything?

Look, it's a lot of fun to digitally punch a nazi. They come into our ask boxes, and it's so tempting to take a verbal (textual?) swing at them. But the goal is to get their name out there into the ether. It's to put that name in front of all your blog's followers, as many times as possible. Maybe you refute the ask and someone who has never heard of them before now knows who they are. OR maybe this is the fifth time they've seen it on their dash this week, and now they're curious. This group wants to make sure that you know their name off the top of your head, the way you know the name of that Large Burger Chain. And if they can get you to their site, even if it's just to satisfy your morbid curiosity, even if it's just to see how bad it really is, then they've got the piece of cheese in your hands. And yeah, maybe most people put it back. But sometimes it winds up in the cart.

So... what do I do?

Don't feed the trolls. Starve them. Block the anon. Delete the ask. Move on with your day.

As for how to teach people about these assholes? -shrug- That's where you have to ask someone smarter than me. I don't know how to educate people on this stuff without exposing them to it, but my instinct is to not let them control the conversation. Beyond that, you're probably best off listening to the people these groups hate. Find Jewish voices explaining what's so harmful about these people, and boost their voices instead.

Anyway.

That was a tome. Thanks for reading. Don't feel bad if you've ever published an ask they sent you. Individually posted, they don't have a whole lot of power. It's when it becomes a trend that it becomes a problem.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 27

chapter list / previous / next

“What are the tenets of the warrior code?” Dawntripe asked. 

Tallpaw sat up straight as he recited. “A warrior protects the helpless: no kit or sick will be left behind. A warrior has mercy for their enemies: they do not seek to spread death unnecessarily. A warrior values life, and is without greed: they never take their prey or land for granted and thank StarClan for all our blessings. A warrior rejects trading freedom and dignity for a chained life of comfort. And above all, our lives and loyalty is to our clan, whatever the cost.” Tallpaw had spent ages memorizing the right words to say and the intensity with how to say them until he knew it like the back of his paw. He felt a rush of relief when Heatherstar nodded her approval.

“You have trained him well, Dawnstripe. His progress has been impressive.” She said and Dawnstripe purred with pride for her apprentice as Heatherstar continued, “I think you were right in recommending him to take his assessment now. As long as you remember, young Tallpaw, that you will be judged harshly. Most apprentices would need to train at least another moon before being considered for their full warriors ceremony.”

Tallpaw dipped his head “I understand Heatherstar. Thank you for the opportunity. I promise I will not let you down.”

He spoke with practiced evenness that he had been mastering throughout his training, since indeed he felt or thought very little that was not dedicated to improving his ability and impressing his elders. He offered first to join every patrol that would have him, extended training sessions well past sunhigh when the rest of the clan dozed, and spent most of his downtime cleaning nests and fetching fresh bedding. Though often exhausted and sore, his body had never failed him. Keeping busy kept him focused and even sometimes kept the dreams away. Even so, Tallpaw felt like it wasn’t enough. There was still upset restlessness in his belly. A restlessness he was sure would be satisfied as soon as he’d proven himself worthy of his name.

Heatherstar eyed him. “Hareflight informs me Shrewpaw is ready to take his assessment again. All the better for apprentices to take it together. You will both be ready by evening, I presume?”

“Yes Heatherstar,” Tallpaw said. He hid his irritation at the thought of dealing with Shrewpaw throughout this important trial. Heatherstar wanted to know he was above letting personal squabbles get in the way of what needed to be done, but Tallpaw was not confident the high strung tom would not do something to try and sabotage him. But surely...after already failing an assessment, even Shrewpaw wouldn’t risk doing anything to jeopardize this one. We both want the same thing. And after it’s done, hopefully I won’t have to think of him again.

Even so, a battle assessment against Shrewpaw was not something he looked forward to. Shrewpaw could easily match many of the best warriors in his fighting skills. It was certainly not raw ability that had been holding him back from his name. Tallpaw shook the apprehension buzzing around in his head like a fly away to the back of his mind. He could handle Shrewpaw. It didn’t matter if the battle assessments were won, it was about the skill shown during it. And he knew Shrewpaw well enough by now to know exactly how he fought. Being ‘just good enough’ isn’t going to cut it. I need to be better. And I will. Shrewpaw isn’t going to get in my way.

***

“An enemy has invaded,” Dawnstripe debriefed Tallpaw and Shrewpaw, who stood side by side, stiffly avoiding each other's gaze. Hareflight acted as the intruder. There was almost an ease when they didn’t have to speak to each other, and relied only on tail signals and the steps they knew by heart.

The ambush went off without a hitch. Tallpaw used his size advantage to bowl Hareflight off his paws while Shrewpaw lashed out with lightning fast paw strikes.

“You did well, keeping track of each other.” Hareflight said, catching his breath as he picked himself up. He looked relieved. “I am impressed.”

The next part was a little more nerve wracking. One on one combat. Shrewpaw eyed Tallpaw carefully as they circled each other, and arched his back in a menacing snarl. It was all postering of course, Shrewpaw was certainly very good at that. His unkempt dark brown fur bristled to make him look twice his size. But Tallpaw knew in the back of his mind that it wasn’t all acting. Shrewpaw rarely needed to fake anger, especially directed towards him. 

Tallpaw struck first this time, feigning the left and then boxing Shrewpaw hard on the side of the head. Shrewpaw responded just as fast, and shoved into Tallpaw’s chest. The toms grappled each other and wrestled fighting for an advantage. Shrewpaw had latched himself to Tallpaw’s side and was very difficult to get off, like an obnoxious little thorn. At last, he shook Shrewpaw’s grip loose and they broke off. Shrewpaw spat out a small clump of fur and circled again.

“You’ll have to do more than cling like a burr,” Tallpaw growled.

“Will I?” Shrewpaw spat “You fall like a tree, and then all you do is flail.”

“Only if you can actually knock me down first.”

Their voices were hushed. Their mentors were a distance off, watching their moves without getting in the way. Shrewpaw took Tallpaw’s challenge and grappled around his neck and shoulders. Tallpaw bit at him but somehow Shrewpaw scratched onto his back and yanked his scruff. The feel of needle sharp claws digging into his flesh made him gasp. He can’t seriously mean to start a real fight now. Tallpaw was more angry than anything else. He snarled and took Shrewpaws forepaw in his jaws and bit harder than he normally would, then yanked him sideways, wincing as claws dug in harder. “Can’t you fight like you're supposed to for once?” Tallpaw growled. “Are you sure you even know how to behave like a warrior?”

He thought Shrewpaw might have laughed. “Rich coming from you, go on and tattle on me then. You know you can’t beat me in a real fight.”

“I’m not here to prove myself to a fox-hearted kit.” Tallpaw hissed in his face. 

Shrewpaw struck him surprisingly hard, and his nose felt wet. “Who do you have to prove yourself to? You're pathetic, and so transparent.”

“Just shut up and fight me Shrewpaw.” Tallpaw growled.

“I’m glad you feel guilty, you know. You deserve to. You got what you deserved and lost what I lost, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Tallpaw knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that Shrewpaw was only saying something so awful because he desperately wanted him to lash out first. To do something obvious that would cause him to fail, and delay his ceremony.

He knew that, and yet anger blurred Tallpaw’s vision as he slammed into Shrewpaw and sank his teeth into his scruff, shaking him hard. Shrewpaw clawed into the back of his neck and bit at his face. Tallpaw’s eyes were squeezed shut but didn’t pull away. The two toms rolled into the grass and kicked and swiped but Tallpaw refused to yowl when Shrewpaw stuck his claws into his pelt. It was as if Shrewpaw was daring him to. Go on and yowl, they’ll stop us. But he wouldn’t. Shrewpaw wouldn’t either. Tallpaws back stung everywhere. But he kept his rage on a leash and always stopped just short of cutting too much skin, letting teeth pinched flesh painfully without tearing it. Just enough to keep it from showing.

Dawnstripe bounded up to him, her fur bristled a bit and she looked wary.

“That’s enough. You’re both clearly capable.” Hareflight said, looking suspiciously at Shrewpaw’s pelt at a small dark stain soaking in beneath his tabby fur. It was unclear if it was from Tallpaw’s cuts or his own. Tallpaw stiffened at the sight of it. 

Suddenly, Shrewpaw laughed.

“Guess we both got a bit caught up in it, huh Tall?” he said with a purr. 

Tallpaw gaped at him for only a moment. But he forced his fur to lie flat.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Dawnstripe. My eagerness got the better of me. I’m alright though, Are you Shrew?”

“Course, just a scratch!”

Tallpaw felt a rush of relief as their mentors seemed to have bought it. It wasn’t so unusual for cats to get over eager and let their claws slip a little, was it? It didn’t mean anything bad. Dawnstripe and Hareflight nodded in satisfaction, looking relieved at the apprentice's apparent ease with each other. “Be a bit more careful in your spars. But I know how eager you are, Shrewpaw” Hareflight said. “We’ll move on to the last part. If you agree, Dawnstripe?”

Dawnstripe nodded. “Unless you need a brief rest to tend to those scratches.”

“No, we’re fine, it’s nothing.” Tallpaw mewed. He searched her gaze for a hint of suspicion. He stopped his tail twitching and smiled at her. There’s nothing to worry about, he thought desperately. He felt he’d gotten good at convincing her of that, it was the only way she was letting him take the assessment early. 

Soon, the apprentices were both making their way to where they would have their hunting tests. Tallpaw felt faint claws of guilt poking at him. He really hated lying to Dawnstripe, even about small things. She deserved better than that. But he had to do this. He needed to become a warrior, and he needed her to believe he could do it. The friendly gleam in Shrewpaw’s eyes turned cold again the moment their mentors turned.

 Nice try, but you can’t mess me up without taking yourself down with me. Tallpaw thought bitterly. Hate me all you want, but we’re going to get through this. 

Unfortunately even when they split up, his fur still pricked and his claws itched with frustration. But he knew clawing Shrewpaw wouldn’t make it any better.

***

Tallpaw’s feet thudded across the ground, all his senses honed in on the small hare sprinting ahead of him. I just need to catch this, and then I’ll be one step closer. One step closer to it all paying off. 

Shrewpaw might be faster with his claw strikes, but he wasn’t a match for Talltail’s speed. A hare, even a very young one, was much faster and more clever than a rabbit, not to mention much more dangerous. Which was exactly why that was Tallpaw’s chosen prey. The hare banked sharply to the right and Tallpaw let his body react for him, his long tail streaming behind him, anchoring his weight as he turned just as sharp. I’d like to see Shrewpaw pull off a turn like that, he almost laughed. It was surprising that even now, he could forget that Shrewpaw had no interest in competing with him anymore. There was less glory in it. They both just wanted to be done with each other. Tallpaw tried not to think about the hollow sound of the ground under his paws. There must be a tunnel. Hare’s didn’t burrow like rabbits, but he wasn’t sure if it would try for a hole in a last desperate attempt to escape. It sent a bolt of fear through him. He wouldn’t have the guts to chase this prey down a hole, but he didn’t want to fail either. Tallpaw pressed himself harder than he ever had before, forcing his paws to pick up more speed. This hare would not ruin his assessment. No matter how hard he pushed himself, the creature stayed ahead of him. He pushed until he felt his lungs would burst, but it still wasn’t quite enough. Why isn’t it enough, just...stop! There was a thick gorse patch ahead, too narrow for him to follow. The hare was headed for it. With a cry of frustration he sprang as it began to duck into a narrow hole amongst sharp branches and stone. It screamed as his claws connected with its hindquarters. Tallpaw struggled against it, trying to dodge its wildly kicking legs. It was a small hare, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t strong. He wanted to yowl in pain when it kicked him hard in the neck, but it just made his frustration flare up. 

“You stupid creature!” he hissed “Just die already!” 

He hauled it back hard and fought to grip its neck, but missed, and it turned its head to snap at his face. Even when it tore a small chunk out of his check with its sharp front teeth, he refused to give in. The kill was messy as Tallpaw fought with the hare that was trying to drag itself, and him, into the dark crevice under the thorns. At last a final burst of determination let him connect his teeth with its neck and tear a hole into it. The creature finally lay still as blood pooled around it. Tallpaw quickly dragged it all the way back, wincing at the blood trickling down his face.

 He looked down with a twinge of guilt at the mess he had made of the prey. His claw marks scored down its sides and its fur clumped with blood and kicked up soil. Why would he get so angry at a creature trying to escape? Hares were a respected animal in WindClan, one of the few things swifter than themselves. It was clearly not full grown, otherwise he wouldn't have had a prayer of taking it down. It was a pitiful, messy way to be killed. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he blinked down at the hare. “Thank you for your life.”

 It was probably silly to feel so guilty over prey. Tallpaw stared at its body longer than he should have. It put up a fight, and to be caught by such a lousy hunter… He pictured eyes of hunters past shaking their heads at him. But all he could do was hope Dawnstripe hadn’t heard him yelling at it from wherever she was watching from. He’d caught the young hare, and now all he could was not put it to waste.

“Congratulations,” Dawnstripe’s purr caught him off guard. She was closer than he’d thought.

“I almost lost track of you. You're incredibly fast. I wasn’t sure you would do it when you chose that as your target, but you really pulled it off.” Dawnstripe sniffed the hare appreciatively.

Tallpaw dipped his head in thanks. So she hadn’t seen what a messy kill it was. The scratches were covered up in dirt.

“You’ve done well today, Tallpaw.” Dawnstripe said. “I think you’ve shown you're ready. You’ve improved so fast over these moons, and I’ve taught you all the skills you need to hunt and fight. There’s only one more thing to do. It’s nearly sunrise now, so we’ll return to camp and wait for Hareflight.”

They didn’t talk on the walk back as she had to help him drag the catch. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to Dawnstripe’s words when she said he knew how to hunt and fight. It felt like there was something she was leaving out that he still didn’t know. He wished he knew what it was.

chapter list / previous / next

[everybodyscupoftea]

you are the music in me

rafe x reader

five times rafe shows you a song, and one time you show him

holy cow who let me do this:

okay huge thanks to @travisgermy​ who stayed up forever with me picking out songs one night, the list of “maybe this” or “idk does this fit the vibe” is insanely long but i think i got it right.

i’m very very proud of my playlists and my taste in music. music is also very important to me, so i decided to write this because if a man ever came to me and said “this song made me think of you,” i might marry him on the spot

finally, thanks to my two very good friends for encouraging me and reading it over @sunnypogue​ and @moldisgoodforyou​ you guys are the best

little warning: there’s some cursing

(also i tried to link the songs to the titles so you can click and listen while reading that part)

You met Rafe freshman year in an auditorium size Intro to Theater elective. He was giving off huge ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes and sitting alone in the top left corner of the room, pretty far away from everyone else. Not only was the lack of people appealing, but the rumpled boy with headphones in, chugging coffee, was cute.

Orientation was scheduled late for you, and theater was the elective you opted to take when all the music classes were filled. Unfortunately, scheduling last meant most of the seats were full anyway, and you had no choice but take it at 8 a.m.

It was easy at first, barely any work involved and minimal notes. You basically just had to show up and fill a seat for attendance. And then the ‘acting’ unit started and your professor, who had been your favorite until then, threw a partner project and suddenly the ‘not talk to anyone’ strategy you’d been employing backfired.

Holding in a groan, you looked over the lines of dialogue he’d given out with the instructions, “Make it your own.” People all around you were moving and chatting with the people they’d talked to in class already and you felt frozen. Until headphone boy suddenly sat down next to you.

“Wanna partner up?” he asked after a long sip of coffee.

“Oh, um, yeah, that’d be great.”

Thus, the shaky alliance formed. He was a little closed off at first, but you managed to get to know him a little more, and by the end of the semester, you’d even call the two of you friends. It was really solidified when he texted you first a few times over winter break.

Rafe was really easy to talk to, he had his own amount of trauma that he didn’t really talk much about unless it related to an issue you were going through and he felt his experience could relate to yours and comfort you. It was really nice, having a support system away from home in this new college town where you didn’t know anyone.

Study sessions together turned to lunches together turned to dinners together. He became your permanent bar buddy and you always felt safe with his steady presence nearby. You’d never really known anyone quite like him and it was exhilarating being with him all the time.

Where Rafe really excelled was music. He constantly had headphones in when walking around campus, when the two of you studied, and when you went to the gym together. It didn’t bother you, it wasn’t rude, he just liked it and he knew so much about artists and bands you’d never heard of. It was how he best communicated.

One: Let Me Down Slowly

Fall of sophomore year, you started seeing a guy in your literature class. It wasn’t like a super romantic thing, it started with just sleeping together after a football game to occasional dinners when you weren’t with Rafe.

His name was Brian and Rafe hated him. Casual sex was hard for you, separating feelings and intimacy wasn’t your style, but for Brian you tried really hard. It failed, just like Rafe warned you it would, but you vowed to keep faking it anyway.

Eventually, Brian, during dinner, asked if you had been seeing anyone else. You hadn’t, of course, and told him so. He seemed pleased and you thought that meant he wasn’t either. Where you went wrong was not actually getting clarification on that point.

He invited you to a party one Friday night, and you decided to go. Rafe was in your dorm room, watching you get dressed, as you chattered on about finally being official with Brian and this being the two of you’s big moment as a couple finally.

Rafe sat cross-legged on your bed, barely concealing his contempt toward Brian, but you ignored it, pushing through. Once you deemed yourself ready, you turned to Rafe, holding out your necklace to him, “Can you help me put this on?”

He sighed and hopped off your bed. Taking the necklace from your hand, he gently turned you around and stepped closer, brushing all your hair to one side. The metal was cold when it hit your collarbone and you shivered a little.

Rafe’s fingers danced over your neck as he fastened the chain and fixed your hair back. Putting both hands on your shoulders, he squeezed a little and smiled at you in the mirror, “Knock ‘em dead, gorgeous.”

Before you could respond, Brian texted you that he was parked outside, waiting for you. With a nervous exhale, you held your fist out for Rafe to bump, “Thanks for keeping me company, Cameron.”

He smiled and gently bumped your knuckles, “Anytime, bud.” You didn’t see his smile slip a little as you left the room.

Brian was blasting some club remix he frequently listened to when you got into this car. He smiled at you, leaning in for a kiss, “Ready, babe?”

“Ready,” you told him, buckling in.

The party wasn’t anything new or special, you’d been to many just like it, but it felt different. You weren’t sure what it was, maybe that you were finally officially on Brian’s arm, but the air felt odd.

Excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, you pulled out your phone to check and see if Rafe had texted you. He had, something short reassuring you that if you needed a ride home later, he’d be up. You breathed out a sigh of relief because Brian had started drinking the moment the two of you stepped in the door and you weren’t sure how he planned on getting you home.

Leaning forward and bracing yourself on the counter, you stared at yourself in the mirror. With an annoyed sigh, you hissed, “Get it together, bitch. This is supposed to be your night.”

And with that, you left the bathroom. Only to find Brian making out with some girl you’d never seen before on the couch. Which really fucking hurt. You didn’t even really know what to do, you’d only been dating for a few weeks, but you’d been emotionally connected to him for much longer.

Tears you didn’t want rose in your eyes as you stared frozen at the two of them groping each other. One of Brian’s friends that you’d met a few times caught your eye. His widened and he shook Brian’s shoulder. Brian, hazy eyed, pulled away and saw you standing there, clearly hurt.

He jumped up, fear in his eyes, and you backed away, shaking your head. You weren’t sure if he chased you, you hightailed it out of the house and down the street, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. Pity was the last thing you wanted from him or his asshole friends who did nothing to stop him.

By the time you’d gotten far enough away that you didn’t hear the music anymore, the cold had set in and you were shivering. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you sniffled several times, trying to get it together. Unfortunately, your tears refused to listen and streamed down your cheeks, not slowing in the slightest.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated, a text from Rafe telling you he’d made it to season four of the show you recommended him and that season three’s finale had been heartbreaking.

How could you not give me even a little heads up, what the fuck

You choked out a laugh through the tears and hit call before thinking about how he’d definitely be able to tell something was up from your voice.

“Hey,” he answered, sounding a little concerned, “you still at the party?”

“Um, not really,” you said, trying to not give away your crying.

It didn’t work, you heard rustling in the background as he asked, “Where are you? Better yet, where’s Brian?”

You sighed, “Probably fucking whatever chick I caught him making out with.”

Rafe cursed lowly before saying, “Send me your location and I’ll come pick you up.”

Hanging up, you sent it to him and sat down on the sidewalk, pulling your knees to your chest. You kind of didn’t want to see Rafe because you didn’t really want the ‘I told you so’ likely to come as soon as you got in the car.

He pulled up, not too long after your tears stopped, and you hopped up to get into the passenger side. You weren’t expecting him to throw it in park and jog around to wrap you into a tight hug before you could get in. It took you by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome. After getting over your shock, you squeezed him back tightly, cherishing the unusual show of affection.

It brought the tears back and you sniffled a few times, burying your face into his chest. Rafe held you tightly until you got ahold of yourself again and then pulled the door open to help you into his truck. While it wasn’t unusual for him to do, you couldn’t help but notice for the first time, that it was something Brian never did.

Before you could buckle up, he grabbed one of his sweatshirts off the backseat and handed it to you.

“How are you feeling right now, bud? Do you want to wallow for a bit or do you want to say ‘fuck him’ and move on?”

You sighed, “I don’t know, kinda in the mood to wallow right now.”

Rafe cranked up the heat and nodded before pulling up his Spotify to pick something out. A familiar sounding song started playing and he looked over at you, “This song really encompasses the lonely feeling of wanting someone, great for wallowing.”

You sniffled a few times and turned the volume up before sinking back into the seat. He smiled at you gently and started driving down the street. The words started up and you couldn’t stop the tears anymore.

Don’t cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste

Rafe tapped his thumb against the steering wheel to the song as he drove. You quickly recognized his route to the coffee shop the two of you go to. Wiping your nose on the hoodie sleeve, you finally spoke up, “It’s closed.”

“Huh?” he asked, glancing over at you quickly before focusing on the road again.

“Coco Bean, it’s closed.”

“I’m just driving, no destination.”

“Oh,” you said, tuning into the song again.

Could you find a way to let me down slowly / a little sympathy, I hope you can show me / if you wanna go then I’ll be so lonely / if you’re leaving baby let me down slowly

With a long, shuddering sigh, you melted back into the seat and let Rafe drive. You were a little startled when he started to sing softly. He’d hummed in front of you but never sang, and he actually had a pretty good voice.

And I can’t stop myself from falling down

Twisting your fingers through the hem of the sweatshirt, you tilted your head to lean against the cold window as the song started its last bit.

Now I’m slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace / so please, please / could you find a way to let me down slowly

Rafe switched to something slightly more upbeat as you tried to pull yourself together. The two of you drove around for hours, songs switching from upbeat to sad, enough to keep you interested.

“One last song,” he told you, around 3 a.m. and All I Want started up. Rafe had showed you that one before. He reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly for a few seconds before adding, “Brian’s a dick and you deserve better.”

You squeezed back and nodded, not really knowing what to say.

Two: I’m Good

You’d stubbornly avoided Rate My Professor when trying to schedule a bio class, which was turning out to be a pretty hefty mistake. The guy you picked, mostly because of the 10 a.m. time slot, was a disaster. His teaching style didn’t match your learning style and he barely taught the information he used on the test anyway.

Needless to say, you bombed the first one. Like not a dramatic, ‘I bombed it’ and it turning out to be a C. Like a serious 40%. You weren’t sure how you made it through the rest of your classes, maybe adrenaline or just the pure stubbornness to not have a very public breakdown, but you sent Rafe a very vague text blowing off lunch and went straight to your room.

Face planting onto your bed, you shut your phone off, totally content to not talk to anyone for at least another day. Hours could’ve passed before you finally rolled onto your side, you weren’t sure what time in was, all you knew was that your stomach was growling.

At some point during your wallowing, you roommate had come home, and it had gotten dark outside. All of your weekend plans flew straight out the window and the idea of doing any work when clearly it would be pointless anyway was nauseating.

Eventually, you fell into a restless sleep, dreaming about failing classes and angry bio teachers trying to break your fingers until you finally understood cellular respiration. It was easily one of the worst nights you’d ever had, and by the time the sun rose, you were ready to just stop thinking.

You knew your roommate would eventually come into your room to ask about getting brunch, or to just see what you had planned for the day, but you really didn’t want to see her. What you didn’t expect when your door was finally pushed open, was to see Rafe standing there, holding a bag of food.

“Hey, bud,” he spoke softly, walking slowly toward your bed, “you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” you asked, voice cracking.

Rafe laughed, “No, you don’t. But I did bring your favorite.”

You perked up a little, looking at the bag curiously, “Chicken caesar wrap?”

“Yes ma’am. Would you like to join me on a walk?”

You sighed, but getting out of the room with Rafe sounded kind of good, so you stood and put on a pair of slides, not wanting to put in the effort of actual shoes. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders while the two of you walked down the hallway, and you cherished the closeness.

“What happened?” he finally asked, as the two of you made it out the building and over to a bench outside.

“I failed my test. I don’t know what happened, none of the material he taught was on the test and I just don’t know how to study for that.”

Rafe handed you half of the wrap and let you rest your head on his shoulder before speaking, “Did you check Quizlet, maybe someone who’s already taken it posted something for you to use.”

You shrugged while taking a bite, “Maybe. I mean I know I can come back from this, he drops the lowest test, but I don’t know, I’ve never gotten a grade that bad. It’s so discouraging and I just lost all motivation to do anything.”

He hummed softly and pulled his phone out. After scrolling for a few seconds, he offered you a headphone with a smile, “Maybe this will help.”

Trying to figure out who I am / or who I’m supposed to be / feel good about where I stand / so I can make the most of me

You drummed your fingers on Rafe’s knee to the uplifting beat. He bumped your shoulders together and started eating the other half of the wrap.

You only live once / I’m good with myself / I’m there for my friends / til the very end

Rafe reached out to lace his fingers through yours, catching your attention, before saying, “You know I’ve always got you right?”

You nodded, tears rising for the first time since the numbness gripped you, “Yeah, Cameron, I know.”

I’m good, I’m good, I’m good, I’m good / living life just like I should / wouldn’t change it if I could / I’m good, I’m good, I’m good

When the song ended, you lifted your head up and finished your half of the wrap. Rafe paused the next song playing and smiled down at you gently, “You are the smartest person I’ve ever met, if anyone can beat this asshole bio professor, it’s you.”

“I am pretty smart, huh?”

He didn’t answer, just laughed and leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. You didn’t know what you could do without him.

Three: Blood // Water

It got out of hand before you could stop it. You were tired all the time because of work and your roommate was stressed from school, and her new boyfriend was a huge slob. He used your utilities and ate your food and didn’t pay a lick of rent.

You’d been fuming about it for months, but it really came to head when you realized how often he was staying over and she wasn’t giving you a heads up. One afternoon, you were watching TV on the couch, a rare free afternoon that you wanted to spend in your underwear, no one was home anyway. So you thought.

Your roommate had class, but she’d let her boyfriend in and he’d been sitting in her room without you knowing. Just as you settled in, her door flew open and you shrieked, grabbing for the nearest blanket to cover yourself up with. He stared at you, mouth hanging open.

“Dude, stop fucking looking, what the fuck?!” you yelled, and he slapped a hand over his eyes. Taking the opportunity, you ran to your room and slammed the door shut. He had to go, the boyfriend either needed to stop living rent free or stay out of your personal space.

By the time your roommate made it home, you’d had time to get yourself really really worked up, and you were ready for a fucking fight. Rafe had called at some point and tried to calm you down, but talking it out with him only made you angrier, and he eventually gave up, telling you to not let her walk all over you.

She walked in and toward her room, but you stopped her right outside it by clearing your throat. Maybe, for a more constructive conversation, you could’ve started it better, but you went straight in with, “So do I need to buy Marcus a housewarming gift or is he going to live somewhere else anytime soon?”

She frowned at you, “What?”

“I’m not paying 50% of the rent if your boyfriend is gonna be here as much as I am. I’ll gladly play a third of the rent, but I’m gonna need him to contribute if he’s going to use my hot water and eat my food.”

Your roommate took a defensive stance, “He’s not here that much.”

“Oh yeah? Well then why did I go to wash my work uniform, only to find his shit in the washing machine?”

“That was a one-time thing, he stayed over a few nights and ran out of clothes.”

Fists tightening, you drew yourself up, “Okay, tell me, when’s the last time he went home?”

She paused to think and you nodded, emphasizing your point. Before either of you could say anything else, there was a knock at your door. Your roommate opened it and saw Rafe standing outside. With a huff, she turned back to you, “Well while we’re at it, talking about boys being over all the time, what about Rafe?”

Your jaw dropped, “Rafe isn’t eating your food and showering at 3 a.m. and WALKING OUT WHILE YOU’RE SITTING IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, he’d never heard you yell like that before, it was rattling. Your roommate had, but never at her, and she looked taken aback before narrowing her eyes, “Why the fuck were you just sitting in your underwear?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to do that in the comfort of my own home?”

“Not when Marcus is around.”

You threw your hands up, “That’s the fucking point! I never know when he’s around or isn’t because you don’t have the courtesy to give me the heads up!”

She stepped closer to you as if to shove you, but Rafe stepped between the two of you, putting both of his hands on your shoulders, “Hey, bud, hey, look at me, okay?”

You fought against him, trying to get another look at your roommate, “Never compare that asshole to Rafe, at least Rafe can hold a fucking conversation. You’re dating a piece of wet cardboard.”

“Babe,” Rafe warned you.

“Babe,” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, “you do everything he tells you to, doormat?”

Rafe’s hands tensed on your shoulders and he narrowed his eyes, “Marcus, better get your ass out here and help me. You’re the root of the whole fucking problem.”

Her bedroom door opened slowly and a very sheepish looking Marcus stood there with a pair of her shoes in hand, “Let’s go for a drive, huh?”

Rafe kept you in place until the other two had left and you sagged into his hold. You couldn’t stop the tears that started falling as soon as the door slammed shut, and Rafe pulled you into a hug. He stroked your hair, “You’re just tired, babe, it’s going to be okay.”

You sniffled pathetically, “Why won’t she just be fucking accommodating.”

He pulled you behind him to your room and shut the door behind you. It was nighttime, and the room went dark immediately, until Rafe turned on the fairy lights you had hanging around your bed. He sat down and patted the empty spot next to him, “You remember when you called me to come hang these damn lights up?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “Yeah, you hated me for it.”

“I didn’t hate you, but I wasn’t thrilled.”

Leaning into his side, you sighed, “Did I just fuck things up?”

Rafe wrapped his arms around you and laid down, arranging the two of you on the bed so that you were partially on top of him before he spoke, “I don’t think so. Y’all have been friends for so long, I’m sure she’ll come around.”

You played with his shirtsleeve for a few seconds before looking up at his face. He was already looking down at you, soft smile on his lips, and you stuck your tongue out playfully at him. Rafe laughed and lifted his hips up to fish his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh, you got a song for me?” you asked, leaning further onto him.

“Maybe. You want some angry vibes?”

“Hmmm, I think so, yeah.”

He picked a song after a few seconds and laid back fully, shutting his eyes while you started to hum along. It was catchy.

Look me in my eyes / tell me everything’s not fine / or the people ain’t happy / and the river has run dry

Rafe smiled with his eyes closed as you climbed off the bed to start jumping around. All your angry energy started to drain as you read from the lyrics on your phone.

The price of your greed / is your son and your daughter / what you gon’ do / when there’s blood in the water

You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up to jump around with you, but you weren’t nearly strong enough. Rafe laughed at you, eyes finally open again, until you huffed and tossed his arm back. He stayed down watching you as the song built.

I am the people / I am the storm / I am the riot / I am the swarm / when the last’s tree’s fallen / the animal can’t hide / money won’t solve it / what’s your alibi

It was probably for the best your roommate had left because if she was still there, she’d be furious with your screaming. By the time the song ended, you were breathing heavily and Rafe was laughing. Collapsing on top of him, you tried to catch your breath.

Rafe brushed an errant strand of hair out of your face, “That was beautiful, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, “Felt good, thanks for the assist, Cameron.”

The smile slowly fell from his lips as he kept staring at you, and you were confused. Before you could ask what was wrong, he shut his eyes and leaned up to kiss you.

It wasn’t totally unexpected. You’d thought about it a few times, and you were pretty sure he had too, but he’d never said anything, so you figured it was out of the question. So, while you weren’t prepared, you were happily surprised.

After a few seconds to work through the shock, you started kissing him back. He kept it short, you figured he would with emotions running as high as they were in you.

“Anytime,” he told you, brushing your lips with his thumb.

Four: Let You Down

Your boss informed you that there was nothing that could be done. That the department was going through budget cuts and they’d be laying people off. Unfortunately, since you were the youngest, you were the first to go.

The early shift was your normal gig, you always woke up around 5 a.m. to get ready and get coffee, and that morning, you woke up to a missed call and a message from your boss. Rafe was still sleeping, so you unplugged your phone and took it with you to the kitchen to listen to the message while you made coffee.

After turning the kettle on, you brought the phone to your ear, and immediately regretted it. You missed the first part of the message, but got the gist from, “So sorry to have to let you go, with the cuts in our department, we have to make hard decisions- “

And you didn’t really care to hear the rest. Three years of your life wasted on that place that promised you a job post-grad, and then just cut the rope. Your hands were shaking and you shut the kettle off, deciding to just go back to bed and cuddle with Rafe until his alarm went off.

Unfortunately, Rafe was a light sleeper and woke up when you tried to get back into your spot next to him.

“Babe, wha?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” you whispered, “go back to sleep.”

Rafe squinted at you, “Don’t you have work?”

You sighed, “Not anymore, I got let go.”

He sat up and you groaned, not really wanting to hash it out with him at 5:30 in the morning. Fumbling to switch the lamp on, Rafe pulled you into a hug with his other arm and you couldn’t stop yourself from sinking into his arms.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I know you liked that job.”

“They told me like two fucking weeks ago they were looking at a managerial position for me. I just, I don’t know why I was on the first list of cuts.”

Rafe huffed out a laugh, “I wish I could tell you, but unfortunately, I can’t get into the mindset of actual buffoons.”

Your lips quirked up, “They are buffoons, aren’t they?”

The two of you sat in the middle of the bed for who knows how long, just hanging onto each other, and you were almost back asleep when Rafe moved again, this time to stand up. You glared at him, “Can’t we sleep?”

“We can nap later, but I want to see the sunrise.”

He grabbed his keys from the desk by the door and you followed him out to the kitchen. There was a place the two of you had gone before, near the reservoir, for sunsets, but you’d never done a sunrise before. You started the coffee making process again and pulled on one of his sweatshirts while he leaned against the wall, looking up what time the sun rose.

“It says 6:40 so we have plenty of time to get there.”

“Car sex,” you offered jokingly.

“Make the coffee, babe,” he dismissed, pulling you in to ruffle your hair.

You shoved him away, pouting, “I can’t make the coffee when you’re manhandling me.”

He didn’t let you push him far, grabbing onto your hand where it was pushing his chest and pulled you back to him. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as he hugged you. Your face was buried in his chest and the two of you just breathed together until he pulled back enough to catch your lips with his.

You pushed up on your toes, leaning further into him. He loosened his grip on your hands and you slid them up to cup his jaw. It was quiet in the kitchen, the only sound coming from the coffee maker and the slight hum of the air conditioner. You basked in it.

Rafe suddenly dropped both of his arms to your legs and lifted you to sit on the counter. The sudden movement startled you into letting out a little squeal of surprise, but he swallowed it up with another kiss.

You draped your arms over his shoulders and he leaned all of his weight on the counter. In the background, you barely heard the coffee kick off and your roommate moving around in her room. Rafe brought a hand up to stroke up and down your thigh, fully distracting you again.

The two of you only broke apart when Rafe’s alarm started going off. He pulled away, annoyed, and then cursed when he realized what time it was. Helping you down, he told you, “We’ve got 30 minutes to get to the res.”

After quickly fixing two to-go mugs, you let Rafe pull you out of the apartment to his truck. For once, he didn’t pick any music, just let the radio play softly in the background while the two of you sipped on coffee. You rolled the window down and let one arm hang out the side.

Rafe reached over and grabbed your other hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss softly without looking up from the road. You grinned at him, “You’re soft as fuck, Cameron.”

He laughed, “Only for you, sweetheart.”

The sky started to lighten as the two of you drove and you left turned your focus back out the window. By the time Rafe parked, the sun had started to rise, and Rafe finally plugged his phone in to play a song.

“Something soft?” he asked.

You nodded and queued up something before hopping out. Rafe grabbed a blanket from the backseat and pulled the tailgate down. It was the blanket the two of you normally sat on to watch the sunsets, so you assumed Rafe wanted to sit back there together for it.

Grabbing the coffees, you walked around the truck to join him just as the song started playing through the speakers.

Feels like we’re on the edge right now / I wish that I could say I’m proud / I’m sorry that I let you down / let you down

You climbed up with him and settled in, your back against his chest. Rafe rested his chin on your head and you shut your eyes for a few seconds to let it all soak in.

I feel like every time I talk to you, you’re in an awful mood / what else can I offer you / there’s nothing left right now, I gave it all to you

“What am I going to do?” you whispered to Rafe.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

All these voices in my head get loud / and I wish that I could shut them out / I’m sorry that I let you down

“But we’ll figure it out,” he told you, sounding totally sure.

The sun slowly crept up as the two of you sat in silence, both hoping that things were going to turn out okay.

Five: You Make My Dreams (Come True)

“I hate men,” you said from your spot laying on the floor, “why are they the worst.”

Rafe laughed, nudging your hip with his foot, “Come on, sweetheart, I think some Waffle House will cheer you up, huh?”

“Nothing can cheer me up right now. Maybe alcohol.”

“You can’t get drunk.”

“Why not?” you demanded, a little childishly.

“Because you have an interview tomorrow, and it’s just a game.”

You were offended, staring at him open-mouthed, “I know you didn’t just tell me that the Leafs getting eliminated from the playoffs is just a game.”

Rafe didn’t respond, just kept looking at you, hand held out to help you up from the floor. You huffed and stubbornly stayed down, “No, I will throw myself off a balcony before going with you for that disrespect.”

With a sigh, Rafe bent down and pulled you up, you fighting him the entire way. He shook you gently, “Knock it off, mamas.”

“No, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can carry you, and I will, so you may as well just walk.”

Which was a good point. You crossed your arms and tilted your chin up, “Fine, Waffle House it is.”

“Fine,” he agreed, following you out of the apartment. Rafe tried to start conversation a few times during the walk to the Waffle House down the street, but you weren’t having it. After blatantly ignoring his attempts, he finally gave up.

“Rafe,” you asked, after a few seconds.

“What?”

“Can you play Hall and Oates? I think it might be good for me to hear.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Are you going to have a breakdown on the side of the road if I play it?”

“No,” which was a total lie and both of you knew it, but Rafe, being the accommodating boyfriend that he is, played it.

What I want, you’ve / And it might be hard to handle

And your eyes immediately filled with tears, just like both of you knew would happen. Rafe wrapped you into a hug while you cried, still playing the song so you could let it out.

Oh yeah, well well you / you make my dreams come true

Sniffling, you told him, “I thought it was their year.”

“I know, baby,” he soothed, hand running up and down your back.

“I want them to succeed and be happy.”

Again, he said, “I know.”

“It’s mostly the refs’ faults anyway, you know the league is dedicated to sucking Bruin dick.”

Rafe snorted, “I do know, yes.”

Softly and sadly, you sang along, “You make my dreams come true.”

The song finished and Rafe tucked his phone away, giving you one last squeeze before pulling away. You sighed and the two of you resumed walking toward Waffle House. He told you, “My dad is a big Bruins guy.”

“WHAT?!”

+ One: Outnumbered

Throughout your relationship, Rafe was always the more put-together one. He always had his shit together while you tended to be a little louder and messier. While you had some experience with handling him in this state, it wasn’t much.

You figured something must’ve been wrong when he didn’t answer any of your texts, but you weren’t sure what. He’d flown home for Thanksgiving, he normally didn’t because it was only a few days, but his sister was going to be in town and he hadn’t seen her in a while. You were invited, but your parents wanted to visit you for the day, so you stayed behind.

When your parents left, you stayed in and watched football, not really wanting to do anything except talk to Rafe who promised to watch one of the games with you over FaceTime. Unfortunately, it was halftime and you hadn’t heard from him.

In fact, you didn’t hear from him until that night. You were getting ready for bed when your phone finally vibrated and you answered it, mid washing your face.

“Hey, bubba.”

“Hey, babe.”

“Get caught up today?” you asked, rinsing the cleanser off.

He laughed humorlessly, and you felt something in your stomach, “I did, my dad had some thoughts he wanted to share with me.”

“Bruins fan dad?”

“The very same.”

You grinned, “Well I’m sure they weren’t valid then.”

Rafe paused for a few seconds, “Well, maybe they were a little valid.”

“Tell me what he said, and I’ll let you know for sure.”

It was silent, you could barely hear Rafe’s breathing, before he continued, “Just that I’m wasting my time. And I’m gonna come running back to him when I can’t get a job with this pointless degree.”

Which, where the fuck do you even start with that. Then, you remembered, scrambling up, you told Rafe to hold on while you grabbed your laptop and pulled up Spotify. You’d found a song and been saving it to show him, but there was no time like the present.

“Listen to this song I found.”

He hummed in agreement as it started up.

Don’t tell me this is all for nothin’ / I can only tell you one thing / on the nights you feel outnumbered / baby I’ll be out there somewhere

You felt unsure as the song went on and he didn’t react. The song played on, you tapping your fingers against your knees anxiously. Normally you could tell what Rafe was thinking based on his facial expression, and you wish you’d switched to FaceTime before starting the song.

There’ll be days when it’s difficult / but I ask you never leave behind the reciprocal / we’re past that / love is not designed for the cynical / so we have that

Rafe didn’t speak again until the end and it sounded a little choked up, “You found that one for me, huh?”

Slamming your laptop shut, you hit the FaceTime button and waited to respond until you saw his face. Rafe’s eyes were red and his cheeks looked wet and you just wanted to hug him.

“Yeah, that was for you.”

“I love you, you know?” he asked, “probably should’ve waited to tell you in person, but.”

You laughed, “Probably so, but I love you too, Cameron.”

“I’m coming home tomorrow instead of Sunday, come over?”

Settling into your bed, you smiled at him, “Yeah, just let me know.”

His soft smile was burned into your memory that night as you fell asleep restlessly, ready for him to be home with you again.

[zhansww]

Hi. Thank you so much for replying. You gave me so much good information. I respect that you treat XZ and WY like people and not as fictional characters as I see so many people doing. I'm still reluctant to join this side of the fandom because from what I've seen so far, it's a mess. Tell me if I got this right: xfx= solo XZ fans who think WY and his team sabotaged XZ's career so he could be the top actor also hate cp fans because they support both XZ/WY. mtjj= solo WY fans.

Acknowledge that WY could be in love with XZ but think XZ doesn't care about him, hope WY moves on. They don't seem to like cp fans for not ruining XZ/WY's friendship? bjyx=cp fans. Some of them are supporters and, some of them are fetishizers. Want the solo fandoms to combine??? ( I still don't know what V/JK is) But is that the state of things?? Way more complicated than the CQL/MDZS fandom. I am enjoying your blog, your pinned post is the best introduction to the fandom imo. Are there any other analysis type blogs like yours that you could rec? Thank you. ( Sorry for the long ask)

oh my... smh your reluctance to join this part of the fandom makes you so endearing to me. If I wasn't as socially inept as I am, I'd ask you to be friends 🥺 Gonna put this all under a cut~

Let me start with the easiest thing to answer. V and Jk are two members from BTS whose relationship is shockingly real to me. I avoided writing their names or their cp name out cuz I didn't want my pinned post to show up in those searches. Unlike with ggdd, I never got the impression they'd be okay with speculations about them, though. So I don't ever feel the need to analyze or discuss about them. I just quietly believe in and support them.

You got xfx and mtjj right. Xfx is the official fan name for XZ's solo fans. Mtjj is not an official fan name, though, i.e. Yibo or his company never made it official, as far as I know. It stands for motojiejie which means motorcycle sisters, there's also mtgg = motorcycle brothers but you'll mostly see mtjj. Bxg is what ggdd's cp fans are called. It stands for BoXiaoGirls/Guys. It can also stand for baixiangguo which means "passion fruit". And there's a third meaning which I don't know but has something to do with turtles and which is why you're likely to see bxg refer to themselves as turtles. Bjyx is ggdd's main, fanmade cp name. It was coined back in April 2018, after XZ and WYB only just got confirmed as the actors who get to play WWX and LWJ. One of the rules in the bjyx supertopic on weibo is that you can't switch their "roles". And those were solely based on wang/xian but I suppose once fans realized that ggdd is actually real and their dynamic is vastly different from wang/xian, they came up with different cp names for different dynamics. There's also zsww and lsfy. (Sidenote; if I remember correctly, bjyx means “to make your special someone smile”. Zsww means “lord over a district/castle” and lsfy means “chain reaction”) And as far as I know, zsww fans are called little bandits and lsfy fans are called baby lotus. I apologize if me explaining this makes you feel weird in any way (cuz this fandom separation is dumb af) - I just wanna give you any info I have cuz you might come across some of this, at least. Anyway, the most common abbreviations you'll see; bxg = ggdd cp fans and bjyx = ggdd's cp name. There's also bjyxszd 博君一肖是真的 which means "bjyx is real" or bjyxszd 并肩于学山之巅 which means "side by side atop the snowy summit" and is a phrase that bxg use to hide the first phrase in plain sight, so to say.

I don't know what it's called but there's actually also a supertopic on weibo for XZ and WYB solo fans who believe that ggdd is real but are still only solo fans. So truthfully, you can't really generalize that. Some solo fans do believe in ggdd and are supportive but not necessarily openly. I (like to) think most solo fans are just dedicated to their idol and don't care about anything or anyone else and that's it. The rest, though... yeah, those are the obnoxious ones. Who made up ridiculous conspiracy theories about how Yibo and his company are responsible for what happened last February to gg. Or who make up theories about how XZ only got as successful as he is because he copied Yibo. They really want to believe that ggdd aren’t special to each other or that they even hate one another. So they come up with the dumbest bs to e.g. vilify XZ. Like, about a year ago, mtjj got mad at gg cuz they thought he, as dd's boyfriend, must have forced dd to sell one of his motorcycles. When Yibo uses kadian, they think he just does it to bait cp fans. But when XZ uses kadian, he's being the worst, most careless boyfriend and how tf could he put Yibo in danger like that. And yes, I've seen the same hateful mtjj spout such contradictory nonsense. It can be quite hilarious, ngl. I only follow decent solo stans so I truthfully don't know what the newest sh-t is that antis/solos have come up with.

When it comes to bxg... yes, there are a lot of supporters but also way too many who seem to be unable to separate ggdd from novel!wang/xian. They so badly want only bjyx - that dynamic - to be real that they constantly feel the need to "change reality" to make it happen by e.g. misgendering gg, drawing him smaller than dd and/or more feminine, making assumptions about him and his character that are simply untrue but fit their preferred dynamic so they keep spreading those assumptions. They way they view XZ is wrong and beyond disrespectful and yet, they call themselves fans. I genuinely hope you'll never even have to see any thing of the sort. I don't actually know anything about bxg, wanting to combine the solo fandoms xD I guess, ideally that would be desirable but I wonder if that's even possible.

Thank you so much for liking my pinned post... That and a lot of the posts that I linked in it are what I keep hoping may make more people believe in and support ggdd and it makes me so so glad that it could be of use to you! About recs, I could recommend you some twt accounts or on here, gif makers and fanartists that I like and follow but I don't follow any ggdd blogs that make a lot of text posts. And just to be clear, I don't make many text posts myself either. I stay away from rumors (unless they become more than that) and from stalker info and from all the reaching, too. You might find it interesting, I don't know, but me, I see no point, mulling over any and every minute connection between ggdd that may or may not even be real. It gets too invasive or ridiculous imo. I actually also stay away from all that recent behind the scenes footage of ggdd because I highly disapprove of the way it was acquired. I only comment on things about them that I consider reasonable and possibly noteworthy and that preferably come from the men themselves. And occasionally, I gush about how cute and perfect they are together. Sorry I can't be more helpful with this last question >.<

[trash-writes]

hey darl, since you opened the requests i'd love to make one! a little fic where jon is just constantly bumping into this one gal in the library to the point they worked up a routine and basically come there every week, same hour, both of them really not coming to read anymore but just to meet up and talk, and jonathan working up the courage to finally ask her on a real date? i'm so sorry if this doesn't make sense, i seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences lmao

It’s totally fine and thank you so much for being my first request! I hope you like it and don’t mind that I didn’t do reader insert since I’m not good at those. Enjoy!

It’s well known that the Gotham City library is home to thousands of books on thousands of subjects, so it isn’t unusual for a gothamite to come across a rogue or two while browsing for a new book to read. Of course nobody ever really does anything out of fear of being attacked or pursued by said rogue, and so the library at some point became a sort of neutral ground between the civilians and the villains (cops not included).

----

It started with a book.

All Jonathan wanted to do was find something new to read since his collection at the hideout was getting boring. While it was normal for his acquaintances to be approached in one way or another by civilians, people tended to steer clear of him, and he honestly couldn’t have it any other way. Of course, all good things have to come to an end at some point or another, and for him, it consisted of a four hundred page copy of Rebecca to be dropped just inches away from hitting him.

“I’m so sorry! Oh my god, are you alright? Did I hit you?” A female voice came from the other side of the bookshelf as a hazel eye peered at him through the small gap between two books before vanishing. He could hear said person scrambling to get down from whatever they were standing on as they obviously began to rush over to his side of the bookshelf, presumably to apologize once more and retrieve the book that they had just almost dropped on him. Within moments he was staring down at the woman’s curly mop of hair while she picked up the book, still apologizing. “I’m so so so sorry! I swear, being short is a curse considering the fact that they seem to put all of the good books on the top of the shelf! Are you alright? Did I hit you? Wait I already asked that-” She cut herself off when she stood back up and looked up at Jonathan with crooked glasses, “oh, you’re Dr. Crane!”

He gave a small smile (that he quickly got rid of) when she addressed him by his title instead of his villain name, and upon noticing what book she had picked up he decided to respond instead of just walking away like how he originally intended. “Yes, I am. Might I ask who you are?” 

This seemed to make her somewhat happy considering the fact that she smiled while fixing her glasses. “I go by Kat, with a ‘k’ of course because apparently everything has to be spelled weirdly for some reason, it actually started as just a nickname from one of my friends. I don’t really know why they began calling me that seeing how my name had no ‘kat’ in it and I honestly think that they just started calling me that to see how long it would take for me to correct them, which I obviously haven’t done yet considering the fact that I actually changed my name to...Oh sorry! I’m rambling aren’t I?” The woman who he now knew went by ‘Kat’ glanced up at the clock on the wall before looking around and grabbing a book off of the shelf, thrusting it into his hands before rushing off. “Sorry, If I don’t hurry I might miss my bus! I recommend this though! Most people think that it’s just for kids but it’s still really good. Have a nice day!” 

With that, she was gone and Jonathan Crane was left with a copy of Coraline in his hands. Raising an eyebrow, he read the flap copy before shrugging and continuing his search for more books, keeping the one that she gave to him as he went to leave.

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

It didn’t take long for Jonathan to finish his stack of books, and so he returned to the library the following week to get more. He would never admit to anyone that he read the book that the woman from last week (Kat, he remembered) gave him, and he would also never admit that he found it interesting. 

That promise to himself went out the window the moment he bumped into her, well, more like almost tripped over her considering the fact that she was seated on the floor while looking at the books on the very bottom of the shelf.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alri-Oh it’s you! How are you? Did you like the book? I know a lot of people say that it’s just for kids but I think it’s really good and I thought that maybe you might like it, of course everyone has different tastes when it comes to books so may-Sorry, I’m rambling again.”

To be honest, Jonathan didn’t mind the rambling, in fact, he found it a little cute, but that was something that he would never tell anybody. “No no, it’s fine. The book was good and I really liked the ide-are those….pumpkins on your glasses chain?” He asked, leaning forward a tad bit to get a closer look and he was in fact correct. Kat had little jack-o-lanterns on her glasses chain. How cute.

“Oh....well….yes. My other chain broke last week after it got caught on something on the bus. I don’t really wear this one unless it’s September or October but I couldn’t find any of my other chains and so I decided to just go ahead and use this one. Besides, who doesn’t like Halloween?” Her eyes widened once she remembered who she was talking to and she began to fiddle with the book that she had in her hands, opening and closing it nervously.

Chuckling at her nervous behavior, Jonathan held a book out to her. “Relax. I don’t intend to cause any trouble today, and yes, Halloween is nice. By the way, I recommend this to read.” 

With a smile, Kat took the book and thanked him before gesturing to a small and slightly hidden reading area. “Care to join me Dr. Crane? It’s fine if you don’t want to, I just thought that maybe since I don’t actually have anywhere to be this time that mayb-”

“I’d love to.”

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

This went on for a while, the two of them meeting up at the library to exchange book recommendations and sometimes read together, and as time went on they began to read less and talk more. Over time Jonathan began to learn small things about Kat, like how she was a student at Gotham University (“You know I used to teach there.”), how she was currently getting her masters in professional writing, and her love for rats (which he only found out about when she brought a small bag that she revealed to have her pet rat in).

It didn’t take long for Jonathan to realize that he was slowly falling in love with Kat. He couldn’t ignore the way his heart sped up whenever she suggested that they go sit, or how it jumped whenever her hand brushed against his when she pointed to something that she found exciting. Eventually, he found himself talking about her to Edward, who would just get annoyed and say that he should just ask her out. 

The idea of asking Kat out was one of the few things that made him worry. What if she rejected him or only thought of him as a friend? He couldn’t possibly live with just being her friend. She was his Mistress of Fear! He needed her! It took a lot of convincing from Edward, but he eventually decided that he would ask her out the next time that they meet up.

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

Sitting in his usual seat at the library, Jonathan looked at the clock on the wall every so often while he waited for Kat to show up. 

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and eventually thirty as he waited nervously. What if she decided that she didn’t want to associate with him anymore due to his status as a villain? It hadn’t been an issue before but maybe something happened that changed her mind? Thankfully his worries were put to rest when he noticed her walk up and sit in her usual seat next to him.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Jonathan! I had to go to the bank to straighten some things out with my account and I got caught up in a robbery because apparently everyone thinks that they can rob a bank, then my bus got stuck in a traffic jam because Poison Ivy apparently escaped today and so the GCPD were checking every vehicle to make sure that she wasn’t hiding in one, which honestly I think is kind of stupid because why would she hide in some random person's car or on the bus when she hates people so much? It’s much more logical that she would immediat-Oh I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” Kat stopped talking and reached into her bag to pull out the book that Jonathan had earlier lent her from his personal collection and held it out to him, “thank you for letting me borrow this!”

With a smile he took the book and sat it on the small table between him, “it’s no problem Kat, I was honestly surprised that you had never read this one before considering the fact that it’s so popular with fans of the horror genre. By the way, I have a quick question for you.” This was it, this was the moment where he would ask her out. There was no backing out of this now.

“Would you want to go to dinner sometime?”

“Do you want to go out for coffee?”

Jonathan looked at Kat with wide eyes, who in turn was looking at him with equally wide eyes.

“Did you just-”

“Are you-”

Kat covered her mouth and nodded eagerly before lowering her hand and grinning. “We both had the same idea, didn’t we?”

“More or less.”

[harrowdubois]

okay, i said if there was interest i would think about making a post listing all the references i squeezed into the locked tomb fic i spent the last month or so writing, and now i’ve realised i don’t care if there’s interest because i want to be self-indulgent SO

under the cut is a (somewhat spoilery) chronological list of all the memes, vines, and cribbed tumblr posts, as well as homages to various books, tv shows, song lyrics, etc. that made their way into blessed with a wilder mind! 

(cw for suicide mention)

this is of course a reference to the legendary bodybuilding forum thread where they did, actually, argue over how many days there are in a week (cw for ableist slurs in the thread)

---

buzzfeed unsolved meme. i am dirt and i love to eat dirt

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this is so well-known it’s almost not worth listing it but oh my god they were roommates

---

in itself, this isn’t a reference to anything in particular, but if you didn’t do this on your first read then i’d recommend taking another look at this scene and thinking about the specific wuthering heights/frankenstein/rebecca excerpts discussed by harrow and mercymorn but in relation to canon!harrow’s trauma/relationship with the body in htn :~) 

---

also not really a reference to anything in particular but when i looked back over the fic for this post it struck me that the ‘sex panther’ phrasing was probably at least partially unconsciously inspired by the shoebox project (professor mcgonagall’s oiled man panther was a formative moment for me, truly)

---

cw gross/unsanitary: it’s the tinder poop window incident. i mentioned this in the end notes of the fic as being what i had in mind for that scene but if it’s too gross for you (UNDERSTANDABLY) then feel free to Death Of The Author me to your heart’s content!

---

i listened to a lot of orville peck while writing this

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 very very very loosely inspired by this clickhole article

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respectively: fourth of july by sufjan stevens / wuthering heights by emily bronte

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TWO BROS, CHILLIN IN A HOT TUB, FIVE FEET APART BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT GAY

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there was absolutely no need to stretch this across three paragraphs, and yet

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iconic

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i already linked to this one in the end notes of the fic itself, but it’s good, so here it is again

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 i can’t find the actual original post but it’s this fucking horrible thing 

---

the last line is a reference to the secret history by donna tartt:

“Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls- which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? But isn't it also pain that often makes us most aware of self? It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one's burned tongues and skinned knees, that one's aches and pains are all one’s own. Even more terrible, as we grow old, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think?”

---

a lyrical double whammy!

from ‘last words of a shooting star’ by mitski: “they’ll never know how i’d stared at the dark in that room with no thoughts like a blood-sniffing shark”

from ‘a better son/daughter’ by rilo kiley: “sometimes in the morning i am petrified but can’t move/awake but cannot open my eyes” 

---

*

shout-out to maybe my single favourite video game moment, the encounter with the sky cat in night in the woods: “There is a hole at the center of everything, and it is always growing. Between the stars I am seeing it. It is coming, and you are not escaping, and the universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, and there is nothing to remember it, not even the things beyond. And now there is only the hole... You are atoms, and your atoms are not caring if you are existing. Your atoms are monstrous existence.”

---

“Nothing is ever fulfilled, not until the very end.” - rust cohle, true detective s1, this reference is VERY tonally dissonant because in context it’s actually grim as all hell but w/e w/e i couldn’t resist the shout-out

also harrow quotes from the goldfinch again here! i had the reference included before i read this post and realised tamsyn muir also quotes from the secret history in htn. terrible synergy 

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they are in fact all real. you’re welcome

---

this one’s doing a lot of work lmao. it’s paying homage to this quote by tamsyn muir talking about the draco-in-leather-pants trope in relation to ianthe by loosely referencing drop dead gorgeous, the best drarry fic ever written, in which harry is part veela

---

“It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, "more like deer than human being." To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.” - that’s right it’s another reference to the secret history, with a little bit of mary oliver (tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?) sprinkled on top for flavour

--- 

a small one, but it’s the goldfinch again: “And I feel I have something very urgent and serious to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you...”

---

my FUCKING cinnamon apple

 what if i... put my minecraft bed.... next to yours... aha ha just kidding.... unless?

---

[cw: suicide discussion in these next two]

*

robyn can have little a rust cohle quote, as a treat.

1. “I'd consider myself a realist, all right? But in philosophical terms I'm what's called a pessimist... I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist by natural law... We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody's nobody... I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction; one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.”

2. “This... This is what I'm talking about. This is what I mean when I'm talkin' about time, and death, and futility. All right, there are broader ideas at work, mainly what is owed between us as a society for our mutual illusions. Fourteen straight hours of staring at DBs, these are the things you think of. You ever done that? You look in their eyes, even in a picture, doesn't matter if they're dead or alive, you can still read 'em. You know what you see? They welcomed it... Not at first, but... right there in the last instant. It's an unmistakable relief. See, cause they were afraid, and now they saw for the very first time how easy it was to just... let go. Yeah, they saw, in that last nanosecond, they saw... what they were. You, yourself, this whole big drama, it was never more than a jerry-rig of presumption and dumb will, and you could just let go. To finally know that you didn't have to hold on so tight. To realize that all your life - you know, all your love, all your hate, all your memories, all your pain - it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room, a dream about being a person.”

---

ahaaa this one’s particularly rough. evil monkey no one alive dot jpg

“Later, that dozy embrace solidified in his memory as the single moment of artless, charmed happiness in their separate and difficult lives. Nothing marred it, even the knowledge that Ennis would not then embrace him face to face because he did not want to see or feel that it was Jack he held. And maybe, he thought, they’d never got much farther than that. Let be, let be.” - annie proulx, brokeback mountain

---

a TRIPLE lyrical whammy!

- harrow’s words to gideon in the dream are a bit of a vague reference to the song ‘adventures in solitude’ by the new pornographers (”we thought we lost you/welcome back”) - gideon’s words to harrow are a reference to the song ‘blush’ by wolf alice (”you’ve got two hands to take all you can/but don’t take too long”) - what harrow texts to gideon is a line from ‘about today’ by the national, aka the most devastating song ever written (”hey, are you awake?/yeah i’m right here”...)

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i CANNOT find a clip of it but harrow’s repetition of “life is short... it’s short” was me paraphrasing from memory a line from pride (2014), because i am the worst

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spooky scary skeletons! 

“jail for gideon” is obviously a reference to the “jail for mother” tweet that tm also referenced in htn. so, not original in the slightest, but it’s a great tweet

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one of my favourite tumblr posts

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because naberius tern absolutely would watch rick and morty. he would. i know it in my heart. 

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and that’s it, i think. hope you enjoyed this horrid little post and my horrid little fic!

[annecoulmanross]

Thoughts on “Terror of the Arctic” (2005), aka, “I listened to the Doctor Who audio drama episodes about the lost Franklin Expedition so that you don’t have to!”

Alright terror-friends, this was not how I expected to spend my day, but I have now listened to all eight episodes of the 2005 Doctor Who Audio Drama series “Terror of the Arctic,” featuring all of the ~ familiar ~ icy ~ boys ~ meeting the infamous Doctor. 

With arguably more horrifying sexist/racist content than the 2007 Simmons novel, this audio drama actually predicted a lot of the tropes that Simmons popularized, including ship-board conflicts that escalate to stabbings, the appearance of supernatural creatures from Inuit oral traditions, and even a squick-y romance between Crozier and a much younger Inuit woman. 

To clarify, I do not recommend you listen to these episodes. They’re a hot mess, and a really jarring departure from the beauty of The Terror (2018). 

HOWEVER I highly recommend you look below the cut for episode-by-episode notes about the first Franklin Expedition adaptation that has well and truly driven me up the wall. So, welcome to the world of “Terror of the Arctic” (2005), featuring:

Crozier, (pronounced "Crow-zee-eyy,”) a polite door-mat of a captain with an agonizing lack of snark and minimal personality beyond “the only white man who can magically fix racism.” 

Fitzjames the “proper English officer” who has every prejudice you can imagine – and a couple more you can’t. 

Le Vesconte, the irrepressible lad with an inexplicable American accent and extreme boy-scout-gone-crazy energy. 

Sgt. Tozer, who has a bad habit of punching people in the face even though his superior officers haven’t yet told him he’s allowed to do so. 

Also featuring: Cybernetic Tuunbaq aliens! Complete breakdown of shipboard protocol! Expected amounts of cannibalism! And more! (spoilers, obviously) 

Episode 1

– We start with a mandatory brief appearance from the Doctor and his companion Christine. I don’t (initially) hate this iteration of the Doctor – he’s very paternalistic and old-fashioned, but at least the voice actor’s competent. Christine’s voice, tragically, is high-pitched beyond all reason and laced with a variety of odd dialectical features. Some quick research reveals she’s supposed to be a 15 year old from medieval England. She sounds neither like a teenager nor a medieval person. From the very beginning, her character seems very infantilized, and plays into a lot of the Born Sexy Yesterday tropes, even if she and the Doctor aren’t a thing. 

– Next, we have Sir John Franklin giving the “we’ve been stuck in the ice for nine months, here’s what you missed” sum-up. 

– Sir John’s voice is gravelly 👏 as 👏 fuck; also, I don’t think that the phrase “to sugar-coat it” was a common 1840s expression? Correct me if I’m wrong history folks.

– Crozier shows up to give his “we should start walking out now” speech, minus any passion or conviction whatsoever; he bends immediately to Franklin’s whims. Crozier’s voice is quite high-pitched, and Sir John pronounces his name “Crow-zee-eyy.” (Update: everyone pronounces it this way!!! Uhmmm!) Though I struggle to judge accents, Crozier’s Irish accent sounds... leprechaun-ish. It’s not Jared Harris by a long mile. 

– Not gonna lie, I kind of love how much Fitzjames sounds like a posh bastard. He immediately gets into a one-sided shouting match with Crozier and has to be reprimanded by Franklin. 

– Lieutenant Irving appears on the scene; I don’t know what Irving’s accent is, but it sure is something.

– All of the officers seem to currently be on the same ship for some reason but I don’t know why. We’ve met Sir John, Crozier, Fitzy, and Irving, and Gore’s been mentioned, as have doctors Peddie and Stanley. And they’re all in the same boat. Guess we’re just ignoring Terror for now? 

– Franklin begins narrating as he writes in the log-book: “11th June, 1847.” Oh BOY guess what day it is!!

– RIP Franklin (surprise, surprise). We have no real idea yet how this has happened. 

– Fitzjames, talking to Sir John’s mysterious corpse: “Captain, what could have done this to you?” 

– Fitzjames: “We have a killer loose on this ship” (Fitz gets ALL the best lines, apparently. Do they make sense? No. Are they hilarious? Yes.)

– Irving is shockingly nonchalant when the Doctor and Christine appear from nowhere out on the ice. Why is Irving so chill when he thinks that these two people are the lone survivors of a DIFFERENT failed expedition?

– Fitz apparently has refused to let Crozier start the walk-out after Franklin died. (Um, that’s not how the chain of command works?)  

– We learn that Beechey-boy Braine apparently died of sudden-onset-scurvy. What is sudden-onset-scurvy, you ask? We do not yet know. 

– Irving, happily describing their recent course of action: “...Ignoring the advice of our ships’ ice masters...” Oh god Irving don’t sound so happy about that. Blanky’s going to take an ice-axe to your head. (Tragically, Blanky does not appear in this show.) 

– Lieutenant Gore has ALSO died of sudden-onset-scurvy. RIP Graham Gore.

– Is the Doctor going to focus on the existence of sudden-onset-scurvy? No, we’re gonna hyperfixate on the high officers-to-crew death rate! And he’s going to infodump about officers’ privileges TO Irving, an officer, and muse about how odd it is that more officers than crew are dying when the officers get all the best food! 

– Fitz, the “proper English officer” apparently has managed to get about half the men to refuse to follow the orders of their expedition commander, because he happens to be Irish. Babe, this is a really bad look!

– Irving, our good Christian Irving, just swore “By Jove” in a weirdly sexy voice.

– Tozer has Extreme Deep Voice.

– Irving: “There’s something odd about them I just don’t trust.” Why on earth wouldn’t you trust two strangers who wandered up to you on the ice and asked if you were “human,” John Irving? What’s “odd” about that?

– The Doctor only remembers that he does actually know the events of the Franklin expedition after he reads the entire Victory Point Note. 

– Irving has suddenly decided to threaten to shoot the Doctor and his companion. Irving promptly gets attacked. 

* jarring transition to triumphant Doctor Who music *

Episode 2

– The ~mysterious~ attack on Irving has left weird wounds on Irving’s neck. I’m calling it, Ice Vampires!

– We have an Edward Little appearance! His voice is so sweet and gentle! And then... “I’ll have Sergeant Tozer shoot you both where you stand!” Okay, maybe not... (Update: Little is, in fact, very awful to several people. As we will see, all of the lieutenants and marines swing between weirdly nonchalant dudes and trigger-happy maniacs.) 

– Tozer just punched the Doctor’s lights out, unprompted. 

– Crozier: “Good old John Peddie... he’s like a brother to me.” Well THAT’S not a friendship I expected.

– So Dr. Peddie has brought a young Inuit woman in to Crozier’s cabin to have a “lovely chat.” Awkward book!Crozier/Silna energies. The woman’s name is Liak. She speaks with a vaguely Spanish and/or Italian accent. 

– Liak: “I have been with my tribe. They would not allow me to come back to see you.” /  Crozier: “Why? It’s not because of Fitzjames is it?” 

– (It’s not because of Fitzjames. It’s because of evil spirits, obviously.)

– The Doctor, once they get back to the ships, explaining to the higher officers what’s happened: “Mr. Tozer got all excited and could no longer restrain his Neanderthal-like impulse to start clubbing things.” Boy this by show is NOT for Tozer fans. (Note: Tozer is standing right there? In the room? When the Doctor says this?)

– The Doctor just dropped an f-bomb?????????? And not as an expression of shock, but a hard-core sexual use of the f-bomb. Literally, he said “you can let Tozer fuck me again” – did I mishear this????????????

– Irving’s dying words: “I was attacked by a large silver creature with claws!” Wait did Dan Simmons rip off a fan-made 2005 Doctor Who Audio Drama?

– RIP Irving, first confirmed victim of “Tuunbaq the First.”

– Fitzjames is SO racist, throwing around a lot of “savage” and “barbarian” words. Why are you letting this man walk all over you, Crozier?

– Crozier: the first person who has the correct reaction to two weirdos appearing on his boat (aka shock and surprise, rather than worrying nonchalance followed by unprompted extreme aggression.)

– Fitzjames literally laughed after being informed that Irving is dead. (Like Crozier’s bad Raft of the Medusa joke, but SO MUCH WORSE.) 

– RIP Ice Master Reid, actual first confirmed kill of “Tuunbaq pre-Tuunbaq,” several weeks ago, apparently??

– Okay so Fitz here is obviously meant to be a horrible person, but I have to acknowledge that he’s making a few good points: (1) the Doctor has admitted that he has a “sailable” ship, and it’s pretty rude of him to not even explain why he’s unwilling to help these dying men, and (2) it’s been bothering me the whole episode that the Doctor hasn’t been calling officers by their titles, and frankly, I do think Fitz is within his rights to demand the Doctor call him “Captain Fitzjames” rather than “Mr. Fitzjames” on Fitz’s own ship. Like, it’s not that hard.

– The Doctor’s first example of “ways the Franklin crew could mess up the time stream” is the insane scenario: “what if one of them married the mother of Winston Churchill.”

– The “Tuunbaq: The Prequel” can talk!!!!!! “Hello meat!!!” it says, gleefully. 

– Tozer is just the fucking most. He punched the Doctor AGAIN.

– Crozier just “Mr. Fitzjames”ed Fitz!! And Fitz backed down! Crozier finally grew a spine! Just in time to decide to commandeer the Doctor’s ship. 

– The Doctor’s ship inevitably disappears before it can be commandeered. Because of course. (Things and people disappear and get transported to different places and later times all through these episodes for timey~wimey~reasons.) 

Episode 3

– A conversation between the two named female characters (Liak and the Doctor’s companion Christine)! What will they talk about? ...Their dead fathers. Ah. Hmm.

– This show is not sophisticated enough to handle a “white man’s disease killed my father” subplot. And yet, Liak’s father died of TB he contracted from the white men. I’m *worried*

– To help Liak overcome the superstitious antagonism of her “tribe” after her father’s death, Crozier apparently gave a bunch of food to the Inuit, which is  an... interesting take. (One Irishman’s grand gesture fixes racism!)

– Magical Inuit shaman powers are only inherited through the male line (The racism and sexism in this is palpable.)

– So “Tuunbag Episode I: Revenge of the the Tuunbaq” is actually a larger coalition of aliens, run by a being called “Matriarx.” Can we decide whether woman are powerless victims or power-hungry monsters, please? Both is just greedy.

– RIP Strong (another tragic case of the triple threat: sudden onset scurvy, lead poisoning, AND Tuunbaq attack)

– Wait WAIT the Tuunbaq gave Strong the lead poisoning AND the scurvy by biting his neck and sucking his blood, stealing nutrients and leaving lead in their place: Ice Vampires!! I called it!!!

– Groups of people Fitz has verbally degraded: the Irish, the Inuit, all women, and now “common folk.”

Episode 4

– Le Vesconte’s first lines! He sounds like a Boy Scout, by which I mean he sounds about 16, and has an American accent? Also, Fitz pronounces his name “Leh-vay-cont” 

– An AB named “Seeley” is writing an account of the events that are happening, perhaps as this show’s version of Bridgens and/or Peglar? Also Fitz is REALLY opposed to Seeley writing this, because Fitz hates “common folk” that much, apparently? 

– RIP Seeley, we hardly knew ye. 

– Major episode events: the walk-out begins, leaving Terror and Erebus just as the boats slip into another dimension because of alien reasons (this didn’t age well, now that we have the shipwrecks). Also, there’s an Inuit woman who is in league with the cybernetic-alien-Tuunbaq-vampires. 

Episode 5

– As soon as the walk-out begins, the cybernetic-alien-Tuunbaq-vampires begin attacking. 

– Boy Scout Le Vesconte: “I have an idea! If bullets won’t stop them maybe an axe will!” I mean, this is stupid enough for our Dundy, but he follows it up with “Murderers! I’ll hack you to pieces!” and rushes them like a child and has to be rescued. (Also Crozier is way WAY more concerned for Le Vesconte than Fitz is, though Fitz leaps into the rescue effort and Crozier... does not do that. He’s doing a lot of standing on the sidelines and bemoaning his dying men.)

– Peddie is basically just Crozier’s all-purpose lieutenant at this point. Little and Hodgson whomst? 

– Le Vesconte, Fitz, and Tozer get struck by lightning WHILE fighting the Tuunbaq, and some Frankenstein stuff seems to happen, because Fitz now has the munchies. But like, the ominous munchies. 

– Le Vesconte’s in something like a coma. The dumb boy-scout. 

– While explaining why the Netsilik have legends about these aliens as “evil spirits,” the Doctor implies that errors in the historical record happen “especially” in oral traditions. Can we stop insulting the Inuit oral historians please?  

– The cybernetic-vampire-aliens can mind-control their victims sometimes. Calling it now: Fitzjames is under the mind-control already. 

– Liak is revealed to possibly be in cahoots with the aliens, because she has a necklace that her sister gave her that’s actually an alien tracker. 

– Fitzjames, upon learning that Liak may be in league with aliens, attempts to physically kill her with his bare hands, and has to be restrained. 

– Crozier hears murmurs about mutiny, and assigns this poor Marine named Hopcraft to find out more about the mutiny and report back to him. Next morning: RIP Hopcraft, first victim of the “we’re knifing each other” stage of events (aka this show’s Irving.)

Episode 6

– Lieutenant Little, who got separated from Fitzjames and Crozier, tries to comfort ship’s boy Chambers, whose use of the term “panic attacks” is a little anachronistic; a small gripe in the grand scheme of things.

– The Tuunbaq-aliens attack Little’s camp and wipe them all out, leaving Little to the last. Edward Little, a British Christian naval officer in the 1840s, gasps out “I’ll see you in Hades” as his dying words. (Someone write me Little/Irving neo-pagan fanfic for this mess?)

– The Doctor is playing detective, trying to solve Hopcraft’s death. He finds footprints, and both Liak and Tozer are missing. 

– The Doctor calls attention to Tozer’s “enormous feet.” Weird.

– We have our first cannibalism! Perpetrated by Tozer, and uhhhh oh great we’re eating Dr. MacDonald for dinner tonight.

– Le Vesconte woke up from his coma just in time to brain Tozer to death.

– The Doctor: “There were no women’s bones at any of the sites [of the lost expedition remains]” that’s a hilarious comment given that one study suggesting as many as four female skeletons.

– RIP Le Vesconte, from his wounds, offscreen!! Nooo!!

– Tozer (and Fitzjames, and a few others), because they all got struck by the lightning, now have Frankenstein’s cannibalism curse. They all hunger for human flesh.

– Fitzjames is now a sneaky murderer-cannibal who manages to gain Crozier’s trust before turning around and trying to butcher him. As least my evil boy is smart? 

Episode 7

– The big bad reveal: it’s Liak’s secret evil sister! (Just like Season 4 of Sherlock!) She’s been helping the Tuunbaq-aliens the whole time because she hates white men! Because they gave her dad TB and one of them broke her heart! Thanks, it’s bad! 

– The Tuunbaq-aliens eat Liak’s sister anyway because they do not care. 

– Liak, Crozier, the Doctor, and Christine are left to defeat the Tuunbaq-aliens. 

– Fitz feels a little bad about eating people I guess? Also Fitz is “weak” and can’t resist his hunger and all those fun tropes.

Episode 8

– Fitzjames gets a redemption arc via heroic self-sacrifice narrative, complete with death via horrid gurgling. “He sacrificed himself in a last act of humanity.”

– The Doctor agrees to give Crozier a lift to somewhere a bit further south, on the assumption that Crozier will settle down with Liak and live with some “tribe” of other Inuit people that neither of them have ever met. 

– There’s a parting joke about Crozier enjoying drinking wine that did NOT age well.

And that’s all, folks! Hope you... enjoyed? 

[kilibaggins]

1.) ontari is fucking hot. 2.) Murphy is aman he likes sex duh. 3.) they flirted/had cemestry 4.) men cant be raped 5.) women can not rape 6.) even if they could this wouldnt be rape since murphy would want it. 7.) it was literallly just akinky scene lollll 8.) shut the fuck up ontari is amazing. 9.) they're both adults it's not like murphy is some kid 10.) shut up 11.) ontari is a sweet sweet bby 12.) SHUT HE FUCK UP ABOUT IT MURPHY WAS NOT RAPED MEN CANT BE RAPED!

I wanted to respond to this cuz... I'm responding to all the asks about this topic because Men CAN be raped and men need to be heard. And It undermines the struggles of Male Rape Survivors to Say John Murphy wasn't raped and make excuses for Ontari's Actions.

I know most won't read this sadly, but I know my true bros will, and so will people who feel strongly on this topic.

While this post is mostly about a Fictional TV show and Character, I do recommend scrolling to the bottom because I have some Important links to spread more information and that can help Men who have been Sexually Assaulted or people who have Been sexually assaulted. If you don't want to reblog this post because it is Fandom related, I will be making a post of just these links.

1. ) "Ontari is fucking hot."

Okay? I never said otherwise. And Honestly? Yes, Rhiannon Fish IS a beautiful woman. She's absolutely beautiful, and yes she's hot. But just because the actress is attractive, it doesn't mean the character couldn't be a Rapist. People can be hot and still Rape someone.

2. ) "Murphy is a man he likes sex duh."

That's honestly not completely true. Yes, Murphy is a man. And from what we've seen with Emori he likes sex. Though the two don't immediately go hand in hand. Not all men like sex. There are Asexual men in the world. There are sex-repulsed men in the world. Murphy isn't one of those (that we know of) since we've seen him with Emori, but that doesn't mean he would want to have sex with Ontari just because he likes sex. Just because someone likes sex, that doesn't mean they want ALL sex with ANYONE. Just because someone finds another person attractive it doesn't mean they want to have sex with them.

3. ) "they flirted/had cemestry"

I'm guessing you mean "Chemistry" correct? Either way flirting does NOT equal consent. Women and men can Flirt all the want, and that still isn't consenting. A man can call a woman hot all day every day and still not consent to sex. Murphy flirting with someone (if what they did even COUNTS as flirting) does not mean he wants to have sex with them! It just means he was flirting. Also, "Chemistry" is also not consent. Hell, I have chemistry with some of my friends, does that mean they and I have consented to sex? NO.

4. ) "men can't be raped"

Actually, they can. According to THIS  Wikipedia article and sources, men can and have been raped. (And before anyone tells me that Wikipedia is not a "reliable source" it was for many years. The only reason people think it isn't is that people CAN edit it. That does not mean that all of the information in it is false.)

5. ) "women can not rape"

Again, they can. Rape any Non-Consensual Sexual intercourse between two persons. If a woman does not get consent from a man, and still has sex with him, that is rape. If a woman threatens to kill a man and he had *No Choice* but to say yes, then THAT IS RAPE

6. ) "even if they could this wouldnt be rape since murphy would want it."

Are we sure about that? Where exactly did this get said in the episode? Or the scene? Or any scene afterward? because I'm pretty sure his Exact words when talking during the scene were:

"wait. There's someone else okay? I'm sorry."

And nowhere in that does it say he wants it. And no scene after that says he did. The only other scene we have about it is Emori talking to Murphy about it. And Murphy SPECIFICALLY SAYS:

"Emori... I didn't have a choice."

That is not consent. That's the opposite.

And if you think he would want it only because she's attractive I Repeat: Just because someone finds another person attractive it doesn't mean they want to have sex with them.

7. ) "it was literally just akinky scene lollll"

Actually, it wasn't. Though I guess technically you can say Ontari has (a) kink(s) like Bondage, domination, etc. But that doesn't mean the scene is kinky In itself.

A kink scene would be between two consenting adults sho have talked it over beforehand, they'd have a Safeword, there would be Enthusiastic consent either beforehand or during it. There has to be communication and not a randomly dominant woman chaining a guy to a wall and coming out of the blue with sex. That's not how kink WORKS. Trust is a huge part of any kinky/bdsm type scene! There was legitimately NO TRUST. They do not trust each other at all. So Yeah, maybe Ontari is Kinky, but the scene itself was not just a kink scene.

8. ) "shut the fuck up Ontari is amazing"

Well, first of all, I won't shut up. This is my blog and i can post what I want on it. You are not in charge of my blog and you can leave if you really don't want to see the content nobody is making you.

Second, I, sadly, can't tell you not to like Ontari. Though, I can promise you that she is not amazing in a lot of people's eyes. She killed a whole group of kids in cold blood in THEIR SLEEP. She cut off their heads. She pokes a guy's eyes out with her bare hands and uh... She Raped a Guy. That seems pretty "not amazing" to me.

9. ) "they're both adults it's not like Murphy is some kid."

Well, you're right about one thing, Murphy isn't some kid. Though, Murphy also isn't an Adult. He landed on the ground when he was 17 (probably Early 17) and he was still 17 by the time the Ontari situation happened also, According to THIS site and THIS site Ontari is either 25-26 or ""In her Early 20's"". Look at that! It's Underagded rape too!

10) "shut up"

No thank you, I think I'll continue talking about MURPHY on MY MURPHY blog.

11.) "ontari is a sweet sweet baby"

I mean, I guess. If you count her killing a bunch of children in their sleep, cutting off their heads, poking a guy's eyes out, and raping a guy to be "sweet". Then yeah, I guess she's sweet!

12.) "SHUT HE FUCK UP ABOUT IT MURPHY WAS NOT RAPED MEN CANT BE RAPED"

Refer back to Numbers 4-6.

Thank you to anyone who is still reading. I loved and hated making this post. I hated it because I had to see the ignorance coming from this anon, but I loved it because I got to educate some people today and talk about a serious issue.

Sources say that 1 in 6 men deal with **Sexual Abuse** in their lifetime. Here is a Source to that statistic CLICK HERE 

Here is a Source that Mentions the 1 in 6 Men statistic and also goes through Myth and gives the truth: CLICK HERE 

Here is a Source about Male Sexual Abuse Survivors that had a real life story, and tells statistics and Facts. CLICK HERE 

Here is a link of 62 Male Sexual Assault stories. Warning: Some are disturbing. Please be careful. CLICK HERE 

Here is a link to a website that answers questions you might have. CLICK HERE

I know this post started as a John Murphy post and went into this. But the reason it did it because this is a very serious topic and people need to be educated and male survivors need Support JUST like female survivors do.

Here are Some Links to Some Resources for Male Survivors:

LINK 

LINK 

LINK

Men Need Support.

Men Can Be Survivors.

Men Need Resources.

Men Need Love.

Men Can Be Raped.

John Murphy Was Raped.

And So Were All Of The Male Survivors Who Are Brave Enough To Talk About It.

[antihero-writings]

Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade (Ch2)

Fandom: Pandora Hearts 

Fic Summary: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

I'll put the link to ch1 in a reblog, as well as do a reblog-version of this chapter that includes both chapters!

Notes: 

Nope, I didn't forget about this fic, haha! Actually this fic has been sitting on my computer taunting me for WAY too long. This is probably the fic I open and try to work on, and then close again, unable to work on it, more than any other...

Lately I've been going through old fics that I left unfinished on my computer and trying to post them by whatever means necessary. For a number of them, those means are simply cutting it earlier than I planned to. I desperately wanted this fic to be included in the mix. First I only wanted this fic to be one chapter, then I wanted it to be two...now it's gonna be three or more XD I've just been super unsure about how to write the next part for a very long time, but I have had this part done for too long...and the dissonance between the two made it hard to go anywhere with it. I hope posting this will help me be able to figure out the next part, haha!

Another reason I was hoping to write the next part too is because I wanted to use the second chapter of this for the "Lock" prompt of Phmonth19... but this chapter doesn't really work for it. So just know that was my goal, haha!

I mentioned this in the other chapter, but the song "Masks" by Aviators is absolutely perfect for this fic, and I highly recommend listening to it during or after you read it, haha!

If you enjoyed this, I'd really really appreciate if you could leave me a comment to let me know!! They truly do motivate me to continue, and make my week!! If you want to read more of this fic, I can assure you I'll be faster at writing the next chapter, if I know people are actually going to read it!!

Chapter 2: The Color of Tragedy

The scene shifted, paint on a canvas smearing, and Glen became a black satin stain beneath layers of paint, the crimson and commanding presence disappearing as the world rearranged itself.

The many Jacks faded into the background too, until he couldn’t tell if they remained mirrors—(mirrors hidden within the many halls and rooms, built within the walls of his heart)—or if they were strangers and friends again; other people, not himself.

The pillars to the ballroom slowly dissolved, as if in water, changing into a courtyard green sprouting up all around.

The music had always been an unfamiliar tune he was expected to inherently know the moves to. And no matter how much he listened to it, it never became innate. Now, after all this time, it morphed into something familiar. But familiar did not mean un-painful or un-maddening.

The soft tune of a pocket watch tiptoed on his brain, each footfall a syringe in his thoughts, dripping cold beautiful insanity slowly into his soul, one drop at a time, infecting it until it blocked out every other melody, and his feet forgot the moves he had so ruthlessly sewn in.

When he turned, the source was behind him; a man standing in the courtyard. All black now; black hair, black cloak. No crimson. Like he never spilt her blood. Like she never existed in the first place. All black…except for the eyes. Gaze fluctuating between daggers…and some emotion he was struggling to keep from escaping; the leader, and the broken boy, crying on the ground. Soot with sparks buried within; glints of violet, glints of gold. Glitches of empathy in the perfect program. His eyes focused on the pocket watch—(a glint in the dark itself)—until they flicked to him, and Jack felt those eyes as a sword at his throat.

At the shift in his gaze, the scene itself turned over again, wind blowing by him, a single spark of violet glowing in the blurred tapestry, and ever, ever that melody, slowly corroding him.

Glen sat in the grass on a sunny day, those violet blades sheathed as he bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

The first respite from the dance in all these years. A rest in the measure.

Glen, sitting in the sunlight. Glen, playing the piano—always that single, haunting melody, laced with a name, filling up Jack’s mind with the harmony until he was drowning in its sound, and could think no other word.

That melody, that word, and her voice—(A memory of her voice, soon given to him by a bloodstained black rabbit)—pulling him through the blurred universe to a balcony, drawn there like he was ink on a canvas, subject to the whims of the artist.

Brown hair, like hers.

Violet eyes, like his.

White dress.

Black dress.

Her existence was not tied down. As if it was a part of the smear itself, and not the concrete picture beneath it. She was a part of all these mistakes the artist tried to smudge out.

Jack pulled a white rose from his pocket.

He offered her a red rose.

“Would you care to dance, Alice?”

******

A little girl held the keys to those chains—held them, held by them all the same; that is to say her world would fall into the dark too, if the bounds were to break. A little girl chose the music, the steps. A little girl ruled the world.

Is that why they call it insanity?

Her daughter.

Gods may be fixed in the sky, watching all our misdeeds, and we believe in them, not they us, but children can be made to believe anything. Such as: men who come down the chimney do so to give them presents, that putting their teeth beneath pillows is anything more than gross. One can make them believe the world isn’t made of malice. You can make them believe you haven’t sewn your mask—and the things you stole to get those jewels, things like lives—into the skin. You can make them think you’re a hero coming to save them, make them more than a blur, a mistake, a prisoner of their own creation, but a part of something real and concrete, when you’re just using them, like everyone else will. Naiveté is powerful and dangerous in that way.

I heard her voice one day. Lacie’s. Not just in my memories. This was real, one piece of her reaching out to me from the black.

She had this toy rabbit. A toy, yes, but to a god, a toy can be a thinking, living, breathing, thing, with nothing more than a thought to animate it. Dolls and figures can be princesses and princes, and their knights and soldiers. Children dream. And lonely children dream the most. And a lonely god is a dangerous thing indeed. Especially a child god, surrounded by lifeless toys. Dangerous, because of the stories they tell themselves in the silence can become real indeed.

It was this toy that brought her voice to me, like a gift, physical thing. Packaged up a memory and sent it off to me.

So it was back to the dance. But this time it was different. Because even if there were other melodies out there somewhere, other moves to know, my ears only heard one twinkling pocket watch, my feet would only obey one conductor.

And this melody was not bound by little girls, and lonely gods, and broken, blood struck leaders. This one I could make up my own moves to, intertwine them with the motions and melodies of the rest of the world, so no one would know I was dancing to my own song.

This rabbit, the one who brought her voice to me had a name. Oz—(like Oswald…but not like him at all)—was to be my chain. A chain different from the rest. A chain that was not friendship, or love, or hate, or malice. A chain that was not sanity or insanity. A chain that was not keeping the world upright. A chain to break all other chains. Bringing her to me. Tying me to her. My chain, to destroy all the chains keeping me from hearing her voice again, and her from the world she loved.

A god who creates something that can destroy their world is dangerous indeed.

Little girls and their dolls, toy rabbits and puppet kings, a tear or two, and some spilled blood couldn’t stop me now.

******

The world blurred in black and white, gold and red, violet and green.

Which color was real?

Was it the black and white; just the game of chess?

Was it the endless violet in the king’s eyes?

The gold of shimmering lights, and the eyes of scared little boys just trying to help?

Was it the green, the vibrant, envious green of his clothes, his eyes?

Or was it all the red they spilled?

And there was. So much red. One could have painted with it. He did. The floors. The walls. The roses he once promised she’d see. The world.

But even within those colors… nothing was quite solid, quite sure.

Because the gold didn’t shimmer anymore. Those golden eyes were full of fear, determination. They didn’t gleam with false riches, but with real poverty; a poverty that comes not from losing your money, but losing your friends, or your sanity.

Because that green wasn’t the vibrant bloom of a garden. It was not envy or eternity or ephemerality and it—he—too was dyed with red.

Because when Oswald truly put a sword to Jack’s throat his eyes held no sting. Those violet blades held nothing more than infinite sorrow. He called him his friend. But he saw him at the end of a sword, at the end of themselves, at the end of the world.

Or at least, that was Jack’s goal.

But the king made sure the only world that ended was their own, cutting off the hand for the sake of the rest of the body. Gouging out the eye for the sake of the face.

And there was another Jack trapped within the reflection on the sword—(mask or real?)—looking like a broken thing determined to hold itself together. And when something gets to that point, is broken enough…it doesn’t care. About much of anything. Not itself. Not the friend on the other end. Just whatever it is holding itself together.

The king’s head is lying on the board.

“Glen?”

Jack is calling his name, cradling his red-stained head in his hands, tears smearing the green of his eyes.

How did he die? Who killed him? How can he make them pay?

But his hands are covered in blood.

What’s the mask? The blood? Or the tears?

And now everything, once too blurred, once just a smear on a canvas, a move in the midst of a dance, is too real, too concrete, too irreversible.

Checkmate. But he doesn’t feel like he’s won the game.

And as he cries, as he screams and demands why, the masks peer out of the corners of the board, stare his way, snickering at him from the hidden passageways deep inside him.

The closer he got to his goal, the more those chains fell apart, finally creating his own moves to the dance…the less he he noticed something wrapping around his arms, his legs.

He rushed to the tower where the god-girl will grant his wishes at last—the bottle for the genie—where he will be free.

And she would have granted him all, if only he would have freed her from her bottle.

She wouldn’t have hesitated to destroy the world for him.

Were it not for her other half, the rabbit’s tears, and a pair of scissors.

At last the machine remembers the wrench; the one that tried to change the patterns, the melody, long ago, all for a single distortion in the system that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. The one whom its gears once kicked to the bottom, the one who clawed his way back up. And it knows kicking him back down there again won’t be enough.

Fine. If he wanted to change the system, the dance, the melody, then the system would exclude him, treat him as an error. The dance will leave him with everything he wanted, everything he was, everything he created.

He opens his eyes.

There is no ballroom. No dance. No dancers. …Maybe there never was.

A cell. Or at least, he thinks it is, but he doesn’t see any walls or floors, just navy darkness, and a crack in the dimension above, like a slit in the prison door, letting in the tiniest bit of light.

He takes a step.

There’s a sloshing noise.

So there’s water in the bottom of this cell. Is the prison’s being flooded? He ought to tell the guards.

One more step.

Something cuts the air. A terrible sound; like somebody took a beautiful thing and melted it down, and melded it into something it was never meant to be.

Laughter. Twisted, reckless, mirthless, soulless laughter. As if he stepped on a malfunctioning Jack-in-the-box, with no need for the song.

There’s no music anymore. And the the absence of it threatens to suffocate him.

Another step, another laugh, different, but no less jagged.

He doesn’t want to look down. Doesn’t want to see. To face it. He knows. He knows what he’ll find there.

But he does it anyways.

Beside his foot is a mask. A fine porcelain one, like from a theater, that would cover the whole face. The slit-eyes are curved down, the mouth curved up, to signify happiness.

It’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen.

But he knows, if he were to put it on, it would fit his handsome face perfectly.

He puts a hand over his mouth to barricade the sick, to cloister his silver tongue, and takes a step back.

But when he does, another warped sound wrenches open the air. This time it’s crying.

He spins around. His heel is on another mask.

But, as he looks upon it, his eyes are pulled upward as if on strings. There is something far worse behind him. It’s like a snowy mountain.

Masks, endless, empty, lifeless masks. This place is surely built upon them.

All the masks he ever wore.

Does he even have a face anymore?

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Newsies Teen Wolf AU, but as scenes from different seasons that I find slightly hilarious even though they have zero context.

1) Anchors, season 3 episode 13. This is the first episode of 3b, or the second half of the season.

Brief: Basically Jack, Sarah, and Race are seeing things now and are being haunted by nightmares because of a ritual they did to save their family. Race has night terrors, Jack's werewolf abilities are acting up, and Sarah sees her dead older brother.

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, panic

___

"Okay, so what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Jack sighs as he sits across from Albert and next to Race, Sarah and Katherine filling in seats to the bench they sit at during lunch.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not." Race mutters, shoving a pretzel in his mouth and tapping his foot anxiously.

"And sees dead relatives." Sarah stares at the table of the bench, a far off look on her face.

"They're all locked up because they're insane." Katherine doesn't flinch at the unappreciative looks she gets.

"Can you at least try to be helpful, please?" Race doesn't withhold any of the sarcasm he's known for. He stares Katherine in the eye, neither backing down.

"For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer, so, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me." Katherine offers Race am equally sarcastic smile, her arms crossed on the table.

"Alright, come on, are we seriously still milking that?" Race huffs. Katherine stares at him like he's grown a second head, the other three teenagers at the table trying not to laugh or scold Race.

"Yes, we're still milking that." Katherine deadpans. Everyone is so invested in the pending argument between Race and Katherine, they don't notice that they've been joined until the newcomer sits down next to Jack.

"It's Bardo." Everyone jumps as Davey sits next to Jack and across from Sarah, receiving a panicked look from his twin. Jack tenses, knowing Davey is only just now accepting Jack as an acquaintance. "It means In Between, quite literally between life and death."

"David, I'm sorry-"

"Save it, nothing surprises me anymore." Davey offers Sarah an understanding expression, making the girl immediately relax. "But if you ever hide something like this from me again, I'm taking back my copy of the Avatar movie."

"Hey, wait a second-"

"So do you mean Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" Albert interrupts Sarah before she can start an argument with her brother.

"Either, but everything you guys were talking about happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states that range from seeing things, hearing things, and even being visited by peaceful and wrathful deities." Davey shrugs like it's the most commonly known thing. Jack stares wide eyed, knowing the only other person at the table who might know about this is Albert. Is this what Davey learned while he was homeschooled last year? No wonder Sarah wanted to go to public school.

"Wrathful deities?" Katherine inquires, glancing to Sarah in concern.

"Demons, essentially." Davey matches Katherine's expression, although his moves around the table to Race and Jack. Jack's neck heats up as Davey looks at him, although he quickly frowns when he doesn't understand why.

"Demons. Why not?" Race runs a hand down his face.

Just when they thought they could catch a break from all the excessively crazy supernatural stuff.

____

2) More Bad Than Good, season 3 episode 14. This is the second episode of 3b.

Brief: Spot and Oscar have been kidnapped by hunters while in Mexico. That's about it.

Warnings: Torture and maybe a bad word. Mentions of death

Notes: Oscar is Spot's older cousin who he has a strong hate/tolerate relationship with. Spot is two years older than Jack and Race, making him nineteen. Also note, I'm interpreting the spanish used from my years taking Spanish and from how the show translated it, please correct me if I'm wrong so I can fix it!!!

____

"Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?" Oscar borderline whines as Spot glares at him.

"Because it is your fault." Spot pants, his body hanging almost limply as his wrists stay tied above him to the chain link fence. A switch flips and Spot's entire body seizes, pained grunts passing his lips as electricity travels through his body. Oscar is not different, both boys arching their bodies away from the fence that the electricity courses through. After what feels like an eternity, but was only five seconds, they both slump against the fence, catching their breath as their bodies twitch uncontrollably.

"Yeah. You're probably right." Oscar breathes heavily, his muscles spasming. Suddenly there's another switch and Spot can't hold back a scream from the pain that courses through his body, his wrists straining against the cuffs holding him to the fence. It's gone as soon as it comes, but the pain seems to only increase once Spot can feel his body again as it heals itself. Oscar is all but hanging from his wrists now, hardly supporting himself.

"I've seen some crack their teeth. Others, they just shake and shake even after their heart stops. Sometimes we don't even know they're dead." Spot and Oscar both groan, recognize the voice as the man who had been torturing them for the last two days. And all over some dumb myth. "But nobody wants to play a guessing game. So, why don't you just tell us? Where is El Lobo?"

"We don't know where El Lobo is." Spot strains to look the man in the eyes, his body heavy like lead.

"Maybe you need a different method of persuasion? Maybe we cut one of you in half, the other talks?" The man smirks. Spot clenches his jaw, thinking of any way possible to get out of his current situation. Of course, his smart mouth of a cousin has to start talking.

"I would love to volunteer, but we really don't know what you're talking about. And honestly, isn't bisecting people with a broad sword a little medieval?" Oscar squints at the man. Spot knows Oscar's only going to get them killed if he doesn't shut up, although he also knows his cousin's ability to mouth off while simultaneously not dying is almost a superpower.

"A broad sword? We're not savages." Spot glances nervously over to Oscar as the man winks at them, although Oscar seems pretty happy with himself.

Until a chainsaw whirls.

It takes every fiber in Spot not to use all his power to break his restraints and strangle Oscar. Even if he could escape, there are far better things he could do than waste his time on his sorry excuse of a relative.

"Boys." A new voice makes both boys chained to the fence drop their shoulders and the man with the chainsaw to turn it off and step back. An older woman walks closer and starts saying something in Spanish.

"No hablo español." Spot pants, he body still recovering from the electric shocks.

"Tu hablas muchos idiomas, Sean Conlon. You know exactly what I'm saying. And you know who we want. Where is The Wolf?" The woman glares at Spot. Spot shakes his head in defeat, having had this conversation countless times in the past two days.

"We don't know any Wolf." Spot looks the woman in the eyes, hoping in vain that this time she'll actually believe him.

"I know you won't talk, lobito. But this one? This one loves the sound of his own voice." The woman steps in front of Oscar, a calculating look on her face.

"You should hear me sing." Oscar grins. Spot clenches his jaw, knowing Oscar could very well have just signed their death certificate.

"We want to hear you scream." The woman's grin is wide.

"No one ever wants to hear me sing." Oscar mock pouts, receiving a wide eyed glare from Spot.

"What could we do to persuade you? Where is The Wolf?" The woman seems to ponder the thought and Spot notices her hands moving behind her back. Suddenly she moves and not even two seconds later, Oscar is screaming. Spot wants to gag when he sees what appears to be a finger on the ground.

"Think about it. I'll only ask nine more times." Spot watches her leave, eyes still wide and brows furrowed. He watches the woman exchange a look with the man and the man smirks at him whole Oscar pants heavily next to him, occasionally whimpering.

The man reaches for the dial.

And everything flashes white.

____

Hey all! So these are just some of my favorite scenes from Season 3b of Teen Wolf. They aren't necessarily funny by any means and they probably don't make sense if you haven't seen the show, but I hope these were enjoyable to read.

Please send me any scenes you want to see or any recommendations you have! I'm open to anything!

[lurafita]

Peter/Avengers, dub/con, captivity, Part 4

TAGGING PEOPLE STILL ISN’T WORKING!

Support couldn’t give me an answer to my problem. Though they said they would send me a link with a tool kinda thing, that I would have to install, and maybe that might help, then. Havn’t gotten it yet, but they said it might take a few days to get the file packed, or something. I have no clue about these things. Wish I had a Tony Stark in real life I could go bother with this.

Anyway, I would like to ask everyone to reblog this post, if you don’t mind, so that hopefully everyone who asked to be tagged for future parts will be able to find this. Thanks!

Read previous parts here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Once again, heed the tags below the cut.

kidnapping, dub/con, captivity, chains, bondage, obsessive Avengers, Peter/Everyone, darkly soft Avengers (in the sense that they hold Peter captive, but only want to love and protect him), non-powered Peter, dark-ish Avengers, 18+ Peter, Clint is not married and has no kids, Tony is not in a relationship with Pepper.

Part 4

Setting things up was almost too easy.

The Avengers floors in the tower were spread over four stories.

One floor made up an intricate and wide indoor training gym, with special equipment. The one above that was dedicated to lab work, and had all the instruments any scientists heart could ever desire.

Then came the common floor, which was by far, the biggest.

In the beginning, Tony had set it up so that every Avenger would have their own, private floor.

But everyone had quickly migrated to the completely functional guest rooms (that all came with en-suite bathrooms) on the common floor. There was more than enough room for everyone, and the team mates liked being close to each other, while still having some privacy in their own rooms.

Peter's room, of course, had also always been on the common floor.

The parameters for Friday's new protocol were easy to code into her mainframe. As was the math to calculate the length of the chain, and the best place to anchor it to, so that Peter would still be able to roam the whole of the common floor freely, but unable to reach the elevator.

Tony and Bruce would, of course, take Peter to their labs with them, if he wished for it. A fitting chain would be placed there as well. Things were a bit different for the gym. They suspected that Peter would want to keep up his ballet practices with Natasha (once he got used to his new circumstances a bit, they had no delusions that the first few days would be difficult for everyone). However, he clearly couldn't be chained down for those. So there would be no chains there.

And really, the chains weren't actually necessary. With Friday's updated protocols, which disallowed Peter the use of the elevators (which were the only way to access the Avenger floors), unless one of the Avengers was with him, or in case of an immediate emergency; as well as the fact that each and every one of them would be able to easily restrain Peter if it came to it, there was honestly no need to put a shackle on the younger man.

Thinking back, Tony didn't even know who had suggested it in the first place, but once the image was there...

They wanted it.

They wanted the visible, physical, undeniable proof, that Peter wouldn't leave them.

Couldn't leave them.

They wanted to be able to touch the chain, run their hands over the links, hear the sound it would make every time the brunette moved.

Tony took great pleasure in making it. He was not going to allow some crude, mass manufactured, heavy dark chain to touch his Sweetheart's soft skin. No. The chain he was making was a gold aluminum alloy, just like his armor. Strong, but light, and a glittering gold and red color. The cuff that would rest around Peter's ankle was padded with the softest material Tony could find, ensuring that neither the delicate skin, nor bones would get damaged from wearing it over a long period of time.

Feeling inspired, the billionaire also made some handcuffs out of the same metal and soft padding, as well as some other things that almost had him come in his pants, from simply imagining using them on Peter. Not right away, of course, he didn't want to spook his Sweetheart. But once things had progressed a little, when Peter had learned to accept (and maybe reciprocate) their love, these things would be there, and Tony and the others would use them to make his Sweetheart feel more pleasure than he ever had before.

When Peter graduated from University, Tony had finished making all the restraints they would need (and want). To celebrate Peter's graduation, Tony invited everyone (the team, Peter's aunt, and his two friends) to the most expensive restaurant in the city. Between the lighthearted teasing and sincere praise of everyone, Peter was blushing the whole evening.

Such a pretty little thing.

During the next days, as his departure to Australia drew ever nearer, Peter was a bundle of nervous energy. Fretting about preparations for his trip, getting everything in order, trying to spend time with Ned and MJ, his aunt and the Avengers, before he wouldn't see them for quite a while.

The day before his plane would depart, just as they had planned, the Avengers again invited everyone out, this time to a fancy, discreet place that served brunch. The food was good and everyone had a great time. At the end, Ned, Michelle and May Parker thanked the Avengers for the invitation, and then all hugged Peter tightly (May with tears in her eyes) and wished him all the luck in the world on his trip.

Peter likewise had to wipe some moisture out of his eyes after the heartfelt goodbyes.

Back at the tower, Bruce started the final stage of their plan.

“Peter? Professor Stoddard gave you a list of all the recommended shots for Australia, right?”

The younger man grinned. “Yep. Got them all covered. On a side note, I really hate needles.”

The admission got a small chuckle out of everyone, as well as a little smile from Bruce.

“Well, if you can grit your teeth through one more, I have mixed up something in the lab that will help your body to better adapt to the Australian climate.”

Peter gave him a look between surprised and moved.

“Aw, thank you, Bruce. You really didn't have to.”

But the doctor shook his head, and placed an arm around the slightly smaller man, guiding him to the elevator, the dark, knowing eyes of the other Avengers on their backs.

“Nonsense. I think we all would feel a lot better, knowing that you are less likely to collapse from heatstroke the minute you get off the plane. Come. It's in my lab.”

Ten minutes later, the elevator doors opened back up, showing Bruce carrying an unconscious Peter in his arms.

Steve stepped forward immediately, offering to take Peter from him.

“You made sure the sedative isn't harmful?”

Bruce would take offense, but he knew that the super soldier was simply worried and anxious for their precious one.

“I've tested it multiple times. He will sleep soundly for approximately the next nine hours.”

With Peter carefully cradled in his arms, Steve led the small procession to the younger man's room, where he laid him gently into his bed.

Natasha came forward and lovingly carded her fingers through the always messy, brown curls, swiping away a stray lock from his eyes. Clint was already in the process of removing the sleeping man's shoes, and Bucky, with sure but soft hands, opened Peter's jeans and tenderly stripped them off.

Sam was collecting the younger man's tablet, phone and laptop. They would be kept secure and out of Peter's reach, until they could be sure that their love wouldn't try to contact anyone about his captivity.

Tony and Thor entered the room then, carrying the long, gold and red chain between them.

Clint huffed at the sight. “I'm still not happy that my Darling will be wearing your color scheme all the time.”

Tony just smirked at him. “What did you want me to paint the chain with? Purple? No chance.”

Then he took the cuff that was linked to the chain, and approached the bed. He sat down at Peter's naked feet (Bucky had quickly traded the jeans for a soft pair of pajama bottoms, not wanting his Doll to get cold during the night, in only his boxers)

Tony took a moment to just admire the sleeping form of the man that held all their hearts in his hands. He looked so peaceful. He moved his hand to the ankle that laid against his thigh. Such soft skin. He stroked over it lightly. So delicate. He could wrap his whole hand around the appendage without problem.

“We were right. Peter isn't made for the jungle. It would be too rough on him. We can't let him go. He needs us.”

He didn't need to look up to see the agreement in the others eyes, and without further delay, he closed the cuff around the pale flesh.

“The chain will have to come off for changing clothes and taking baths, so there is a fingerprint scanner here” He pointed it out for the others “programmed to recognize our thumb prints. You need to press your thumb to it for five seconds, before it comes off, so there should be no accidental release. We will all need to watch our steps from now on, so that we don't trip over the chain.”

Everyone nodded.

Steve spoke next.

“Remember that Peter won't be too happy with us during the next few days. Maybe longer. He won't understand this, and he will like it even less. The first week will likely be the most frustrating for all of us, but I won't tolerate anyone taking it out on him.”

He was met with scowls.

“No one here would ever hurt him.” Sam had crossed his arms over his chest.

“It will take time, but Lastashka will come around.” Natasha continued to stroke his hair.

“Patience and love. Just like we talked about. He will accept it, one day.” Bucky's voice was confident and steady.

“It is rare that all of us are needed for a mission, so there is always going to be at least one of us here with him. This should help him to get used to it.” Bruce added.

“I will have to attend matters at Asgard occasionally, but I doubt it will take more than a day at a time. It is important that we show him that we will always be there for him, and take care of his needs.”

Tony stroked over the padded shackle once more, before standing up and covering the still unconscious Peter with the warm blanket.

“Friday, initiate Protocol: Caged Bird.”

_

The first few days were difficult, but it was nothing they hadn’t expected.

Peter was mostly confused. He didn’t understand why his friends were doing what they were doing. He didn’t understand that their feelings for him exceeded friendship by a mile. He didn’t understand that keeping him locked up, was for his own good.

He tried reasoning with them, tried convincing them that nothing would happen to him in Australia, or any other expedition he might take part in in the future. (He was very upset about having missed his flight. At the sight of tears gathering in his eyes, Steve had climbed into bed with him and cuddled the unwilling college graduate for about an hour)

After that Peter had got it in his head that the team had been hypnotized or otherwise manipulated by some kind of villain. (”This isn’t right. You know it isn’t. Someone is making you act this way. You have to fight this.”) But, of course, it was to no avail.

They had expected him to be angry at them, to scream and curse and wish them to hell (though he never did). And while he was clearly very unhappy about the situation, it wasn’t his anger that cut into the Avengers. It was his sadness.

The team did their best to help Peter through the ordeal, help him get used to things. Affectionate touches were freely given and numerous, no matter how reluctantly they were received.

They were vigilant about not giving him time or opportunity to get lost in negative emotions. Took care that he always ate and drank enough, would change the shackle from one ankle to the other every day, and then spent a few minutes to massage the joint, to ward off any discomfort.

Due to the shackle and chain needing to be taken off, in order for Peter to change his bottoms, or shower, someone was always in the room with him during that time. The lack of privacy and his own shyness about the others seeing him naked like this, was possibly the most challenging hurdle for Peter to overcome.

It took two weeks, for Peter to stop flinching away from their touches, and then another four days until he didn’t automatically stiffen any more, when one of them hugged him. His pleas to be let go tapered off after roughly the first month into his captivity.

When Clint actually managed to make Peter laugh one day, things changed again.

With the younger man’s slowly growing acceptance of his non-negotiable presence in the tower, the team grew bolder in their displays of affection.

Lips soon found their way onto the soft skin, hands alone no longer enough. Necklines were pulled lower, exposing more of the delicate neck and shoulder bones, then covering the light skin in love bites and hickeys.

Shirts were rolled up to gain access to stomach and chest. to stroke and caress, to lick and kiss. Soft tickles to the sides of  the sensitive belly, light pinches and bites to the pink nipples.

Hands found their ways under the soft pants and boxers Peter wore, squeezing his buttocks, fingers ghosting over the rim, stroking up and down the length of his penis.

The younger man would tell them to stop, tried to shove them away, or wriggle out of their grasps, at first, but he was never successful. It was like a switch had been pulled in the Avengers heads. Knowing that Peter couldn’t get away from them, couldn’t run, couldn’t leave, allowed them more and more freedom to express their love.

They wanted to kiss him. Caress him. Feel him. Taste him. They wanted to make him feel good. Make him experience all the pleasure they could. Wanted to hear him moan, and gasp, and writher. They wanted to hear their name on his lips when he came. And then they wanted to do it all over again.

Peter discovered that, despite the chain that already shackled him to their home, the Avengers liked to restrain him even further, whenever things got more intimate.

Bucky and Steve both liked to use their superhuman strength. Steve would gather the thin wrists in one of his big hands, and hold them to whatever surface Peter happened to be on, before descending on the slighter body.

Bucky was the same, just that he exclusively used his metal arm to trap Peter’s hands with, so that his flesh one would be able to feel the others skin beneath him.

Sam and Clint almost always used the padded handcuffs that Tony had made, to bind Peter’s arms behind his back. Sam liked for Peter to straddle him like this, while he played with his body. Clint preferred to lay the younger man down on the closest soft surface, be that the couch in the living room, or whoever’s bed was nearest, and have his wicked way with him.

Natasha usually took Peter to her bedroom, where she used silk shawls and other soft ties to secure him to her bed. (”Tying someone down can have two implications, Lastashka. The most obvious one is that it makes you unable to resist and gives me complete control. The other reason is that it’s not about reciprocation. Being bound forces you to accept the pleasure that I give you, to let me take care of you, let me make you feel good and worship your body like it should be worshiped. If you wonder which one of those implications comes into play here, it’s actually both. I like being in control, Peter, but I also like making you feel good. Just let me love you.”)

Most surprising was probably Bruce’s fondness for Japanese bondage. The older scientist loved to put Peter in elaborate and complicated bindings (with special ropes that wouldn’t burn or shave at the delicate skin, of course). He would patiently and carefully wrestle the younger man into compliance, and then skillfully tie him up. The only reason the bondage never included a gag, Peter came to realize, was that Bruce would stop his work every few minutes, to kiss him tenderly on the lips, the cheeks, and his forehead. Sometimes they didn’t even have sex when Bruce tied him up, though the man always made Peter come.

Thor was probably the odd one out, as he didn’t have a specific method he used to restrain his lover. Sometimes he would use a soft rope, other times he closed the padded handcuffs around Peter’s wrists, and other times still the god of thunder would simply clamp his own, big hands around the slim body and manhandle him however he wanted to. One day Thor had stripped his love, pinned him down on his bed with one hand, and with the other, carefully, hesitantly, but full of anticipation, laid his hammer onto the youngers chest. Mjölnir wasn’t heavy in the sense that it crushed Peter, but it was completely impossible for the younger man to move out from under it. All he could do was claw at the bedding and move his legs to the almost overwhelming pleasure, as the Asgardian took him again and again.

Tony, even though he had been the one to design and make the handcuffs and various other restrains the team used on Peter, would usually direct one or more of the empty Iron Man armors to hold his Sweetheart in position. He loved watching as Peter ineffectually writhed against the unyielding hold of something he had created, while he kneeled before his captive, using the skill learned from years of being New York’s number one playboy, to suck him off. He always made Peter orgasm once, before he entered him. It was such a heady feeling, such a turn on, to see Peter experience a second release, while the billionaire himself was buried deep inside his warmth.

They made sure not to overwhelm Peter too much. He couldn’t be taken by everyone, everyday. And really, no one had a problem with this. After all, it wasn’t purely about sex. They loved Peter, and they loved making love to Peter, but fucking for hours on end was not the only way that physical attraction and devotion could be expressed.

Cuddling during movie nights, or taking a bath together, having him sit between their legs and leaning back into their chest while he was reading a book, were all things that were high on everyone’s list for making Peter feel special and loved.

Whenever it wasn’t Steve himself to share this kind of intimacy with his Honey, he liked to draw the scene before him. His sketchbook was full of pages upon pages of Peter being cherished by one of his team mates. (He always drew the chain, and sometimes the handcuffs, as well. The different restraints had become as much of a symbol for their love, as everything else had)

Three and a half months into Peter’s captivity, everyone was gathered in the living room, watching a movie. Peter was lying with his head in Natasha’s lap, the former Assassin lovingly stroking her hand through his hair. His legs were laid over Sam’s lap, with the man softly kneading his calves. The rest of the Avengers had spread out over the other couches and chairs in the room, basking in the peaceful atmosphere that knowing Peter was close by, always brought to them.

“Do you hate us?”

Natasha’s quiet question cut through the room like a knife, and Peter could see every one of the Avengers stiffen, as they waited for him to answer. He inhaled deeply.

“...No. I don’t hate you. I don’t like being locked up, I’m not always too happy about all the restraints, I miss being able to run around outside, jump from building to building, or just take a walk. I still don’t understand why you are doing all this,... But I don’t hate you.”

They all slumped a little in relief, Sam affectionately squeezed the ankle without the shackle, and Natasha continued to stroke through Peter’s hair.

“No more parkour for you, Doll. It’s too dangerous.” Came Bucky’s rumble to the brunettes right, and he could see the others nod their heads in agreement to this. He sighed.

“But we can talk about a few outings in the future.”

Natasha and Sam kept him from sitting up, but Peter still looked at Tony with wide, excited eyes.

“Really?”

The billionaire nodded. “If you agree to wearing a tracker, maybe an anklet. And at least one of us has to be with you. Possibly a few more rules that we will decide on then. But yes, really.”

Seeing the reluctant agreement to that in everyone’s eyes, Peter smiled widely. It wouldn’t happen in the next few days, he knew. Maybe not even for another month or more. But he would get to go outside again.

One day.

______________________________________________________________

That’s it folks.

As you can probably tell, I’m not very good with writing smut. (In fact, I didn’t really, explicitely, write any... sorry)

Which is why, if anyone is interested / wants to do it, I would not at all be opposed if someone wrote additional parts to this story.

The only thing I ask, is that you keep things nice. No degradation, humiliation or pain play, please. (Pain play would include things like spanking and orgasm denial. Orgasm delay is fine, but outright denial can not only be considerably painful, but might also have real, physical consequences.)

I don’t mean any offense if those are some of your personal kinks or likes, but I myself don’t enjoy those very much (or at all), and I don’t think they would fit into the mind frame of the story, or the Avengers.

[doraspenlow]

ok it’s clown movie fanfic time

We Go On

(you can read on ao3 here)

It’s been three years now and Derry, Maine is a nice town, anybody will tell you that. There’s been a little boom of people moving in, who knows why– getting away from the city, enjoy the suburbs, commuting in to work. It’s a nice town. The people are nice too. There were some… incidents, quite recently actually, but who wants to talk about that. So some madman who once killed his father busted out and killed some kids. Well, he died. (The cops never found out what happened to Henry Bowers, his skull split open, but they weren’t investigating too hard). So that one poor man got thrown off a bridge. The town had a nice little candlelight vigil. It made the local news, and those boys all went to juvie. Nobody talks about these things anymore. Sometimes it’s as if they’ve forgotten entirely. It’s a nice town. Sure thing.

(The five of them will never, ever go back.)

Bill’s new book is coming out, finally, and the preorder numbers are higher than they’ve ever been. The New York Times gave the ARC the best review they’ve ever bestowed upon him. Something about “fundamental humanity in the face of terror”. Something about “the agonies and joys of growing up and facing your childhood”. They still think the ending is shit. That’s alright. Can’t win ‘em all. Anyways, he doesn’t love the ending either.

He and Audra got divorced– a month after the movie project he’d split from came out. The critics loved the movie. (Loved the ending especially, though it’s not his ending, it’s the work of some guy they yanked out of nowhere to ‘fix things up’). Everybody said the director’s an auteur, Audra’s a genius, that if the academy didn’t hate horror it’d get nominations for sure. All the buzz drove him crazy while he meddled around in his office. He screamed once too often. She left him. It’s probably a good thing– he didn’t know how to cut the chain. Three years later and she’s doing prestige stuff now, she’s engaged to that pretty boy actor boyfriend of hers. He’s happy for her. He really is.

He’s left California for Oregon. It’s cool, northern, but with a touch of that west coast freshness. Everything back east is so old. He doesn’t date, he’s taking time to “work on Bill” as he tells any interviewer who asks. One day he might try again– find some nice woman. A blonde or a brunette. Somebody who doesn’t remind him of anybody.

Richie’s still in LA, and he’s started dating, really dating, for the first time in his life. There were some half hearted attempts at having girlfriends in college, and a few hookups with men here and there, but he’s never done the whole romance thing. He feels awful pathetic, dating for the first time in his life at over forty, but it’s alright. The men he’s gone out with have been very understanding. This latest one’s real nice– a clever, tidy sort of guy, doesn’t care for stand up and had never heard of him before a mutual friend introduced them. They’ve been going for a month maybe. He doesn’t think the guy’ll last, but he’s hopeful someday someone will.

He took a long break, after Derry. An unexpected and abrupt hiatus. There were a few months were he wanted to die, a few months after that where he went to a lot of parties and snorted a lot of coke. That ended, and he started visiting this therapist– some beaky little woman his manager recommended. He still wanted to die a little bit, but he decided it was probably better to live. The tour after that crisis was the “Come Out Comeback Tour”– he wrote some of his own jokes for the first time in a long time. He told funny stories from when he was a kid. It was strange, he reflected, that he had funny stories to tell. Rooting around through his memory was like running his tongue along a line of rotten teeth. It ached, almost unbearably. But there were pleasant moments, and he was glad he hadn’t forgotten them.

“I guess my first real crush was this kid in middle school– he’d been one of my best friends forever, but about seventh grade I started having all of these feelings– and I decided to do something nice for him, something discreet– I was going to give him a popsicle. Like a literal popsicle, you perverts! C’mon! Anyways, at lunch one day I bought a bomb pop, I went to our lunch table and… I chickened out. I stuck the popsicle in my pants pocket, because I was 12 and a fucking idiot, and I went on my merry way. It was only after my next class was over that I realized the popsicle had melted through my jeans. It looked like I pissed my pants. But I pissed my pants for love, and how many seventh graders can say that?”

The divorce was a mess– Bev had expected it to be, but it still made her panicky. She didn’t so much as want to see Tom again, much less have a legal battle. For months, she’d wake up crying, miserable dreams dripping out of her mind like water. She won, in court, testified and showed pictures of bruises and witness reports and described how it was all her work, and wound up getting a restraining order against Tom and full ownership over Rogan and Marsh fashion– now just Beverly Marsh fashion. She thinks about changing the name to something modern, anonymous– but she doesn’t. It’s nice to know she has something hers. That she can be just her, and be alright. “You’ll be nothing without me––” well haha, she is something. She’s Beverly fucking Marsh, and that’s something.

It’s nice to be loved, though. Divorce is as sweet as a summer's day, and remarriage is as sweet as honey. She and Ben got married less than a week after it’s all finalized, in a courthouse, in their everyday clothes, a couple of her friends as witnesses. They bought rings on the way home, simple little bands. They split their time between Chicago and Nebraska– Ben’s used to working remotely, and she doesn’t mind it. He’s started talking about maybe building them a house of their own– she says maybe New Mexico? It’s so warm and dry and safe in New Mexico– and all the artists love Santa Fe.

So maybe they’ll move to New Mexico, or maybe they’ll stay here. It doesn’t really matter where they go. They’ll be together. It feels so good to be loved like a person. It feels so good to know she’s a person. She still has bad dreams, but she has nice ones too. Lovely ones– a boat on the ocean with the sky clear and blue. A litter of puppies she can hold. Her husband kissing her. A group of children, laughing children, playing little kid games. There’s seven of them, the children, all splashing each other in a lake, like they’ve never suffered and they never will. She wants to have children, though she’s getting older now. She wants two or three of them. She likes to think she’d be a good mother.

Ben thinks she’d be a good one too. He adds plans for children’s bedrooms to his favorite piece of mental drawing paper– a building titled “the dream home”. He’s been working on it for a decade– the dream home had a double bedroom before he had anybody to share it with. He was so used to loneliness it took him a while to get used to another person’s rhythms– how she’ll get into bed and just then remember to brush her teeth, hopping back out again, how she sings in the shower and refuses to acknowledge it.

He’d once thought he’d be lonely forever. Now, at 43, he’s trying once more to make friends. He goes to dinner parties and makes meaningful conversation, he takes up fishing with a man from work. You might never love your friends as brilliantly, as totally as you do at 11, but there's a comfort in the easy, mild talks about the weather, about work. He lets himself eat ice cream, now and then, and a social life means less time for working out. Nobody really notices– Bev says he’s still hot. But of course she’d say that, she loves him– And oh, it rushes over him sometimes, she loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

He used to write poems, but he hasn’t since college. He feels like he’s getting rusty with words somehow, and he’s always been better with his hands. He’s fixing to unveil this stunner of a municipal building in Chicago– it’s maybe the best thing he’s ever designed. He takes Beverly on a private tour a few days before the ribbon cutting– there’s some last minute things being put together, furniture and lighting, but she still tears up when she looks around. “It’s so lovely,” she says, “this is the most wonderful–” and cuts off, moved. He thinks, looking at the light caught in her hair ‘I’ll build you something even better, darling. I’ll build you a future.”

Mike heads down to Florida, like he used to dream about. On the way there he made a stop in Atlanta to see Patty Uris. She was very polite, pleased to meet one of her dead husband’s old friends– hungry for stories of a childhood he never spoke of. The mirrors were still covered, and she tangled her hands in and out of knots. Mike still felt guilty. He’s been trying to not feel guilty. He told her anecdotes about Stan as a child– he didn’t know him as long as some of the others, but he knew him enough. He knew him when it was important. “Your husband was a brave man.” He told Patty, who closed her eyes. “He was, he really was.”

He contemplated, for a moment, staying in Atlanta– befriending Patty, telling more stories. But he’s a little sick of playing historian, of being a keeper of ghosts. He heads down to Florida. He gets a job in a small town library, makes acquaintances, meets a woman. If he wants, he can go anywhere in the world. The freedom shocks him, the lightness. Anywhere in the world– Rome, Tokyo, Sydney, Helsinki, Cairo. Places where it never rains, places where it rains all the time. He keeps a framed photo of his parents on the counter– his parents as he never knew them– young and just married and laughing to each other. He likes to think they’d be proud of him for leaving. For having the world at his feet.

He has two dogs and a cat, eats vegan, takes up biking. The children at the library call him ‘Mr Mike’ and climb over his arms like a jungle gym. Eventually, his neighbors start calling him Mr Mike too, which is funny. Most people don’t look at him like an intruder, and when they do it’s easier to shake off their stares. His hair starts greying at the temples and he relishes it. He’s made it this far. He hopes to keep making it.

It’s almost always Mike who send the emails, a tradition at this point– “Hey everybody!! Want to meet up? Where, this time? Kansas? Colorado?” And the others will reply– yes-yes-of course-yes-let’s go to Denver-lets get Greek food-I know this really great spot-how about Mexican-July-maybe August?– And he amalgamates their suggestions into plans, sends off the group message, mark his calendar. He sits back and smile, types out “I can’t wait to see you all again”. Presses send.

So it’s been three years now. And here they are, in a Mexican restaurant in Denver (they never get Chinese). They’re chattering about their lives, the five of them– Mike’s girlfriend, Richie’s boyfriend, Bev and Ben’s fertility treatments. Bill’s a little quiet. They look at him. He pulls the new book out of his bag– four copies. They coo dutifully over the cover, flip through the pages. Get to the dedication. Stop. To six that made my lucky seven– Stan, Eddie, Richie, Beverly, Ben, Mike. All my love. The loser’s club rides forever.

“The ending’s still awful.” Bill says, to stop their tears with laughter. They shake their heads and say they’re sure they’ll love it. He thinks they probably won’t– even he thinks the ending isn’t great. He’s bad with endings, he’ll admit that now.

The friends in the book, they all go off. They kill the bad guy, get their tidy endings, resolve their trauma, end up with their sweethearts or happily alone. He wrote it, and yet it still rings half hollow to him. No one can walk off the page happily ever after. They’ll still have nightmares. They’ll ruin relationships, try to pick up the pieces. Things are always going to be difficult. But they’ll keep going. And that’s the other thing he’s always hated about endings– the finality, the never-see-you-again. That’s the worst thing of all. He’s lucky, he thinks as he looks at his laughing friends, his best friends, the loves of his life, he’s lucky that life isn’t a story. That it goes on. That they’ll keep going on.

The loser’s club rides forever.

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Excuse me! But where is my Sanders Sides Gamer AU???

Voices in my head: Gee Bunny, it seems you have no problem writing a lot of other fics and stuff yet you still haven’t even finished the next chapter of your Spiderverse fic???

Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP DISEMBODIED VOICES IN MY HEAD!!! IF YOU WANT THAT FIC DONE SO BADLY TELL MY LOGIC AND CREATIVITY TO GET THEIR ASSES IN GEAR AND GIVE ME SOME GOD DAMN INSPIRATION!!!!

Voices in my head:.....

Me: Yeah, that’s what I thought! Anyways, idk if I just missed a memo or something but I haven’t seen any Gamer AU of my boys and that is a crime in and of itself! Like, how dare! But fret not, I am here to provide content (Read: headcannons) that you did not ask for! Let us begin! Or should I say start!

(please note that I am not a gaming expert so feel free to add or correct stuff)

NOW WITH A PART 2!!!!

MAIN SQUAD

Roman Rosewood

Obviously loves RPGs! Anything with a good story line really! Or has medieval fantasy aesthetic!

Skyrim, Diablo, Undertale, Final Fantasy, Kingdom Hearts, Fallout, Red Dead Redemption, Undertales, Dragon Age, God of War Dark Souls, Assassins Creed, Earthbound, etc.

Played West of Loathing just so he could rip on it but actually ended up loving it and spending way to many hours playing. Then he found out there was a game called Kingdom of Loathing by the same creators and went down that rabbit hole as well.

He was iffy about getting into JRPGs but then Virgil convinced him to play Persona 5 and he absolutely fell in love with the music!

All the music in his phone is either from musicals or Video games!

Also really likes choose your own adventure games like Detroit: Become Human, Life is Strange, and Telltale Games

So much video game merch! Usually figurines because he likes to make little shelves and display cases for them.

He also really likes multiplayer games because he’s a social butterfly and likes to play with his squad.

Sucks at first person shooter games but still willingly plays Fortnight or Call of Duty or Left for Dead with his friends because he doesn’t want to be a drag and complain. But also they sometimes die in game in the most hilarious ways and it just leaves everybody wheezing.

Virgil Dante

Horror games, obvs!

All about that dark aesthetic!

Devil May Cry, Silent Hill, Fran Bow, Sally Face, Resident Evil, The Witch’s House, Amnesia, Little Nightmares, Bendy and The Ink Machine, Alice: Madness Returns, SCP-Containment, Pony Island, etc.

Yes, he’s played all the Five Nights At Freddy’s games. It’s a good series and it isn’t his fault the fandom is bat shit crazy and full of ten year olds! Fuck you Roman!

Every time the Walking Dead comes out he knows he’ll end up crying by the end of it. He and the squad make and event out of it.

Japanese horror games are usually his favorite because they deal more with the psychological aspects of horror instead of the jump scares

So, yes, he’s also a fan of Corps Party and Fatal Frame

Also really good at first person shooters because he has a really steady hand (you usually have to when playing horror games least you want to restart the level) and it pisses Roman off to no end every time Virgil randomly headshots him.

Usually likes to by merch in the form of posters, t-shirts, or beanies. He only buys figurines if it’s a game he really, really likes.

At first didn’t know why people kept bugging him to play Doki Doki Literature Club but then he finally caved and...oh...that’s why.

Logan Mill

My boy loves puzzle and strategy games yo!

Legend of Zelda, Portal, Tetris, Unravel, World of Goo, Inside, Limbo, Pokemon, Shadow of the Colossus, StarCraft, Command and Conquer, Age of Empire, Heart of Iron, World of Warcraft, etc.

He likes Overwatch but doesn’t like playing with people online so he usual solos or asks the others to play. But that too usually ends in chaos.

Hates rage games because he gets frustrated easily and has broken at least four keyboards and two controllers

He still plays them anyways because he can beat it damn it! Just give him a minute!

Enjoys the God of War series despite all the mythological inaccuracies

He plays a lot of Minecraft to relax or destress and has build beautiful works of architecture and sometimes entire cities.

He thought it was stupid and childish and was embarrassed about it for a long time until the squad came over to his house one day uninvited and caught him playing. He was getting ready for them to make fun of him but they instead gushed about how AMAZING everything looked and how TALENTED he was for building all himself.

Logan ends up showing them how to play afterwards and they work together to make weird sculptures and complex tunnels underground.

He likes practical merch like backpacks, coffee mugs, pencil holders, notebooks, ect. as well as a few t-shirts and novelty ties.

Yes, he does collect Pokemon cards!

Patton Adley

Silly dating sims, farming games, and any cute game really! Plus a few side scroller games!

Stardew Valley, Harvest Moon, Slime Rancher, The Sims, Dream Daddy, Animal Crossing, Kirby, Monster Prom, Hatoful Boyfriend, Scribblenauts, Night In The Woods, Ni Nu Kuni, etc.

Big Nintendo fan!

He made the mistake of playing Doki Doki Literature Club without reading the warning tags and regrets it immensely...still a good game though.

He did the same thing with Huni Pop but that one made him laugh more then anything and he kind of got addicted to it. Then he found out there was a sequel called HuniCam so he went down that rabbit hole too.

He likes a lot of phone app games too like Cut the Rope, Neko Atsume, and Candy Crush.

Loves trashy dating app games, he thinks they’re so funny and cheesy

He was addicted to Mystic Messenger for a long while

Just because he has his preference doesn’t mean he won’t try other games too, Logan got him hooked on World of Warcraft (though really he did that to everyone), Virgil showed him Hollow Knight, and Roman suggested he play Undertales.

Prefers merch in the form of plushies and key chains!

He likes to bake and decorate cookies, cakes and pastries in the form of his favorite video game characters.

RED SQUAD

Duncan [Deceit] Adley (Patton’s twin)

A lot of first person shooter and combat games!

Doom Series, Super Smash Bros, Mortal Combat, Halo, Fortnight, Grand Theft Auto, Street Fighter, Tekken, Soul Calibur, Half-Life, Team Fortress, Destiny, Wolfenstein, Bio Shock, Splatoon, PUBg etc.

Patton was the one that introduced him to Splatoon and he won’t admit that it’s actually super fun.

Doesn’t mind story driven games and RPGs but he really just wants something he can zone out to and relax

He likes to troll people online, mainly assholes picking on little kids who just want to play.

He once teamed up with a group of kids on Call of Duty solely for the purpose of collectively kicking the asses of this groups of so called “real gamers” that were being jerks.

Has memorized all the combos! He doesn’t have time to sit and look up a cool finishing move, he needs it now!

Always mains the weakest/most useless character in fighting games and still manages to kick everyone’s ass.

Doesn’t have a preference in merch and usually grabs whatever he likes be it figurines, t-shirts, posters, plushies, or whatever, so long as he likes the game it comes from.

Has several tattoos from his favorite games

Emile Picani

Classic retro games, cartoonish games, and Nintendo are his jam broham!

Mario, Classic Sonic, Paper Boy, Transylvania, Spyro, Pac Man, All the Saga Disney games, Duck Hunt, Mario Kart, Galaga, Mega Man, Donkey Kong, Secret of Mana, Banjo-Kazooie, Conker’s Bad Fur Day, etc.

Absolutely fell in love with Shovel Knight when it came out!

Remy got him into all the indie pixel games: Towerfall, Terraria, Owlboy, Hotline Miami, Papers Please, Celeste, One Shot, etc.

Duncan was the one that introduced him to Cuphead and the usually play it together and see how far each of them can go without dying.

The game is difficult but the art is still so breathtaking!

Likes the occasional psychological thriller game

Bet Virgil showed him Alice: Madness Returns and Doki Doki Literature Club (after he’s played it of course)

Likes plushies and figurine merch with the occasional poster and coffee mug.

Likes to doodle a lot of his fav video game characters and cartoons and is actually really good at it. He helped design most of Duncan’s tattoos.

Remy Knightly

Likes a lot of indie games and old online flash games!

The Stanley Parables, Oxenfree, Inside, Firewatch, Super MeatBoy, The Binding of Issac, Donut County, Henry Stickman series, Impossible Quiz, Crush the Castle series, Hyper Light Drifter, etc.

He always gets everybody hooked on one game or another

He convinced everyone to play Undertales so for like a month they all went through a HUGE Undertales faze.

Was the actual, ACTUAL one that showed Duncan Cuphead because he knew the dork would be reminded of Emile because of the animation and would want to show it to him and play multiplayer (*cough* subtle matchmaker *cough*)

(Do not be fooled, he is a pinning boy himself)

Is up to date in all the gossip of the latest games and consuls, indie or mainstream! He’s in the know, know and if you need to know something chances are Remy probably knows it.

Weeds out through all the indie horror games for Virgil and recommends what he thinks are the best ones.

Same thing with Logan and his puzzle games, he’s usually is able to find very strange ones and Logan seems to likes those best.

Obviously has a lot of merch in coffee mug and thermal form as well as a few key chains.

Occasionally streams on Twitch with Duncan and Emile (sometimes inviting the main squad too), they’re commentary is usual hilarious.

[scripttorture]

How much do you know about torture apologia at a government level? Like people who are actually paid to torture terrorist? I feel like that is a government-approved thing unless I’m mistaken. How can they not see they’re getting no information or just plain wrong information? And these ‘professionals’ are hiding their mental health problems? Or is the FBI torturing terrorists for information not as real as we are lead to believe? I’ve got a story idea about a victim mistakenly accused.

Thisis a pretty broad question. And it also sounds like it’s trying tostart a debate over getting writing advice. I’m going to give itthe benefit of the doubt and take it at face value as a writingquestion.

Ithink the short answer is essentially: read Rejali. He covers this inconsiderable depth, it’s the last third of his book. I’ll do mybest to summarise his points but I can’t produce 300+ pages ofevidence plus sources on a blog like this.

O’Maraalso talks about it a fair bit and Cobain’s entire book is aboutthe links between torture and the British government. Granted Cobaindoesn’t know a thing about torture but the pattern of legalwrangling and political apathy he records is incredibly valuable.

Thereare a couple of points I think are important going forward.

Thefirst is that although information is often the justification givenfor torture it’s rarely the point.

Somethingcan be justified, ignored or tolerated in someparts of a government and stringently punished in other areas.

Inlarge enough organisations leaders can be genuinely unaware what somemembers are doing.

Sogiven those points let’s start with the second question becauseit’s easiest.

Inmodern democracies people are notpaid to torture. That is not their official role. They are hired asguards, soldiers, teachers, care takers, nurses, doctors, police anda handful of other professions.

Thatis they are being paid for.And it’s not what they’re doing.

Whetherwhat they’re actually doing (torture) is condoned by anyone furtherup the chain of command then their immediate superiors is reallydependant on the circumstances. And very difficult to prove.

Governmentapproval of torture in modern states rarelylooks like top officials saying ‘We torture people!’

Here’sthe kind of phrasing it looks like instead:

‘These particular set of abuses are not torture because-’

‘This isn’t really painful’

False equivalence such as ‘Well I diet voluntarily so starving someone can’t be harmful’

Outright denial ‘Our troops could never do that!’

Ouright denial Part 2 ‘Well no one told us that was happening!’

Shifting the blame ‘Those people are lying to get into the country/get money/get attention etc-’

Shifting the blame Part 2 ‘Those people deserve it because they’re mentally ill/an ethnic minority/poor/violent/look like trouble etc-’

‘Obviously we don’t torture people but we should because it would work!’

‘We need strong measures in these desperate times!’

The sort of political/cultural outlook that links efficiency to ‘toughness’ and sees kindness and compromise as weak

Tortureapologia on the government level thrives on plausible deniability andredefining terms until they’re unrecognisable.

Forthe purposes of your story I think you’d probably be better offstepping back from the FBI.

WhatI mean by that is- if you’ve been looking for sources specificto the FBI that’s why you’re so confused. Those sources arepoorly collated, poorly studied and (personal opinion) deliberatelyconfusing.

Awellstudiedwell recorded example of torture as unofficial-government-policywould be the Franco-Algerian war. And this is alsobeset by confusion because a lotof the sources from the French side were written by torturers tojustify their actions after the event.

Onceagain I’d recommend reading Rejali and for greater context on whathe says Alleg’s TheQuestionand Fanon’s appendices to TheWretched of the Earth.

Yestorture continues because of governmental positions. But that doesn’tnecessarily mean outright orders to torture.

Itcan mean a lack of political will to eradicate torture, ie no one islooking for it. It can mean officials being aware of torture andchoosing to ignore it.

Myimpression is that apathyrather than malice at the top levels is the key. In the worst cases,yes there was outright malice from some individuals within a largergovernment. But it’s the apathy of the majority that allowed forabuse.

Governmentapproval doesn’tlook like a high level official ordering troops to torture.

Itlooks like the state Governor seeing that most of the police in theirstate probably use torture and sitting down to do this calculation:‘Am I more electable next year if I try to tackle this or if Iignore it?’

Italso looks like a Commissioner seeing that a person arrested for anemotive crime like terrorism has been complaining of ill-treatmentand doing this calculation: ‘Do I look better in the public eye ifI seem like I’m standing up for a person from a hated minority whois accused of doing something awful?’

WhatI’m driving at here is that- the reality is a lot more nebulousthen what you seem to be thinking of. Tacit acceptance, differentpriorities, cowardice- are all much more likely then the kind ofscenario where the elites explicitly order abuse.

Ithink I should move on to the third question which is just as tricky,before I get bogged down in labouring the point.

Howdo organisations not realise the information they get from torture iswrong?

Theshort answer is that by using torture they destroy the systems thatallow them to double check information. Because they can’t doublecheck anything they don’t realise that they’re working withincorrect information.

Iwilltell you how that happens but let’s have an analogy first to giveyou an idea of how skewed this makes the base information.

Imagineyou’re looking for information on the internet about something youhaven’t seen but you can’t use wikipedia, any popular searchengines or any official sites. You are going entirelyby searching tumblr. And you can only access the first piece ofinformation that comes up with any tag you search.

Picka popular fandom and imagine the kind of screwed up view you’d getof a character if you tried to find information about them like this.I am picturing the Flash fandom and Captain Cold and imagining justhow easy it would be to walk away with the impression that thecharacter was a main character not a bit part.

Nowlet me show you how including torture in an investigation is theequivalent of blocking yourself from everything but a hellsite with abroken search algorithm.

Sothe first thing to appreciate is that torture breakstrustwith the public. If torture is common place then no matter how‘secret’ an organisation tries to keep it the groups who areeffected find out.

Wenotice when people around us go missing. We pay attention when thereare stories of people ‘like us’ being hurt.

Andwe lose trust in authority. We stop reporting crimes. We stopvolunteering information.

Whichcuts an organisation off from the mainsource of accurate information they can get: voluntary reporting bymembers of the public.

Wedon’t report strange things our family or friends have done if wethink it might get them tortured. We don’t mention that we saw atall ginger man leave a back pack on that street near where the bombwent off.

Frompersonal experience- sometimes you stop reporting things even whenyou’re completely outside the context that taught you organisationscan’t be trusted. I’ve been assaulted in the UK and genuinely didnot consider calling the police. Because I learnt young that policeexist to ‘make people disappear’ and the habit is hard to break.

Thesecond point is that torture produces a lotof lies and human beings generally are terrible at telling whensomeone is lying.

Sotorturers don’t have access to the biggest source of accurateinformation but they dohear a lot of lies.

Thethird point is that when torture becomes part of an organisation thenpeople spend lesstimeconducting genuine investigations and fact checking.

Torturerstend to be pretty arrogant and they usually report looking down onpeople in their organisation who don’ttorture. Basically they seeing doing the hard work of a genuineinvestigation as boring and beneath them.

Thisworks togetherwith the first two factors to make it almost impossible to fact checkthings.

Imaginea group of 50 people tasked with investigating a particular incident.Five of them are torturers, so they’re not actually investigatinganything. This takes our number down to 45.

Thenwe remember that the torturers are generating information, even ifit’s false. Which the other members are investigating.

Let’sgo with low estimates. Let’s suggest each torturer has one victim aday (this is unlikely, real numbers are probably much higher) and outof those they get an average of two ‘possible leads’ each day(this would vary a lot, some victims would say nothing, some mightthrow out as many as twenty names in a day). Let’s also pretendthat a potential lead can be investigated by one person (this isinaccurate, I’d generally expect at least 2-3 people for each new‘lead’.).

We’vejust got rid of ten more people on the first day.

Let’spretend that it takes three days to investigate a lead. This is alsoa very low estimate, properly following up a lead can take weeks.

Withour low-estimate fictional organisation we’ve reduced the amount ofpeople doing useful work to 15 in the first three days.

Fifteenpeople trying to do the work of 50, while the torturers keepgenerating lies that are wasting the time of everyone else.

Thiscripples the organisation’s ability to work as all the time andenergy is going into investigating lies.

Andwhilethis is going on the torturers are still torturing. And they’reassumingthat their information is correct.

Sothey’re generating morelies that supportthe previous lies.

Letme give an example of what I mean.

Saya torturer takes in a random person. This first victim knows nothingabout the terrorist group but if they don’t give a name thenthey’re going to keep being tortured.

Sothey tell the torturer Wednesday Adams is definitely the leader ofthe terrorists in this area.

Nowa genuine investigator is wasting time looking for Wednesday Adams.May be they come back in a week and say that no such person exists.

Bythat point the torturer has been asking a lot of people aboutWednesday Adams. And some of them will have sworn they saw WednesdayAdams, that Wednesday Adams was behind that attack and that she haslinks to this other organisation and also that thing I saw on thenews once and- So on.

Itspirals.

Maybe it gets to the point where the torturer finally accepts there’sno ‘Wednesday Adams’ on the census. But by that point they’vestacked a lot of their personal reputation on the existence of thisshadowy leader.

Sorather than admit they’re just wrong, they assume ‘WednesdayAdams’ is a pseudonym and now they’re asking everyone what herreal name is. Now they have six different possible ‘realidentities’ for Wednesday Adams.

Andthis is how organisations can fail to notice that torture doesn’twork.

Becausethe scale of misinformation is just so huge. Because the amount oftime it takes to provethe information is wrong gives the torturers more time to embellishthe lie.

Becausesuperiors who are genuinely unaware torture is going on in theirorganisations might well look at this torturer, who keeps coming upwith new information, and these ten genuine investigators who comeback with nothing but dead ends, and decide that the tortureris the only one ‘getting things done’.

Itdoesn’t matter that they’re wrong. Because it takes months,years, to prove that they areand everyone in these organisations is under huge pressure to haveanswers now.

OKlet’s move on to question four; mental health problems intorturers.

Firstoff, I have yet to meet a mentally ill person who hasn’ttried to hide their mental health problems at some point. The worldis not very accepting of mental health problems whatever the context.The pressure to hide them is immense. In some places people are atreal risk of violence and abuse if their mental health problems arenoticed as mental health problems.

Inthat context- it isn’t surprising that torturers do try to hidetheir symptoms.

Thetoxic sub-culture torturers tend to produce is- It’s incrediblymacho. It tends to rely on ideas about how the torturers are ‘toughand strong’. It equates violence and lack of mercy with strength.

Itviews mental illness as weak.

Andbecause the people within these groups are violent, because they havea tendency to turn on each other, there’s a huge pressure to hidemental health problems. That’s way before you bring the widerorganisation into the picture.

Manyof the organisations torturers are typically part of actively try toscreen out mentally ill people. Being obviously mentally ill can meanlosing the job.

SoI don’tthink it’s particularly unusual that torturers try to hide mentalhealth problems.

Howsuccessfulthey are at hiding them is a different question and it’s difficultto answer.

Becausea lot of people are moved or dismissed on mental health grounds andthis does notmean they were involved in anything abusive.

Tortureis difficult to prove. Most torturers are not charged. Their crimesare not recorded as part of their record. They are not hired astorturers.

Accordingto the WHO around 10% of the global population has a mental health problem.

Howdo you tell the difference between the people who are just mentallyill, the people who developed mental illnesses because of ‘ordinary’job stress and the people who developed mental illnesses because theyabused others?

Withoutaccurate, fair recording of torture accusations itis impossible to tell.

Personally?I think it’s highly likely that a lot of torturers can’t hidetheir mental health problems well. That they reach a point and have abreakdown on the job. Then they lose their job.

Butall of that can happen with no record of abuse.

Weneed more research on torturers. Desperately.

Andanswering these questions about the circumstances around how peoplestop is incredibly important. It can help us spot them, it can helpus spot people who might be targeted for recruitment by torturers. Itcan help us stop torture.

Andright now there are frustratingly few answers.

Whichleaves the final question- Are the FBI torturers?

Honestly-I have no idea. I am not particularly interested in America orAmerican history. I am not American. I do not go out of my way toread things about the FBI and could tell you very little about whatthey do.

WhatI can tell you is that organisations likethe FBI have usually tortured at some point in their history. Thatglobally the United States has developed a reputation for doublestandards.

ButI can not make a definitive statement on a group I know next tonothing about.

Inorganisations likethe FBI iftorture is going on it’s often not in the entire organisation. Itis often particular branches, particular units, particular areasrather than the whole country-wide organisation.

It’seasy to make broad statements like ‘the Chicago police torturedpeople in 70s’. And that’s not untrue.

Butif we’re being specificit would be more accurate to say ‘there was a cell of torturersoperating within the Chicago police force in the 70s and the widergroup failed to stop them.’

Wasthe entire Chicago police force responsible for the abuses? I wouldsay yesbecause it was literally their job to stop these abuses and they didnot. However they were notall torturers. They were not all actively engaged in torture and Ithink it’s extremely likely that many people at the time simplydidn’t realise what was going on.

Incompetence,not necessarily active abuse.

I’vewritten an awful lot. It should be a start at answering some of yourquestions. But all of these questions are complex and difficult.

Idon’t think, in this case, you can take my answer as a substitutefor wider reading.

Onceagain, Rejali.O’Maraas well.

Allegfor the survivor’s perspective on what both describe.

Cobain,to be taken with a pinch of salt and read afterRejali because Cobain is not a scientist and falls for apologia quitea lot.

You’vechosen to tackle a story that’s going to be a lot of work. Try notto be discouraged by that.

Theseare important stories. And they deserve to be told properly.

Ihope that helps. :)

Edited for typos

Edit 2: @dude1818 That is really not funny and I don’t appreciate you trying to turn discussion of a serious crime into a joke. 

I’m aware of the formatting problem and I’ve been trying to fix it for some time. I’m going to try another fix this week but I can’t actually test whether any of my attempts work because I don’t have a mobile phone. 

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