#whoops this got longer than intended

[demon-country]

One of the saddest parts of the stolitz miscommunication debacle to me is that for all his bluster and all his denial, Blitz never managed to fool anyone into believing that there were no feelings involved and he was doing it solely for the book, including Stolas. That is, until Ozzie's, at which point he finally fooled the one person who he didn't even think he needed to.

For all we talk about how Stolas let his fantasies of romance run wild, which caused him to accidentally run roughshod over Blitz (especially at first), he wasn't exactly wrong, in the end. Blitz did develop feelings for him, and given how excited and enthusiastic he was that last full moon, their nights together were probably the only times he felt safe actually showing that. Because he could always tell himself and everyone else that it was just an act, he was just giving Stolas what he wanted and keeping him satisfied enough that he'd let Blitz keep the book.

Stolas thought, up until Ozzie's, that Blitz enjoyed their deal just as much as he did. Because Blitz did. If Blitz was showing up basically every moon as hyped and ready to go as the time we saw him, it's not really a surprise that Stolas didn't catch on to the times when Blitz was actually unhappy and uncomfortable because he felt objectified. After all, Blitz snaps at and is abrasive to everyone, and any annoyance probably seemed pretty par for the course, especially for someone as oblivious, ignorant, and autistic-coded as Stolas. But Stolas also got special treatment on top of that, and it's easier to focus on the stuff that stands out rather than the stuff that doesn't seem too far off from Blitz's standard behavior. He got times where Blitz was genuinely happy and comfortable and excited to see him, we literally see that in the memory fragments and Blitz's behavior during the last full moon. He got times where Blitz seemed to find him so hot he'd grab him and turn things sexual on a dime (Truth Seekers and The Circus). He also got times where Blitz was caring and attentive, and where Blitz accepted care and gentleness during aftercare (because there's literally no way that didn't happen, not getting aftercare after BDSM scenes can be legitimately traumatizing for both the Dom and sub).

Like, that's not to say that Stolas shouldn't have taken the numerous hints that his condescension and baby talk were highly unappreciated, because yeah that shit was very uncool of him and ignorance doesn't excuse it. But look at how Blitz gently caresses Stolas' cheek in Truth Seekers. Look at how thrilled he was to be with Stolas again in The Full Moon. Look at the photo Stolas has of the pony drawing Blitz seems to have made while at his palace. Look at the memory fragments where Blitz is so fucking into kissing him or gleefully showing off toys or making that big shiny eyed blep I'm dying to know the context of. How else was Stolas supposed to take all that every full moon and however many nights Blitz came over outside of that, and not be convinced that his feelings were returned?

Because they were. Not immediately, of course, but the were. They were on the same page about that. There were plenty of things Blitz didn't like, related to Stolas' unconscious racism/classism. There was plenty of "things for [Blitz] to teach and [Stolas] to learn". There were plenty of things that went unsaid and unheard and misinterpreted on both sides. But the love was there, Stolas didn't make it all up. It wasn't the perfect fantasy he was initially picturing (although I'm pretty sure that illusion didn't actually last very long, not with how dejected he looks in a few of the memory fragments and at the start of Ozzie's), and Blitz had a lot more hidden under the surface than Stolas knew about (although he did know Blitz had walls he hadn't seen through yet), but the love was there. You don't have to know everything about someone to start falling in love with them. Blitz couldn't fool anyone, but he especially couldn't fool Stolas, who he showed his heart to again and again thinking he was safely hidden behind the alibi of the book deal.

Until Ozzie's. Until the disastrous "date", after which Blitz couldn't hide the hurt he felt thinking that all Stolas wanted him for was sex, when Blitz wanted more. Except Blitz didn't say that last part. So all Stolas got was Blitz ignoring him on their date, Blitz rejecting his offer to go inside, and Blitz tearing up while saying in a wounded and borderline angry voice that their deal was strictly about sex, which finally clued Stolas in that his actions hadn't been taken as cute and flirty like he had intended, they had just served to hurt Blitz and convince him that all he wanted was to use Blitz.

Blitz's pain changed everything for Stolas. He stopped flirting, he stopped calling him Blitzy save for one time, he stopped most of his interactions with Blitz, and he started trying to give Blitz outs. He looked at all the times Blitz was annoyed at him, at how umbalanced their deal was, and at how it may have been just as cruel of a chain as the one binding him to Stella, and quite correctly came to the conclusion that the deal needed to end and Blitz needed to have a way to do his job without being dependant on Stolas. But he also looked at all the memories of Blitz being happy with him, and all the times Blitz showed up excited, and came to the incorrect but reasonable conclusion that it was all probably just an act Blitz put on to keep the book. Just like Blitz had been hoping to convince everyone of.

And then Stolas ended the deal, and Blitz couldn't figure out why so he started to panic. The deal was his safety net and his shield; it was the only way he felt he could get something close to the real relationship he wanted, it was what allowed him to be open with his feelings, and what gave him the courage to let some of his walls down. It probably felt like such a betrayal that Stolas would take it away.

Even though he was the one who dodged all of Stolas' offers to talk, out of fear that things would become complicated if they talked about it, out of fear of rejection after Stolas hid during their "date", and later out of guilt and shame for how he failed to save Stolas. Even though he was the one who was hiding behind the excuse that it was all just for the book. Even though he was the only one convinced that Stolas could never care about him for anything other than sex. Even though Stolas flat out told him he cared about him and wanted him to stay, just without the deal in between them. Even with all that, Blitz still couldn't see Stolas ending their deal any way other than Stolas abandoning him and rejecting him and taking away the only way he has ever been able to openly show that side of himself.

It was more than just his self-hatred talking, it was more than just his insecurities getting the better of him. It was a perceived betrayal of trust and an inability to see how much the deal limited their ability to get what they both actually wanted. The reason it hurt him so much was because Stolas hadn't actually been wrong. Blitz did care, Blitz did enjoy their deal, Blitz did want Stolas just as much as Stolas wanted him.

The tragedy of it all was that the love was real, but the only ones who were convinced it wasn't was the two of them. So it's a good thing the story isn't over for them yet, because I couldn't take that ending for them. After all the shit they've been through in their lives, they deserve their happy ending together, they deserve to have their mutually requited love be realized.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

Vulcan tails! I love giving Vulcans tails. But, because I am a writer more than an artist, I am cursed to think of The Implications™. So, have some headcanons. (i think there was a different one of these not too long ago, too, but i figure more can't possibly hurt!)

Prehensile - it is fully maneuverable and can be used to grasp small-ish objects. It's pretty thin, though, so it can't hold much more than 20 pounds. (even that seems like a stretch to me, with how long and thin they're usually drawn, but Vulcans are stronger than humans, so let's indulge.)

Telepathically sensitive! Not as sensitive as fingers or qui'lari, maybe, but still pretty sensitive. Compatible minds could meld using only tail contact, even if they're not the most telepathically proficient. Most of that sensitivity is concentrated near the tip, but in instances where the tail must be partially amputated for some reason, the telepathic centers have been known to redevelop farther up, on the new tip.

Tails are kept wrapped around the body (like a belt, typically, but there may be different styles of wearing them) the majority of the time. This is partially inspired by fanart, and partially because wrapping the tail around something is a Very Good Way to keep it still through emotions.* (I've seen it suggested that Vulcans would simply amputate tails as infants, but I Do Not agree with that, simply because I think that cutting perfectly functional body parts off of people without their consent is Horrifically Immoral, and also? inherently illogical? Like what do you mean you're chopping off their limb??? what if they want it later? it can't just grow back! wtf??? Cardassians might cut off tails, Vulcans Would Not. You could argue that the tails are usually kept tucked away beneath clothes, though, if you want an excuse for "no visible tail". You could also maybe argue that those who completed kolinahr would get their tails removed as a symbol of the removal of emotions, but tbh i don't like that much, either.)

I think I saw a different headcanon list somewhere on here which suggested that very young Vulcans might hang onto the tails of their parents, and I do like that concept. It's very cute. So, yes, tails are often used when caring for small children. They probably offer some kind of emotional support to Vulcans young enough to not have developed their controls yet. A telepathic pacifier or comfort blanket, if you will.

The V'Tosh Ka'tur (Vulcans without logic, like Sybok) advocate for tails to be freed. Sometimes Vulcan punks will experiment with their tails loosed as a form of rebellion. There's a whole underground movement about it.

There's an ongoing debate about whether tail use should be allowed during certain sports and gymnastics. It does help with balance, for example, but critics suggest that it's unfair to allow tail use when some Vulcan athletes will still refuse to use their tails for spiritual/Surakian reasons. They say it offers an unfair advantage to those who use tails, at the cost of more conservative Vulcans. Others say that it's illogical to ban the use of a natural body part that they almost universally possess.

(speaking of "universally possess" - I'm toying with the idea that the tail kind of begins as an umbilical cord? so before the child is born, it connects the infant to its mother, and after it's born, the cord develops bones and cartilage and transforms into another limb. idk how much sense that makes, but i like the concept.)

Because Vulcans keep their tails so contained, sometimes aliens don't realize that they have them. They assume that they're just an unusual belt that Vulcans are particularly fond of. More than one has been utterly shocked to see this supposed article of clothing twitch on its own! (sometimes, particularly young or rebellious Vulcans will deliberately play this prank on people.)

The VSA bans all tail use for tasks in their laboratories (both chemical and engineering) after a number of unfortunate accidents involving dropped specimens and tails caught in machinery. Space-OSHA is very strict about tail PPE. Tails must stay beneath the lab coat at all times!

Pre-Surakian theater often had blocking instructions for tails written into the script. The first time a modern troupe put on one of these productions, the controversy became the talk of the planet for weeks.

Similarly, pre-Surakian paintings and sculpture had a strong emphasis on tails. However, the tails were particularly prone to breaking off of the sculptures (they are very thin, after all), and large amounts of academic discussion have gone into attempting to restore the tails accurately. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to tell what position the tails would have been held in. There are only a handful of sculptures which have remained completely intact, and their tail positions are not consistent enough to provide a template, so many statue recreations are forced to guess. Some academics also suggest that there was a movement nearly 1000 years previously to deliberately remove tails from statues and destroy them!

At least one (non-percussive) musical instrument exists which requires use of a tail to play it properly.

Underground Vulcan clubs often feature risque tail dancing. This is less controversial than the plays, simply because it's not officially sanctioned and is considered to be a "display of skill and sensuality" rather than an expression of emotions.

*this has been haunting me with another silly spirk fic idea I don't yet have time to write, which is below:

Spock's tail, which is usually kept wrapped around his waist (save for when it's in use holding things), gets badly injured during a landing party. Some of the bones are broken, and because the bones are small and finicky, a good chunk of the healing needs to be done via a good old fashioned cast.

Meaning: Spock can no longer keep it wrapped around his waist.

And, having a free-hanging tail for the first time since he was three-ish, Spock learns that he is Very Bad at keeping tabs on it. Whenever he's focused on any sort of project, his tail has a mind of its own, and, naturally, it reacts most strongly to Kirk. Sometimes it wags when Kirk smiles at him, and nearly every time Kirk is close enough to him, it drifts over to touch him. They do reports together one night, and Spock's tail finds its way to Kirk's lap, and Spock, too focused on his work, doesn't notice that it's there for over an hour. Kirk does notice, and deliberately doesn't draw Spock's attention to it.

Kirk (pining) is trying his very best to not read too much into things (and is failing. oh boy does he want it to Mean Something). Spock (also pining) is just about at his wit's end trying to figure out how to control his wayward tail (because he doesn't want people to realize that it Means Something). Everyone else just finds the whole situation very cute (because they all knew from the start that the emotions were there).

[asimplearchivist]

do you ever think about the fact that Grovyle was possibly and most likely in denial about the fact that he had already permanently lost the hero?

(putting the rest under a read more because I snowballed)

because even though in the future he tells Dusknoir that his partner is still in the past out there somewhere and that they would still go after the time gears and even though it’s most definitely a bluff (that gets immediately debunked by Dusknoir revealing that the hero was right there the whole time) he still had to realize that he hadn’t come across any traces of the hero.

right?

because he wouldn’t have had any idea that amnesia would have come into play after they got separated and he would’ve been looking for and waiting to bump into the hero while traveling to gather each time gear and I can only imagine him hoping that he’d find the place already frozen and empty to indicate that the hero had at least already passed through and been there already even if he hadn’t seen them and couldn’t find them but did he realize that by the time he got to Crystal Cave’s time gear that the hero had just disappeared seemingly off the face of the earth and did he start to lose hope that he’d ever see them again and was he simply refusing to believe the possibility that he might have lost them without ever knowing where they went or what happened to them?

and then he gets his ass beat by this random Exploration Team and then Dusknoir who he’d thought he’d managed to avoid so far shows up and then he gets captured and then he almost gets killed multiple times and then he has to help this random ass team out of the future back to their time and not really thinking about it too deeply because he’s got more important things on his mind because he’s got to get back to the past and get the time gears and prevent the planet’s paralysis

and he’s so distracted and caught up in his mission like it’s the only thing he has left holding him together to the point that he’s competent oblivious to Celebi and then everything goes even more to shit and they’re cornered and blocked off from the Passage of Time and Primal Dialga shows up and Grovyle’s faltering wavering resolve finally cracks and shatters and his last potentially dying hope is that his partner is still out there somewhere because that’s all he has left to hold on to and he boasts on their behalf believing with his whole heart that they couldn’t fail

and then all of a sudden Dusknoir of all Pokemon pipes up and elects to inform him at that exact inoppurtune moment that Grovyle’s long lost partner had been right there under his nose the entire time and that Dusknoir had turned them against him and that Grovyle had grievously wounded them completely ignorant to the fact that they no longer knew him no longer recognized him and now has a partner whom their Dimensional Scream works so much better with

and then all of a sudden he has hope again but it’s so small and fragile because how in the hell are you all supposed to get out of this and your new partner comes up with a plan even Grovyle couldn’t in the heat and intensity of the moment after he’s so drained from running and running and running all by himself being accused of being a criminal being chased and hunted and attacked because he’s running out of time

and then by some miracle you three make it back in one piece and then you’re there you’re alive but you’ve lost everything you once had all your knowledge and memories and willpower to accomplish your suicide mission and even though it hurts indescribably to realize that things will most likely never be the same never be like it used to be and never again would you even look at or speak to him the same way he still has you

and now he’s determined never to let you go again you’ll have him until the life is pried from his body and he’s just so so so relieved that he can hardly stand it because now he can afford to admit to himself that he had been terrified that he’d lost you and had already started to grieve you before your time but then he has to leave you with your new better trusted partner to make sure Dusknoir couldn’t stop your plans

and even though he’s telling you “though the parting hurts” meaning you’ll have to make the decision to sacrifice yourself for the greater good at the expense of leaving your new partner all alone he also means “this wasn’t how this was supposed to go I was supposed to be there with you I didn’t want to be alone I never ever thought I’d lose you so but we’ll lose so much more if I don’t do this if we don’t do this and I’m sorry that it all had to end like this”

and then he goes through everything else fighting until his last breath trying to help you as much as he can even though he’s deceived and almost dies the closest he’s ever been and he cannot fathom the stakes at which everything rides in the balance but then the winds start to blow and the ice starts to drip and the sun starts to rise and he’s done it you’ve done it everything isn’t lost and at the very least he’s not alone while he fades into nothingness

but as he’s brought inexplicably back from the brink by ‘a higher power’ and his first thought is that same hope flooding back that he’d get to see you again that you’re still alive that you’ve both survived despite the improbable odds set against you and the hope you summon in him is so palpable you inspire it in every single person around you and you hold so much power without even realizing it and how could he ever forget you when you mean so much to him?

do you ever think about that? no? because I do. every waking second of every damn day this wood gecko haunts my thoughts.

[honeycollectswhump]

The Pet 2

[masterlist] [part one]

From his view of the ever-distorting ground, he couldn’t see his Master’s reaction, couldn’t anticipate the blow or kick that would surely come. The pleading had felt wrong on the Pet’s tongue, for a reason he couldn't figure out.��

For a few agonizing seconds nothing happened. The only sound that reached the Pet’s ears was his own labored breathing and even that sounded warped.

“What?”

Finally, a voice, though he couldn't recognize it. It must have been his Master’s, right? It simply must.

The Pet knew how to behave. He shouldn't have run away in the first place –he couldn’t even remember why he had tried anymore– but he would be better. He needed to be better. So he stayed perfectly still, waiting for any clue of how to act so he could be prepared for his Master’s rage. 

Would his Master discipline his disobedient Pet now or later? Would it be his Master’s thick belt, that he used to taunt him with, and then punished him with even more harshly for getting his disgusting blood all over it? Maybe he’d be used as entertainment for the party –the party?– and or he’d be strung up like a punching bag. The thought alone made the Pet shake twice as hard. 

Too late, far too late the Pet perceived murmuring, draping over him like a blanket, drowning out all other sounds. His Master must have been talking and like a stupid mutt he hadn’t paid attention. Instead, he had gotten lost in his own head, he had let himself get carried away by the current of his own thoughts.

Mercifully, his Master repeated himself. Still, only scraps reached his mind, the rest being devoured by the cotton that filled the Pet’s senses. 

“Hey…”

“It’s just me…”

“... don't understand…”

“Please, sit up.”

Yes! At last, something the Pet could act upon, something to prove he was eager to obey, despite his shortcomings, despite everything. He carefully pushed his upper body up, still on his knees and eyes on the floor like a proper Pet. Just this small movement alone made his stomach lurch and his arms shake like leaves in the wind.

He stared at his tingling fingers and hoped he was kneeling right, hoped that he wasn’t slouching with the way his spine felt curved, the way his legs were slowly sinking into the floor like it was quicksand. 

Cautiously, gentle fingers touched his jawline and tipped his head upwards. The Pet let his eyes be guided to catch the form of his Master and hoped he wouldn’t be punished for this offense too. 

“You will be alright,” the voice said slowly, deliberately. A spark of familiarity washed over the Pet, even though he couldn’t place it. He could barely see more than blurred shapes but if the Pet concentrated hard enough, he could make out some of their features. A name fought itself through the swamp of his own thoughts: Caretaker.

“I’m–I’m sorry. Are you my…my Master?” he whispered, then flinched back, expecting a hit for his boldness. His tongue felt swollen and limp in his mouth and he could do nothing but hope he was saying the words he meant. 

He was met with confusion. “I’m not–I mean, you don’t have a Master.”

That couldn’t be! The thought alone sent cold spikes of fear down his spine.

“Please Ma’am, I do have a Master. I’m sorry, but I must have, I’m positive. I–I don’t mean to disagree, Ma’am, please. B–but I’m lost, I don’t know where I am. My Master must be around here somewhere. I don’t– I don’t know what to do!” The words tumbled out of his mouth and onto the floor like marbles. In the end, the last bit of resolve left him and the Pet dissolved into sobs

“Whumpee–” The hands that had rested on his jawline now moved to cup his cheeks. “What happened? I don't… whatever. You are safe, I promise. If you are lost, I’ll help you get home, alright?”

He looked at her hopefully. Alone, he wouldn’t get anywhere, at least not in this state. But with her help…maybe he wouldn’t be thrown out today.  

The Pet threw himself down once more, inching closer till his bowed head almost touched her knees. 

“Please, Ma’am! If you would be so kind, so generous as to help this worthless excuse of a Pet. I’m so sorry, I don’t–I don’t know how to repay you but I’d do anything. Anything! I promise, Ma’am!”

“Always. I’ll always help you.” the Pet felt a soft hand on his head, carding gently through his hair. In his despair, he couldn’t help but push into the touch. The Pet couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him this way. Any kindness was a rarity. Even like this, with his brain a thick swamp, unable to produce fully formed thoughts, the Pet knew this fact. It was deeply ingrained in his heart.

“But you need to listen to me. My car is parked nearby but we have to get there first. And we can’t have the others see you like this. So you need to do exactly as I tell you, alright?” 

Even though he had to strain himself to comprehend the words, the Pet nodded with such vigor his head might have fallen off. It made him even more dizzy. 

“Whumpee, look at me. This is important.”

Although the Pet didn’t know who that was, he would listen regardless.

“When we go out that door, I need you to walk upright. I’ll hold you up, that won’t be a problem. But no crawling! Also, no talk of your Master or whoever the fuck that is. If you have questions ask them now or when we are in my car.”

The Pet didn’t understand. But it wasn’t his job to ask questions –it wasn’t his job to think– so he kept quiet. His only purpose was obeying. 

He pushed upwards, trying to get his legs under him and balanced on the skewed ground, already veering to the side. Before he could tumble down, Caretaker caught his arm. His stomach churned dangerously and his ears rang. A cold sheen of sweat was sticking to his skin, making him shiver and he swallowed thickly. The tears had barely stopped but the Pet felt like crying again. It was no use.

“Come on, big guy.” Caretaker said as she pulled him towards a wall. “Lean against that, then try again.”

He did try again, desperately ignoring the way the wall seemed to bend around him, the texture swirling and swirling and swirling. Despite everything, the Pet couldn’t stop a hysterical giggle from breaking free. It just made Caretaker sigh. 

Finally though, he was able to stand, albeit listing heavily against the wall. Caretaker had slipped against his side, bracing his bigger frame against hers, holding up most of his weight. God, it felt like his worst sin was open for the world to see. No amount of slouching could make him smaller than her. A Pet couldn’t look down on a human. 

His first disobedience was his own body. 

She approached the door with the Pet in tow. He vowed to keep his stupid mouth shut since Caretaker didn’t like it when he talked. The walk was a blur, his surroundings distorting and tilting. His feet never landed where he wanted them to, making him stumble against her more than once. 

Time seemed to move weirdly around him, both too fast and too slow. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, whether he spent hours in that dark room or just seconds. 

People came up to them, shouting over a thundering the Pet couldn’t identify, but Caretaker pushed through them. 

The Pet blinked and suddenly found himself outside, the cool night air lifting the fog that had settled over his senses. Only now he realized that he had rested his heavy head on Caretaker’s shoulder.

It felt comfortable. It felt safe.

It felt familiar.

again, thanks to @distinctlywhumpthing for beta-reading this and putting up with my lack of knowledge on where to put commas in english <3

[sarastuss-a]

THE DIM, WARM GLOW SURROUNDS THE ROOM, : CASTING UPON THEM SUCH AN INTIMATE SETTING. another battle won, hero, just wait for the many more to come. such is your duty. ... but this one came with a cost, one she has paid before. ' it's fine, do not worry. ' she had said, yet even when true, it was not accepted. SO NOW, OUR HERO SITS STILL, silently surpressing any winces that might befall from her lush lips. ( yes it is nothing new, it doesn't mean that it is painless. she just makes it look so. ) ... &. SIGNATURE OF HER, to pay attention to the concern upon arra's beautiful features, she knows she is the reason for it. ❝ i will be just fine, you know. ❞ ANGELIC VOICE SPEAKS, FILLED WITH CONFIDENCE. it was not unwarranted, after all. ❝ this is far from the worst. ❞ &. that felt like an understatement to anyone who knew her journeys.

EVEN NOW, SHE WEARS SUCH A WARM, REASSURING SMILE, : ONE THAT DRAWS ATTENTION WITHOUT WORDS. &. blame it on that, or something else that makes arra's gaze meet her own. a realization comes ; just how close they are this moment. SOMETHING RECUIRED, for arra to patch up THE CHAMPION here. ... something happens, heartbeat fastens again &. this could no longer be blamed upon the adrenaline of a battle. ( do you feel it hero? the temptation? ) ... that smile fades slowly, when without control of her own, golden &. grey hues steal a glance of those lips all too close to hers. that feeling sparked again, one she has tried to keep down, for the sake of duty : both hers and arra's. they both have their own. ... BUT GOLDEN HEART ACHES TO BE SELFISH, just this once, to allowe her at least a taste, dangerous as it is. ( but when has danger ever stopped sarastus before? ) just let her have this. but whilst she struggles this losing game, the decision is made for her, @satellitewar + arra '[ tend ] while tending to receiver's wounds, sender gives receiver a reassuring kiss (from arra) for arra's lips lean close to hers, the touch reassuring, caring. leaking with emotions kept at bay, that now with this privacy : this tension finally took over. &. that mere second of control, power so strong acted out. ... &. FOR THE FIRST TIME, THE WARRIOR OF LIGHT LOSES A BATTLE! for this is one against herself, &. she gives in to the desires of her heart. her lips pressing against arra's in response, moving slowly. she hasn't done this before. WITH SLIGHT HESITANCE, she lifts her hand, gently cupping arra's cheek, bringing her even closer. straight into the deep end, it seems.

[itsbuck]

headcanon

as far as buck has always been concerned, they were a straight, cis guy. there was no reason for them to assume otherwise; they really liked girls, & most of their hobbies/extra curricular activities were fairly male-oriented.

but even so, very rarely did evan ever really consider their interests to be male focused. the skateboarding crowds almost always had a pretty even split between guys & girls, & there were plenty of female athletes he went to high school with that could easily hold their own on the football field if they ever chose to join in.

they were just the things evan liked to do, & they happened to be male.

plus, talk of anything queer-related wasn't exactly popular in the bland, mid-sized town of hershey, pennsylvania. especially in the 90's.

it isn't until they join the 118 & grow close with their teammates-- specifically hen-- that they're really introduced to the queer community/culture on a more serious level beyond just knowing someone who happens to be gay. (they've always been an ally, of course!) one day, during a random conversation with the rest of the team, someone across the loft made a comment along the lines of "act like a man", & buck's response to their little group was "you know, i never really understood that phrase. or even 'man up' or any of those phrases." meanwhile everyone else stares at them with various looks of confusion & amusement, before they continue on. "what does it even mean to 'feel like a man'- or a woman?"

the looks became even more confused, & perhaps a bit perplexed, but before anyone could really respond, the alarm goes off, disrupting any further reactions. bobby keeps the talk in the truck on the details of the call, making sure his team is focused & ready for when they arrive on scene. but that doesn't stop the looks shot in buck's direction, even if nothing is said.

on the ride back to the station, everyone is a little worn from the call, & buck is fidgety enough from everyone's earlier reactions that no one brings up the earlier conversation. at most, eddie's knee is pressed against their's, & hen has that sisterly look on her face as she watches buck the entire drive back.

back at the station, hen pulls buck off to the side & quietly suggests they look into the various concepts of gender identity-- "more specifically non-binary & agender, & you might find some answers you're looking for, buck."

jump forward to being back at their loft post-shift, & diving right into a new rabbit hole of research. two days, & a head-full of new knowledge, a few cryptic texts with hen (that they're pretty sure she could see through easily), & almost too much reflection later, buck feels like they've unlocked a part of theirself they didn't even know was tucked away.

those phrases & concepts never made sense sense to them because they've never actually connected with the traditional concepts of male vs female. they don't connect to any gender & are just buck.

non-binary. traditionally masculine aesthetic/presentation. primarily uses they/them pronouns, but is perfectly fine with any others being used by the firefam (but only the firefam, strangers & casual acquaintances better stick with they/them). & completely open to any & all possible petnames & nicknames including more feminine ones (again, only by the firefam & significant others).

[seraphfighter]

2, 7, 29 for the shippy asks :3

2. Do they like each other's friends? Do their friends like them?

For the most part, yes. All of Val's friends were suspicious of Johnny at first because of the Relic ordeal, besides Misty. They knew of Johnny's reputation and expected him to end up hurting her. But once they spent more time around Johnny and Val together and saw how he was with her, and how he cared for her while she was still sick and dying, they started to accept him. He and Panam never quite learn to get along though 🤣 As for Johnny's friends, Val is about as close to Kerry as he is. Rogue respects Val and has a soft spot for her due to them working together at the Afterlife. Plus she, along with Nancy and Denny, thinks Val is good for Johnny too.

7. What's their most and least favorite thing about each other?

Val's favorite thing about Johnny is how passionate he is about things because it shows how much he cares, even if he's not the best at always expressing it. She also loves how smart he is. Her least favorite thing is his temper and inability to communicate at times. A small part of her will always worry he will revert back to his old ways--her own trauma fuels these worries. For Johnny, his favorite thing about Val is her creativity. He loves seeing her express herself through her art and photography. He also admires her adaptability because it shows how resilient she is. His least favorite thing about her is a toss-up between her insecurity and lack of caring about her own well-being. He has a hard time understanding why she's so insecure about herself sometimes and it can be frustrating. And he wishes she'd be better about taking care of herself because he worries about her (even if he won't always say it out loud).

29. Where is their relationship lacking? What could they do to improve it?

I'd say their relationship lacks boundaries--they are very codependent. Neither of them likes being away from each other for too long and feels anxious/on edge when they are apart. It's all because of the Relic, of course. But they both could benefit from learning how to function independently of each other so they aren't relying so heavily on the other person all the time. Frankly, they don't care to try and change it though because it is how they are comfortable.

Questions from this.

[enignoema-a]

"Talk to me."

Riddler likes Batman. Most of the rogues had some problem or another with the Bat, but for Edward, Batman is his everything, he adores him. So the vigilante checking in, though unexpected, was not unwelcome.

Even he had noticed Edward's change of behavior- Or maybe the doctors told him when he arrived? For the past month there have been no riddles, no puzzles- hell, hardly even a sarcastic remark. The rogue sniffs, leaning against the wall as he averts his gaze. Standing behind the glass always made him feel like a zoo animal.

"Nothing to talk about, Bats. Arkham's a living hell. Always has been. You know this." Even though checking in was appreciated Edward hated being vulnerable and open. What could he say? That because he keeps devising escape plans they've taken more and more of his recreational rights away until he has basically nothing and he feels himself going insane from the boredom? That he worries the lack of stimulation is actively effecting his cognitive ability which is the only thing he has? He put himself in this mess after all.

"Maybe I'm just finally getting better. That's the point of this place, right? To cure me of whatever pitiful affliction compels me to commit puzzle based crime?"

[red-hemlock]

[ AWKWARD ]: after a particularly rough first encounter, the sender meets the receiver again, and awkwardly greets them with more than a touch of embarrassment. (perhaps no shared grudges over work related positions of opposition...)

The Many Meanings of 'Hey' @thegear

"...You." The pen falls from River's mouth at the utterance, clattering to the filthy floor, and rolling-off to some great unknown between the feet of other heedless patrons. Interesting choice of word, not many would have likely remembered him at all given the mask, but he had been the tallest of the bunch.

Question is, what was he doing here now? Saying 'hello', apparently, but... Why, after what had happened? Surely he was still licking some of those wounds, same as she. This silence was growing thick as fresh molasses, though; and since she was most in the 'wrong', River felt the need to break it first with a cough.

"Listen, dear, about before? I'm awfully sorry about your other friends, it's just that your get-ups were so similar to my targets' and-..."

She sighs, heavily. Is 'you just got caught in the cross-fire' even a suitable excuse? No, not all really, but those were the breaks when it came to the lifestyle, too. Still doesn't mean she didn't feel a touch awful about it, all the same.

"Look, can I maybe buy you a drink-"

Movement out the corner of her eye and a sudden rain of expletives from the bartender bring pause to her words, an open notebook pressing to her chest as she jerks back. Just in time apparently too as two forms crash over the bar-top, scattering glasses and greasy snacks to the ground. Eyebrows raised high, River's gaze strains to peek over the mountain of flesh and muscle now struggling to strangle one another.

"...Maybe?"

[twogravesinsomecemetery]

Of Film Nights and Reminiscences (x)

One night in the unremarkable house, Mulder and Scully's sentimentality leads them down a rabbit hole of rereading 25 years' worth of X-Files cases, laughing until their sides hurt, and watching The Lazarus Bowl for the first time in 18 years.

Post-The Lost Art of Forehead Sweat.

---

The s11 Lazarus Bowl Rewatch fic is here!!

For @scullys-scalpel <3

[normaltothemax]

@fasciinating​

​HE REFUSES TO BE left breathless even as oxygen burns through his legs and his chest. Spock’s eyes are wild, widened with urgency, traitorous of his concern despite the firm lines of Vulcan discipline that make up the rest of him. He turns to Miles, question scorched into the part of his mouth, fumes from the fire trapped in his lungs, “ Where?  Lead us.  I will follow. ”

Where? That is the question, isn't it? Miles honestly isn't sure where is safe, where the fire hasn't spread yet, just that his spider-sense is screaming at him where they stand. He looks up at the ceiling where the smoke is collecting. Smoke travels upwards, he knows this, but the fire might not have spread to the upper floors yet. If he can get them somewhere relatively safe, find a window from there, he can get them all out. Hopefully without anyone needing to get hurt.

"Okay," he breathes, "here we go." Shooting some webbing at the ceiling from each wrist, he pulls the lines taut, pulling back as far as he possibly can, feet sticking to the floor to help, until he's practically laying on the floor. Then, he lets his feet fly free from the floor, sling-shotting him up towards the ceiling, feet-first, as hard as he possibly can. By some miracle, he bursts through it on the first shot. It's relatively cooler on the next floor, though the smoke is already pouring through the hole he made. Still, it's going up toward the ceiling once more, and the flames haven't reached this room yet. It's better than where they are now.

He hops back through the hole to where Spock and a few of the crew members are, unable to keep himself from coughing. His voice is rough as he speaks loud enough for everyone to hear, even his healing factor having a hard time keeping up with the smoke damage. "The fire's not up there, yet. If you can help me find a window, I can get us all out of here safely." He doesn't bother asking them to trust him—time is of the essence and Spock already said they'd follow him. "I can get everyone up there, just hold your breath as we go through the hole. One at a time, let's move, people!"

[diabeticgirl4]

Me @ me: you do know u have a private vent blog so you don't have to make others annoyed/concerned right?

Also me: ok but what if I feel better and less alone knowing other ppl can read my problems, even if they don't actually read/care?

(You are genuinely 100% allowed to skip past this, I was having a Bad Brain morning and just gotta get it out, I'm feeling better now so don't worry!)

Woke up this morning legit thinking I was hearing voices. Weirdest sensation, like I was hearing my phone alarm/podcast/vague talking but like it was super muffled and buried under all my blankets, except my phone was right next to me and the alarm had already been turned off. Weirdest part is it went away when I lifted my head on the pillow? Tried it again and I continued to hear it laying my head down and it stopped when I lifted it back up again. Weirdest thing. Anyways that threw me off for a while. I'm also super tired yeah! Been sleeping terribly this week, averaging about 5-6ish hrs instead of my usual 6-7ish hrs. And I have another concert tonight so I'll be getting even less sleep tonight yaaayyy.

So tbh that wasn't too bad, just weird and disconcerting but all good now. Except I overheard my coworker talk about her housing situations while at school (we went to the same school but different years), and then I couldn't stop thinking about my college years so that was fun (/s). I'm rly hesitant to call it trauma, but if it's still fricking me up 10 years later and both my parents separately agreed that I came back worse after college? Hhh. Yeah.

And since I'm in between podcasts (I'm currently trying out candela obscura, I'm enjoying it so far!) I was having the hardest time focusing on the words so I had to give up and switch to random music. I'm just feeling so. Discombobulated? Fun word but not a fun feeling.

Anyways I'm feeling mildly better(ish) now so it's not a concern my brain is just being super weird this morning and I'm v tired. Weh.

[fiorserpen]

a kiss to prove you don’t have feelings for them (James and Aggie)

agatha knew feelings weren't supposed to be part of the equation. they're just friends and this is just sex. the concept of friends with benefits had once seemed silly, and maybe even a bit stupid to her. she didn't see the point in such a relationship, until fairly recently. that's all it would be, agatha had promised herself. friendship and sex. that's all.

until, suddenly, it wasn't.

when the first bud of romance began to grow within her, it was the only flower she ever wanted to smother. agatha didn't really want to. she always has been a hopeless romantic, hoping 'the one' would come into her life and they'd live happily ever after. such was the stuff of fairytales, however, and even agatha could admit there was no point in believing in such things. that the perfect person doesn't exist and he or she doesn't just waltz into your life. but then... there's james. no, he isn't perfect, but then again, no one is. they're perfect together, though, aren't they? like two puzzle pieces that fit just right.

but of course... they're just friends with benefits. they both knew what they were getting into, they both knew feelings beyond anything platonic and strictly sexual would make a mess of things. maybe agatha just couldn't help but to start having feelings for james. he was good to her. kind, patient, sweet. he fulfills every want, need and desire both outside of the bedroom and in it. out of everyone in the world, she chooses him. but there lies the issue: would he choose her? does he feel as she's begun to feel? she wants to believe so, and yet, out of fear of ruining what they have now, agatha buries her feelings.

he'd tease her that, if they kept this kind of relationship up, that she'd catch feelings for him, and she'd laugh and playfully hit his arm. 'nonsense', she'd say. agatha was happy with the way things are, so why change it? but then her own feelings, regardless of all the smothering, would continue to grow and bloom inside of her heart. her feelings are relentless and undying, like weeds. it was unbearable at times, how much agatha wanted to tell him that she did have feelings, how much she wanted to take his hands, look him in the eyes and tell him of them.

if she had any bravery, she would.

a bit more time passes and he was at it again, being a tease to her, saying if they kept spending time like this, she'd start having feelings for him. agatha snorts and shakes her head, playfully hitting his arm. " nonsense. " not once has she alluded to having feelings for james, and she thinks she's hidden it fairly well, at least, until he stands up from the bed and moves to be in front of her.

" prove it, aggie. kiss me. "

what? agatha laughs and shakes her head, buttoning up her blouse. " w-we k-kiss all the t-time, james. " but it's not the same, is it? kissing just to kiss isn't the same. she often kissed him when they were having sex just to quiet herself, or at least try to. there's nothing behind those kisses and they both know that.

" then it won't be so hard to prove it to me, will it? "

he really is insistent, isn't he? " fine, fine. i-i'll kiss you and— a-and p-prove to you i don't feel a-anything else about all of this. " agatha steps closer and stands on the tips of her toes, her hands grasping james' upper arms to keep herself steady as she closes her eyes and kisses him. her heart flutters against her ribs and quickly begins to pound harder, her hold on his arms tightening a little. she lingers a moment longer before breaking the kiss.

" and? "

" a-and i... i f-feel... " her gaze travels over his features. agatha always thought james was a very handsome man. he could be with anyone he wants. he could, but does he want to? does his heart yearn for her as hers does for him? does she often occupy his mind as he occupies hers? does he feel safe? does he feel cared for? does he feel at all as she feels? she looks away. despite the deep, intense longing agatha feels, she pulls away and sits sits on the edge of the bed. her voice is a whisper with the next words that leave her. " i-i c-can't keep lying anymore. it hurts, james, i-i c-can't— i can't k-keep denying how i feel. "

agatha's throat burns and her chest feels tight as she tries to repress the urge to cry as tears well in her eyes. " i-i t-tried so hard to— t-to keep this strictly as f-friends with benefits, t-to n-n-not get emotionally involved, but... i c-c-couldn't h-help myself, i guess. " she sniffles, not looking up at james as she wrings her hands against her lap. agatha inhales, exhaling shakily. " i-it's n-not just that the sex is good, b-because it is, it's amazing, it's... y-you make me feel so... so s-safe, so whole. you're th-the only person i trust t-to— to b-be so vulnerable a-and open with. "

oh, of course agatha has friends she trusts, but not as much as james. she's afraid of nothing with him, and maybe it's terrifying in and of itself. it's only rejection and if she's ruined this that she fears. " i-i know it's just supposed to be s-sex a-and o-only sex, and yet... i've wanted so badly for it t-to be more, james. i've wanted that f-for months and i tried so hard t-t-to k-keep my feelings and my t-true desires buried, but i c-can't anymore. " tears pour down agatha's cheeks as she speaks, finally getting out these words after being unspoken for so long. it hurt to keep them buried, but it hurts, too, to put them out into the open. to lay herself bare even more than she already has.

" i-i c-can only imagine feeling the way i do for you a-and y-you only, james. n-n-no one m-makes me as happy as you do, and yet... i-i understand if i couldn't possibly m-make you feel the same. " after all, who wants a mess like her? who wants someone with as much baggage as she has? who wants someone whose confidence and self-esteem are nearly nonexistent? surely not james, right? a trembling hand wipes the tears from her face. she still can't look at him. " ...i-i've r-ruined this, haven't i? us. i've r-ruined us. "

[slaughterlocked]

"I don't know. I expected you to feel something."

bully the traumatized! / always accepting :]

HE DISTRACTS HIMSELF WITH THE GODAWFUL RERUN OF AN OLD SERIES PLAYING QUIETLY IN FRONT OF HIM. Easier than dealing with his son, who is decidedly not a ghost, who should be a ghost, because William had sent him to die.

Well. He corrects himself, like it matters. Nobody really dies anymore. Not those that matter, anyway. On the television screen, a woman screams to a man in a black cape that he’s her baby’s father. In the sitting room, the baby isn’t the only child being rejected by a father. William stares at the screen, torn between laughing at Michael’s bad luck and hugging him. They’d briefly been closer after Liz had died. At least, William remembers warmer moments, between the sharp explosions of grief between his ribs and the fire in his lungs. Cups of tea, growing cold on the same kitchen table. A sketchbook, wrapped and unsigned, for a birthday— the thoughtfulness returned in kind with a beautiful leather wallet he’s half certain had been stolen. He uses it always anyway. Has a photo of his boy tucked in there. His Michael, the sacrificial lamb.

Who looks more like a sacrifice-gone-wrong, with how he stands in William’s living room now. “Vlad, I’m taking you to court!” The woman on the screen proclaims dramatically. Idly, William wonders if Michael is going to sue him for this. Attempted bodily damage, maybe? Unsafe workplace conditions? Worth thinking about getting a lawyer, perhaps.

“Surprised.” He hears himself say, voice flat and calm. Too calm. William wants to say something, do something, feel something else. All he can manage is a smile that hovers the line between paternal and patronising. What do you want me to say? He wants to snap. Wants to get defensive, wants to shout and throw things like he once would have. Instead, he takes a sip from a mug of tea that’s long gone cold. Pretends it doesn’t ache and soothe to see Michael, alive, flesh - and - blood, in his living room.

“This might be the first time you’ve actually managed to surprise me.” He says, because he sure as hell isn’t going to apologise, so a pathetic little joke that is more cruel than intended is all he’s got. “Take your shoes off. Don’t track dirt into the house, for Christ’s sake.”

[eyrieofsynapses]

Okay, this is super fascinating to me, especially because I rarely buy books due to a) library, b) money, and c) space issues (I only have a couple shelves I can properly dedicate to books). So I try to get good ones when I do. I also have a wide variety of young versus old second-handers!

One thing not mentioned here that I was curious about were comic collections. I have three older second-hand comic volumes:

Honestly, I've never picked up a paperback collected comic volume that didn't feel like it might fall apart with even mild abuse, but these are doing pretty good. The Sandman volume has some pretty badly ripped front pages from a careless prior owner and those are at risk of falling out, but otherwise it's doing just fine. (I wouldn't have bought it otherwise.) It's from 1994. The Flash volume is from 1995, the slimmest one, and has definitely seen use but held up well. The Birds of Prey collection, from 2006, is in quite good condition but also seems like it hasn't really seen use (and I can't find literally any of the ones from after it for a reasonable price so I've been reluctant to actually read it).

Now, here's the similarly-sized 1995 Flash volume versus a Titans volume from 2017 (of which I have two), bought brand-new:

...which is legitimately starting to show the spine's backing through the pages after light use, and feels like it's going to start falling apart if I so much as flip through it. Versus the Flash volume, which couldn't care less:

This is fascinating to me, because these older volumes from the mid-1990s, perfect bound with slightly flimsier paper than the 2017 volume, have preserved very well given their construction. This is consistent with the volumes I picked up from the library, about five years ago; almost anything published in or after the 2010s was just... shitty. The older ones were much better off, assuming they hadn't seen too much abuse as library books sometimes do.

Back to hardbacks, though. Lots of my books are second-hand oldies. My favorite are the pair that collect all of the original Sherlock Holmes stories. I bought them secondhand clearance. They had the worst dust covers imaginable, torn and ripped and ugly as sin, but underneath the cloth binding was perfectly fine and they had barely a mark. I have no idea when they were first sold--they don't actually say. But they're bound with signatures, albeit glued together, with a bit of lining along the inside of the spine. Here's the bigger one:

I've carried these around on multiple trips, including to camp. They lay relatively flat and have held up well. I am very, very fond of them.

Another Sherlock hardback, this one a copy of Hound of the Baskervilles that I picked up quite a while ago when my middle-school library was giving away old books:

This one is perfect-bound, and you can tell, because some of the inner pages aren't doing so well. I keep it with a rubber-band around it so it doesn't fall open and strain the binding. But the thing is: I CAN DO THAT. I'd never consider it with most books, out of fear of bending under pressure. The thickness of the cover allows for it, though it's almost a detriment, because it means the book is less flexible against the perfect binding and pulls at it. I suspect that's partly why the binding wore out over time. That cover is so protective, though, that it's survived...

Oh yeah. 37 years. This lil guy is from 1986. I've carried it around a lot and it's older than I am by a good bit. Doing reasonably good!

Now, those versus my newer hardbacks. This is an annotated copy of the Screwtape Letters from 2013, though I bought it only a couple years ago, so it might be a newer printing? It is a bit less than $30 in the US. I got it for much less, thanks to someone selling it brand-new secondhand online--it arrived in its original packaging--but it's... perfect-bound. Probably. I honestly cannot tell if it has very teensy-weeny signatures, but I don't think so?

In any case, it's nicely made--the paper is good, the endpapers are thick--but... take a look at that back endpaper.

...yeaaaah. It's falling out. I've carried this one in my backpack a little, but not THAT much, and that shouldn't have strained that part of the book. I haven't even read it all the way through.

Finally, two books I bought a couple months ago, and one of them actually gives me some hope.

Stars, Hide Your Fires, by Jessica Best (fantastic queer sci-fi murder mystery book, by the way, go check it out). Hardcover's a bit under $20 (paperback's cheaper if you want it). Also perfect-bound. Not too shabbily, but no signatures, and the glue binding is... ehh? It's pretty good for what it is, but the theme of perfect binding continues.

Now, here's another I bought on the same day, also published 2023: Leaning Toward Light, a genuinely gorgeous poetry collection about gardening. And lo and behold: SEWN SIGNATURES.

It's a little hard to tell there, but you can see it from the other end and one or two inside pages. (Drat the image limit.) It is probably glue-bound beyond that--I can't quite say--but hey, it's from 2023. It is a decade younger than the Screwtape Letters collection, has a ton of front and back full-color pages, and it's about seven bucks cheaper at $22. No dust cover, but the cover itself is gorgeous, I don't use those beyond the shelf and they tend to be so easily damaged they're not worth it anyway.

My sole gripe is that the cover is very easily battered--the coating is wearing off already in a few spots, and it has mostly been secured in a pocket of my backpack lately, so not great. Otherwise, it gives me hope that there are actually some companies making decent hardcovers at half-decent prices.

That said: there are many reasons why I like used books, though I regret that it doesn't directly support the author. One of those is exactly this: these days, a used book from two or three decades ago seems more likely to survive actual use than one published within the last decade. Manufacturers don't seem to realize that the fast fashion mindset doesn't exist to readers. If you want a book published a while ago, maybe go find a secondhand copy instead of buying new.

publishing companies will be like ~ooh this is a hardcover oooh it's so durable that will be $35~ and then you see the actual book and it's like. "perfect"-bound with endbands glued on crooked and a completely plain paper cover under the dust jacket. my dudes this shit is a mass market paperback with delusions of grandeur

[gayremlinwithguitar]

Listen, I'm like a lone rat in the walls of this site. I don't want to be noticed. I don't reblog much cause I don't want anyone to know I'm online and I'm perfectly happy to keep making 0-2 note posts of the things that pop into my head when the melatonin starts kicking in.

But there was a period 3-4 years ago when I was fairly active on Tumblr because frankly my highschool friend group had fallen apart and I was left with all kinds of shit I couldn't say to casual acquaintances and I needed a place to put it. In that time, I somehow amassed a measly following of complete strangers.

Somehow this included biggest-gaudiest-patronuses.

I don't know why they followed me, it could have been an accident and tbh I don't particularly care. What matters is that now that I'm back every time I post I have the thought "I wonder if this will be the post where gaud remembers I exist and finally unfollows me" and it's so fucking funny to me.

I'm just a rat and every time I scurry across the ceiling I wonder if the people in the house will hear me and finally chase me out. But I keep scurrying anyway, cause I like it here.