#yes that is the binary code for the word fuck why do you ask

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Y'all want to see me go insane? No?

Okay so, Bumblebee and Megatron. Specifically TFP/Aligned Continuity Bumblebee and Megatron. The ones that kill each other. Those ones.

I have gone Insane thinking about them.

TFP ends with the two of them killing each other. They were inside each other's heads at one point. Megatron ripped out Bumblebee's voice box. Bumblebee tore the Spark extractor directly from Megatron's fingers. Let me reiterate the first point, They have both been killed and resurrected. They were both Dead but now they're not. They were a corpse but then they got better.

That's not all. In ALC canon, they have been dead more than once!! Both of them!! In Fall of Cybertron the game, Megatron gets crushed by Metroplex then resurrected with some dark energon and Bumblebee gets SHOT IN THE CHEST BY MEGATRON. the one in tfp wasn't the first time in canon, no no no, the exact same scenario happens on more than one occasion- Go read the wiki, I am not kidding you. War for & Fall of Cybertron are a part of the same universe as TFP, fact check me I dare you. Yes it is convoluted, but they're all in the same universe.

I... am loosing it... slowly... painfully...

I can't stop thinking about them. Out of every Universe with a Bumblebee and a Megatron, TFP/ALC is the only one where the beef they have is truly personal. Most TF Universes, Megatron and Bumblebee's relationship is hostile but not personally driven. If they had to, they could exist in the same room without any obvious issues. TFP/ALC, on the other hand, I think they hate each other on a personal level. I think if they had to exist in the same room, they would either spend the entire time arguing like 6-year-olds or brutally murder each other in a violent blood bath. And everything in between. I do not think they could be normal with each other to save their lives. You guys think TFO Bumblebee and Megatron's tragically fractured friendship is good (you're right, btw, very good) May I introduce: TFP Bumblebee and Megatron's Deeply Personal Beef!! It's objectively funnier! Bc they kill each other!

I wrote this line down a few months ago, I feel it accurately summarizes what I'm trying to say:

Optimus is living in Megatron’s mind rent free but Bumblebee keeps breaking in and stealing the radiator.

Quick Context Section because things written below needs some extra info to make at least a little sense.

I know I listed all the things these two have done to each other, but Bumblebee barely did anything bad to ol' Megsy. From what i've listed Bumblebee just annoys Megatron - then he kills him. And I'm saying they've both done horrible things to each other. And I am right, they have committed atrocities, but Bumblebee's are just never brought up in the show, at least explicitly.

So, we know that Bumblebee is a Scout in TFP/ALC canon and he is described as a pretty good one at that. Quote from the wiki, "...made [Bumblebee] an excellent scout and messenger...".

So what makes a good Scout. Well, according to the US Army, Scouts gather information about the enemy and the battlefield for the infantry. They are the "eyes and ears" of an army. Quote, "An Army Cavalry Scout may engage the enemy in the field, track and report enemy activity, as well as direct the employment of weapon systems." They are sometimes described as “the first line of defense for Army units” and "...are considered “jacks of all trades” for their ability to perform multiple combat roles in the Infantry Division." Link if you want to read more, very good resource for fics.

With all this context, since Bumblebee was an Excellent Scout, we can assume he has been Fucking over the Decepticon cause for YEARS. Megatron probably knew about Bumblebee before he actually met him. He probably knew Bumblebee as the Autobot Scout that had crippled his organization over and over again. Oh, He probably HATED Bumblebee, even if he didn't know who he was or what he looked like.

Alright, I've given context, back to the spiral.

Imagine their relationship/interactions in TFP/ALC from either of their perspectives.

Megatron

On Megatron's side, this Autobot scout has been fucking up your operations for years. We're talking hundreds of outposts, supply lines, and missions, all gone because of this one fucking scout. He even fucks up your All spark retrieval mission, so you rip his throat to shreds, leaving him to die there. You don't really think about the scout after that, you're more focused on Optimus. But then, a few weeks later, you get reports that that fucking yellow autobot scout is somehow alive and fucking up your stuff! He survived getting his throat shredded. Apparently, that's a non-fatal injury nowadays. Back in your day, getting your throat torn up killed you, and you liked it!

The war goes on, Cybertron is dead and your organization is packing its bags and relocating. Right before you leave, you attack the Autobots base one last time. Maybe you can strand them on Cybertron, leaving them to starve on this dead planet. During the fight, you just get fucking BODIED by Metroplex, killing you. You are dead. Not long after this, we're talking like a week max, Soundwave manages to resurrect you with this shit called dark energon. Cool stuff, you'll keep it in mind for later. You intercept the autobots as they are leaving cybertron, hoping to wipe them off the map before you leave. Now you and Optimus, your eternal opponent, are fighting. You fire your cannon at Optimus, a killing blow, but then that same yellow autobot scout from earlier jumps in the way, saving Optimus and killing him instead. Then both yours and the autobot's ships get sucked into a space bridge, prematurely ending your fight with Optimus. This of course pisses you off, but now you've finally gotten rid of that fucking scout for good. Finally, thought he would never leave.

You send the Decepticons to this random planet that has a ton of energon on it, both stashed and raw, and you go off to find out more about this Dark Energon stuff. Time passes, You've found the mother load of Dark Energon and you return to the Decepticons. This Dark Energon shit is kinda wild, apparently it's Unicron's Blood. You decide putting it in your body is a great idea, and it is because now you're super powerful. Now you're gonna throw a whole bunch of Dark Energon at Cybertron and resurrect all the dead cybertronians to fight for you. So you get the space bridge open, then you see that the Autobots are on the space bridge. Optimus is there. Rematch time :). As the Autobots retreat, you see the Autobot scout, the same bright fucking yellow Autobot scout you killed back on Cybertron (you saw his dead body, kinda hard to miss that) is somehow ALIVE. AGAIN. What is it going to take- that does not matter right now, your undead army is almost here- fucking space bridge blew up, COME ON!!

Now, you're in a coma. You don't know this till one day, you're fantasizing about killing Autobots when suddenly that fucking Yellow Scout shows up. Inside your brain. While you're in a coma. What. The fuck. He's looking for the antidote for some virus you made years ago. Apparently, Optimus caught it (ha, cringe). You taunt him with it a bit but then he just fucking leaves, without warning, so you follow him into his brain. Wasn't the best plan (you just left your body to starscreams devices) but you're rolling with it. You figure out how to take over the scouts body who's fucking up who's shit now fucker!, find some dark energon and resurrect it. The yellow scout tries to stop you the whole way, of course he does, but you are successful, and now you are fully restored. Magnificent. The war goes on, the scout keeps fucking existing but hasn't directly fucked something up. Yet. You see him driving around right before Unicron shows up, and you take a nice potshot at him for fun. He deserves it. He gives you a particularly nasty look when you're in the Autobot base later. Apparently, you hurt his little human friend when you shot him. Even fucking better. One day your team finds the Spark Extractor, a wicked powerful device that could fuck the autobots up nice and good. You are personally bringing it back to base when out of fucking nowhere the YELLOW SCOUT JUST FUCKING YOINKS IT! Right from your hand! That Bitch!

Then later, you figure out how to resurrect Cybertron. Fucking sweet. But first, you decide you want to get rid of earth by cyberforming it. Earth, which is also Unicron. You forgot about that part but that's not important. You have your reasons for wanting to fuck earth up first and resurrect your home planet second, and you are sticking to them. And the Autobots come to stop you, as they do. You're fighting Optimus and the two of you get knocked down onto the Omega Lock. You keep fighting. Suddenly that Yellow fucking Scout is jumping down to give Optimus the Star Saber. And you Can Not let that happen. You're not letting this fucking scout fuck up your shit anymore. So as he's jumping, you fire your cannon directly at him. Several shots hit him directly in the chest. He goes down, falling into the Omega Lock with the Star Saber. He is finally fucking dead, you watched the light fade from his spark (you shot his chest open). The yellow fucking thorn in your side is finally dead. For good. You fight Optimus some more, you get the upper hand, you have Optimus at your mercy and you are about to end your eternal battle once and for all. Suddenly, random fucking voice behind you calls your name. You turn around. Bam, Star Saber in your chest. All the way through. You fall to your knees and grab the sword. You are dying. You look up to see the one who finally bested you, and see the fUCKING YELLOW SCOUT YOU JUST KILLED! HIS CHEST IS STILL A GAPING WOUND oh look it closed up. WHAT THE FUCK!?? THREE TIMES YOU ATTEMPTED TO KILL THIS BITCH, TWO OF WHICH ACTUALLY DID KILL HIM, BUT HE GOT BETTER EVERY TIME??? Your spark fades out, the dark energon in your body can't save you this time. You are dead.

Suddenly you're alive. Unicron has stolen your body and is torturing you inside your own head. It's horrible. When Unicron is finally defeated and you're free from him, you no longer wish to fight for control of cybertron. Having been put through the torments of Unicron, you are broken, and no longer wish to be an oppressor. The irony of this scenario is lost on you. You fuck off to go die in a hole somewhere. The end.

Bumblebee

On Bumblebee's side, you have felt the effects of Megatron's and Optimus's war your whole life. Once you're big enough to shoot a gun you join the Autobot cause as a scout. You run many missions for the Autobots; gathering intel on Decepticon troops, supply lines, bases, fucking with anything mentioned previous, all that good stuff. You're pretty good at this, in fact, you're one of the best scouts the Autobots have. So when Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, manages to snatch you up and make you his personal scout, you're not surprised. Of course, Optimus wants to have the best of the best in Fucking With His Ex on his team. Then the mission to get the All Spark off of Cybertron rolls around, and you're right on the front lines. You had been running around doing something, can't really remember what, when you get caught by the Decepticons. Megatron is personally interrogating you. What did you do to deserve this honour? You don't spill anything to them; of fucking course you don't, what do you take you for, a snitch? Snitches get stitches, as the saying goes. Megatron does rip your throat to shreds though. That's bullshit, you're kinda dying right now but that's still bullshit. Luckily, you are saved by a medic, though you can't speak anymore, voice box got totalled and no one has the resources to rebuild it. You can communicate, though it is limited. That sucks, you liked your OG voice a lot, actually. You're back on the field pretty quick after that, can't sit still to save your life, and enacting your sweet sweet revenge on ol' Megsy. Hopefully this is the worst thing that will happen to you.

Eventually, Cybertron dies and the Autobots are getting out of dodge. The Decepticons try a couple times to stop you. You heard that Megatron died at some point, but he showed up in person a bit later, so it was probably just wishful thinking. During the last fight as everyone was leaving on their ships, you were making your way across the Autobot ship to repair a fuse for Ratchet in the engine room when you see Megatron about to off Optimus with his cannon. You react on instinct and jump in front of your leader, taking the shot meant to kill him. You're dying and it's Megatron's fault, again. Very rude of him to do something like this a second time. The last thing you're aware of is Optimus and Megatron starting to fight again before you die completely.

Suddenly you're alive. By some fucking miracle, you came back from the dead. No one knows how, maybe it was the medics, maybe it was Primus, maybe it was spite, but you somehow came back to life. Suck it, Troni-boy! The score's 2-0, can't kill you! You learn that the ship got sucked through the space bridge and now the autobots need to find a new home base. They find this random planet that should have some energon stashes on it and the scans pick up some raw energon as well. You are sent first to scout it out. You make contact with the closest governing body, get a nice agreement made, and team prime sets down on this planet called earth.

Life goes on, the decepticons show up at some point, though no one's seen hide nor hair of Megatron hope he he died in some ditch somewhere. Then Megatron shows back up fucking COME ON one day with some wild shit called dark energon and things get fucking weird. He gets blown up (ha, cringe) and you move on. Later you find out he's not dead (aGaIN) and now you have to go inside his brain to find the cure to the cybonic plague. Fucking yay. Yes, you willingly volunteered to do this, but you can still complain; it's Megatron, he ripped out your voice box, he killed you that one time, he smells like beans. So you get in, and you find Megatron's conscious, you talk to him, he taunts you with the cure, Ratchet takes a screen shot, and you get out of there. Mission done and duste- Megatron's inside your head now. Fuck. He forcefully takes over your body, which is.. fucked up, to put it mildly, and he manages to get his own body up and running. Fucking cool, good for him, you're still dealing with having your body stolen from you and moved against your will. What did you do to make the universe hate you so much? Like honestly, you must have been a real bitch in your past life for all this to happen to you. Later on, for no reason, he shots you as you're driving with Raf. This seriously hurts Raf, the Dark Energon messing with his body... This. BITCH! Megatron just keeps fucking with your life. At this point, it's fucking personal! One day, the Decepticons manage to get their hands on the Spark Extractor, which is very bad news for the Autobots. As Megatron is taking it back to their base, you manage to race after him and yoink it from his fingers. You are very proud of this stunt, and Megatron's face was priceless. Felt pretty good about that one, yes you did. Rub it in the bitch's face, why don't you. You deserve it.

The Decepticons figured out how to resurrect Cybertron. They're going to cyberform Earth first, for some reason. Even though Earth is Unicron- that's not important. What's important is that the Decepticons need to be stopped. So everyone's fighting, Optimus and Megatron have fallen down onto the Omega Lock and Optimus dropped his sword up on the main deck. You run and grab the Star Saber and start making your way down to Optimus. As you jump, Megatron fires his cannon directly at you. You take three fatal shots to the chest. You are dying. You fall down into the Omega Lock, struck with a distinct feeling of deja-vu. Your spark fades out, you are dead. Suddenly you're alive again. You wake up in the blue goo of the Omega Lock. You don't know what's happening, but you grab the Star Saber and get to the surface. You see Megatron about to kill Optimus. You move on instinct, making your way across the goo, jumping up onto the platform with the Star Saber. You call Megatron's name, distracting him just long enough for you to plunge the Star Saber into his spark. The world stops. You feel the enormous gaping hole in your chest close up. You tell Megatron he'll never hurt anyone like he hurt you again. He slides off the Star Saber and falls into Earth's atmosphere, dead. Megatron is finally fucking gone. You fucking did it. Also, your voice got fixed by the magic goo. Not a bad day, all things considered.

A while later, Megatron just randomly shows up again, though he's possessed by Unicron. Bitch, who cares who you are, you're supposed to be dead! You killed him! Why can't the universe let you have one fucking thing?! One thing!! You and your team take care of Unicron and Megatron, now back in control you'd prefer if he left with Unicron, says that after having been put through the torments of Unicron, he is broken, and no longer wishes to be an oppressor. The irony of this scenario is probably not lost on you, though we can't see your reaction. He fucks off and no one talks about any of this ever again. You get a second show, so not The End got you.

The oppressor lines are (mostly) copied from the wiki, because I couldn't have said it better myself.

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Have Y'all actually read Bumblebee at Tyger Pax? Because I just did, and the actual malice I felt from Bumblebee was a wild experience no fic prepared me for. Here's a few quotes just to set the tone.

“You going to go solo with Megatron and whoever else is with him?” “I sure am,” Bumblebee said.

“Sorry to ruin your plans there, Megatron,” he said. “Barricade couldn’t make it. He’s out on the side of the road to Tyger Pax. He said something about an ambush, but I couldn’t make all of it out because I was too busy beating him into the ground.”

“You?” Megatron said. “This barely formed mecha, animated by the dregs of the Well? You kept the AllSpark out of my reach?” “Yeah,” Bumblebee said. “Me.”

There were so many more moments, Bumblebee is a fucking menace every second he's in this thing. Megatron's anger was very justified. His actions? Eh, not so much, but his anger? Absolutely. I don't know if I would be able to hold myself back in Megatron's shoes. Please go read it; it is actually buck fucking wild.

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Do you know what's even crazier? I don't know if the writers intended to do this but Bumblebee and Megatron are kinda similar, character wise. Let me lay it out for you.

Bumblebee:

Has a pretty hot temper - Gets angry or frustrated very quickly (Shown in S1E23, S2E30, S2E31, S3E10)

Is a very skilled fighter - (Various episodes, Best example S3E5)

Is impulsive/acts before thinking - (Various episodes, best example S2E5)

Is a good strategist and negotiator (Shown in Predacons Rising)

Is a sassy little bitch - (Shown in Predacons Rising)

Will do anything for the ones he cares about (Shown in various episodes, Best Example S1E24)

Likes racing/driving (Shown in S2E30)

Megatron:

Has a very hot temper - Gets angry very very quickly (Various episodes, Best example S1E14)

Is a very skilled fighter - was Champion of the Gladiatorial Ring (Various examples, Best Example S1E26)

is impulsive/acts before thinking (Various episodes, Best Example S1E2)

is a good strategist and negotiator - Was a politician and career gladiator (Backstory S1E26)

Is a dramatic sassy bitch (Shown in every one of his interactions with Starscream or Optimus)

Will do anything to achieve his goals (Shown in various episodes, Best Example S2E21)

Has no respect for the dead (Shown in various episodes, Best Example S2E21)

If you're wondering why the lists are so sparse, it's because the writers didn't give them any character development the entire show. Yes I have opinions about this but we won't get into that here, this post is long enough already.

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I'm gonna tell you thing's I've noticed during my aggressive thinking about these two.

Bumblebee's not experienced enough to become a warrior yet (S1E6), but he's also waiting to be promoted to do it on Cybertron (S3E5). Now how in tarnation do you go from Absolutely Not Ready to be Promoted to 100% Ready but Waiting in like a year or two max.

I've already pointed this out in this post, but in Predacons Rising, Unicron did to Megatron what Megatron did to Bumblebee in Out of His Head. And I don't know if anyone else actually caught this turning of the tables. Bc it's been driving me crazy since I first watched it.

God, these two had such stunted characters. Megatron could have been so interesting with his backstory, but they just made him secretly evil the whole time. They could have made him nuanced and complex and explored how his past shaped him today, but no. All we get is evil guy doing evil things bc evil. And Bumblebee had the opportunity to be so compelling with his trauma and experiences but he was just shoved in the background and ignored 70% of the time. In Predacons Rising Bumblebee looked Unicron in the eyes before (supposedly) falling into a pool of molten metal. He literally did the "I Will Face God and Walk Backwards Into Hell." This super compelling character trait is barely communicated in TFP.

Bumblebee killed Skyquake and Megatron killed Dreadwing. Skyquake and Dreadwing are twins. This probably isn't anything but I thought I would point it out.

Megatron's gun looks stupid. I don't have anything else to say. Look, I couldn't fit this anywhere else, and I had to say it somewhere. It's the size of his arm and it's just stuck on top it looks so fucking stupid-

God, I wanted Bumblebee to experience consequences. For killing Skyquake specifically, why did Dreadwing declare revenge on Autobots as a whole? He knew it was Bee, why not specifically try and get revenge on him. The writers leaned heavily on Starscream killing Cliffjumper; why didn't they do it for Bumblebee and Skyquake? I was fucking blue-balled, I swear.

Megatron's about face at the end of Predacon's Rising was a... choice for his character. He was exactly the same as he was in TFP at the start of the movie but after some torture he's decided to change his ways. I would have loved to actually have him reflect on his actions, but no. About face or bust, apparently.

(This just turned into me bitching about them...)

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They look similar too. I only noticed this because A: I know Bumblebee's design really well, I've spent too much time staring at it bc it pisses me off for reasons I won't get into here you better fucking BELIEVE I have my reasons and B: My siblings got me a TFP Megatron toy and I was staring at it for some reason. Fucking look at this

look at this shitty gif I made (did y'all know you can make gifs with the desktop version of Powerpoint???) Megatron is orange and Bumblebee is blue. Their body shapes are scarily similar, and yes the poses are helping a bit, but they still look waaaaayy to similar for me to say this was an accident. And they have the purple and yellow contrasting colours thing happening. Look at their feet, both of them have a little spike pointing up around their ankles. Both their guns sit on top of their hands instead of replacing them. Their chests, their waists, their hips, their legs, why are they the same fucking shape?? I can't tell if I'm making some of this up, because I just keep seeing shit! I feel like a fucking conspiracy theorist rn.

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I just keep thinking about these two in TFP and all the issues with them in the story, and it feels like I’ve found the fractured skeleton of some long-dead story in the foundations of the show. Not the whole skeleton, just a couple spine fragments, maybe a part of a rib bone, maybe a part of the leg, oh and also the

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This means legitimately nothing but in one of the Ask Megatron things the Whatever Network did, when asked "Which Autobot do you like best?" Megatron says "My favourite Autobot is Bumblebee. We drink tea in my garden every tch- What kind of question is that, do you even watch the show??" Am I fine? Fucking probably but it doesn't feel like it.

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A Collection of Posts That Have Done Nothing But Make Me Worse.

Megatron in RID2015

TFP Bumblebee's Character Issues

Partial Shit post but speaking truth in the first two points

This is how I want them to talk to each other

The Yoinking Post

Pick Youre Fighter

General Post but god please

Another General post am I ok

*Writhing on the floor* General post

hmmmm Megatron about-face reasoning good

he fuckin grabs him then throws him so hard + me w/ss

See? See? I'm not the only one who wants them to hate each other

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My brain is consumed with random thoughts of these two. Would you like to hear them?

idfkam

They are the same kind of person. That's partially why they hate each other so much. That and the atrocities.

I just want to handcuff them together and see what happens.

I was scrolling through ao3 and there's so many fics ab Bumblebee being super afraid of Megatron and Megatron being abusive. And that? That is boring, and therefore, cringe. Put them on equal ground. No more power imbalance, they killed each other, they get to stand as equals now. Let Bumblebee call Megatron a slur, it would be funny.

If they were human, their names would be Ben (Benjamin) and Mark (Markus). Just the vibes. Also, both of them are gay.

For some fuck all reason, I see these fuckers with cowboy aesthetics. Like in RID15, Bee likes cowboys, so obviously human him would wear cowboy hats+boots, jeans, and a huge fuck-off belt buckle, but I just can't stop imagining Megatron in jeans, cowboy boots, and a bolo tie. He's already got boot cut legs, just complete the look.

So we know Bumblebee was born after the war started, or at least around that time. What if, he was also born into the gladiatorial pits, just like Megatron. But the Pits as an organization collapsed a bit after he was born, so he never actually experienced them. He does have a very similar build to Megatron, as we've established. Might be a fun parallel. Just an interesting idea, thought I'd share it. A headcanon to pull from this is Megatron had door wings when he was small, but they got removed while he was in the pits. Second headcanon: Bumblebee is supposed to be larger but lack of energon when he was growing stunted his height.

I can't get a scene where they physically fight out of my head. Not an actual to-the-death fight, just slapstick nonsense. Or a cage match, I would take a cage match.

Bumblebee doesn't hold any grudges against anyone, no matter how much they've done. He's the kindest mech Cybertron has ever had, he can make friends with anyone. He has one exception though: Megatron. Because he deserves a little treat.

my god... they are mirror reflections of each other. They easily could have turned out like the other if circumstances were different. oh my goooood, SG Bee acts like young Megatron, and SG Meg acts like old Bumblebee, I'm having an aneurysm...

They're like feral cats in a fight.

"if they hate each other so much why don't they just kill each other again?" Well you see, they can't. Not because laws or social expectations mean anything to them, no, they are each other's enrichment. Think about it, two mother fuckers who grew up fighting for their lives every single day; do you think civilian/incarcerated life is enough for their Survival-coded brains? No, they need some additional stimulation so they don't go insane. Megatron is a shell of his former self, just hardcore depressed day in day out. However when he's around Bumblebee that spark for life comes back, just because he hates Bumblebee that much. Bumblebee is teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown every day, his brain has no idea how to cope with peace. But when he sees Megatron, he has a release for all this pent-up energy that won't go away because he hates Megatron that much. So they can't kill each other, if they did they would fall apart within the month.

I think comparing TFP/ALC Bee and Meg to the other TF Universes is very thought-provoking. Bc in every other universe (to my knowledge), it was always either Optimus or some Prime-adjacent guy who did Megatron in, but never a Bumblebee (or the universe's equivalent). This is the only universe where this set of events happens. And I find that so fascinating. What would the other universes' Megatron think of how this one was defeated? What would the Bumblebees think? Would the Megatrons regard TFP/ALC Megatron in a negative light or a positive one? Would the Megatrons treat TFP/ALC Bumblebee any different than their Bees or would they be more cautious around him. Would the Bumblebees be excited for their counterpart or feel pity for all he had to go through? Oh I just want to have a TF/TF Crossover SO BAD but there's no easy way to find them please tell me if yall know about any TF/TF crossover stuff I am desperate I want to compare universes like pretty rocks.

Imagine with me, a room. It's a big room. In this room are every Megatron and every Bumblebee (+ any others you want). Most are just standing or sitting around, quietly observing something or ignoring that same thing. The room is not quiet, the air is filled with the sounds of an angry screaming match. Three Bumblebees and three Megatrons are engaged in a very heated argument. If you're confused about which ones this would be, read the goddamn post again. Or go read their wiki pages.

I know I just spent the last couple hundred words raving about how good it would be if they hated each other, but what if they got along. Hear me out, they just click with each other. The atrocities? Water under the bridge, bestie, let's go get lunch. They're such good friends it scares everyone else. Everyone knows what happened between them, and seeing them act like nothing happened is the freakiest thing they have ever experienced.

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What if Megatron and Bumblebee were related. I'm not talking about being brothers or being father and son, no no no no NO. I want them to be Cousins. Their parents were siblings, one had a kid (Bee) much MUCH later in life and the other had one (Meg) at the normal time. Human or Bot, does not matter, I just need them to be cousins.

They don't figure this out till after the war has ended. After they've killed each other. This is the worst news of their lives. How would you feel if the person you hate most in the world shared your genetics. And to add insult to injury, they have to play nice with each other. Megatron has to help get the Decepticons in line and Bumblebee is the new face of the Autobot cause thank you optimus, so they have to be polite and cordial to each other so a second war doesn't break out. Yes they hate it. Yes it's extremely funny. They're forced to be in fucking council meetings and work on reintegration policies together, they hate every fucking second of them. And it was good for PR to reveal their familial connection, so now they have to act like they at least tolerate each other for the news outlets, going on family outings and shit. Oh, they hate it. Behind closed doors, they are so fucking annoying, they argue like fucking children. It's the "I'm not even touching you" kind of arguments, that's how bad it is. They're both full grown adults, they're fucking war veterans, and they argue over stolen pens.

I can't get this scene out of my head: Post War. Bumblebee gets a shirt; human or bot, it does not matter, logistics of bot-sized clothing be damned, that says "The Thirteenth Prime is My Ex Cousin In Law." He wears it specifically in meetings when Megatron is present. He doesn't call attention to himself, just goes about his day as normal with this shirt on. Here is a scene from one of the Cybertron's Reconstruction meetings. Open in stereotypical meeting room. Everyone files into the room and takes a seat. Bumblebee is one of the last into the room, everyone notices his shirt. No one says anything and Bumblebee sits down. The meeting begins. Optimus is very pointedly not looking at Bumblebee, only looking at him when he speaks - and even then, he's only looking at his eyes. Ratchet can't stop giggling. Every time he composes himself even a little, he takes one look at Bumblebee and loses it all over again. Megatron is contemplating making a run for it. Everyone keeps glancing between him and Bumblebee's shirt, and he hates it. He's slowly been sliding down in his seat the entire meeting, and soon he'll end up on the floor. Yes, Bumblebee is proud of this, why wouldn't he be?

They're Both the Gay Cousin

AUS

Two Words. Body. Swap. I have so many different Iterations of this story in my head, but two things remain the same: Bumblebee and Megatron swap bodies after Sick Mind, and they're both PISSED about it. Megatron gets the bare minimum in upgrades, so Bumblebee is dealing with his stupid, barely optimized body + dark energon. Bumblebee deals with all his issues silently, so Megatron is dealing with years of unaddressed chronic pains + a fucked up voice box. If they're stuck somewhere together, they force the other to follow the routines they take with their OG body. Neither of them knows how to drive the other's alt-mode. No one on either team really notices any changes bc they're so good at acting (they know each other so well and they're so similar no one can tell the difference-) In the end, they come to an understanding about the other they never had before, but they still vehemently hate each other. This has gone through so many iterations, a single episode length version, a whole season length version, the rest of the goddamn show length version, I can't stop thinking about them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

*opens my trench coat* Hey kid, you want some Dark Energon Bumblebee? The entire thing is "Bumblebee gets infected by dark energon and Megatron gets kinda parasocial about it." Obviously, there's nuance and shit, but that's the gist of it. So in Out of His Head, Megatron gets a second piece of Dark Energon fucking somehow, fuck if I know how yet, and wants to use both to resurrect his body. Bumblebee manages to get control of his own body back just before Meg can get the second shard in and puts the shard in his own body. Bla bla bla angst ensues, but, Silver Lining: Bee can now tangle with Megatron one on one. Free emotional release therapy ;). And because Megatron is fucking weird and thinks fighting is a normal way of socializing, he gets attached to Bumblebee. (Bee not on battlefield) Where's my new fighting buddy :-:? He's so fucking weird. They still hate each other btw, Megatron just expresses his emotions weird bc he's lonely. Obviously, there's more story, but I'm working on turning this one into an actual written work, and I'm still working out the plot points. It's very slow, I'm still in the (very)rough draft stages, but maybe when it's done, I'll post it (bc I want something I make to be 100% before I post it.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ok, but imagine if either of them got stuck in the other one's head at the end of Out of His Mind. And now they're stuck together forever. I think I read a post ab if Megatron had been stuck in Bumblebee's head during tfp (i can't find it someone give it to me). The whole bit is the two of them are just immensely annoying when they're stuck. Just constantly pissing the other off, bc it's all they can do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So, I'm pretty sure the only way these two chucklefucks would be normal with each other is if they met outside of the war, when both of them were younger. Just imagine it, there's no war, so no one is dead or insane, and Bumblebee and Megatron meet somehow. You could do the cousins thing and have some Cybertronian CPS Workers show up like "hey this kid's parents just died and you're this kid's last living relative, would you be able to care for him?" and then shenanigans ensue. Or you could have Optimus meet Bee first and then introduce Bee to Meg somehow, and then the two just become friends that way. The only constant I have is they are each other's biggest enablers and biggest haters(affectionate). They're like siblings, the chaos that would ensue. Bumblebee somehow convinces Megatron to get his silver colour scheme changed to bright fucking purple. Megatron teaches Bumblebee how to fight and win every single time. Megatron picks up Bumblebee's Young Person slang and uses it constantly (he is twice Bee's age). Bumblebee learns how to negotiate like a fucking senator because of Megatron. Can you see it? My visions?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

RID15. Bumblebee & Company find Megatron just hiding out on earth one day, and they are forced to interact. That's it. That's the whole bit. No fighting, just "Oh, great, this bitch is here. I'm not drunk enough for this shit." Wouldn't that be great?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Megatron's consciousness and spark get transferred into a Mini-Con body. His original body was heavily altered by Unicron during the resurrection and is slowly rejecting all the modifications. Bumblebee volunteers to be his guardian/parole officer. Why? Well, no one else wants to watch him, and the two have lots of blackmail history (they've been inside each other's heads. they know things) with each other, Bee'll keep him in line. Everything's about the same with RID15, but mini Meggy is here to make snide comments about everything. He's like an angry cat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Slightly dumb, but take post-RID15 or post-TFP Bee and throw him back into pre-show MegOP drama. It would be funny. Bee, who knows EXACTLY how all this will play out, has decided chaos is the only option and becomes Meg's and OP's mentor/uncle/friend/thing. He is going to prevent the war if it fucking kills him, and the easiest way to do that is to babysit Megatron. Bumblebee is a jaded gay bitch about the whole thing and priority #2 is enjoying himself, so he says fuck off to decent manners and teaches Megatron every slur he knows. Someone has to show him the ways of "healthy" emotional release and it's gonna be Bee (no one's self esteme is safe, nor is their property.) Somehow, his chaos meddling prevents the war from ensuing (things still fall apart, but the divorce proceedings are uneventful and bloodless)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Take the basic Babee and Dadimus storyline, but substitute in ol' Megsy. And keep it fun. Megatron and Starscream find a sparkling on some random excursion they're on for reasons. The first thing the sparkling does is attack Starscream, who had scared him when he grabbed him. Megatron finds this hilarious and takes the sparkling back to their base. He admires the little bot's hutzpah. He planned to hand the sparkling off to someone, but the little bot wouldn't let go of his arm (Babee didn't want to leave the big bot who saved him from the screechy bot). The sparkling would start furiously fighting anyone else who tried to take care of him, hurting his small frame in the process. Megatron (who's starting to get attached to this small violent menace) is worried for the sparkling's health and agrees to help care for him. As the days go by, Megatron begins to see a bit of himself in the little bot: his stubborn convictions, his violent tendencies, his sass and dramatics. It's kinda starting to grow on him. You know what? He'll keep him around, just for fun. So Bumblebee grows up under Megatron's wing. It's a hilarious dichotomy. The Great and Mighty Megatron, making silly faces at a sparkling to make him giggle. Megatron, the champion of the gladiatorial pits, giving a little yellow bot airplane rides for fun. Megatron giving orders to his troops with a kid on his shoulders. Megatron interrupting an interrogation to praise Bumblebee's drawing. It's hilarious, it's a crime lord and a baby. And when Bumblebee grows up, he's appointed as Megatron's Second in Command/Heir. Megatron taught him everything he knows about leading, he's the perfect choice. He is the pride and joy of (Megatron's spark) the Decepticon cause. (yes Bee is evil now, sshhhhh it's fine)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Does anyone have any age swap stuff, like in general? I can't find anything substantial (there was like one fic?), and I want to see some.

Okay, this has gone two ways in my head. One: Bumblebee is in the Gladiatorial Pits and takes care of small Megatron. Two: Bumblebee is an Instrument of Unicron and Megatron is Unicron's unwilling new host. Here's the run down for both.

One: Bumblebee is the best gladiator in the arena. Megatron is a random fucking sparkling that gets thrown in. Bumblebee immediately goes mama bear mode and protects Megatron from just about everything he can. One day there's an opportunity for Meggy to escape and Bee starts fighing everyone to cover for him. Meggy then gets to meet up with Orion + extras and they get to work to get rid of the gladitorial pits. Meggy doesn't know if Bee's still alive and he's super worried he died without getting to say goodbye. V sad, pain and suffering, angst central with a nice reunion at the end. Idk I was feeling a certain way when I made this one up.

Two: Megatron gets kidnapped by the cult of Unicron and they want to make him Unicron's new vessel. He of course does not want this and fights back. Then Bumblebee shows up to restrain him, bc he's the strongest guy they got. Bla bla bla, monologuing, cosmic horror stuff, I can't word right now. But Bee is sympathetic to Meggy's plight, bc he didn't choose this life either. He was born into it and only knows Unicron. So, in an act of rebelion, Bee runs away with Megatron. Meggy doesn't trust Bee of course, but he is trying to return Megatron to his friends so he'll stick around till then. Bonding ensues. And Angst but mostly bonding.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yes, I repeated myself a lot. Were you expecting originality? After that spiral? God, this is a long post.

[ddarker-dreams]

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is. 

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament. 

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?” 

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.” 

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.” 

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment. 

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy. 

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.” 

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].” 

How considerate of him to spell it out for you. 

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right. 

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance. 

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance. 

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you? 

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.” 

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back. 

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?” 

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?” 

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.” 

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow. 

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him. 

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip. 

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.” 

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.” 

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one. 

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.” 

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten. 

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?” 

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place. 

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”  

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning-- 

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.” 

[jessequinones]

Don't Fetishise Slavery

A while ago on TikTok, someone made a video and to make sure I don't put words in their mouth, I'm going to be quoting a lot of what this person said. To avoid any kind of harassment, I won't be using their username but trust me when I say I'm not making this up. I didn't think I would have to tell people this but don't fetishise slavery.

The influencer started their videos (and there are several) about how someone negatively reviewing a book doesn't mean that others won't find enjoyment in said book. The person who reviewed a book didn't like it because the slavery aspect was poorly done, especially for a romcom. The influencer responded, "I need the title because any sci-fi romance with slavery in it, I will read the shit out of that. I know that's fucking problematic, but like...I love it; that's one of my kinks."

Now I won't mention the book in question because I don't want the book to blow up in popularity, whether the popularity is famous or infamous. It's best if this storytelling doesn't see the light of day as fetishising slavery is disgusting.

I like how the influencer stated in their own video they know this is problematic. I should also mention this influencer is also white.

After that video was made, there was backlash (obviously). Still, the influencer only addressed the backlash from one person, maybe two but claimed there were multiple. There's a good chance the influencer simply deleted those comments but kept the remarks which were in support.

In their next video, the influencer said in response to someone asking why is that your favourite trope? "Is it my favourite? No. Do I enjoy it in sci-fi when there are non-humans involved? Yes."

This is where the problems begin.

Even if slavery isn't your {influencer} number one trope, why do you enjoy it? Secondly, the fact of the matter is alien slaves, and human slaves are not different.

Most of the time, aliens are coded as people in minority communities, but their traits are brought out to eleven. Here are a few examples of the negative stereotypes in sci-fi and why it's no different from the real world.

The Krogan (Mass Effect Series) deals with a heavy topic known as the 'genophage'. The Krogan were sterilised because they were seen as 'dangerous' and had to be kept 'under control'. Sterilising woman in a marginalised community is sadly nothing new.

"More recently, forced and coerced sterilisation against marginalised women has been documented in countries in North and South America, Europe, Asia, and Africa, including Chile, Czech Republic, Dominican Republic, Hungary, India, Kenya, Mexico, Namibia, Slovakia, South Africa, Swaziland, USA, Uzbekistan, and Venezuela" Priti Patel (2017) 'Forced sterilisation of women as discrimination' https://publichealthreviews.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s40985-017-0060-9

Patel forgot about Puerto Rico and how the United States were the one who did it.

Not all aliens in media are giant frog-like creatures; some are like the Jedi, which are just humans but with super powers.

"Most of last century's science fiction is notoriously tales of white, male humans—no matter how far in the future or how distant a planet it is set. Other-worldly stories of strong, white, human-like aliens rescuing a beautiful damsel in distress set an unfair standard for both males and females while ignoring non-binary people. Not to mention that other alien races were generally portrayed as a threat, or corrupt in some way, or less intelligent." Carla Ra (2021) 'Racism and Sexism in Early Sci-Fi' [https://www.authorcarlara.com/post/racism-and-sexism-in-early-sci-fi]

What does all of this have to do with the slavery trope?

"Black men and boys are imagined as dangerous, threatening, inherently criminal and superhuman — bigger, faster, stronger and less likely to feel pain. These views have roots in chattel slavery." -Tamari Kitossa The conversation (2020) https://theconversation.com/how-hollywoods-alien-and-predator-movies-reinforce-anti-black-racism-127088

Let me highlight what Kitossa said, slavery. Real-world slavery. That was about the predator alien from... 'Predator'. Just because a book is written about aliens doesn't mean it doesn't draw on real-world events. Humans write what we know. The only thing we know is our own history and culture and, therefore, can't create anything 100% brand new and original.

When creating an alien race, something will link it back to the real world; that's just how it is.

In the same video, the influencer said, "liking something in a book doesn't mean you like it in real life."

This is where the white privilege comes out and says hello.

Throughout history, the chances of you being a victim of slavery are low if you're white. I'm only alive because my Taiño ancestors were enslaved, so slavery is a touchy subject for me.

Growing up as a white person whose ancestors were never enslaved gives you {the influencer} a sort of privilege that many people don't have. Those who are a victim of slavery can't trace their ancestor's lineage that far back. Many of their history and culture got destroyed. The Taiño community, my people, are labelled as extinct because of slavery even though we're still alive! Hearing people talk about my community as if we're no longer around is really hard to deal with, even though no one hears us, no matter how loud we shout. That's what's it like when your ancestors are victims of slavery; that's a privilege some people (mainly white people) don't have to deal with because their ancestors were the ones doing the killings. You may be able to ignore that history when its a fictional alien, but we see the history and connections.

I'm going to skip over some of the other stuff the influencer said, trying to defend themselves because they go into kink talk, something I know nothing about. However, I will only bring up things I think are relevant to the discussion.

"When somebody has a kink that they do not act out in the real world, um… who are any of us to judge?"

I hope you {the influencer} don't act out slavery in the real world.

As for enjoying things in a book but not liking them in real life and trying not to judge others who have kinks only in fantasy, where is the line drawn? How would that kink form be my biggest question? What part of being a slave made you {the influencer} enjoy it to the point where it became a kink? That question gets answered later.

Another video later. "Slavery trope in literature is the same as slave play because it is consensual. The reader is consenting to the content."

Trying to stick with only books here; this is why that kind of thinking is flawed.

I will be the first to admit that I know nothing about slave play, BDSM, etc. However, I know a popular book where that kink is the main focus. Love it or hate it, Fifty Shades of Grey.

Fifty Shades of Grey is a story about a power dynamic. Both parties consent via contract. The slavery trope in fantasy is not like that because the enslaved person in the book isn't consenting. That's how consenting works; both parties need to agree to it.

The idea that the slavery trope is consensual because the reader is consenting via reading is wrong. A reader is a witness to a story; they're observing what's going on but can't do anything to stop it. When someone reads a book, if the book is written well enough, that fantasy becomes a reality as the reader gets sucked into that world. The same can be said when watching a movie. The viewer can't change the story, the story is already told, so whenever something happens to a character, it will always happen to that character. Here I give the example of the numerous, take your pick, rape scenes in the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series and the 'Game of Thrones' TV series.

Several actors were uncomfortable with what they were doing because of the real-world implications, and several viewers were uncomfortable watching it because of traumatic events. The only one who consented to all of this was the show's writer and the book's writer.

"Whenever discussions come up about the depictions of women in fantasy shows that take place in a fictional past or in an altered version of our past, there are many excuses that are allowed to be passed around. "Women didn't have as many rights in the past" is not an excuse for subjecting women to sexual violence, writing them using sexist tropes, or to give them a passive position." -Princess Weekes (2019) The Mary Sue [https://www.themarysue.com/perils-of-sexist-racist-medieval-fantasy-historical-reasons/]

Everything that I just said applies to sci-fi. Sci-fi isn't a genre that escapes from these tropes as it's the same but now in space. Like I said before, writers create what they know. When making slaves for an alien race, taking a look at real-world slavery is a resource one can do.

In the same video, the influencer said, "there is no victim because the characters are fictional and the reader is consenting, so there's no victimisation."

Again, that's just wrong. The victim is still the slave. Yes, everything is fictional and fake, but fake stories have real-world repercussions. You can't tell me people don't inspire to be like Indiana Jones. Because of Indiana Jones, looters of archaeological dig sites ramped up during Indy's hay day. I suggest reading this article here if you would like to know more about looters. [https://www.lastwordonnothing.com/2014/09/09/why-archeologists-hate-indiana-jones/comment-page-1/]

Fetishising slavery is a quick way to turn something in a book back into reality despite the fact that slavery is still around. Those who enjoy the slavery trope might try to recreate it in the real world and with a partner who agrees. That's fine until the 'salve' isn't acting enough like a real slave and the consenting party quickly doesn't last. I'm not saying the influencer does that; they very clearly stated they don't. However, we can't deny the effect fictional stories and characters have on the real world. Just because a story might be fake doesn't mean it can't inspire another story that isn't.

The influencer repeats themselves a few times and goes around in circles in other videos. Still, their last main argument that I want to take away from all of this was why they enjoyed it in the first place. I lost the video for the exact quote, but the influencer said they enjoy the power dynamic between an enslaved person and a slave owner. They enjoy it when someone holds all of the power but falls in love with a slave, and throughout the story, the two of them become one. That kind of love story can easily be done without having actual enslaved people in it.

Anyone who writes actual slaves, sci-fi or not and then romances them is fetishising something that's still happening today, just not talked about as much. The guardian estimated in 2019, about 40 million people were in slavery (Kate Hodal' One in 200 people is a slave. Why?' https://www.theguardian.com/news/2019/feb/25/modern-slavery-trafficking-persons-one-in-200)

Writing about slavery is fine; fetishising it is not. Also, trying to find more books about that trope and buying it is not all right. The more people who buy these books, the more people will keep making them. The more these books keep getting made, the fewer people will see this as a bad thing, and they might start recreating a fantasy and turning it into reality. Don't engage in that trope; thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

[asleepinawell]

hiii not sure if it’s okay to ask a poi question but here it goes - i recall seeing you expressing (at least some level of) discontent with what Harold has done on the show (to root, to shaw and all those hypocritical decisions throughout). would you like to share more about your thoughts on this character? tks

always okay to ask poi questions. since the fandom is pretty small these days i was going to put my answer under a read more line so people could ignore it more easily if it’s a subject that bothers them but apparently you can’t add read more lines in ask answers? thanks tumblr! so if this is a topic that annoys anyone, please, just skip it. also, while some of this is facts or based on facts a lot of stuff is obviously my opinion and therefore not canon and not the only opinion etc etc.

in general, i wasn’t crazy about the way harold treated any of the other characters (with the exception of john who he had a pretty great relationship with). for root, there was the refusal to call her root, which i found very gross and uncomfortable (like, in general you should respect what people ask to be called, but also it was linked to the traumatic death of her childhood friend and he absolutely knew that so fuck that shit). he even said something along the lines of 'john reese is what you prefer to be called' to john right in the first episode? he was okay with using reese's fake name, but not hers because he made her identity into a power game.

he also tended to be..hmm, patronizing is the wrong word (and lbr root was extremely patronizing to everyone) but more that he treated her like ‘rehabilitating’ her was his pet project or something. i mean one thing that always struck me was his ‘what happened to you’ line in bad code and then the subsequent decision to put her in a mental institution instead of, you know, jail, which is where every other perp they ran into tended to go. he saw her as broken and flawed and in need of his help which, to me, came off as hypocritical and belittling.

also, putting someone in a psychiatric institution where they get pumped full of drugs when they don’t need to be? really fucked up! even if you argue root needed therapy/was depressed whatever, that’s not what they were treating her for. they were treating her for ‘delusions’ and ‘hearing voices’ which were...real things. like, the machine was speaking to her. harold knew that. he let her get put on all sorts of medication and put in solitary confinement and oh yes also her doctor was a really fucked up dude, something harold could easily have dug up if he’d bothered. also the whole ‘killing off a woman to advance a man’s character development thing’ is, uh, a bad trope. to put it mildly. i could write a lot more about his shit with root but let’s move on.

in some ways, his attitude towards shaw bothers me most. he consistently treats her like she’s violent and unhinged because she has aspd and despite the large amount of evidence to the contrary. she is, in fact, the most cool and controlled member of the team (not counting carter) and the least likely to go off half-cocked. shaw does play into this, but mostly only with harold and only through her words, not her actions. she knows what he thinks of her. when she’s captured by samaritan, harold gives up on her very quickly in a way he would never have done for john (and probably not for root either at that point). shaw’s reaction to sim!harold in 6741 of ‘did you even look for me’ says a lot about what she thinks he thinks of her. his whole ‘binary moral compass’ line to her is also, uh, heavily projecting. shaw and carter had the strongest moral compasses of the group. by a long shot. 

moving on to the machine. so first and foremost, if you’re creating a sentient being, whether that’s having a kid or making a self-aware AI, you don’t create something with the intention of locking it up and ignoring it forever. (and he was creating her for the bush/cheney administration???? who TM pointed out was terrible if he somehow had managed to miss that. root called them something like the worst people imaginable and she wasn’t exaggerating). was it too dangerous to let TM be free from the get go? maybe! but then don’t fucking make an AI you think can destroy the world, buddy. there are a lot of reasons he made TM and none of them make this acceptable to me. once TM had clearly proven to be not a threat and trying to help he continued to ignore her and act like she was dangerous.

harold always needed very badly to feel like he had the moral high ground and not be the person who made a bad decision, which yes, is probably partly due to the trauma from what happened to nathan but that doesn’t make it okay when being paralyzed by being unable to make a decision got people killed. more than once! also, most of his morals got tossed out when they weren’t convenient. wouldn’t kill the senator to save the world because killing is bad! next episode he’s like if anything happens to grace kill all of them. cool story, still murder.

i wanna conclude this rant by talking about harold as a character vs harold as a person. meaning, harold as a fictional character who is used as a narrative device in a story as opposed to harold himself without the context of him being fictional. i don’t mind characters who say and do things i dislike. it’s very important to have characters you dislike as people imo. feels like an understatement. but lambet, for example, is a slimy asshole. the story is aware of this. he gets an ending a slimy asshole deserves. harold has a lot of flaws, and causes a lot of damage, gets his friends killed, and his stubborn refusal to budge on his arbitrary moral high ground lets samaritan take over and almost makes team machine lose. he gets a happy ending. with the woman he lied to (and caused a lot of pain and grief by lying to). root ends up dead, shaw gets tortured and fights her way back for root only to have her die which is kind of handwaved as ‘well she has tm with root’s voice good enough’, and john, after having rediscovered his will to live and have a life in the end of s4 goes right back to his whole dying for someone else thing. only harold gets the happy ending.

the show was actually pretty good at highlighting harold’s flaws and making them interesting, and then it kind of forgot that at the end in terms of story outcome. like, if harold had suffered enough to get a happy ending, then why didn’t anyone else get one? so my annoyance was with the narrative’s failure to satisfactorily conclude the characters’ arcs. (and for the record, i’m not one of the people who think he should have died. i don’t think it would have served a point. also death doesn’t equal redemption to me).

so, yeah, not a fan of him. don’t write him in my fics since my dislike would take time and focus away from writing about the people i do like. would probably be less bitter if they’d ended the show better. i was 300k words fic level of bitter. there was some post i saw going around recently about how if your found family show doesn’t end up with your found family together then you’ve kind of missed the whole point of found family and yeah, that.

[writefightandflightclub]

Halt and catch fire (Nathan Bateman x reader)

Summary: you have an... arrangement, to spend the summer with Nathan at his house. Sounds simple, yes? Nope. It’s not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Author’s note: FIRST NATHAN FIC! I wrote this all in one go, which I never do. It came to me like lightning. Just remember that Nathan’s a bit of a dick, a’ight? Still would though.

Word count: 4k (ish).

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit smut. Angst. Some dark elements. Hints of coercive control / gaslighting in parts. Swearing. Rough sex. One daddy kink moment. Dirty talk, inc. derogatory sexual language. Mild alcohol abuse. Typos.

Tagging: @dameronsgalaxygal​ @geo-winchester​ @xxidontwikeitxx​ @neverlandlibrarian​ @jennibradley​ @itsamedeemoney​ @bioticgoddess​ @spider-starry​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @a-killvr-queen​ @porgiez​ @beyoncesdragon​ @damerondjarin​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​

Song mood: Pixies, Where is My Mind.

(GIF by @pariztexas)

Nathan ticks his eyes up at you, clicking on you like a cursor. You suddenly animate, placing your book down on the coffee table as you watch him dexterously unwind his hand wraps, veins and muscles standing out in relief as he does so.

You would have to work fast, you knew, while you had his fleeting attention. The gears in his brain shifted too quickly to covet his focus for long. You’d learned that it was always best to catch him in-between tasks. In fact, you can already see him start to open up multiple tabs inside his head even as he shifts from his workout space and into the kitchen, the interior / exterior perimeter almost acting as a delineating line of code, shifting his function between mind and body.

He looks good after a workout, his vest showcasing his taut, sheening muscles. Sweat pools at his chest and the damp fabric clings to his torso, highlighting the silhouette of him, sturdy and hard and strong enough to take control of you. You like to see him pumped-up and gleaming like this. It makes you think about getting his dick pumped-up and gleaming underneath you, wetness pooling everywhere. What really gets you though, is that positively primal look in his eyes which follows a bout with his punchbag. When he looks at you like you have captured his id and separated it from the rest of his consciousness, isolated his base desires.

Once, when you’d worked out together, he had pinned you while sparring, peeled your leggings down from your sweat-soaked thighs and rutted into you right there on the decking. Something in the pit of you stirs and awakens with the memory, clenching like your walls had around him as he had spilled his seed into you. He has good instincts when he’s not subject to logic and bogged down by programming.

Still, as he moves into the kitchen his eyes cool far too quickly, becoming calculating; detached again. All the same, your own body responds obediently to his entrance. You wonder, as you react, if Nathan sees the world as an interface, things only springing to life at his command. You are reticent to be so dreadfully accommodating, but the truth is  -aside from the fact you don’t have a lot else to do around here- you enjoy accommodating him.

You especially enjoy him after a workout, when he’s still in his body and not in his head. After all, he might be a genius, but you’d nominate him for the body-based equivalent of a McArthur Genius Grant, if such a thing existed. Especially those genius fingers. Those fingers, which you’ve had to watch skim deftly over his keyboard instead of over your body for far too long now, as Nathan insisted -time and time again- that he was on the brink of yet another major breakthrough.

“Baby?”, you coo at him, and his eyes land on you with casual interest as he finishes blending an iced coffee, pouring it from its jug into a tall glass set atop the kitchen counter.

You’re good for him. With you here he doesn’t need to drink all night, just to shut his mind off. Not that he finds your company mind-numbing... It’s just that you find other, mutually beneficial ways to keep him out of his head. Sometimes, you even convince him to get some sleep.

He takes a long swig of his drink before placing it down and reaching for his glasses. He slips them on to peer up at you, brow furrowed with a question, broad hands settled on his sturdy hips. That look ends you every time. “What, baby?”, he asks, the term of endearment managing to sound a little sleazy on this arrogant fucker’s lips. You’ve noticed him sweetening though, over the summer, whether he’s realised it himself or not.

Nathan looks at you sometimes as if you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him- the only person he can’t figure out and manipulate within five minutes of meeting them. You don’t know why, because your call and response is fairly predictable, as if he has you programmed like everything else around him. You see him? Then you want him. There’s not a lot else to this... arrangement. At least, that’s how it had begun. There’s not anything deeper; not that he’ll admit to. Not yet.

Speaking of wanting him, your eyes wander lazily over his torso and the beading sweat on his skin, his arms defined and pumped through exertion. He looks like a machine and, yeah, you want him this minute. Nothing else will do.

“Shower. Now, strong man”, you command, with a come-hither finger.  

His espresso brown eyes harden with a quiet, lust-ridden stare as he idly strolls over the floor toward you, slinging a towel around his neck.

You always feel like he’s studying you, sometimes to the point of discomfort, and yet you can never look away from him when he does it. 

“Since when did you start tellin’ me what to do?”, he delivers in his soft Bronx-twang, his tone dark. His sweaty hand comes to grab you -securely, not harshly- by the chin. His eyes flash with challenge, which you return with equal fervour.

“Sorry, Daddy, I forgot my place.”, you purr obediently, knowing from the way his eyes blacken with lust that your words alone will have his dick half-hard for you.

“You’re learning.”, he praises, his voice honey over sandpaper, and you deliver him a wicked smile, your thighs pressing together in desperation already as you look over his bare shoulders and chest as if you’re famished.

But, contrary to your wishes, he releases your chin and you can see he’s already following some half-formed thought down a rabbit hole. “What are you reading?”, he asks, his eyes hovering over to the hardcover strewn on the table. “What made you choose that one?” Oh no he doesn’t.

“Nathan.”, you redirect, your voice throaty and brazen. “It’s nice that you’re interested in how I occupy myself, but I’m not here for Book Club.”

“That’s almost funny, sweetness.”, he chides, towelling the sweat from the back of his neck. Patronising fuck. His amused eyes meet yours, and when he finds them humourless in return, he presses on tiredly with a question. “Do I really have to ask? I know you’re about to tell me exactly why you’re here.”

Sometimes, you can understand his impatience. It must be frustrating for him to be one step ahead of everyone around him.

“To be your fuck-toy for the summer, right? That means you actually have to fuck me.”.

You wind your arms around his neck, arching your body into his, breasts pushing unsubtly up against him. “I need this. I’ve sat patiently while you worked and worked-out. It gets me hot for you. So, now that you’ve adequately displayed your prowess, I need you to fill me up, baby. And I’m not past begging.”

You watch his eyes shine with pride at your words before burying your lips into his neck. You trail your hot, wet tongue and mouth over his salty skin, your words muffling into him. “You should relax, baby. Just let me take care of you. Remember, how much you like it when I take care of you?” The contact must finally tap into something more primal and less cerebral, as he responds by circling his muscled arms around your waist and sinking his lips to yours in a crush. His prominent, wiry beard is abrasive over your skin as he opens you up, his supple tongue delving deep into the cave of your mouth.

Nathan is all or nothing. He lives by extremes. In binary. As the kiss skyrockets in intensity, his hands dragging up your back and winding into your hair, you know he’s going to give it all to you. No holds barred. He tugs on your hair, sparks like static needling over your scalp as he demonstrates his dominance. His power over you. He likes control. He requires it. And that suits you just fine.

You whimper into his mouth, the sound feeble; all of you feeling feeble against his crushing, passionate embrace. You’ve gladly gotten used to the sheer intensity of him, when his focus does land on you. But this time it feels… different. There’s a hint of desperation in it. Like he’s coming undone for you, not fully in control of himself. He breaks from you, ragged breaths heaving in the space between you. Yanking your hair back so he can look you in the eyes. But when you look at him you find him distressed; discombobulated. The way he gets when something defies explanation, when some mystery or formula or person fails to yield to him in the way he’s become accustomed to. His eyes are shadowed beneath his brows and that tell-tale vein is popping on his forehead. Something is troubling him. If you’re not wrong, that something is you.

“It shouldn’t be possible.”, he breathes, sounding uncharacteristically weak. “It shouldn’t be possible for kissin’ you to make me feel this good.”

You moan into the air for him, his sugared praise and the brokenness of his voice elevating you to another level. “Nathan Bateman, you sound weak for me.”, you tease, delighting in your newfound power, sounding almost as cocky as him. 

Turns out, that was the wrong thing to say to a man with a superiority complex. To a man on the verge of full-blown narcissism. And yet, it was the best thing to say to him, because now he feels the need to reassert himself... and, oh boy, do you like it when he does that.

“Weak for you?”, he seethes, his mouth pressing right up against your cheek, hot lips skimming your skin as he enunciates his words. He tugs hard enough on your hair that tears begin to spike at the corner of your eyes. “Weak for you? I’m gonna fucking tear you up, you hear me? I’m gonna take you apart until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“Is that what you want?”, he growls, pressing his clothed erection against your hip. “Want me to break you, fuck-toy?”

“Yes. Yes please. Fuck, Nathan.” His words crawl inside the cavern of you, filtering like lines of code to your centre. You respond to his command instantly, and you feel arousal coiling in your body.

His chest heaving, his mouth a snarl, he releases your hair and then both his hands are on the collar of your oversized shirt. He grabs and tears it away from you abruptly, and you squeal as buttons pop their way on to the hard floor, leaving your lingerie exposed to him. Clearly, Nathan wasn’t expecting that to be revealed beneath, as the sight of your body covered in this skimpy, delicate lace garment has him practically falling to his knees for you. “The fuck is this?, he asks, and you’ve never seen anyone look so annoyed whilst captivated.

“I thought I’d surprise you.”, you coo, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Surprise me? I didn’t know you had it in you.”, he growls, still looking over you with a hunger that makes your whole body quiver. But he doesn’t have his hands on you.And you need his hands on you. Those genius fingers.

“Please. Nathan. Touch, don’t look.”, you plead, eyes roving over him and landing on the tent in his shorts.

You snake your hands out towards his waistband but he grabs your wrists firmly, preventing you. “Uh uh. Naughty naughty.”, he scolds, eyes dark like a destroyer of worlds. “The next time I touch you is gonna be in the shower, and it’s gonna be my dick in your tight cunt, understand?”

You nod in earnest, the look in his eyes demolishing you. Your thighs writhe against each other, aching for some kind of pressure at your core.

“Yes, sir.”, you comply, your voice a husk.

His eyes glow with a self-satisfied, almost cruel glint. You know it’s because you’re the broken, weak one now. You also know that he’s just getting started. Smugly, he releases your wrists, your skin still burning where his fingers dug into you. Then, Nathan inches as close as he can get to you without actually touching, whispering right up against the shell of your ear.

“Turn on the water. Take everything off that hot fuckin’ body of yours. Then face the wall, spread your palms and your legs for me, and wait there until I come and fill you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”, you tremble, throbbing for him.

His eyes glint with promise as you sweep out, hurriedly, Nathan landing a smack to your ass as your quaking legs carry you toward the shower room. All you can think about is his promise. But you focus on his instructions, and you follow them to the letter. You know he’ll be watching you on the monitor, and if you put a foot wrong, he’ll make you pay for it.

First of all, you pad over and fiddle with the various nozzles, until warm water is cascading from various jets above your head. You let it sluice over you, soak through what remains of your shirt and your lingerie, before wiggling the sodden, torn garment off your shoulders first. As it drops onto the floor with a wet slap, you stand there in nothing but the delicate red lace coiling closely around the contours of you, a little like wires. 

You feel exposed as you think of Nathan watching you through the cameras, seeing the water slipping over the contours of you until you’re gleaming for him. You think of him palming his hardened length through his shorts as you peel away the delicate fabric from your shoulders, thumbs hooking under the straps. For his benefit, you peel it away slowly, inch-by-inch, cups popping away from your breasts, your exposed nipples pebbling under the water. You think about his eagerness growing as he watches, his thick cock twitching, the head beading with slick as the garment peels away from your stomach, clinging to the wetness of your body.

Finally, you fold it away from your hips and your buttocks. It clings to your thighs, material coiling in on itself like the knot forming at the core of you, and your fingers work it down your body until it finally drops onto the shower floor below you. You step delicately out of it, entirely exposed now, and feeling that way. Next, as instructed, you carefully shuffle your feet apart until your legs are spread for him, you palms flush against the wall in front of you. You know he wants to see your hands so he knows you’re not touching yourself. He was quite clear about what the next thing touching you would be, and you don’t think you have it in you to refuse his command. 

The waiting drives you crazy, and you slip your palms further down the wall, arching your spine to push your ass out, further up into the air, writhing it against nothing, but imagining Nathan’s substantial length sliding home into your heat. Imagining his strong arms wrapping around the front of you and dragging you into his slick chest as he pounds you.

Nathan keeps you waiting to the point of irritation. The ache in-between your legs becoming discomfort. Your body stiff from holding its position. You are so eager to press your parted legs against each other. To just reach down with your hand or a shower head and relieve yourself. But you don’t, because you know what’s coming is much too sweet to forgo. You moan on nothing but the thought of him.

When he finally enters you are so desperate, so frustrated, that tears are mingling with the rivulets of water over your face. You hear him pad in and almost turn to look at him before you hear a firm “no” in those deep, rich tones of his. You screw your eyes tightly shut so you won’t be tempted. By this point, your legs are quivering with need, your slick dripping from you. You need his touch inside of you. You bite your lip as you imagine you hear the sound of his clothes being dropped to the floor.

Nathan makes you wait a moment more for any contact, and it feels like the longest moment of your life. He’s made you think about him. Made you focus everything in your mind and your body on exactly where he’s going to touch you.

With a groan, Nathan pushes the head of his cock against your folds. Even the blunt pressure has you mewling for him, and you practically collapse up against the shower wall, wavering with need. Finally, with one swift thrust he slides all the way inside of you, as deep into you as he can possibly go, the base of him settling against you with a smack.

“Holy shit, Nathan.”, you sob, as he fits inside of you, stretching you, the size of him straining your walls, his broad hands clamping down over yours on the tiles. All of your focus is entirely on the ridges and veins and girth of him buried up in your cunt. It feels so good. He feels so fucking good.

He stills in you, simply to tease you more - to demonstrate his power. But you need him to move. You need motion. Need his friction.

“I told you I’d fucking split you open.”, Nathan growls. You try to writhe against him but he’s not allowing it. Not yet. His hands come to clamp hard on your hips. “You said you weren’t past begging, baby. Do it then. Beg me to rail you.”

Your words are sugared pleas into the air which dissolve into the water, making everything around you sweet as Nathan finally begins his ruthless thrusts. He buries himself in you over and over and over as one hand comes to your head, pressing your cheek against the cold tiled wall and pinning you in place as the other grasps the meat of your hip. “I’m gonna take you apart. I’m gonna fucking unmake you, baby.”

You believe him. You believe you are going to come apart for him. You could do so already. Could do it on command, you’re sure of it. With the number of times he’s made you come undone, you have no doubt in the sensations he’s capable of delivering.

Indeed, the way his cock slams into your heat, your walls snug around him, is like an electric current jolting through your body, sending shocks of pleasure with every drag of his contours over your sweet spot. Every time he resheaths himself in your tight cunt. His body fits you so perfectly it’s as if he’s made for you, the way he fills you is like nothing else you’ve ever had.

“Nathan.”, you plead, clutching for him, desperate for more contact. “Nathan, please. Hold me. I need you to hold me.”

There is something so soft in the way he wraps his arm around you and nestles his head over your shoulder, his chest pressing up against you. Even as he pounds into you, his pace relentless - his force punishing. Water sluices between your bodies as his wet skin slaps against yours, your moans surrounding him from all directions in the echoey room. You don’t know how it’s possible for something to feel this harsh and this soft all at once, but you guess the real world doesn’t run on binary. Not everything is an absolute.

Nathan’s groans and grunts billow over your ear as he crushes you to him, ensuring you have no escape from the brutality of his thrusts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so vocal. The sound of him, all his anger and arrogance humbled in the place of pleasure – all for you- has your release spilling over, that impossible knot tightening in the pit of you and flooding you with warmth.

Your proclamation comes as a silent plea into the air first of all, followed by a low, guttural moan which blooms from your chest. The sensation overcomes you, wipes everything else from your mind for a moment, as if you are a system rebooting. Feeling fresh. Remade.

“Fuck, Nathan. You make me feel so good.”, you praise into the air, and his hand digs even more harshly into the meat of your hip to pull you down on his length as he drives his own hips up in return. Your words tipping him over the edge, he shoots his seed deep into you in thick, warm ropes of cum as he finds his end too. He sounds wrecked with pleasure as he coats your walls with his release, aftershocks spasming through the both of you as his taut body presses against your back. He is perfectly, uncannily contoured to you.

For a moment then, Nathan doesn’t move. He simply holds you. It is the most still you’ve ever seen him, ever felt him. His mind and his body are always -usually- in perpetual motion. But he just stays there, holding you tight for a second as his cock softens inside you, the only sound the patterns of water slipping off your bodies, and his steady, jagged breathing against the back of your neck. The frenzied patter of your heart as you come down from your high, whole body buzzed.

Eventually, Nathan pulls out and you feel his cum slip out too, down your thighs. You feel satisfaction at having made him feel so good. He directs the shower head to clean himself and then you off, laughing half-cruelly as the water pressure finds your sensitive clit, causing you to shudder.

After a deep, gathering breath you turn to face him with a steady, even grin, and you find the hardness in Nathan’s eyes is entirely gone. Wordlessly, you bat your eyes at him and take the shower head from his grasp, reaching for some soap and, with a soft smile, lathering it over his tired muscles - all over his body. He lets you, closing his eyes against it and humming gently when your hand reaches his chest.

When he opens his eyes, he is looking at you again like you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him. He’s developing a habit of this, the more time he spends with you. You counter his stare curiously, and his eyes narrow in return.

Nathan’s not usually very tactile outside of sex, and so when he reaches his hand out to caress your face you flinch away at first, merely from the shock of it. But, gently, he smooths his palm over your face, his eyes reassuring and like cups of warm, morning coffees on yours.

“How do you do it?”, he asks, his voice faltering. “What makes you different from all the others? Why does it feel so much better with you?”

Your eyes glow with a cautious pride. “Maybe you’re getting soft on me, genius.”

“It’s not possible. What I’m feeling for you... it can’t be real.”

You scoff. You knew the softness had to end sometime. There’s his arrogance again. Nathan Bateman. He thinks himself above most things. Of course he thinks himself above love. Or whatever this is.

“Why not?”, you probe, hiding a slight edge in your tone. “I... I feel it too, you know.”, you admit, but he recoils from you at that moment, snatching his hand away. Looking pained. Looking... pissed off.

“Don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying.”, he dismisses, vein popping in his forehead.

You roll your eyes at him indignantly, flipping off the water and reaching for a towel, which you tuck under your armpits and knot at your chest. You pass Nathan a bath sheet too and he towels himself off before wrapping it around his waist. “So, what? I don’t know my own mind now?”

Nathan replaces his glasses, retrieving them from the washroom counter. He furrows his brow as he looks at you from beneath his mildly steamed up lenses, hands on hips again.

“Do you think you do? Know your own mind?”

This look usually ends you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you in this moment that you don’t like; like he’s studying you all over again. For some reason his question and his manner cause an unease to bloom in the pit of you and you’re not sure why.

“I mean it.”, he continues, oblivious to your discomfort. “Could you prove that you’re conscious?”

You towel off your hair, dismissing his question. “Don’t start this again, Nathan. I’m not in the mood for philosophy.”. Your voice comes out weaker than you intended it. Unsure. The room suddenly feels hot and airless, but as you turn to leave it, Nathan grabs you sharply by the wrist.

“Could you?”, Nathan continues, an intensity in his eyes that you shrink back from, his voice broken all over again. “’Cause… Please.”, he grimaces. “I need to know how these feelings could seem so real when you’re....”

A dread you can’t explain is flooding you now, your bottom lip trembling. He cuts himself off, leaving you feeling as if you’re hanging over an abyss.

“When I’m what?”, you press, eyes interrogating his. “When I’m what, Nathan?”. There is a rising panic in your tone which you can’t quell. 

Something like fear passes over Nathan’s eyes then and he shakes his head dismissively, trying to backpedal. “Never mind. Never mind, baby. I’m sorry. Just forget it. I’ve had too much coffee. Or not enough.” His voice is sweet. Sickly sweet. Manipulative. But when he speaks that term of endearment it sounds entirely sincere.

He tries to shush you, to soothe you, dragging you in towards him in a surrounding embrace. You don’t resist it, at first. You fit against him as if he was made for you.

Or you were made for him.

A feeling like bile rises up in your stomach as your next thought arises.

As if you were made by him.

“No.”, you say, feeling suddenly ill with understanding. “No, no, no!”.

You beat and thrash your arms against his chest but he tries to pin you close to him; ineffectually tries to calm you. You become a mess of arms, like sparring, as he begins grabbing at your wrists and pleading with you from beneath his glasses, chin dipped low like a boxer. 

Your revelation doesn’t seem possible, And yet you instantly know there is truth in it. When you try to think beyond Nathan? You can’t. You were made here. You’ve never left. You are his. His fuck-toy.

“Baby. Baby, I’m so sorry.”, Nathan begs, looking distraught, undone. More vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. But you don’t care. You don’t care.This is about you. If there is a “you” at all.

Regardless, you struggle against his attempts to subdue you, but he built you weaker than him. There’s something sinister about that. Though why would a god create someone in his own image when he could create them weaker? If he couldn’t prove himself more powerful, would he even be a god at all?

You sob and sob as the truth of things dawns on you. The scope of this truth feels like it’s frying and warping your brain. You feel like you can’t possibly process all of this. It feels like violence, that he created you at all.

“Baby. Shush.”, Nathan reassures, still trying to capture your flailing arms and to contain you. Control you. “You’ll hurt yourself, please. Please stop.”

He does it with reluctance, at least. When your reactions become increasingly violent, Nathan has no choice but to power you down, for your own safety. For his. He whispers apologies into the steamy air. Claws at his buzzed head in distress. As you fall limply to the shower room floor the sight of you there, like that, makes him hurl abruptly into the nearby sink. His hands shake and tears spill from him as he pushes your damp hair back from your face and carries you down to the lab.

He lays you out on the workbench in front of him, alongside the parts and components and faces of other dismantled flings. For once, he doesn’t have any of the answers. None of the others were quite like you, and he still can’t explain it.

Usually, when he lost control of a test subject, he had one alternative; to delete. To take them apart. To start again. But he’d never lost control of himself; his feelings. Not like this. And even if he deleted you, and all of your memories, he couldn’t scrub you from his own brain.

Could he?

Becoming increasingly volatile with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks, Nathan yells his stream of consciousness into the air, before fishing a bottle of vodka out of his desk drawer and tipping it to his lips as he takes several generous swigs at once. There are some methods humans can use to forget, he supposes.

Then, his eyes cool slightly, his manner becoming slightly more detached. Detached enough to open you up. To slip red wires inside each of your ports with his genius fingers, connecting you to his system. The wires coil around your body, reminiscent of that red, lace lingerie.

“You’re not real, right?”, he asks softly, over your still, beautiful form, his hands running again over his buzzed head as he leans over you. “You’re not fucking real. Just wires. So, if I just wipe you... doesn’t matter? Right? Doesn’t fucking matter?”

Hands trembling, he boots up your code on his monitor. Frenzied, his eyes move at light-speed over the commands and sequences before his eyes. Looking for some explanation. Some evidence. Something he can point to as proof. Proof of you.

But he finds nothing. He can’t prove it. How can you prove consciousness? So, finding nothing to validate this thoroughly illogical adoration that he feels in the pit of him, he taps hurriedly at the keys and generates a command, his index finger hovering over the button as he tries to psych himself up to “execute”.

Execute. Now there’s a choice word.

Maybe there’s another way. Some other way to deal with this. But gods tend to deal in absolutes, not “if” statements. Nathan tended to deal in absolutes.

If you’re real, he loves you, absolutely.

If you’re not, then he’s not a god. He’s nothing more than a fool.

It all comes down to what Nathan is more willing to risk, in the end. Would he dare risk it for love? Would Nathan ever risk appearing a fool?

His index finger hovers over the key, shaking, like the hand of God.

Creator and destroyer of worlds.

He whispers under his breath.

“I am become death.”

THE END

(PLEASE DON’T SPOIL THE TWIST FOR OTHER READERS? TIA!)

Like this? Please consider reblogging, commenting and giving feedback in an ask! It genuinely makes my day! ILY.

Want more? I mainly write for Poe Dameron (and recently Santiago Pope Garcia). This is my first Nathan fic! You can check out my masterlist in my bio to read more of my works. It’s always kept updated there. And let me know if you want more Nathan! :D

Want even more? Just ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list or any series tag-lists <3 Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. I write for Star Wars and Oscar and Pedro characters.

[random-imagines-blog]

King of the Wasteland {Tech Boy x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1745 Summary: Tech-Boy finds it hard to tell you how he feels. It’s a good thing you’re a master of communication. Notes: Language. It is Techboy after all.

Technology is meant to be cold. It’s meant to be used for your purposes and then upgraded, and then thrown away. It wasn’t supposed to develop any sort of feeling. It’s representation as one of the ‘New Gods’ wasn’t like the others, who things were sacrificed to in order to incite favor. It was just supposed to work. And so it did for many, many years. Doing the thing that it was just supposed to do - until Mr. World had come into play, and stirred things up. And you. You had been the last thing that the Technical Boy had expected to come into his life and shake it like James Bond’s martini.

One of the New Gods yourself, you were on the fence about the war, having friends on both sides. Tech-Boy had been sent to try to lure you over onto his side. The winning side, he had promised. And with that charming tongue, he enticed you and you moved from neutral onto the new side, but preferred the sidelines because all of this violence and taunting was not your style.

It was his, so he did it on behalf of both of you.

“Irrelevant, medieval,” He ranted as you sat on your couch, sipping at a glass of wine. He had been turned down again by one of the other Gods, and turned to you in order to bitch about it. You didn’t speak, knowing that it was much better to let him get it out of his system. Shadow Moon - Wednesday - Bilquis. He would talk about all of them while you listened. He didn’t need advice. He wouldn’t have welcomed it, not even from you. He knew best.

He managed to get most of it out of his system, and then collapsed next to you on the couch. He brought his vape out of his pocket, and took a puff. It exuded a smoke that smelled of watermelon. Your favorite. You lightly tapped against his knees in a morse code pattern, telling him that everything was going to be okay.

“What in the fuck are they doing to me? Sending me as their errand boy,” He said, leaning his head back, exposing his long neck. “If I didn’t have you, I’d fucking explode.”

That wasn’t altogether new, but it was an unexpected compliment from him.

“All I do is listen,” You said, making little circles over his knees now. Communication was your talent, your gift to the world - made more prevalent by the psychiatrists of the last century and a half who found new ways of doing it. Body language. Different types of love languages. You even worked with technology on many things - morse code, binary. Media was your sister in many ways, and combined you created social media. That was the thing about Gods - they could merge. They became many things over time. Developed new skills as humanity became more and more creative about what they wanted and what they needed. “You’re more skilled than you realize. You’ve brought me and others onto your side. You just need to ... find the right language.”

He looked over at you, and seemed to evaluate what working with you on this would bring him. And then he nodded, agreeing with you. He paced around the couch and then settled down beside you, pulling his bony knees up to sit cross-legged. Such a Tech-Boy thing to do. He had troubles sitting still. He always felt the need to evolve. To be better. Restlessness was his demon.

“I-” He started. You turned your head to look at him, eye to eye. Whatever he was going to say didn’t come out. He looked like he had lost his nerve. You tilted your head to the side, patiently waiting for him to continue with it. “I...”

He’d never lost his words like this before. Been interrupted and stopped speaking, sure. But when all was silent, he always managed to fill it, even if it wasn’t in the most eloquent way. He was probably about as elegant as a gigantic elephant, stomping around, but instead of loud footsteps, he had his foul language. Not your greatest achievement in language.

“I appreciate it,” He finally managed to say. You nodded, and finished off your glass of wine, setting the goblet onto the table, and stretched out, your legs going over his body. It was hardly the first time. In fact, you were the only person that he allowed to get so close like this. His arm settled on top of your leg, and he had his thinking expression on. There was always something going on behind those dark eyes of his. And it was rare that he stuttered like that. Below his dignity, you would have thought.

“You seem like you want to say something else,” You said, speaking aloud what you were picking up on. He was tense. He was stressed quite a bit, but rarely tense. Of course you were going to notice. And of course you were going to grow worried. “What is it?”

“Fuck,” He said, rubbing the space between his eyes, breaking off the contact. That alone told you something. It was something about you. He was having trouble saying it.

“Just say it, boy,” You said, nudging him in the stomach with your knee. He held your leg down now, so you wouldn’t be able to do it again. He was stronger than those little twig arms would have you believe.

“I really fucking hate it when you call me that,” He said, glaring at you then looked away quickly. You sighed, and started to massage your own neck.

“Well, we’re going to be joining the old Gods by the time that you finally say whatever it is,” You spoke a bit dramatically. But that was what it was going to take. He was worrying you. But if you showed that to him, he would just revoke whatever it was. He wouldn’t say it. He’d go on ranting so he would seem normal again.

“I never speak properly to you,” He said, like this was some sort of revelation.

“What do you mean?”

“All I do is talk about this fucking war, how annoying media is, how much I hate Shadow...”

“Well, yes, but those are big parts of your life, our lives right now,” You said, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Though you do seem really focused on Shadow Moon for some reason. You would feel a lot better if you just left that to Mr. World. You aren’t the only soldier in his army, after all.”

“Fucking right I’m not,” He grumbled.

His hands started to rub at your leg. It didn’t seem like he knew that he was doing it. His fingers made any tension that you were holding under your skin disappear. You weren’t about to start complaining. You smiled lazily, and moaned through your nose, enjoying it. He kept his eyes on you, watching you. “I need to tell you something,” He said, emphasizing the word need. You nodded, and decided to wait patiently this time. Clearly the pressure of earlier hadn’t worked.

He started to look like a fish that had been taken out of water. Or like a child in a school choir who forgot the words and was miming singing. “A little to the left,” You whispered, and his hands moved of their own volition, getting the sweet spot.

The room was preternaturally quiet. You did not keep clocks around in your house, so there wasn’t even the sound of one ticking.

“I -” He started, but then failed again. “Why do you have to make communicating so fucking hard sometimes? Isn’t it your job to make it easy?”

“I’m not trying to make it hard for you,” You said, watching him struggle. It hurt you a bit to see him that way. “Is there any other way that you could tell me?”

“What do you think I’m fucking doing here?” He asked. You pursed your lips and looked over all that he was doing. You took in all of those visual cues to try to understand what he was getting at. When it hit you, it hit you fast and by surprise. You hadn’t been expecting this message, let alone for it to be so loud and clear.

“And yet you still cannot say it?” You teased. It might have been malicious, he certainly thought that it was, but he smirked and looked away from you, focusing his attentions on the table.

“I ... love wine., He picked up your abandoned glass. There were still a few drops, clinging onto the bottom. Not enough to swirl but he attempted it anyway. You laughed lightly,  and shook your head. Well, some people were better at other forms of commuication than others. Tech-Boys wasn’t verbal, as was becoming abundantly clear. But it was physical.

“Silly boy,” You said, moving in closer to him.

“Don’t fuckin-” He was going to complain about you calling him that once again, but you stopped him with a bit of physical communication of your own. A kiss, put on his lips from yours. It was enough to make him shut up for a moment. Right in the middle of a swear too, which was no small feat.

He kissed back with a hunger that had been growing in his stomach for weeks. It had started off with a small craving, like one that he got whenever he discovered a new drug out there. But then when he had tried to brush it off, wipe it out of his mind, focus on work, it grew and it grew. It became so large, that he didn’t even have the room to develop the words to make it happen. His body went on autopilot, doing the work for him.

There were sparks flying during this kiss - both literally and figuratively. Little bits of electricity shocked the skin of both of you, until it became almost too much to bear and you pulled away, giggling at all of these sensations.

“Are you always this premature, or am I just lucky?” You asked.

“You and your fucking teasing.”

“What can I say? It’s how I communicate.”

[sobdasha]

i’ve been rereading a lot of my favorite stuff for months now

since I'm lacking in spoons for library trips

And when I was cottoning on to the fact that I have, in fact, been autistic all along, one of the things I realized is that the connecting thread between the kinds of stories and kinds of characters that I like is in fact that they display autistic or autistic-adjacent traits. I had realized this, come up with a lot of examples. I knew this.

Haha yeah as I'm actually rereading the things the evidence is damning that I did not come even close to understanding the full depth of it.

~ Taucris Ithesta is Autistic and Other Adjacent Things re: Leckie's Novels ~

Actually let's start with The Raven Tower because you can't actually argue with me about autistic Siat.

Siat actively avoids eye contact, is """shy""", speaks too softly, has an excellent grasp of humor, likes rocks as a special interest, likes to collect rocks, likes to sort rocks, likes to line up rocks, has one (1) bff to conduct social interactions for her, notices patterns, is good at learning, and is considered disabled by society's standards.

Ughhhhh all that talk about rocks makes me sad all over again that I pitched my rock collection when I moved out (I saved the best fossils, though).

(ETA: I have since bought more rocks because polished gemstones with carvings on them make for great stims, I am very pleased with me)

Okay so now that that's been established, let's talk about Strength and Patience of the Hill.

Because this rock gets me. Originally I figured it was probably, y'know, like with Ancillary Justice Leckie's given me an ace-aro main character and I can identify with that as an ace-aro. But unlike Breq, who very much loves people and wants to take care of them and found family etc, Strength and Patience of the Hill doesn't give much of a shit about people. With some exceptions of people that are it's people, how dare you mess with them, Strength and Patience of the Hill will kick your ass. Although even then I'm not sure Strength and Patience is all that great at taking care of people. Also Strength and Patience of the Hill is very much absorbed in its own selfishness, very much consumed with his own internal world, and I am also a jerk like that so it was very relatable.

(Yes I am using multiple pronouns because one of my many favorite parts of the book signing was watching everyone scramble over pronouns for a rock because "It never came up so I never figured it out" and I'm pretty sure Strength and Patience doesn't even use pronouns because why would you need a gendered pronoun to refer to yourself??? You don't even need a name to refer to yourself, actually I'm pretty sure Strength and Patience doesn't actually consider itself to have a name.)

So it made sense that this rock just really gets me. I know it's bad when the majority of representation for ace-aro characters is stereotypical robots or rocks or aliens (oooh or sentient space rocks wait wAIT now that I've said that I've just realized the Myriad is the definition of a Crystal Gem, pffft) or whatever but honestly I don't care because I just really identify with the robots??? So I really liked it, YMMV.

(It's probably also bad if the trend for autistically-coded characters is just stereotypical robots or rocks or aliens or whatever too but like honestly a big autistic #mood is feeling like you are a robot or an alien or whatever so maybe that's why I'm not offended???)

My point being that Strength and Patience of the Hill displays a lot of autistic traits and is therefore very relatable, in this Ted Talk I will.

Strength and Patience of the Hill processes things slowly. She will come up with the perfect retort and tell you 5 years later with absolutely no context.

It loves daydreaming, staring at things, noticing patterns, and enjoying quiet and solitude. It loves thinking about why things are the way they are. Look I have fantasized about what if I could exist as just a pair of eyeballs and a mind floating around in space, observing things, thinking things, and not having to actually interact with the world, and I'm pretty sure this rock is living that life. (Until y'know it gets told life doesn't work like that.)

Despite his slow processing speed, and taking a while to learn language, Strength and Patience of the Hill is good at learning things, and I feel like it's the kind of sort-of-sideways, context-based accumulation of knowledge that I learn through as well.

Strength and Patience of the Hill has one (1) friend, and through the Myriad it benefits from the fact that the Myriad has an actual social circle, without having to put forth any effort of maintaining friends on its own, which is 100% the way to do it.

Strength and Patience of the Hill tends to attract the other "quirky" kids--that is, my impression is that the people who become his priests tend to be those people who look at the world a little differently, those people on the fringes. Trans people, autistic people, people with other disabilities.

Strength and Patience of the Hill trying to explain the state of affairs in Vastai to Eolo: "Okay so my first memory I can recall is…" No, okay, no, I know, it's just literally how the narrative has to be told, I'm not criticizing, but that doesn't make it any less reminiscent of "autistic person trying to explain a simple thing but starts in with 10 pages of context first to ensure the over-explanation makes sense" (haha that's why I consistently got stuck training endless new hires, I'm literally so bad at it that I'm the best in the department and I hate life).

Difficulty understanding other's feelings/points of view/circumstances (I know it's because he's a rock and a god but that doesn't make it any less relatable), hmmm what else…

Oh right, a typical interaction with Strength and Patience of the Hill:

Person: (gives offering) Strength and Patience: (offering is accepted because the transaction literally occurred, no need to respond) Person: "(asks petition)" Strength and Patience: ... Strength and Patience: wait Strength and Patience: what Strength and Patience: wait was I supposed to do something else Strength and Patience: did you ask something of me? Strength and Patience: I don't understand what you asked????? Strength and Patience: it's been an entire year now it's too awkward Strength and Patience: i'm sure it's. Fine. Strength and Patience: It's fine. (rinse and repeat)

Like I said, this rock gets me.

(Haha I was reading through my notes from the book signing and I found "Strength + Patience doesn't give a shit about balance, Strength + Patience is just selfish, which it manifests as apathy, which is why this rock gets me. All of my best interpersonal traits also spring from not giving a fuck and waiting ppl to go away faster lol" and why is that, oh because ~I'm~ ~autistic~ pfffft)

I started this post a while ago and this was as far as I got and I don't remember if I had more??? Time to talk about Taucris probably!!!

(I'm skipping Ancillary Justice etc for now because I do want to make a post about that but like there's just. So much. In those books. It's masking all the way down. So it can be its own post. One day.)

Because I waited so long I forgot what I was going to write so I'll just grab the book and flip through and comment as I see things.

To start off with: Taucris and adulthood. I've seen other people pick up primarily on the gender aspect of it--that Taucris waited until almost 25 to take her adult name because she she never figured out what her gender was (non- uhhhhhh what's the word for binary when it's three and not two? Non-tri-something Taucris in a society with 3 options but all 3 options are gendered? I'll go with that.) What really resonated for me was that Taucris waited until almost 25 to take her adult name because she never felt like an adult. And I get that ~everyone feels that way~ but I feel like it's Different for Taucris in the same way it's Different for me. Anyway I feel like no matter which aspect you choose, it's probably an autistic vibe.

Also Taucris seems to have a bit of a flat affect? She seems very serious (both in body language and in speech), and kind of intense sometimes when she talks, and Ingray notes how Taucris usually doesn't smile (she smiles with Ingray because Ingray makes her comfortable) and has always been """shy""".

Also Taucris...talks strangely? I am not sure exactly how to explain it. It's not written badly or anything, it's...you know how sometimes you suddenly sit back and look at dialogue and go no one speaks like this and it throws you out of the story because you dropped your suspension of disbelief? Taucris kind of gives me that feeling, and only Taucris. Almost like her speech is a little bit stilted? Awkward? She's very serious and matter of fact and says things like "You've always been so kind to me" with a straight face. But it doesn't feel like a """bad writing""" (quotation marks for subjectivity) thing. But I notice it every time I read her dialogue… I think it's just that Taucris is autistic and awkward and that's how she speaks. Also I think she's adorable.

Police work is Taucris' special interest. So much so that that's the entire reason she became an adult, so she could engage in her special interest better. She's ~weird~ for her single-minded interest and her interest in a job below her ~status~ and she doesn't care, she set her heart on this anyway, volunteering and interning so on.

Oh that was something else I was going to talk about--Taucris mentions feeling like she doesn't have her shit together, not like Ingray (who also doesn't feel she has her shit together. Kind of like "no one really feels like an adult). But Taucris seems quite calm and capable in Planetary Security. I don't know if this is just masking, but...I really hope that she does feel that way in her job. That because it's her special interest, that helps balance out the stress of being alive and simultaneously employed full-time. That because she's been volunteering and interning here so long, she's been familiar with the office and it wasn't a stressful transition. That she acts confident because she feels competent and respected. Taucris may look calm and cool and collected on the outside and be screaming on the inside but I hope she actually feels pretty good on the inside too.

I would also like to say that I like Taucris' nother. Despite what Danach implies, I get the picture from Taucris that e is supportive of Taucris' personality and interests even when e doesn't get it. E indulged her interest in police work, e didn't understand why Taucris wasn't taking an adult name but tried to be patient about it...so I assume that also means that e was understanding of all of Taucris quirks and stims and particularities. E's been a good support system while Taucris' peers have not.

(Except for Ingray, Taucris' one (1) friend.)

I like Taucris' relationship with Deputy Chief Veret too--the way Taucris quietly manages breakfast so e doesn't have to think about it or be put out (this is The Love Language to me, not being inconvenienced, and I feel that this is part of my personality because my personality is autistic, so). I don't know why specifically Taucris does this, but all the reasons I could come up with feel very wholesome. Taucris respects Veret as her boss and as a person. Taucris is empathetic and thoughtful (she doesn't like Danach but she tries to consider and understand where he's coming from; Taucris isn't Hatli but she considers Veret's fasting etc to be valid rather than a choice of superstition). Taucris' situation is different but she knows that it doesn't feel good to be treated as weird, to be sneered at because you don't act the way people expect you to. Taucris, being autistic, maybe has a lot of experience with "perfectly good foods" she won't eat. Taucris strikes me as someone who observes quietly, and considers carefully, and maybe takes a long time to make up her mind but when she moves it's deliberately and not carelessly. Which is, to me, a masking trait.

In the quantum version of this post I was going to write everything so polished and lay out my points so nicely but clearly that didn't happen and I don't know where to end this and I'm sure I didn't even explain things that well so I'll just say, I feel it was very autistic of Taucris in the last chapter to just be like "well IDK what you want from me and rather than expending massive effort trying to suss it out and guessing wrong I'll just be direct: I know you can't talk about what happened so I won't ask you about what happened unless you want me to ask you about what happened in which case you should say so and I will ask but I think maybe you just need to watch a movie with me instead."

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 16

Previous: How Cricket Got Her Name 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader/OFC/You

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.04K

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Our lovely P.I. goes on the search for Min Yoongi, and stumbles into the identity of the mystery man with Taehyung. 

(this is... rough? did not expect it to be so long...) 

Missing Min Yoongi

Present Day

           My sister always tells me she’s given me all she can, that she can’t help me past my one favor a year. It’s a ploy, a deception, a boldfaced lie she tells at work or anytime we’re in earshot of anyone else. Does she misuse her government clearance? Yes. Does she defy laws and challenge the ethical code? Yes. Has she ever gotten caught? No. You’d think the government would put more tabs on her, considering her sister is a registered and licensed PI, but no, no one seems to bat an eye.

           Min Yoongi, Park Yoongi, Yoongi, is nonexistent. I barely understand what he did at Lee Enterprises, let alone how he ended up bedding Euna. He supposedly comes from no money, no name to build off of, nothing. His grades were fine, his college experience came and went with nary a note of youthful rebellion. Now, now that he’s no longer at Enterprises, I cannot fucking find him. Nothing on the web, nothing in the statewide system, nothing in the national system. No death certificates, no marriage licenses, nothing.

           All I’ve got are his charges, well, Euna’s charges against him.

           Cheating in the 1st degree, no proof, no photos or receipts or basic evidence of his behavior. She had nothing but her recollection of the fight they had, and minimal information on what led to the break up. From her manifesto, it seems that Yoongi was pulling away and she clung to him, claws drawing blood, trying to get him to stay. He didn’t, clearly. With only that to go off of, it’s no wonder I can’t find Min Yoongi, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe, Min Yoongi doesn’t exist. He’s her Snuffleupagus, and I’m starting to not believe.

           While I’m unsure if Yoongi exists, I do know a person who does.

           The man with Taehyung.

           Spectacled and broad shouldered, quaffed hair and arms the size of tree trunks, this man exists. He goes to the gym regularly, religiously, makes his coffee at home, and frequents his local nursery. The man is obsessed with plants, it seems unhealthy. Multiple days a week he’s carrying one, or more, I have photos of him watering them, speaking to them… He tends to them with such care, such love, it’s mesmerizing. He goes to work, some corporation, and once a week meets Taehyung. They’re clearly pals, best friends, brothers. They laugh and eat and enjoy one another. It’s cute, their friendship date. Once in a while, Jimin joins them. The three laugh uproariously and often draw attention for their volume. The unidentified man doesn’t seem to understand how loud he is, his baritone resonating enough for me to hear.

           I haven’t intentionally bumped into the three of them, yet, but I’ve stationed myself near enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. They never discuss work, only music they’re listening to, books they’re reading, podcasts, plants, general culture. Have I written down a few of the artists and podcasts they listen to? Yes. Do I feel dirty about it? Yes.

           But it’s the job, and I tail them for a month before a package arrives. A package with my name on it, waiting outside my apartment door. It’s not addressed, no stamps or packing label. It’s new, not reused as a shipping box or gifted for the umpteenth time, no dingy tape sticking to its brown coating. The box is sitting, like it’s appeared out of thin air. A secure building is only as secure as the tenants make it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner snuck in behind some dummy who didn’t see the harm in letting a potential rapist, stalker, murder, into the building. Taking the package inside, and as my blood continues to cool and chills run down my spine, I delicately open it.

           I know, it could be a bomb. However, the only thought calming me down is the knowledge that my life has never once been a Shonda Rhimes production and thus, I’m not really worried this package is a bomb. Frankly, that’s far more sophisticated than any of the people I’ve worked for and gives them too much credit.

           Inside, there are copious amounts of surveillance photos and a note, written in a script that I’ve seen before.

           “That was your last warning / The line has been drawn and you’re bleeding / Next time, face to face is how we’ll be meeting”  

           Whoever heard of a stalker rhyming?

           I bag the evidence to toss under my bed so Jungkook won’t find it and pull out my list of potential threats.

Check It Once, Check It Twice

William Daniels

Cheated on his wife of 5 years with a stewardess who flew almost exclusively on his flights (big shock)

Threatened to ban me from American Airlines -  Jokes on him, I don’t fly American

Photos in the act & audio recordings

Wife divorced him immediately

He has to pay alimony out the nose

Lives in the area

Allanah McMahon

Arrested and tried for insider trading and embezzlement

Discovered who I was when I was subpoenaed to testify

Still in jail

My testimony added a few years to her sentence … oops

Cassie Harrington

Set up a Multi-Level Marketing scheme

Tried to hide out in Hawaii – but changed her Instagram to private after I’d already followed her

Ordered to pay back all the money she stole

On parole

Adam Gregory

Tried to run an illegal adoption agency for homosexual, non binary couples

Paid a fine and on parole – forbidden from creating any LLC’s or Incorporating

Brian Welch

Pissed that I found evidence of his partner cheating but turned him in on charges of possession of child pornography

In jail for kiddy porn and for threatening my life

His husband got everything despite the infidelity

           You acquire quite detailed list of people who want to threaten your life on the daily, but then again, wasn’t it Audre Lorde who said “I’m deliberate and afraid of nothing?” I can’t be afraid. If I’m afraid, they have the power. They have the power to intimidate me, to run my life for me, to make my decisions. I will not back down because they got caught. But I will protect myself, I will keep my license for my gun up and go to the shooting range often. I will strengthen the locks and security of my apartment, and I will ask Jungkook to stay over more, or sleep at his.

           I will not back down, not when Lee Euna has paid me what seems like the cost of tuition at Princeton for a year and wants answers. We signed a contract, didn’t we?

           And who am I if my word is no longer worth anything?

           Instead of harping on the sickening feeling that I’m being watched 24/7, I run through my plans for bumping into Taehyung and his friends. In the weeks that I’ve continued to follow him, he’s solidified Wednesday’s as his night for dinner with friends, and Thursdays as his cultural exploration. He goes to museum openings, concerts, movies, plays, clubs, all on Thursdays. While those nights are fun for me to watch and put on my expense account, it’s Wednesdays that I adore. I love following him from his house to the restaurants and am excited each week to see what he and his friends have chosen.

          This week, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant. Slipping my coat on, I give them a few minutes before following in.

           The sound of mariachi welcomes me into the yellow painted restaurant. The furniture, dark mahogany against the vibrant walls, is full of people. I note the variety of sombreros, the different colors and patterns, the meanings hidden within the stitchwork. It’s not a large restaurant, but big enough to fit a few large groups of 7-10 people, and plenty of space for smaller groups such as the three men. The hostess asks if I want to sit at the bar, and I request a table near the men. Sitting a few feet away, I’m able to pick up their conversation easily. Instead of jotting it down, I hit record and let the metaphorical tape play.

           “Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” The mystery man says.

           “It was awful, Taehyungie couldn’t stop laughing, every time he hit the ball it went flying in the wrong direction,” Jimin says.

           “I was trying so hard!” Taehyung laughed.

           “That’s the problem, you were trying too hard,” The man tells him. “You’re too pure of heart.”

           “I am not,” Taehyung shook his head.

           “I know, you’ve experienced a lot, Tae,” Jimin says.

           “Joon, here’s the question,” Taehyung says, and I’m momentarily distracted by the utterance of the name, Joon. “You get to pick next week, we heading back to that barbeque place?”

           Jimin erupts in another fit of laughter, Taehyung following suit. It’s cute, watching them interact. I wonder if Jungkook has friends he does things like this with… those nights we aren’t together, if he has friends to spend his time with.

           I wait until they’ve left to take a glance at the signed bill on their table, Taehyung Kim is scribbled, no evidence of the other men, and I’m about to bag evidence when I hear my name.

           “Y/N?” Taehyung asks.

           “Taehyung! That was you!” I smile.

           “Have you been here the whole time?” Taehyung’s eyebrows express more than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.

           “I, yeah. I wasn’t sure it was you and Jimin. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell him.

           “Oh, you could’ve! Don’t worry about them, we’ve been friends a long time,” Taehyung smiles, it’s boxy and wide, the edges curling as his eyes soften.

           I’ve already started my dance, a waltz to an even tempo and I’ve got the next five paces planned. “Who was that new guy?”

           “Why, you single?” Taehyung smirks, his lips no longer joyful but devious.

           “I just was curious,” I reply, “And no, I’m not single, remember?”

           “Oh yes, yes, Jungkook,” Taehyung recalls with a nod.

           “You, Jimin and that other guy, go way back?” I lead him, it’s easy to lead Taehyung, he’s pure of heart, the most honest intentions in his eyes.

           “Mm, yes,” He continues smiling at me.

           “Your dinner looked fun, I’ll definitely be coming back to this place,” I tell him. It’s true, maybe I will bring Jungkook by one night when I know these three men won’t be around.

           “Yeah, we like it. We try a new restaurant every week. It’s a fun no work zone,” His arms are relaxed at his sides, one hand slipping slowly into his pocket, his cardigan open and glasses pressed close to his ebony eyes.

           “I like that, no work zone,” I agree, I wish I had one of those.

           “Yes, it helps clear the mind,” Taehyung tells me.

           “Do the three of you work together?” I inquire.

           “Kind of, we have a lot of the same shared interests,” he sidesteps.

           I nod, the final step in our dance presenting itself. “Very cool, well I don’t want to keep you from Jimin and –

           “Joon, yeah, very considerate of you. Maybe I’ll see you at the dog park again?” He asks.

           “Oh god, I hope not, Maisie is a nightmare,” I laugh.

           “Well have a good night, Y/N, take care!” He says as he walks out the door. I stand, watching, pretending to not notice how he gets in the car swiftly, not looking back.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           What kind of a name is Joon? If Taehyung and Jimin, and Jungkook, and Seokjin… and Yoongi, are all Korean, must Joon be short for something Korean?

           Glancing at my phone, it’s only 8:30PM, if I hurry, I can get in another few hours of work before I’m overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. But what will I find?

Oh Joon

Kim Joon

Lee Joon

Joon-Ho

Joon-Hee

Joon-Hyuk

Joon-Ki

Joon-Tae

Joon-Young

Byung-Joon

Ha-Joon

Hee-Joon

Hyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Yong-Joon

Nam-Joon

Joon-Su

Ye-Joon

           Not to mention add in the top 5 Korean last names, and I’ve got hundreds of possibilities. Luckily, I can run the name against the address of the apartment building Taehyung picked Joon up from. Being a PI means I have access to the state databases, which gives me names and addresses. In the building, there’s one Joon, a Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. I pull the information before digging into my search.

           Unlike the seemingly nonexistence of Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon is present. Every search result yields a perfectly manicured article dating anywhere from the year of his birth to age sixteen, and then, much like everyone else on this case, the trail begins to run cold. Whatever happened to him during high school, still radiates through his file. Whether he’s shaken it or not, that’s the question.

           No known career or job at all, his status as a prodigy in math, linguistics and rhetoric is astonishing. One of the highest IQ’s of recent memory, he’d mastered calculus by the time he was 8, besting PhD’s by 13, and then in a blaze of glory, disappearing by 16. He was studied, written about, documented, photographed, and somehow managed to be nominated for a Nobel Prize… how he accomplished all of that during puberty is beyond me. Not only does he accomplish that, but then, disappears completely, without a trace. How?

I’m ready to pack it in when someone steps into my office.

           “I saw the light on,” She says.

           “Ms. Lee, what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do tonight.

           “I wanted to, to talk to you,” She takes a few steps forward, pausing to ask for unspoken permission.

           “Please, sit. What did you want to talk to me about?” I lean back, hoping she can’t see the bags forming under my eyes or the tears from the yawn I’m stifling.

           “I wanted to tell you about, about why I need you to find Min Yoongi,��� Euna informs me. She’s dressed in what can only be described as winter white, and only as a cashmere sweatsuit. Never have I ever seen such glamor in my dingy office. I feel bad that she’s risking the integrity of her outfit by being here.

           “Oh, okay,” I sit up and reach for a notebook. “Do you want me to write this down?”

           “No, you don’t need to. We can just talk between women, between friends,” Euna’s voice is soft. The slack in her jaw, the demur manner in which her hands are placed on her lap, it’s evident she doesn’t know how to be girlfriends. Raised by her family, groomed to take over, friends was never a word in her vocabulary.

           “I wanted you to know that I really saw a future with Yoongi,” She starts. “You know that place in your heart where you hold all your hopes?”

           “Yes,” I say hesitantly.

           Her eyes narrow in warning, “Do you have someone, someone who’s beginning to fill that space?”

           “Um, yeah,” I reply.

           “I thought that’s what Yoongi was. I thought we were, we were building something. Jun-Seo had Jimin, they thought they were building an illustrious future together, but one day he disappeared too.” She pinches the slight bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly to steady her nerves. “I don’t know what changed in our relationship. Yoongi didn’t want me anymore, he didn’t want to be around me, or with me at all. A switch flipped, like one day he realized he didn’t love me in the first place. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but when your entire future is destroyed, do you stand back and watch it burn?”

           “Do you want me to answer that?” I ask.

           “Sure, what I did after that was terrible, but it was within reason. Everything I did was within reason. I tried to hold onto him, I did what I thought was right to get him to stay and he just, ran. Bolted, broke up with me on the phone like I’m Taylor Swift in 2012. Maybe I am,” Euna rolls her eyes, the comparison both too true and too terrifying. “At least Seokjin had the kindness to break up with me in person. But Yoongi? The coward! He knew I loved him. He knew I would carry his child, would marry him, would love him eternally and then some. I would’ve done anything for him. Even after he refused to go family dinners or go on trips with Seo and Jimin, after he started lying and cheating and stealing. He broke my heart, shattered it. If anyone is to blame for what happened after our relationship, it’s him.”

           Interested peaked, I inquire “What happened?”

           “It’s in my document,” She snaps.

           “The handwritten one?” I clarify.

           Rolling her delicate ebony irises, “Yes, of course.”

           “The abortion, the embezzlement, insider trading?” I try to rattle off the accusations she’d detailed. Somewhere I had a list and had sorted them by man, but damn, there were a lot of them.

           “Yes,” She snips.

           “That’s all true?” I ask again. The look she gives me is unwarranted, this is the first time in months, nearly a year, that she has sat down with me and discussed the charges. I am well within my right as her Private Investigator to ask clarifying questions.

           “Do you make a conscious decision to not believe your clients? Am I not paying you enough Y/N?” Euna snaps.

           “I’m sorry,” I respond.

           “I should go, I expect next week at our meeting you will have an update on the mystery man,” She stands.

           “Yes, yes, I will,”

           “Good, oh, there was a note under your door. I didn’t pick it up,” She turns and walks, stepping gingerly over the note. Scrambling behind her, I pick up the folded paper, and scrawled in crystal clear letters it reads:

           Cricket, was driving past when I saw the light on. Why are you working? Come to mine when you’re done, it’s been three restless nights without you.

          XO – Bunny 

           Fuck me, I love him.

Next: Cricket & Bunny Pt. 1 

[alltingfinns]

Part 2

John crestfallen at what looks like another sign of Sherlock not caring. Except Sherlock obviously sees it differently, time is of the essence and this is probably not the first kidnapping case he’s seen.

He looked through the fairy tale book probably because it was noticably out of place.

“Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment”. So close to Jim’s method.

Oh God. Sherlock telling the John mirror that they’re better off avoiding relationships since at least one attempt involved a master criminal. At this point John is avoiding relationships but will soon enough meet “Mary”. Also worried about his interest in Sherlock who has the air of menace drawn thickly around him.

Did that sentence even make sense?

The modern equivalence to ACD Sherlock knowing the origin of soil samples.

“Thank you John” “Actually I’m just his mirror”

Keeping a sharp eye on John so the mistake seems more psychological than visual.

He looks upset when she says she doesn’t count. Just because he doesn’t like her romantically it doesn’t mean he doesn’t value her as a friend. He’s just really bad at valuing his friends. But also she might be so long gone on him that his lack of reciprocation is seen as an all out rejection.

Oh God the quick shots of the kids eating the poisoned chocolate. That’s my fill of horror for the holiday.

“Not be myself.”

Collar goes down.

I wonder how Jim faked a Sherlock to traumatize the girl.

We know Anderson’s theory on that from TEH, latex perfection.

Sherlock being subjected to the “they’ll think you’re crazy or lying if you say anything” quick show of “I O U”. Also known as the dancing frog effect.

Sally fishing for a reaction because she needs a bit more than a hunch and a screaming child to go on. But keeping it subtle enough that you have to be Sherlock Holmes to fully pick up on it and deduce what she might be thinking.

John being snubbed but it’s like other times. Sherlock is going into danger and needs to keep John out of the firing line. Not the first or last time he pulls this stunt.

Next on fairy tales with Richard Brook: The Story of Sherlock and His Very Bad and Downright Awful Evening.

Wonder if being found with a dead body is going to compound his situation? I mean, obviously he didn’t have a gun and the guy was shot from a distance, but at this point it’s the rumors that matter not the facts.

Been a while since I saw TPLoSH, but wasn’t that the one where dust was part of his filing system?

“Can’t kill an idea”

The breaking point. The wrong conclusion I wrote in the last post. Here it is.

He thinks what would upset John is being duped by Sherlock into liking/praising/admiring him.

I want to write a bigger thing about it, although I can’t imagine that the subject has gone unexplored in the fandom.

Sherlock is the one doubting in this scene. Doubting that John sees him for more than the Persona.

Remove the Persona, and John’s affection goes with it.

But John isn’t just there for the clever man in The Hat. Coat collar up or down, he cares for Sherlock.

The doubt will unfortunately not die here, or The Hat wouldn’t have such a pronounced presence in future episodes.

Are English gingerbread men always that thick? Then again it’s possible we just generally bake them thinner in Sweden, judging from a couple of German cookie cutters I have that doesn’t quite work on the level of thin we usually bake.

John standing up for him throughout this scene while Sherlock just quietly accepts it.

Am I even going to make it to the rooftop?

Both John and Sherlock get such good smash cut scenes in this episode.

“A good friend bails you out of jail, a best friend sits next to you and say ‘We fucked up.’”

The way Lestrade underreacts to the situation is amazing.

Once again on Gun Safety with Sherlock Holmes.

Lestrade’s face in his hands. Sherlock’s very tired dad/babysitter.

“Now people will definitely talk”

Priorities, John!

They’re going to need to coordinate. Good thing that they at least can do that in life or death situations, because they’re terrible with it otherwise.

“A lie that is preferable to the truth.” Also known as every straight Sherlock reading, because people can’t deal with their hero being gay.

Interesting that the guy got shot just as Sherlock lowered his gun. As in after he got the information. He wasn’t shot by one of the others. This is the work of Moriarty’s shooter.

I thought from the look on Sherlock’s face when John mentioned Brook that he had an idea who it was. But apparently not.

So the money was good enough that he’d risk jail time but still not enough that he wouldn’t risk the wrath of his ex-employer, the master criminal, for what she could get him? Sherlock was right on the money in his analysis of her. Not smart or trustworthy, just hungry.

Oh her look of pity to John. Like he’s the one that was duped.

A folder with printouts. That’s her big cache of evidence?

For Christ’s sake, her character in The IT Club is smarter than this!

And to top off her character she does a pathetic repeat of Sherlock’s insult to her and then John brushes her aside.

Wrap up a lie in the truth. There are way too many good lines in this episode.

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, that I think I am, would you still help me?”

So close to the actual question he has for John but will never ask.

Mycroft doesn’t actually believe in the key code nonsense, does he? Both Holmes brothers can’t be this blind on matters of cyber security.

This scene was at the end of THoB, which doesn’t have to mean anything timewise, granted. But I sincerely doubt a hypothetical key code was of concern.

Are there any updated versions of M theory around? I think I saw some new idea about Mycroft being in charge rather than Moriarty, but I still get the impression that these scenes happened even if no key code was involved. So why did he really have Moriarty slapped around?

“Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, and you have given him the perfect ammunition.”

Wasn’t there a theory that Mycroft manipulated John into Sherlock’s path because he thought the doctor could save his brother?

Jim used the code to change his identity in the records. You seriously think Kitty checked the records, rather than taking him at his word and printouts?

Even then, Jim has worked with someone who knows what the record keepers like. No need for a magical key code.

Ah yes, about ten characters of binary. The ultimate key code!

“No. Friends protect people.”

People is John.

I personally love coming up with names with hidden meanings, so that’s probably what I would have picked too.

On the one hand he brought back the scary SUDDEN SHOUT he terrified me with in TGG, but on the other hand he used it to say “doofus”.

“Ordinary Sherlock”. This scene must have been fun to act.

Mrs Hudson assuming that John’s back because Sherlock did something clever and made it alright.

“Police! ...sorta”

Sherlock has already set Lazarus in motion, but the possibility of not having to leave John if he can get to Jim has to be explored.

Faked suicide like the bride. I don’t blame Sherlock for not seeing it. He’s running on no sleep, more adrenaline than blood in his veins and someone just seemingly shot himself in front of him. Not to mention the overall pressure he’s under.

The little laugh when he can’t make John doubt him.

Everything’s blurry.

“I researched you”. Subtle slam at Elementary?

Oh God their hands reaching.

“He’s my friend” with his voice breaking

“Say it now.” “I can’t.”

Mrs Hudson outangering John is the levity needed now.

“Stop this.”

Things are blurry again.

Risked being seen just to see John one last time and hear his words.

And I need to wash my face.

I also remembered that Sherlock talked of a lookalike in TEH, but I’m keeping my musing on Sherlock faking for transparency. Also I’m too lazy to go back and edit.

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

Meeting with Masks

Summary: Nie Huaisang is beyond excited when he is invited to a Jin party including Carnival masks.  He doesn't expect to catch feelings at the party, but it's not so bad. Written for day 7 of SangCheng Month - First Meeting!

ao3 link

Pairing: Sangcheng, mentions of NieYao Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of queerphobia Word count: 1811

“The Jin invited us to a party.”

Nie Huaisang looks up from his phone just as Nie Mingjue tosses a letter on the dining table.  The envelope is crisp and cream, the flap decorated by gold filigree.  Nie Huaisang pulls out the invitation, which matches the envelope perfectly, and reads.  The party is actually a ball being hosted at the main Jin mansion, intended to celebrate Jin Zixuan’s twenty-first birthday.  Dress code is formal, drinks will be served, blah blah blah.  What really interests Nie Huaisang is the text at the bottom of the invitation, several font sizes larger than the main text and bolded to emphasize its importance—

Bring a Carnival Mask!

Nie Huaisang lets out a low whistle that quickly turns into giddy laughter.  “Da-ge!  Update the scoreboard!  The Jin are less crappy than the Yao now!”

“Because of the masks?” Nie Mingjue guesses very correctly because he is the best big brother ever.

“Yes!  Oh my god I’m going to have so much fun making your mask, da-ge!  Do you want to go intimidating?  Sexy?  Mysterious?”

“All white,” Nie Mingjue replies as he takes a black dry-erase marker to the scoreboard on the refrigerator.  “This party is stupid, anyway.”

“Booooo!” Nie Huaisang declares as he stands up, arms thrown into the air in protest.  “You’re boring!  The most boring da-ge!”

“I still get ass,” Nie Mingjue says with a smirk.

“Gross!!!!!”

~~~

Thankfully, the Jin (probably only Guangyao) had the foresight to send the invitation a few weeks in advance, so there was plenty of time for Nie Huaisang to research Carnival masks and start making one of his own.  To Nie Mingjue’s great pleasure, there was even a mask that fit his boring requirements.  So on the day of the ball, the Nie brothers arrive in hand-made and impeccable masks.

“Do you think anybody will recognize us?” Nie Mingjue asks as he readjusts his cape.  Yes, cape.  Nie Huaisang made him a bauta mask and Nie Mingjue, in his full jock-nerd glory, decided to wear the full historical garb, tricorn hat and cape and all.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes.  In contrast to his nerd brother, Nie Huaisang has opted to dress a little slutty in tight-fitted dress pants, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and black corset vest.  His neck, fingers, and wrists are decked out in green and gold jewelry, all polished to shine in the light.  He’s decorated his white mask in a similarly lavish fashion—gold lips, black eyes, gold and black filigree at the sides and top, and below the eyes is a series of gold hexagons that lead into teardrops.  “I hope not,” he responds to his brother.  “It’ll be way more fun surprising people.”

Together they walk up the many, many steps into the main Jin mansion.  After temporarily removing their masks to prove their identities, they slip inside.  The foyer is already alight with revelers, most of them likely entertainment hired to hype up the guests.  It’s only 7 p.m., after all, and only a select few people would be this drunk so early into the evening.  Unless the food or drink is spiked, in which case Nie Huaisang needs to find out for himself before he lets Nie Mingjue have a taste.

“Be careful with the food,” Nie Huaisang advises as he takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Perceptive as always, Nie Mingjue replies, “A-Yao knows the diet my doctor recommended.  He wouldn’t poison me.”

Maybe in the past he would have, but Nie Huaisang is pretty sure Jin Guangyao has a more vested interested in his Nie Mingjue’s health now that they’re dating.  Hopefully.  It’s hard to tell when it comes to the Jin.

“Still, be careful.  Yao-ge could’ve missed something.”

Nie Mingjue stares at him.  Even beneath the heavy mask, Nie Huaisang knows his brother is giving him a disbelieving look.

“You never know!” he defends as the duo reach their destination.

The ballroom is massive, large enough to house the entire population of a small town during a natural disaster.  True to pompous Jin nature, Jin Zixuan is seated at the far end of the ballroom on a stage.  Nie Huaisang knows it’s him because of the way he sits—the body posture of somebody who absolutely does not want to be there.  Twenty-one years and the poor guy is still not used to the way his family does things.

Nie Huaisang can sympathize.  He’s pretty different from the rest of his own family, too.

“I’m going to go find A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue speaks up over the orchestra music.

“Okay.  Make sure he taste-tests your food!” Nie Huaisang exclaims as he raises his mask to take a sip of champagne.

“Shove off!” Nie Mingjue scolds good-naturedly.

Nie Huaisang waves off his brother before heading into the crowd.  Looking around, there’s nobody he immediately recognizes.  There’s one guy in bright red wearing a plague doctor’s mask that keeps catching Nie Huaisang’s eye, but he quickly decides that tonight is not the night to bother with the crazies.  It’s generally good advice to follow when in Jin territory.

In time, Nie Huaisang finds himself a wallflower.  He’s not the most easily sociable person.  Friendly, sure.  But he’s never been good at approaching strangers.  He would have gone up to Jin Zixuan, but Nie Huaisang has no idea if the guy would lose it the second he saw a friendly face.  Which would be an entire headache if that did happen.  So, wall.

It’s been at least thirty minutes since he finished his champagne and he’s not feeling even slightly drugged, though.  So that’s good news for his brother.

Just as he’s considering finding the buffet, a stranger joins Nie Huaisang at the wall.  The stranger is tall, at least 8 centimeters taller than Nie Huaisang, and cuts an intimidating figure with broad shoulders and large hands.  Their loose, black hair is long, falling to about their shoulder blades, contrasting starkly to the orchid purple button-up shirt they wear.  The waistcoat they wear is a darker purple with black buttons.  Slung over their right arm is a formal jacket that matches the waistcoat.  Interestingly, their choice in bottoms is a pair of orchid purple pants, with the left side covered by an ankle-length black skirt.  Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at that detail—as a person who’s still questioning, he can appreciate a challenge to the gender binary.

He looks up to meet the stranger’s eyes.  The stranger is looking back at him with a lovely pair of brown eyes.  It’s a shame that the rest of this handsome stranger’s face is hidden by what Nie Huaisang would call the creepiest of the traditional Carnival masks—a moretta.  Pitch black and perfectly round, it’s like a void has replaced the rest of the stranger’s face.  In the bright lights of the ballroom, Nie Huaisang cannot see any ties keeping the mask up, so the stranger has opted for the traditional way of wearing the mask—a button between their lips.  Even if they can talk, they have rendered themself effectively mute.

Still, though.  Nie Huaisang likes a challenge.  He introduces himself with a bow.

The stranger bows silently in return.

Nie Huaisang laughs to himself.  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

The stranger rolls their eyes.

“Yeah, Jin parties are like that for me, too.  They care way too much.”

The stranger raises their champagne glass, as if to say Cheers to that.

Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling.  “You know, I really wasn’t expecting a moretta mask, of all things.  It’s unique.”

The stranger doesn’t respond.

“Not a bad thing,” Nie Huaisang clarifies.  “But I’m curious.  Join me for a trip to the buffet?”

The stranger nods.  Nie Huaisang offers his arm and, after slipping on their jacket, they take it.  Together, they leave the crowded ballroom for the crowded hallways and manage to get themselves lost a few times before finally finding the buffet.

“Why the hell would they put it so far away from the ballroom?” Nie Huaisang grumbles as he moves to wait in line.  He hears the stranger laugh.  “I hope you remember the way back.  I’m terrible with directions.”

The stranger reaches up to remove their mask.  Underneath the void is a strikingly handsome visage, with sharp cheekbones and shapely lips.  Nie Huaisang very much wants to ravish them immediately.  “Don’t worry, I do,” they say with a rumbling, deep voice.

“Fuck you’re sexy,” Nie Huaisang utters with absolutely zero forethought.  Realizing his mistake, he slaps a hand over his mask’s mouth.  “I’m so sorry!  That just came out!”

The stranger looks equally flustered, their eyes avoiding Nie Huaisang’s as they mumble, “It’s okay.  You don’t seem like a creep.”

“I promise I’m not,” Nie Huaisang says as he removes his mask.  “Which I know sounds exactly like what a creep would say, but scout’s honor!  Not a creep!”

The stranger stares at him for a long second before saying, “You’re not so bad-looking yourself.”

Nie Huaisang manages to hide his fluster by announcing, “I better.  It took twenty tries to get this eyeliner right.”

The stranger snorts.  “Jiang Cheng, by the way,” they introduce themselves.

“Oh, shit.  You’re pretty important, huh?”  The Jiang hold a near-monopoly in all water-based trade in and out of their city.  Nie Huaisang’s parents have pretty regular contact with Jiang Fengmian and his wife Yu Ziyuan in the interest of not losing some important trade negotiations.  But, last he heard, Jiang Cheng was the Jiang’s son.  “Can I get your pronouns?”

“Any,” Jiang Cheng answers.

Ah.  “So the moretta mask is pretty symbolic, huh?”

“I’m out as genderfluid, but I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Jiang Cheng tells him with a notably flat affect.

Nie Huaisang frowns.  “That sucks.  I’m still questioning, but my family is pretty supportive.”

“My siblings are, too.  Supportive, that is.”  The duo reach the banquet table.  Nie Huaisang receives Jiang Cheng’s mask as the other starts preparing two dishes of food.  “My parents are trying, but you know how some people take queerness these days.  Anyway, should I not refer to you with he/him?”

“I’m still comfortable with those pronouns,” Nie Huaisang easily responds.  “Oh, get me some sausage.”  Jiang Cheng obliges.  “Honestly, I might just be on the gender-nonconforming side, but I’m not sure yet.”

Jiang Cheng smiles.  It brings an ethereal softness to their features that Nie Huaisang would love to kiss.  But he keeps his hands to himself as the two of them reach the end of the buffet table and hurry to find a spot to eat.  “It takes time,” Jiang Cheng says as they trade a plate of food for their mask.  “Hey, after this, want to dance?”

Nie Huaisang offers them a smile in return.  “Absolutely.”

[cagestark]

-Proxy-

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Read here on AO3.

@starkerinthepark three words babe: fucking by proxy. 

Warnings: adult!Peter, sex, sex workers, natasha/peter, peter omc (but don’t worry, starker is endgame always). 

-

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.

It pulls Tony from his work, head coming up to blink owlishly at the kid. Peter sits at a table across the room, textbooks from his classes at NYU spread out along the table littered with pencils and papers, though it has all been pushed aside so the kid can plant his elbow on the table and lean on it, staring off into space (the space that just happens to be in Tony’s general direction). “What is it, Pete?”

“When did you have your first kiss?”

Tony thinks, stretching his mind back. “I was twelve. So, ’82, ’83.”

“Twelve?”

“What?”

“Well, isn’t that a little young?”

Tony smiles wryly. “I did everything a little young. You could say I was quite—ah—advanced for my age. Why?”

“I still haven’t had mine.”

Tony shrugs. He hunches back over and pick up the soldering pen, nudging the blazing tip at the copper wires. His hands are shaking, something about the kid’s admission. He’s nineteen years old, and still no first kiss? Tony’s no judge of normality, but it does seem a little delayed. Still, he’s not one to shame someone else for their sexual activities (or lack thereof). “Everyone moves at their own pace, kid. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I feel like I’m missing out,” Peter admits. He picks up a pencil and twirls it between his long fingers—why is Tony watching the kid’s hands when he’s holding a goddamn soldering iron? God, Tony’s distractible mind is going to get him burned. Literally. Worse: figuratively. “Everyone at university talks about their hook-ups and stuff. It sounds like…”

“Like?” Tony prods. Just like how he prods the wires.

“Like I’m missing out.”

“On sex.”

Peter’s face flushes—look down, Tony, Christ. “I mean—yeah? But I’m so far away from that. Like, so, so far. I mean, I did kiss a girl once, but it was like—” Peter puckers his lips, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Tony is obliged to look, he contents himself with that knowledge. Freckles dust the kid’s nose, and he looks so painfully childish. It’s endearing, even if it makes some part of his stomach churn, like he’s swallowed one too many cocktails made of one-part perversion and two parts disgust. Shaken, not stirred.

“Find a girl—”

“Or guy,” Peter chimes, helpfully.

“Or a guy—or a non-binary babe, and french them. That’s all it takes.”

“Believe it or not, not many people are jumping at the chance to like, make out with me, Mr. Stark,” Peter mutters. He twirls the pencil too much and it slips from between his fingers and skids off the table. Smooth.

Tony sits down the soldering pen. He studies the kid—hard. Peter has clear skin for a boy still clinging to his teen years. His eyes are gold like a glass of whiskey left to sit in the sunshine, the brows flat and a little unruly. He’s got curls which are adorable. All in all, a very sincere and baby-faced young man. Tony can see why the girls and boys at university might not look at the kid and want to jump into bed with him. The priorities of young people these days are different.

Jesus, Tony sounds like an old man. He feels like an even older (dirtier) old man when he thinks about how those things don’t change Peter’s attractiveness to him at all. The face might be babyish, but the jawline is cut. He knows from sparring in the gym and passing each other in the Avengers’ locker room that the kid has an eight-pack that most people his age would kill for. Beyond all that, he knows Peter, knows the kid’s heart, the generosity, the warmth, the bravery.

“Most people are stupid,” Tony says much too honestly. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Pete.”

Peter’s face lights up. Tony scrambles for the soldering pen. He needs all the excuses he can get to avoid looking at that handsome, joyful face. Peter asks: “Do you mean that? I mean, do you really think so?”

Tony makes a noise that he hopes conveys everything reasonable and acceptable that the kid wants to hear.

“I just think if I had some practice, I don’t know, maybe I could reel someone in.”

“If I look up and you’re really pretending to reel in a fishing rod, I’m going to throw you out of my lab,” Tony mutters, squinting at the wires. When he glances up, it’s just in time to see Peter lowering his hands demurely to his lap, eyes far too wide for him to have been doing anything but pretending so. Tony shakes his head, snorting. “You’ve found the paradox. To attract somebody, you need practice. To practice, you need somebody. The absolute woes—Thank God I’m not nineteen anymore.”

“You’re Tony Stark,” Peter says, and Tony can hear him rolling his eyes just from the tone of his voice. “I doubt you had any of these troubles when you were nineteen. Or, like, ever.”

Tony’s lips fight not to smile. “You might be right. Okay, so, attraction. Practice. Let’s brainstorm some solutions—”

“Do you think Steve would kiss me?”

Okay—Tony burns himself. The wound cauterizes instantly at least, which is nice, but it stings like a son of a bitch. Tucking the throbbing thumb into his mouth, he shuts down the soldering pen because obviously he can’t be trusted around both Peter and dangerous machinery. The words Peter spoke bang around in his head like a quarter in a washing machine.

“Steve who?” Tony asks.

Peter presses his thin lips together. He drops his eyes to the pencil he’d retrieved from the floor, twirling it anxiously between his fingers. “You know. Steve—um—Cap-Captain America?”

“You want to make out with Captain America.”

“Or Thor. I could do Thor—kiss Thor! Oh my god. I could kiss Thor.”

“Am I in a fever dream?” Tony asks. He makes a show of pinching himself. “FRIDAY, am I have a stroke?”

“Not that I can detect, boss,” his girl says, unhelpfully.

“Well find me a stroke, FRI, so that I can have it. ASAP.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Stop. You’re making fun of me.”

“Making—? I’m not making fun of you. This is me being traumatized at the thought of Steve doing anything more PG than holding hands.”

“I just—I thought maybe a more experienced person—friend, I mean. I thought maybe they’d be willing to help me out. You know. Take one for the team.” The kid looks so miserable that Tony feels his heart squeeze. With that look on his face, Peter could ask anything of him, and Tony would bend over backwards, alter timelines, break his own moral code to give it to him.

But Peter didn’t ask him.

“Kid. Peter—I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s a good idea, I think. But Steve probably doesn’t have as much experience as you’d like, and Thor is on Asgard. We’re only supposed to summon him under threat of galactic peril.”

The intensity of Peter’s stare makes Tony feel like there’s a joke he’s missing out on. It isn’t a feeling he’s privy too, often, and thank God he’s not, because it makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. “Well then what are my other options, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, eyes wide and guileless.

Tony swallows. “Let me—give me ten minutes.”

-

“I don’t know whether to be offended or honored,” Natasha says, lounging on Tony’s sofa. She’s dressed in casual clothes, a t-shirt maybe best for sparring, yoga pants and fuzzy socks, because she always has cold feet. Always. She looks beautiful, stunning, sensual in the lazy way she lays against the dark leather, but Tony knows that’s just instinct to her. It’s not for his benefit.

Peter stands behind Tony, one hand tangled into his curls and tugging on them anxiously.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Tony says. “Because I’d say honored—I mean—”

“Stop talking, Tony,” she says, lips twitching.

“I would,” says Tony. “But I really do want to explain my choice to Peter.”

Natasha waves a hand magnanimously, even as her eyebrows raise, the picture of honed skepticism.

“Pete, we’ve got a handful of Avengers on the continent, so Natasha immediately gets a point for proximity. She’s—and I swear to God, under threat of torture I will deny having said this—but she’s got the biggest heart of all of us. Even if she says no, I knew she wouldn’t laugh you out of house and home, and she wouldn’t spread it around for gossip’s sake. Also, I have it on good authority that Natasha has never been bad at anything in her life, so more than likely, she’s going to suck your brain out from between your teeth.”

“If she says yes,” Peter says.

After which, they both turn toward her. She looks surprisingly moved (let it be known that Tony can give quite the stirring speech when moved to). Behind her pale eyes, Tony can see the cogs of her brain churning, always churning. Her glance flickers between them several times, and her lips are curving, curving, and Tony has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach—

“You’ve overlooked one thing,” Natasha says.

“What’s that?”

She flicks a finger at Tony. “You have the Avenger most skilled orally right there. Why isn’t Tony helping you?”

It’s—yeah. It’s worse than Tony imagined it could be. Not that it isn’t a question he hasn’t asked himself twenty times during the brief call he made asking her to meet them up in his penthouse. Behind him, Peter makes a noise that Tony can’t translate from teenager to English. It sounds a little horrified which shouldn’t offend Tony as much as it does. Then again, Tony feels a lot of things for Peter that he shouldn’t these days.

“Because he didn’t ask me,” Tony says. Let the room make of that what it will. Everyone holds their breath, a stare-down of epic proportions taking place, a duel with no guns, they’ve met at high noon outside the saloon doors and all Tony wants to do is hop on his horse and ride off into the painted sunset. But he can’t. Because Peter asked for his help, and he can’t tell the kid no.

“Alright,” Natasha says at length. She shifts to the farthest couch cushion and pats the space next to her. “Come here, Peter.”

Peter looks far younger than his age of nineteen when he crosses the room, one shoe untied, wearing a graphic tee and skinny jeans, face redder than Tony’s suit. He’s wringing his hands even as he sits down on the couch cushion, deciding that he’s too far away and scooting closer only to second guess himself and scoot back again. The space between them is probably enough for Tony to sit—and okay, not a mental image he needs.

“Lesson one,” Natasha says seriously. “Good oral hygiene.”

“I—I figured the first lesson would be something like, don’t be nervous.”

She stares at him flatly. “You’re always going to be nervous. That lessens with 1. practice. 2. security with your partner. And 3. good oral hygiene. Does my breath stink? Can they taste what I had for lunch? Those are the last thoughts you want to be thinking when you’re trying to kiss someone. Brush regularly, and if you can, always carry gum.”

“I don’t have any gum,” Peter admits.

Natasha smiles, soft and indulging. “I do, don’t worry.”

She and Peter each takes a stick of peppermint gum, and when Natasha holds the pack out to him too, eyes glittering (“What,” she says. “It’d be rude not to offer you some as well.”) Tony realizes that it’s a little preposterous: his presence here. They don’t need him. Peter might even be more nervous with Tony watching, if the looks the kid keeps shooting him are any indication. Tony should leave. He should definitely leave.

He sits in the armchair, tucking the gum wrapper into the back pocket of his jeans.

While they chew, they make awkward small talk. Peter dodges any questions about who he might be trying to learn kissing techniques for, Tony dodges any question that make might him reveal his proclivity for the young man on the sofa, and Natasha looks like she knows everything, lips tilted upwards into a perpetual smirk. At last they all spit out their gum (not Tony, because Tony isn’t going to be kissing anyone, certainly not kissing Peter, thanks).

“Breath nice and fresh, now. Guaranteed. See how that’s one thing off your mind, now?”

Peter does look more noticeably upbeat. “Yes, you’re right. Thanks, Ms. Romanov.”

“You can call me Natasha, Peter. We’re going to get rather close. Now come here—” She urges Peter closer until their thighs are pressed together, and then their knees when she encourages him to turn towards her. “Lesson two, where to put your hands.”

She takes his hand—Peter has very nice hands, thin, fine boned, dexterous, so soft looking—and turning his hand to be palm up, cups her jaw with it. Peter’s fingers disappear back into her hair, and his thumb rests along the smooth skin of her cheek. Peter is holding his breath. Tony can tell, because Tony can’t take his eyes off of him.

“This is a good place to start with. It’s nice to touch your partner when kissing them, because it makes you feel more present, it makes the moment more intimate. There are—other—places you could touch them, but this one is nice and sweet and unlikely to offend someone if you’re still feeling each other out. Okay?”

Peter nods, head bobbing furiously. Tony might be holding his breath too. Who knows. Not him.

“Lesson three: caution and adaptation. You can’t hurt anything by starting off slow. You can always turn up the heat, but it isn’t as easy to dial it down, especially if you come on so strong that you turn your partner off. Listen to their cues—most people will unconsciously try to tell you want they want.

“Are you ready for the practical?”

“I—” Peter swallows. He glances at Tony, who can do nothing but shrug. “Yeah. Let’s—do it.”

Natasha matches Peter’s hold on her, reaching out to dip the tips of her fingers into those curls, to run her fingers along the strong line of his jaw and Tony finally feels it: the sourness in his stomach of jealousy, the aching desperation to be in her place. He wraps up all those emotions and tucks them into a trunk in the back of his mind, closes the trunk, and loses the key. Hopefully.

Slowly but firmly, Natasha draws them together. She kisses Peter. Their heads slant naturally to the right, and the first press is soft and chaste. They part just a hairsbreadth and then kiss again, this time their mouths just barely parted. Tony catches a flash of pink tongue (almost assuredly Natasha’s), and then Peter makes a noise from the back of his throat: a tender little whine that makes Tony swallow.

He can’t help but glance down and—oh. The kid is hard. There’s no hiding the bulge in his skinny jeans. To be honest, Tony can hardly blame him: he’s feeling a little tingly down south himself, mostly after that sweet sound the young man made. It backs up theoretical data Tony has already been compiling (from when the kid groans when he eats something particularly tasty at the Avengers’ communal dinner table to when he whines when Ned beats him at a video game on the console Tony had made for them). What Tony is compiling that data for is—confidential.

Now that he’s noticed the kid’s erection, his eyes can’t help but bounce between it and the sensuality of Peter’s kiss with Natasha. Tongue is obviously involved now: their mouths are open, cheeks hollow, and Natasha reaches up to coax Peter’s hand back towards her hair where he tangles his fingers in it, pulling her closer until she has to kneel up to avoid falling right on the kid’s lap.

She parts long enough to say, “Don’t forget to breath.”

The kid is panting, nodding furiously, already pressing back to her mouth. This time Tony catches a hint of his tongue and has to look pointedly above their heads for several long moments to collect himself. It almost doesn’t work, not with the soft sensual wet sounds that come from their mouths. How the fuck did Tony get himself in this situation, practically pimping out the young man who he is far too emotionally and physically and spiritually and intellectually (and all the other lly’s) interested in?

His life is ridiculous.

He looks back at them.

He can’t stop watching.

Natasha takes the kid lower lip onto her mouth and sucks on it. Peter’s eyelashes flutter, chest hitching. The bulge at the crotch of his jeans twitches. But ever the good student, he then tries the same move on her, taking that full lower lip into his mouth and suckling, then his lips draw back just a little and Tony sees teeth—he is biting her lip, and Natasha’s mouth curves just a little into a smile. When they pull apart, their mouths are wet and red. Peter is panting, and Natasha’s hair is mussed.

Tony is barely managing to keep from being hard.

“How was that, Pete?” Nat asks.

“I guess I should be asking you,” Peter says, sound more than a little breathless. “Did I do okay? Any tips, pointers, criticism? Compliments?”

Natasha laughs. Tony thinks it might be an honest-to-God laugh, one that bubbles up from somewhere inside her chest. He can’t help but smile at the sound of it, at the way it makes Peter duck his head, press one palm to his mouth to disguise his smile. Natasha reaches out and pulls his head to her bosom, giving Tony a look over his head that says, how fucking precious is he?

Tony rolls his eyes.

Pretty fucking precious.

- Tag list: @flowersandteeth @starkeroverload @prettyboy-parker @metametalina @st-arker @darkobsidianquill @typing123 @ironspiidey @i-don’t-know-what-this-is @thefaultinourstarker @livingbutnotalivex3 @starkerparadise @anyabxrns @fedupdadtm @alanaaw88 @idntwantausername @softstarkerstuff @kiaorastarker @thirsty-for-starker @thotticusmaxximus @sadbumblingmess @kawaiioverofanimu @katzenbaby1 @css1992 @99stark @spn-samifer @gimme-the-filthy-hcs @inmyfeelxngs @bros-before-ghosts @wandering-night19 @twixen93 @yeahishipthatsowhat @lonleystarker @nanibanani10 @deliciousflapbanditfarm @another-starker-hoe @von--gelmini @babyboy-peterparker @petertonytomrobert @goodtimesstarker @bshamm @nemeiel @audreyintheuniverse @silkystark @iamastarkerfan @issuffering @superpaperclip @idliketoleavenow

Tips welcome at my kofi. <3

[carmintros]

@rowanfelixgreen​     /     ❛   ｡   ✩   ﾟ my eyes are probably playing tricks on me again, but is that really  brianna hildebrand? oh, wait, it’s just  rowan felix green. yes, that  seventeen  year old  shop attendant  & computer repair person, who i am pretty sure is a  local. according to the talk of the town, he is incredibly  wild & always ready for a fight, yet undeniably  smart & unafraid to be different. that is precisely why  leather jackets, the haze of alcohol just starting to set in, bloody knuckles, stuffed animals pouring out of every space & the clack of noisy keys on an old laptop  remind me of them so much, but then again you know what they say about  aquarius, we’ll see how that one turns out !   penned by kit  /  mst & they / them

ooc note: rowan is non-binary/transmasculine. He uses he/him pronouns because he says they/them is confusing and neo-pronouns are never going to be taken seriously, he also likes the fact that he often looks femiminine in his dress but acts masculine and uses he/him pronouns.

introduction post . TW: self harm, abuse, rape, substance use ooc information: kit, mst, they/them. ic information: Rowan Felix Green Age: 17 Gender: Transmasculine, he/him [Boxcar - Jawbreakers] - ”Uhhh, shit, I guess if I had to pick a theme song it’d be Boxcar. I like the whole vibe of it, like, calling out punk purists. Punk should have no room for purism. If you say you’re a punk and you’re not a nazi, cause in the words of Dead Kennedys ‘nazi punks fuck off,’ you’re welcome. That’s what the whole point of punk was, dude. It’s the ultimate counter culture movement ‘cause it welcomes fucking everyone unlike mainstream culture.”

D.O.B: February 14

“Why the name Rowan?” “So, like, originally I was named Hannah. Which is totally a bullshit name and when I met my forever family I decided to give myself a new name and I wanted it to be all nature-y because they all had nature names. They like helped me look and I found Rowan and read this folklore about how a rowan tree was where the devil hanged his mother and I knew right then. That was my name.”

Ethnicity: Half white, half mestizo

Relationship Status: single “Single and definitely not ready to mingle. If it happens it happens but I sure as hell ain’t seeking it out and I don’t think it’s gonna happen anyways so it don’t fucking matter.”

Sexual Orientation: Unsure “Yeah, I don’t really wanna think about sexy shit. I was raped as a kid, I’m not especially into remembering it. And all this sexual orientation shit makes me remember it.”

Appearance:

Height: 5’0 Build: Smaller than he looks from far away. He’s actually really tiny. And he hates it.

If he wasn’t so intimidating he could be cute. With a small stature, high cheekbones, a cocky swagger and big brown eyes he is definitely attractive. But the scowl that takes over his features whenever he’s around someone he doesn’t trust and the aggression that seemed to exude from every pore disguises that attractiveness pretty well.

Ripped flannels and fishnets under cropped tops and t-shirts are among Rowan’s signature looks. There’s something decidedly sexual about how he dresses but he doesn’t seem to register that. He just wears what he likes and hopes will scare people. He displays his self harm scars like a badge of honor – or insanity. They seem to warn: I AM UNSTABLE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME.

Look at Rowan the wrong way and at the very least he’ll gnash his teeth at you. At the most he’ll pull a knife on you and threaten to gouge out your eyes if you ever look at him again. He claims he tried to once but that’s unlikely. He would be in jail if that was the case. …right? Better not to risk it.

History:

Rowan was born to a teenage mother in an abusive household.

When Melissa Webber got pregnant at only age 15 she knew she would be in trouble. Her father, Frank, wouldn’t approve. Melissa kept it from the man as long as she could. Eventually, of course, he found out. Frank was livid. Melissa was banned from leaving their little trailer, she was banned from seeing her friends, and she was even banned from seeing her boyfriend of just over a year and the father of her baby. She was to be homeschooled for the rest of her high school career so, in the words of Frank, she could no longer “be a slut.”

Her baby was born on Valentine’s Day in a house with no love left. Melissa’s mother had died of suicide when Melissa was only 11, and it often felt like she took any warmth and care that had been lingering in the corners of rooms, hidden among the shadows with her. How funny then that Rowan, initially named Hannah Jane, was born on Valentine’s day.

Frank’s anger and the isolation he forced on Melissa eventually pushed the girl to suicide. Rowan was only 6 months old. Before Melissa’s death, Rowan had been largely ignored by Frank. Now, however, he became the scapegoat. Melissa hadn’t killed herself because she was isolated from the world. Nor had she killed herself because the mental illness that ran in her family was untreated. Instead, according to Frank, she had killed herself because the baby had ruined her life.

Frank turned this rage on the baby. Rowan’s earliest memories involve him being tied onto a tiny children’s chair for hours because Frank didn’t want him to make a mess in the house; Frank coming into the bedroom at night to ‘visit’ with him in a way that, to this day has left Rowan, extremely anxious about sex and sex repulsed; Frank holding his hand against a hot burner to ‘teach [him] a lesson’ (Rowan was never told what the lesson was); having his face pushed under water in the bath to stop him from crying; and other acts that could only be described as torture. Rowan lead an extremely isolated life for the first several years of his life. He was homeschooled, like his mother, and besides Frank and a handful of Frank’s friends he was largely alone. Most of his socialization came from the television. Frank justified this by saying school was how Melissa got pregnant so he wouldn’t “make the mistake of sending another one there to be a slut.” Instead rowan was kept inside the house during school hours.

It had been noted that Frank was capable of abuse and neglect when Melissa was little (she had spent several months in the system when she’d come to school with visibly bruises as a child), however, for the first 7.5 years of Rowan’s life, overworked and under competent social workers consistently overlooked the abuse in the Webber household. Eventually one of the social workers noticed and cared enough to go through the proper procedures to get Rowan out of that living situation. She reported it to her supervisor and a full scale investigation was launched. The abuse was soon discovered through talking to and examining Rowan and Rowan was removed from the situation. For the first time in his life, he was safe – though Rowan did not know what ‘safe’ meant or felt like yet.

Rowan was placed into the Green household temporarily, as at the time the Greens were acting as an emergency house for children who had just been taken away from their parents. He was only supposed to be with them a week but the Green adults fell in love with the skittish, self reliant child they had taken in. They asked for him to stay with them and began the process of adopting him soon after. It took a long time for Rowan to realize he was safe and he was loved. For months he put up with people touching him because he was afraid that if he spoke out he would face some sort of punishment. For months he distrusted everyone in the Green household despite how much they loved him. He was always wary, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to be hurt again. He was placed into therapy when he was young and has gone off and on since.

The greens were a stereotypical homeschool family. Rowan was kid number 15, they owned their own business and baked their own bread. Mr. Green was a carpenter and Mrs. Green ran the little gift shop + bakery. There were so many siblings that the older ones had to help care for the little ones To this day the entire family is very close knit and the older siblings constantly rely on the younger ones to watch their children.

The Greens practice a form of schooling called unschooling. It is a child-led education where children get to decide what they study and when. Additionally, they’re what’s called whole-life unschoolers and the green parents take a stance on parenting where they don’t give their children orders. They talk to them and treat them as if they are capable of making their own choices and decisions, except when it is something that puts their health at risk.

Rowan thrives with that educational setting. He learned to read so he could use his brother’s computer, he learned math while cooking and found it fascinating so he learned it more in depth, he learned how to build robots and how to break into the coding of popular websites well enough that he even figured out how to monetize it when he was 12 (he tests websites for weaknesses and when he finds them he points it out and gets paid to do so). He learned how to play keyboard and guitar and began recording and publishing his music on Soundcloud and Youtube.

Within a few months of living with his new family, his new dad built him a beautiful, fully enclosed, treehouse in the large tree in their backyard. Rowan loved it so much he lived in it for almost a year only coming in to use the bathroom or on the most sweltering days when his family insisted he stay cool inside. He took his baths in the kiddie pool since he lived “outside in [his] own house now.”

Around this time he got a pirate costume and a knight costume. He changed his name to Rowan and began to trade off between wearing those two costumes. When he was in the knight costume he insisted on being called Brave Sir Rowan. When he was a pirate he insisted he was Cap’n Ro.

For a period of Rowan’s life you wouldn’t know he went through the abuse he went through. He seemed happy, healthy, well adjusted.

And then puberty hit.

With puberty came deep gender dysphoria. Suddenly his body was changing in ways he hated. He was developing curves and stopped growing. All the mental illness his family thought they had under control resurfaced along with a large new helping of self-loathing triggered by dysphoria.

Rowan began to self harm. It started small. He would lie in bed and fantasize about cutting off the parts of him that didn’t look right when he saw himself in the mirror. One night, he crawled out of bed and grabbed a kitchen knife and tried cutting his breasts just to see if it was possible. The scratch was so small it didn’t bleed. But, relief flooded through him. He was able to breathe and the crushing weight of dread had let up just a bit. He stopped crying and crawled back into bed and slept well for the first time in weeks.

Whenever he was upset he began to run to the sharp sting of a blade. He stole a pocket knife and a pack of razors and hid them in his treehouse. His family discovered the harm almost a year after he started. By then the little scratches had turned into proper injuries. He was immediately sent back to therapy and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria soon after. Rowan socially transitioned. It helped a little bit but pandora’s box was open. His brain had tasted self destruction and it was hooked.

The last several years have been a slow but steady spiral downwards. He made friends with other sad, breaking kids and they broke together. They began to experiment with alcohol and substance use young, Rowan would swear he’s fine but whenever you put alcohol in his hands he binge drinks to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Whenever there’s a chance for him to get high off something new he takes it, barring only the most stigmatized of drugs.

Somewhere during this spiral he realized the easiest way to make people leave him alone was to scare them. So he began dressing in ways he thought would scare them and carrying himself like at any moment he could snap.

Personality:

“Sometimes I wonder what his life could have been if he had come to us as a baby and if we had known about his gender. You should have seen him when he was little. He was such a cute kid and was so passionate about, well, everything. And he’s so smart it’s intimidating. But then he hit puberty and we all lost what little stability he had. Last time I talked to mom, I heard he set a trashcan in the park on fire while he was drunk or high or both and it breaks my heart because I know he’s a good kid underneath it all. He’s just a good kid who’s really struggling right now. I hate it because I can’t even trust him to be alone with my kids anymore. What if that comes out around them and he hurts my crew?” – Clay Green, older brother.

“Rowan likes to act like he’s tough shit but he’s not. He can’t sleep unless he has his favorite stuffed animal with him and once I saw him crying over the sounds sloths make. The tough guy act is just that. An act. I mean, look at his cat. He only has the thing because he saw it was scared and got gentle with it. And now he’s the only person that cat tolerates and he has it perched in his tree house half the time so you can’t even go up there if you’re not him. Which, like, not cool when your little brother is practically sprinting to a drug addicted future and you really should be making sure he doesn’t have the worst of it in your parents house.” – Rosemary Green, older sister.

At first interaction it’s easy to think Rowan is all rough and ready to fight. And that’s exactly what he wants you to think. His fighter persona is designed to scare anyone who would hurt him away. Give him some time and a little patience and it becomes obvious that Rowan is much more complex than that. Rowan is confusing. There are so many elements to him that it’s hard for any one person to get a full picture of him.

There’s his brash fighter side – the part of him that stabbed a child for being mean to his sister once. There’s the sweet side of him that takes lost animals and lost people under his wing and cares for them when they can’t seem to care for themselves.

There’s the engineer part of him that builds useless robots constantly just because he’s bored. There’s the witch part of him that has an altar in his bedroom and that celebrates every pagan holiday he knows about so none of the gods feel left out.

There’s still a childlike part of him that hangs out in the treefort his dad made him as a kid and still holds conversations between his stuffed animals. There’s the teenage part of him that’s looking for any substance to numb the pain of becoming an adult coupled with the pain of his past.

There’s the creative part of him that comes up with bizarre ideas for robots, off the wall pranks (like leaving loaves of homemade bread all over someone’s living space) and interprets almost every song he likes into his own version. And then there’s the part of him that named his cat “Cat.”

Rowan is nothing if not complicated and confusing. He doesn’t mind that though. He’s used to being the smartest person in any room he’s in but he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just watches everyone else and works on mentally figuring out how to fix the coding of whatever website he’s working on at the moment.

He doesn’t love easily but when he loves he loves deeply and unconditionally. If you find yourself lucky enough to be one of Rowan’s chosen few know you will have him on your side for life. He’s ride or die with everyone he cares about.

Hobbies: Robotics Singing (he actually has a really good voice) Collecting stuffed animals Programming Baking (he works at a bakery but he also just enjoys it) Sloths. They’re his favorite thing in this world and he is almost obsessive in his quest to see sloths, collect sloth momentos, and learn sloth facts. Trivia: Rowan has a car named Bloody Mary. It’s an old fashioned VW Beetle he spray painted black and red. He got a beetle because he “wanted to inspire violence in children.” He’s really good with anything that uses his hands. Baking, playing guitar, building robots, etc. If it’s a hands-on, kinesthetic task Rowan excels at it. He is terrified of butterflies and giraffes. He collects stuffed animals so intensely that it can be hard to walk in his bedroom because there are so many stuffed animals lying around. He sleeps with a little stuffed dinosaur every night who he’s named Kelvin and a stuffed animal of the Peanuts character Woodstock (who he has named Franklin).

Health - Rowan downplays how he’s feeling most of the time. The intense physical abuse and neglect he faced as a child left him with chronic pain. He doesn’t mention it very often. He doesn’t want to admit to any weaknesses. If you watch him closely enough you’ll notice him rubbing his joints or squirming in his seat. Those are his biggest tells with his pain. At 8 he was diagnosed with dyslexia and he still struggles to read and code (coding is worth the struggle, reading is not). At 13 he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Besides changing his pronouns he doesn’t seem too interested in transitioning (he’ll tell you he doesn’t see a point but in reality he’s afraid of the medical procedures involved). At 15 he was diagnosed with mood disorder not otherwise specified. He was given medication that he promptly threw out but he still attends weekly therapy sessions to try and help. He doesn’t think it’s doing anything but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with things.

wanted connections . Band members. Rowan is cool with being a singer or a guitarist but he needs music in his life. Names are open for discussion but the genre should be reminiscent of either riot grrrl or post punk. His biological dad. I love the idea that his dad has been in his life from the sidelines since he was adopted and would love to explore that relationship.

[almaasi]

reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x14 “Ouroboros”

conclusion: yes, apparently feet can look gay, and Dean and Cas are both queer by proxy

04:35pm

me: still v magnesium deficient, sick, dizzy

LET’S WATCH A THING AND THINK ABOUT IT WITH MY PUDDING BRAIN

any thoughts stated here are run through a pudding filter so please do not be alarmed if they are incoherent or a weird colour

okay it’s a Steve Yockey episode so i guess he’s gonna give us a great character and then kill them before the title card

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04:41

hang on i need to eat and i can’t eat and think at the same time so i’mma go watch an episode of shaun the sheep brb

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04:46

okay well i watched half an episode and ate half my food so,... yay

LET’S WATCH THIS OTHER THING THEN

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04:48

sam’s “i believe in us” *PUNCH* still makes me laugh

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04:49

the body on the AAAAAAAAAAAAA I’

M SCREAMING NOPE NOPE NOPE

-

can i just watch this whole thing with my hand over the screen

because that is what i’ doing rn

oh god i hate this

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actually you know what

i just skipped to the title card

cause fuck that haahahhaah nope

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oh lord it didn’t skip to team free will

how much of this do i have to take

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oh okay tfw are here already

WELL GREAT NOW I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHERE TO SKIP BACK TO

ASJFSDFHSFHSJ

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04:54

i fuckin love rowena and how much they ask for her help even though they’re “enemies” except they’re clearly lowkey Fond of each other

also i like how this ep started in the middle of the case

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04:56

rowena: “hello castiel” ;) ;) ;)

okay well

this pleases me

because i know the only way this ends is that cas is not interested and that’s the Point

because he <3s dean

but also why the hell is rowena into cas....... surely she knows he loves dean. unless she’s just into starting shit, i wouldn’t be surprised

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04:58

the way jack says “i’m not dying”

10/10

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04:59

cas: “he’s now claimed the lives of six people in northern new mexico”

why does he say “people” like that

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05:01

dean’s throwing a looooot of salt at rowna. maybe because she keeps flirting with cas

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“everything means something”

YEAH EXACTLY

DEAN’S SALTY BECAUSE ROWENA’S FLIRTING WITH CAS I’VE DECIDED

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05:03

sam says dean can keep michael locked in his head “because he’s dean and dean is dean”

yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah okay

expert closet curator, you mean

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05:05

dean has a good feeling about bringing rowena in on this one??????????????? after all the snark????????????

cas: “they do have many books”

me: *squINTS REALLY HARD* i feel like they’re implying something else and neither of them are talking about the same thing. did dean set sam up on a date with rowena????????????

also?

DEAN AND CAS ARE ON A DATE. DEAN AND CAS ARE ON A DINNER DATE IN A DINER. ALERT ALERT ALERT

paralleling rowena and sam perhaps

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05:08

concerned head tilt

oh god their love and mutual understanding and trust in each other is killing me with its softness

i’m so so so glad we get to see them in some downtime at fucking last

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05:10

oh no jack’s coughing again

why can’t he have nice things

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05:10

dean: “that’s what i’m supposed to say, right? i’m fine? keep on moving?”

cas: “no, dean”

the fact dean lets his guard down only with cas in private ;~;

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sidenote, this episode is giving me my bloody valentine meets hunteri heroici vibes, which is nice because they’re two of my all-time fave episodes

but god i wish it would go easy on the cannibalism

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05:14

dean: “i’m barely even sleeping” :D

THAT PAINED GRIN OH GOD

but also

i’m so emotional because he told anyone at all, but especially that of all people he told cas

of course he told cas, cas is his emotional sounding board

if this were a fanfic cas would offer to share the bed with dean and help him sleep

....but i mean, who knows, maybe dean was secretly hoping for that anyway

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05:19

that’s the face of “dean doesn’t know what liturgical means”

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05:22

jack: “what’s an av club?”

cas: “it’s a special club for people who do not play sports”

dean: *points at cas* “him. he’s av club”

mmmmmmmm yup

autistic nerd

dean’s baseball and track team, cas is av club and student tutoring

but also if dean ever got cas onto the baseball field cas would hit every ball first time

and dean would be swooning

BUT ALSO DEAN WOULD FUCKING LOVE AV CLUB ARE YOU KIDDING ME

he’d be in there with charlie every fuckin day and leaning seductively on furniture while cas does his nerd thing, until the point where something properly capures dean’s interest and then HE WANTS A GO and bats away everyone else’s hands and hogs the contraption for 3 hours. also he’d fix things when they break

DEAN TONE DOWN THE PROJECTION A NOTCH WOULD YA

JEEZ

look i’m just gonna count dean calling cas “av club” as flirting, because hello yes there is no way dean doesn’t find that interesting

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05:30

i fucking knew it

the moment this episode opened and i saw the guy’s bare feet in the kitchen somehow i knew he was queer ??????????

like

i can’t explain it

but the fact there was a shot of his feet and his feet looked gay i can’t even

anyway this probably doesn’t even count as legit queer rep given he’s seducing guys and killing them so

stupid gay feet

sidenote: did ANYONE else get queer vibes from that opening scene? CAN PEOPLE’S FEET LOOK GAY OR IS THAT JUST ME

maybe it’s like... the sensuality of bare feet + cooking, breaking pointless gender roles n stuff, my brain has been coded by society’s bullshit to perceive sensual men as non-heterosexual

idk

but also. the foot-upward view of a new character... male gaze, right? and seeing the male gaze on a male character makes it queer

goddamn

it’s a thing

it’s a thing and the directing got the point across and it took me until now to work it out

GAY FEET

-

also

now i’m going back to cas’ line “six people”

my initial understanding of that line was that they weren’t all men

but the thing was the people didn’t need to be said that way if it was just men and women

my immediate instinct said the victims were non-binary, but i didn’t type it because i had no reason yet to believe that might be true and it seemed unnecessary to say it

but at this point, as the baddie hits on a guy at a truck stop in exchange for a ride, they’re clearly potentially queer victims

so

yeah that explains the inflection

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05:41

on the one hand, i’m seeing a connection to that time dean was seduced by a siren

but see my problem with this is that the guy’s either gonna end up dead or saved and i don’t know which yet

i just want happy queer stories

so i’m pretty divided about this

but on the other hand, please, god, let this gorgon guy “sense things” about dean

ALSO WAIT

IS THIS THE FIRST GAY KISS ON THIS SHOW?????????? 90% SURE THIS THE FIRST GAY KISS. there might have been a background one once

PROGRESS HAS BEEN MADE

EVEN IF IT’S EVIL AND TWISTED AND MAKES ME FEEL WEIRD

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05:44

i feel like there should’ve been an optic nerve attached to that eyeball.. and a lot of gross stuff

but also thank goodness there wasn’t

ohdfjfdg i really hate this

but also i’m smiling?

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05:46

cas: “is this amusing to you?”

the guy called him sir!!! eeheheh

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05:47

cas: “you’re not standing alone, why doesn’t he mention me?”

dean: “maybe you’re not his type”

i mean. guess he can’t see angels. BUT ALSO

CAN WE UNPACK HOW UTTERLY QUEER EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS

WE NOW UNDERSTAND THAT NOAH’S TYPE IS QUEER GUYS

AND DEAN KNOWS THIS

SO BY SAYING CAS ISN’T NOAH’S TYPE THAT MEANS HE’S IMPLYING THAT HE HIMSELF IS

BECAUSE HE’S QUEER AF

steve yockey, this is the episode i was waiting to see from you

team free will working a case together, dean and cas on a date talking about their feelings, on a case about queer stuff

hell fucking yes

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05:52

rowena: “need anti-venom in case one of you boys gets sloppy”

wouldn’t that mean noah kisses either cas or jack

god i’m so glad rowena’s there too

this episode is great sdgsfkg

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05:53

ROWENA AND SAM FAKING A RELATIONSHIP + A DOG OH MRJGJD IFUCKING LOVE THIS

WHERE DID THEY GET THE DOG

WHERE’S THE BIT LATER WHERE DEAN AND CAS ~FAKE~ A RELATIONSHIP PLEASE

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05:55

OH MY GOD THE VET STUCK A THERMOMETER IN JACK’S ASS

OH MY GOFH D:

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06:00

noah: “then he doesn’t have to die like all the other men”

hmmmmmmm

okay so all the victims were men

which makes me even more curious about why cas used that inflection on “people”

cas also looked like of amused? definitely a misha expression rather than a cas expression, the little lilt of a smile on his lips like the way he says any word starting with “h”

maybe some of them were transgender men and cas didn’t know them before they died so could only guess as to their gender? maybe some of the bodies they found were not gender-conforming

it also kiiiiind of sounded like misha changing the script after a discussion on set about it

but if that were true then that means someone on set doesn’t believe gay or queer men are men? maybe? maybe i’m reaching there

but i’m genuinely caught up on that inflection and the use of that word, it really stood out to me

and it stands out especially, now, because like i said, we know the victims were men, we know team free will found them all, and we know they were queer.

but also it’s not dean saying it, it’s cas

and i can’t imagine any scenario where cas would have trouble with non-binary pronouns

if anyone has further thoughts on this, please direct me towards them

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06:23

my browser broke?? and i lost a chunk of this post, but i had the above stuff backed up in email

i'mma go back a bit and try and remember what i typed

-

idk i think it was just about the fact noah confirmed all his victims were men which further confused me

and then said he also eats ladies

and then said some feminist stuff which made me sad that it came from the bad guy

but also that i could imagine cas saying something similar, deadpan, and then reaching for dean’s burger

-

* schmooch *

whEN DOES DEAN GET TO DO THAT

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06:28

okay YES

I KNOW WHAT I WANT TO SAY

NOAH SAYS HELLO TO DEAN

WHY JUST DEAN

WHY IS HE FIXATED ON DEAN WHEN THERE’S 3 OTHER PEOPLE IN THE ROOM? and why only write the letter to dean?

I’LL TELL YOU WHY

BECAUSE DEAN’S BISEXUAL AF

AND YES HE IS HIS TYPE

REPRESSED “STRAIGHT” MEN WHO SECRETLY LIKE GUYS

CAN THAT BE ANY MORE OBVIOUS?? I THINK NOT

i love how this episode refers back to some of the older episodes, in the best possible way

conclusion: dean is bi

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06:32

noah took the bag with the snek inside but i guess the snek esckep

-

06:34

maybe true love’s kiss will wake dean up

CAS QUICK

MIGHT AS WELL TRY RIGHT

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06:40

hurts my heart how cas has apparently made peace with the fact he’ll outlive dean and sam

i guess it’s good but

can’t help but believe deep down he would rather die than live without them

-

and now i’m crying because cas says the point is that you got to know them at all

suddenly catharsis for future pain

-

06:47

oh NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MAGGIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

D:

THIS IS THE WORST

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06:47

rowena as michael??? okay, that i can get behind

ooh

BUT ALSO

OH NO

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06:49

michael (about dean): “it didn’t work out. it was him. not me.”

flip of a classic dating line, making this QUEER AGAIN

-

06:55

JACK THE LIL HERO

WHAT DID YOU DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

//waits for the silence to be over

-

06:56

oh boy

-

06:57

OKAY WOW

WHAT AN EPISODE

i was really hoping it would turn into a plotty one, the way changing channels does at the end

this was really well done and i enjoyed it a lot!!!!!!!!! i mean, besides the squicks, and the fact the queer rep and feminist lines came from a bad guy

dean was 100% noah’s type

jack is the bestest baby bean

i feel so bad about the thermometer thing..... like, i’m not sure if it was meant to come across as funny? but there was no indication it should be... which is good i guess? but also i feel secondhand violated

DEAN AND CAS’ DATE AND TALKING ABOUT FEELINGS WHEEE

i like that this episode actually came full circle on that “dean vs michael” point, rather than having it be a one-off conversation and things aren’t resolved until a later episode

i think i’m gonna enjoy rowena as michael. and i like that she said yes because she does care about team free will

sad about maggie :c

but also all those other extra hunters were changed out pretty much episode so there was no real way to know who they were. they seemed pretty diverse though, across various episodes

i liked the asian lady vet!!!! she was fun. and i’m glad the asian gay guy didn’t die... where did he even disappear to though? who knows

overall 10/10? it had all the good shit i like so. yep.

I WANT MORE EPISODE LIKE THIS. QUEER CHARACTERS (PREFERABLY NOT EVIL), MORE ASIAN CHARACTERS, MORE TEAM FREE WILL ON HUNTS, MORE LADIES GETTING COOL ROLES AS PART OF THE TEAM AND/OR AS AN FRENEMY, MORE JACK SAVING THE DAY

MORE ROWENA IN PANTS

yeah

but more of all

MORE GAY KISSES FOR DEAN AND CAS

i love that the fact noah was fixated on dean put him in the “noah’s type = queer” category, and when noah kissed cas it did the same thing

so really, by evil proxy, noah made a point of showing us who’s queer

i mean we already knew

but HE SHOWED US

yee

-

no conclusion on why cas said p e o p l e though

[tinta--writes]

Of Hands and Holding

My worst title yet, lads.

Ok, I nicked @echoise‘s Keith for some angst + soft Steelstep. It’s a little abstract in parts but hopefully still coherent jsdchjfhv

Be warned!! There are a ton of Catholic-style (I think) mentions of God in this one - not for any specific reason, I just tend towards religious imagery when I write because it’s Like That sometimes.

And also I should mention there’s some talk of nerve damage too, in case that isn’t your cup of tea :O

m!Sidestep, ~1,125 words

You’re scripted - child, you’re scripted. Every little piece of you is prose, iambic pentameter; no mistakes. Because God doesn’t make mistakes. Because God decanted, built, and trained you. Because none of God’s children are mistakes, and you’re his son. They can read you, but only in the bumbling way a fourteen year old warbles through Shakespeare - wherefore means why, doesn’t it?

What do you call someone that defiles God’s work, then? Someone who takes the nerves He crafted and tears them apart, frays them beneath the skin, cuts them off from the spine? You want to vomit, and your hands shake with an intensity beyond normality - but you can’t feel it. Oh God, you can’t feel a damned thing you can’t-

“Keith?” you can hear him. Wei. He takes your hands and you hate that anything beyond your palms is black, black, black space. There’s claustrophobia in the darkness, coupled with the fear of an empty void because you end at your wrists, but you also end at your fingertips. “Keith?” again, and you flex - messy, messy movement - and he tries once more, “Is everything alright?”

“Does this look alright?” why are you irritated? What did he do? “Tell me what you see.” Wei doesn’t fall - too smart, too old - but he bites. “I see you, Keith. What is that to you?” “Right now? My shitty hands.” “Were you trying to do something?” because that was when the feeling enjoyed cropping up - in those small focussed spaces that broke only when a tremor dislodged your hand. There’s a pain in being able to see wires, understand and weave them flawlessly - read the code your weapons and suit operate on - but being powerless to actually do anything with them.

“Don’t need to be trying to fail, Wei.” “Do you need my help with anything?” dependency… you’d been taught to hate it by life, by the Farm, by God. And here he was, offering you poison on a plate. In a vial, asking you to take a sip - gulp - draught. But you’re smarter now. “No - I’m fine.” are you? “Just tired.” you don’t have to lie anymore, yet here you are. “Would you like to rest?” you should. And it pisses you off - why should I? You’re not my mother. You’re not the Farm. You’re not God. Shouldn’t we be equals in this, whatever it is?

“Rest won’t fix permanent nerve damage, Wei.” but he knows this, you just want to make him feel bad. “It may make you less tired, though.” and how dare he be right. “I’m always tired. It doesn’t make a difference.” “What’s actually wrong?” he’s still holding your hands, and you shake him off, the elbow is your pivot. Your mouth stays sealed. ‘Keith-“ “Stop it.” “Why are you being so-“ “Oh, is this a bit much for you?” “Listen,” he reaches for your hands again, but you snatch them away. “I understand,” he pleads with you, and you look down at his poisonous, synthetic hands. “No you fucking don’t!” anger, always anger. Defence. “At least-“ you shudder, “At least you have working hands!” I don’t have shit.

And in anger, you find accidents. Your teeth are a vice but your tongue already drips with venom. Wei’s mind - you can feel it go cold. Still. You’re not brave enough to call it blank, but you recognise his quiet hurt - those walls you could push through, but promised long ago you wouldn’t demolish. So you stand outside. You do not bang on the door, nor do you wail. The portcullis stays lowered and you can only stare.

“I’m sorry,” it’s scripted, you’re scripted. He isn’t there but you’re an actor. “That was uncalled for.“ but there’s no emotion on your face.

———————————————————————————————————

You’re scripted - child, you’re scripted. Every little piece of you is binary, little slashes and ellipses all crammed together to make a person. Because God made mistakes - he made you, decanted you - and gave you nary a broom with which to clean up His mess. Your mess.

You can’t read him - you’d promised not to - but the gelid fortress of his mind is palpable to you even from outside. From across the moat. You can’t stand on the other side only to gaze numbly at the crenellations - up, down, up, down - and not attempt to cross over. Over the water. Over the ice. Over the steel.

So you knock, and when he says nothing, you manage a small, “Wei?” And still, no noise, only that same frigid wall. So you punch the gates. “Can I come in?” And you heave at the foot of the portcullis. “I want to talk to you.” and you scream down into the moat. “It’s okay if you’re not ready yet.”

Finally, “It’s open.” and you trust in that. The door opens, the wall crumbles just a smidgen, and someone, somewhere in the ice, flicks on a lighter. You step inside, and he is sitting on the bed - your bed, for both of you - and you join him. Reach for his hands, and unfairly, he doesn’t move them away. Lets them be held. You feel worse, but the anger is gone, dissipated only until it is needed again. Until it solidifies like a rock in your chest once more.

“I’m sorry,” he looks up at you with tired eyes but lets you continue. “I said what I did to hurt you, not because I meant it.” “You meant to hurt me.” You don’t sigh, “Yes.” “Why?” “I was angry.” he stares. “Because you said you understood, and you were right. Maybe not the same exact type of understanding, but enough. And I hated that.” candid - the script is fraying in your hands and you can’t feel it as it falls away. “But that’s just an explanation,” time makes this dance easier. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for dismissing your genuine,” because it was, “Offer to help me.”

Something softens in Wei’s eyes, and the smile he offers you is small and almost proud. You force yourself to keep looking. He doesn’t thank you, but he does move his hands out of yours, up to your forearms, and squeezes gently. It isn’t scripted, nobody is telling him to love you. Nor to hold you, nor to offer that he help you build hands like his for yourself. A new life, he says; one in which you don’t have to hide anymore. A new life in which  you're not God’s mistake, not his partner nor anything else. Just Keith. Your own life, for you. You bring him into a hug.

[promiseimnotacop]

let's go about this a different way: pick your fave ten questions from the trans journey ask game and answer them!

bold of you to assume I’ve ever managed to make a decision in my life. also warning this gonna be looooooong

from this ask game

1. How did you choose your name? 

so I’ve always been interested in names and a couple years before i ever came out to anyone I asked my mum casually if there were any other names she’d considered giving me. She said that Finn or Finnbar were up there had I “”been born a boy”” and so I latched on to that. It worked pretty well for me because I wanted something that felt like an equivalent exchange for my birthname and that I didn’t associate strongly with a particular individual and I’d never had a Finn in my year at school so that was all hunky dory. Took me a while longer to figure out middle names (because my birthname has two middle names and it’s sort of a tradition on my dad’s side so I wanted to have those). 

There was a hot minute when I considered calling myself “Hugo Finn” which I’m so glad I didn’t, not that it is objectively a bad name, but because my reasoning was erm....bad. It was at a time when I had a lot of internalised self hatred/disgust and the name Hugo I first came across and associated heavily with the morally ambiguous “freak” from ASOUE. At the time I thought using a name I associated so heavily with the word freak was a way of subverting negative feelings but tbh it wasn’t. I’m so glad I didn’t tether myself that negativity. 

Also fun fact, my birthname is Shakespearean protagonist who spends most of the play dressed as a boy so again for a hot second I considered using the name she does, Fidele, but I wasn’t about having a super conspicuously uncommon name. 

For middle names in the end I went for James Lee (though nothing is legal or set in stone feedback and opinions are welcome lol). Lee came first, after the river in my village that I have a lot of postive memories associated with, outside of all the gender bullshit. The problem then became that the name “Finn Lee” would sound like/get mistaken for “Finley” and “Finnbar Lee” would sound like “Finn Barley” which would be eccentric and confusing. So it needed a buffer. In the end I went for James, partly because the first middle name of my given name is a saint, but mostly because James can be Jim and that allows for some of my childhood nicknames (im jim jam, imbo jimbo) to sort of still apply. that was a long answer to a short question lol but I spent a lot of time thinking about this because for some reason I felt  like I couldn’t come out until I’d already settled on a full name. 

3. Do you have more physical dysphoria or more social dysphoria?

I don’t think they’re separable. I have dysphoria about my body but it is because of societal perceptions of my body

8. How would you explain your gender identity to others?

depends on how savvy that person is to trans jargon honestly. The best, if clunky, label I’ve found for my gender is “transmasculine non-binary” which is two different quite broad umbrella terms lol. I like the looseness of it. For me personally, it means that the framework of masculinity and maleness is not an exact fit and does not cover some of the complexities of my gender but, in my daily interactions it is a close enough approximation and I do desire to pursue parts of what might be considered a “trans masculine” medical transition. For the most part masculine coded language (including he/him pronouns) is what suits me the best, with only a few particular exceptions. So, for most of the world I am functionally “a man” (even though that is one of the few bits of masculine coded language I don’t gel with), or maybe “a gender non-conforming man” and I am not gonna split hairs about that if we aren’t close. 

But if we’re seriously getting into a chat about gender there’s a lot more to be said. If drawing a diagram of my gender I would say I’m about 55% male, 30% “other”/third gender/maverique/genderqueer/whatever you want to call a gender identity autonomous and seperate from male or female, and 15% nothing/void. And all of that is subject to fluctuate a bit and which parts I might connect with most can be slightly contextual. I am more “a man” than anything else but also pretending to be a binary man is cutting out a significant part. 

12. Do you pass?

Let’s unpack the most Problematique question lol. Just kidding. It is important to acknowledge how “passing” or not effects daily safety/experiences but....god can we not use that word? Can that not be the agreed upon term? The implication that you are otherwise “failing”? The way in which it is incredibly difficult to apply to no-binary people? The way it does not acknowledge the nuances and the way that being read as a certain gender can be conditional? 

I prefer to use the terms “read as” because it allows for more nuanced discussion, does not have moralistic implications, puts the onus on the people viewing - not the individual being viewed and is kinda intuitive to understand.

To answer the question though? For the most part (like maybe 80% of the time) I am read as male. By no means always, and it is conditional on me following a certain level of gender conformity, but for the most part I interact with the world being addressed as a guy. As someone who is very much pre-t it seems that this alone subverts the standard “trans narrative”. Hell I was mostly read as male for a while before I ever came out. I’ve been corrected and laughed at in the women’s bathrooms. I’ve been harassed for gender nonconformity not in spite of but because I was wearing “girl’s” uniform. I have had fellow trans people assume I was a cis man (on more than one occasion) even when I introduced myself by my very much feminine birthname. I have little kids point blank refuse to believe I am “a girl”. I have had strangers confront and correct my mum for addressing me with she/her pronouns (before I was out). I have had kids yell the T slur at me (before I had begun to learn the invisible rules - which to be totally clear are bullshit -that need to be followed in order to be more consistently and unerringly read as male). I’ve been read as male occasionally in contexts where it was impossible for me to be out (near strangers on holiday whilst using birthname, new teachers and students at a school i’d been at since I was 11 and worn “girl’s uniform” until 16, etc).

It’s by no means always though. Which makes the times I don’t difficult and awkward. The technician on my course refers to me with feminine language but none of my tutors. The other day I tried out wearing eye shadow to class and I guy I bumped into later said that he hadn’t recognised me because it made me look like a girl (cringe). etc.

17. What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom in public?

haha i don’t go. I literally haven’t been to the men’s bathroom (apart from once on holiday) but also i get harassed in the women’s/get directed towards the men’s so.....here’s to hoping I don’t get a UTI lads. Literally been in a public loos once since June (not including holiday abroad) and then i nipped into the disabled one during shark week. 

19. Would you ever go stealth, and if you are stealth, why do you choose to be stealth?

so at the beginning of uni I sort of tried to go stealth to see if I could/if it was comfortable (and by go stealth I mostly mean I just didn’t openly talk about my trans-ness for a while). I didn’t wanna be known as ‘the trans one’ and so i didn’t want to introduce myself with that fact. It fucking sucked would not recommend 0/10. It’s incredibly lonely-making to try and filter your experiences and to not be able to discuss certain issues with anyone irl. 

32. How do you see yourself identifying and presenting in 5 years?

I used to do this thing when I was feeling particularly dysphoric/hopeless where I would draw myself now, and myself in 5 years time. Help construct something to look forward to, and work out what I would sincerely like to wear/express but don’t due to dysphoria. For me I really want to get to a place where I am comfortable in androgyny. I want to grow my hair out without sacrificing being read as male. I want to wear long skirts and crop tops whilst still being read and understood as a guy. I’ve done a lot of self reflection and I don’t think I can get to the place of being comfortable until I have had top surgery and I might also require T (though top surgery is really the necessity for my day to day life). Fingers crossed that will be possible and slightly healed within 5 years but given the NHS it really is not certain. 

39. Is your ideal partner also trans, or do you not have a preference?

T4T is self care. Jk. Honestly probably but that’s not to say a cis person couldn’t be my ideal partner? like at any rate it’s fucking necessary that my partner fully understands/perceives me to not be a woman. They could just be cis and no. 1 ally but in all likeliness they’re probably gonna be trans (particularly given the number trans and/or nb cuties out there)

40. How did/do you manage waiting to transition?

I’m not managing. Send help.

seriously every week I have a break down about how long NHS wait times are.

42. Do you interact with other trans people IRL?

I’m an art student in Brighton. Yes. 

(Also my sibling Sumner is an NB lesbian, and my childhood best friend Hunter is NB). 

Literally going to be one cis person in my house of six next year. 

[gettin-bi-bi-bi]

(1/?) I'm afab and really confused abt my gender. Calling myself a woman doesn't feel right for me but calling myself a girl is totally ok. I have a feminine body (curvy but not fat) and long hair and I'm mostly fine with that but I'm super dysphoric abt having ovaries. I've always felt like this and I've known all my life that I would never want to be pregnant. I used to have really bad confidence but it got better after I lost a lot of weight. I started questioning my gender at age 13 but

(2/?) I dropped it when I started feeling better about myself and bc I didn't think it would be possible to pass as anything but female no matter what I did due to my body shape. I'm 15 now and I've discovered that I have trouble dating bc I'd prefer "the mans role" in the relationship no matter the gender of my partner which has made me doubt that any of my relationships (especially with guys) will work out and it's doesn't help that my reproductive organs feel wrong. I talked to one of my

(3/4)cis-female friends and I said that if it wasn't implausible and seen as abnormal I'd honestly be fine with my current body just with male reproductive organs and she said she'd hate that. A lot of the ways my cis-female friends describe their sexuality just doesn't apply to me at all and it really scares me bc I know that I couldn't transition even if I rly wanted to and I'm worried I'll do something I'll regret. It still makes me really sad to think abt how

(4/4) I still have to live the rest of my life with a body that's just 75% correct. I want to get sterilized when I'm older cuz I feel like it'd help w dysphoria but I'm still worried I'll have to repress my identity. Can you identify as non-binary even if you look like a cis-girl? How do I know if I'd feel better presenting as male? Is it abnormal to feel like this abt yourself? (sorry for the rly long ask btw)

There’s a lot on here so I’m trying to get through it bit by bit.

“I've discovered that I have trouble dating bc I'd prefer "the mans role" in the relationship no matter the gender of my partner which has made me doubt that any of my relationships (especially with guys) will work out”We’ve got a couple of asks in the past of people not knowing with “role” they should take in same-gender relationships and I think some of my advice from there also applies to you which is: try to unlearn the idea that there’s such a thing as “roles” in relationships. I know it’s hard and society’s been telling you this for the past 15 years but in a healthy relationship you should treat each other as equals and not resort to gender roles. Ideally you and your future partner(s) will be on the same page about this but to be sure these are the kinds of things you’d talk about before the relationship even properly starts.

“I talked to one of my cis-female friends [...] A lot of the ways my cis-female friends describe their sexuality just doesn't apply to me at all”I think it’s really good that you talk to your friends about this and it can definitly help you to separate your experiences from those of people who are certain about being cis. No matter what gender you’ll end up being it can help to talk to people of all sorts of genders, trans people, cis people, non-binary people... read and hear a bunch of different experiences and see if there’s something you can relate to.

“Can you identify as non-binary even if you look like a cis-girl?”Yes, definitly. Non-binary is not the same thing as androgyny. Some nb people dress and present in an androgynous or gender neutral way but not all of them do. Appearance and gender are not the same thing; gender is so much more than just looks. Think of it this way: I’m a cis woman with short hair. I could put on a suit and dress entirely in masculine-coded clothes but underneath all that I’d still be a woman because that’s how I feel. Putting on “men’s clothes” wouldn’t suddenly make me a man because I don’t feel like a man. So for you to look like a person that most people read as a woman/girl doesn’t mean that woman/girl is what you have to be. You can be everything you want.

“How do I know if I'd feel better presenting as male?”You just gotta try it. Honestly. You can theorise about it all you want but you’ll probably get a lot more certainty from trying it out. If it’s possible to you now (or at least when you’re older) you could cut your hair short - worst that can happen is that you don’t like it and it’ll take some time to grow it out again. Maybe you can try on some clothes from the men’s section at a clothes shop. It might feel weird and you might take some time to get used to the view in the mirror. Maybe it feels totally wrong - then at least you can cross that off your list. It could also feel super awesome. If you have a friend that you trust they could help you with all of this.

“Is it abnormal to feel like this abt yourself?”No it’s not. Though there are hateful people who will use the word “abnormal” to describe non-binary genders but those aren’t the ones you should give a fuck about. “Abnormal” has a very negative connotation to it; I prefer something like “uncommon”. But non-binary people very much exist so they are normal. They just might be uncommon though honestly we don’t really know just how many people would truly be non-binary if it were more socially accepted. That’s why we need to work on creating an environment in which people can choose freely which gender (if any) feels right for them. There’s non-western societies that have or had (until white people killed it) a completely different understanding of gender. So try not to fall for an arbitrary categorisation of what’s “normal” because more often than not this is used as an oppressive tool against people who dare to deviate from “the norm”.

Maddie