#cringe culture is dead! even if it wasn’t it’s better to post cringe than post gross shit!

[darkdawn01]

❝ HEART RATE HIGHS !! ❞ – azriel x reader

✭ pairing: gym rat ! azriel x archeron ! reader

✭ summary: you swear you only have a gym membership for self-improvement. it’s definitely not to see the cute guy you have a crush on.

✭ contains: modern au, f!reader, college au, but age is vague, fluff, anxious!reader who can’t see that azriel is already a little in love with you, gym culture, alcohol, meddling sisters, because reader is terrible at talking to guys, mutual pining.

✭ word count: 3k+ ✭ a/n: i absolutely love gym fics and i couldn't stop thinking about azriel in a compression shirt, so if i have to suffer, so do you <3

“wait, did i hear you properly? you’re going to the gym?” nesta’s voice cuts through the quiet murmur of the lecture hall. heads turn, and the professor pauses mid-sentence, frowning at the interruption. you cringe at the sudden attention and whisper an apology, slouching in your seat to avoid the stares.

“you’re acting like i’ve just sprouted wings,” you respond, trying to keep your voice low.

nesta blinks, her surprise melting into scepticism. “well, it is out of character for you. the gym, are you sure?”

“yes.”

“really?”

you nod.

you can’t blame her for being doubtful. among your sisters, you’re the most averse to exercise. even elain, thanks to her gardening, could likely outlift you. but –

“i don’t know if i should be offended that you’re so surprised.”

“hey, it’s not personal,” nesta replies, her voice softer as she glances around the room. the professor had resumed teaching and students were slowly returning their attention to their notes. “it’s just... unexpected. i mean, last time i suggested going for a jog, you looked at me like i’d grown a second head.”

“yeah, well, i just figured it’s about time i start taking better care of myself.”

“what brought this on all of a sudden?”

you shrug, trying to put your thoughts into words. “i guess i just realised that i’ve been neglecting my health lately. with school and everything else going on, i haven’t been feeling so great.”

nesta nods in understanding, letting you continue. neither of you really cared about this class, after all, and it wasn’t the first time you’d been called out for talking through a lecture.

“i just thought it might be a good way to clear my head, you know? like, a chance to zone out and focus on something other than deadlines and exams.”

“if you turn into a gym rat and only eat chicken and rice, i’m disowning you.”

“you’d have to pry ice cream from my cold, dead hands,” you say, nudging nesta with a grin. “nothing can take away my love of carbs and cheesy fries.”

“uh-huh, sure. that’s what they all say until they’re posting pictures of their meal prep on instagram.”

“you have no faith in me, do you?”

“none whatsoever,” she replies with a grin. “but hey, if this gym thing helps you feel better, i’m all for it.”

“if i ever mention a juice cleanse, you have full permission to stage an intervention.”

“deal. and if you lecture me on the importance of pre-workout supplements, i’m kicking you out of the apartment.”

after your year abroad, you found yourself back at the university of velaris, settling into a new rhythm with your three sisters. the four of you had decided to share an apartment, a decision fuelled by equal parts necessity and nostalgia. it wasn’t long before familiar routines took shape amidst the chaos of unpacked boxes and endless debates over furniture placement.

besides, feyre had been spending most of her time at her new boyfriend’s apartment, leaving a bit more breathing room for the rest of you. you hadn’t met him yet, but you’d heard he came from money and his penthouse had skyline views, so you could hardly blame her.

nesta wasn’t a fan, muttering something about “trust fund babies” under her breath whenever his name came up in conversation. but feyre seemed happy, and ultimately, that was what mattered most, even if a twinge of jealousy occasionally crept in.

“you should come with me.”

“i would rather die,” she snorts. “doesn’t mor work out? you should ask her.”

“no way, i’d look even more unfit next to her. i have some pride.”

“wow, so you ask me instead. you’re such a bitch,” she laughs.

as luck would have it, the gym was just a 10-minute walk away, conveniently offering a discounted price for students. the only downside was going alone.

“but i don’t know how to use the equipment,” you groan.

“and you think i do?” your sister retorts.

“well, no, but at least i wouldn’t look like the only idiot.”

“just find someone with muscles and ask them,” she suggests.

“right, of course, because i’m so great at talking to strangers.”

nesta raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “so, what’s your plan then? to stand in the corner and hope the smith machine starts talking to you?”

“maybe,” you mumble, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. you didn’t even know what a smith machine was until this morning.

nesta lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “stop being such a baby and put a cute workout outfit on. you’ll be fine.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you were very much not fine.

the blonde girl at the front desk, with her bouncing ponytail and bright smile that could probably power the entire gym, was very nice. she had given you a tour of the gym, showing you the rows of gleaming equipment and weight racks, and enthusiastically pointed out the array of classes available, from yoga and spin to high-intensity interval training.

she had, however, assumed you knew how to use everything, and you hadn’t been brave enough to correct her.

you had nodded along, trying to absorb the barrage of information she threw at you, but each machine seemed more complicated than the last, and you were positive some of them belonged in a medieval torture chamber. 

but you could do this. if guys who couldn’t even spell “midterm” could end up looking like greek statues, surely you could handle a single gym session. you were smart, you were pretty. everything was going to be just fine. besides, you had watched enough fitness influencers on social media to have a vague idea of what to do. with a deep breath, you reminded yourself that everyone had to start somewhere – or at least that’s what your therapist had told you.

deciding to start your session with something familiar, you made your way over to the row of treadmills. incline walking was hard to mess up. the downside was that it made you feel like you were dying.

thirty minutes later, you were profoundly regretting your decision as you clung to the handrails, legs burning with exertion. sweat had beaded on your forehead, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath.

with shaky legs, you made your way to the weights, steeling yourself against the familiar wave of self-doubt. this part of the gym was always crowded with an excess of men flaunting their egos, their grunts and posturing only serving to make you feel even more out of place.

you think of nesta and how she would never let anyone make her feel small. she would have your head if she thought you would let any man intimidate you.

deep breaths. everything is fine.

as you attempt to adjust the resistance on the leg press machine, your fingers fumble over the pin that holds the weight stack in place, causing the plates to clang noisily against each other. flushed and annoyed, you would love nothing more than to slink away in embarrassment.

“here, let me.” he crouches beside you and effortlessly rectifies your problem as if you hadn’t been struggling for the past ten minutes.

oh god, he looked like he could go viral on tiktok or be on the front cover of a fitness magazine.

and he was helping you.

stay calm. just ignore the fact that this might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

you couldn’t help but steal glances at the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his black compression shirt, each movement highlighting the definition of his arms and chest.

he was so pretty. you just hoped you didn’t look like you were dying.

“thanks,” you say, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended.

oh god, just breathe.

he flashes you a soft smile, “no problem. we’ve all been there.”

you’d like to say you committed to a gym membership for self-improvement.

(you would be lying.)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

before ever stepping foot in a gym, your taste in men was somewhat predictable.

you liked nerdy computer science guys you could play video games with and pretentious english lit students who gave you good book recommendations – the indoor sort.

they all tended to look like a light breeze could push them over. not the kind where you could steal their hoodies. and that was fine. you didn’t care, honest.

but then the cute guy at the gym completely ruined your usual type in men. you never imagined you’d be that into muscles, but he looked like he could toss you around like a rag doll, and you soon realised that you actually quite liked the thought.

you initially thought your crush would be harmless – glancing at him from across the room and playing out scenarios in your head.

but then he started offering to unload your plates, and showed you how different machines worked when you looked particularly confused. he would ask you to spot him, despite you both knowing you would be of zero help, and would refill your water bottle when he noticed it getting low.

he would even help to correct your form so you wouldn’t injure yourself.

that, however, had you so flustered you couldn’t even complete the full set. his hand grazing your waist made your heart pound so loudly, you were certain he could hear it. you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

you told him you had to leave early to finish your essay.

and then, like the gentleman he was, he had asked you about it the next time he saw you, and let you ramble about your major for far too long. the worst part was that he seemed genuinely interested.

you didn’t even know his name and yet you were pretty sure you wanted to have his babies.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“are you sure you really need protein powder?” elain questioned, picking up a bunch of celery for her green juices. “you can get all the vitamins and minerals you need from real food, you know.”

“but it’s so much easier to hit my protein goals with it,” you whined, clutching the tub of powder defensively.

“she’s only doing this because her crush drinks the same brand,” nesta teased, a sly grin spreading across her face as she tossed a box of granola into the cart.

“oh my god, keep your voice down,” you groaned, glancing around nervously. it was 10 pm on a wednesday. the grocery store was practically deserted, but you think you might cry if anyone overhears. “besides, it’s not just because of him. it’s practical!”

“practical,” nesta repeated, her grin widening. “sure, that’s the reason.”

“what’s his name again?" elain said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“i hate you,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up. you tried to focus on the nutrition label in front of you, but nesta’s laughter made it impossible.

“come on,” nesta said, nudging you playfully. “you’ve been pining over him for months. when are you going to actually talk to him?”

“never?”

“you should accidentally bump into him and spill your protein shake all over his expensive gym clothes. it would be a brilliant conversation starter.”

“please don’t jinx me.”

“oh, and then you could do his laundry as an apology, and he’d buy you a coffee because he thinks you’re pretty!” elain chimes in.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you’ve been working out long enough now that you knew the basics of gym etiquette. namely, don’t be creepy. a simple thing, really, but too many people struggled to act like sane, well-adjusted human beings capable of basic manners. it was as if the gym was some bizarre alternate universe where leggings made men’s brains short-circuit.

so you try very hard to not stare at your gym crush doing pull-ups.

but his biceps are flexing, his shirt is riding up, and you never knew you could be so attracted to someone’s back.

you feel like you’re twelve again – you want to write his name in a heart in your diary and talk about him for hours on the phone.

for the first time, however, you’re grateful you don’t know any concrete details about him. you would’ve stalked his social media, found out he had a girlfriend or horrible political opinions, and then cried yourself to sleep.

you’d really rather not know. hopeless yearning is much more to your taste.

but then he notices you across the room and smiles, and you realise your gym crush is very much not harmless.

you decide that you’ll be brave and actually initiate conversation for once.

a horrible idea, really.

“hey.”

“hey,” he responds.

“what are you listening to?” god, you didn’t think you were this awkward.

“oh, i don’t listen to music when i work out.”

“right, yeah, i totally get that.” you actually don’t understand that at all. the idea of exercising with just your thoughts sounds like a special kind of torture, but he doesn’t need to know that.

you fidget with the hem of your shorts, desperately searching for something else to say.

“so, uh, how’s your workout going?” he asks.

“it’s going okay,” you reply, the words tumbling out. “you?”

you want to disappear.

“yeah, it’s good too.” you swear you see a hint of pink in his cheeks, though it’s probably just from finishing his set.

your mind is blank and you have no idea what else to say. “great.”

you hope you look like you’re smiling and not grimacing.

this was quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had. you’re never speaking to a man again.

even if they are very pretty and look like they could pick you up without breaking a sweat.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

getting ready with three other girls in a cramped apartment was always a challenge. you loved your sisters, but if feyre didn’t get away from the mirror, you would scream.

feyre, always meticulous with her makeup, was painstakingly perfecting her eyeliner, ignoring the sighs from nesta.

“can you possibly move any slower?” nesta hisses, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms.

you exchange a knowing look with elain, who was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling through her phone. she had opted to stay behind, and you were growing increasingly jealous of her decision.

“why don’t we just take turns?” you intervene, hoping to avoid a fight before you even got to the party. “feyre, you finish up, then nesta, and i’ll go last. sound fair?”

feyre finally steps away from the bathroom and nesta wastes no time in taking her place, muttering something about how she could do a better job in half the time.

feyre had been persistent about attending one of rhysand’s house parties for weeks now, and despite your and nesta’s reluctance, she had managed to wear you down. it wasn’t so much her persuasive arguments as it was the promise of free alcohol that ultimately swayed both of you. plus, you were a little curious. feyre had been gushing about her boyfriend for months now. 

as you stood in front of the mirror, giving yourself a final once-over, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. feyre, radiant in her navy dress, was practically buzzing with excitement. nesta looked as though she’d rather be doing anything else, despite begrudgingly admitting that the three of you looked good.

you had opted for a short, tight-fitted black dress. shocking how regularly going to the gym could actually help your confidence.

feyre led the way, practically dragging you and nesta out of the apartment. elain, now comfortably nestled on the couch with a book, waved you goodbye. “be safe, and don’t drink too much!”

“it’s so cute that you think i could survive the night without being drunk,” nesta laughs. 

the cool night air is a welcome change from the stuffy apartment as the three of you step outside to wait for the cab. feyre was already chattering about rhysand and his friends, while nesta had shot her a look that could wither plants.

you really needed a drink.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

rhysand’s apartment ended up being a thirty-minute drive away, nestled in the wealthier district of velaris, and you could see why feyre spent so much time here.

you could hear the music before you even enter, and it smells so strongly of alcohol you already feel a little lightheaded.

it can hardly be called an apartment in all honesty, it’s nicer than most houses and certainly surpasses anything you’ve ever stepped foot in before. it’s spacious, with an open layout that flows effortlessly from one room to the next. plush couches and chairs face a glass coffee table that is currently covered in red plastic cups and half-finished bottles of vodka. luckily, all his furniture was black. you winced at the thought of cleaning the stains that were bound to appear after tonight.

you noticed the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a pretty view of the city skyline, the twinkling lights stretching out like a blanket of stars against the night. you weren’t the jealous type, but you had the sudden urge to strangle feyre.

she had navigated the apartment with ease, her eyes alight with familiarity as she disappeared in search of rhysand. left to fend for yourselves, you and nesta exchanged a glance before setting off in the direction of the kitchen.

as you weave through the throng of people, you catch sight of mor, effortlessly manoeuvring between guests as she pours drinks. she seems completely at ease, flashing dazzling smiles and looking stunning as ever.

mor’s eyes light up with recognition as she spots you among the crowd. with a beckoning gesture, she calls you over. “i didn’t think you two would be here!” she seems genuinely happy to see you, despite only talking to her after class a couple of times.

“our sister is dating the host, so naturally, we’ve been dragged along,” you reply. “she’s off hunting him down now.”

mor’s gaze shifts between you and nesta, realisation crossing her features. “rhysand is actually my cousin,” she explains with a smile. “so, i’ve met feyre a few times now.”

“that’s unfortunate,” nesta laughs. you’re pretty sure she’s only half-joking.

you elbow her. “come on, don’t be mean. i don’t want to be kicked out after five minutes of being here.”

“are you sure? we could go get pizza and ice cream and not wake up feeling like we were hit by a car?”

“are you seriously the voice of reason right now?”

“hey, if you’re going to the gym, then i can be a responsible adult.”  

mor perks up, her eyes brightening with interest. “you work out?”

you smile sheepishly, “i only started a few months ago.”

“you should join me sometime!” mor suggests eagerly. “i usually go with rhysand and a few others, but one of them hasn’t shown up in ages. it’d be great to have another girl!”

“speaking of which, i should introduce you to them,” mor adds with a grin before calling out, “azriel! cassian! get over here!”

and then you spot who is walking over.

“mor, what’s up?” a very familiar voice asks.

because, you realise, it’s your gym crush. it’s the guy you’ve been pining over for months.

your brain is really struggling to comprehend that he’s here, and he knows mor, and apparently rhysand?

has he met feyre too?

he’s wearing all black, like usual, and his biceps look even better in this lighting, and oh god, you want to melt into the ground before you somehow think of a new way to embarrass yourself.

your mind is racing a hundred miles per hour and you’re suddenly realising you’re going to have to avoid feyre’s boyfriend forever if he’s friends with him and – 

and as your eyes meet his, and realisation flickers across his features, you’re really wishing you had stayed at home with elain.

or vanish into thin air. that works too.

“az, these are feyre’s sisters!” mor’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

you’ve finally learnt his name, you suppose, but you’re pretty sure you’ll have to find a new gym.

#azriel #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #modern au #acotar x reader #acotar fandom #a court of thorns and roses #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #feysand #elain archeron #cassian #acotar #sarah j maas #sjm #rhysand #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #velaris

[galacticnova3]

Why must I be allergic to hornets when there is a hornet’s nest I could so easily swing a bat at because I hate seeing it(the hornet’s nest is a really popular ship I despise)(technically there’s two of them but this post is about the one that’s Really Not Good if you think about it for more than 2 seconds)(I would love for the people who ship it to swing a real bat at a real hornet’s nest, if it weren’t for the fact that I like hornets a hell of a lot more and they don’t deserve the suffering)

#rambling #negative #things I wish shippers would learn: Sometimes Shipping Isn’t Necessary #Sometimes Media Doesn’t Have Many Shippable Characters #if you’re so desperate to make shipping content when it doesn’t fit at all and is actually gross in the context of the game #just make ocs who have similar personalities #it’s that simple! just make your own thing instead of sanding off major details so two existing characters will fit in the shipping box! #it is literally that easy #you can even make them fan characters if you really like the setting #cringe culture is dead! even if it wasn’t it’s better to post cringe than post gross shit! #after all if you have to ignore several major aspects of the characters you want to ship so it isn’t nasty #are you really shipping them to begin with? #or are you just shipping the facets of them that you like and throwing away the rest for convenience #anyways friends will know what I’m talking about #not going to say what this is about since last time I got death threats and stuff

[kallie-den]

A Commanding Weakness Ch. 4

Peggy Morgan, the Inyx's dorky science officer, starts confusing fact and fiction when other crew members mysteriously offer to cosplay with her and reenact some of the lewdest scenes from her favorite anime

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!   For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get   immediate, early access to everything I write - along with exclusive stories and the ability to vote on what I write next. Your support helps  me keep writing and is greatly appreciated   <3

---

Peggy Morgan, the Inyx’s science officer, made sure to offer a proper salute to Captain Vasser as she finished up her duty shift on the bridge and headed into the turbolift that would take her back down to her quarters, in the bowels of the ship. As soon as the doors slid closed with their distinctive hiss, though, she slumped against the wall.

Another awful day.

It just wasn’t getting any easier. Peggy had always hoped that, somehow, once she made it to a senior enough post, she’d be able to fit in. No such luck. Instead, it felt like other members of the crew were constantly laughing at her behind her back, be it because of the way she looked, or the way she talked, or her tendency to get lost in daydreaming and fantasy when during an uneventful shift.

Yes, Peggy was a huge nerd. She understood perfectly well that she was a complete stereotype of a science officer. Peggy was pale and freckled, with long, red hair and huge, round glasses. She couldn’t handle contact lenses or laser correction, and a nervous habit meant that she often stuttered or lisped when she spoke. Thanks to that she usually kept quiet - but when she found her voice, she sometimes got carried away with her scientific explanations.

It wasn’t her fault that the finer points of subquantum physics were so fascinating! Really, other Alliance officers should try to educate themselves. Instead, when Captain Vasser cut her off, they just giggled behind their hands. And why did the captain have to be so short with her anyway? She was an officer! A young one, yes, but she still deserved respect.

Peggy sighed. Hopefully, once they were through with this mission, she could get herself transferred to a ship that suited her better. Until then, there was no use dwelling on it. All she could do was go back to her quarters after every shift and try to take her mind off it all by indulging in her favorite hobby.

Anime.

Yes, being obsessed with twenty-first-century media was often considered cringe. No, it didn’t help with her image as a complete and total dork. But Peggy didn’t care. Anime was her life. There was nothing better than curling up in her bunk with her body pillow and waifu plushes to burn through a few seasons of classic animation.

It was such a shame that Peggy didn’t have anyone to share her passion with. Unfortunately, to most people, anime was just some boring, old-fashioned, dead medium, no different from opera and ballet. Apparently, your average Alliance starship officer didn’t have much interest in classical culture. Oh, Peggy had tried to spread the good word. But just like everything else, it had mostly gotten her ignored and quietly made fun of.

Fine. Whatever. All Peggy needed to do to escape their scorn was make it back to her quarters without running into anyone unpleasant. Then she’d have the evening all to herself.

But it was never that easy. Peggy cursed her luck when she rounded a bulkhead and found herself staring at the Inyx’s chief of security, Samira Carter.

Great.

Chief Carter was one of the worst. Peggy had spent her entire education looking forward to the day she no longer had to deal with abrasive, small-minded, meat-headed jocks. But as it turned out, they had a way of following you wherever you went. Peggy and Chief Carter were never going to be friends. Chief Carter had that loud, swaggering confidence that just grated uncomfortably on Peggy’s nerves. She treated the whole ship, and everything in it like it was her own personal playground - especially the women. It was infuriating that, just because she had a few muscles, she assumed she could have any girl she wanted. It was even more infuriating that she seemed to be right.

Peggy would have disliked Carter even if she’d left the science officer completely alone. She was everything Peggy had learned to resent and avoid. But in typical fashion, she was also the ringleader of all the mockery Peggy had received. She had been the first to make cutting comments about Peggy’s love of anime, and she was always the one who laughed the loudest whenever she tripped over her words or got shut down by Captain Vasser. And since she was such a big presence wherever she went, the rest of the crew had ended up taking their cues from her.

Peggy had tried to give Chief Carter the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t like the security chief was singling her out in particular. She treated almost everyone this way. Probably, it was her version of being friendly. ‘Harmless banter’, she’d call it. It wasn’t her fault that Peggy was so bad at sticking up for herself, and so easy to make fun of. But at the end of the day, that didn’t matter. She was making Peggy’s life miserable, and Peggy couldn’t forgive her for it.

So, as they walked towards each other, Peggy just fixed her eyes on the floor and silently prayed that Chief Carter didn’t take any notice of her. She couldn’t take one more mean comment. Not today. Hopefully, she was busy. Hopefully, she had something else on her mind. Hopefully, she was-

“Hey, Morgan. How’s it going?”

Her deep, cocksure, sultry voice was like nails on a chalkboard to the science officer. She kept her head down and quickened her pace, hoping against hope that Chief Carter would just let it go.

No such luck.

“Woah! What’s the hurry?”

Peggy felt herself thrown suddenly off balance as something slammed into her shoulder and spun her around. Immediately disoriented, she braced herself to hit the floor before she realized that, instead, something was bearing down on her and keeping her pressed firmly against the nearest bulkhead.

It was Chief Carter. The security chief had slammed her against the wall.

Immediately, Peggy was flinching and panicking. Physical abuse? She hadn’t imagined even Carter would sink quite that low. It was a major escalation. What was Peggy going to do? She could take it to the captain, yes, but that was slim consolation while she was getting her face pounded in by a brute of a security chief. Peggy started bringing her hands up to fend off the blows, shaking furiously.

“Hey,” Chief Carter said, in her very lowest, smokiest, most seductive voice. “Why such a hurry, cute thing? Surely whatever you’re doing tonight can’t be better than spending time with me.”

Peggy barked an awkward, disbelieving laugh. It took her a long moment to process, with disgust, that Chief Carter didn’t want to beat her.

She wanted to screw her.

Scarcely a more appealing proposition.

“G-g-g-get off m-me!” Peggy spluttered. Chief Carter just laughed good-naturedly.

“No need to be afraid, Morgan,” she cooed. “I don’t bite… much.”

Peggy felt like she was going to hurl. This was completely ludicrous.

“L-let me go!” Peggy doubled her efforts to squirm free. “Or I’ll… I’ll…”

To her surprise, Chief Carter actually eased up on her a little - although not enough for her to escape.

“C’mon. Is the prospect of spending an evening hanging out with me really that bad?” Chief Carter’s voice gave Peggy pause. She sounded surprisingly sincere.

“S-save it,” Peggy replied wearily. “You’re just making fun of me anyway.”

“Huh?” Now Chief Carter seemed all but wounded. “No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

“B-because it’s what you always do!” Peggy exploded. “I’m used to it by now, OK? You’re not gonna fool me that easily.”

“Morgan…” Chief Carter’s eyes turned big and deep and sorrowful. She reached down to gently caress Peggy’s cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry that you were hurting. I never knew. Won’t you let me make it up to you?”

Peggy was almost taken in. She let out a momentary gasp and lost herself briefly in Chief Carter’s eyes, before reality once again reasserted herself. Chief Carter’s charm was formidable, yes. It wasn’t difficult to see how so many girls had been taken in by it. She’d say anything to get a girl into bed. But no matter how charming, she just wasn’t Peggy’s type. Peggy was into girls who were gentle and sweet. Girls she could share her interests with. Not brawny jocks.

“L-look!” Peggy cried as she tried to push Carter away. “I… I’m honestly not sure if you’re joking or not, but I’m really not into you, OK? So, uh… thanks, but no thanks.”

Chief Carter’s whole face fell. She pulled back and withdrew her arm. “You won’t even give me a chance, huh?”

“I-it’s just… a little hard to believe.” Peggy was taking deep breaths to calm herself. She’d never been so eager to get back to her quarters. “I mean… why would you even be interested in me?”

“Maybe I just think you’re cute.” Chief Carter shrugged. She still sounded dead serious. “Look at it this way: we’re a long way from home out here on the Inyx. It’s only natural to take a certain interest in each other. I… really want to learn more about you, Morgan.”

“Oh.” Peggy turned frosty and started turning away. “I see how it is. Y-you’re just bored and looking for another notch on your bedpost, aren’t you?”

She took a few steps away, but Chief Carter’s powerful hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“No, wait!” The huge security chief sounded so ardent and desperate, it made Peggy freeze in her tracks. “Please let me explain!”

At that moment, it dawned on Peggy that this was real. Chief Carter wasn’t playing some kind of trick on her. Nobody was waiting around the corner to burst out and laugh. Somehow, for some reason, Chief Carter genuinely wanted to woo her.

It was a strange realization. It made Peggy grow warm with an unfamiliar, satisfying emotion. It made her feel powerful. She still didn’t reciprocate Carter’s feelings, of course. But she decided to hear her out. If nothing else, maybe a proper, firm rejection would teach her a little humility.

“Fine,” Peggy said firmly, turning back and folding her arms. “But tell me what’s going on. And be quick about it. I have places to be.”

She didn’t, really. Going back to her quarters to watch anime by herself didn’t count. But it sounded good.

“OK, OK.” To Peggy’s surprise, Chief Carter’s face turned a deep red color and she looked around furtively. “I just… I think you’re really cool. Seriously. And I actually think we might have a lot more in common than you realize. Maybe. With certain, uh, interests.”

Peggy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Chief Carter glanced around again before saying, in a hushed voice: “You like anime, right?”

“H-huh?” Peggy’s heart skipped a beat. “Um, yeah?”

The security chief checked yet again to make sure nobody else was around before she blurted out: “I’m a huge MaMeStaSe fangirl!”

Peggy froze. She stopped breathing. Of all the strange things she’d heard in the past five minutes, this was by far the most unbelievable.

‘MaMeStaSe’ was the preferred fan abbreviation for ‘Magical Maidens Star Sentinels’, a magical girl anime and Peggy’s absolute favorite show of all time. It was a cult classic, and for Peggy, it had everything: incredible animation, brilliant characters, heartwarming themes, and titillating action. She’d rewatched it so many times she’d lost count, she’d plastered posters of it all over her walls, and she even had a body pillow of one of the protagonists. Meeting another fan aboard the Inyx was a dream come true.

But it was a little difficult to believe.

“You are?” Peggy didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.

“Yes!” Chief Carter had a big grin on her face, like she couldn’t contain her excitement. “I swear!”

“Prove it,” Peggy told her flatly. “Do the pose.”

She was absolutely sure that Carter wouldn’t know what she was talking about, which made it all the more surprising when, without hesitation, Chief Carter performed an adorable little pirouette, struck an iconic pose, and, in a voice sparkling with hope and love, recited:

“In the name of the stars, I’ll punish you!”

It was perfect. She was a true fan.

Peggy started bouncing up and down with glee. She couldn’t help herself. She lunged forward and threw her hands around the security chief.

“Ohmigod!” she squealed. “It’s so good, right? It’s soooo good. I mean, the opening? The transformations? Hey, what’s your favorite arc? Have you read the manga? I like it too, don’t get me wrong, but to me, the anime is just so much more-“ Peggy cut herself off and blushed. “Oh no, I’m babbling.”

“No, no, don’t apologize!” Chief Carter exclaimed. She clasped Peggy’s hands and looked every bit as overcome with joy and excitement as Peggy felt. “I can’t wait to talk about everything. But, right now, I had something a little different in mind.”

“Oh?” She had Peggy’s full attention.

“Have you ever thought about recreating one of the episodes?” Chief Carter asked her.

“You mean, like, in the holodeck?” Peggy asked. She had; it was her favorite way to use her holorec time. She loved immersing herself in the fantasy, even if it wore off all too quickly once her time was up.

“No, better,” Chief Carter replied. “In real life!”

Peggy just tilted her head, confused.

“It turns out,” Chief Carter said, “Dr. Hiraga is a fan too! I only found out a little while ago, but she and I have been working on something down in medbay. Costumes, holographic assets - the works. But we need a third person. And you… well, nobody else knows Magical Maidens Star Sentinels the way you do.”

Peggy puffed up a little in pride upon hearing that.

“So, what do you say?” Chief Carter turned bashful again. “I’m… sorry for coming on so strong earlier. It doesn’t have to be, um, a d-date or anything. But I’d really love it if you’d come.”

Peggy couldn’t help but be endeared to this cuter, nerdier version of Chief Carter. Besides, hearing that Dr. Hiraga was an anime fan too was nothing short of breathtaking. Three magical girl fans on one ship? There was no way she could decline.

“Of course I’ll come!” she replied. “We need to save the stars with the power of friendship, right?”

Chief Carter pulled Peggy into a huge bear hug, one that almost lifted her off her feet. Then she took Peggy by the end and started leading her down towards medbay.

Inside medbay, everything was dim. The main ceiling lights had been switched off, and instead the room was illuminated from strange angles by an array of holographic projectors mounted all over the walls. Peggy knew medbay had some holotech to support the emergency medical hologram, but this seemed excessive. Someone had been making some major upgrades.

That was just a stray observation, though. Peggy was far too preoccupied to dwell on it. She was busy wondering what was going to happen next. They’d hurried to medbay so quickly, she hadn’t been able to ask any questions. What did recreating a magical girl anime in real life mean? And wasn’t something missing here?

“Where’s Dr. Hiraga?” Peggy asked quietly.

“Behind there.”

Chief Carter pointed to where a holographic privacy screen had been erected at the far end of the medbay. Peggy frowned.

“She’s… hiding? Why?”

“To help set the scene.”

Peggy’s frown deepened. “What does that mean, Carter?”

Infuriatingly, Chief Carter answered her question with a question. “Season Two. Episode thirty-seven. What happens?”

“Sentinel Green goes to try and save Sentinel Blue from the clutches of the evil Doctor Tomoe,” Peggy recited. “But the doctor makes Blue betray her, and both of them end up brainwashed. It’s one of my favorite episodes!”

For a fan of Peggy’s caliber, the question was trivial.

“Right!” Chief Carter said excitedly. “Isn’t this perfect? Medbay looks just like Doctor Tomoe’s evil lab!”

“It does,” Peggy admitted.

“We can do the whole scene!” Chief Carter exclaimed, overflowing with nerdy glee. “You can be Sentinel Green, I’ll be Sentinel Blue, and our very own ship’s doctor is perfect for the remaining role.”

“Oh, like roleplay!”

When Chief Carter nodded, Peggy was satisfied that she understood what was actually going on. It was still well outside of her comfort zone, though. Peggy adored roleplay. Losing herself in a shared fantasy was rewarding and intoxicating in a way nothing else could match. It was one of her favorite ways to pass time. But she’d never done it in person, only over text. It was easy to get swept away by Chief Carter’s enthusiasm, and by heady thoughts of fangirling together with her and Dr. Hiraga afterward.

“O-OK!” Peggy squeaked nervously. “Um… we all know the scene, right? How do we get started?”

Chief Carter’s dorky grin widened. “We get into costume.”

Peggy blinked, and then turned a deep red. “Y-you have costumes?”

Oh no. She hadn’t expected this. If they were wearing costumes, then this went a step beyond simple roleplay.

It was cosplay.

"U-um,” Peggy squeaked. “Maybe I should… uh… r-rewatch the episode first! And, um, I t-think I had a duty shift to cover later. And-“

“C’mon, Morgan.” Chief Carter gave her shoulder a comradely squeeze. “Don’t be like that. There’s no need to be shy! I’m sure you know the episode like the back of your hand. And everything’s ready right now. Trust me, your costume is perfect.”

Peggy’s blush deepened. She couldn’t bring herself to back out. Not when she was finally getting the chance to be a part of something. She couldn’t face going back to her quarters alone. She had to participate. There was just one problem.

Science Officer Peggy Morgan had a huge cosplay fetish.

She couldn’t explain it. Not really. But there was something special - no, magical - about cosplay. Seeing a character come to life through costume and performance felt like nothing short of a miracle. The holodeck never had the same appeal. Holograms were just light with a little pre-scripted AI running behind them. Cosplay was real. It was transformation. When Peggy saw a cosplayer truly become the character they were cosplaying, it made her feel like anything was possible - even for a mousy nerd like her.

That was her fascination. But, admittedly, her fetish went beyond that. Peggy couldn’t explain why cosplayers turned her on so much. Maybe it was their mannerisms, so fictive and exaggerated. It was almost mesmerizing, seeing a flesh-and-blood person follow a script intended for an animated character. Maybe it was their beauty, so stylized it was almost unreal. Maybe it was what they represented: characters that she was used to seeing as drawings or dolls come to life, but still presenting themselves to be looked at and played with and enjoyed. It just turned her on like nothing else.

And, of course, plenty of cosplays were far from innocent. Erotic cosplay frequently left Peggy drooling. Sometimes, when she was alone in her quarters, she would spend hours scrolling through massive archives of pictures until her own arousal and pleasure grew to be too much. But even regular cosplay excited her to an embarrassing degree. In the past, she’d excused herself from costume parties, just in case they got her a little too worked up.

But now she had to cosplay alongside Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga.

All without giving herself away.

“Here’s yours.” Chief Carter, oblivious to Peggy’s inner turmoil, picked up a bundle of green clothes from a nearby table and handed it to her. “Try it on! Don’t worry, I pulled your uniform size from the databanks as I replicated it. It should be perfect. I’ve got mine too. Let me give you some privacy.”

Before Peggy could say anything, she headed off to a far corner of the room and activated another holographic privacy screen, hiding her and Peggy from one another. Now that she was, relatively speaking, alone, Peggy took a deep breath and looked down at the clothing in her hands.

It was immaculately designed. Replicators could make anything, of course, but making sure the stitching, fit, and design were all just right could be a labor of love, and Peggy could tell that no effort had been spared here. This was Sentinel Green’s magical outfit, right down to every last detail of the frills and ribbons. There was, at first glance, just one issue.

It was latex.

There was usually a level of interpretation when it came to deciding what materials to use for cosplay. Animation, after all, rarely made it clear precisely what was intended. But shiny, bright, smooth rubber was certainly quite the choice. Thinking about what this was going to look like on her made Peggy shiver with equal parts anxiety and anticipation.

She considered refusing, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She had to. Which meant there was nothing for Peggy to do but try on the cosplay.

Peggy removed her Alliance uniform swiftly and efficiently. She was used to that part. Putting on a magical girl cosplay outfit was something else entirely. But once she experimentally slipped one of her feet into one of the white, embroidered, thigh-high socks, something came over her. It was like she was possessed by something; a feverish enthusiasm that had her limbs moving in a hurried frenzy and putting on the cosplay like it was second nature. Before she knew it, Peggy was wearing the whole thing.

She shivered. It felt amazing.

And it was so, so skimpy.

Once the initial rush wore off, Peggy was stunned by how much air she could feel on her bare skin. Admittedly, the outfits in Magical Maidens Star Sentinels were, according to some, pretty revealing. The term ‘fanservice’ was frequently bandied around. Peggy had always ardently insisted that it was unfair, and that the designs were perfectly tasteful as long as you looked at them in the right light.

She was now reconsidering that stance.

The blouse, while tailored to fit Peggy, was clearly intended to suit the slim proportions of an anime character; as a result, it left the layer of puppy fat on Peggy’s tummy embarrassingly prominent. The same was true for her thick thighs, on two counts: they muffin-topped over the thigh-highs, and threatened to make the pleated, too-short skirt ride up every time she moved. The fact it was all so brightly colored, so shiny and green, made it all the more lurid, and the way everything was styled, with frills and ruffles and sparkling gemstones, took the ensemble to another level.

Peggy had never been more embarrassed, and she had never been more turned on.

“Morgan?” Chief Carter called out, from behind the privacy screen. “Changed?”

“Y-yeah,” Peggy answered without thinking. Then: “W-wait, no, d-don’t come-“

It was too late. Carter flicked off the privacy screen, and the two of them saw each other. For a moment Peggy thought she was going to die from embarrassment - but then that thought, just like all her other thoughts, was obliterated as she lost herself in the sight of Chief Carter in her cosplay.

Her outfit was the same as Peggy’s except in blue instead of green, and yet somehow, it looked completely different. The similarity in design simply brought out the contrast in their physiques. In Chief Carter’s case, the tight-fitting, revealing magical girl outfit seemed to be struggling to contain her proud, sculpted muscles. The result was similar to what was going on with Peggy, where her clothes were threatening to ride up all over, but the effect was totally different. It accentuated the triangular shape of her torso and all the work she put into her abs.

God, her abs. Peggy had never really deigned to notice just how appealing muscular girls could be, but the latex outfit shed Carter’s physique in such a new light, she couldn’t help but stare. It conformed so tightly to her torso, each one of her abs had its own, shiny highlight from medbay’s dim lights. The effect was nothing short of pornographic, and Peggy was enraptured. The best part was how strange it all looked on her. The tall, swaggering security chief would never normally dress in something so bright and attention-grabbing. The way it transformed her was, to Peggy, both erotic and magical.

Chief Carter was Sentinel Blue.

It made Peggy wonder how she seemed. Had she been transformed too? It was such an exciting thought, and Chief Carter’s reaction confirmed it for her immediately.

“Oh my gosh!” she squealed uncharacteristically. “Morgan, I knew it! You’re perfect.”

Heat rose in Peggy’s body. She looked away. “R-really?” she asked bashfully.

“Hell yes!”

The sparkling enthusiasm in Chief Carter’s eyes left no room for doubt. Peggy was beyond euphoric. It was all she could do to keep herself from bouncing up and down. She was cosplaying as a character from her favorite show. It was a wet dream come true.

“But… um… why l-latex?” Peggy ventured. “It’s a little…”

“Oh, that was the doctor’s call,” Carter replied. “Doesn’t it look magical? The way it shines, it’s like it’s glowing!”

Peggy couldn’t disagree with that. She was utterly captivated, and her head was filling with unspeakable fantasies about all the things she suddenly wanted to do with Chief Carter. It was strange; dressed normally, she had no interest in the muscular woman. Dressed like this, she was a fantasy made flesh. She was irresistible.

“So,” Chief Carter said, striking a small pose. She was radiating joyful confidence. “Shall we get started?”

Peggy walked over to her, trembling with nervousness, trying to ignore the way her thighs rubbed together pleasurably with each step.

“S-sure,” Peggy struggled to say. She decided to try looking at the floor. That seemed safest. “So, um… w-what now?”

“Well, we’re all ready!” Chief Carter’s uncharacteristically innocent enthusiasm was an uncannily perfect match for her magical girl cosplay. Peggy tried not to think about that too much. “We all know how the story is supposed to go. So… places! You can start over by the door. And I’ll…”

Chief Carter clambered onto one of medbay’s many examination chairs, which immediately reclined to accept her. Without warning, restraints mounted within the bed snapped shut around her wrists and ankles. The sound made Peggy jump, and she scampered over to the medbay door.

Abruptly, the lights shifted. This was it. The scene was starting.

Immediately, Peggy was struck by the realization that, metaphorically speaking, all eyes were now on her. Sentinel Green was the hero of the scene. It was on her to get the ball rolling. She knew the script practically line by line, but acting it out properly was another matter. Peggy had never done anything like it before. She wasn’t even sure if she could.

But the more she thought about it, the more a strange, nervous excitement started to flood her limbs. It was the same feeling Peggy got when she was standing a little too close to the edge of a high precipice. The urge to take a leap of faith. To throw herself into the role. Her body burned with it and so Peggy let it take her, and stepped forwards.

“Blue!” she called out, her voice sounding, even to her own ears, brighter and clearer. Peggy took a few cautious steps into medbay - no, into Doctor Tomoe’s evil lab. “Sentinel Blue! Blue, I’m here to rescue you!”

"Green?” came the weak, weary reply. It was Chief Carter - no, Sentinel Blue - no, both. “Is that really you?”

Peggy rushed to her side at once. It was strange; now that she was playing a role, it was so much easier to stand taller and feel braver. She was a Star Sentinel. A hero. And she was here to save her comrade.

Looking down at Chief Carter in cosplay, though, made her feel anything but heroic. All of the shameful, secret feelings she’d experienced earlier came surging back - but they were all the stronger now that Chief Carter was like this: prone, helpless, restrained. With her arms trapped at her sides, her body was even more exposed, and the knowledge that she couldn’t resist anything being done to her was dizzyingly titillating.

It was like she was a doll. A toy to be played with. And it made Peggy itch to touch her.

Instead, she stayed on script. “Blue! I’m so glad I found you. Let’s get you out of here. Can you break out of those restraints?”

Chief Carter followed the script perfectly and began to strain against her bonds. Sentinel Blue was strong, but they were stronger. With all her muscles, Peggy wondered if Chief Carter might actually be able to bust out, but it appeared not. Just like in the episode of MaMeStaSe, she eventually gave up and slumped back into the examination chair, flushed and gleaming with sweat from her exertion.

There was, however, one major difference between the Sentinel Blue Peggy was looking at now, and the one from her beloved anime.

This Sentinel Blue was blatantly extremely turned on.

There was no mistaking it. Her cheeks were burning red from more than just strain, and there was a lurid shine to her eyes. She was panting far more than was reasonable, and with her cosplay outfit so absolutely tight around her body, Peggy could see that her nipples were forming two hard little bullets underneath the latex.

The sight was mesmerizing.

“S-Sentinel Blue?” Peggy ventured. She wasn’t sure what to do.

"I-I guess I’m not… s-strong enough,” Chief Carter panted. The confession made her squirm. It was obvious it excited her. “You’ll have to… to set me free.”

She was sticking to the script, at least as far as the dialogue was concerned. Was Peggy supposed to play along, like nothing strange was happening? That seemed absurd, and yet there was something irresistible about it. It was like she’d be living in a work of pornography.

Peggy decided to keep going. If nothing else, she couldn’t help wanting to see Chief Carter squirm even more.

“I’ll look around,” she said in an urgent stage whisper. “We just need to get you out before-“

“Before I return?”

Dr. Hiraga’s voice, coming from behind the holographic privacy screen at the far end of medbay, sent chills down Peggy’s spine. She knew Dr. Hiraga, of course. Everybody on the ship did. But she sounded different now. Her voice was colder and more sinister. She sounded like a villainess.

It was perfect for the role of Doctor Tomoe.

“Doctor Tomoe!” Peggy cried right on cue, dropping into a fighting stance. “But you’re supposed to be on the other side of the city!”

“Did you really think I would fall for that cheap distraction?” Doctor Tomoe cackled. “I sent my minions to take care of it. Your friends are tied up fighting them. Which means you’re here, alone, with me.”

She stepped out from behind the privacy screen and, even though it was true to the script, there was nothing planned or intended about the way Peggy gasped.

Dr. Hiraga was in cosplay too, of course, and her outfit was a perfect match for Doctor Tomoe’s. In MaMeStaSe, the evil scientist wore a long, white lab coat over a sleek, black bodysuit of some kind. And in keeping with the other cosplays, Dr. Hiraga had chosen to render the bodysuit in black latex, polished to a mirror sheen.

In the past, Peggy had never given Dr. Hiraga’s body a second thought. Now, it was impossible to ignore. Every single one of her indulgent, middle-aged curves was highlighted by the way the light glistened off the shining rubber. It was glorious. Peggy forgot how rude it was to stare. Not drooling was the most she could manage. Dr. Hiraga was shining like a dark star. Unlike the magical girl cosplays, hers was suggestive only in its sleekness. It wasn’t revealing or needlessly tight. It made her feel more dignified than Peggy or Chief Carter. It made her powerful.

She had become Doctor Tomoe.

The cognitive dissonance hitting Peggy was hypnotic. It was like she was looking at two people at once. The gentle, caring Dr. Hiraga, and the evil, indomitable Doctor Tomoe. It seemed just as impossible for Dr. Hiraga to be so imposing and sinister as it did for Doctor Tomoe to be here, real, in the flesh. It was a perfect cosplay. She kept instinctively searching for some missing detail, for something out of place, but there was nothing. Even her makeup, thick and sharp and dark, was perfect for the character.

Which was a huge problem, since the character in question had been the source of some of Peggy’s biggest sexual awakenings.

“Surprised?” Dr. Hiraga - no, Doctor Tomoe - no, both - cocked an eyebrow, amused. “You should be. I have you exactly where I want you, Sentinel Green.”

“How dare you!” The scripted words came effortlessly to Peggy’s lips. She couldn’t break the scene, no matter how flustered she was. “In the name of the stars, I’ll bring you to justice!”

“Oh? All on your own?” Dr. Hiraga’s smirk was so perfectly mocking and superior, that Peggy couldn’t believe it was acted. She was utterly convincing. “You’re not so strong without your magical little friends.”

Peggy squirmed at her dripping, molten contempt. A hundred scenarios flashed through her mind, each more perverse and depraved than the last. Her mind, tainted by countless hours of staring adoringly at lewd cosplays, was working overdrive. Peggy couldn’t count how many times she’d blown off steam thinking about Doctor Tomoe. But no matter what, she had to stick to the script.

“I’m not the one who’s alone!” she shot back. Even though she was insanely turned on, her voice sounded heroic and full of innocent conviction. Dr. Hiraga was a perfect Doctor Tomoe, but Peggy was managing a decent Sentinel Green. “You don’t have your minions here. And I have my friend right by my side!”

"She’s a little tied down at the moment,” Dr. Hiraga sneered viciously. “She won’t be any help to you!”

“That’s what you think!” Peggy cried. “But with the power of friendship and justice on our side, we can overcome anything!”

Now she was the one panting and struggling to keep the lust out of her voice. Nevertheless, she reached across Chief Carter to put her hands on one of the metal shackles keeping her trapped against the examination chair. In the episode, Sentinel Green summoned her magic and used it to set Sentinel Blue free. Hopefully, Dr. Hiraga and Chief Carter had set things up so that if she just tugged a little bit, the manacles would release of their own volition.

Sure enough, they did. Even though it was all fake, in that moment, Peggy felt genuinely heroic. She was channeling the emotion of the scene, and that made it easy to plant her hands squarely on her hips as she stared down the villainous Doctor Tomoe.

“There! Now it’s two against one,” Peggy declared. “Surrender now, Doctor Tomoe. Or else.”

Chief Carter rose to her feet to stand beside her, gently nursing her wrists. The two of them made a perfect matching pair as they squared off against the doctor, even if Chief Carter seemed, somehow, a touch disappointed. Thanks to the magic of the moment, her presence made Peggy feel that much stronger and braver. Even though they were both wearing porny latex. Even though she knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Is that so?” Dr. Hiraga purred. “You’re right about one thing, Sentinel Green. It is two against one - just not the way you think.”

Lazily, she raised a hand and snapped her fingers.

Peggy looked round sharply as she sensed Chief Carter abruptly start to sway. Immediately, she froze. She had been expecting, maybe, a convincing performance of being stunned or entranced. Despite the strange reaction she’d had to the restraints, Chief Carter was proving to be a surprisingly skilled performer. What Peggy saw now, though, went far beyond acting.

Chief Carter had spirals in her eyes.

It was impossible. At first Peggy thought it had to be a trick of light, but no. The more she stared, the more it became clear that this was completely and totally real. Chief Carter’s eyes had become spinning, spiraling orbs, each one glowing from within with an unfathomable light. Peggy couldn’t believe how accurate to the anime it was. The way Chief Carter had swayed and sagged as if totally drained of mind and thought was just as perfect.

“W-what have you done to her?” Peggy breathed. It was Sentinel Green’s line, but the question was genuine.

“No one can resist my treatment!” Dr. Hiraga cackled. “Not even the Star Sentinels. Sentinel Blue is mine now. She’s one of my minions. And soon, you will be too.”

“N-no,” Peggy gasped. She was completely caught up in the emotion of the scene. She remembered the sense of dawning shock and horror she’d felt so many times, watching this moment unfold. Now, she was living it.

“Oh yes,” Dr. Hiraga crowed. “You’ll soon see! Minion, seize her!”

Peggy shivered and squirmed as she felt Chief Carter’s powerful hands seize her by the shoulders.

“Blue!” Peggy let her voice become a high-pitched, girly shriek. “What are you doing?”

“She can’t hear you now,” Dr. Hiraga warned. “Minion, strap her to the chair!”

Peggy hadn’t thought this far ahead, and so she wasn’t prepared for the way Chief Carter lifted her bodily off the ground without the slightest hint of real effort. Evidently, when she’d pushed the science officer against the wall earlier, she’d been using a bare fraction of her true strength. When Peggy felt her feet leave the floor, the way she writhed in a frantic bid to squirm free wasn’t acted. It was very, very real.

Fortunately for her, Chief Carter wasted no time in swinging her around and placing her down firmly on the exam chair. An instant later, she was forcing Peggy’s hands into the same manacles she herself had just been freed from. Peggy was too stunned to say anything, and what had stunned her the most was Chief Carter’s complete lack of gentleness. The chief had been so friendly and enthusiastic, but now she was throwing Peggy around like she was nothing more than a sack of meat.

Almost like she was really brainwashed.

It was a silly thought, but Peggy couldn’t seem to shake it. There was just no way Chief Carter was actually this good of an actor. Everything about the way she moved and carried herself was unnatural and rigid. It was too perfect. And then there were her eyes. Peggy had seen plenty of cheap cosplay tricks. Enough to know that they weren’t just a trick. Most alarmingly of all, when she stared into Chief Carter’s eyes for just a little too long, she could feel herself starting to slip under the spirals’ hypnotic influence.

Something strange was happening.

So shouldn’t she say something? Do something? Call the scene to a halt? That would have been the responsible thing to do. But Peggy couldn’t make herself do it. There was a magic to the moment. To the way they were all three of them caught up in the flow of the scene, living out their characters’ actions, feeling all their sensations and feelings.

It was everything Peggy could have ever asked for. She couldn’t give it up.

“Not so strong now, are you?” Dr. Hiraga mocked. She moved to stand over Peggy, and from where the science officer was sitting she seemed more imposing than ever. “You Star Sentinels are so easy to fool.”

Peggy’s mouth was dry, but she forced herself to stick to the script.

“S-Sentinel Blue!” she cried out in a decidedly uneven voice. “You have to listen to me! You have to fight! You can beat this! Resist!”

Chief Carter opened her mouth and for a moment, despite the source material, Peggy found herself hoping she would find the strength to fight off the mind control.

Instead, all she said was: “I obey Doctor Tomoe,” in a droning, monotone voice that was so far away from Chief Carter’s usual, brash tones it made Peggy whimper.

“It’s no use,” Dr. Hiraga sneered. “She’s completely under my control. And soon, you’ll be just like her.”

“N-never!” Peggy tried to sound defiant, just like Sentinel Green. Instead, she sounded like she was moaning. It was like she was a porn parody of the real thing - a thought that drove her wild with need.

“Ridiculous!” Dr. Hiraga threw back her head and laughed. “You’re powerless, Sentinel Green! Look, you can’t even brush my hand away.”

Peggy went very, very still as Dr. Hiraga reached down and rested a latex-gloved hand on her thigh, up under the hem of her skirt.

This was it. It was an infamous moment in the anime, depicted in a thousand less-than-savory fanworks - especially ones by lesbian fans. Peggy had always steadfastly maintained that it was a simple illustration of Doctor Tomoe’s lack of respect for others, but it was hard to deny that there was something titillating about it.

Peggy, turned on as she was, had mostly been hoping she wouldn’t do something embarrassing like squirm or moan. She had been sure Dr. Hiraga would barely even touch her. It was just roleplay, right?

Instead, Dr. Hiraga started openly groping her.

At first, when Peggy first felt the doctor’s fingers pressing roughly and insistently into the flesh of her pale, exposed, sensitive thighs, she couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely it was just a mistake. Surely Dr. Hiraga was just about to break character and apologize. But no - she just kept going, and with each passing moment, her grin widened and her fingers reached further up Peggy’s hips.

The look in the doctor’s eyes was the most shocking part of it. They were shining with glee and malice, like she was drunk on the pleasure of violating Peggy’s body. It was completely authentic and sincere, and completely unlike Dr. Hiraga.

But perfect for Doctor Tomoe.

Before Peggy could dwell on that, the sensations filling her body overtook her shock. Her back arched, and she was forced to gasp and pant for each breath. Her cheeks turned the deepest red as she was drowned in overwhelming embarrassment and shame over how she was reacting. But she couldn’t help it. Being touched like this felt amazing, even though she wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was because she’d watched this scene in the anime hundreds of times, fascinated by how it looked, imagining how it might feel, wondering what it would be like to look up helplessly at Doctor Tomoe. And now she was living it. She was living her fantasy, and her whole body was electric with the thrill.

“You see?” Dr. Hiraga mocked. “Helpless.”

Her hand reached further, pushing up her tiny latex skirt and beginning to touch at the hem of her panties. Peggy couldn’t help but moan, but even as she did she was wracked with confusion. Had Doctor Tomoe gone quite this far in the anime? Wasn’t this a little too much? She couldn’t exactly remember. It was getting so hard to think clearly.

“G-g-get off me!” Peggy whined. She sounded unconvincing - but then again, so had Sentinel Green in a few moments. “Y-you’ll pay for this!”

“We’ll see about that,” Dr. Hiraga purred. She brought her other hand to Peggy’s chest and started groping her there, too. There was something magical about the sensation of latex on latex. “Soon enough, you’ll accept me eagerly. You’ll profess your undying devotion and obedience. You’ll beg for me.”

“N-n-never!” Peggy moaned as Dr. Hiraga squeezed her tits and stroked the lips of her cunt.

They were off-script now, she was sure of it. Doctor Tomoe had never touched Sentinel Green like this. So… she should put a stop to this, right? That thought nagged at her again. Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? Young though Peggy was, she was still an officer. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen on a military vessel. But in the moment, she was struggling to think about that.

She was too busy thinking about how wet she was. Too busy struggling to figure out if she wanted Dr. Hiraga to notice or not.

The fantasy was too powerful. She couldn’t sacrifice it. She wanted - she needed - to immerse herself deeper, no matter how twisted it was getting. Where was she ever going to find this feeling again?

All she needed to do was stop thinking and lose herself to the wet dream. She was being groped by Doctor Tomoe. By the hottest villainess in all of fiction. It was amazing.

It was so amazing, she whined in disappointment when Dr. Hiraga finally pulled away. The doctor noticed, and the look of scorn that flashed through her eyes made Peggy’s cunt clench.

“I can’t wait to brainwash you to our cause,” Doctor Tomoe declared. “But the pleasure won’t be all mine. My dark mistress wishes to see you fall.”

Peggy’s eyes flew wide. She’d almost forgotten. The big twist of this arc of Magical Maidens Star Sentinels was that Doctor Tomoe was, herself, brainwashed - by the true villain, Queen Betalia. What did that mean? What was going to happen? When Queen Betalia showed up, she was more of a looming, shadowy presence than a real character. A hologram, perhaps?

“Queen Betalia!” Dr. Hiraga cried out theatrically. “We beseech you! Appear before us!”

There was a distinctive hum as holographic projectors concealed around medbay flickered into life. Peggy wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to see, but the very last thing she’d anticipated was an ominous, familiar figure with dyed hair, wild eyes, and dozens of visible tattoos and piercings.

It was Wasp. The vandal-hacker the Inyx was hunting.

As science officer, Peggy wasn’t as motivated as some of the other crew members by the thought of catching her. She was in it for the experience, and to study any anomalies they came across. But she’d still been in all the briefings. She knew exactly who this woman was, even if she couldn’t begin to fathom what exactly her presence here meant.

Wasp, unlike the rest of them, wasn’t wearing any kind of cosplay. She was dressed in what Peggy understood to be her typical attire: leggings, a big, punk battle jacket, and a sports bra. But if that wasn’t enough to set her apart from the role-players, the way she leered at Peggy and cackled certainly was.

"You know, you’re really a girl after my own heart,” Wasp said to Peggy in an absurdly conversational voice. “I mean, I’m a hacker, right? Deep down I’m a huge nerd. Not that I’ve ever taken it as far as you. That’s one hell of a hentai collection buried in your personal computer files.”

Peggy craned her head to look at Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga. Chillingly, neither one of them had reacted to Wasp’s holographic presence in any way. Both of them were just standing there like statues. Like dolls who had been momentarily set aside.

This was really bad.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Wasp told her. “In fact…”

She snapped her fingers in Dr. Hiraga’s face. An instant later, Dr. Hiraga’s eyes turned into glowing, spinning spirals. The exact same spirals that Peggy could see in Chief Carter’s.

This was really, really bad.

Peggy’s mind, still sluggish from arousal and fantasy, was struggling to parse what this meant. Were they still roleplaying? It seemed unlikely. If Wasp was meant to be Queen Betalia, she wasn’t in character, or even in cosplay. Why would it be her? And if she was just a hologram, why was she veering off script and breaking the fourth wall?

But what was the alternative? That Wasp, a hacker, had infiltrated the Inyx’s systems and somehow brainwashed senior members of the crew? That was even more difficult to face up to.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Wasp added when she noticed Peggy’s growing distress. “Just think of me as part of your little roleplay. Just an unexpected little twist. That’s how this is supposed to go, right? The big bad shows up, trances the doc, and then the magical girl gets brainwashed. Trust me, I’m not going to ruin your fun on that count. That’s the very last thing I’d want.”

Peggy just kept glancing nervously between Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga for clarification. She wasn’t sure what to believe. She tugged against her restraints again, hoping against hope that they might come loose.

“L-let me go,” Peggy protested weakly. “You’ll pay for this!”

They were just the words that popped into her head. They felt right. But they were also Sentinel Green’s words.

Wasp seemed to pick up on that. “That’s right,” she urged. “Just lie back, magical girl. Enjoy the ride. Hell, enjoy the view.”

“B-but…” Peggy spluttered uncertainly, once again half-consciously echoing her character, “But… but…”

“Just look at them.” Wasp gestured towards Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga, drawing Peggys’ eye. “Aren’t they perfect? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

Once Peggy looked, she couldn’t look away. There was something spellbinding about seeing her fellow officers like this. The cosplay, of course, sent forbidden thrills of pleasure running down Peggy’s spine, but so did the way they were just standing there, devoid of emotion or personality. They looked so empty. They were like toys, waiting to be played with. Like figurines, waiting to be posed.

“Or… maybe you’d prefer it like this.”

Wasp made a show of snapping her fingers again. As she did, Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga shuddered back to life, although their eyes didn’t return to normal. Instead, their spirals shifted color to a deep, pink tint. They didn’t react to Peggy or Wasp either. Without warning, the two women stared intently at each other and then rushed into one another’s arms.

“Oh, Sentinel Blue!” Dr. Hiraga cried, in a voice uncharacteristically thick with unrestrained emotion. “I can’t pretend anymore! It was always you.”

“I know!” Sentinel Blue wailed. “The truth is, I never cared about Sentinel Yellow. I never cared about justice or vanquishing evil. I don’t think I ever cared about anything but you. I love you!”

The two of them started mashing their faces together in a deep, clumsy, passionate kiss. The little scene playing out between them was so strange and melodramatic it was almost comical, but Peggy wasn’t laughing. She was enthralled. She recognized this - their words, their kissing.

It was from a work of fanfiction. A work of fanfiction she’d written, years ago.

As the two brainwashed officers kept kissing and grabbing at each other in their overenthusiastic display of affection, Peggy couldn’t dream of looking away. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty about staring. After all, this was yet another of her fantasies come to life. They were literally following her script. Wasn’t she meant to look? Weren’t these two supposed to be looked at?

That’s what cosplay was all about.

The sheer, blatant, fetishistic nature of their latex outfits only accentuated that further. Ogling them for Peggy’s enjoyment just seemed right. They were dolls. Dolls were meant to be played with. That was obvious.

Her anguish over her situation was starting to abate, and her cunt was starting to drip down onto the examination chair beneath her.

“Or,” Wasp added, “it could be like this.”

The hacker snapped her fingers yet again, and Dr. Hiraga and Chief Carter’s eyes changed color once more. Without any hesitation, they broke off from kissing. All of the overflowing, ardent longing they had been expressing drained away into nothing. Moving in eerie synchronization, they knelt next to the examination chair Peggy was restrained in, one on each side of her.

“Sentinel Green,” Chief Carter whispered, in a low, breathy, seductive voice that made Peggy’s whole body tingle. “We’re all yours. We’re here to service you.”

Peggy whimpered as raw need washed over her.

“We’ll do anything,” came Dr. Hiraga’s voice from her other side. Hearing Doctor Tomoe talk like this was driving Peggy crazy. She sounded like an actress from a cheap porno. “We just want to make you feel good.”

As one, they lowered their mouths to her body and started kissing, licking, sucking across her bare skin, all along her legs and arms. Peggy couldn’t keep herself from squirming wildly, but with the restraints keeping her limbs trapped, there was no escape. She couldn’t believe how sensitive her body had become.

It was the cosplay and the roleplay. Layers upon layers of fantasy and fiction, each one heightening the fetishistic appeal even more. The way Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga were behaving now was unmistakably pornographic, and that was the hottest thing of all for Peggy. She was watching them debase her favorite characters, all for her titillation and her pleasure.

“Do you know the best part?” Wasp commented, grinning wickedly. “They’re not acting. Not pretending. Oh no. I made them believe. To them, you’re really Sentinel Green.”

Peggy flushed and shivered. God, that was so hot.

“And in a way, they’re not wrong,” Wasp mused. “Just look at yourself. You’re just like them. You fit in perfectly. The costumes really are perfect. It suits you.”

Peggy wasn’t sure why being complimented by a villain and a criminal made her body throb with fresh pleasure - but it did. This was all she wanted. To be Sentinel Green. To submerge into the character. To look good and hot in her cosplay. Nothing could be more arousing.

“You know,” Wasp added leadingly, “if anyone walked in here right now, they wouldn’t be able to see the difference between you and them. I’m not sure I can.”

That comment lit a fire in Peggy’s mind. No difference. It made sense, when she looked down at herself. She was dressed just as provocatively. She was acting just as pornographically.

Just like them, she was a doll.

Something to be posed. Something to be played with.

As Peggy continued to moan and squirm, Wasp bent down and put her lips to Peggy’s ear.

“And,” she whispered, “in just a moment, I’m going to make you exactly like them. I’m going to make you mine.”

Peggy froze. She’d been getting lost in the fantasy. But as much as she wanted to be Sentinel Green, she was Peggy Morgan too. She was the Inyx’s science officer. She had a responsibility to the crew.

And yet…

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wasp added, straightening. “You don’t have any choice about it. I’m sure you’re already plenty wound up. There’s no way you can resist. I’m just saying, it’s up to you how you want to feel about it.”

“W… what…?” Peggy managed, desperately confused.

“I’m just saying.” Wasp shrugged. “Who needs boring old reality, when you can live a fantasy like this. Am I right?”

Peggy’s back suddenly arched as Dr. Hiraga planted a kiss dangerously close to her needy, throbbing cunt. Clear thought was a distant memory. What Wasp was suggesting should have horrified her - but it didn’t. Instead, one single, powerful observation was at the forefront of her mind.

In all the time she’d spent on the Inyx, this was the best she’d ever felt.

Something inside the nerdy science officer snapped. She made her voice.

“Y-you can’t!” she cried out desperately. “I’ll never betray my comrades! You c-can’t make me!”

It should have been a cry of defiance, but the words weren’t hers.

They were Sentinel Green’s.

“Atta girl.” Wasp laughed. “I won’t sugarcoat it, though. You’re totally gonna betray everyone. I’m gonna use your smarts to perfect this little implant-brainwashing procedure the doc and I have been working on. No more breaking down resistance. One little zap is all it’ll take. Soon enough, everyone on this fucking ship is gonna be under my spell.”

Peggy just moaned. It felt so right. Sentinel Green, brainwashed to betray her allies. That was how the story was supposed to go.

“But you’ll have fun,” Wasp told her. “I can promise you that. I can have endless fun with you. And with the chief, and the doctor. And, who knows? Maybe once I’ve got the whole ship, we can put the rest of the Star Sentinels together.”

For just one single word, Peggy let herself break from the script and say something Sentinel Green never would have said.

“P-please!”

Wasp laughed again, and snapped her fingers. Chief Carter and Dr. Hiraga rose to their feet and backed away. Wasp drew herself up theatrically.

“Y’know, I’m glad you asked so nicely. I may have gone a little overboard when I was planning this out. It took a little time to get the hardlight holograms to look and work just right. But I don’t regret the effort. I figure you’ll appreciate the fanservice.”

She extended a hand down towards Peggy, and there was a loud hum as the medbay’s holographic projectors kicked into overdrive. An instant later, two tendrils made of something shiny and black erupted from Wasp’s hand. They were fake, of course - they had to be - but they were as real as Wasp, and she’d already proven how dangerous she could be.

And more importantly, within the fantasy Peggy had surrendered to, they were all-powerful. Shadowy conduits of Queen Betalia’s will.

The tendrils looked like they were made of the same kind of latex as the cosplays, shiny and alluring, but they moved like living creatures, snaking towards Peggy before pouncing on her, one on each side of her head, and burrowing deep into her ears.

Peggy shuddered for a moment as she felt something cold and malevolent touch something deep inside her, implanting something there, behind her eyes.

And then, as the holo-stimulant implant came to life, her eyes were drowned in glowing spirals, and she thought about nothing at all.

As she peeked through a tiny crack in the door to medbay and beheld the debauchery unfolding within, Crewman Lori Delaney tried her hardest to keep perfectly still and quiet. She’d come down here after, as usual, feigning sickness to get off her duty shift. Dr. Hiraga was a soft touch; it was usually easy to convince her to provide a doctor’s note and let Delaney rest for a few hours instead of working. Other officers would usually catch on and chew her out, though, so she’d developed the habit of opening the door a crack so she could peek through and make sure nobody annoying was around.

Starship doors weren’t supposed to open like that. Especially not when they were locked. But with a little hotwiring, anything was possible.

Today, she’d found far more than she’d been expecting. Something truly weird was happening in medbay - and clearly, it involved Wasp. Delaney didn’t care about the Inyx’s duty to catch her even a little bit. In fact, she was tired of their uptight bitch of a captain’s constant lectures about it. But that didn’t mean she had any sympathy for a preening, attention-grabbing asshole like Wasp. And given that she clearly already had several members of the crew under her control, there was really only one thing Lori Delaney could do.

She rose silently to her feet and ran off to find Captain Vasser.

---

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

Artemis, Chloe, J, Grillfan65, The Secret Subject, Morriel, Dex, orangesya, Red, dmtph, Queenfisher, MegatronTarantulas, NewtypeWoman, WhyamIhere, Vanessa, Madeline, BTYOR, Sarah, Mattilda, Emily Queen of sloths, ntad, The Flock, Shadows exile, Jackson, Abigail, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, Jade, mintyasleep, John, ZephanyZephZeph, Michael, Be_Be, Tasteful Ardour, Chris, Dennis, paxDulcetGirl, Full Blown Marxism, Morder, S, Myles_EXVS, Brendon, Drone 8315, Jack the Monkey, Jim, Erin, HannahSolaria, Christopher, hellenberg, Kay, Miss_Praxis, Violet, Noct, Charlotte, Faun, BrinnShea, B, Foridin, Jennifer, EepyTimeTea, Slifer274, Roxxie, Phoenix, Ivy, Jim, Sebastian, Joseph, Yaoups, Thomas, Liz, Ali, naivetynkohan, Ada, ds2coffin, Basic dev, SuperJellyFrogEx, night, Katie, Lily, spyrocyndersam13, zzzz, Mal, DarthZipper, Jose, Bouncyrou, Anonymous, ravenfan, Bacon Man, Nimapode, Kyle, Melody, Selina, Adam, Darnon, SkinnyQP

#story #commandingweakness

[thesophiades]

[Review] Pageant & New Year’s Eve, 2019

Pageant - Autumn Chen

NYE, 2019 - Autumn Chen

I stumbled across Pageant (and wound up recommending it to a PTSD peer support group I’m a part of, where it resonated with several of the other members straddling the Asian-American experience in terms of cultural divide and tightrope walking). I don’t think that liked it is quite the right term- it wasn’t really a pleasant experience, but it was a very good piece of writing in terms of the squirmy-queasy feeling it inspired when walking through the protagonist’s shoes and in terms of being able to squish emotion out of me, even if it was largely frustration and irritation at not being able to get a good ending despite trying to finely balance being decent at everything rather than gambling it all on one venture or the other- though, burnout and mediocre performance is pretty reasonable as far conclusions go there. It made me feel something, and that’s one of the major hallmarks of pieces I’ll write on, or ponder over for awhile longer. It’s also why I decided to check out NYE, 2019.

The greyed out choices were pretty good signal posts at different ways things could have gone- a wistfulness and regret that effectively echoes the character’s fidget-y rising anxiety. I can’t say that Zhao is a character wholly dissimilar from me: she’s also someone I’ve known secondhand- a highstrung, terribly anxiety riddled, high achieving Asian woman who is deeply dissatisfied in terms of her personal life. She’s also not quite like me though, and the dissonance makes it hard to say that I like her, exactly- I found her frustrating at times, (despite being able to empathize in terms of the character’s mental health in some regards), though- at the same time, that frustration and agitation with yourself, and sometimes ineffectual attempts at pushing through before you’re really ready to is very realistic, I find. I think part of that annoyance comes from the expectation of being able to do better, wanting to do better- and well, if that isn’t familiar! I got a good ending with Emily in NYE, 2019- and I’m happy for it.

I do wish that Zhao had made some progress on the social front after going off to college- but God knows so many young adults fall to pieces when they head off to higher education and away from the social bubbles they’ve been wrapped up in all of their lives: I never really experienced the slow dissolution of highschool friendships, (and have retained a childhood friend who I also coincidentally met through both of us liking Homestuck!) but I can see how it happens to people and the awful effect it has on people, especially people I have known who were never really forced into isolation/loneliness and learning to abide their own company. It can be a total shock to the system.

Don’t get me wrong- I love my loved ones, and I care for them deeply, cherish their company: but I think being forced to figure out what it’s like to exist completely alone in a city of millions was a very big eye opening moment on adulthood and figuring out how to try to be comfortable with myself. I’m a bit of a buzzy socialite when I’m in a good place, but I can see a little of my awkward, round shouldered, sweatily nervous pre-teen self in Zhao. I feel bad for her, mostly. She’s familiar, in the way nervously smiling childhood pictures are- and the same intermingling of pity tinged with frustration and disappointment rises when I think back. I suppose, it just goes to show my own foibles- and the value of learning self forgiveness and compassion, both of which are works in progress for me.

Zhao isn’t a protagonist I’d actively root for. She’s the kind of character that’s hard to look dead on at- the kind that I usually turn around from and cover my face, or close my eyes and cringe, sucking in a sharp breath- because the second hand embarrassment can be agonizing. At the same time- I think that she’s capable of provoking such a visceral reaction speaks quite highly to Chen’s writing abilities.

Is she likeable? I wouldn’t say that I like her. I would say that she is a very interesting character, and she has resonated with a lot of other Asian Diaspora I’ve shown her to, and that that’s valuable in of itself. If she as a character was holding up a mirror for some sort of theme or meaning for us to glean: I think it would be to be a little kinder to the awkward young adults we once were, still trying to stumble our way through life gracelessly, fumbling in the dark to grasp at something like salvation. I think that that’s certainly worth consideration.

And at any rate- I was compelled enough to share my thoughts! I’d suggest playing both games to see for yourself.

Have sleepily digested Chen’s shortened and in depth post mortems and wanted to append a few brief thoughts.

First of all- I had no idea Zhao was a self insert of sorts, and am now mortified for having waffled on about how she wasn’t particularly likeable, if still a compelling protagonist. I hope that this doesn’t come off as an insult to the author! I’m sure that you’re a perfectly lovely person.

It’s interesting to me that Chen notes personally feeling as if NYE, 2019’s writing is a bit of a weak spot that needs to be papered over with interactivity, or that the characters might have come off as sort of vague, empty stereotypes. I think that came as a surprise to me specifically because it was the compelling nature of the characters, especially Emily’s development in Pageant that led me to check out NYE, 2019, and I quite enjoyed all of the characters- maybe specifically because of the universality of the Anxious Type A Asian Girl to my own experiences and people I’ve known.

Also, the greyed out choices were apparently for routes or options that had never been implemented due to being cut for scope purposes. You could have fooled me- I felt sufficiently free to mosey about and eat delicious little snacks while wandering to chat to people.

Speaking of chatting to people, it was mentioned more content might be on the horizon for the Kevin and Mom interactions- I’d happily replay it to see that, since the Kevin moment in the basement was jarringly short to me. I guess that’s the nature of annoying siblings, huh? Hahah.

I also hope that Chen does make that other game in the same feel/with Zhao, and will be keeping an eye out for it- I’ll probably review it when it comes out too.

#interactive fiction review backlog

[sunjaesol]

canon compliant juke | based on this post by @molinashimbos

“Hey, Julie. Who’re you texting?” It slipped out before she wanted to. “My boyfriend.”

Well, fuck. Luke and her haven’t labelled the relationship yet, but she kind of assumed that after a couple of dates and the fact that he kissed her regularly, that they were just that. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Exclusive. Which was also a given, because he was dead and a ghost and didn’t have any ghost girls around. But it felt wrong to tell this random classmate about her status when that status hasn’t properly been discussed. Welp. Too late now.

Valerie gasped and plopped down in the free seat next to her. Luckily, the cafeteria was so packed and loud no one would be able to eavesdrop. Flynn shot her an exasperated look. Yes, Julie wanted to say, I indeed don’t have the braincell today. 

“I knew it! No one smiles at their phone like that and not have it be a significant other!”

Julie had given Luke her old iPhone before they even began dating. Mostly so the boys could catch up on pop culture, but specifically that she and Luke could text during school and not have him randomly poof in and scare the lights out of her. She could only feign getting “hot flashes” so many times before someone got seriously worried about her. 

“Y-yeah!” She stuttered out, a stressed smile pressed on her lips. “It’s... it’s very fresh though. Nothing interesting to tell other people or something!” 

Valerie leaned in, intrigue glimmering her eyes. She was in for the scoop and they all knew it. “It’s that cute guitarist of yours, right? I’ve seen the videos. Isn’t that hard? Long distance? How late is it in Sweden anyway?”

Shit. She really should’ve thought about this beforehand. Gah! Why would she even start thinking of creating a cover story when she's been on cloud nine for weeks?! Luke sweetly kissing her was quite the distraction. 

Her saving grace, Flynn, perked up. “Uh, late! Very late! But Luke’s a night owl, right Julie?”

“Yeah,” she squeaked. “He’s basically running on LA time.”

Valerie cooed. “That’s so sweet... I think. Then long distance is working out too, I guess?” 

Ugh. Long distance was the biggest understatement of the century. The fact that her boyfriend was technically six feet down in some Orange County cemetery rotting away was not something she preferred to linger on. To Julie, Luke was real. Real and alive and warm and with a heart beating for her. But sometimes... 

Sometimes, at night, when she was alone with her thoughts, the knowledge that he wasn’t actually kissing her, hugging her, playing music with her, ached more than she wanted it to. So no, she didn’t like to linger on it. 

She couldn’t say that though. “Yeah. We facetime a lot. It’s- we’re making it work. But maybe not... tell everyone about this? We’re keeping it lowkey.”

“Very lowkey,” added Flynn with a quirked brow. 

Valerie quickly nodded, zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the key. “Don’t worry about me! Just happy for you! Bye, Julie, Flynn!”

When Valerie disappeared from hearing distance, her bestie made a gagging sound. “The biggest tattletale of the school telling you to ‘not worry about her’? Better tell your boyfriend your relationship is public now, Jules.”

Julie’s head dropped on the table with a groan. Fucking perfect. 

Frantically sliding the doors of the studio open and dropping her backpack on the floor, she called out for him. “Luke?!”

He poofed right in front of her. She still had no idea how he heard her when he wasn’t close-by, but she hasn’t had the guts to ask him. Whatever. She had other priorities. 

“Hey,” he grinned, draping his arms around her shoulders. Her expression was clear as day though, the grin quickly dropping to a worried frown. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I did something stupid.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I did.”

“Try me.” His warm gaze caught hers, twinkling with an emotion reserved for her and often leaving her speechless. His nose scrunched, leaning closer to murmur: “What happened, Jules?”

She sighed. Though he wouldn’t get mad, she’d hate it if he was even the slightest bit peeved. It would mean that they weren’t on the same wavelength and that she was way more into him than he was and then she’d feel miserable and embarrassed and- “I accidentally told someone at school you’re my boyfriend even though we haven’t talked about and I’m sorry!” The ramble left in one breath. 

His eyes widened. “W-what?”

She cringed. “I know. It’s stupid. You were texting me and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

An incredulous chuckle puffed from his lips, the ones she loved kissing so much stretching into the brightest smile she’s ever seen. His eyes were impossibly green, though the black of his pupils almost swallowed it entirely. Julie’s heart stuttered out of place. He was looking at her like she was the prettiest view he’s ever seen, a rare, shimmering diamond cradled in his hands.

And then she saw it: moisture building in the corners of his eyes. Relief washed away the insecurities as she swiped his skin with a giggle. “Why’re you crying?”

His thumbs pressed into her cheeks, pressing his forehead against hers. Giddiness soared in her chest, that intoxicating feeling of being in his embrace topping any other sensation in the world.

“You called me your boyfriend,” he whispered. 

Her arms found a way around his waist, matching his splitting grin. “Yeah. Can I take a guess and say I was right?”

Luke nodded, dazed. Their noses brushed. “Yeah... cool if I call you my girlfriend?”

God, if she wasn’t so infatuated with him she’d roll her eyes at his casualty. Instead, another eager giggle tumbled out. “Mh-hm. Sounds good.”

“Nice. Cause I’ve already been doing that.”

Chuckling, because her heart might actually explode, she gripped his back tighter. “Great.”

He didn’t wait. “Can I kiss you?”

She replied with her mouth, cherishing the way he responded immediately yet couldn’t keep the grin off his face when he did. Whenever his warm lips moulded against hers, his body buzzing with heat and that hum trembling in his chest (always finding a new tune to define their love), none of the difficulties they’d inevitably have to face mattered.

Right now, all that mattered was his heart promising her the world and her equalling that just as ardently. Right now, she was just going to enjoy kissing her boyfriend Luke Patterson like the lovesick girlfriend she was. 

Like any couple would. 

@blush-and-books @unsaid-emily @sophiphi @alexjulies @bluefirewrites @willexx

#don't listen to *right here right now* from hsm3 but actually do if you wanna feel things #juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

[luminescentauthor]

random fun RatLD things

woot look at me obsessing over this movie more

also kudos to the movie for being the best thing about my awful weekend, because i watched it shortly after having a breakdown and it made me feel better.

MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

I refuse to post about this movie without acknowledging the cultural significance of the first SEA disney princess and I will continue to do so until people on this website start remembering that this movie is about culture and trust and overall a WHOLE lot more than just the sapphics (as great as they are.)

Also this is a long-ass post so I’m using semi-proper grammar because otherwise I won’t be able to read it.

For the people talking about how Raya shouldn't trust Naamari: I want to point out that Sisu isn't asking Raya to trust Naamari on a personal level. She's asking that Raya trust in Naamari's ability to be a good person, to make the right choice. Sisu doesn't say "you have to be buddy-buddy best friends after this." (The girls do that bit on their own, I think 🤣). She's saying "I don't think Naamari is a bad person, and I think we should trust that she's capable of making the right choice, because it's quite possibly our best shot at pulling this off."

Sisu's revival was some classic unexplained disney bullshit that was totally unnecessary for the plot, and I literally don't even care because I was sitting there the entire time that the dragons were doing their dance thing going "PLEASE BE BRINGING SISU BACK AND NOT HONORING HER DEATH PLEASE BRING HER BACK PLEASE-" so. I might mind a little more if/when I rewatch it. But I also really just don't care bc I was going to be SO SAD if Sisu was dead.

Having the only Actual Bad Guys be shapeless monsters is also some classic disney happy-ending bullshit, but frankly? The rest of the characters were so good that it kind of doesn’t matter to me. 

THREE CHEERS FOR DISNEY PRINCESSES THAT AREN’T HAPPY-GO LUCKY AND ARE ALLOWED TO BE WORLD-WEARY AND HAVE FLAWS LIKE HAVING THEIR ANGER GET THE BETTER OF THEM AND ALSO HAVE AWESOME CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT????? DUDE. I AM SO HERE FOR THIS. (God I love Raya’s character arc. It’s not the most obviously amazing but when you look closer it’s epic.)

Three cheers for trope-inversion like Raya not being the one to save the day (the “give me your gems” thing was what I expected), and instead handing the responsibility to Naamari, the original antagonist, and letting her do it??? Completely caught me off guard but I really enjoyed it.

One shot of the Druun in the last battle made me physically cringe because it was like, the 3-D animation equivalent of rEALLY bad CGI, but props to the animators for only making it one shot that made me even think about it, because those things did not look easy to animate.

The way Naamari gazes at Raya right before turning to stone??? The way Raya grasps Naamari’s hand and laughs, looking like she’s about to cry in relief? ADORABLE. I LOVE THEM. ALSO KINDA SAPPHIC.

Noi wasn’t allowed to talk because the writers knew she’d be too powerful if she could change my mind

Boun’s face when he said “because Ongis have nine stomachs” was priceless

if u want more of my bs rambles, here’s an entire post of me yelling about how much i love the characterization in the movie

#raya and the last dragon #ratld #raya and the last dragon spoilers #ratld spoilers #raya #sisu #naamari #boun #tong #noi #noi and the ongis #ratld raya #ratld sisu #ratld naamari #ratld boun #ratld tong #ratld noi #ratld druun #druun

[turtle-steverogers]

Team Bonding

fr when was the last time i posted like,,, a fic on here. like a tumblr fic. damn. anyway. ummmmmmmm this is just your.... typical steve freaks out and the avengers are awesome um yah ok ok 

warnings: panic attack, vomiting (basically steve watches the titanic and doesnt have a very fun time)

word count: 2575

-

If Steve was being brutally honest with himself, he was fucking tired of hearing about “the classics”. Irrelevant people butting their noses into his business, tipping him off to what movies were, “the best of the best!” and “absolute must sees!” He appreciated what they were trying to do, but after a while, it felt like people were more or less just trying to garner a slice of his 21st century experience, and quite frankly, he liked doing things better by himself. It was much more appealing to park himself in front of his laptop, nothing but his own quietude to keep him company as he combed through different wikipedia rabbit holes and caught up on movies and TV shows that were apparently crucial to his very existence.

Most were subpar and honestly, he preferred the copious amounts of popcorn he treated himself to on these solo date nights, but some things surprised him. Like Indiana Jones. He liked Indiana Jones. He was neat, and Marion reminded him vaguely of Peggy. 

Still, he supposed he should have seen it coming when Clint came to collect him from his floor one evening, that sort of eager-puppy energy he carried around with him vaguely prickling the back of Steve’s neck.

“C’mon, man,” he was saying. Steve leaned against the door jamb, tired. He was going to concede, but Clint was rambling and Steve knew better than to interrupt him. “It’s, like, certifiably the best love story ever. You need to watch it--”

And there it was again. That fucking claim. You need to watch this! You haven’t seen that? 

No. He hadn’t. He’d been a little busy, you know, being dead.

“--And the acting is all so raw and it’s just-- Leo DiCaprio-- you know who that--”

“--Yes. I saw Blood Diamond--”

“--Oh, you did? Well, anyway, he rocks in this and--”

“Clint,” Steve cut him off smoothly. “I’ll come, don’t sweat it too hard.”

Clint looked positively elated. “You will?” he exclaimed. “Awesome, yeah, it’s gonna be the whole team. I mean, that’s good right? You’re cool with that? You gotta be, you’re the one who mentioned team bonding that one time--”

“Yes,” Steve cut in again. “I’m alright with that. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be right down?” He was still in his gym clothes from two hours ago. He meant to take a shower, but he’d sort of… ran out of energy. The sweat had cooled by now anyway. He smelled fine.

“Oh! Yeah, no problem.”

Which was how Steve found himself in a pair of sweatpants and an old SHIELD t-shirt, squashed in between Natasha and Bruce on the communal couch. Someone had handed him a huge bowl of popcorn and Steve was pleasantly surprised to find that it was flavored with some sort of cheese powder.

“White cheddar,” Bruce said, holding up a little blue shaker bottle when he heard Steve’s appreciative hum. “They’re, uh, sort of like seasoning, but for popcorn specifically. They come in all different kinds of flavors.”

“Oh, neat,” Steve said, around another handful of popcorn. He liked Bruce. He seemed to get Steve in that quiet, brutally raw sort of way. A quiet kinship. They didn’t talk about it, but he never made him feel condescended, so Steve decided that was okay.

“I think I fixed it!” Tony said, stepping out from behind the ginormous movie screen where, presumably, he’d been fixing a volume problem. The screen had been frozen on the first frame of the movie for nearly ten minutes. “Okay, okay, let’s see…” he pressed play. Music poured through the speakers on either side of the TV, loud enough so that everyone cringed and Steve nearly dropped the popcorn bowl in his haste to cover his ears. He always managed to forget how damn loud the world could be when he let himself get comfortable.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tony hissed, turning the volume down to a much more tolerable level. “Okay, there. Okay, shh everyone. Gotta let Capsicle--”

“--Just Steve, Tony--”

“--Gotta let Just Steve get the full experience.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but settled in to watch.

The film was honestly better than Steve had been expecting, if not a little… itchy in that way period films tended to be for him. The themes of poverty and love were pretty well-rounded, but they hit just close enough that he almost cringed at the far-fetch’d beauty of it. 

Still, his fingers itched for a pencil as Jack guided a pencil over the worn sheaf of paper. The dim light, the faint scratch of the pencil, the forbidden love. It was familiar. Steve could almost smell the salty City air, afternoons spent under the dim lights of candles so they could see even with the curtains drawn-- a semblance of privacy amongst the compact vulnerability of his and Bucky’s shitty little tenement. 

Draw me like one of your french girls, Rose had said, and Steve’s eyes drifted towards the wall, Bucky’s voice echoing through his head.

“‘Course I want you to draw me. I ain’t denying my vanity, Stevie,” he teased, but his eyes were soft. “Pal, you could draw a stick of butter and I’d still wanna watch. It ain’t about me here.”

There was a soft touch to his arm and Steve blinked out of his reverie. Natasha was watching him, a neutral look on her face that Steve had finally learned to recognize as concern. He shook his head minutely, offering her a smile. She nodded and looked back at the TV.

The rest of the movie passed without much excitement. The acting was pretty good and Steve had even gotten to a point where he could recognize the filmmaking as something like revolutionary for the time it came out. He was quicker on the cultural uptake than people gave him credit for, but that was neither here nor there. He laughed with everyone else, let himself grow somber when the atmosphere lent that mood, and generally, it was a nice time. He hadn’t gone to any movie nights before this, but he thought maybe he’d start going to more.

And then the ship hit the iceberg.

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Obviously, he knew of the Titanic-- he knew, historically, what happened to it. But for some reason, it hadn’t quite hit him while watching the movie that he was going to have to see the catastrophe go down.

There was a loud creaking of ice on metal as the collision occurred on screen and Steve felt himself go still-- body rigid and tense as the deafening noise played through the speakers. His heart slammed in his chest and he felt his palms start to sweat. He knew that sound-- he knew that--

--He blinked, shaking his head. Movie. Watch the movie. There was a panicked scramble on screen. Characters rushing to amend the situation, more metal creaking and groaning and breaking as dark, foamy water broke through the sides of the ship and Steve could taste it, he could taste the water flooding into the cabin, hitting him from the left as it took the plane down in a harsh--

--He twitched, shaking his head. He was being silly. There were moments of reconciliation as the scenes rapidly flashed between water flooding the ships cabins and peaceful moments of civility. A calm before the storm. A final dance before death.

I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance…

There was a sudden crash as water blasted through into the work quarters and Steve jumped, watching transfixed as unforgiving torrents pushed workers over, flooding them, drowning them, and they were falling, slipping, sliding, panicking as certain death met them at the halfway point, and Steve knew it must be cold. So cold. Suffocating and unforgiving as it flooded their lungs, saltier than they probably imagined, heavy and awful and--

“Stark, turn the movie off.”

The room went abruptly silent. Steve realized his eyes were closed, chest heaving as he sat, hunched over his lap, hands fisted in his hair.

The popcorn wasn’t on his lap anymore. When had he moved? He couldn’t breathe and he was so cold and someone needed to save those guys, someone needed to--

“Steve,” a gentle voice cut into the roaring waves crashing in his head. Bruce. That was Bruce speaking. “Can you hear me, Steve?” 

Steve nodded, pulling his hair harder. He couldn’t breathe. Was he drowning again? Surely that was impossible. If Bruce was talking to him, he couldn’t be drowning again, but-- but the water-- and-- and the cold--

“Good, that’s good, Steve,” Bruce. Bruce again. It was Bruce. “Can I touch you?”

Touch. Touch. No touch. He was so cold. He wanted to stop being cold, but he was certain if someone touched him right now, he would lose his goddamn mind. More so than he already had.

“That’s alright,” Bruce sounded steady. Calm. So calm. Why couldn’t Steve calm down? “That’s okay. You think you can do something for me?”

Something… for Bruce? Could he? Could he do anything right then? If he couldn’t breathe, how could he do anything-- and he-- he felt sick--

He opened his mouth to answer and vomited between his feet, straight onto the carpet. Someone in the room hissed sympathetically. Steve wanted to crawl somewhere and die.

“Oh, Steve,” Bruce seemed to be talking mostly to himself, but Steve felt his shoulders climb higher towards his ears. “Okay, Steve, I need you to listen to my voice. Just listen. I’m going to count and you’re going to breathe in time with my instruction, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve shook his head, choking on a sob. His chest hurt. Like someone had taken all of his ribs and replaced them with weights, flooding his lungs with-- with water-- and fuck, now he was thinking about the plane again. He felt his breathing tick up higher.

“I want you to try,” Bruce said. “With me. In,” he sucked in a breath. “One… two… three… four…”

Steve tried to suck in a breath, but all he managed to do was send himself into a coughing fit. Bruce kept counting. Steve wanted to tell him to wait-- slow down-- shut up--

He braced a hand over his chest. 

Bruce was still counting.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he found himself matching Bruce’s counts, eyes closed and the heels of his palms braced on his temples as he sucked in greedy, measured breaths. His heart was still slamming hard enough to make him tremble and he could smell his own sick wafting up from the ground, but at least he was breathing on his own.

Bruce trailed off. Silence hung thick in the air, the only noise Steve’s slow, shaking breaths. Shame burned around his ears. He didn’t dare look up.

Tony, predictably, was the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he said, and Steve was surprised to hear honest regret in his voice. “I was the one who suggested we watch Titanic. I should have thought for more than two seconds about that…”

Steve shrugged. Embarrassment climbed from his stomach to his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Natasha spoke next. “Why don’t you go wash up?” It was an escape-- a way out-- and Steve took it graciously, keeping his head ducked down as he stood on shaking legs and rushed to the communal bathroom.

Inside, he locked the door and braced himself over the sink, splashing warm water on his face. He drank greedily from the tap. His reflection looked like shit-- he’d burst some blood vessels in his eyes, probably while vomiting, and his skin looked sallow and pale. He was trembling, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He looked how he looked after a nightmare. This, he supposed, had kind of been like a nightmare. Though, he hadn’t been asleep.

Nightmares, he was finding, weren’t strictly exclusive to the nighttime. 

He supposed he’d always known that, though. 

He closed his eyes, bowing his head again. 

His emotions had been fucked to high hell since waking up from the ice. This hadn’t been the first of those awful… fits, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last, but to have something like that happen in front of the team was a whole new level of mortifying. Fuck. He’d gotten sick. And he’d left it.

He felt the ceramic counter straining under his grip. Scowling, he let go.

He could slip off to his room, lock himself away until he could find some way to sneak out of the Tower and never talk to any of the others ever again. Even in this state, Steve knew that wasn’t viable in any sense. He sighed. Besides, he couldn’t just damn the others to clean up his mess. 

Stowing his pride, he dug some spare mouthwash out from behind the mirror and chugged some straight down, keeping a mouthful and swishing it around before spitting it in the sink. He still felt and looked like shit, but at least his breath would smell like wintergreen. 

The others were still gathered in the communal living room, watching what looked like a kid’s cartoon on TV. There was a distinct smell of cleaner in the air and Steve’s eyes landed on the ground where he’d gotten sick. It was clean. He let his eyes drop to the ground, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The cartoon paused. He didn’t look at any of them. “I was going to clean up.”

“Nah, man, the only thing worse than freaking out is having to clean up after yourself while you still feel shitty,” Clint said, and Steve looked up. There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding. 

“Yeah, we’ve all been there,” Tony said. “Sucks, but hey, least we know now that Titanic is a no-no for you.”

Steve flushed, swallowing a few times. “Um, I guess,” he looked at Bruce. “Thank you.”

Bruce smiled. “No problem,” he said gently. “We’re watching Phineas and Ferb if you’d like to join us, but we understand if you’d like to go rest.”

“Phineas and Ferb?” Steve asked, guilt replaced with genuine confusion.

“Yeah,” Clint said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “It’s my go-to when I have a bad day. Nothing like some good old platypus drama to cure life’s woes.”

Steve blinked. “I genuinely don’t know what to say to that.”

Clint barked out a laugh. “Join us, man! Don’t gotta talk if you’re not feeling it, but being alone after shit like that sucks.”

And Steve hadn’t had someone there for him after a breakdown-- not since the war. Not since Bucky. Every ounce of him wanted to run. Hide. Smooth out his face and slip on that mask of stoicism. But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe he could let himself have this, if only this once.

“Sure,” he said, voice a little hoarse. He awkwardly sat back in between Natasha and Bruce.

Tony pressed play again and Steve smoothed his hands over his thighs, feeling out of place and a little cramped and--

Natasha settled, casually letting her feet rest on his lap. On his other side, Bruce leaned into his shoulder, a subtle, grounding pressure. Clint caught his eye and offered him some more popcorn.

Steve relaxed.

Yeah. He could let himself have this.

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

yeah this was chatted about in one of the awesome discord groups im in so thanks guyysss lol

#marvel shit #marvel #Steve Rogers #marvel fic #steve rogers fic #Avengers #team bonding #yes #avengers fic #i love them all #dlakjfl #ok #crawling back into my hole #im definitely supposed to be doing homework

[the-incapable-hero]

He Already Fell Long Ago. Now is His Chance To Realize It.

It was a bad day.

Ranboo had a lot of those. He knew that he did since emotions lingered longer than memories. He could never recall faces or voices or places, only ever recognizing them when he laid eyes on them. Though… sometimes he'd have a breakthrough. He'd recall an action and the person he associated with it. Though in the end, he supposed all that mattered was what he wrote in his book.

He shivered as the sun dipped below the horizon. He'd been walking for a while, that much he knew by the numbness in his clawed fingers. His ears were aching and felt like they had pressure over them, but Ranboo knew better than to think that was really the case. Instead, he ignored it in favor of focusing on his trek.

Not that he could really do that either. He silently cursed his species-split mind that only ever remembered things he desperately wanted to forget. He didn't even know if he was going in the right direction as the blizzard stung his skin, and the day's memory was playing on repeat constantly. It made his gut sink and his hunched spine quiver.

Yelling. Shaking. Fear. And, most prominent of all, guilt. Guilt would never leave him alone until the day he died. A terrible fate really. But he couldn't help it. After what he'd done, he had already come to the conclusion that his friends' outbursts were completely justified. He'd done something bad and he knew it. Could he go back? Would they ever want him back? They couldn't possibly. And if even they didn't want him back, then he really had nobody left. He deserved it though. He knew he was a bad person, now more than ever. There couldn't possibly be another conclusion, no matter how much this one stung like water to his bare skin.

Though his broken thoughts were cut short as Ranboo suddenly found himself on the ground, just barely feeling the dry grass under several inches of his cradle of snow. He wouldn't remember how he ended up parallel to the landscape, but his thoughts as the aforementioned palette of snow faded to a hazy ink color would stick with him for so long that he wouldn't even think to record it in his memory book.

'If this is where I end, then at least I'll be as frozen and idle as my own soul.'

Then, as all feeling left his body, there was a brief, ever so temporary and precious moment of peace.

But he was not meant to fall into the prolonged version of that peace just yet. Rather, he awoke to his closed eyes and feeling returning to his body. Though, instead of frigid snow circling his face, he was greeted with the tickle of something that smelled to him like gardens. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was right. Surrounding his overly tall figure was a patch of thriving golden flowers that looked to be illuminated by a natural light from above.

He sat up of his own volition, which just so happened to be very slowly and carefully, so that he could take in the scenery around him. Though there wasn't much to see other than the flowers and the skylight that seemed to reach up forever. Though there was something about himself that he took note of and didn't at all appreciate. He was dripping with frozen slush from the tundra he wasn't even sure others would call his home anymore. The melting snow had soaked through his clothes and stung his skin. He knew it couldn't physically damage him, but it still hurt like no tomorrow, to the point that he thought for a split second that the flowers may have had some terrible thorns or barbed stickers that would cling to your skin and not let go.

Ranboo shuddered at the thought and opted to try standing. Again, it took him a considerable amount of time, but there was nobody there to rush him. Only when he was standing did he feel it appropriate to start entertaining ideas as to where he could be. He didn't panic, of course. He was too used to waking up in unfamiliar places for that. Calmer than anyone else would be in such a situation, he marched forward. 

Though, "marched" might not be the right word. Too forceful. Truthfully, Ranboo stepped completely silently down the… cave? Tunnel? He wasn't too sure yet. Either way, he was off to investigate, any previous concerns put to the side for now.

And, whether luckily or unluckily he'd never know, virtually no time passed before he spotted another actual being to talk to.

But the smile pasted on the face of the especially lively flower reminded him of weeks past, and he was immediately reminded of his guilt and his fear of that forsaken smile. And to his horror, it spoke, seemingly not caring that Ranboo had frozen in place in such a way that he was much too far away from the flower so that his entire form was obscured by shadow, in great contrast to the secondary skylight that illuminated the chillingly familiar bloom.

"Howdy! I'm Flowey! Flowey the flower! You're new to the Underground, aren't 'cha?"

__________

Cringe culture is dead and screw this I wrote it on impulse at 2am you don't get to make fun of me I wrote this after a mental breakdown and I'm totally going to regret posting this but you know what screw it I'm putting it on the main tag

#ranboo #dream smp #fanfic #crossover #undertale #this is so weird #it's on ao3 #just in case anyone wanted to find it there too for some reason #I'm going to bed now #lol sleep whats that

[veliseraptor]

2020 Fanfiction Round-Up

I do one of these every year! And have since I think 2016. Can’t break a tradition even if it’s been a clusterfuck of a time and filling this out was in some ways an exercise in remembering the ways I have failed myself as a writer this year. 

But oh well!

Total Year-Long Wordcount: I’ll post the final final number tonight after I finish the writing I want to do this afternoon (and plan to do this afternoon), but it’s currently 451,803 words written this year. Guessing I’m going to land somewhere around 453,000ish. (AO3 claims a higher number than that but that’s because it is counting the entirety of fics where I posted chapters this year.

This year I wrote and posted: I wrote a fair number more than I posted (there are five fics finished but for various reasons unposted on my hard drive) but based on Tumblr I posted 78 posts in my fic tag, which, not including chapter specific updates and three sentence meme answers (but including at least two Tumblr-only longer fics), probably comes out to about 60 or so “full length” fics that saw the light of day in 2020.

Overall Thoughts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? 

Well, I wrote more than I did last year, which is sort of a surprise to me (all things considered) but also maybe not, because I was doing a lot less of most other things that could’ve been occupying my time, including two hours daily of commuting. 

But still less than I did in 2018. Which is fine.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? 

Lord, I don’t know. It depends on when you ask me. Lately I’ve been in a bit of a “I hate everything I’ve written ever” state of mind, so that makes it sort of hard to do any kind of...reasonable assessment. 

I know I’m proud of With Absolute Splendor but I have all these reservations about it and I can’t reread it for the most part because I always notice new things I wish I’d done differently. I feel pretty good about efforts in a common cause but something about it still makes me cringe, which I suspect has to do with my general self-consciousness. I have a hard time feeling unreservedly proud about...anything I wrote this year, really. 

I feel like the closest I get is maybe nor autumn falter which I am pretty pleased with and also which does hurt me a lot personally. Or I did end up overall pretty pleased with what came out of By Proxy.

But also the more I look at this question the more I start hating all my own work, so...guess this is kind of coming at a bad time.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I mean, I started writing in my first non-English fandom in many years, and specifically one where I was trying to engage more with the cultural background of the setting (in a way I wasn’t with, say, Death Note, when I was writing Death Note fic). So that was a risk. And I learned that it’s very stressful and there’s so many ways to make mistakes and I am, in many ways, a coward. But also I think I’ve learned a fair amount thanks to a lot of very patient people on the internet, so...there’s that.

Otherwise...I mean, I got ambitious with a few projects this year (the Big Bang fic and With Absolute Splendor stand out), but I’m not sure how much I really tried new things. 

I feel like I had to fight myself a little on writing straight up bad sex for By Proxy - I planned on it being hot, and it really wasn’t. It was mostly just miserable. Which made for a better fic, but was a new experience for me as far as ‘I thought I was going to write porn and that isn’t what I wrote.’

From my past year of writing, what was….

My most popular story of this year: 

By far, With Absolute Splendor. In fact, it has now become my second most kudosed fic of all time, behind only fuckin Life in Reverse. So like. That’s a thing.

(It is still less than half as many as Life in Reverse, but for context Life in Reverse has been around for going on eight years.)

Most fun story to write: 

Most fics where I feel like “I’m having so much fun writing this!” also go through a “oh god I hate this it’s terrible” phase which makes this sort of hard to assess. But I did have overall a lot of fun writing Mutual Friends despite all my frustration with the canon-wrangling I had to do to make it work in my head. 

But also I feel like both Retributive Justice and Embedded were in different ways deeply iddy fics that were just fun to write. That actually goes for a lot of the Whumptober fics. That was a very self-indulgent month. Excited to do it again in February (hopefully, if I can write things in a timely manner at all).

Story with the single sexiest moment: 

I feel like the beauty of your repair might be my personal favorite smut I posted this year, but I think my personal favorite that I wrote is in the big bang fic nobody will see until January. 

I feel like most of the sexiest moments I’ve written this year are in the porn fics I’m going to start posting in January also. But just generally I feel like the beauty of your repair is the sexiest thing I wrote and posted.

Most “Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: 

I mean, I Come With Knives is definitely up there. It’s not that wrong or anything, but it got pretty intense in some ways I wasn’t expecting. Mostly in how much blood got involved, which was actually more than I’d had it involved in a sex thing before! Kind of surprises me that I haven’t previously done more with bloodplay stuff but. Well. First time for everything!

I don’t think this was a year that really had any “wow, what the fuck, Lise” things in it. Nothing on the level of last year’s winner. I’m almost disappointed in myself.

Abattoir was definitely the story that generated the weirdest conversation and creepiest search questions, though, so it does get points for that. 

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: 

I feel like the writing of everyone else is spring bound was a lot of...me thinking through my Jiang Cheng feelings and specifically my Jiang Cheng post-canon feelings. 

the martyr, the victim was pretty formative in shaping how I think about both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and their relationship with each other. It was the first fic I wrote that really dug into them in any way, I think, and definitely one that informed how I thought about writing Lan Xichen later.

Hardest story to write: 

I was thinking it was the one that I haven’t posted yet but I did technically finish, aka my Big Bang fic, the terrible threesome fic, the massive “I’m gonna keep everyone in the Yi City arc alive” AU that I started shortly after finishing The Untamed and finished in December. So I spent most of the year writing it.

But then I was like - no, I’m going to have to go with we live until we die even though it’s technically been ‘in progress’ for five years and really kicked into gear in 2019 and I just finished it and posted it this year, because that fic was like. The culmination of a big arc in an enormous verse dealing with a whole lot of balls in the air and trying to tie up a whole lot of threads. It was ambitious and the stakes were high and it was full of plot and action which are not two of my strengths...frankly I’m still amazed I pulled the damn thing off.

Biggest Disappointment: 

I think it is better if I refrain from going too in depth on this because it would just end up as me listing a bunch of my perceived failings. But I think off the top of my head I’m frustrated by the fact that I still haven’t really managed to write a XueXiao smut fic that quite hits the spot for me, myself. I’ve written two and for various reasons I don’t really like either of them. 

Biggest Surprise: 

The fact that my Jiang Cheng fic took off the way it did. Legitimately did not see that coming! At all! I mean, I’m delighted by it but it wasn’t what I saw happening as far as “niche I’d find in this fandom” or “thing I’d write that people would really enjoy reading.”

Particularly with By Proxy. That fic got a lot more attention than I would’ve expected. 

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: 

I feel like every fic I write with Xue Yang in it tells you something about me and most of those things are things that make me, on some level, deeply self-conscious, but I try not to think about that too much.  

I feel like the most telling story is maybe we all drift sometimes because I literally wrote it out of a depressive episode about a bad brain day but that wasn’t unintentional.

Favorite Opening Line(s):

1. So it turned out that if you touched the tendons of a dead person’s wrist and channeled a little bit of spiritual energy just right, it made the fingers twitch and curl like they were still alive. (Abattoir)

2. Here’s the thing: your Daozhang is glorious when he kills. (tear out all your tenderness)

3. Turned out that a sect leader’s head came off like anyone else’s. (Unnatural Selection)

4. The first hint that anything had gone awry was the letter from Lan Wangji (His Excellency Hanguang-jun, pardon me) that simply said have you heard from Wei Ying? (some good mistakes)

5. What Jiang Cheng wanted to do, more than anything, was to go home and take a nap. (everyone else is spring bound)

Favorite Line(s) from Anywhere:

I usually keep this to 10 but because I’ve been in such a :| place about my own writing I indulged myself this once.

1. Sometimes it felt like all he had done since descending the mountain was shatter his own dreams and accumulate regrets. (nor autumn falter)

**

2. It felt like she was holding all the components of a bomb in her hands, half assembled. If she moved the right way they would stay just that: components. But if she moved the wrong way… (til my judgment day)

**

3. He should have killed him. Should have been the one to strike that blow, in revenge for Jin Zixuan and their sister and everyone else dead for Wei Wuxian’s pride. Maybe then there would not be this gnawing, aching thing embedded in his chest; this itching, unfinished feeling. Maybe then he would not feel torn in two, sometimes like he should have reached out with his other hand and sometimes like he should have struck truer and sometimes both, in the same moment. (Interstitial)

**

4. He owed Wei Wuxian more than he could ever give back in this lifetime. Forgiving him felt like betraying his sister’s memory. Not forgiving him felt like trying to walk with a thorn in his foot. He was just - stuck, caught like a demon in a spiritual net.

Jiang Cheng thought of the way Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji, with warmth and trust and love, and the aching, sick jealousy he had no right to feel returned. He felt a little like a child watching someone pick up a toy he’d abandoned and suddenly realizing that he wanted it back. (everyone else is spring bound)

**

5. You close your eyes and think about how he looked back in that town, Shuanghua slicing clean through a man’s neck, opening it to the spine, and think dizzily that he could open you like that and it’d be good, as long as it lasted. (tear out all your tenderness)

**

6. When Wangji loved, he loved with his whole being, without reserve. And now he had been placed between the rock of his convictions and the hard place of his devotion to Wei Wuxian. (the martyr, the victim)

**

7. He spent a week turning the idea over in his head. Studying it like a corpse he was going to dissect, poking at it, cutting it open and examining its insides. (dead reckoning)

**

8. When the world hurt you, that was the only thing to do, after all. Hurt it back, harder, worse. Spill rivers of blood for every drop it squeezed from you.

And when the end came, never go quietly. (the blood in your mouth)

**

9. I would stand with you through the end of the world, said Loki’s voice in his head, and Steve’s heart wasn’t in his chest anymore, was somewhere off on another planet where Loki was lying dead in a ruined city. (we live until we die)

**

10. Was it always going to be like this? Stumbling into traps, tripping over familiar skeletons, slicing himself open on the edges of old hurts. Was there really such a thing as leaving the past behind? He still felt stuck in it, unable to move, and every time he thought he might be finally dragging himself free something pulled him back. (With Absolute Splendor)

**

11. His chest was full of poison. His throat was full of grief. And he was still a little drunk.

Jiang Cheng went to his room, sat down on his bed, put his face in his hands, and cried until he couldn’t breathe. (By Proxy)

Top 5 Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:

I think the scene from nor autumn falter of Xiao Xingchen just crying his heart out over Xue Yang’s dead body would be up there.

The Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian hug from the end of With Absolute Splendor.

Okay, just gonna say it: Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao having sex by the table with Nie Mingjue’s headless corpse on it. So sue me.

The scene in the blood in your mouth where Song Lan has stabbed Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen is following the line of Fuxue to the latter. I have a very clear visual of it in my head and if I could art I’d art it.

Xue Yang with the hallucinatory Xiao Xingchen from liberate spirits, liberate souls.

Fic-writing goals for 2021:

Finish Walking Far From Home.

Maybe I’ll finish some of these MCU WIPs? I’d kind of like to, on an abstract level if nothing else.

Become a more well-adjusted human being about the relationship between my productivity and my self-worth.

#fanfiction round up #confessions of a frustrated writer #you'll get my fun statistical analysis nonsense later

[vincent-g-writer]

The Silver Screen Savant: Thoughts on Hollywood Autism, Pt. 1

When I was a child, I didn’t fit in.

A common statement, many people empathize with. However, to say “I didn’t fit in,” is a gross understatement. I stuck out like a sore thumb, and at times, still do. Now, why was this, you may ask? Well, there are things I could name. A banal little checklist of traits and characteristics would probably do the trick. But I’m not sure that would do it justice. So I’ll tell you what it felt like:

I had trouble reading facial expressions, because people’s face, and hands, and body would say one thing, while their words said another. Smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. Laughs that were a little too hearty, or loud, or hollow. Disingenuous conversations and actions frustrated me. If lying was wrong, why were, as my mother used to call them “little white lies” acceptable? Why did we smile and thank our new neighbors for their homemade casserole dish, before promptly throwing it away when they left? These things, and many others, puzzled me. But the thing that puzzled me the most, was interacting with my peers. I didn’t understand the sensation of a hundred million bees, pricking me with electric anxiety when I went to school, or played with children in the neighborhood. I didn’t understand why they weren’t constantly talking, wondering, asking- about everything. I didn’t understand how their minds worked. Most of all, I didn’t understand why it physically hurt me to look into people’s eyes, child and adult alike. On the other hand, I did notice they didn’t like me very much. “You’re weird,” they would sneer. Or “you talk too much.” And, they were right. I knew they were. Even as I would wax poetic about all sorts of nonsense, like the difference between a cocoon and a chrysalis. I knew. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t shut myself off.

And that’s just one tiny example, of a lifetime.

Back then, if you’d asked what was “wrong” with me, on a good day, I would have shrugged. Other times, when I despised every fiber of my being, I’d parrot back the sentiments of my peers. “Freak,” “loser,” and “r*tard” were words I heard often. And for a long time, I believed them.

Today, I know differently. Not to say the above struggles no longer apply. If anything, some of them are worse. But now, I now longer blame or hate myself for being different. Now, I understand.

The Lightbulb Moment

In 2014, my daughter began speaking. She was four years old. Before then, she could say “dada,” “juice,” “two,” and “go.” The rest was garbled noises, when and if she made a sound. Most of the time, she didn’t. My wife and I were concerned, to say the least. But it wasn’t exactly a new worry. My princess never crawled, never pointed to get people’s attention, or show them things, and did not play with toys. Plus a host of other concerns. So we hopped on Google, and after about, oh, half an hour of research, got in touch with a doctor. Now, I feel like I must add the caveat here that we wanted to have her seen before then. However, many issues (including a bout of homelessness) prevented that. So we were a bit…late, in that regard. No matter. Her doc sent her to a local play therapist, and after about fifteen minutes of interaction, the therapist knew exactly what was going on: Our little Princess was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

But wait! There’s more-

Once this became clear, my wife started looking into other things. Her own independent research, as it were. She kept it to herself for a month or three, then avalanched it all into my lap . Our Princess wasn’t the only one, as it turned out. And really, had I ever bothered to look…it was obvious. But I was in denial. I couldn’t possibly be autistic. So, like the stubborn Taurus I am, I dug my heels in. I refused to discuss it, for almost year. But, my beloved wife, who is much smarter and wiser than I am, knew what to do. In the name of “research for Princess,” she had me read a list of common autistic traits/symptoms. And it all came crashing down. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was, without a doubt, also on the spectrum.

The gift of the Media: Fear, self hatred, stigma…superpowers?

Now, you might be asking, why exactly did I doubt myself? Cultural association, of course. And by “cultural association,” what I really mean is “the media.” Mostly, anyway. See, I’ve noticed a trend. In movies, tv and books, autism is usually presented in one of two ways: The Rainman, or the Idiot Perma-child, who cannot care for themselves. And I’m neither.

On the one hand, I was a straight A student. I could sleep through classes and make 100%. I was reading by the age of three or four, and I graduated highschool at fifteen. On the other, I have been known to go a full forty-eight hours without eating, because I “didn’t think about it.”

But I’m not the autistic person you see on tv. Now, that isn’t to say those people don’t exist. They do. For example, my daughter deals with much more noticable struggles than I ever have, while I have another member of my family (also on the spectrum) who is a certifiable genius. And I’ve known many others who are “obviously” autistic, whereas I pass as allistic* (see footnotes below) easily. Which is a sad discourse altogether, really. One the one hand, an “obviously” autistic person, what one might call “Low Functioning” (I could write a whole other post about why “low/high functioning” labels are harmful, however, for the sake of brevity, there’s some here, here and here) are often boiled down only to their struggles, where as people such as myself are relegated to “Not autistic enough to be my problem” or “well, you don’t look autistic.”

To quote-

“The difference between high-functioning autism and low functioning is that high-functioning means your deficits are ignored, and low-functioning means your assets are ignored.” -Laura Tisoncik

Why is this? As you might have guessed from the title of this post- I put a lot of it on the shoulders of the entertainment we consume. Nevermind certain hate organizations who swath themselves in the cloak of “advocacy” such as Autism Speaks, and Anti-Vaxcers, who think it’s better to have a dead child than an autistic one.*

I could go on. At length. However, I’m going to try and stay on track, just this once. To put it plainly, Hollywood Autism often works exactly like “high” and “low” functioning labels: We’re either uplifted to inhuman portrayals of superpowered savants, or downgraded to an “inspirational” invalid. In these stories, we’re props. The “Magical Disabled person!” as Tv Tropes puts it, there to uplift the neurotypical character from their adversity. After all, if this poor dumb sod (i.e- me) can be happy with their burdensome life, surely the pretty white able-bodied protagonist can! We’re “funny,” “scary,” or “sympathetic,” characters, who lack dimension, and nuance. We’re “inhuman.” We’re the lesser. Or at least, that’s one way it’s written. The other is the hyper intelligent, almost “superhuman,” and definitely super jackass genius, who’s much too smart™, and logical© to ever have feelings, friends or empathy. That’s it folks! That’s the show!

That’s what books, tv and movies told me, anyway. And what I truly believed for a long time. It’s why I cringed away in terror and shame when my spectrum issues were finally noticed. And why it took me so long to come to terms with it.

So, there you have it. Part 1. On the next episode, I’ll give some examples, both good and bad, and maybe even a little “what not to do,” or at least a “please consider real hard before doing this in your own work.”

If you like writing, talking about bad tropes and even worse marginalized representation, you can follow me at wordpress or at my “still has that new car smell” twitter. For now- thanks for reading.

-Your loving Vincent

*allistic= Non autistic.

*Vaccines do NOT cause Autism, however, if they DID, it would still be better to have an autistic child than one who died at the ripe old age of “easily preventable but deadly communicable disease.”

#autism #autistic spectrum #autistic problems #hollywood #vaccine #anti vaxxer #anti vax parents #writers on tumblr #writing #writers #tropes #trope time #ableist nonsense #ableism #media #actually autistic #social issues #childhood #social isolation #sterotypes #please dont do this

[etherealblasphemy]

You Never Seemed So Tense, Love

(what’s this? some actual content? on my blog? it’s more likely than you think)

hello again, y’all! it’s been a while since i’ve posted any writing, but at last, i’ve finished another fic! i hope y’all enjoy this one, i found it really fun to write. (title from “gives you hell” by the all-american rejects)

Trigger Warnings For: mild language and mentions of alcohol

Summary: Logan Guiscard loves his simple, mundane life. He most certainly does not love his next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage.

Length: 7,476 words

Kudos are appreciated, reblogs are adored, comments are loved!!

Logan Guiscard loved his life. Honestly. He loved his little suburban house that looked like almost every other home in his neighborhood. He loved his shiny car that he had to wash every weekend because if it wasn’t shining then obviously someone would think something was wrong and wouldn’t take him seriously. He loved his job as an astronomy professor at the local university where nobody cared about what the constellations were named because the Greeks were all dead, and it’s not they couldn’t just Google the names, anyways. He loved waking in the morning to see a lawn full of native plants and a little garden, because he might live in the affluent suburbs, but that didn’t mean he’d give into lawn culture, the horrid thing.

The only thing he didn’t love was his unfortunately next-door neighbor, Virgil Savage. Everything about him was simply illogical. The first thing the imbecile had done after moving in was paint the house bright purple, a stark contrast from the pastel grey every other home sported. He had a rather irritating habit of playing music a decibel too loud for Logan’s taste. He had absolutely no sense of self-care; Virgil seemed to throw on whatever clothes were clean— they were mismatched and rumbled, as if he had just taken them from his floor—and his skin was dull and most likely caked with makeup, which could easily be fixed if the man would just wash his face in the morning. Virgil Savage also had the miserable mannerism of being at least partially nocturnal.

Logan first found out about this “lifestyle” within a week of Virgil moving in. At first, he thought his neighbor was simply having trouble adjusting to his new house. And then the music started. Had it been any other time of day, perhaps Logan would have learned to let it by, to continue with his daily life. But because it was nine-thirty on a Wednesday night and Logan happened to teach Introduction to Astronomy on Thursdays at seven a.m., he marched over to the Savage house with a glare that burned hot enough to set Pluto alight, and knocked three times on the heavy door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited for a response.

Virgil had opened the door with tired, bleak eyes the color of the Milky Way, full of enigmatic monachopsis that seemed to scream for human contact like an abandoned astronaut, and all arguments fled from the tip of Logan’s tongue. The music was even louder with the door open; the most prominent instrument was a piano that sounded like someone was slamming their fingers down on the keys in a desperate rage. Someone was screaming about friends and not wanting to leave, their voice raspy and broken.

“Do you… need something?” his neighbor had asked with a gruff voice, clutching at his elbows as if the sooner Logan left, the better. Logan had snapped out of his daze, pushing his glasses back up as he looked up at the man standing in the doorway. He couldn’t see much from where he stood on the porch.

“Yes, actually, I would like for you to turn your music down. It is impeding my ability to sleep, and I have to teach a class in the morning,” Logan explained crisply. Virgil looked him up and down, sizing up his new competitor with a smug smirk.

“Well, I dunno, teach.” Logan’s heart stopped for a full second at the nickname before his face morphed into a mask of contempt. “There’s a party going on right now, and what party is complete without music?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he glanced inside. He couldn’t see much besides a very much empty living room. “Apparently, a pity party,” he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. For a quarter of a second, a single frame in the movie of life, Virgil’s face had contorted, full of hurt, before quickly losing its emotion, replaced with cool nonchalance. Logan had had half the mind to apologize for his unsympathetic behavior before the song grew louder and Logan was reminded that it was late at night and he was too exhausted to deal with this sort of tomfuckery.

He was about to launch into a full debate to convince this heathen to turn his music down to a respectable volume when another figure came careening through the living room by way of an unseen doorway, crashing into Virgil with raucous, drunken giggles.

“Broooooo…” the newcomer slurred, his arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck for support. “You gotta finish that assignment of yours. You wanna pass the class, donya? Come ooooon,” he wheedled. Virgil’s face flushed as the stranger whined.

“Roman, how much have you drunk?”

“…a bottle.”

“A bottle?! Dee let you drink a whole bottle?!” Virgil’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as he turned, facing the living room that still held no-one despite the “party” raging on inside. “Dee! I’m gonna kick your ass!” he yelled as he unwrapped Roman’s arms from his neck. Virgil’s eyes glanced back at Logan. “Sorry about my friend.”

With that, Virgil pushed Roman further into the house, muttering in exasperation as he shut the door without another word to Logan. The teacher blinked before he regained his senses. He scoffed at the sudden cut-off from his neighbor, rolling his eyes. There was nothing else he could do now besides head back home and shove a pillow over his ears to muffle the music.

It was only when he finally slipped into bed that he realized he could only hear the sound of crickets and someone’s air conditioner whirring in the late August night heat.

The music had been turned off.

He hated himself for believing that it would end that night with a simple confrontation. The next week, the music was up again. Logan was too busy grading incomplete and frustratingly incorrect constellation maps to tell off Virgil, and let it be. But then it happened again the next week. And the next. It seemed to Logan that Virgil was just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. When he called his brother he ask for advice, the only promising words he got was “talk to him.”

“Patton, you don’t understand. I have talked to him, he just won’t listen,” he sighed as his brother listened intently over the video call, constantly adjusting his round glasses.

“Now, Logan, you know that everybody communicates in different ways. Maybe he is listening, but he just can’t communicate in a way you understand.” Patton adjusted his glasses again as he tilted his head, a thought striking him. “Maybe he’s trying to get your attention?”

Logan sighed, thinking about Virgil. Would he really be the type of person to annoy him just to get his attention? Virgil didn’t need to play music at an irritating volume for Logan’s consideration of him—those sonderous eyes plagued him almost as much as the music did.

Hold on. What did he just think?

“Are you alright, Logan? You’re making face you always do whenever I correct on your grammar. You know—like someone just ate all the second cookies,” Patton giggled. Logan heard someone talking in the background as Patton turned away from the camera, listening to the person off-screen. “Yep! Do you wanna come say hi to him?” Logan heard a sound of acquiescence and the pounding of footsteps as someone ran down the hallway of his brother’s apartment.

“Hiya there, Logan!” He flinched as Patton’s partner, Emile, popped up in front of the camera. “I heard you were in a jam!” The psychiatrist held up a jar of jam as Logan groaned at the pun, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know which is worse—your puns or Virgil’s music,” he grumbled goodnaturedly as the partners collapsed into laughter that sounded choppy in the low quality audio of his laptop. He ran a hand through his hair as he checked the time, cringing at the late hour. “I’m sorry, Patton, but I’ll have to sign off now. It’s getting late and I have the wonderful blessing of teaching a morning class tomorrow. I’ll see you next weekend, correct?” His brother nodded as he and Emile wished Logan goodnight.

As he turned off his computer, his mind wandered back to the original topic of his and Patton’s conversation—Virgil. He couldn’t possibly be engaging in this childish feud because he was, what, interested in him? Logan snorted aloud, shaking his head. Virgil was obviously only toying with him.

“Well, then,” he whispered aloud as he slipped into bed, ready to fall asleep. “Two can play that game.”

He wasn’t able to put his plan into motion until the following weekend, just before he had to pick up Patton from the airport. It was quite simple, in Logan’s opinion, but then again, he reminded himself, he had to be on the road by at least nine so he could pick up Patton from his eleven-o-clock arrival, so complex schemes were out of the question until he had the time and reason to do such. Thus, he found himself setting a heavy speaker down on the edge of his front porch, his phone already connected to it. He had deliberated for a while on what song to use before settling on the timeless classic of “Hooked on a Feeling”.

He was about to turn on the speaker when he felt his phone vibrating in his hand. He turned it on to see a text from Patton: “So… I might have told you the wrong arrival time…” Immediately, he called his brother.

“What do you mean, ‘wrong arrival time’?” he questioned as soon as Patton picked up.

“Well, I’m here now. At the airport. It turns out the flight isn’t as long as I thought it was…” He could hear incessant chatter in the background and could clearly picture the dismal little airport that never seemed to stop renovating one wing or another, resulting in utter chaos when it came to an orderly flight schedule. “If you’re busy, don’t worry. I can wait a few hours—”

“Don’t be silly, Patton,” Logan interrupted. “I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes if the traffic’s alright.” He was already grabbing his keys from inside, throwing on a jacket, and unlocking his car doors. “Have you eaten yet?” The silence was answer enough for him. “There’s plenty of options around. Just be sure to eat something healthy, alright? And remember to get your bags,” he sighed as he started the car, the engine a gentle thrum beneath him.

“Alright, Logan, I will. See you in a bit. Thanks for picking me up.” The call disconnected, leaving Logan in the silence of his car before he decided surprisingly that he couldn’t stand the quietude and turned on the car radio as he backed out of the driveway, unaware of the jet black eyes that watched him go sadly.

Logan made to the airport in forty minutes, actually. He found Patton sitting at the counter of a small shop selling dumplings and baobaos, giddily eating the delicious food. He watched with a soft smile for a moment as Patton snuck a bite of a dumpling to the golden retriever laying on the floor beneath him, her vest proudly displaying her role as a service dog. As Patton straightened, he finally noticed his brother standing several feet away.

“Logan!” he called excitedly, waving him over. Logan’s feet moved on their own, small steps turning into bounds as he ran to his brother and hugged him tightly. “I’ve missed you, too, Logan. It doesn’t seem that university can end soon enough.” Logan’s grip tightened before he released his brother. He felt something nose at his leg and looked down to see Lola nudging at his leg, staring up at him with puppy eyes, despite knowing full well she was not a puppy, by size nor age standards.

He crouched down and ran a hand through her fur as Lola’s tail began beating excitedly. “Hello to you, too,” he said as Lola barked softly in greeting. “You’ve got your bags?” he asked as he stood up. Patton nodded, finishing the last dumpling, and clambered off his stool, thanking the shop owners as he grabbed the handles of his two suitcases in both hands. “I’ll hold on to Lola.” He grabbed the golden retriever’s lease, untying it from the chair’s leg, and began guiding the dog and his brother through the dim airport to the parking lot.

It was nine forty a.m. when they got home. The sun was glimmering, bearing down with no qualms onto the earth with a fierce intensity that seemed to rake across their backs with a near unbearable heat. Patton took one look at the speakers still set up on Logan’s porch and turned around, stopping in his tracks.

“Logan, what are you planning?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to listen to some music while I washed my car,” he explained, even though he knew his car was clean and it was pointless to try and wash it when it was supposed to rain that night, anyways. Patton’s eyes narrowed with a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

“You’re going to play music, aren’t you?” he proclaimed, twirling around and pointing at Logan with one finger and a sly smile as though he was a detective who had just solved the most difficult case ever presented to him. “Oh, I knew that look meant something! You looked so starry-eyed when we were talking about Virgil!” Logan blanched as he gasped in indignation.

“I did not look starry-eyed! He’s not even my friend, he’s just my neighbor!”

“A neighbor who you call on every Wednesday night,” Patton teased as Logan brushed past him with a groan of frustration, unlocking the door and shoving it open.

“It’s his fault, Patton, he’s the one who plays punk rock from the 2000s and 70s and 80s pop songs played on what I think might be an organ louder than a plague of cicadas at ten-thirty at night.” Patton could only laugh at Logan’s description as he made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge, already making himself at home.

“Sure, Logan.” Patton’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the fridge and its contents. “How many jars did Mom give you last time?”

“I counted twenty—wait, don’t change the subject, Patton!” Logan chastised. Lola spoke—or, rather, barked—up, woofing at the brothers as if to say, “stop talking about your neighbor and feed me.”

When at last Lola was fed and Patton had dropped his suitcases down in the guest room, it was nearing ten a.m.; he was finally able to step outside and stretch in the sun. Out of habit, he glanced at Virgil’s house, half expecting to see strobe lights flashing wildly behind the curtains, and saw nothing. He paused, his thoughts turning to the speaker still sitting abandoned on his porch. Was Virgil still asleep? An evil grin split across his face as he pulled out his phone, finding the song easily.

“I hope you like the taste of your own medicine,” he mumbled as he pressed played. Immediately, sound poured out of the speaker, the lowest notes tapping a familiar rhythm on his heart. He could just barely hear the sounds of confusion in the other house, following by the door slamming open as Virgil stumbled out in his pyjamas.

Well, he couldn’t really call them pyjamas. Virgil was covered—thankfully, of all the bad habits Virgil partook in, sleeping in the nude was not one of them—but just barely. He wore grey boxers beneath a violet tank top at least two sizes too big for him, and not much else. And perhaps Logan blushed furiously at the sight of sunshine on Virgil’s lanky arms and pale legs, but it was just from the heat. Just the heat.

Not that any of that mattered. Logan was too busy watching Virgil nearly trip over his feet as he shambled about in his lawn, momentarily blinded by the sun, to think any more about Virgil’s limbs. As his eyesight adjusted, Virgil noticed Logan standing in his own yard, then saw the speaker blasting music, and put two-and-two together.

“Do you know what time it is?” Virgil groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Logan snickered.

“It’s nine-fifty-two a.m., which is a more reasonable time than ten-forty-five at night,” he shot back. Virgil snorted before covering it with a cough. “Even if you wake up late, you should at least go to bed at a reasonable time. A good bedtime is crucial to a healthy life,” he lectured as Virgil raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Oh, getting worried about me, now? Careful, teach, or someone will think you’ve caught feelings for me,” Virgil chaffed, his eyes bright now in the daylight, intelligent and unrelenting in their mirth. Logan spluttered, unable to form a proper response. “Beware, Logan Guiscard. You’ve opened up a Pandora’s Box now.” Virgil’s voice was deep and full of laughter—like Logan was missing out on the funniest joke ever told. “I hope you like punk rock.”

He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It’s you’ve been playing, how could it ever get old?” This time, Virgil snorted for real, chuckling uncontrollably as he backed away towards his house. Logan knew he wouldn’t get that sound out of his head for weeks. Virgil paused as he reached the doorstep of his home, glancing back over his shoulder.

“…I was finishing a report for my theoretical astrobiology class, by the way. I finished a little past midnight. Sorry for wanting to sleep in. I’ll make sure to let my professor know next time that I wasn’t able to finish my paper because my neighbor cared about me.” Logan physically stepped back, stunned. Virgil was taking university classes? And astronomy-related classes at that? Sweet heavens. Somehow, Logan’s face grew even more heated in the August sun.

Too bad Virgil had already left before Logan could find out more.

It wasn’t like Virgil hadn’t warned him. Logan could clearly recall him referencing Greek mythology (which another one of his passions that just so luckily gave him an advantage in astronomy) as he swore to wreak havoc on Logan’s life. Now, perhaps he hadn’t used those exact words, but it was exactly what was happening at nine p.m. on a Tuesday night in the middle of his late-night astronomy class. The class was too far gone now to be reigned back in, the music was still pouring in through hidden speakers, and all Logan could do was stare at Virgil like his whole world had been shattered as his neighbor laughed with his whole body, the sound loud and full of life and shaking Logan’s very core.

He had been in the middle of explaining which constellations appeared during which seasons—it was the beginning of the semester and he had learned the hard way to always begin with the basics—when the music first started. He had been so envirgorated in his explanation of the importance of the North Star that he hadn’t heard it until one of his students asked if whoever was listening to Fall Out Boy would please turn the volume down. Logan had stopped in his tracks, eyes snapping back to reality with a sinking feeling of déjà vu, and listened.

Unfortunately, his dread was well-met. The sounds of Fall Out Boy’s “Thnks fr th Mmrs” were pouring in from all sides of his classroom; Logan scowled, already searching for the familiar pair of inky eyes that bedeviled his dreams and late-night musings. “Virgil Savage!” he yelled, praying that the incident was actually Virgil’s fault and not some poor student who just happened to have the exact same music interests as his neighbor. “You better show yourself before I make you!”

The laughter was more of a giveaway than anything else. Virgil slumped in the doorway, his smirk so infuriating yet charming all the same. He gave a two-fingered salute to the professor as he held up his phone, waving in his trademark teasing manner. Virgil paid no mind to the students staring at the occurrence with rabid curiosity; his focus was on Logan as he bit his bottom lip and held out the phone towards the professor as though inviting him closer.

“You want the music off?” he asked, his deep voice gliding out of his mouth and wrapping itself around Logan’s body like venti of the ancient age. Logan nodded silently and unceremoniously, unable to think of a good retort. “Come and turn it off yourself.”

That was what had sent his class into chaos. One of them had yelled “Dance party!” immediately after, jumping up from his seat and flailing his arms around in what Logan could only assume to be dancing—an attempt at dancing, at the very least. Logan glared at Virgil as he stalked slowly towards the interloper, the sounds of students nothing but background noise at this point. He leaned closer to Virgil, his eyes full of wrath.

“Turn that music off right now,” he hissed.

“You’re staying up too late. If I can’t sleep in, you can’t stay out,” was Virgil’s only response. Logan stuttered.

“You—I—I am teaching a class!”

“And I’m not turning the music off,” Virgil continued. “I told you, if you want it off—” Virgil other hand grabbed Logan’s waist, pulling him into a dip as the professor yelped in surprise and the students cheered Virgil on. “—you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

It took a full five seconds to pass before Logan’s brain rebooted, shutting down the moment Virgil’s warm touch had met his starved skin. Once his reason returned, he wrangled himself out of his neighbor’s arms with several muttered swears and all but ripped Virgil’s phone out of his hands, turning the music off quickly and shoving the device back towards his neighbor. He glared daggers at the interloper for good measure as he retreated back into the comforts of his classroom with a scowl on his face.

“You’re not getting enough sleep either, teach. What was it you said? Yeah, I remember now: ‘a good bedtime is crucial to a healthy lifestyle.’” Virgil smirked as he watched Logan try to reign in his class, to no avail, those dark irises of his eyes holding something mysterious Logan would love to unravel if it weren’t for the classroom of fifty students in the process of losing their minds. “Of course, not letting loose every once in a while and refusing to humor your everloving neighbor really takes a hit on you, doesn’t it?” Logan glanced at Virgil as he paused from removing a recording phone from particularly stubborn student, focusing on the annoyance swirling through him instead of the rapid, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wave of warmth that overcame him at the sight of Virgil’s eyes, half hooded by his black-painted eyelids and full of curiosity—curiosity for Logan. That particular feeling he shoved back into the recesses of his mind.

“Virgil Savage, escort yourself out of this room or I will have security do so. We will continue this at a later date.” Virgil only grinned wickedly as he saluted once more and slinked behind the door frame, disappearing in the myriad of hallways.

“How about we continue it tomorrow at Bourbon Coffee? I hear they make great croissants!” Virgil shouted back. Logan stopped dead in his tracks, his head whipping towards the door in shock. But in true Virgil fashion, he was gone before Logan could find out more.

His only hope to gain another piece of the puzzle that was Virgil Savage was to meet him at Bourbon Coffee tomorrow morning.

He prayed he would survive their encounter.

Logan woke up to the mouth-watering smell of french toast the next morning, a smile already on his face. He found his brother in the kitchen, slipping Lola little bites of bacon as he cooked.

“What is all this for, Patton? Don’t you trust me to make my own breakfast?” he asked as he patted Lola, who showed off her canines with a beam.

“One of Emile’s former patients is one of your students. They told a little story on Twitter, and Emile found out and told me!” Patton swiveled around, almost whacking Logan in the face with his spatula. “How come you didn’t tell me you were going on a date?” Logan huffed, swiping a slice of bacon from the plate where they were cooling.

“It’s not a date,” he argued. “This might be my only chance to actually deal with Virgil besides throwing a pillow over my ears.” Patton chuckled, leaving the conversation as he finished cooking and slid two slices of french toast onto a nearby plate and handing it to Logan, throwing a smaller slice on the floor for Lola to wolf down. He continued his points as he ate. “Besides, I wouldn’t even call our relationship a friendship—”

“Alright, first off, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Patton interrupted as he maneuvered them both to sit at the dining room table. “Second of all.” Patton waited until Logan looked up at his brother, holding his gaze. “Do you want it to be a friendship?” he asked gently, knowing the look that was growing in Logan’s eyes.

“…Truth be told, Patton… I do. Virgil…” Logan sighed, unsure how he could ever explain his interest in Virgil if he couldn’t explain the greatest mysteries of the universe, which were far more comprehensible than the mind and soul of his neighbor. “…Virgil is unexplainable. I try to understand him. But I can’t… Am I wrong to want to understand him?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Patton’s lips as he regarded his brother. “No. Not at all.” Patton’s grin turned mischievous. “But date or not, I still get to be excited! You never go out, it’s nice to see you having fun for once.” For once, Logan did not respond to Patton, allowing himself to genuinely grin.

Fun…

It wasn’t a foreign word in his dictionary, but its page wasn’t dog-eared the way other words were. It didn’t have the significance of ebullience (bubbly enthusiasm—it reminded him of his brother), it didn’t have the importance of syzygy (the alignment of celestial bodies—he always found some way to weave it into his lectures), it didn’t roll across his tongue with the same effortlessness of hiraeth (homesickness for a place that never was or cannot be returned to—plus, it tied into his efforts to learn the Welsh language). Fun was not an unknown word, but it was not one mulled over like wine as he pondered his place in the universe.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t reintroduce it to his vocabulary, relearn the way it sounded, the way it felt running along his vocal cords.

Patton could tell what was going through his brother’s mind. He sat back lazily as he ate his breakfast, his smile just barely concealing his pride. “It’s almost nine, by the way,” he added. “You should get ready soon.” Logan nodded, only a little disappointed that they had to end their moment of peace so quickly.

Far too soon, he found himself ready to go, with the exception of a stomach that wouldn’t stop churning. Logan had no idea why he was so nervous—at best, he and Virgil would get coffee and talk without tearing each other’s head apart, and at worst they would just continue their feud like normal. It wasn’t like things going wrong would ruin his life irreversibly—so why did Logan feel the need to impress Virgil, to make things go perfectly?

He pushed those musings to the back of mind for later analysis. He headed outside to be met with the uncomfortable heat he was so used to yet hated all the same. Wearing a black cotton button down did nothing to relieve the suffocating heat against his body. Silently, he cursed the sun as he glanced about, wondering where Virgil was. It hit him that they had never agreed to a specific time. For all Logan knew, Virgil could already by at the coffee shop waiting for him.

Swallowing thickly—he didn’t know why, he had no reason to be nervous—Logan walked over to his neighbor’s house and rapped his knuckles against the door, tapping his foot incessantly as he waited.

The door opened to reveal… not-Virgil. Logan vaguely recalled him as the drunken man who had popped up behind Virgil the first time he had given his neighbors a visit, though he could not remember the man’s name for the life of him. The man yawned, staring at Logan.

“You’re that teacher Virgil’s obsessed with, right?” he asked.

“…Yes?” Logan wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, even if his heart did flutter a little bit at it. “Is he inside? We’re supposed to meet at Bourbon Coffee, but he failed to give a time. I thought it would be logical to go with him so we arrive at the same time.”

The man at the door chuckled. “Virgil’s got a date, eh?”

Logan flushed against his will. “Alright—first of all, it is not a date, and second of all, would you please just tell me where he is?” he pleaded. The man nodded with a lopsided grin, glancing behind him.

“He’s still asleep. Probably thought the date would be a late one,” he drawled, laughing at the way Logan grumbled at the continued use of the word “date.” The man stuck out his hand, at last (re)introducing himself. “I’m Roman. Nice to properly meet you.” Logan took his hand politely, shaking it as he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he looked inside the house to hopefully see Virgil.

“I’m Logan Guiscard. Pleasure to meet you as well,” he said, biting back his frown when he couldn’t see his enigmatic neighbor. He drew his hand back with an awkward sigh. “Well, please let me know when Virgil wakes. I would rather go with him to the coffee shop than wait for him.” Roman nodded, saying he would, and closed the door to leave Logan standing on the porch with a heavy heart, though he decided it was better not to analyze why he felt disappointed that he wasn’t able to see Virgil.

Logan felt his phone vibrate and saw a text from his brother. Are you there yet? it read. He texted back a quick response, smirking devilishly when a notification from his music service popped up, giving him a positively evil idea. He tapped on the notification, opening the app, and scrolled until he found a song Virgil would adore waking up to.

“Would you mind if I listened to some music while I waited?” Logan asked Roman as innocently as possible. The neighbor shrugged. He bit back his sly grin as he subtly turned his volume all the way, connecting to his speaker, which remained on the porch from their last morning encounter. He pressed play, and let himself smile at last as chaos erupted to the sound of My Chemical Romance’s “Planetary (GO!)”.

The first thing to happen was Roman bursting into laughter as he realized what was happening. The second thing to happen was a series of shouts from inside Virgil’s house. Two people emerged from the shadows—someone Logan had yet to meet, and Virgil. He felt himself smile without thinking at the sight of his neighbor. Virgil’s eyes were hooded and full of exhaustion, bent on the murder of whoever woke him up so early. They cleared upon seeing Logan, lighting up like fireworks, but quickly narrowed as he put two and two together and realized Logan was behind his early wake-up.

“Y’know, if it weren’t for the fact that I love this song, I would be throttling you, you damn player,” Virgil mumbled with a tired laugh. He was murmuring along to the lyrics, holding out a hand to the teacher. “Come on, aren’t you going to dance with me?” For a moment, Logan felt like he had landed on an alien planet, because in no galaxy would this ever happen, but the moment passed as soon Logan realized, foreign planet or not, there was no way he would ever refuse.

He took Virgil’s hand with a sheepish smile, a silent apology for his lack of skill when it came to the aesthetic movement of his awkward limbs. Virgil didn’t seem to mind as they danced—well, to call it dancing would be pushing it. It was more like what Patton had once described as “moshing”, a frantic but energizing thrashing of arms and legs with no regards of what others thought. It was fun. Logan found that he actually liked it—or perhaps it was only because Virgil was dancing with him, and in a few minutes they would be grabbing coffee together like a real couple… of friends.

When at last the song ended, both of them were gasping for air as they laughed like the idiots they were. Logan was grinning so hard it hurt, but he found he didn’t care. I like him. I really like him a lot.

For once, the thought didn’t scare him.

“I’m guessing you want to head to Bourbon Coffee?” Virgil was asking him. Logan nodded wordlessly, unable to speak as he regained his breath. Virgil smiled softly. “I’ll go change, then. I’ve shown up wearing pyjamas too many times, they’ll probably kick me out this time.” Virgil hurried inside to change out of his night clothes, leaving Logan alone with Roman and the new person.

“We haven’t met before, I’m Logan Guiscard,” he introduced, holding out a hand to them. Their eyes flickered over Logan for a moment.

“Desmond Inoni. Call me Dee. You’re the teacher Virgil’s obsessed with,” the man stated cooly, amused as Logan blushed furiously, spluttering incessantly. The teacher was unable to voice his objections further, as Virgil came running out, hopping on one foot as he shoved a black sneaker on. “You two have fun,” Dee called as they set off. Virgil flipped him off playfully over his shoulder as Logan motioned for him to get in the teacher’s car.

In ten minutes, they were sitting down in the cafe with their hot coffee. Logan had gotten a simple black coffee, with about a bucket of added sugar, and Virgil had ordered some complex drink the bartender seemed to have had memorized. They sat in a corner booth by the window, enjoying the company of some calming, though probably fake, spider plants. Logan tried his best to be inconspicuous as he studied Virgil Savage, the mystery himself. He studied the way Virgil bobbed slightly to the cliché electro swing, the way the sunlight lit up the dusk in his eyes, the way his lips curved when he smiled as he spoke about his short-lived endeavor to become a musician to pay his way through college.

“What about you?” Virgil inquired. “How did you pay for college?”

“I won a scholarship by writing about astronomy. Being a teaching assistant helped to pay for the rest,” he explained. “I had to work quite hard to keep my scholarship, so I never had as many chances to make relationships—platonic or otherwise.” He caught Virgil’s gaze as he mumbled, “This is actually the first time I’ve been out with someone besides my brother and his partner…” Virgil’s eyes visibly widened in disbelief.

“Never?!” Logan shook his head, less melancholic than the last time he had mused over the young adulthood he never had. Somehow, sharing his woes with his neighbor lessened their meaning. Virgil took a sip of his drink before continuing, looking out beneath his thick eyelashes. “…I’m glad you thought my company was worthy enough for you, Logan.”

Logan knew he would treasure the way Virgil said his name for eons, forever and ever until the final star burned out and left the universe dark. He would always remember the way his heart skipped a beat, something slotting into place. Even if nothing came of this experience, even if by some reason he never saw Virgil again, even if the world ended right that moment and he was the last being alive, he would know that he had fallen in love with Virgil Savage.

But his neighbor was not meant to be his soulmate. Virgil didn’t love him.

“Logan? You okay?” Virgil was waving his hand in front of his face, worry swimming in his eyes. “You kinda disassociated for a moment. Don’t worry, I do it all the time.” Logan almost chuckled at Virgil’s small blush. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he promised. “Just… glad you think my company is worth an early rise.” Virgil cracked a smile with a huff, shaking his head.

“Don’t think this changes things,” he warned. “I have a whole playlist you’re going to fall asleep to.”

“That would sound adorable and affectionate if I didn’t know what a scoundrel you truly are,” Logan fired back with a smirk of his own. “I promise I’ll have my own songs to share with you in the early morning hours.” Virgil laughed loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

They sat and talked for what must have been hours, trading anecdotes, questions, and life advice. He learned that Virgil had grown up half an hour away in the backwoods of suburbia, that his favorite color was violet, his favorite animal was a bird of paradise because their dances were beautiful and stupid at the same time, that his parents were divorced but were still friends, that his biggest wish as a young, dumb kid was to be an astronaut and die among the stars. In return, he told Virgil about himself, how his mother had died when he was nine but he loved his stepmother just as much, how his adoration of space began when an astronaut came to his school, how his favorite article of clothing was an old baggy sweatshirt from his first year teaching.

Yet all good things must come to an end, and eventually Virgil had to ruefully apologize that he had an appointment he needed to go to, and had to leave.

He watched Virgil leave wistfully, stirring what remained of his coffee with a cheap plastic stick as he let his thoughts wander over mountains and meadows. Somehow, by some chance, he was in love with Virgil Savage.

Even if Virgil never loved him back, he would make sure to cherish him. He would love and he would lose, yes, but he knew it would be better than to love and to imagine what could have been.

The climax to it all came about a week later, after many continued meetups. Virgil had been hinting at some big finale to it all for the past few days, and Logan was both incredibly excited and incredibly terrified of what his neighbor was planning.

It happened on a clear October night, just as Logan was winding down from a particularly tiring day. Patton was packed and ready to leave tomorrow morning, already sleep despite the early evening hour, and as much as his puns and jokes exasperated Logan to no end, he was going to miss his brother.

The teacher was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up reading a student’s paper. He rubbed at his fluttering eyelids, trying to keep himself from falling asleep as he took another sip from his water, determined to have all his papers graded before he went to sleep. He glanced at his watch every few minutes, chastising himself for checking so often as though he were waiting for something, quickly righting his course of focus back to his yet-to-be-graded papers.

He was about to call it a night and resign himself to an early morning finishing yesterday’s work when it happened. Through the window, which he had left open so he could enjoy the sounds of the night, came the telltale beginnings of trouble, a faint rumble Logan had come to recognize as a bassline emanating from his neighbor’s house.

As he began to hear the lyrics, he tipped back his head with a groan that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be exasperated or amused. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” he muttered as he pushed away from the table to stumble to the window and stand bewildered at the apparent absence of life in the Savage household. Not even a bedroom light was on inside, and it seemed either Virgil had fallen asleep to The All-American Rejects, or this was Virgil’s finale. He knew it was the latter.

Sighing, he pushed away from the table with a clatter of his chair. Running a hand through unkempt tangles of hair, Logan all but shoved the door open and walked out into the brisk night, letting the overwhelming intensity of the song wash over him and take all worries of the papers on his kitchen table away from his mind. Then he noticed movement from one of the windows, and Logan knew to prepare himself for an overly dramatic performance that would have cemented his love for his neighbor if the secret space enthusiasm and the wistful eyes hadn’t already done so.

Logan’s hypothesis proved correct when the bridge of the song began, and people poured out of the house, just like in the music video—which he had watched dozens of times, in a long playlist titled “virgil’s favorites -- memorize!!”, because if he was going to be in love with the man, he might as well know more about what he liked.

And, just like in the music video, they began chanting the ever-plaguing verse as Virgil, playing the role of Tyson Ritter, strutted slowly and calmly down the steps to the teacher’s driveway, where Logan was waiting for him, an exasperated smirk greeting his neighbor.

As soon as Virgil was within an earshot, Logan called to him. “Is this your finale, then?” Virgil’s eyes lit up with playfulness as he stood toe to toe with the teacher, his grin bigger than a full moon.

“Was it too predictable for you?” Virgil retorted with a glimmer of affection in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Logan replied in the same dramatic air as Virgil. “Though I’m beginning to think maybe it’s because I’m rubbing off on you.”

“And maybe it’s because I’m letting you rub off on me. Maybe I like it,” Virgil laughed as he stepped but an inch closer. Logan could see the little discolored speckles in Virgil’s eyes now, from how close they were. Almost close enough to kiss, his brain supplied (un)helpfully.

At once, Logan’s entire demeanor changed. They were close enough to kiss, weren’t they? He’d been fantasizing about it on more than one occasion, though Logan always classified them as nothing but. Nothing but fantasies to tuck away for reminiscing. But here, under starlight, with Virgil looking like a Lunar Queen, with those mesmerizing eyes trapping his, those fantasies seemed more like memories.

“Logan,” Virgil whispered. And like that, the spell was broken. Logan broke from his dreaming to hear a silent night once more, the song having ended without his notice. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Virgil beat him to it. “Look up.”

And, oh, wasn’t that a sight.

“I was wondering why you weren’t outside watching the meteor shower, and when I texted Patton, he said you were grading papers. Can you believe it? Missing the coolest thing in the world for a couple of dead trees?” Virgil was saying, his voice soft and gentle as a blanket.

Logan, of course, was too busy looking to hear him.

Not looking at the meteor shower—oh, no, no. As gorgeous as the black-blue-purple swashes of paint across the heavens was, as breath-taking as the falling stars were, as inspiring as the night sky captured in pure happiness was, none of it compared to the beauty he was so enraptured by—the beauty, of course, being the look of pure awe in Virgil’s eyes as he watched the meteors shoot across the sky.

Without thinking, Logan leaned over, and kissed him.

It was brief, but as soon as he pulled away, he said, “I think I love you.” Just to cement it, of course. To make sure Virgil knew.

The man in question stared at Logan, his eyes wide with surprise, and lips parted in an unspoken gasp. Virgil said nothing. He only grabbed the back of Logan’s neck and pulled him for a second, better kiss.

Two shooting stars crossed the sky together above them, as if in love.

#sanders sides #sanders sides au #human au #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #emile picani #teacher!logan #patton is diabetic y'all and lola is his service dog #first kiss #slowburn #also slow writing #this has been sitting in my drafts for a good month by now #to further date this #remus was not introduced when i first starting writing this #oh shit this also has a lot of songs mentioned in it #in no particular order #friend please #hooked on a feeling #thnks fr th mmrs #planetary (go!) #gives you hell #and also the song that's played in the cafe #the villain i appear to be #music video is an aesthetic so go check it out #fanfic #my fic

[athetos]

6 & 49 for the writing thing

6. How did writing change you? That’s hard to answer because I’ve always loved writing, so it’s difficult to picture who I would be if it wasn’t an outlet for me. I would say it’s definitely helped expand my vocabulary and put a lot of feelings into words that I wouldn’t otherwise know how to express. As far as for personal writing, like a journal, it’s helped me process some of the things I’ve gone through.

49. Any writing advice? My biggest advice is to just go for it! Even if you never post it anywhere or it’s “bad”. You have to start somewhere and once you get into a groove you’ll find it comes a lot easier. My return to writing fics was very spur of the moment and I had to force myself through the first few pages but afterwards I found it became a lot easier and a lot better quality wise once you get through that roadblock.

As far as writing style, I have a few general tips from creative writing classes and my own experiences. “Said” isn’t a bad word - in some cases, it helps the dialogue flow better than a forced synonym, especially for long conversations with little internal thoughts. But sometimes alternative words are better, so ultimately it’s down to personal preference.

Word repetition isn’t something I notice much while reading fics, but something I notice when writing them. It’s okay to repeat some words but synonyms on hand is helpful especially if it’s used in the same paragraph a lot.

There’s actually an adjective order! For example, “big red dog” sounds way better than “red big dog”. I don’t know the official adjective order off the top of my head but you can google for it and it’s helpful and explains why some phrases might sound really weird! English grammar is stupid!

It’s okay to use character names! That’s what they’re there for. Especially if you find yourself using phrases like “the older woman”, “the blonde”, “the taller boy”, etc. all the time. Word choice is difficult to figure out.

Most importantly, cringe culture is dead! Write about your oc’s and self-inserts! That’s what every single character starts out as! Write crossovers! Write for content people have never heard of! Write for yourself first and foremost! And have fun!

[prorevenge]

A social media marketing agency fires me while being sick without any notice or explanation.

I worked for a social media marketing company. I'd been there almost a year and hadn't used any of my 14 paid days off. I was the only contract worker, but I didn't complain. The money was ok, paid the bills, and my degree was not in business.

It's Saturday. I got from a whole day of running errands, it was raining and nasty, I was wet and cold, I felt sick. I emailed to my team and HR that I'm feeling sick and will be updating them. I felt it's important because there was a big pitch the whole agency was bending over. On Sunday, I felt it in my bones. I wrote another email. I didn't want anyone else to get sick before the pitch. Monday morning I was pouring gallons of shit water from my ass. I threw up twice, couldn't eat, couldn't swallow even water, couldn't sleep, couldn't move, no health insurance. I sent another email on Monday saying I feel worse, sent what I was able to finish to my manager and the team and wished luck with the pitch.

It was strange that this time I didn't get any, "get better," "sorry to hear that," etc. I was so sick I wasn't thinking too deeply about it though and decided to mindlessly binge on Netflix. Tuesday morning, I'm asking if all looks bueno. No response. I'm texting to my manager because this wasn't normal. No response. Then, I couldn't log in to my email. I got locked out from my work email. Doesn't take a genius to notice that something wacky has been going on. I got all my shit from Dropbox and whatever accounts I had on an external hard drive. I started making peace with the thought that I'm being fired. I just didn't know what for.

The next morning I see an email from HR with the subject "Effective Immediately" and saying, "Due to your repeated absences and your abuse of the paid time off, it was decided to terminate your employment." That's it. No further instructions, nothing. I tried to call my manager, but he didn't answer. He texted me later that day to give the address where my belongings should be delivered. I was still sick on Thursday. On Monday I got an email asking to sign it and send back. No instruction if I should do it by mail or email, just a lot of words reminding me what was in my contract: confidentiality blah blah blah, non-compete clauses blah blah blah, company's intellectual property blah blah blah. It looked like it was copied from an online template. I asked HR to send me a copy of my contract as everything was on my company's laptop. The contract was worded the way that working or even contacting with their clients could put me in legal trouble.

I got another job almost 2 months later. With maxed out credit cards and a $3K loan, I felt little helpless. They treated me like a piece of trash. After winning the pitch the agency has been bragging on social media about how amazing and millennial they are. On the company's social accounts they were trying hard to turn every little thing into a huge win. For me, every day was harder because the new job sucked, I felt excluded and didn't feel I'm the part of the culture. So, I've been checking the old agency's social media like a maniac. It got so bad I had to delete the Facebook app from my phone and install some chrome extensions to prevent me from visiting their social media. I stopped going to the gym, was eating unhealthy, broke up with a girl who actually liked me over a stupid argument, was stressed, and felt like a loser.

One day they posted a blog with so much praise for themselves... I cringed. While scrolling through everything people were saying, I realized that their pride blinded them to anything but positive feedback.

After 3 months since I got fired, my bank offered me skip a pay or something like that for 2 next months and I used the $700 to buy as many fake likes, follows, views, etc., as it was possible. From 2K they went to almost 50K followers on Facebook. They were getting 300-500 likes on their Instagram posts, their Twitter also jumped high from only 200 followers. After a week the $700 got me, I decided to go full in for another week and added $500 to the revenge budget. I was more selective, knew more, had better sites for cheaper, I was posting comments everywhere praising the agency, I even created a fake site which was "featuring" the best social media campaigns and ads. I created fake 2 months worth of content in the form of "awards," "special features," and fake polls, and then featured this agency on the front page. Every comment was retweeted, shared, commented back, thanked. It seemed they enjoy the ride a lot. From 1-2 post a week before I got fired they jumped to 2-3 posts a day on every platform. They were so full of themselves they thought they got all of this with their hard work.

2014-2015 was the golden era of Facebook and social media for this type of activities. After over 2 weeks of the hype, suddenly, one of their most cocky posts of theirs got 0 likes. Null. These fools were so caught up in the chase of their 'hard-earned' success, they didn't even check who likes their shit, who follows them. Those were bot accounts, all of them probably in India, cheap as hell, from some scammy sites you don't want to associate your business or name with, or even your IP. The agency had almost 120K followers on Facebook at some point. Going from less than 2K followers to 120K, imagine how the engagement went down. All their organic posts were non-existent. The whole agency looked like idiots because it was apparent from the outside it's all weird and that the hype's fake.

They were trying to get that hype back they started writing useless blogs like more pointless and worthless content would fix anything. Their headlines were screaming "clickbait," their posts and the volume of images they were posting looked desperate. One day... Oops, their FB is "not available." They got blocked! Since there were hundreds of thousands of the same cases in review (blocked accounts for similar schemes, etc.) and they had $0 ad spend on that page, they would wait months to get their account back. They had to create a new FB page, a new Instagram account, and after they shared again the link with their "we're honored to be featured..." I replaced the URL to link to another business in San Francisco lol and removed their entry from the front page. I wasn't even aware at the time, but after these 2 weeks of imverybadass behaviour they lost a few crucial employees. I heard a rumor they left the agency in the mid-project and someone inexperienced, with no fucking clue and their own projects had to finish it. It had to be a shit show. The client refused to pay and eventually they lost every single client they had on a regular yearly contract. From 25 employees, in less than 1 year, they went to 9! I don't think they realize even now the ratios of likes to comments was suspicious. 2K likes on a photo post with only a single comment saying "Amazing!", posted by Rakesh Johnson from nowhere, with the profile pic of an anime character...? You need to be a true-born idiot to buy that, and they were "an agency."

They still have fewer FB followers than they started with before firing me. They gave up on Twitter. Instagram is also bad, no engagement, no regular posts. Overall, $1,200 bought me back my self-esteem, which I consider money wisely spent.

As of today, I've been talking to that girl I screwed up with and things are looking promising. I'm making more than my previous manager (according to Glassdoor), and he is still with the same company, not having any client on any sort of retainer fee. Only small projects, zero social media activity, almost a dead company, with no talent wanting to work there, and a bad reputation in the area Imagine, a social media marketing company gets kick out from Facebook... laughable. Bunch of egocentric people who got the taste of their own bitter piss. Sometimes I really want to add another nail in the coffin, but I'm a better man now. I moved on and don't consider them worthy of my time. This post is my final goodbye to this issue.

TL/DR: A social media marketing agency fired me for being sick. Got their ass kicked by their own ego and have been recovering ever since.

(source) (story by PierceJames)

#prorevenge #by PierceJames #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

[lilacfawnx]

Emo VS. Scene VS. Goth Subcultures

First let me start by saying I’m kind of over the one word fits all. If you wear all, black you must be Goth…or EMO…or whatever. Or if you dress in Uggs and leggings you must like Top 40 hits etc. Everyone’s life has a story to tell. Some of us lived though different Sub-Cultures and even still enjoy the looks and/or the music.

This post is for no reason at all other than to educate I guess on something that’s really not a big deal. Also, yes anyone who lived this subculture is now cringing but this has to be said. So I’ll say this just once. Everyone seems to categorize Emo, Scene, and Goth together. They are 3 almost completely different things. At the closest Emo may be a Pre-Cursor to Scene. Also Scene is pretty much fully dead, I still see some Emo here and there especially with My Chemical Romance’s Reuniting.

(Disclaimer: Sorry Children of now, E-boy and E-girl trend...NOT any of these Subcultures).

Emo: is mostly,Wearing mostly all black with sometimes a stripped undershirt or a pop of red or white with a belt or tie etc. The hair is choppy but generally flat except maybe some light volume through the back. Emo kids would wear a lot of dark make-up even crazy designs slightly similar to Goth but less spooky more just kind of think "Jack Skellington"?.  Some Staples would be black painted nails, Fingerless gloves, choppy hair with long bangs in front, Smeared black eyeliner, Chucks or Vans, And confusion on if that’s a boy or a girl(lol).

Scene: Take most of what I said about Emo but now vamp it up. Scene kids looked like Emo-Ravers or as I’ve heard before..HAPPY-Emo. Instead of one black studded belt now you have two criss cross. The hair was basically a super teased choppy mullet a lot of times with extensions for a two toned look. If you lived it you know the words “Aqua net” and “Skunk strip” give you P.T.S.D.  When you get to the clothing, You get a look like a Limited-2(I know throw back huh?) threw up on an Emo kid. The colors were bright and even electric most of the time. Girls and guys would wear the brightest colors. Girls a lot of times would add tu-tus or a child like character accessory like Hello Kitty. Our MySpace user names were more like “insert name-Arsenic, Cupcake, Starr, Paris, hXc, Rawr, etc). We also had a lot of colored bracelets and necklaces. Also to differ from the Emo sub culture….black wasn’t the only color… oh no!….We would paint our nails bright Blue, Red, Even UV light, Glow in the dark. We still loved the Emo songs but add in a lot of electric sounds. Emo kids typically stuck with Hawthorn Heights, Fall out boy, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance…to name a few, But Scene now we had screamo sounds to add with eclectic sounds like bands like 3OH!3, Blood on the Dance Floor(oof), Medic Droid, Hollywood Undead(Although not electric but scene rap at the time), Shiny Toy Guns. Also if you want to jump deeper… a lot liked “Heaver” stuff like Elysia and Bring Me the Horizon (Pre-soft days). Also gone are the days of just going to shows to hang out, most the time not even actually going in. Lastly if you want a comparison of the Guys VS. Girls looks... Sadly similarly to Emo, kind of another “Is that a guy or a girl situation?” But, this time instead of like the Emo look, where girls generally dressed a little more down.. we have the because the scene girls dress so vibrant…so did the guys people were not entirely sure. Tight jeans were in both Subcultures so there we have a comparison.

 Lastly, If I have toooo..

 Goth: This even has Multiple Sub-Genres in it but generally it’s a Tim-Burton wet dream. It’s like Emo but more of the mother of Emo because Goth is kind of the OG on that Emo. Usually Goth is a lot of black but unlike Emo its corsets and Bagger pants(Sometimes)…Look up “TRIPP JEANS” for more reference on that. Also they like to take it a step farther with white-out contacts or even all black contacts. Some enjoy Paganism or Wicca…they are generally pretty earthly-spiritual. Now before I get a lot of hate I said some.  Goths also more consist of a music based look. It’s less about the look more about the music they enjoy. Additionally, Goth woman are not afraid to wear dresses or skirts.

At the end of the day none of this really matters. In my case I’ve held on to a lot of these sub-cultures in my mix of how I dress and music I like etc. Labels are for cans…Not people. It’s okay if the labels make you feel better or more tied to your Subculture or even identity. This whole post was more to have the ignorance of everyone who just jumps to “Oh you are EMO” or “What a funny EMO look” it’s kind of generalizing a whole entire Subculture that has lived in the past.

 For comparisons I’ll include music snippets and pictures and I’ll even embarrass myself with my own photos from the first two subcultures.

 Emo:

My Chemical Romance Helena-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCCyoocDxBA

Hawthorne Heights - Ohio Is for Lovers-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUO-sRLotOI

Scene:

The Medic Droid - Fer Sure-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDCAy2CUCJs

Hollywood Undead - Turn off the Lights (ft. Jeffree Star)-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJcXBdvjMZ4

Goth:

A Perfect Circle - Judith -

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTgKRCXybSM

Marilyn Manson - The Beautiful People-  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ypkv0HeUvTc

My Emo days:

My Scene days:

#emo #scene #goth #comparisons #embarrassing #personalfeelings #oof #epicfail #hXc #rawr #dark #info

[postpunkpontypandyphantomthief]

8th Comedy Monologue

(note: this monologue has some serious parts in between the joke/reference parts)

“Hey, comrades how are you?”

“Good, Bad a bit of both? understandable”

So a lot has happened, the Brits happened and Numberjacks and Moomins are the memes of the month ”

Now, I’m not that into “modern Pop music” so the Brits wouldn’t really be my thing, Jack Whitehall was hosting and I have to say…...his jokes were staler than breakfast toast

I like Jack’s work but boi he has his cringy moments and this was one of them, I,  I, can’t

But I’m not the one to talk about cringe, as I have had many cringy moments in my life, sometimes I’ve muddled up words saying things like “shut your noses” and sounding so overexcited I sound like a parrot

But that wasn’t all, as part of the photography class I go to me and my classmates had to go to hazel bank, it’s a nice seaside park sort of place, I’ve been there twice so far and I’ve enjoyed my times there,but the day before our first visit I was so tired that when I was trying to tell one of my mates about the visit, I couldn’t word my words right and I ended up saying……

“We’re going to the bank”

“Yup, Why I did that I have no clue, there would be no point to us visiting a bank anyway, there’s a big difference between the place you get money from and the place where you see a lot more dogs than you find places to take photos.”

“Seriously”

“Now a lot of things have changed since we last chatted, I’ve realised a lot of my material references old tv shows and films that some of my audience wouldn’t recognize,Derry Girls ended its 2nd season,I saw the stage version of Rocky Horror,I performed at a MicNight for one of my pals,Umbrella Academy premiered and I started watching Grace and Frankie which is like an American Abfab but with Jane Fonda

Hannah Montana was my childhood as it was for many others, we have Miley, the Jonas Brothers and Not Drake and Josh

now we just have to wait in the horizons for a

*Big Time Rush reunion*

Derry Girls was amazing, Congrats to Lisa McGee, Nicola Coughlan and all the people that bring the show to life

Even some of my American friends have tuned into it, from Dougal McGuire freaking out over the gang trying to flush hash filled scones down the toliet,the Take that episode and the masterpiece that was the formal episode with the Carrie tribute Rocky Horror was a mixed experience, the performances and crowd interactions were class, but I got wine spilt over me and I had to wait for ages for the train to take me and my mum home.

Now, MicNight that was something

It was for the birthday of one of my mates,Susi, I was just sitting around listening to indie bands and catching up with old pals for most of it,but another pal of mine was there, an online friend of mine who is now also an offline friend, my dear comrade Connor, he was such a nice bloke and then..my big break arrived I got to perform one of my poems, my Freddie mercury tribute and it got a round of applause,that was an iconic moment for me, although as I was finishing my reading I did have to remind them I wasn’t finished, it was like 12 pages long, what a good day, ...then times weren’t so good.

I was being a complete moron,I had to think about some things, days past and I’ve learned some things, I shouldn’t act like an expert on topics I barely know anything about...  

Now let me tell you just remember to be yourself, honestly, there’s nothing better you can be than your true self.

Now,...back to what I was talking about previously…

Oh yeah

Robert Sheehan

As a former emo kid, I loved My Chemical Romance, even though I had gotten into them after they had already spilt, Danger Days is better than welcome to the black parade and Gerard Way was and is one of my inspirations

Recently, one of his comics got turned into a Netflix series, Umbrella Academy and I know what your thinking

Robert Sheehan is amazing at playing Klaus...and your 100% right

There was also that Motley Crue movie and boi I have some tea about that

the term it's Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll is quite a gross term now

when you consider groupie culture, excess and all the other bad things some  "rock stars" did offstage

Bad things that would sometimes involve those of which who are underage

YES, LIKE JIMMY PAGE WE’RE TALKING ABOUT HIM, THE FILTHY NONCE

The Music industry is a dangerous and very problematic place

*inhale*/*exhale*

Ok let’s get back to some good news

Um Bad News are better than Motley Crue, and the cursed Black hole of the universe has finally been revealed to the world and Pluto has a new sibling 

but the space scientists think

 it needs a more suitable name than 225088 2007or10, 

welcome to the world, I learned that Boy George is part Irish and…

Now I’m on Easter break

A bit of advice

if someone is stressed out about an event and all the planning and transportation takes longer than usual 

Don't add another negative thing onto that because you'll make them explode

So I visited someone, a mate of mine, Susi again, I met her when I did the performing Arts course, amazing person but all of my mates are amazing anyway

This event was just a fun hang out day, with some of her mates who I hadn’t met before that day, they ended up being amazing too, I gave Susi the easter egg and we talked about lots of things, Motley Crue drama, the musical Jesus Christ Superstar….and a certain actor.

Oh, what was his name again?

Colin Crigson? No, “Mr Mayo?  Nah that can’t be it

“Mile?,Meal?, Maple?,....*clears throat*

Ah Ha! I know now you know the bloke I’m talking about

Rik Mayall,

Yes, him

Basically, I was giving them a history lesson on “the guy who played Drop Dead Fred” and why he was such a icon”

and it was great, I showed them pictures and we watched his appearances in the rocky horror sequel and I just loved telling them about him,

He was and is an icon for many reasons

He innovated British comedy, He was a very talented actor who worked in Film, Television, Music and Advertising, he was a proud feminist who was for Equal Pay, in the 80s he was in a public information film educating people about how to use condoms as part of the First Aids discussion programme.

he has inspired and performed for the following…Simon Pegg, Charlie Brooker, Mark Hamill, Jack Nicholson, Robin Williams, The writers of It's Always in Philidelphia, James Buckley, Noel Fielding and myself.

The day was a day to be remembered, and then what happened after that?

While I was posting my rik pics on twitter, I ended up posting a photo from Rik’s university days, the photo was of uni Rik with his mates, it was a black and white 1970s photo and he had on his big vampire esque gown with his semi-long blonde hair and a big smile

what did one of my internet mates say?

“You look just like him in this photo it’s weird”

*blinks*

“Why thank you, whether that’s a compliment or fact is up to you”

But honestly, that felt so good

To be compared to a icon like that is just such a nice thing to hear

*snorts a laugh*

I guess I’m the people's poet of the 21st century

I am going to live the best life that I can if you want to lead a full and complete life you have to be free. Freedom is paramount, your future is as bright as you make it...

It’s about the connection, not the destination, Spread Kindness

Some of those mantras are his and a few of those mantras are my own

Maybe...just Maybe times will get better, we can work together, we can make our planet beautiful again, for your all my best friends, the best friends I’ve ever had.

#monologue #original monologue #comedy monologue

[inkfic]

Thematic Musings

CW: This post discuses rape.

When I first started writing ‘frozen heart’, I had some general arcs in mind. I wanted to play with the concept of Windblade having life magic (and just what the hell life magic is), I wanted there to be ‘post’ war politics, I wanted to explore how the political situation in Caminus prepared Windblade--or didn’t--for the life she led as a diplomat, and I wanted to delve into Starscream’s relationship with Megatron in a way I haven’t before.

Starscream did not start the story with death magic. As we progressed, I realized that though it might not make sense that it was Starscream and not Megatron, Starscream had to have death magic. Part of it was to fulfill the dichotomy of Windblade’s power (and to acknowledge that death has a part in life), but also because in this ‘verse, the more power you have, the more careful you have to be with it. Megatron would not have been careful. He would have used it, and often, therefore becoming the kind of figure that Nova Prime was (I tried to imply it, but Nova had death magic too).

But Starscream, partially because he grew up as the heir to a fractured political state and partially because serving under Megatron gives you an entire education, understood instinctively that though he does not view his magic as a gift (or a curse--it simply is, and he’s not interested in probing why he has it), that if he was too careless with it people would have even more of a reason to make him a target. Better to have a reputation for having a silver tongue and a tendency for weaseling out of situations instead of being walking death.

The Caminus arc changed too--initially Starscream was far more creepy and manipulative, but I understand that for a relationship to succeed (or for the audience to want it to succeed), the characters have to be careful of the lines they cross. What lines they do cross have to be forgivable, even if in time. They cannot do something unforgivable. Originally, Hot Shot was just by himself, but it deepened his character and allowed for conflict to introduce his wife, Thunderblast. I know I’ve written her to be a passive-aggressive manipulator, but I’m actually rather fond of her. She has a different way of looking at the Camien royal family. She’s not caught up in the mythos of the family the way Windblade and Lightbright are, and she can see things they can’t.

But what this post is really about is rape.

Some things, timing-wise, are pure coincidence. I started planning Windblade’s encounter with the Autobot army back in--oh goodness, I think it was March or April of 2017. With that much time to spend and lavish on certain character interactions, naturally things changed in development. By the time I started writing it, the Harvey Weinstein scandal had broken but my plotting decisions had been set in stone for at least a month before that. By the time I was actually writing the most difficult scene of that chapter (the attempted rape), Alabama had decided that no, they were not going to send an alleged pedophile to the Senate and for once, I felt a little bit of hope.

Rape has stalked this narrative from the beginning. Starscream was raped--repeatedly--by Megatron, the DJD/Overlord/Turmoil et all all use rape as a control and punishment method. The Wreckers (before they came under Springer’s leadership) used rape as a threat against the populations they were fighting against. Impactor is an opportunistic offender. Whenever there was a siege that was lost, rape and pillaging/looting were the order of the day.

I just didn’t realize until I was plotting Springer’s reaction to Windblade’s attempted rape that I realized this new conflict between Prowl and Starscream turned on the fulcrum of rape.

I’ve read fanfic for a long time. I’ve written it for even longer. When I was younger and a writer would utilize ‘rape as drama’, as long as it wasn’t cringing to read, I generally accepted it if I found the narrative interesting. Now that I’m older and have been exposed to media that depicts rape in good and bad ways (Good: Veronica Mars, Bad: Game of Thrones), I am very picky about what I consume and how I think about characters that are capable of such an action.

For the record, I believe that Starscream-in-canon is capable of rape. In the case of Transformers: Prime, I think he would even enjoy it (it’s very hard to watch some of his interactions with Arcee because of that). IDW!Starscream is, I think, capable of it but only when it accomplishes something. I can’t read things like Spotlight: Megatron or Megatron: Origins and not get the vibe that Starscream was raped often, as punishment and humiliation. For that reason, I don’t see Starscream often physically engaging in the act, but I do see him being generally creepy and manipulative. He won’t touch you, but he will get too close for you to be comfortable.

There are other characters that I think the writers have done their best to say THIS CHARACTER IS A RAPIST without falling foul of moral guardians and too many questions about how Cybertronians would have sex. James Roberts made it as clear as he possibly could (even using objects that have long doubled as visual shorthand for sexual penetration) that Fortress Maximus was raped by Overlord. Overlord himself, despite all the jokes that I’ve seen online, is clearly a sexual predator and sadist. The DJD are a team of sadists, and again, using that visual shorthand, are users of sexual assault and rape. Impactor’s use of Springer’s body to shoot his enemies is a clear violation, especially when it is made clear that a) Springer did not consent to it and b) it has and continues to traumatize Springer.

This isn’t really about a post where I discuss which Transformers characters are made out to be rapists in everything but name in canon or even which characters I do and do not think are capable of such a thing, but I did need to discuss it because while I am not a survivor, this subject is very personal to me. I’ve had friends who had been assaulted and raped, and when they have the courage to tell you, believe them.

Rape has long been used as a weapon of war, going through to the entire history of war. Every single boots-on-the-ground war (and perhaps even the Cold War, although that’s not a history I’m interested in parsing) has had a problem with rape. It’s used for several reasons--rape against native women by the invading force is a way of breaking the backbone of local resistance (women are the creators and generators of community), as well as a ‘reward’ for successful soldiers. There are more reasons, of course--in Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun, it’s made clear that the reason a unit participates in a gang rape is to build ties within the unit, but I’m not interested in going into the psychology of war rape.

There are notable examples: the Japanese occupation of Korea and “comfort women” during WWII, the American base in Okinawa, the amount of war rape in the Congo, the rape of Jewish women in concentration camps during the Holocaust, the American invasion of Vietnam, and many more. To list them all would take more pages and emotional fortitude than I possess. The point is this: where there is war, there is rape. Where there are hierarchies that are brutally enforced, there is rape. Rape is a crime of power, not sexuality, and war creates an atmosphere of both clear and not power boundaries.

The conversation Windblade and Starscream have, about which side is guiltier of war crimes, is a necessary one. Windblade comes from a country that has never seen “war” as we would recognize it. (Border raids, yes. War, no). She has very clear ideas about what is right and what is wrong, and Starscream’s moral ideas are...muddier.

I am not defending Starscream’s position. I do believe that war creates an environment that is both psychologically and emotionally unstable and so people in that environment make decisions they would not make outside of it. That does not defend the rape and torture and violence that goes with that environment, and I’m not certain that I, in those circumstances, would commit to those actions, but I can see how they would come about.

Windblade isn’t completely right either--her experience with violence has not, up to this point, particularly state-run or state-organized, so she can write off those experiences as individual instead of systemic. Her worldview needed a little more complication of some very complex issues.

Prowl’s biggest mistake was not in raising the dead (although, obviously, that’s up there because that’s what gained Primus’ attention), but it was in allowing for circumstances that would have resulted in Windblade being raped. Springer knew it was wrong, but Prowl is so caught up in what he considers the ultimate evil--Starscream having any kind of power at all--that he is willing to excuse or allow behavior that would inconvenience or cause harm to that ultimate evil. That is the act that gets Springer off Prowl’s ‘side’ (but not on Starscream’s), and the violation of the protection offered to hostages is ultimately what will fracture the Autobot army.

Please note: if Windblade had been a prisoner and not a hostage, no one (except Springer, but that’s because they would have shared a rapist) would have batted an eye at the attempted assault. But because she was under the hostage protection, to attack her in any way but particularly with sexual violence was anathema.

I really enjoy “Coming to Terms” by biblioteca, and I think that the worldbuilding in it is top-notch (if occasionally taking over the plot at times). But I have to disagree on the premise that the Autobots have a rape culture and the Decepticons don’t. I believe both factions have a rape culture, but the Autobots’ is much more insidious than the Decepticons’.

War is an ultra-violent expression of rape culture. If you don’t understand the term, that’s fine--I graduated with a degree in Women’s and Gender Studies so I got used to discussing it as verbal shorthand. Rape culture is a system that allows for rape to exist and flourish. It starts off small (think of children being told to hug their relations without being asked if they want to, boys tormenting girls on the playground and it being “oh, he likes you”) to bigger things (girls being told to cover up because it tempts the boys, gendered bullying culture like boys-on-girls, tickling without consent) and all the way through from how women and girls are taught to navigate the world (all men are potential rapists until proven otherwise and you have to study their behavior to learn if you could be safe while alone with them, carry your keys in your hand so that you’re not standing at your car for a long time, always park under a light, never go anywhere in the dark by yourself, don’t wear short skirts, don’t wear your hair in a ponytail or braid because that can be used against you, if you are in the position of being sexually assaulted or raped, let it happen so that you can survive) up to rape itself and its punishment (or lack thereof). The bottom tiers support the tallest one--the normalization of rape and sexual assault so that when it does occur, it’s not treated seriously.

How this relates to war is when people grow up steeped in that rape culture along with certain cultural boundaries, when they are put in a place where they are actively encouraged to act on their most violent impulses (there are stories that during the Iraq/Afghanistan war, before soldiers would dropped into a hot zone that they would be made to watch pornography. I haven’t read the sources, but I find it reasonable) and those boundaries are no longer present, you’re going to have rape. It’s even in the Hero’s Journey--women are the prizes of the journey*.

This is also the first time in fiction since I’ve become ‘woke’ that I’ve decided to include rape as a topic and theme. I’ve been leery before, because in the slice-of-life story that was ‘third time’s the charm’ and stories and other, older fic, if I was going to present rape, I was going to do it right. There are too many writers that drop a rape revelation for the drama and then never touch it again (see: Suzanne Collins).

I don’t feel it’s accurate to write about war and not write about rape, but I wanted to center the survivors in the narrative. Their survival is heroic, and the actions they take to prevent further rape cements them as the heroes. The ones who created the rape, committed the rape, or allowed the rape are the explicit villains, because rape is an act of evil. It is, I believe, the only true moral absolute. Thou shalt not rape.

If I sound preachy or angry, good. I won’t apologize for that--because I am angry.

*In 1983, a therapist named Maureen Murdock went to discuss the complexities and limitations of the hero’s journey as it applied to women to the creator of the hero’s journey monomyth, Joseph Campbell. Campbell informed her that women were the prizes of the journey and not the heroes themselves, and Murdock published a book in response to detail the heroine’s journey. The following link is to the heroine’s journey cycle.

https://heroinejourneys.com/heroines-journey/

In relationship to whether men realize that they contribute to an environment where women feel unsafe, starting from the bottom tier of sexual jokes and references to the top tier of actual sexual coercion, the New York Times conducted a poll with 615 men and the results of that poll can be found here.

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/12/28/upshot/sexual-harassment-survey-600-men.html

If this is a subject that interests you, I can recommend Missoula: Rape and the Justice System in a Small Town. It is not an easy read by any means--some people are fucking evil--but it is hard to put down. 

#spilled ink #rape cw #rape tw #rape culture #frozen heart saga #that nyt poll is...something else #i've done antirape work on college campuses #and the responses you can get from cis men students can be #horrifying