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cuubism · 5 months

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work is driving me fucking insane this week, so here's this silly self-indulgent thing i wrote to distract myself.

the spirit of this post is here as well XD

coffee shop au, meet cute, literally falling for your crush

In retrospect, forgetting to eat for three meals in a row wasn't Dream's best move. Not that he'd done it on purpose. Hence the forgetting. But taking time to cook always felt so wasteful when he was finally making progress on his novel. He could eat later, whenever the hyperfocus burned itself out.

The only thing that eventually got him out of the house was caffeine. He'd run out of both coffee and tea in the dysfunction of this week, and thus was forced to venture out to the cafe a few blocks away from his flat in search of enough energy to keep him awake for a few more hours.

Technically, there was a place that was closer. There was also a grocery store, where he could have bought coffee grounds. But Dream took the excuse to go a bit further, and not for the quality of the coffee.

He and Johanna, on the occasion she could convince Dream to leave the house and attempt to be part of society, had first started coming to this particular coffee shop because Johanna's girlfriend Rachel worked there. But Dream had to admit that what really kept him coming back, including at times when he wasn't being dragged along by Johanna, was another employee entirely.

Hob.

Hob was, in Rachel's words, "a perfectly nice guy but I don't know why you're so obsessed with him." In Johanna's words, Hob was, "quite fit, I can't lie, but I really thought you'd have gone for someone who's a bit more of an arts gremlin like you."

In Dream's words, Hob was perfect. He always had a smile for Dream, and a kind word or compliment, and he had kind eyes, and nice hands, and was terribly handsome. Dream had never been particularly attracted to masculinity before but Hob was proving him wrong over and over. He looked like he was strong enough to pick Dream up, and that did all sorts of exciting things to Dream's insides. Dream may or may not have had an actual dream about Hob holding his hand.

Hob also made terrible coffee. But Dream didn't care. He took whatever coffee Hob made him, whether the grounds were burnt, or it had way too much cream, or was vastly overbrewed, and drank it quite happily, sneaking looks at Hob all the while. Because Hob's coffee might be awful, but he always smiled at Dream as he gave it to him, and sometimes their hands brushed and it sent a thrilling little shock up Dream's arms. And anything Hob made for him felt made with love, he could tell, it was like a homemade birthday cake with uneven frosting and an undercooked part in the middle.

It was possible Dream should care more about the quality of the coffee and less about the symbolism of it.

In any case, he went to the coffee shop, underfed and undercaffeinated, hoping that Hob would be there, even if it meant he would have to down another cup of extremely bad coffee. Hob should be there, he did usually work Tuesday afternoons, not that Dream had memorized his schedule like a stalker or anything.

He stepped inside, the little bell over the door jingling, and found that he was right, Hob was there. A thrill of delight ran through him. Dream did not often feel anything as carefree or joyous as delight, but he was very sleep-deprived, and Hob was there, so there it was. Rachel was also working, and waved to him as he stepped up to the counter. As she and Johanna were both very aware of his embarrassing crush on Hob--much to Dream's chagrin--she didn't come over to take his order, instead leaving him to Hob.

"Hey, it's Dream, right?" said Hob, wiping off his hands on a towel and leaning on the counter, looking at Dream with a smile. He knows my name, Dream thought with a heady rush, then remembered that Hob was obligated to write it on his coffee cup, and that Dream came here often, and it didn't have to mean anything. "Dark roast with almond milk and caramel?"

How Hob could be so diligent about remembering his order and so terrible at making it, Dream didn't know. "That's correct," he said.

Behind Hob, Rachel mouthed keep going, which Dream took to mean that if he wanted to get anywhere he had to attempt to engage Hob in slightly more conversation than his usual coffee-ordering script. This was unfortunately true, particularly since Hob had already nullified half the sentences Dream would usually say by predicting his order.

"You remembered my order," he said, which felt like a reasonably normal response, definitely better than do you want to see if you can pick me up? which would probably be creepy. Rachel gave him a thumbs up.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," said Hob, and winked at him. Was he flirting? Dream would like to think so, but he wasn't usually very good at picking up on that sort of thing. Why would Hob be interested in him anyway? Perhaps he meant that Dream was memorable in a bad way, that he was annoying or weird, or--

Dream still hadn't responded.

"I am not trying to be," he said, and behind Hob, Rachel sighed. It was true, though. In most areas of life Dream preferred to go unnoticed. It was only Hob's attention that made him feel all bubbly inside.

"Task failed successfully," said Hob, "because I can't stop noticing you."

Was Dream... still succeeding at the conversation? That was truly unexpected, that he hadn't already turned Hob off by being utterly unsuitable for human society.

"Is that a good thing?" Dream asked.

"Is it?" asked Hob.

Undoubtedly it was. Dream liked the thought of Hob noticing him. He liked the thought of Hob remembering his name, and his coffee order, and when he came into the cafe, with as much detail as Dream had memorized his schedule. He did not normally like having people's eyes on him but he liked the thought of Hob looking. Of Hob caring about what he saw. It made him feel interesting and worthy, and sort of giddy and lightheaded--

Oh. No. That wasn't Hob's attention. That was the fact that the last meal he'd eaten had been a sleeve of biscuits for breakfast two days ago, and that he'd been on his feet for a long time, or what constituted a long time when one had only had a sleeve of biscuits two days ago to eat. And he hadn't slept, and he'd had quite an exciting few minutes just now, and apparently this all meant that his body had decided it needed to check out for a moment, thanks, goodbye.

Inconvenient timing, Dream thought, as everything went sort of spinny and blurry. He was making such progress! He really thought Hob might even like him, and falling on the ground was not going to help his case.

Inevitable now, though. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Hob's face, expression shifting from amusement to concern, and really, there were worse ways to go out.

He woke up not much later, or at least it felt like little time had passed, to find himself lying down on a couch in what seemed to be the cafe's back office, as best as his overtaxed mind could gather. And Hob was crouched beside him, looking at him worriedly, Rachel leaning over his shoulder, face likewise creased in concern.

Dream wondered how he had gotten to the couch. Had Hob carried him there? It was a pleasant thought, though he wished he could have experienced it in person.

"You know," said Hob, "there are easier ways to get out of talking to me than blacking out." The words were light, but he sounded genuinely stressed out about it.

Dream immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

Hob chucked him on the cheek, a light touch that felt fond. "Not what I meant. Are you okay?"

Dream carefully pushed himself up to sitting, Hob watching all the while, hands hovering over him but not touching. Dream sat up. His head didn't spin. "I am okay," he said.

"Probably didn't eat anything today, huh?" said Rachel. She didn't look quite as concerned as Hob did, she was used to Dream's habits. Meanwhile, for all Hob knew, Dream had a brain tumor and would imminently die.

"No," Dream admitted. "I was... occupied."

"Will you be okay here for a sec?" Hob asked, brow scrunching as if he truly thought Dream might just collapse again onto the floor without him. "I'll get you some water. Something to eat, too."

It was worth fainting in a public place, Dream thought, just to have Hob look at him with such care.

When Dream nodded, Hob hurried away to do just that.

Only now his crush was going to be one million times worse, and certainly not reciprocated, not after the scene he'd caused.

Beside him, Rachel was laughing, hiding it behind her hand.

"Is my suffering humorous to you?" Dream asked, but there was no heat in it, he was too busy looking after where Hob had disappeared.

"You should have seen it," she said. "He launched himself over the counter to catch you. Oh my god, I wish you could have witnessed it."

"Surely Hob would aid any customer in distress," Dream sniffed. But something turned over in his stomach, a little flutter of hope.

"Yeah but not literally vault the counter. It was terrific. I was worried he'd break a hip."

"I'm not that old," said Hob, coming back around the corner and crouching beside Dream again, water bottle and what looked like a chocolate muffin clasped in his hands.

Rachel was unrepentant. "You're lucky you didn't wind up on the floor, too."

"You caught me," said Dream, staring into Hob's eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Rich brown, like coffee with a dash of cream.

Dream might still be a bit lightheaded.

"Of course," said Hob, and uncapped the water, handing it to him. Dream took slow sips, realizing as he did that he hadn't drank any water all day. "I'm fond of you, you know. Can't let you hit your head on the floor."

Fond. Dream might faint again.

"Should I take you to hospital or something?" Hob asked, still so concerned it was making that floaty feeling bubble up again in Dream's chest.

"I will be fine here," he said.

"He just fell for you, that's all," said Rachel, and Dream glared at her. She just smiled back. "Swooned and everything."

"I did not swoon," Dream protested.

"You kind of did, actually," said Hob. "I've never seen someone just crumple so dramatically."

"Oh, have you seen many people faint, then?"

"No, but--"

"I'm going to man the till," said Rachel, patting Dream on the arm. "I don't think I want to be in the middle of this. Let me know if you want me to take you home, Dream." She winked at him. "Unless you'd rather Hob do it."

Johanna was never this meddlesome, Dream thought bitterly. She just made fun of him and left it at that.

Then he was alone with Hob, which was both an exciting and anxiety-inducing state of affairs. He clutched his water bottle for balance.

"Um. I got you this," said Hob, and handed him the muffin. "Made them this morning."

Dream was really quite hungry, so despite Hob's poor coffee record, he took a bite of the muffin.

And this was how he learned that Hob was utterly lacking in coffee-making skills because all his talent was in baking.

The chocolate was so rich, it tasted more like cake than a muffin. the chocolate chips melted on his tongue, and he had to force himself not to just immediately take another huge bite. He really was so hungry. Perhaps, now that he knew he could get such things here, he would have a reason to visit the cafe other than just Hob -- and a reason to eat breakfast, too.

"Good?" said Hob, and Dream nodded, licking the melted chocolate from his lips, and he didn't fail to notice Hob watching the movement of his tongue. Perhaps Johanna and Rachel were right, and it wasn't hopeless, even if Dream's best attempt at flirting back was collapsing onto the floor.

He did not know what possessed him then. Perhaps it was the chocolate. Perhaps it was the worry still lingering in Hob's warm eyes, or maybe he had just hit his head and forgotten about it. Either way, he leaned forward in his seat, and kissed Hob on the lips.

His lips were so soft. Just as Dream had dreamt they would be. Hob made a sound of surprise against Dream's mouth, and caught him by the arms so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. Which was a definite possibility, though now the lightheadedness was not caused by a calorie deficit but rather because he was kissing Hob.

Hob who was kissing him back, too. Softening against his mouth, licking the remaining chocolate from Dream's lips. Would Hob hug him, too? If he had already caught him? Dream had fantasized so much about being hugged by Hob.

Only one way to find out. He leaned into Hob's arms, and Hob caught him again, wrapping his arms around Dream's back. He was so warm, and strong. He was wonderful.

"It is a good thing," he said into Hob's shoulder.

"What is?"

"You noticing me."

Hob chuckled. The sound rumbled through Dream's chest. "It's not hard to do. I've been eyeing you for a while, you know. I always hoped you'd talk to me more."

"I am not very good at talking more," said Dream.

"I think I've got that now." Hob pulled back to look at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Falling over is more your style."

"I only faint on occasion," Dream protested, which only seemed to amuse Hob more.

"Well. If talking is a bit tough, maybe we can go for a walk sometime?" He tucked a strand of Dream's hair behind his ear, and Dream shivered. Hob clocked it, too, and let his hand rest on the back of Dream's head, fingers curled in his hair as his gaze flicked to Dream's lips and back up. "Or. Something else?"

Dream thought something else might make him spontaneously combust. That might have to wait a bit, at least until he could cope with Hob looking at him like that without feeling like he was about to explode in a flurry of butterflies.

"A walk, if you will hold my hand," he said, and Hob smiled, and took his hand, and Dream learned that all dreams really could come true at once.

#this is SO silly #hob is literally the most average guy and dream is salivating with lust and completely ferally obsessed with him #it's mutual tho dream is literally a gremlin and hob is like 😍 wow he's beautiful he's like an angel #and then they lived happily ever after #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #sex scene between these two would be funny as fuck i think hob would touch dream once and he would come instantly and maybe also faint

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sparrowlucero · 28 days

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Even if a creator is a bad person it's still okay to like their work. People need to mind their own business.

Honestly it's not really that sort of situation. I'll actively defend Steven Moffat here.

There was a huge hate movement for him back in the early 2010s - which, in retrospect, formed largely because he was running 2 of the superwholock shows at once, one of which went through extremely long hiatuses* and the other of which was functionally an adaptation of an already well regarded show**, making him subject to a sort of double ire in the eyes of a lot of fandom people. Notably, his co-showrunner, Mark Gatiss, is rarely mentioned and much of his work is still attributed to Moffat (and yes, this includes that Hbomberguy video. Several of "Steven Moffat's bad writing choices" were not actually written by him, they were Gatiss.)

People caricatured the dude into a sort of malicious, arrogant figure who hated women and was deliberately mismanaging these shows to spite fans, to the point where people who never watched them believe this via cultural osmosis. It became very common to take quotes from him out of context to make them look bad***, to cite him as an example of a showrunner who hated his fans, someone who sabotaged his own work just to get at said fans, someone who was too arrogant to take criticism, despite all of this being basically a collective "headcanon" formed on tumblr. Some if it got especially terrible, like lying about sexual assault (I don't mean people accused him of sexual assault and I think they're making it up, I mean people would say things like "many of his actresses have accused him of sexual assault on set" when no such accusations exist in the first place. This gets passed around en masse and is, in my opinion, absolutely rancid.)

On top of that a ton of the criticism directed at the shows themselves is, personally, just terrible media criticism. So much of it came from assuming a very hostile intent from the writer and just refusing to engage with the text at all past that.

Like some really common threads you see with critique of this writer's work, especially in regards to Doctor Who since that's the one I'm most familiar with:

A general belief that his lead characters were meant to be ever perfect self inserts, and so therefore when they act shitty or arrogant or flawed in any way, that's both reflective of the author and meant to be viewed as positive or aspirational.

An overarching thesis that his characters are "too important" in the narrative due to the writer's arrogance and self obsession

A lot of focus on the writer personally "attacking" the fans or making choices primarily out of spite.

A tendency to treat the show being different to what it's adapting as inherently bad and hostile towards the original

Just generally very little consideration of the themes, intent, etc.

This one's a little more nebulous and doesn't apply to all critique but a lot of it, especially recently, is clearly by people who haven't seen the show in like 10 years and their opinion is largely formed secondhand through like, "discourse nostalgia". Which. you know. bad.

I think these are just weird and nonsensical ways to engage with a work of fiction. I also think it's really sad to see the show boiled down to this because that era of who is, in my opinion, very thematically rich and unique among similar shows, and I hate that it's often dismissed in such a paltry way.

This isn't to say people aren't allowed to critique Steven Moffat or anything, but the context in which he basically became The Devil™ to a large portion of fandom and is still remembered in a poor light is very tied to this perfect storm of fan culture and I just don't agree with a ton of it.

* I'm sure most people have seen the way long running shows and hiatuses will cause people to fall out with a show, with some former fans turning around and joining a sort of "anti fandom" for it while it's still airing. That happened with both these shows. ** Doctor Who will change it's entire writing staff, crew, and cast every few years, and with that comes a change in style, tone, theme - the old show basically ends and is replaced by a new show under the same title. As Steven Moffat's era was the first of these handovers for the majority of audiences, you can imagine this wasn't a well loved move for many fans. *** I know for a fact most people have not sought out the sources for a lot of these quotes to check that they read the same in context because 1) most of them were deleted years ago and are very difficult to find now and 2) many of them do actually make sense in the context of their respective interviews

#and yeah i think the hbomberguy video is kind of bad #I can pull up examples but a lot of what he's saying is very rooted in this sort of critique #maybe most egregiously he sometimes just explains something very poorly or outright incorrectly to make it seem worse or more nonsensical #ex. saying a scene in doctor who 'steals a huge chunk of the plot' when it's less than 30 seconds long #saying two characters randomly start hanging out again while not mentioning the episode entirely dedicated to this #or the way her decision to keep hanging out with him is the emotional turning point of the entire season #etc etc etc.

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lowgothree · 2 months

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001. ༺...OR JUST LOOK LIKE ONE༻∘

summary: after getting unexpectedly left by your roommate, you find yourself in need of a replacement.

contents: reader is down bad. paige in a situationship. kinda angsty.

previous. next. masterlist.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

the apartment is a lot quieter without tina. she made a lot of noise. you could still vaguely hear her terrible singing as she’d shower, cook, or clean; how she’d wake up early in the morning to make elbarote breakfasts that caused pots and pans to fall…very often; and the fact that she’d watch anything on her phone at max volume.

in retrospect, she was kind of annoying.

but she was nice and you lived with her for almost a year. you’d gotten so used to her.

but now, it’s quiet. and the only thoughts you had were thoughts of not being able to afford rent next month. luckily, sean, your best friend knows basically everyone on campus and kindly agreed to ask around for you.

you’re in your car after stopping to get fast food. you shove a few fries in your month as sean shuffles through his phone to show his instagram conversation with a potential roommate for you.

“okay, so…” sean shoves his phone in your face. “this…is ellie. she’s looking for a roommate and –– ”

“i slept with her…” you mumble after seeing the username. “didn’t end so well…”

“damn…okay, next.” he swipes through his phone again. “okay…this is emily. she’s a straight a student and wants to know if you’re okay with pets?”

you hum. “what kind of pet?”

“um…let’s see.” he shuffles through the text conversation and chuckles. “oh, a twelve inch snake?”

“no thank you…”

“aw, really? it’s kinda cute actually…”

“nope.”

“okay, next candidate.” he takes a big bite of his burger, chews for a while then takes a sip of his drink before he slides through his phone again. “alright, we have paige…it seems like she’s coming from a similar situation to you. roommate kicked her out after getting married at 19…yikes.”

you peer over at his phone. “give her my number…”

“already trying to sleep with her too?” sean snorts and you roll your eyes.

“so that i can text her about the place, idiot.”

“oh, yeah…” he taps on his phone a few more times and then you feel your phone vibrate.

FROM: PAIGE

i got ur number from sean

you’re looking for a roommate?

TO: PAIGE

yes!!

just have a few questions first

FROM: PAIGE

like what?

TO: PAIGE

do u smoke?

or own a ten inch snake?

and do u wash ur dishes?

FROM: PAIGE

nope

no??

yes

TO: PAIGE

*address*

are you able to come over tomorrow?

FROM: PAIGE

yes

what time?

TO: PAIGE

whatever works

FROM: PAIGE

i’ll come over around 12:30 then?

you smile at sean, relaxing for the first time since tina moved out. “thank you so much, sean. seriously.”

“hey, i would’ve let you stay with me but i live in a tiny ass dorm so…” he chuckles. “besides, if you became homeless, where am i supposed to go when my roommate need the room to fuck his boyfriend?”

you snicker. “good point. is it really that bad, though?”

“they’re like feral rabbits…” he mutters.

the next day, you hear a knock at the door at 12:27. she’s punctual, that’s a good sign. you open the door, breath catching in your throat when you see her. she smiled at you and you died a little.

damn, why didn’t sean tell you that she looked like that?

she’s tall, definitely athletic by build, pretty eyes, and a warm smile. you’re fucked.

“hey, i’m paige.” she holds her hand out for you to shake and you have to physically refrain from shuddering. hello, paige. her voice…welcoming and warm, you hand to clear your throat to stop yourself from screaming.

it’s a great terrible idea to fuck your roomate. you remind yourself over and over again as you take her hand, tell her your name which she already knew, and invite her into your apartment.

“nice place…” she steps inside cautiously.

“thanks.” you stop yourself from checking her out any longer, not wanting to be creepy. stop being fucking creepy.

she looks around, you’d just finished cleaning.

“so you’re an athlete?” you clear your throat, trying to politely strike up conversation.

“yeah, basketball.”

you internally groan at the slight smile she gives you when she answers your question.

“that’s –– ” hot. “cool.”

she nods, turning to face you. “so is there anything i should know before i agree to move in?”

“oh…well, my best friend sean comes over sometimes. he sleeps on the couch occasionally but he’s really clean and respectful.” she nods, not looking bothered by that information. “and, um…i’m gay if that sort of thing bothers you…”

she snickers, shaking her head to herself. “doesn’t bother me at all…”

“oh? are you…?” “yeah.”

damnit. she looks like that and she likes girls? you’re so fucked.

“what about you?”

“what about me?” she licks her lips.

“anything i should know about you before i give you the key.”

“well, i’m kind of in…a relationship. kind of, not really.” fuck, that sounds complicated. too complicated. “it’s…i dunno…but, uh, she might come over if that’s okay?”

you swallow thickly, yes that sucks goodbye!! “no, i get it…no problem as long as you pay your rent on time.” you die a little on the inside again.

she smiles again, it’s painfully beautiful. “i can definitely do that.”

you hand her the key and clear your throat again. “alright, roomie.”

#rock the boat!#paige bueckers x reader

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valen-nidk · 27 days

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Family dynamic. | Vox's sibling!Reader.

Content: Implicit imposter syndrome, subtle hints of depression. General description of S.Reader's relationship with The Vee's.

A/N: Probably the last thing you'll see of this particular reader unless I get requests for potential relationships with other Hazbin hotel characters.

Frankly, Hell wasn't exactly what you had in mind, if anything, this particular ring of Hell was like Earth with extra steps and fancier titles: people (read: sinners) still got killed, sometimes there was a transactional reason behind, sometimes just because ; consent was also a bit of a myth here too ; politics? Not exactly. Religion? Uh, duh — after all, the fancy titles previously mentioned were: Archangels, Seraphims, Angels, Sinners and Hellborns (was Adam his own category? His title was First Man and, according to some sources, he had self-proclaimed as Dickmaster or the original dick).

The only upside thus far was that your physical form was kind of cool (literally, a humanoid robot so... an android that had to regulate its body temperature to not overheat), no bones ached, no muscles hurt and you couldn't get sick (a virus, maybe...?) plus your cult leader brother was, to no one's surprise, a cult leader! With the power of hypnosis which, in retrospective, was kind of like his gig back on Earth with manipulation skills that had been perfectly crafted and mastered throughout years and years of studying the human psique and emotions.

The TV head was... new. Unexpected, certainly hilarious even if the context was gruesome to an extent. It made sense, same goes with you: the right-hand, the prophet of this newfound god. Although your form was different since you died electrocuted because of a faulty electrical connection.

Ah yes, what is there to do in Hell..? The Radio Demon had gone missing as well as Lilith, part of you heavily believes that those two separate events are, in fact, connected despite the lack of evidence. A hunch though without something to back it up, you kept quiet — after all, you weren't a big mastermind, though you did enjoy chaos and creating a ridiculous amount of back-up plans in case something went terribly wrong. Cautious? Anxious? Oh, yeah. Your stubborn egotistical brother was careless when going through his many power-trips or when his rage made his (seemingly) perfect persona crack, hence why you just had to have ways to ammend any and all mistakes. Problems made you uneasy, utterly sick — gotta fix 'em, gotta have potential solution for every possible scenario no matter how insane they could be. You never know! You have to know, a sense of being capable of choosing, to own something, just about any single aspect of your life just had to be yours to control.

Nonetheless... Hell, huh. What to do? Unlike Vox, your powers were quite limited and served as support for his, rinse and repeat a life on that one. Besides that, you weren't an official Vee member, more like an honorary one — and thanks to you being a charmer, a problem solver (people-pleaser) and overall someone who rather live comfortably, well... You started babysitting looking after Valentino whenever Vox was too busy (read: didn't want to put up with his bullshit) and this lead to uhhh, unwillingly being dragged to his studio. The porn actors loved you, which made Valentino hate you but also love you as well because "motherfuckers are more willing to cooperate when there's una cara bonita como la tuya around these parts" while squeezing your 'cheeks' (screen). Yeah, you didn't get why Vox wanted this mothman carnally, though his voice was podcast material, the accent? Delicious.

Now when it came to the backbone of The Vee's, it was a trickier situation — mostly due to not having an actual reason to interact with Velvette. Sure, you guys exchanged texts like roasting Vox and Valentino, gossip, some blackmail material... Memes, selfies, the very basic. Being physically in the same room was comfortable, pleasant silences while sitting next to each other and showing funny videos from your respective devices ; or sharing private conversations that were hilarious with or without context, that's for sure! Oh and, let's not forget that this fashionista icon and unforgiving social manager will absolutely roast you if you are dressed like last century. Still, she was kind to you and, in return, you behaved the same way — work collegues, or flatmates would be a way to describe how you two got along.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #🧍 he speaks #hazbin hotel imagine #vox x reader #valentino x reader #velvette x reader #vox x male reader #valentino x male reader #velvette x male reader #vox x gn reader #valentino x gn reader #velvette x gn reader

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freak-accident419 · 1 month

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The Unlikely Postulate of Clapton’s Love Life

Clapton Davis x GN!Reader Headcanons

Content: a little bit of fluff, mentions of virginity, mentions of underage drug use, that’s pretty much it :)

(A/n: Just like in the movie, I made a chapter title card as if you and Clapton’s relationship were inserted. I was really in love with the names such as ‘The Terrible Ultimatum of Clapton Davis’, ‘The Lonely Ballad of Billy Nolan,’ etc. so I came up with one as if these headcanons were scenes in the movie.)

You knew Clapton since Freshman year. You knew of him, at least, and you didn’t actually have a conversation with him until junior year. It all started when he asked you for a pen.

You weren’t too popular like him. But you were sort of the sweetheart of the school. Nobody would talk about you as much as they did Clapton, but when you were brought up, only good things were said about you.

A few small things had progressed your friendship with Clapton. First, it was the pen thing. Then you two were teamed up for a science project. This showed him how smart you were, so he began to rely on you. You were also charming and he began to become infatuated with you, so he asked you for homework help a lot of the time. You went on ‘dates’ and things, like how he skated you home, went on a movie date with you, went bowling together, until you two were official partners.

You two were both in Spanish classes. You were passing and he was failing, so you had to tutor him a whole lot. He came up to you one day with a giddy smile and said ‘Tu es mucho bonito.’ It wasn’t completely correct, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

He burned a CD for you consisting of all of your favorite songs.

Sometimes he appeared in your front yard at midnight for a late night skate. Other times he appeared, he went to your window and you two just made out.

You made out a lot. And you probably lost your virginity to him.

You two got high sometimes. One time you had a very long, weed-driven conversation about who the ‘real’ karate kid was: Ralph Macchio or Billy Zabka. He said it was obviously Macchio, but you liked to argue for Billy. In retrospect, you weren’t sure why.

You two are basically each other’s best friends. It took a while for the school to realize you were dating.

As attractive and charming as Clapton was, nobody really expected him to be in a relationship. He seemed like one of those cool chill guys who wouldn’t involve himself in one. That’s why everyone was so surprised to know that he was in a relationship, let alone with you—it was highly unlikely. Everyone in the school thought you were the power couple, though. Everyone talked and gossiped about your new relationship with him a lot.

You both didn’t like the idea of extravagant prom-posals. Plus, it was sort of a mutual understanding, you two knew you wanted to go together.

He loves holding your hand. Whether he’s walking you to your class or home, he cannot go without holding your hand.

He tried to teach you how to skateboard once because you asked him. You fell. It was terrible. But he patched you up and blamed himself for not teaching you or protecting you properly.

He loves sharing his music with you. Sharing earbuds and everything. When he found out that your go-to slow dance song was “Fields of Gold” by Sting, he instantly knew you were his soulmate.

Sometimes when you two cuddle, you talk about your future together. You hope to stay together long enough to get married. Then you think about articulate things like where to live, what kind of house, pets, etc.

He always said ‘Clapton don’t dance’ but that was a lie. He’d never hesitate to slow dance with you.

You made each other friendship bracelets. He never wants to take it off.

Riley was very supportive of your relationship. As Clapton’s best friend, she was glad that he found someone as amazing as you.

He loves whenever you play with his hair. You do it a lot.

Sometimes you’d ditch school to hang out at a 7-11 or smoke pot. It didn’t matter what you did, as long as he hung out with you. He enjoyed quality time.

One time, before you two were dating, you two ditched school because Clapton wanted to show you a trick he learned on the skateboard to impress you. Clearly he wasn’t ready because he fell, suffering a terrible injury. But there was something so dorkishly charming about that moment, that that was probably the first time you realized you liked him more than a friend.

The first time he said ‘I love you’ was by mistake. You two were both very high. He genuinely meant it, however. And so, the very next day, he properly confessed. And you expressed your reciprocation.

This was my first set of headcanons I’ve written, so I hope you enjoyed it! I hope I did this prompt justice :’) I was so proud of the title that I was too eager to wait until I got a solid fic idea, so I just decided to write headcanons :) thanks for reading!

#clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #clapton davis x gn!reader #clapton davis headcanons #headcanon #headcanons #detention #detention 2011 #josh hutcherson #clapton davis #josh hutcherson x you #gender neutral reader #mike schmidt x reader #peeta mellark x reader #josh futturman x reader #josh hutcherson x reader

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magpod-confessions · 1 month

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I think using morality as a measure for how good a character is or how much attention a character deserves is a terrible way to do media analyses. For some reason everyone in the tma fandom feels the need to justify or condemn the actions of their favorite characters, so they can talk about -- or like a character. It lacks nuance and it's upsetting how so many people have trouble dissecting media above the level of a toddler. The most major part of tma is jon struggling with his humanity and how his addiction affects the people around him. Going, oh well jon is an awful character but Daisy was a cop and tried to kill him so she's worse and shouldn't be forgiven, so in retrospect were jon's actions really as bad as they could have been? Is stupid, they were both adults who managed to find solace in each other because they related to each others experiences being puppeted and manipulated by forces beyond their understanding. Daisy was Jon's foil during season 4 where she was able to resist the hunt but Jon couldn't stop consuming due to his unwillingness to change because he preferred to keep using the beholding as a tool, like how Daisy leaned into the hunt heavily while she was still a police officer, and how when push came to shove she sacrificed her humanity to ensure the continued survival of the people around her. Jon still made the choice to go to the panopticon and kill Jonah Magnus even when the world was doomed and there was no point for him to not just sit down on his ass, and enjoy the apocalypse -- he did enjoy the apocalypse. And while in the end he did betray Martin, ultimately taking that position in a misguided attempt at taking responsibility, he still did try to apply some system of morality to his choices. It's deeply saddening how people treat these characters and strip them of all of their nuance, I hate fandom discourse. People don't like characters because they're good they like them because they are interesting within the narrative. It's absurd to devide people into good or bad, people are either charming or tedious. -oscar wilde or some shit

#fantastic take anon #magpod #tma #the magnus archives #daisy tonner #jon sims #jonathan sims #alice daisy tonner #basira hussain #magpod confession

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

Text

(More of Robin and Steve working at a diner, I guess?)

The first time Robin burns herself on the grill is bad.

The burn itself isn’t bad; it’s almost more startling than it is painful, at least initially. And really, it had been kind of an inevitability – a rite of passage, even, for short order cooks.

So the burn isn’t terrible – what’s bad is that Steve happens to be working the same shift.

It’s at the tail end of a Sunday breakfast rush; Robin is jammed into the kitchen with two other cooks—Dennis and Carl—and the orders have been coming in thick and fast. Space is limited, and even though they each have their own assigned tasks, there’s a certain amount of dancing around and reaching past one another to get to everything they need. In retrospect, Robin is a little surprised she’d lasted as long as she had before reaching a little too far around Dennis to grab a flipper, overbalancing, and touching her bare forearm to the edge of the flattop grill.

She yells, a short, loud burst of noise as she jerks her arm away, at first because she knows it should hurt, and then because it does fucking hurt, and then she’s shouting a string of expletives as Dennis hustles her over to the handwashing station and shoves her arm under the cold running water.

Out in the dining room, Steve shouldn’t have been able to hear her at all, not over the bustle of the breakfast service, especially not with the way the hearing in his left ear is always a little fuzzy now, and with how hard he’s focusing on the way the words are forming on the lips of the guests at the table he’s serving to make sure he doesn’t miss anything – but he does hear. It cuts into his awareness like a siren through the fog, and he’s moving before he’s even made a conscious choice to do so.

He doesn’t excuse himself from his table, he doesn’t say sorry when he cuts in front of one of the other servers as he shoves his empty tray onto a counter and bangs through the swinging door into the kitchen, and he doesn’t hesitate when he sees Dennis and Carl crowded around Robin while she runs her arm under the water and grinds out curses and little hisses of pain.

If Steve had been thinking, he might have recognized that her shout hadn’t been one of fear and that her curses were muttered things out of irritation as much as discomfort, but Steve isn’t really thinking at all. All he’s registered at this point is that Robin is in distress and that there are two men he doesn’t know very well hovering around her.

“Get the fuck away from her.”

Dennis, Carl, and Robin all freeze where they’re standing, startled by Steve’s command – and that’s exactly what it is. It isn’t a hysterical shout, it isn’t a scream of anger, it’s a full-chested command that will be followed or so help him god–

The other two cooks are already scrambling out of the way when Steve stalks forward, practically shoving them out of the way with presence alone, placing himself between them and Robin as if they’re the threat here and not him – suddenly not that kind of goofy kid who flirts with his customers and sometimes mixes his orders up but is so sheepish about it that it’s hard to be mad, but a man with solid, tense-shouldered posture that says if they make one wrong move, retaliation is not a threat but a promise.

Except then Robin is reaching out and putting the hand from her uninjured side on his arm, gentle even as she speaks to him with a voice like steel. “Steve.” He turns and looks at her, wide-eyed and worried. “I’m fine.”

Steve’s attention flicks from Robin’s face to her arm under the running water. He glances at the grill, at the other two cooks, and then back at Robin. His shoulders are starting to slump.

“The grill bit me,” Robin explains, lightening her tone and holding her arm up to show Steve the shiny pink line across the pale skin on the inside of her forearm. “Dennis was helping, and Carl was getting in the way and letting the eggs burn.”

Carl swears and lunges for the pan he’d left the eggs frying in, because some things are more ingrained than a newfound fear of Steve Harrington.

Steve clears his throat. “Right.” He glances back at the cooks, almost the same kind of sheepish as when he’s sent back three Denver omelets and a burger when what he’d actually needed was one Denver and three burgers, and suddenly he looks sort of lost in the middle of the kitchen. “Uh. Sorry. I–”

“C’mon,” Robin cuts in, shutting off the sink and giving Steve a nudge towards the first aid kit by the back office. “Help me get some burn cream and a bandage on this and then let’s get back to work.”

Grateful for the new purpose, Steve follows her away from the grills, and just like that, the whole incident is over, never to be spoken of again. Robin jumps back onto the line a few minutes later and the three of them synchronize like nothing had ever happened.

But if Dennis and Carl are both a little faster to move out of Robin’s way now when she needs something – well. That’s their business.

#platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve harrington #protective steve harrington #you gotta imagine steve in the apron for this to really have the same effect that it had on my brain #honestly this was supposed to be sillier I'm sorry #stranger things #solar wrote

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taurusdaylight · 11 months

Text

[3.21pm] let me take care of you

if there was a competition for the worst boyfriend ever, jeno was sure that he’d come in first place.

just yesterday, the both of you went out on a date together. jeno had been busy with his internship lately, but never once did he neglect you and would always try to make time for you. even if it was just one hour lunches or spending the night at your place until he had to leave for work the next day, he made sure to have those little pockets of time with you whenever he could. yesterday was one of those rare days for the both of you to spend dawn to dusk with each other, no pressure of having to leave early.

he was aware of how precious this time that the both of you had was, so he meticulously planned the day with activities that the both of you would enjoy.

jeno thought that everything went great, until he went to look for you at home today after getting an unexpected half day off at work because why were you wearing his hoodie when it was thirty-one degrees celsius out, looking like you haven’t slept for the past three days? it was evident that you’d been sick for a while, and jeno felt like such an idiot for not realising even though he spent the whole of yesterday with you.

he recalled the small exchange that took place in his car when he dropped you home last night. you were completely knocked out in the passenger seat, and jeno looked at you with affectionate eyes before he could bring himself to wake you up.

“hey,” jeno called out softly, gently tapping on your shoulder, “we’re here.”

you made a sound of acknowledgement, which earned a chuckle from jeno because it didn’t seem like you were planning on getting out of his car.

“are you feeling alright? you seem so tired today,” jeno remarked.

“y-yeah,” you replied. “it’s just, we did so much.”

since it was true, jeno simply left it at that. which, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have. he started to connect the dots and understood why you refused to share food with him, and tried to minimise physical contact with him.

to be honest, you’ve been feeling unwell since the start of the week. it was easy to hide it from jeno since you didn’t get to see him often. like him, you knew how a day like that wouldn’t come by again so soon. you couldn’t bear to cancel on him, not when he texted you the night before to tell you how excited he was to go on a proper date with you after so long.

regardless of how terrible you felt, you still decided to proceed on the date with jeno and hoped that he wouldn’t notice. you almost couldn’t get out of bed, and you took longer than usual to get ready. your sickly complexion would have been a dead giveaway if not for the little fix of make-up. throughout the day, you were fighting the urge to not fall asleep at random spots because the medicine that you took had a side effect of drowsiness. whenever you needed to cough or sneeze, you would do it when jeno wasn’t looking, or go to the restroom, away from his sight.

jeno’s heart shattered the moment he saw you today, he couldn’t help but blame himself. if you hadn’t gone out with him, you would have recovered by now. who knows? your condition might have worsened because you didn’t get to rest yesterday. jeno felt sorry and wished he could turn back time.

“why didn’t you tell me anything?” jeno’s voice broke. he immediately rushed over from the doorway to the living room when he watched you struggle to make your way to where he was. he held you close in his arms, hands roaming from your forehead to your neck as he said, “baby, you’re burning up.”

you could barely answer jeno except utter an apology to him. he seemingly paid no mind to it and brought you to the couch. he left your side for a while, but soon came back with a bucket of water and towel, preparing to sponge your body.

maybe it was because you were comforted by jeno’s presence, but you didn’t feel as horrible as you did when you woke up this morning. though, you were still apologetic towards him, so you said again in a tiny whisper, “i’m sorry.”

jeno’s movements stopped, finally making eye contact with you ever since he sat down on the couch. he couldn’t find it in him to be angry with you when his priority was for you to get better. still, he wished he didn’t have to discover that you were sick this way.

“don’t ever hide such things from me again,” jeno sighed, “i feel bad that i didn’t know anything while you were probably suffering. i should have noticed yesterday.”

“no,” you protested, “it’s not your fault. i just didn’t want you to worry…”

a scoff escaped jeno’s lips. “you’re my girlfriend. of course i’m going to worry about you. what kind of boyfriend am i if i didn’t?”

you didn’t know what else to say because jeno had a point. the only thing you could think of was to say sorry again, but jeno seemed to have read your mind because he took the momentary silence as a cue to continue, “i’m not angry and i’m not trying to start a fight with you, so stop saying sorry to me. just… let me take care of you, okay?”

at a time like this, you wondered how jeno was still so thoughtful that he could put you before himself, even though you clearly did something that should have made him upset, rightfully so.

you stretched out a hand to intertwine jeno’s fingers with yours, “thanks jen, i wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

jeno’s lips crinkled into a wide smile, “don’t worry your pretty little head over such things, you’re never getting rid of me.”

#jeno timestamps #jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #nct timestamps #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct #nct dream #nct jeno #lee jeno #jeno

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hopelesslyromanticgay · 1 year

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How about Tara and R grew very close, kissed here and there but then Tara friendzones R. R distances herself and only then Tara realizes that she wants more than friendship

We're Gonna Make It Work

5 times Tara and Y/N shared meaningless kisses + one time they actually meant it. Or: A quick 5 + 1 fic!

Disclaimer: certain themes in this story I don't have tons of experience with, so sorry if not everything's accurate. EX: I definitely haven't been to a college party lmao.

Tara and I met on our first day in college. Freshmen year in college is intimidating enough. Freshmen Year in a big city like New York is terrifying.

We bonded quickly, and soon enough I was spending tons of time with her friend group. I even introduced my roommate, Anika to my new friend, Mindy, and now the two are happily dating. It seems I've seamlessly assimilated into their group.

I've always thought she was extremely beautiful. I really don't want to risk the friendship I've worked so hard to build with her. At the same time, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to try.

The first time we kissed it was an accident. That's all it was. An accident.

She was blackout drunk at a party. Mindy and Anika had disappeared into some room. Chad was doing shots in the kitchen. Ethan was at his dorm, doing homework like the "quirky" pick me he is.

So many people crowded the building, dancing terribly to awful music, drunk on cheap booze. The frat house reeked of liquor and the distinct scent of marijuana.

Not to say I wasn't drunk too, though. Just less drunk than everyone else in the group. There was a slight wobble in my step as I walked from the kitchen to the living room, wanting to sit for a split second.

Tara had a three round winning streak at beer pong against some guy I'd never seen before. In the corner of my eye, I could see her downing a cup every 45 seconds or so. Maybe if the alcohol hadn't clouded my judgement, I would have been smart enough to get her away from that sooner.

It wasn't until I saw her wobbling towards the steps with he guy she had just been competing with that I sprang into action.

In retrospect, can see why people call booze liquid courage. Man, if I were sober, there would have been no way I would do what I did next.

"Hey, Tara, your boyfriend's looking for you," I grabbed her away from the clearly less drunk man in front of me. He reached out and grabbed her other arm, "she'll be fine."

"Her boyfriend is a football recruit," I lied, "he'll beat the shit out of your weak ass."

"What?" she slurred, unable to comprehend what I'm saying.

"I said, your boyfriend's here, let's go find him," I repeated, dragging her away from the situation.

"Why did you do thattttt," she whined once we're out of ear shot.

"He was taking advantage of you, you'll thank me in the morning," I told her, "you're a mess, let's get you home."

Luckily, her apartment wasn't far, because I was practically carrying her down the street. She flutters in and out of consciousness, making her balance even less stable.

The elevator ride was painfully quiet, what even is there to say. I opened the apartment door, guiding the barely conscious Tara inside. Immediately, I saw Sam, sitting in the kitchen. Waiting for us.

"Where were you?" she interrogated, "I was scared out of my mind."

"Hey, Sam, she's pretty fucked up right now, maybe you should wait for her to sober up. I'm gonna get her to sleep, okay?" She nods, angrily. I can tell she isn't happy about this.

I walkedvTara down to her room, setting her down on the bed.

"Goodnight, Tara," I smiled, helping her take off her shoes and pulling the blankets up over her.

"Night Night, pretty girl," she pulled my face down for a quick kiss.

What the fuck is happening? I could taste the burning liquor on her lips. She's gonna have one hell of a headache in the morning. I quickly break away, I can't do this while she's drunk.

The second time we kiss, she's actually sober.

It's a silly situation, really.

We're at Rockefeller center, shopping for clothes on sale. They put up the ice rink for the winter. Even though it's technically November, I guess New York doesn't care about technical seasons though.

Tara and I stroll down the pavement, warm coffee in our hands. She's very cute all bundled up in her winter gear. A beanie compresses her bangs, and her winter coat looks nearly suffocating yet not nearly arm enough for a New York winter.

"Fuck," she mumbles, looking behind us.

"What's wrong?" I ask, concerned.

"I need you to kiss me, right now," she commands.

"Damn, at least take me out to dinner first," I laugh awkardly.

"Y/N, shut up and do it, I'll explain later," she pleads. I happily oblige her, allowing her lips to make their way to mine. She caresses my cheek through her gloved hands, and I find myself lost in a daze. She's good at this. Her hands slide down my face to wrap themselves around my neck and she slowly breaks the kiss. A part of me wished it would never end.

"So you wanna tell me what that was about?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Creepy ex, wanted to make sure he didn't think he had a shot," she explains. My face falls. Such an amazing experience, ruined by the context.

"I'm sorry, Tar," I pull her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her.

We kiss for a third time a month later.

"Hi," I smile, walking through the apartment door, "why'd you call?"

"I don't know, I'm just bored I guess," she shrugs.

"Okay," I say. To be honest, I needed something to do with my afternoon, and who better to spend it with.

We decide to put on a movie, Clueless. I found some popcorn in the cabinet, so I decided to microwave some up.

I place the metal bowl between us on the couch. I think if I'm much closer to her I might try to kiss her again.

"So, what have you been doing these past few weeks?" she asks.

"The usual," I respond, "homework, my job, and sleeping. And you?"

"Yeah, just homework," she purses her lips, trying to think.

God what I would give to feel those soft warm lips again.

"No, I've also been reading some weird ass Stephen King book about a guy going crazy."

"So pretty much every Stephen King book?" I ask.

"Not true!" she playfully shoves me, "IT is about multiple people going crazy. The Dark Half is about someone who thinks he's crazy, but also knows he's not. There's lots of non insanity related ones too."

"Nerd," I playfully tease her.

"Shut up," she laughs.

"Make me?" I tease her more.

"Nope, sorry, you gotta earn that," she teases back.

I open a beer for each of us, "It's happy hour somewhere."

"It's 4:30, so we're not doing terribly," she reminds me.

"We're great at this," I joke.

"So great at this."

We go back to the movie, it's such a classic. Other than the ending, it's a perfect movie.

She smiles a priceless smile when Cher assumes Tai doesn't know seven multiplied by seven.

"This girl! I swear, she was a perfect casting for Tatum in Stab!"

"You have a great smile," I muse aloud, quickly regretting it. Damn it. Why did I say that?

"Thank you," I can see a blush creeping up her cheeks as she starts to smile even wider.

The movie seems to fade out of view as does everything else except us. The popcorn bowl is quickly discarded and her lips crash onto mine, kissing with a desperation so strong it's almost aggressive. I immediately reciprocate the kiss, leaning forward to get closer to her.

"If we do this," she pants in between kisses, "there's no strings attached."

I nod in agreement.

We fall into a routine of kissing or hooking up no strings attached. I know friend with benefits never works. Especially if you already have feelings for that person but god, she's irresistible.

There's two notable times after that afternoon when it feels different.

The first time, she's coming out of a rough therapy session.

"Hello, this is Y/N L/N," I answer the phone.

"Hey, Y/N, it's Tara," I can hear her voice crack.

"Hey Tara, what's up?" I ask.

"C-can you come over?" she says, trying to sound nonchalant about it. I see right through her facade.

"On my way, stay safe, pretty girl," I rush to the subway, trying to catch the first train I can to her side of the city.

I practically tear down the door to get into the apartment, there's nothing to do but make a beeline for Tara's room.

"Hey Tar, I'm here," I quietly announce.

She bolts up and wraps herself around me in a near suffocating hug. Her tears soak their way through my shirt, and I caress her hair comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"No," she shakes her head.

"Can I do anything at all to help?"

"You can distract me," she winks. I nod, a little unsure of what to do.

Is this really the right time to hook up with her? Like she should be in a place of emotional stability to properly consent, right?

"Y/N, I know your like panicking about the morals, but please. Just do it. I need it. Please?" she widens her eyes pleadingly. How can I say no to that?

The next time of note is also the last time.

I've become unhappy with this whole "friends with benefits thing." I know, it was stupid of me to agree to it in the first place. And don't get me wrong, I've had tons of fun. So much fun. But there's limits to our situation.

I want to be able to tell her how I feel, I want strings attached. I want to take her out on dates, and hold her hand in front of our friends.

It's a freezing cold Thursday, I'm so tired. I forgot my textbooks at Tara's apartment after our "study" session last night, so i had to take a subway back to get them, which made me late the the only lecture I was interested in. Damn it.

I had thirty minutes to kill until my next class, so here I am, in the school courtyard, thinking about Tara.

Do I love her? Yes.

Does she love me? I don't know.

Will telling her I need to be more than just friends with benefits risk everything? Yes.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, because right as I'm thinking about this, I see a short brunette making a beeline towards me. I think this means we need to discuss this.

"Hey there, tiny Carpenter," I tease her.

"Shut up!" she gets on the tips of her toes to pat my head.

"Do you wanna come over tonight?" I ask, "Anika and Mindy are having a date night?" I figure then would be a good time to tell her.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur and just a few hours later, I hear Tara's familiar voice at my door.

I take a deep breath, "Hey Tar, can we talk? I ask.

"What's up?" she asks.

"I feel like this isn't working," I admit, it's pretty obvious almost immediately what I'm talking about.

"O-oh," she stammers, "why?"

Oh god this is so awkward, like what are you supposed to say, yeah no I'm in love with you.

"I.... cuz friends with benefits never works out when there's feelings involved," I word vomit.

"Oh...."

"Yeah...."

We sit in an awkward silence.

"Tara, please say something," I say quietly.

"I'm so sorry, I can't do this anymore," she gets up and leaves, but I'm frozen in my seat. Unable to move.

I don't see Tara except in a few classes for at least a month. Though it could have been longer or shorter. Not like I want to see her though.

The days begin to blend together in a big lengthy mess.

I barely turn my assignments in, and the best grade I've gotten was a low C.

I go to parties more often than before. Hooking up with strangers, drinking myself to a blackout and being hungover as hell in the morning.

Anika's voiced her concern for me, but I find it so hard to listen.

I'm just numb.

I don't think I ever felt anything before I met Tara, and I don't think I'll feel anything again without her.

And to think of all the times we've kissed, made out and hooked up. Did those mean anything to her? She barely meets my gaze in class.

We haven't talked at all.

Lying down in my bed, I stare at the ceiling, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the date on the calendar.

March 7. It's been four months since our kiss at Rockefeller. I guess I should just forget about that though.

I hear a quiet knocking on my door, "come in, Anika.

The door slowly creaks open and in steps Tara.

"Hey," she says quietly. I scramble up to my feet, preparing to tell her to get out.

"Before you scream at me and tell me to go away, just let me talk?"

I nod wondering why can I never say no to her. I gesture for her to sit next to me.

"Look, I fucked up," she admits, "friends with benefits almost never works out. And I'm so so sorry. I didn't realize fucking it up would mean hurting you. I really thought about what you said."

"What did I say?" I asked.

"That what we had wasn't working," she says.

"And what have you decided?"

"It wasn't," she reassured me, "but it could."

I'm totally taken aback, "If you think I want to be 'just a friend that you sometimes fuck,' you're crazy, Tara."

"No, I mean a real relationship," she blurts.

"Huh?"

"Y/N, I have feelings for you!" she exasperatedly exclaims.

"Y-you do?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah, I do," I see a blush creep up her cheeks.

"Well I like you too," I smile. She starts to get closer to me, but I stop her, "Look, give me a week to turn around my mental wellbeing, and I'll take you out on a date. I want to do this, but I want to do it right."

"Take your time," she smiles back, "see ya on Saturday for this 'date' you wanna take me on."

She winks, gets up, and leaves the dorm, blowing me a kiss on the way out.

We're gonna make this work.

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captain-mj · 4 months

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I saw you reblogged the Pain God Soap x Ghost oneshot recently, and I don’t know if this means you still have interest in it, but if it does,

It’s one of my favorite pieces of writing you’ve done (what can I say, I’m a sucker for overwhelming someone with artificial pleasure ;) ) and if you ever wanted to do a sequel I’d treasure it too <3

I ended up finding it as I was trying to find another thing I had written and i reread all of it. It's also one of my favorites and I'd be more than happy to write a sequel!

(Also I have another thing with forced/artificial pleasure if you or anyone else is interested. Just haven’t decided if it’ll be to Soap or Ghost so if you send an ask specify)

Ghost felt Soap's hands tracing down his spine. Over the past few days he had adjusted more to everything. The improbabilities and broken laws of physics had become normal at some point. He buried his face in the pillows to pretend to be asleep a little longer.

Part of him had begun to crave Soap's touch. In life, he could never stand it but here, everything was so different with him.

"Simon." He purred at him. "I can hear your heartbeat."

Ghost groaned and turned to him. "I dislike that you can do that. Does my privacy mean nothing to you?"

"What privacy?"

Ghost scoffed and shook his head before rolling on his back. He smiled as Soap started to nip and bite at his throat. "You're like a dog."

"If you want, I can bark."

Ghost laughed softly before moaning softly when he got a particularly hard bite. Soap pulled back and looked down at him, bumping their noses together. "God your laugh is lovely."

"Stop it, Soap." He pushed him back before pulling him back down to kiss him. There was a certain power under Soap's skin. Hard muscles that hummed with something unnatural. "I have questions."

Soap whined and kissed down his chest. "So early? Does your mind ever stop working?"

Ghost almost let it slip that Soap was very good at turning his mind off, but instead he spread his legs a bit so Soap could work more comfortably. "Soap, I don't like being at a disadvantage. You're good in bed and a god and that's all I know."

"And I love you."

And you love me." Ghost added softly. His fingers tangled into the sheets as Soap peppered kisses against his stomach. "I deserve more than that."

Soap looked hesitant. "Simon... please can we put this off?"

"No."

"Ask away." He looked weary as he laid his head on Ghost's chest, feeling his heartbeat. It was so strong he could feel it in his fingertips.

Ghost tugged Soap's hair. "The haircut..."

"Past few decades. Saw it came back in style from the vikings."

"I see. And how old are you?"

Soap didn't answer for a while but soon the ceiling started to fade again. At first into Ghost's stars and then into something else. They spun around and around until they were were ancient stars. "I was born when humanity was still considered a different species. A child prayed to me."

Something grew around the edges of the roof, branches and leaves and dozens of things. "Their father was cruel. Had a habit of viciously beating them when he was upset."

"It must've been difficult for you." Ghost muttered.

"Aye. Though I wasn't always useless. Back then, with a child that believed in me so strongly, I hurt him. I hurt him badly. Until the entire forest had bits of flesh from him. Unfortunately I learned that seeing your father be brutally murdered by a mere concept is very damaging."

Ghost laughed and he could feel Soap's smile. "Yes. In retrospect, that should've been obvious but I was young. Just born technically." He sat up. "I am a monster. I know this. I hope you don't fear me, though I know you likely do. You're used to feeling powerless. It's something you hate."

Ghost winced as Soap pressed into those old wounds but he stayed silent as Soap continued.

"You wish you could overpower me. It scares you that I can. That you don't have a chance against me. I've never experienced that, but i can imagine it's terrible." Soap sighed. "I'm sure you also wish I couldn't control you so easily."

"You don't control me."

Soap stared at him. "I do. In a way. I wish there was something I could do. Some power I could give you. A way to hurt me and kill me. But there is none that I know of. You have to trust me."

Ghost swallowed. "I'm working on it. You have been very nice so far."

Soap grinned and kissed Ghost's hand, fluttering his eyes. "Now. May I please please service you?"

"You're horribly horny for a god of something so vile."

"Aye. I have to get my pleasure from somewhere. If I can't get it from my work..." His fingers trailed up his inner thigh. "That just leaves you."

"One more question."

"Simon..." Soap sighed but got settled back down to listen.

"What can I do to make it better for you? I don't like just laying here."

Soap paused at that, seeming genuinely surprised. "Well... I would... like to try something. You'd still be laying there, but I'd like to restrain you."

Ghost considered it. It didn't change much, did it? Soap had pinned him down and Ghost could move him about as much as he could open the door. "If that's what you'd like to do."

Soap looked excited as he moved Ghost how he wanted. He kissed his wrists as he wrapped rope around his wrists. The rope was the roughest thing he had touched since he'd been there. It felt... nice. A nice juxtaposition. Soap never let him feel any pain or discomfort and after so long of only feeling pleasure, it felt like his brain had been rewired.

Ghost didn't mention it, planning to talk later. Instead he felt his brain simply melt as Soap's fingers worked him open. He stopped being able to think. If he was a little more cognizant, he'd wonder if Soap was doing this to him. Or more, what exactly he was doing to him. It was like all that existed was the sensations of the rope and those fucking fingers.

He built up nice and slow and his orgasm washed over him, body trembling as he twisted his wrists hard to feel the rope burn against him.

"Soap. So-"

"Johnny." He whispered softly to him.

Simon sighed softly. "Johnny. Don't numb me. Let me feel it."

Johnny bit his lip but nodded and slowly pushed into him.

Big.

Fuck he felt so big.

The stretch, the burn, the entire feeling. It hurt, but it was so good that Ghost could barely stand it.

Embarrassingly, he started to babble about it. How Johnny really did know everything about him. How he could barely think when he was doing this.

He wailed when he started to fuck him hard, letting, no forcing, Ghost to just feel everything. Two giant extremes burning through him until he felt like he'd be ripped apart but he'd enjoy it.

Ghost came hard and tried desperately to get a kiss. Soap teases him for only a second before giving it to him. The overstimulation started to make it too much and Soap just... took it away. Suppressing the feeling but nothing else. The intensity and the realization it would end only when Soap allowed washed over him and Ghost had never felt more turned on.

There was no telling how long he sat there. He'd occasionally try to twist his hips or clench and, a bit like Soap was punishing him for the effort, he'd feel the overstimulation and how much this was wrecking him.

Eventually, Soap after an ungodly amount of orgasms decided he was done. Ghost felt utterly braindead as he laid there. The moment the suppression left him, he was a shaking, trembling mess. He tried to pull himself together but he couldn't.

Soap kissed him softly and held him close, letting Ghost fall to pieces for a while.

"Johnny"

"Simon."

Ghost groaned and closed his eyes tight. "I think that was the best you've ever done. It was so good." He leaned into him, feeling his legs shake. "Fucking hell."

Soap hummed softly and pulled him closer. "You're a good boy. I don't think I'll ever get tired of making love to you."

"Making love huh?"

"Only way I describe what I do with you."

Ghost huffed softly but sleep was clawing at him and he ended up falling asleep.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

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decepti-thots · 6 days

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while i'm talking about Whirl, one thing i've been meaning to talk about for ages just in a 'i am aware some people may not actually know this, and it hardly gets mentioned in fandom' is that Whirl in Interiors talking about briefly trying to change his name when he was a flight instructor at the flight academy is a reference to a passage in Bullets, which is in retrospect very obviously him:

Jetstream had taught him to recognize his inherent worthlessness. In front of the other cadets he'd always been supportive, but in private he would berate him for showing off and for getting ideas above his station. “You think you're something special?” he used to say. “You think you’re better than the rest, better than me, just because you can turn a few tricks? On a good day - on your best day - I’d say you were unremarkable.” Rotorstorm’s only response to Jetstream’s verbal abuse was to make jokes. If you can make light of the situation, he'd think, it can’t be as bad as it seems. Over time, Jetstream’s verbal abuse... evolved. On one occasion, Rotorstorm was pushed against a wall. On another, he was punched to the floor. Before long, he was on the receiving end of sustained and entirely unprovoked beatings. The worst day of Rotorstorm’s life - worse than the day war was declared; worse than the day of the Simanzi Massacre - was the day the IAA installed a Cryogenic Regeneration Chamber. He couldn't remember what he’d done to deserve that night's battering, but as he lay on the floor of the aircraft hangar, his torso freshly pummeled, his spinal strut bent at a right angle and his face reduced to a shallow bowl of oil and splinters, he saw something he would never forget: Jetstream was standing over him, fists clenched and head cocked, coolly appraising his options. And the look of exhilaration on his face as he wondered where to place the next punch had been terrifying. Rotorstorm had passed out before Jetstream had finished shoveling him into the CR Chamber, and had woken up the next day without a single scratch on his body. Jetstream had left overnight; he moved to a training facility in another province and later changed his name. Since then, Rotorstorm had seen him only once: he'd been sitting in the front row when Rotorstorm had been awarded the Novic Medal for Outstanding Valor, and he’d been clapping and cheering more loudly than anyone else.

and this is a really fascinating thing to consider for me because if you just describe the whole thing briefly in the abstract, it's gonna likely sound like one of two things:

whirl tried to turn over a new leaf with a new name, and it worked for a time but ultimately he couldn't and went back to his old life

whirl tried to turn over a new leaf with a new name, but he couldn't and was just as much of an aggro wildcard as ever so gave up

but this is... kind of not either of those, including the last one? whirl IS acting like the violent, bitter, unpredictable asshole we come to meet in MTMTE and know he was during the war, to an extent, but he's also clearly succesfully keeping up something of a facade of really inhabiting that 'not Whirl, nope, i'm a Normal Flight Instructor' in public. it's only to rotorstorm he's not, seemingly. (and even then, the way rotorstorm describes him here is... really cold and deliberate in a way that feels kind of different to what we see later.)

obviously it's. i mean it's SO deeply unpleasant, very effectively communicated in terms of how awful and traumatising that kind of thing is btw a+ but also Jesus Fucking Christ, but it also suggests to me a very specific experience Whirl is having in this period of his life that isn't quite either of those obvious choices. pokes at it. god. what the fuck is going through your head you terrible helicopter you.

#idw #rotorstom #whirl #meta

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homestuckreplay · 11 days

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Week 1 Retrospective: Who Is John Egbert?

It’s official - Homestuck is one week old today! And while a week is not a long run for a comic, it’s already got more pages than the author’s earlier work Bard Quest, so maybe it’s something worth recognizing. So I wanted to mark a week of Homestuck by doing a deep dive on what we’ve learned about our protagonist John Egbert so far. It’s some fact collection, some wild speculation, and some ongoing questions. It’s over 3000 words, so it’s under a readmore for anyone who’s interested.

If that doesn’t sound like a fun time to you (or even if it does), you can take the John Egbert Big 5 Personality Test to see how you score on John’s five key personality traits. It’s 14 multiple choice questions, so a much quicker read.

We’re introduced to John on page 4, where we’re given five key interests of his: bad movies, programming computers, paranormal lore, amateur magic, and gaming. I’ll take these one by one and use them as a framework for John’s character so far.

“You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES.”

John has eleven (11) movie posters on his walls. Of these, three star Matthew McConaughey and two star Nicolas Cage. More notably, six have a Rotten Tomatoes rating below 50%, and two of these are below 10%. I haven’t seen any of these movies, but as far as I can tell, here are the one sentence summaries [broad spoilers for all these movies].

Little Monsters: A boy befriends a monster and visits the monster world, where they try to convert him into a monster too.

Con Air: A paroled man disrupts a gang of prisoner’s escape from a prison transport plane.

Deep Impact: Earth tries to prepare for extinction after a comet is found on a collision course with Earth.

Ghostbusters II: After going out of business, the Ghostbusters reunite to combat a negative energy slime monster.

Mac and Me: A boy befriends a young alien who gets separated from his family and lost on Earth.

Contact: An Earth scientist successfully discovers alien life and travels to an alien world.

A Time to Kill: A father is acquitted in court for killing the perpetrators of racial hate crimes against his daughter.

Failure to Launch: A 35 year old man’s parents hire a woman to persuade him to finally move out of their home.

Face/Off: A terrorist and a FBI agent go through facial transplant surgery and temporarily swap identities.

Armageddon: A group of space workmen go on a mission to stop an asteroid from destroying Earth.

Ghost Dad: A man temporarily dies but is able to interact with his children in ghost form.

From this we can see that John really likes science fiction movies related to aliens, ghosts and monsters, as well as action comedy. We also know from page 21: ‘Films about impending apocalypse fascinate you’. A Time to Kill and Failure to Launch are the only ones that don’t fit his taste. The implication here is that John really loved Matthew McConaughey in Contact and so watched his other movies even though they were things he wouldn’t usually watch.

I’m curious if these movies are intended as clues to John’s character, the future of the comic, or both. In terms of his character, they make me see him as someone who’s imaginative and goofy, young and carefree, not concerned with other people’s opinions, more interested in watching movies for their surface meanings and exciting stories, maybe wants to escape to a different world, might be a little bit gay.

In terms of the future of the comic, it could be that we’re going to see literal aliens or monsters - they could even be already here, keeping John ‘homestuck’. Slime monsters are particularly highlighted, with Slimer from Ghostbusters appearing on John’s shirt and computer background, and his chumhandle, ectoBiologist, relating to slime. Slime invasion honestly feels too obvious, and anyway, several of John’s movies are about befriending a more benign supernatural force - could John’s Pesterchum friends be something other than human? Or maybe it’s a more metaphorical meaning, referring to John having a very different life to his friends?

Two of these movies feature Earth extinctions by giant space rocks, but there’s absolutely no indication of this being a real world threat John is dealing with. Again, it could refer more generally to a sudden, life changing event that’s about to happen to disrupt John’s current state, something that would fit thematically with this being John’s 13th birthday, a milestone age.

There’s also a theme of crime and the legal system in several movies, including Con Air, the one that’s been most highlighted. The most obvious interpretation of John’s dad right now is that he’s a clown or performer, but there’s an outside chance he could be in law enforcement, or a criminal. It’s even possible that he’s currently in hiding or some kind of safe house. This would explain John being ‘homestuck’ and sick of spending time with his dad.

Speaking of John’s dad, I’m concerned for him based on the Ghost Dad summary - the comic keeps teasing his presence, but we haven’t actually seen him yet. Could he be a ghost? Or become one at some point? Alternatively, we know John has an already dead relative - could his nanna be a ghost? Did John dropping her ashes release her ghost? Family is a really common theme in movies, so I don’t know if a large number of these movies being about family (especially fathers) is relevant, but I’m noting it all the same.

“You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT.”

John claims he ‘likes to program’, but it actually seems to make him angry. We first learn ‘[y]ou were never all that great with data structures and you find the concept [of the stack modus] puzzling and mildly irritating.’ We then see three files on John’s desktop, two in ^CAKE - ‘pff.^CAKE’ and ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK.^CAKE’ and one in ~ATH - ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.~ATH’. These tell a clear narrative of John trying to work on his programming and getting increasingly more frustrated with his attempts, until inevitably giving up. Both of the programming languages are puns, too. ^ is often called a carat (carrot cake) while ~ is a tilde (til death).

I know this is wild speculation, but… John started off coding in a harmless programming language, was already struggling, then for some reason switched over to the most ominous possible sounding language, screwed it up even worse, and now… he’s constantly haunted by the ghost of failed programming attempts in the form of his sylladex, which he appears to be new to using (he had no prior understanding of it on page 7 - although this could be handwaved due to video game tutorial logic), and which operates similarly to a computer program and seems to cause John endless frustration. He’ll have to figure out how to exploit the inventory system in ways that help him, which involves actually figuring out some stuff about coding, in order to partake in some real life ghostbusting, or monster hunting, or dealing with whatever threat he’ll have to deal with by using inventory hacks.

“You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE,” (...)

By far the interest of John’s that we’ve seen the least of so far, John’s love of the paranormal is mostly inferred through his movie preferences, and we don’t see any direct evidence of an interest in lore. However, I can’t stop fixating on John’s chumhandle: ectoBiologist. The comic’s first act was to draw attention to giving John a name, and for many 2009 kids, the names they go by online are more meaningful and representative of them than their real world names.

‘ecto-’ means ‘outer, outside, external’ according to dictionary.com, and it’s actually a common prefix in a variety of fields of biology, but there’s no such thing as ‘ectobiology’ as a field, or an ‘ectobiologist’ - neither term has any search results prior to Homestuck. I think it’s way more likely that this refers to ectoplasm, a term from both cell biology and spiritualism that was popularized by Ghostbusters to mean any substance secreted by a ghost, in practice often manifesting as green slime. Slimer, who we can guess is John’s favorite, is a benign ghost made of pure ectoplasm. I love the idea that John loves this dumb ghost so much that he’s memorized all the lore about them in their appearances throughout the franchise, and devised this username based on being an expert on these ghosts right down to their biology (or at least thinking he is).

The only catch is, ‘fondness for paranormal lore’ is very passive and doesn’t even imply much knowledge, much less action, while ‘biologist’ implies that John has been doing actual experiments. The idea of John trying to create a real life Slimer the same way other kids make slime in their kitchens is really entertaining, if an off the wall theory. Does ‘homestuck’ just mean John is grounded for an unethical science project?

(...) “and are an aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN.”

The magic chest is one of the biggest, most eye catching and most colorful objects in John’s room. We see its contents on page 8, which lean more into joke store items than things a magician might use, except for the trick handcuffs and perhaps the collapsible sword. The narration on this page states that John is neither a skilled magician nor a cunning prankster. I’m nitpicking definitions here, but everything John has done so far has been way more about pranks than about magic.

John’s uses of the magic chest to date are…

various putting things into his inventory and removing them (funny, but unintentionally)

combining fake arms with cake (p.36) out of necessity, which ‘makes the cake at least 300% more hilarious’

merging hat with beagle puss to create a clever disguise (p.45) and wearing it for 25+ pages, which he acknowledges is a ‘shitty disguise’

attaching fake arms to harlequin doll (p.65), which makes it ‘AT LEAST a million percent funnier’

All of which are definitely not magic tricks, and honestly not even pranks. Arguably John’s best and most successful prank so far has been when he pretended not to have arms for the first six pages, before revealing his arms after the interface had gone to the trouble of moving the cake off his magic chest to get him some arms.

John keeps thinking about reading Colonel Sassacre’s Guide to Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, but always finding some excuse not to. He can’t read it until he captchalogues it, but once he does that, it gets buried in his inventory. He assumes that the book can tell him the exact percentage increase of hilarity a prank leads to, but it’s too big for him to actually look anything up.

An outside theory for this that I don’t think is likely simply because it’s so much darker than the comic has been so far, is that John loves this book, but since the incident where his nanna was killed by a copy (perhaps even this copy?) he hasn’t been able to bring himself to read it. A far more likely theory is that while John is an aspiring amateur magician, it’s more of a big idea, and he hasn’t actually done any magic yet. This also tracks with his weaksauce pranks above. And if that’s true, then it says a lot about John that he defines himself by a hobby he aspires to but doesn’t actually practice - he’s someone with big dreams and less motivation, just like his big dream of going to collect the mail from his father despite the lack of motivation that’s kept him messing around for 70 pages.

“You also like to play GAMES sometimes.”

Potentially most important of all is Gamer John. We get a list of games John likes to play from inspecting his CD tower the same way we get a list of movies from looking at his posters.

Bard Quest

The Caper Havers

Problem Sleuth

And It Don’t Stop

What Pumpkin?

Ghostbusters II MMORPG

Little Monsters (for Nintendo)

Harry Anderson: Call My Bluff!

The first five games all reference previous work by the author of Homestuck, and as such probably don’t need in depth analysis. However, the fact that within the world of Homestuck, these are all games (instead of comics) is one of several suggestions that we should think of Homestuck as a game, something that needs further analysis.

The next two games are video game adaptations of movies we know John likes, and the last is a branded video game from Harry Anderson, whose book we’ve already seen in John’s magic chest. Notably, none of these are real video games in our world either. It says a lot that John plays game versions of things he already likes (he’s put ‘countless manhours’ into this assortment of quality titles).

However, it’s undeniable that the most important game in John’s life right now is Sburb. The poster is behind his head in the first panel, placed centrally with one of the only two splashes of color in the panel. The beta release is the only thing marked on his calendar for April besides his birthday, and the Sburb logo is even the picture printed on the calendar - perhaps it’s a calendar themed around new game releases? There’s clear delight on John’s face when he thinks about getting the beta, and his quest to fetch it from the recently delivered mail is the closest thing to a story this comic has so far.

Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about Sburb, so we don’t know what it says about John that he wants to play it. It’s publicized as the Game of the Year, and according to GameBro, the game may be about houses and the player may not get to thrash anything, although these details are provided by someone who hasn’t played the game so I’m not taking them as expert opinion. It might be multiplayer - TT has been pestering TG all day about playing it with her. Maybe John just wants to share a game with his friends.

Speaking of GameBro, John can’t stand the magazine, although he for some reason has a copy on his desk. He describes the publication as ‘a joke’ to TG, and he makes the effort to take it downstairs to the fire and burn it, presumably releasing asbestos fibers into the house and causing serious lung damage to himself and his father. Does he read this because it’s the only games magazine that exists? Or did he like it just fine until now, when it trashed the game he’s excited about, and now he’s furious with it? Either way, it tracks with John’s overall fondness for critically panned media that he would be angry about contrarian critics.

–

All of this has left me with a few questions about John as our main character. These are the things that I’m keeping an eye on and trying to answer as the story continues.

What is John good at?

We hear so much about what John is bad at. He’s explicitly stated to be bad at programming, pranks, and magic. He’s bad at using his sylladex. He’s clumsy and knocked over his nanna’s ashes. He’s got bad taste in media. He’s funny but only when he doesn’t try to be, and even then he’s sometimes the butt of the joke, where the joke is how not funny John’s joke is. He was tempted to squawk like an imbecile and shit on his desk. He has like six different prankster props and he doesn’t even use all of them. I’m saying all this with love and kindness because he also just seems like such a sweet kid, but so far he doesn’t have any defined strengths or skills.

Is he going to turn out to be really good at gaming and kick ass at Sburb? Are we going to get a curveball where it turns out John is an amazing baker, and he hates the cakes in his room and the smell of Betty Crocker because he can do so much better than that packet mix? Or is he starting off from this low point so he can develop skills as time goes on?

What is John’s relationship with his dad really like?

John doesn’t want his dad to monopolize his time and feels trapped in his room, despite his dad baking cakes and leaving notes on gifts telling John he’s proud of him. John’s dad gets his son one great present that John’s really appreciative of, and one terrible present that John immediately hates. All of this feels very reasonable and normal for a teen feeling misunderstood by a parent who’s trying their best.

And then there’s the clowns.

John can excuse magical frivolity and practical japery, but he draws the line at harlequins. He’s an aspiring magician, but his dad’s figurines are ‘fucking garbage’ and his dad ‘sure can be a real cornball’. John seems like somebody who gets angry at ultimately unimportant things, like bad reviews of games, too many cakes, and harlequin figurines, but because of the subject matter it reads like an intense rivalry between two highly specific subcultures that outsiders would group together. John is really making a huge deal of needing to disguise himself and mentally prepare himself to go down and face his dad, and I want to know if there’s any genuine reason behind John’s fear, or if it’s solely the overdramatics I’m starting to think are typical of him.

Is John ‘Homestuck’?

‘Sometimes you feel like you are trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular.’ (p.30)

John clearly feels like he’s stuck at home, but is this the extent of the title’s meaning? His dad has recently returned from getting groceries, so leaving the house is in theory possible. Reasons why John might be homestuck include: he’s not allowed to leave the house (for example, he’s grounded, or his dad is very controlling), he can leave the house but there’s nowhere to go (he lives near major roads, bodies of water, farms, or other obstacles, and there’s no public transport to get anywhere), or he can leave the house but it’s not safe to do so (there’s some sort of external threat, either supernatural like a monster or alien invasion, or mundane like a criminal or bomb threat). Seeing out of John’s window and into his front yard does not provide any clues; it looks like an extremely average front yard with a tree, swing and mailbox, and we know the mail was recently delivered, so there can’t be anything too world-ending happening in the neighborhood. Right now John’s goal (the Sburb Beta disc) is inside the house, so this might not get answered right away - in fact, my running theory is that the game itself might hold the answers, as its logo is a house.

What’s the differentiation between John and the narrator?

My biggest question of all, and one that probably deserves its own essay. I’m fascinated by the lines ‘In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle.’ (p.27) and ‘In a home, a FIREPLACE needs a fire, because that's what FIREPLACE is for.’ (p.50). These lines carry so much opinion, but because the narrator is constantly addressing John with the second person ‘you’, I don’t think these are John’s opinions. The narrator does have a window into John’s thoughts, so the line between them can be blurred, but there's clearly a distinction somewhere, because there have been pushbacks and disagreements between the two of them.

One theory is that John’s dad is the narrator - John’s at home a lot for whatever reason, and so the constant and overbearing presence of his dad means that he can’t get him out of his head even when he’s alone, the commands at the top of each page reflecting John’s dad’s level of control over his son’s life. But I think this question is open ended enough that I’m not willing to commit to one theory yet. After all, we ‘examine 3rd and 4th walls of [John’s] room’ which is a directly meta allusion to the comic’s audience that only really makes sense if the narrator isn’t a character in the comic itself.

–

I think John Egbert has been really well characterized so far. He feels like a real kid, one who keeps getting off track and forgetting what he should be doing, but one who it’s enough fun to get to know that I don’t really notice. While the main character in media often doesn’t end up being the most interesting character, I do want to keep an eye on John because I think he has a lot going on to analyze. Above the style and the world and the mechanics, John as a character is the aspect of the comic I’m most interested in right now.

#homestuck #john egbert #analysis

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glorious-spoon · 10 months

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Hi :) I hope I'm not too late, I'd love prompt no.7 for buck and eddie :)

hi, and thank you! sorry it's so late! <3

7. a kiss to shut them up

"Your timing is fucking terrible," Eddie hisses, sounding halfway to laughing his ass off.

Buck dissolves into giggles, pushing his face into Eddie's warm shoulder in a futile attempt to muffle them. Partly, it's sheer surprise; for someone whose career trajectory has consisted of war zones and emergency services, Eddie really doesn't swear that much. Buck assumes it's mostly for Christopher's sake, plus maybe a lingering childhood terror of what his abuela would do to him if she ever heard the word fuck leave his mouth.

Mostly, though, it's because—shit, he's right, he really is. Buck has never had so much as a nodding acquaintance with good timing. He fell in love with Abby while her mom was dying in her living room. He fell in love with Eddie—well, a long time ago, in retrospect, but he realized he was in love with Eddie when they were still both dating other people.

And right now, he's got Eddie backed into a literal storage closet at his sister's literal wedding. He's supposed to make a toast in about ten minutes. Chimney is never going to let them hear the end of it if he catches wind of this.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he hiccups, and Eddie snickers and pats his back in the close darkness. Buck can feel the shape of his grin against his forehead. His plush lower lip, which Buck was just kissing.

"Shush."

"I was gonna wait for the reception. Honest." He had an entire plan. He was going to give his toast—his notes are still crumpled in his jacket pocket—and finish his glass of champagne, and ask Eddie to dance. After that, his plan loses detail, but he did have one.

"Mm. Glad you didn't."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Well," Eddie says, catching his cheek and turning him slightly. "Means I can do this again, for one thing."

He's being kissed again a moment later, languidly sweet and somehow even more thrilling than the first one was. It's not like he thought Eddie wasn't on board with this; Eddie kissed him back then, too. But now there's no surprise in it at all, and that makes it better.

"You could do that on the dance floor," Buck says, then cringes a moment later. Because just because—this doesn't mean Eddie wants an audience. Or wants anyone to know. Or wants anything at all, other than to make out with Buck in this linen closet in the nice outdoor venue that Maddie and Chim chose while the loudspeakers play some sweetly forgettable pop song over the sound of the wedding guests filtering in.

"Definitely can't do everything I want on the dance floor," Eddie says, low and dark and promising.

"Eddie."

"Just saying."

Buck laughs again, a little hysterical. "You've, uh, you've been thinking about this, huh?"

"Yeah," Eddie says easily. "Glad you finally did something about it. I would have just wound myself up with nerves forever."

"I was going to ask you to dance," Buck blurts.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks. He's smiling; Buck can hear it in his voice. Wishes suddenly that he could see it on his face too. It seems suddenly ridiculous that they're crowded in a fucking closet. Not the metaphorical vibe he was going for.

"Yeah," Buck says.

"I would have said yes."

"Oh," Buck says, and it's shaky, a little. Tellingly shaky. Eddie's hand is warm and gentle on his cheek, his voice soft.

"I'm still gonna say yes. If you ask."

Buck breathes out softly, relieved. "Maybe you'll ask me."

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe we should get back out there before—oh shit," he adds, when the nearest door swings open. Footsteps clatter on the flagstones, and realistically Buck really should shut up now, but he's never been good at that. "Eddie, if we get caught in here Maddie is gonna—actually, you know what, Chimney is gonna kill us, and—"

He can't keep talking, abruptly, because he's being kissed again, with a thoroughness that makes him dizzy. Eddie's got his hands fisted in Buck's lapels, and his mouth is hot and insistent, and Buck could stay here happily forever, he thinks dizzily.

"Shh," Eddie whispers when they finally break apart, so Buck kisses him again instead of talking. They lose a happy few minutes like that before finally breaking apart, breathing quietly.

"I think the coast is clear," Buck whispers after a moment. Eddie hums a quiet assent, so he pushes the closet door open.

The coast is clear, for now. The terracotta flooring echoes like crazy; nobody's gonna sneak up on them now. But Eddie looks exactly like someone was just making out with him in a storage closet, and Buck suspects he's not much better off, by the glint in Eddie's eyes: half familiar fond amusement, half something else entirely.

"I have to go make a speech," Buck says, as much to his own libido as anything else.

"Uh huh," Eddie says, and does not stop looking at him like that.

Before either of them can try to fix their clothes, or take a step closer, there's a sharp rap at the door. They jump apart just as Hen ducks her head in and gives them a deeply amused look.

"They're asking for you, Buckaroo," she says.

"Oh, I, um, yeah," Buck says, and pats his pocket frantically. He's desperately glad he kept his notes; his entire speech has flown out of his head.

Eddie starts laughing quietly. Hen scoffs and steps into the room.

"Come here," she says, briskly twitching Buck's collar straight and tugging her fingers through his hair.

"You're not gonna fix Eddie up, too?" Buck asks, because there's clearly no point in denying what they were just up to.

"He's not giving a speech," Hen retorts. She steps back, pats his cheek lightly, and smiles. "Not that it would matter, honestly. Those two don't have eyes for anyone other than each other right now. You could show up naked and I doubt they'd notice."

Eddie sputters; Buck laughs out loud. Because he gets that; he gets it intimately. Even now, he can't stop looking at Eddie. Doesn't ever want to stop looking at him, but especially now, in this moment of thrilled wonder. "Yeah, okay."

"Come on," Hen says. She starts back out of the room, toward the reception, and as they fall into step behind her, Buck reaches shyly for Eddie's hand and finds him already reaching back.

(from these kiss prompts)

#911 #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #my fic #prompt fic

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