#Or maybe I just like very predictable tropes

[estellamiraiauthor]

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 17)

Welcome to part… 17 now? of my probably excessive annotation of my own book! Here, I wax nostalgic over now-defunct department stores, examine the importance of jewelry in this story, and can’t quite remember if I meant to make Kiyomi similar to Kozue from Maison Ikkoku or if she just turned out that way!

As always, spoilers (including spoilers for chapters beyond this one) under the cut!

So, date #2 with Kiyomi… I know a lot of readers don’t love this, and you know… you’re not supposed to. What Teru is doing here is pretty shitty. He knows he isn’t really interested in Kiyomi the way she’s interested in him, but he’s taking her out again anyway because he was too big of a wimp to say no… he doesn’t want to hurt her, and I don’t really think he sees how he’s hurting her MORE by letting her believe there’s something there. Can we forgive him a little for being young and inexperienced?

Last time, Teru kind of dressed up in visual kei-style clothes and Kiyomi wore clothes that were more mainstream popular. This time, Kiyomi is dressed head to toe in black, and Teru’s in jeans and a T-shirt. This is Kiyomi being a little naive, I think. Teru doesn’t really care how she dresses, or how Rei dresses, or really what any potential date wears. I think Kiyomi really thinks that if she spends the money and the effort to fit into his world, it will make Teru like her… this is (quite sadly and painfully) something I used to believe when I was maybe a little younger than Kiyomi, and while it’s not exactly her best trait… let’s give her a break for being a little naive too.

Teru’s also thinking about Rei, and about Yasu’s advice, from the beginning this time. Kiyomi is able to sympathize with him about skipping meals when you’re single and living alone, and when their waitress gets flustered on her first day, Kiyomi is kind… but instead of thinking that he ought to be attracted to her, Teru is now thinking that she deserves someone better than him.

Yes, he really needs to tell her that he only wants to be friends, but he doesn’t… the only thing close to that he manages to say is that if they go to Marui One, the unfortunately now-defunct visual/goth/punk/lolita department store, he can’t tell anyone there she’s his date, but only that she’s staff for the band (which they do need, now that they’re selling more stuff). This is sort of the first mention, I think, of the “all musicians must appear to be straight and single” rule that gets brought up a little more definitively later. A big part of the appeal for a lot of the fans of these bands is sort of being able to tell themselves they have a chance with the musicians, so while Teru is making a good point, he’s also not doing a very good job of making it clear to Kiyomi where he stands. He should be up front and tell her it’s NOT a date… but instead he just says they can’t SAY it is.

A couple of important things happen at the store… Kiyomi suggests buying a really revealing dress, and Teru is kind of uncomfortable with that (but again, definitely not communicating well). They go a a jewelry shop, and Kiyomi finds a necklace that she rightly thinks Teru would like.

I actually forgot to go into this earlier, but the jewelry that’s given as gifts throughout the book are one of my favorite little details. First, Kiyomi has Teru’s bracelet that he threw out into the crowd during the show she was watching. It wasn’t really an intentional gift, but she wears it again later, and I this scene, when she ultimately goes back and buys the necklace for him without his knowledge or permission, she says it’s “repayment” for the bracelet. Teru does aesthetically like her gift, but he decides against wearing it at their next show—he doesn’t want to give her OR Rei the idea that he is “hers”. And then when Rei gives him a necklace months and months later, that’s simple and beautiful and personalized rather than just bought on a whim, he wears it right away onstage, wanting to show the world that he does love Rei, even if he can’t be out publicly. While Kiyomi’s gift here isn’t really THOUGHTLESS—she does choose something that Teru likes—it’s also completely inappropriate cost-wise with where their relationship is at the moment and feels like almost a subconscious attempt to buy his love. I don’t think she means it like that, but her whole approach is just a little naive (this may or may not have been based on personal experience as well… I was a huge dork when I was Kiyomi’s age.)

So Kiyomi spends a ton of money on new clothes, and Teru feels a little bad that all he can do is carry her bags (she hasn’t actually purchased the necklace yet here, but Teru has decided that he CANT afford it), which isn’t really a new thing but again, just kind of feeling like things aren’t quite equal.

One of the sort of complaints I see about age gap romances is that things can “never be equal,” there’s “always a power imbalance”… but I really tried to make Teru and Rei… not equal in EVERYTHING of course, but equal partners overall. They both “take care of” each other in different ways. I mean, if you don’t like age gap couples don’t read this! Everyone’s welcome to have a preference, but while Teru initially feels a little self-conscious about how poor he is with Rei, I think he also does have a lot of power in the sense that he becomes the face of their music, and by the end has a successful career of his own. (And he certainly has the emotional power to absolutely SHATTER Rei, which he knows now, and definitely understands.) I don’t know that there’s really a power imbalance with Kiyomi, but there’s definitely less that he can do for her… and Teru’s love language is acts of service. He likes to be needed!

Another pretty significant thing happens when one of the shop clerks recognizes Teru from the band, showing that they’re starting to become popular, and the clerk’s mention of the  upcoming single eventually (after Kiyomi goes back to buy that necklace) leads to them going to a CD shop to see the poster for the single on display.

Teru considers telling Kiyomi here that he can’t be with her—at least he’s admitting it to himself? But he doesn’t because he’s kind of a coward here… but when they go to the shop and see the poster, he whispers Rei’s name and Kiyomi hears him. She kind of teasingly asks if that’s his girlfriend (Rei is a unisex name), probably mostly hoping to hear him say he doesn’t have a girlfriend, but all Teru says is that Rei was “a musician he used to know”—assuming, still, even though it’s clearly breaking his heart, that they’re never going to see each other again.

In one of the very early drafts, Teru actually thought he SAW Rei on the street outside the store—not entirely implausible, if he’s working on getting the stores in the area to stock the CD—but when he runs outside whoever he saw is gone. I’m not really sure if I meant that to actually BE Rei, or if he just saw someone else dressed similarly or with similar colored hair, of if he was just imagining things, period.

It didn’t really matter, though, and I didn’t want it to seem like there was any possibility Rei was stalking him or anything… so I’m glad I changed it to just this whisper of a name that has Kiyomi wondering if she should be jealous.

I think I’ve mentioned somewhere before (probably on my deleted Twitter) that Kiyomi reminds me a lot of Kozue from Maison Ikkoku. I don’t actually remember if that was intentional or not, but they both have that kind of “borderline annoying but just because they’re young and inexperienced and are trying to be sweet” thing going on. (And Rei is so clearly Kyoko too… but I’m not really sure if any of that was intentional. I think at least some of Teru’s thoughts about Saki, about how he would forever be perfect, were at least somewhat inspired by the way Godai was jealous of Soichiro? Whether it was conscious or not though, there are definitely some similar (if slightly gender-bent) dynamics going on.)

I guess this is kind of a “down” chapter in that it’s kind of a lull in the action and that Teru’s guilt over his reaction to Rei really colors everything until they meet again, but I LOVE the nostalgia here. I’m so glad I worked Marui One into this, and even though it’s not the most fun day out from Teru’s point of view, it reminds me of some good times.

#The stars may rise and fall #Annotated #phantom retelling #gender bent #Nostalgia #possibly inspired by Maison Ikkoku? #Or maybe I just like very predictable tropes #The world may never know

[paintingformike]

probably only a completely niche subset of people will get what im talking about but i fear i just started to notice a pattern on the ships im currently into...

byler: childhood best friends, involves the other half of the ship moving away and in some way letters are also involved (bc lettergate is real to me idc!!)

narumitsu: childhood best friends, also involves one half of the ship moving away at some point (though it happens when they were kids and they only cross paths again in their 20s) while the other half desperately tried to reach him by sending multiple letters over the years

nanahachi: technically not childhood friends but they currently are best friends and one of them moved away from their shared apartment and left a letter in said apartment for the other to read while her literal boyfriend canonically acknowledged that it was a romantic love letter 😭 (plus the entire story basically revolves around them taking turns monologuing love letters to each other and like byler one of their infamous quotes is a retelling of their first meeting: “do you remember the first time we met?”)

#well it seems like im very predictable #maybe i just love the “intense homoromantic friendships that fall victim to the effects of distance” trope...

[pa-pa-plasma]

has anyone else noticed that people who aren't writers & know nothing about writing are acting like an authority on storytelling or is it just me

#like i keep seeing people being like ''this is bad dont do it ever'' & it's a vital part of certain genres or tropes #& also ''do this all the time or else'' & it's something that is actually a bad writing tip with basically no exceptions #& when i'm like ''actually no'' i get dogpiled by people going ''uhh uhh i've written 1000 books i know what im talking about'' #& then i look at their profile & they're 20. & complaining about their 25yo boyfriend publicly #& their work is. not good. to say the least #or maybe these people are just the loudest & people who arent shitheads are just minding their own business #i guess what im saying is if you dont understand why something is the way it is just fucking ask someone who knows #instead of putting your misunderstanding of it out there like you're an authority figure on something you either #arent involved in the creation of or just arent very good at #& that isnt an insult. youre allowed to admit you arent good at stuff #i'm not good at stuff & because of that i wouldnt act like an authority figure on like. idfk. painting #i CAN paint. am i good at it? no (this isn't counting spray paint but i still wouldnt act like an authority on that either) #the reason i act like an authority on writing is because i study writing & writing styles #i write! i practice different types of writing all the time! i read a lot of different books! writing is a HYPERFIXATION of mine literally! #i can literally predict entire movies & books & shows because i can SEE the thought process behind it #so like. dont come @ me being like ''you dont understand'' because i DO understand. which is WHY it annoys me so much #anyway i blame all of this on people acting like art is supposed to be consumed #this obviously isnt a thought out essay just a rant so like. assume i know whatever youre going to ''um actually'' me about

[baeshijima]

— one more time

jing yuan has always considered himself to be a patient man, never failing to have a plan in mind and out of sight for unforeseeable circumstances. when it comes to matters involving you, however, he finds that he never has the time to think; not when he acts quicker than he can process.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1k wc, fluff, kissing, very much pining jing yuan

A/N : holds this man gently as i stare at him doing his idles with big wide eyes and tears rolling down my cheeks (also yes this is me using the "idk how to kiss" "then i will teach u" trope as an excuse to write a kissing jing yuan fic bc i am delusional and proud🐥)

when jing yuan was reciting his usual pep-talk as he made his way to your decided meet-up spot (which included, but was not limited to: stay calm, cool, and composed— the triple-c, if you will — and don't make a fool of yourself, jing yuan), he figured the cosy picnic (date) arrangement would go smoothly and without a hitch. you would be there bathed in the artificial sunlight, fingers threading through blades of grass and then you would turn at the rhythm of his footsteps, that signature grin of yours on full display as he would attempt to calm his thunderous heart from spilling saccharine confessions accumulated over the last few centuries.

like always.

but very much unlike now, it seems.

in place of the predicted events he'd conjured up beforehand, the words “i don't know how to kiss” welcome him instead. (he just barely catches himself before the picnic basket in his grip goes tumbling across the grass.)

“...what?”

“right?” you huff, seated on the grass with your arms supporting your weight while bathed in the artificial sunlight of the luofu. “i've lived for this long, and yet i have never kissed anyone! wait, or maybe it's because no one wants to kiss me... am i that unkissable?”

“no!” is the immediate rebuttal which springs forth to the tip of his tongue, but he just barely catches himself. he's planned thousands, probably millions, of ways in which he could confess to you, but the timing has never been quite right. that, or the times where he was about to confess were interrupted; sometimes by some last minute calls, other times where he just misses the timing, but usually by yanqing unceremoniously barging in between you.

this time isn't any different either, because it is simply not quite right. there's something — something imperceptible yet obvious in the back of his mind, giving him the go-ahead on the perfect time to bleed nothing but the pure, unadulterated adoration you've inflicted upon him.

this time isn't any different either, but his mind goes blank, a clarity he has never felt before driving his senses.

“i'll teach you.”

it's a sudden offer, one he doesn't really know where he got the confidence to offer it from, and yet something about your stunned expression and his unusually calm heart seems... right.

“...you know how to kiss?”

“i know more than you do,” he counters. a triumphant grin tugs the corners of his lips when your mouth instantly clams shut at his words.

he waits for your response with baited breath. will you agree? will you refuse his, painfully obvious, advance? oh god what should he do if you say no? play it off as a joke? tease you for considering it? walk away in shame and cry about it—?

“alright then,” you say, and he blinks once, twice. “it's not like i have anything to lose.”

...is this a dream?

apparently not, as he now finds himself seated in front of you with the artificial sunlight doing little to help fend off the heat blooming along his skin. your eyes are closed with your body leaning towards him in baited anticipation, but his gaze hones in on the clench-unclench of your fists and your stiff posture.

unable to contain himself, he chuckles, “someone's a little tense.”

“ugh, cut me some slack! you're my first, so of course i'm nervous.”

your first. he's your first. yours. he's yours.

it's almost like a mantra the way he repeats your words (as well as varying renditions of them), one which does little to keep his waning self-restraint intact.

with a sharp inhale, he cradles your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your head slightly to align better with his. if this were him any other day, he would have merely brushed this moment off as another one of his fantasies; an untouchable perception of what he wishes could be his.

this is not any other day, however, as jing yuan is hyper-aware of your light breaths fanning against his lips, the faint brush of his nose against yours, and your familiar scent which curls into him.

you, you, you. you are all he feels, all he can think of, even more so when he finally pushes forward into your awaiting silence and slots his lips against yours. it's a perfect fit, he thinks in what little room he allows for thought when preoccupied with your overflowing warmth and the taste of you on his tongue and the sheer euphoria which bubbles up when you hold onto him in response to his hands sliding up to cup your cheeks and holding you close.

he wonders if you can feel his centuries' worth of repressed affection from this exchange — if you can feel the desperation coursing through his veins as he leans into your touch. he already knows it's impossible though, for his love runs far too deep to be conveyed in just one singular moment.

“did you get that?” there's an ache in his heart when you part for air, but it's quickly forgotten when you blindly chase after him.

“one more time,” you whisper against his lips, his heart surging up his throat at your half-dazed eyes and tightening grip on his clothes. “i think you need to show me one more time.”

his waning self-restraint snaps.

“look at me,” he whispers back, voice hoarse with pent-up desire. his hands tilt your head up, guiding your gaze to align with his once more. before you can let a word slip through it's smothered, his lips crashing onto yours in an instant as he finds himself more determined than ever to leave you breathless with his adoration and have you focus solely on him.

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #jingyuan x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #jing yuan x you #jingyuan x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines

[sleepynegress]

So, I Just Watched Netflix's DAMSEL...

...And I'm wiping tears?? ...Because I loved this movie and the allegory and it was the perfect girl movie for International Women's Day which was yesterday??? This movie got a 58% Rotten Tomatoes score and I'm honestly confused! It was a beautiful perfectly original fairytale. In the good old days, this would have either been a sleeper hit in the theatres or a beloved classic discovery in the VHS rental market and likely overplayed at odd times on HBO like The Neverending Story. It for me is on tier with The Seabeast and Predator for excellent modern "girl-power" films, that should have been released in the theaters. It subverts so many fairytale tropes, and while it's predictable, I'm an old soul who still can cast myself back to girlhood and for me, again, the allegory touched me. Much in a similar way that Maleficent did, with its origin for the title character as a metaphor for the loss of trust and innocence after a violation, "a sexual assault" with loss of wings. It 100% wasn't intentionally this deep, but this for me was about the price of colonization; of adhered-to ancestral memory that the "winners" who write history carry, sacrificing 'the other" for generations destroying their own souls.... Until the convenient lies are finally faced. Ugh, I loved what they did with the dragon, with all the supporting characters, with the amount of harrow, and some consequential violence, enough to genuinely scare but not enough to scar. It felt very old school in that way. -Like a good solid 80's style fantasy, except for some of the non-practical effects. IDK, maybe it's just about my soft heart, but again...

This movie made me cry. I honestly and truly adored this fairytale.

#THISISAREC --For the fairytale girlies... The ones who like dragons, Grimm teas, and girls bloodied and determined.

#loved it #damsel #angela bassett #millie bobby brown #nick robinson #robin wright #shohreh aghdashloo #netflix #loved-loved-loved #thisisarec #I was totally absorbed and onboard from first to final frame

[privitivium]

hihi :3

okay so I'm kinda obsessed with dog hybrid!reader, (and yes this is going to be a teacher/student the g why wouldn't it be?) so like we get a question right our tail wags, talkin with a buddy: tail wags, talking with Teacher? tail wagging so much ommgg dont get me wrong tho as much as i love dog hybrids and stuff i strongly dislike the petnames pup & puppy. so if/when u do this request i ask u steer clear of those PLEASE....(mutt, dog, hound idc)

so scene is maybe we're hangin out with him whether or not his break, after, before school etc etc, perhaps we already have this 'on the down low' relationship and he gets frisky one day and wants to play with us heheh, maybe like grabbing our tail or ears (or petting, and yes "sensitive ear+tail trope is in the room) and moral of the story is maybe he makes us cum without touching our dick (ie tail, tails, nips, neck even?)

sorry its so long dude 😭, love ur drabbles !!

— 🍸

me w cat hybrid dudes.... no worries, thank you for kind words.... both amab, cw for good boy/sweet boy, teacher/student relationship - 18/23, reader has sensitive dog ears and tail.

dom teacher/sub doghybrid reader

at his house on a weekend... or just before school at his desk. it was a bit routine, already having an ongoing loving relationship with his darling little dog boy... so excitable and so easy to manipulate. playing with your body damn near whenever he fucking pleased - you were just so happy to provide pleasure, weren't you? it's a miracle that he loves you as much as you love him. jerking off to the sounds of your whimpers of your own orgasm over messages. sending pictures of himself messy with cum all over his abdomen - saying it was all because of you,,,. and even routinely teasing you throughout the day. he couldn't help himself-! passing you and giving your ears a soft scratch before continuing down the hallway and leaving you to shrink in embarrassment as your pants grow tighter. always having to keep a huge hoodie on standby...

so, merely soaking in each other's presence. sitting at his desk and watching so intently as he fiddles on his computer; your tail wagging so ferociously, so clearly happy to be around him. he hums softly at the quiet sound of your tail fwipping back and forth... taking a brief moment to admire you as you watch the screen - he couldnt help himself... reaching over to stroke along the furry tendrilㅡhe thinks it's obvious what he wants. heat pooling to his crotch at the memories of you hollowing around his prick - accidental, truly!! he didn't mean to get all horny, man, it's just the natural effect you have on him... it's your own fault... muscle memory and all.

it was just so fucking cute to him. you were too obvious. and you didnt even know it! waving your hand in greeting as your tail whips behind your back at lightning speed... having to act all nonchalant with him, but you couldnt quite control the way your tail fwips back and forth unrelenting... you- you just need to have a little emotional training is all... absentmindedly petting you - very much conscious of the soft little pants leaving your lips - all hot n heavy so suddenly? was it him? his touch? so predictable... he's glad.

"so sweet..." he had the gall to mumble, grinning widely as he tugs you gently to sit on his lap - helping you slide off the desk. so eager to follow orders and sit on his thighs - fangs poking out from your toothy smile. back propped against the edge of his desk... and erection prominent. humming softly, unfazed by the sight of his prized, precious students' bulge that was the product of his teasing. "let's give it some air." he suggests, slowly unzipping your jeans. your head bobbing up and down ecastatically - your eyes nearly glazing with tears of excitement - christ.

you were so much thicker than he was... your half-hard cock dribbling pre and you were breathing so heavily - feeling his own bulge against your ass. he was jealous - damn your genes... but- it was so lovely to tease. and... he'd make quite the show of doing the opposite of that. hands dipping underneath your shirt - careful not to graze your cock... hand reaching up and rubbing along the inner of your ears. tongue nearly lulling past your lips at his affection... just so fucking cute.

your tail nearly defying logic with how speedily it fwips... pulling you forward and reaching back just to tug your tail into view. fluidly stroking it... a soft hum leaving his throat at your closed eyes and furrowed eyebrows... lips parted as he cruelly ignores your aching prick weeping like a broken fountain that needed maintence. so soft... he couldnt help losing himself as he gently pets you - so lovingly... knowing what exactly to make you fidget and squirm on his lap... his hand leaving your tail - just to push your shirt up. revealing your chest ,,, your puffy, hardened nipples he takes no time to abuse. rubbing and pulling... head dipping in the crook of your neck and gently kissing... sucking as he moves back to fondle your tail.,,,

ㅡwith a low whimper escaping your saliva glossy lips - the coiling of your lower intestines - the fluttering feeling of his fingertips ghosting over your overtly sensitive nipples - you just couldn't h-hold backㅡ"ah,,, and look at that..." his voice,,, mumbling. in a trance, as he watches the overflow of cum dribble from the slit of your cockhead with admiration - all that, without touching your prick... so sensitive. you must like him a whole lot, huh? or maybe, you were just that easy,,,

#cw teacher / student #x male reader #male reader #sub male reader #dom male character #* ( 🍸 ) !!!

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hello! I hope you are doing well, I have an idea, feel free to ignore but I hope you like it.

Yandere Male Deliquent x GN Ex Bully

Like he tried to make them explode and being their “true self”, because in the past, when they were younger, they defend him and he became a delinquent just to see them again.

Sorry if my English is bad.

Bye!

YAN! DELINQUENT OC x GN! EX BULLY! READER

Also your English great anon! Dw about it.

AAAAAAA I’ve meaning to do more Yan! Delinquent recently anon!! You read my mind. For those new to my account. I already have a Yan! Delinquent OC named Mori Ban (see tag: hns.moriban) who was the first to really blow up from my yan! ocs. I always loved this trope with yan stories hhh

tw/cw: DDNE, mention extreme bullying, assault, and harassment. (brought out my trauma for this one). i imagine reader to be amab/masc for this one but there are no explicits allusions to that.

Uttering the name [L/N] [Y/N] was enough to strike fear in the hearts of men. Literally and figuratively speaking, your voice was enough to make even the highest of authorities piss their pants. Not only were you capable of destroying a person’s physical body with your very own hands, you were able to dismantle everything from their relationships and reputation to their financial situations in life.

People predicted you to grow up and become an even more menacing, ruthless person. You had the potential, and with the way you were it was simply the natural trajectory.

But like you always did, you broke everyone’s expectations.

You were like the delinquent version Serena Van Der Woodsen. Mindlessly strutting in as if you hadn’t put several companies to bankruptcy because the owner’s kid looked at you the wrong way. Nonchalantly eating your lunch in the same vicinity of your old victims as if you hadn’t shoved their face into the toilet as a way to pass time. Cheerfully waving at the student council president as if you hadn’t constantly blackmailed and assaulted them for several years just so they’d do your homework and projects. No one was safe from you. You had no code. As long as you felt like it, any life could be destroyed.

Standing opposite to your current path was Mori.

He used to be the punching bag of your lesser goons. Known for being weak and poor, only good for his academic excellence.

He grew up to be almost as fearsome than you. Where-areas you were coldblooded, revelling in the pain you brought upon others. He was a lot more morally guided. Sure, his enemies often suffered worse fates physically, but he wasn’t like you in the way he picked his battles. He only brought hell to those that deserved it. Those that hurt other people first.

And then there was the way he treated you.

You technically belonged to the category he dealt with. You ruined dozens, maybe even hundreds or thousands of lives in a whim. You were the devil in a pretty suit of skin. Despite your lack of hostility nowadays, you never apologised or took accountability, never attempted to atone for your mistakes. The only reason why others haven’t confronted you about it was because of fear. They didn’t want to potentially anger you and set off a bomb.

But Mori? Mori could handle you.

After all, he dedicated his whole life to being your equal; serving you, aiding you.

In fact, he was just so disappointed to see you this way. All disgustingly docile and horridly disciplined. What kind of monster tamed you to be like this? Mori chuckled at the thought. No one but him can match you. You must have started behaving yourself for the sake of appearance. All of this was just a façade. If you had truly changed you would have begged for forgiveness to those you’ve wronged. If you had become a better person then you wouldn’t be discreetly glaring at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

If someone had truly taught you to be a goody-two-shoes he would have killed them ages ago.

“Hey, [N/N]. Sweetheart. How ya doin?” Mori leaned forward. He grew to be quite a ways taller than you and had to lean over to meet you face to face. Much to your chagrin.

“Fine. It’s so nice of you to ask Ban. If you’ll excuse me.” You adeptly moved to the side. You had dealt with this man-child several times throughout the semester already and knew to just avoid him at all costs lest you lose braincells and precious energy talking to him.

However, you could only take two steps before his hands grappled unto your wrist.

“Woah woah woah there. We’re not done yet.”

You don’t look back, and firmly yet calmly stated, “Yes, we are.”

“It’s a little late but we have yet to give you a homecoming party. That wouldn’t be fair for the great [Y/N].”

You turned back. Eyes wide, not of surprise or anger, but from sheer awe of this man’s audacity.

“I know what you want, and you’re not getting it from me right now.” You scowled at his beautiful pink eyes and effortlessly yanked your arm away from him. You didn’t know it yet back then,

but you had already lit the match.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

#hns.moriban #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yancore #dom reader #sub yandere #yandere drabble #yandere self insert #yandere x y/n

[dduane]

An anonymized non-anon query

(A note: my ask box isn’t open to anons at the moment, because I started getting inappropriate messages that I didn’t care to see. Maybe I'll eventually go anon-open again. But the present situation isn’t going to stop me from answering asks where the person’s uneasy about having their username revealed. Like this one:)

[text:

Can't go on anon so this is a little mortifying to be Seen™ but;

Do you have any words for fandom girls who are no longer in their 20s and starting to construct people in their heads who shame them for "still being into this stuff"?]

First thing; funny how it's always fandom girls who come up against this, isn't it? If it was some 90-year-old fandom boy in question who'd been painting his face red and white and following Manchester United since he was nine, no one would turn a hair. In fact, everybody in that cohort of interest would be praising him for his commitment and loyalty. It's almost as if some people have bought into the idea that the rules are different for girls somehow! Something to do with the idea that where girls belong is home making everybody a sandwich. I wonder where that might have come from...

Anyway. What you're describing here is something a lot of us have run into: the pressure to (allow me briefly to stand the well-known trope on its head) Be Like All The Other Girls... and to be prepared (and indeed resigned) for that inevitably to happen IRL. This stuff starts sneaking into your head in a very innocuous way: by disguising itself as "being prepared" for what you're afraid might happen. And it's very hard to avoid having that concern slowly but surely turn into a dread of what's going to happen. (For there's a horrible seductiveness about self-fullfilling prophecy... even if you know you've built it yourself. Part of your mind, that frightened advanced-fight-or-flight part that's always trying to keep you safe by predicting all the possible futures, starts feeling satisfied with itself when it finally has the evidence to say, "Well, at least we were prepared for that!")

So it's best to be proactive about managing this, I think, before things start to get bothersome. Develop a quick switchblade-style defense that you can pull out of your brain's back pocket at short notice. And then, when you're used to using it on those rogue ideations, disarm the sneaky "attacker" more thoroughly by taking it apart, gradually, at the more straightforwardly analytical end.

Let's start with the switchblade: a good-old fashioned mantra. How about this:

"Nobody gets to gatekeep my joy."

This can be used as a silent affirmation any time you feel the need. Any time you start feeling that pressure—that annoying whisper from the conjectural voices in your head that want you to think about how maybe you are too old for this kind of thing—pull out the mantra and shiv them in the gut with it, three times. (Threes are always good for this. Think how many spells have to be done, or names spoken, in threes. The rhythm's an archetype all its own.)

What you'll notice, with repetition of this intervention over time, is that the incidence of this kind of thinking gradually gets rarer and rarer. It might take a while to go away completely... but you'll know what to do if it rears its head again.

But also: this response can when necessary be repeated right out loud in front of whatever sorry piece of breathing meat has the unutterable bald-faced gall to actually try to gatekeep you to your (digital or otherwise) face. Pull it out, set your features in an expression of amused calm (because what you do to your face makes differences in your brain), and hit 'em with it. And if they continue to try to argue the point with you, you get to just keep repeating your base-state mantra until they give up and go away.*

...Now, since good mantras normally run deeper than the mere words, it makes sense to inquire into an underlying issue:

Why do people do this to other people? (And I don't mean this as a rhetorical question with optional eyeroll: I mean it as a possible diagnostic.) There has to be a reason people pull this shit... as mandated by the favorite (different) mantra of psychiatric professionals everywhere: "All behavior is motivated."

One aspect of this to consider: the "you're too old to be into this stuff" response is usually a learned behavior. People for whom the perception of "insufficient" age or maturity is an issue have routinely picked it up from others. There are a number of reasons why they parrot it... the likeliest being that simply want to be seen saying the thing that lots of other people they know also say; so that by so doing, they can be seen as Smart. (This is of course just another a manifestation of our old generally-maladaptive friend, the so-called herd instinct.) And nine-tenths of those other people, I can guarantee you, got it in turn from others still. "They're too old for this" is rarely going to be a spontaneous insight. (Except when used pertinent to certain contact sports, and some types of opera.)

Yet why does the trope perpetuate itself so enthusiastically?

Leaving aside personal living-arrangement issues in individual cases, I think it's because in some people, underneath the expressed trope, there's a genuine fear... an insidious variation of the well-known impostor syndrome. And it's this:

They're afraid that whatever it is they've got at the moment, it's may well be the wrong kind of "this stuff"... not a real joy. (Some people will take this to mean, "The kind of stuff, or joy, other people will approve of." Cf. the "seeming Smart" thing.) And, as they get older, they may be becoming afraid they may never have it.

Now, people naturally try to protect themselves from experiencing their own fears whenever possible. This one's no different. So one way such folks find to distract themselves from the fear of having no joy is to devalue such joy in others. That way, whatever they see themselves as having their noses spitefully "rubbed in" can be perceived as no longer a real threat to them. They can start seeing it as a bad joy, a weak or silly or stupid joy. And (in this case specifically) an immature joy.

(With this in mind, the passage in which C.S. Lewis deals with this toxic fetishization of "maturity" is worth quoting in full, since we so frequently see only the last couple/few lines:)

“Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”

...And you hear there the voice of a man who'd dealt with a whole lot of critics in his time on this subject—some of them quite famous and elevated types, trying to discredit him for what we'd now think of as "clicks"—and had routinely made them ever so sorry they'd engaged. Also, Lewis was an enthusiastic reader of "the pulps" until his dying day, and you should have seen some of his responses to those who tried to tell him that "at his age, he should be over that science fiction stuff by now." I'd have to go digging for the cites, but... hooboy.

Anyway, and as a closer:

You're not required to—at someone else's mere behest—even think about changing your way of thinking and living in the (probably hopeless) hopes of pleasing or placating other people you've never met. And most specifically:

You are in no wise required by the Universe to curtail your personal experience of joy in order to try to make scared and small-souled people more comfortable.Your soul gets to be its own size, and have its own joy... in its very own shape, volume, and richness.

So if anyone pulls the "You're too old for [x]" crap on you, I encourage you to just let that attitude sail on by you and fuck straight out into the Oort Cloud and beyond. Let passing alien spacecraft on their way in-system gaze at it in wonder and say, "Wow, look at that go! Didn't think they had warp drive here yet."

...Anyway: let me know how you get on.

HTH!

*This is a basic assertiveness-training technique that I feel is much undervalued in daily usage. Every time someone comes up with a new reason you should stop doing what they don't like, and expects you to respond to that... what makes them think you're required to come up with a new and different reason not to? Who made that concept up? And why waste useful originality on someone arguing with you in the kind of bad faith that refuses to accept your answers? Just keep repeating yourself with the main reason until they give up (probably in great exasperation: too bad...) and bugger off elsewhere. :) ...But see the useful 1970s work When I Say No, I Feel Guilty for effective DIY approaches to this problem.

#advice #the retired psych nurse is IN -- 5¢ #or indeed #€0.03

[ereardon]

Snowed In || Friday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else? 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 3.2K 

Masterlist here

“And this just in. More than a foot of snow is expected in areas across the Tri-State, with Scarsdale already at seven inches and counting. LaGuardia has shut down their runway, with Newark and John F Kennedy airport soon to follow.” 

You groaned, flicking off the TV and opening the cabinets. They were predicting the worst storm in two decades and somehow all you had in the cupboard was a lifetime supply of ramen noodles and red wine. 

Outside, the snow was falling in soft clumps. You looked out the window which overlooked Fifth Avenue. Very few cars or taxis were on the road, and the people who were outside looked miserable. 

And then the phone rang. You dove for it, expected it to be your mom with yet another tidbit of news that she thought was groundbreaking, as if you didn’t already know that Diet Coke was bad for you, but the male voice on the other end startled you. 

“Ella?” 

You squinted, pulling the phone back and registering the caller ID. Jake Seresin. You groaned. “What could you possibly want, Jake?” 

“Nice to hear from you, too,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. It had been a decade since you last heard from Jake Seresin. He was just as obnoxious as you remembered. 

“Listen, Seresin, if you called just to give me shit, I didn’t need a reminder that you’re a dick. Memory serves well enough. Goodbye.” 

“El, wait!” 

You frowned. “What?” 

His voice softened. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said and you felt your stomach tightening. “But you’re the only person I know in the city.” Jake paused. “I’m stuck at JFK.” 

“Don’t eat the egg sandwich,” you said, recalling a moldy sandwich you had gotten once at the airport on the way to Berlin. “Have a good flight, Jake.” 

“Ella, I’m stranded,” he said and you groaned. “Can I stay with you? Just until the airports open back up.” 

You looked outside. In the two minutes since Jake had called, snow had started to fall faster, coating the streets and sidewalks and innocent pedestrians. 

“I’m sorry,” he said and for perhaps the first time that you had known him in almost fifteen years, Jake Seresin sounded genuine. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t my only option.” 

Jake Seresin. The last time you had seen him, he was standing in the doorway of your college apartment with a bouquet of flowers that Suzannah had grabbed and trampled on in fury. 

“Ella? Are you still there?” 

“Fine,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Fifth and 12th Street. Apartment 4B.” 

“I owe you, El.” 

“Two days, Seresin,” you replied. “Anything more and you get a hotel.” 

“I’ll see you soon.”

***

You had hated Jake Seresin for as long as you could remember. Or at least, since the first time you saw his smug face in a poli sci lecture. He was sitting in the back, drinking a cup of coffee and doodling on a notebook. At the end of class, he had come right up to you and asked if he could copy your notes. When you said no, asking why he hadn’t taken his own notes, he had called you sweetheart and shot his best grin. 

You turned on your heel and walked away. 

Two years later, your roommate Suzannah has been stupid enough to fall for his charm, and you were treated to the unfortunate experience of having to listen to the two of them having sex behind the thin walls of your apartment. More than once you had stumbled into a shirtless Jake in the bathroom, smelling like sex and acidic cologne. Once he had walked in on you naked and instead of hurrying out like a normal person, he had leered. 

You had doubled down on your hatred for him from that moment on. 

When the doorbell buzzed you sighed, peering at the small ring camera before pressing the buzzer. “Come up.” 

The minute between buzzing him in and Jake knocking on the door felt like a century. It always did. There was something so awkward about shuffling around, waiting for the door but not wanting to be too eager to open it when the knock finally came. 

Taking a deep breath, you swung the door open. 

Jake Seresin in the flesh. The same goofy, brilliant grin from a decade before. Sandy blond hair dotted with melting snowflakes, cheeks ruddy and pink from the cold. He wore a light jacket, far too light for the extreme weather, and held a duffle bag in one hand, cowboy boots soggy and wet, dripping on your doormat. 

“Jake.” 

He smiled, leaning in for a hug and you pulled back at the last second so he stumbled over the threshold. Jake righted himself. “Ella. Still hate me, I see.” 

You turned, shaking your head. The sound of the door closing was followed by the plop of Jake’s bag on the ground. “Shoes off,” you called out, and there was a clattering as he kicked off his boots. 

Jake appeared a moment later, his jacket removed, revealing a tight henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He took a look around the studio. It was surprisingly large, for New York standards. Not Sex and the City unrealistic, but nice, with an alcove to the right that held your queen sized bed, a large couch against one wall and a dining area in the center. 

The galley kitchen off the main hallway was large and the bathroom was relatively spacious for a studio. It had just been you for so long that you didn’t think twice about the size. But something about Jake in your space made you realize maybe it wasn’t as spacious as it looked to your smaller frame. He hulked in the hallway. 

“Nice place,” he said. “Been here long?” 

“Four years.” 

He tipped his head. “Always knew you were going to end up in New York, didn’t you?” 

You sighed, plopping down on one end of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing here, Seresin?” 

“I told you, I was stranded at the airport,” Jake replied, stepping forward and taking a seat on the chair opposite of the couch. You grimaced. His outdoor pants were touching your indoor furniture. That was the downside of having guests. If Jake could even be considered a guest. Don’t guests have to be invited? Or wanted. 

“On your way to where? Somewhere without extradition laws?” 

Jake rolled his eyes. “Ten years, Finn. Ten years and you haven’t changed.” 

“Have you?”

The words clung to the air. The elephant in the room. It didn’t matter that it had been nearly a decade since the last time you had seen Jake Seresin. 

His betrayal still stung, even if it had never been directed at you. 

“Ella,” he whispered. Outside, the sky was darkening. Without the constant bumper-to-bumper traffic that was a given on Fifth Ave, the street was uncomfortably dark. There was a dampness that chilled your bones, even from the comfort of being inside. “Please. Can we just put aside the past for the next few days?” He looked older. Small lines at the corners of his eyes. Jake Seresin had a loud, boisterous laugh, you remembered that about him. The way he could liven up a party. The way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the room. 

This time you were. 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Finn?” he said, bringing back your nickname from college. “Truce?” 

You leaned back against the soft white couch cushion. “Fine.” 

Jake grinned. It was magnetic and you hated him for it. “Well, let’s celebrate then. Got anything to drink?” 

“Been here one minute and you need a drink already?” you asked, standing up. Jake’s eyes roamed over your leggings and sweater as you made your way into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Someone never got over their frat days I see.” 

Jake reached out, taking the bottle from your hands and turning it on its side. “You must be doing OK,” he said. “This is a one hundred dollar bottle of wine.” You handed him the wine opener and he undid the top easily, sliding out the cork and laying it on a stack of magazines on the marble coffee table. 

“Anything is better than that Franzia shit you used to love.” 

Jake ignored your comment, instead turning the bottle and reading the label. “I did a wine tour in Lebanon a few years ago. This was one of my favorite vineyards.”

You frowned, holding out a glass and he tipped the neck of the bottle against the thin rim, dribbling it into your glass. “So did I. That’s where I got that bottle.” You pointed to the 2015 Chateau Musar in his hand. 

“What were you doing in Lebanon?” 

“Writing a story,” you replied. “What about you?” 

“Went with a friend,” Jake said. “We met in Portugul and decided fuck it, let’s go to Lebanon.” 

“Still wildly dependable I see.” 

“I have a job, Ella. I’m an adult.” 

You laughed, tugging your knees to your chest. “Oh yeah?” 

Jake nodded, setting the bottle of wine down. You let your eyes roam over his fancy jeans, cashmere socks, shiny watch that you hadn’t noticed before. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he was doing OK for himself. 

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “You have a job. Slow clap. Who doesn’t?” 

Jake shook his head. “Still bitter,” he replied, tilting his glass to his lips. “Whatever happened to you and Connor Gray?” 

“Oh God,” you muttered. “Fuck no. Do you know what he’s doing now? He’s a fucking DJ in Bushwick.” You mimed gagging. “I’d rather eat my left foot than date some Chelsea-boot-wearing guy who drinks craft beer and tries to serenade me on a hot rooftop in Brooklyn on his shitty guitar.” 

Jake tipped his head back with a laugh. It filled the room. You had almost forgotten how boisterous his laugh could be. 

“What about you?” you asked. “Any poor unsuspecting women?” There was no ring on his finger, no tan line or dent to show that perhaps he was divorced instead. 

“Nope.” Jake put his glass down. “Single.”

“Really? Jake Seresin, single.” 

“It’s hard out there, Finn,” he said, his voice hitting a register you couldn’t quite place. Something between sadness and begging for understanding. 

“You were never without a date to a formal in college. Couldn’t even go out without girls throwing themselves at you.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think the player in you would just shrivel up and die the minute we hit thirty.” 

“I’m still twenty nine,” Jake corrected. “And I don’t know what to tell you, El. It was fun for a while. But then I started to feel kind of gross. Like Leo DiCaprio. A new girl all the time. I couldn’t go to a single wedding without people asking about the girl who I had brought to the last one. But she was long gone.” He paused. “Couldn’t tell you the last time I saw the same girl for more than a month or three dates.”  

You frowned. Jake Seresin, a reformed manwhore? Not possible. 

He shrugged. “There, is that my dues for the night? Told you my dating life so now you owe me shelter from the storm?” 

“For now,” you said, standing up. “Interrogation can resume later. I’m hungry.” 

“Then let’s eat.” Jake looked outside. “It’s pretty shit out.” 

“Agreed.”

“What do you have for food?” 

You winced. “Honestly? I mostly eat out, so not much.” 

Jake stood up, brushing past you so closely you could feel his broad chest press against you for a second on his way toward the kitchen. “I’ll figure something out. You relax.” 

“Relax? With you in my apartment? Fat chance, Seresin.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Going to be a long weekend, isn’t it, Finn?” 

***

Jake somehow managed to make a perfectly edible dinner out of the almost-expired food in your fridge and what was left in the pantry. The two of you sat at the small two-person table you had pressed against one set of windows overlooking Fifth Ave. 

Anyone looking in might think it was a date. Even though Jake had dated Suzannah for almost a year, you two had barely spent any alone time together. That’s how you always tried to keep it with your friends’ significant others. A simple conversation here and there, usually while your friend was showering or getting ready or coming back from the store. 

Never like this. 

After dinner, Jake insisted on cleaning. As if it would make up for the countless times he had left shit in your apartment sink in college. You stood at the window, watching the snow pummel from the sky, coating the street in a thick blanket that it couldn’t shake. There was no one outside walking around. It felt apocalyptic and you cringed knowing that you still had at least a day alone with Jake and nothing to do but be in each other’s presence. 

“It’s dark in here,” Jake said, startling you. You turned as he reached for the overhead light. 

“Stop,” you said and he froze. “Lamps, dumbass. Why do men always want to use ceiling lights? Do you like being bathed in fluorescent light?” You strode over to the dresser along one wall, flicking on a candle warmer lamp and another small lamp on the far side of the room. Warm light spilled out into the room. 

“Does it matter?” Jake asked. 

“Yes.” 

Jake shook his head. “Alright, Finn. I’m all yours. What do you want to do?” 

“You mean other than throw you out in the snow on your ass?” 

Jake stepped closer. “Am I really that bad?” he whispered. 

You looked up. Clear green eyes, perfect almond tanned skin. Hair swept back in a carefree manner. You could tell why Suzannah has lost her fucking mind over him all those years ago. He really was too pretty to be true. “Maybe.” 

Jake looked around. “Well I would say I can get out of your hair for a few hours, but there’s not really many options.” He was right. Minus the alcove where your bed sat, the apartment was a pretty open floor plan. 

“Let’s just watch TV and watch the minutes tick by on the longest day known to mankind.” 

Reluctantly, you settled down onto the couch and flipped on the TV. After scrolling for a solid five minutes, Jake groaned. 

“What, Seresin?” you demanded. 

“Take longer,” he complained. 

“Fine, you do it.” You shoved the remote into his chest, trying to ignore how nice his chest felt beneath his shirt. 

Jake took the clicker and flicked through the apps before settling on a movie. 

“No,” you argued. 

He turned to you with a grin. “It’s a guilty pleasure. Humor me, Finn.” 

You grimaced as Twilight started. Jake laughed his way through the serious parts of the movie, cackling out loud at the spider monkey bit and you found yourself laughing along next to him. God, Carlisle really was hot. So was Charlie. That’s how you knew you were almost thirty. 

By the end of the movie, the two of you had shifted comfortably on the couch. You were no longer three feet apart. Instead, your feet were crossed over each other, almost precariously touching Jake’s where they sat propped up on the coffee table. 

It was the first time in years that you could remember sitting through an entire movie without some guy trying to feel you up or make a movie. 

The credits started to roll and you reached for the remote just as Jake did. You pulled your hand back like it was on fire and he handed it to you. “Sorry,” Jake said softly. His voice had grown huskier in the hour and a half since the movie started. “Your TV. Your remote.” 

“It’s fine,” you said and it was gentle. He smiled. There was something devilish about Jake Seresin’s smile. It was too perfect. You cleared your throat. “I, um, should get to bed

“Me too.” 

You stood up, clicking off the TV. The room felt darker without it, just the soft lamps illuminating small circles of light. “I’m going to shower. I’ll get you some blankets and pillows. The couch should be big enough for you.” 

“Thanks, El.” There was something so genuine about the way he said it that threw you off. Who was this stranger and what had he done with the dickwad from Stanford? “For letting me stay.” 

“See how much you like me after a night of sleeping on that,” you replied, digging in the closet near the hallway for pillows and a comforter, dumping them in Jake’s arms. “Do you, um, need to use the bathroom first?” 

“I’ll go after you.” 

In the shower, you were acutely aware that no more than twenty feet away, Jake Seresin was fiddling around in your apartment. You had spent hundreds and hundreds of hours with him at Stanford, but this was different and you both knew it. When you entered the living room, steam pummeling out of the bathroom door, Jake looked up from where he stood shirtless in the living room. “Oh, God!” you exclaimed, holding one hand up to your face. “What the fuck?” 

“Fuck, fuck, sorry!” Jake grabbed for his t-shirt on the couch, tugging it on. “OK, you’re safe. All clear.” 

“This isn’t Barcelona, Seresin,” you complained, stepping toward the dresser and sliding open a drawer, pulling out a pair of silk pajamas. “Or a rave in someone’s basement.” 

He sat down on the edge of the couch cushion. “Been that long since you’ve seen a shirtless guy, huh, El?” 

You hated that he was right. “Fuck off.” 

Jake chuckled. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.” 

“Maybe that’s why no girl wants to date you for more than a week,” you snapped. “Because you’re a dick.” 

Silence hung in the air, thick like the snow clumping on the streets outside the window. You held your breath, letting your lungs sit there and burn. Jake’s eyes haunted yours. 

You felt bad. Never had you ever expected to feel bad for Jake Seresin. Golden boy. Womanizer. Player extraordinaire. But this was obviously a sore spot and you knew it. 

He looked sad, sitting in your apartment living room in the near-dark, face drawn and quiet. An unease squeezed at your stomach. 

“Jake, I–”

Jake stood, cutting you off. “It’s fine. I’m going to use the bathroom if that’s OK.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You watched his frame disappear down the hallway, rounding the corner into the subway tiled bathroom. As you sat down in your silk robe at the edge of your bed, the silence in the apartment, usually so comforting as an alternative to the bustle of the city outside, felt stifling. When Jake returned in the dark, flicking off the final light and settling onto the couch, you held your breath, waiting for him to say something. 

But nothing ever came. The two of you laid there, ten feet apart, separated by a wall of silence. 

You had spent ten years who knows how many miles away from Jake Seresin and never given him another thought. Why was it that ten feet now felt like a lap around the equator? 

The chill in the room wasn’t in your head and it wasn’t from the blizzard outside. You and Jake had created frost all on your own. 

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @fangirlvoice @buckysteveloki-me  @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 

#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #jake hangman x you #jake seresin au #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin angst #hangman series #hangman imagine #hangman x you #hangman x reader #hangman #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick

[wisteriagoesvroom]

helloooooo :)) sliding in with a generic marvel-esque vaguely criminal organization landoscar au with background lestappen because I am nothing if not predictable

Oscar is their resident poison specialist (he makes new poisons, tests them, makes antidotes, etc. for the organization to use). His preference is plant based poisons, like belladonna and nightshade, because he graduated college with a botany degree and therefore has a lot of knowledge about them that he can put for use. He spends most of his time in his greenhouse full of toxic, beautiful plants that he tends too very, very carefully. They’re his babies.

There’s a whole backstory involved with how he came to join the organization that involves him accidentally killing his college roommate

Lando is a former gymnast turned espionage guy who also does theft on the side for funsies that works for the organization. Like vaguely cat woman-y? Obviously he’s super flexible and super good at his job because duh.

His favorite hobby is breaking into Oscar’s greenhouse via the windows and watching him work. Oscar is super fascinating to him, and he’s enamored with how absolutely brilliant this quiet, stoic boy, with maybe five facial expressions total is.

Lando sits there and listens to Oscar ramble about his complex science things. He doesn’t understand most of it ngl, but he loves the way Oscar’s face lights up when he goes on a long tangent about the chemical properties of cyanide and why it’s superior to arsenic.

Also sometimes lando brings Oscar random pretty shiny things that he stole that he thinks Oscar might like and leaves them on his desk, kind of like a crow. Oscar keeps all of them in a box under his bed. He looks at them when he feels down (he doesn’t tell lando that)

Oscar is equally obsessed with lando but this is already wayyyyyy too long so 😭 you just gotta trust me on this one

And then eventually, the rest of the people in the organization pick up on the growing landoscar feelings situation. Alex and George give lando a bunch of (loving and caring) grief about it. A bet between them is born. “$50 lando is too chicken to confess to Oscar by the end of the month”

Yada yada time skip a week or so and lando and Oscar FINALLY do something about the tension between them one night late in Oscar’s greenhouse, lando freshly back from a mission. Boom they kiss and then lando, being the idiot that he is, as soon as they pull apart, goes “lol George and Alex owe me $50 now”

Cue misunderstanding trope. “Oh you only kissed me for a bet?? You don’t actually have feelings for me 😔 I knew it was too good to be true.”

Lando realizes his mistake but Oscar’s already out the door, disappeared into the night.

And then Oscar gets kidnapped by the enemy 🤗 because he’d normally be more aware and vigilant and stuff but his emotions are really going through it so. The ransom note comes through the next day.

Gonna leave it on that because otherwise I will spiral into a full blown fic when I already have too many wips to finish

I'M SO????? HOW DID U JUST RANDOMLY SLIDE IN HERE WITH THIS???? i am so obsessed with these details my god the POISON? CATMAN ESPIONAGEGYMNAST? christ. and then lando leaving him little gifts like a crow. OSCAR ACCIDENTALLY K-WORDING HIS ROOMMATE (and possible guilt)?? the classic misunderstanding thingy "but oscar gets kidnapped" leading to a climactic rescue oh oh oh this is the stuff of dreams.

idk what to do with myself exactly cus this is so gorgeous. anyway have a moodboard for your efforts cus like my goodness this was lovely to read.

#landoscar #814 #lemonadedino get back here #how can you craft something so beautiful and then leave me in meltdown #wiz.askbox #this is so fun ahhhhh #i am so... #rly love the vibes #thinking fondly of They

[waklman]

Like A Princess

summary: more glimpses into your relationship with rooster where you give him the princess treatment instead.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x female reader.

warnings: very brief allusions to sex. 18+ blog in general.

a/n: continuance/epilogue to princess treatment (read for context!) missed this duo so i decided to bring them back but more extensively this time :). indepedent bf x princess treatment gf trope.

word count: 2.8k

something ‘bout you masterlist.

“Get on.” 

“What?” Bradley watches in confusion as you turn your back towards him. But he quickly catches on once you start to bend your knees, lowering yourself in front of him. You want to carry him into the house.

“Nope. Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, waiting for you to get back up. But you don’t. “I am not getting on your back. Are you kidding me?” He scoffs, sounding almost offended. 

“You saw me bring in twenty bags of groceries just last week, without making a second trip back to the car,” you proclaim proudly, still squatting in front of him. “So c’mere,” you call out to him again, blindly reaching behind you, searching for his legs.

“So?” he huffs, pushing himself further in the car, moving away from your yearning hands. Bradley’s well aware that putting up a fight is going to get him in trouble, but there’s no way in hell that he’s letting you transport him inside. “If you give me a piggyback ride, it’ll send us both back to the hospital again,” he protests. 

You stand back up at his statement, spinning on your heels to face him, with two hands planted on your hips. 

Bradley gulps, seeing your fingers drum against your hip bone–you don’t plan on taking no as an answer. “Tell me how you’ll get inside with that ankle then,” you press him, eyes drifting down to his injury. 

The kind nurse—who you spent most of the night with, tightly bandaged him up, but it’s obvious that his ankle is still swollen under the wrappings. 

Bradley takes notice of the glint of remorse in your eyes as you assess his sprained ankle. The ‘playful’ wrestling from earlier had taken an unexpected turn once you sent him flying off the bed, resulting in a last minute trip to the emergency room. 

And though Bradley insisted that it wasn't your fault, you still found it hard to swallow back the guilt you felt every time you looked at him. 

Bradley sighs, carding a hand through his hair—unsure of how to talk you out of this, he knows you're just trying to make up for the accident, in your own strange way. “Honey, if you lift me, we’re both going right down,” he tries to reason with you. 

“You don’t think..I’m capable?” You pretend to deflate. If insisting won’t work on him, maybe some light manipulation would. 

Bradley begins to sputter–just as you predicted, reeled in by your pout. “What? No of course not–Honey I just–”

Bradley bites down on his tongue—not wanting to say the wrong thing. 

You take it as a chance to cleverly bat your lashes at him as he gives you an empty stare, trying to weigh the decision in his head. 

And like always, Bradley can’t muster up enough willpower to combat your pleading eyes. “Let’s give it a try,” he sighs, admitting defeat.  

You automatically spin around before he can change his mind, biting down on your bottom lip as your mouth stretches into triumphant grin.  

“But if you can't even lift me, I’m walking on my own, okay?” he clarifies, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your neck. You hum, agreeing to his rule, attaching his legs onto each side of your hips–clamping two hands around the back of his thighs to support his weight. 

After sucking in one deep breath, you easily lift him up in one go. 

Bradley can barely process what’s going on as you begin taking determined steps towards the intended destination. “What the hell?! How are you—What?!” Bradley gawks at your strength, snapping his neck to look behind him, seeing his precious Bronco grow further from his vision.

“Holy shit, have I been dating the she-hulk this whole time?” He asks in disbelief, hung onto your back like a koala. 

“..I told you..I could…do it,” you answer through short breaths, lugging him up the front steps. “Yeah…remind me to never get you mad," he lowly mutters, resting his chin on top of your head. The vibration of his throat can be felt against the back of your head.

You’re both in front of his door now. “Bradley,” you whine. “I would never lay my hands on you.” 

“Okay? So who had me in that deadly headlock earlier?” He scoffs, still sour that you won the round with that move. 

You give his thighs a quick squeeze through the denim. “Okay? So who wanted to fight like WWE wrestlers in the first place?” You remark. 

Bradley blows air through his nose. “Whatever," he whispers under his breath. You don’t even have to see him to know he’s rolling his eyes too. 

“Whatever," you mock him, imitating his deep voice.

“Now let’s get you inside, princess,” you finally declare—putting an end to the bickering. You hoist him further up your back, and Bradley gladly lets you, despite his protests from earlier. 

While you remove one hand from him, searching for the keys in your pocket, Bradley moves to press a ‘sorry i’m being so stubborn’ kiss to your cheek. 

You smile, feeling him rest his cheek onto your shoulder next. “..Thank you for takin’ care of me babybear," he shyly mumbles in your ear.  

“What do you think you’re doing back there missy?” Bradley asks, eyes still trained onto the tablet in his hands. 

“Nothing..” you mutter, halting all movement. But there’s really no point–your hands are already half way up his back, lifting up the back of his shirt. You’d been slowly trying to slip off the cotton tee–since getting him hooked onto the romcom, How to lose a guy in 10 days. 

After strategically placing the device in his hands, it didn’t take long for Bradley to start making comments on how Matthew Mcconaughey’s character is a jerk for being annoyed by his girlfriend’s purposeful attempts of sabotaging their relationship. ‘Baby I’d so let you name my dick Princess Sofia if you wanted to–I don’t get this guy’s problem with it. He’s mad for no reason,’ he said.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s most likely the only man on earth that would let that slide.

Bradley’s attention is momentarily pulled away from the movie dialogue, feeling you move your hands around to his stomach, playing with the pudge there. Bradley hadn't been on base recently, due to his ankle–so he hasn’t been keeping up with the extensive workouts that came with being an aviator either.

His abs were quickly replaced by a little pouch, which you loved. “Can I rub your back?” You ask, looking over his shoulder to see his reaction to the scene.

Bradley purses his lips, reading over the subtitles. “Is that why you’re tryna’ distract me with this?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

“So can I? Rub your back?” You ask again, pinching his belly, seeing that he’s fully absorbed with the movie's climax point now.

“Only for a few minutes...” he absently mumbles, not realizing how you easily coaxed him again. You let out a light laugh at the face he makes towards the screen, the two characters are currently in an intense argument, there’s a spout of harsh words being thrown back and forth—and it’s causing Bradley clear distress. 

You tug at the hem of his white tee, and Bradley swiftly pulls the shirt over his head, giving you free range with his naked back. The piece of fabric is quickly forgotten on the floor as he reaches for the tablet again, eager to see what happens next. 

You start by working out the knots located on his shoulder blades first. The way he instantly rolls back his shoulders, leaning into your touch, makes you smile. 

He doesn’t notice how much time has passed. You’ve been kneading his back in sections for more than just a few minutes at this point.

“Not there. A little higher please.”

“Look who’s enjoying himself,” you tease, kissing over the spot you just rubbed your thumb over.

Bradley frowns, dropping the tablet as the credits begin to roll. He reaches behind him, peeling your hands off his shoulders, now aware of how long you’ve been massaging him. “You spoil me,” he lets out a breath. 

He adjusts himself on the couch, so that he’s facing you now. Bradley wastes no time, reaching his hands under your shirt, swiping his calloused thumbs over your tummy. “Your turn,” he says, grinning down at you.

“Hey.” You squint at him. “You just want my shirt off.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at you. “So you will take your shirt off?”

“I think the stache is okay now, honey.” Bradley tries to convince you again, making sure to not move his lips too much. 

You’re perched onto the bathroom counter, with him standing between your legs—Bradley’s hands are playing with the waist band of your shorts while you trim his grown out facial hair. 

After learning that his first day back to work is tomorrow, you were set on preparing him for the special day, as if he was going back to school–and not preparing to join in on a serious mission instead. 

“I want it to be perfect,” you coo, trying to line up the scissors to his mustache again. 

Bradley’s gaze drops down to the tongue that cutely sticks out your mouth, you’re razor focused. “Doesn’t have to be,” he lamely replies. 

“Yes it does,” you pout. “Wanna make it look just like your dad’s,” you settle, looking back down at Bradley’s phone on the counter. You made him pull up a picture of his father, so you could replicate the shape of the mustache onto his face. 

Bradley tries to match the smile his dad is sporting in the picture, hoping it’ll get you to see the resemblance in facial hair. He squeezes your hips with his large hands, wanting to hear approval from you.

“Nice try,” you detect his ploy with squinted eyes, grabbing his jaw. 

“It looks fine to me,” he retorts, shifting his view to the mirror behind you, checking himself out. 

You furrow your brows, noticing a stray hair you forgot to trim off. “Not yet.” You slip your fingers back into the scissors again, snipping off that one piece of hair. 

He replicates his dad’s smile at you again. “How do I look now?” 

“Pretty. Like a princess,” you answer, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. 

Bradley can’t help but to crinkle his nose, you kiss him so softly that it tickles the skin there. “Thank you for doing this for me,” his eyes soften, voicing his appreciation for you.

“I could spend the rest of my life doing this for you, if you just asked me to,” you answer honestly, sweetly smiling at him. 

Bradley just blinks at you in response. The rest of my life. The simple confession that slipped your mouth rings out in his head, making him feel dizzy. 

You start to play with the hairs of his mustache, brushing your fingers over the little bristles there, unaware of how your statement made Bradley feel like he got shot by cupid’s arrow. “I packed lunch for you by the way baby. Make sure to grab it before you leave tomorrow,” you remind him. 

“..Bradley?!” You’re alarmed—not by his silence—but by the way his skin suddenly flares up. He’s completely flushed all the way down to his neck, and his pupils are severely dilated. 

You panic, pressing your cold palms against the red splotches of his cheeks, holding his face in your hands—desperately trying to cool down the hot skin. “Hello? Earth to babygirl?” 

“What’s for lunch?” 

Bradley unwillingly scoots over, making room for Hangman to squeeze himself between him and Bob. “Nothing for you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bradley grunts, defensively moving his lunch away from the blond. 

“What did she pack for you, babygirl?” The blond taunts, slapping a hand against Rooster’s back. 

Irritated by Hangman’s use of your pet-name for him, Bradley briefly gives him a look, before returning to his food, bringing an outstretched hand over his lunch box, obstructing Jake’s view of his meal for today.

Natasha coughs in her cup, pulling it away from her face. “Babygirl…? I thought she called you princes—”

“Protein wrap and strawberries cut into hearts.” Bradley abruptly announces, shoving the largest strawberry he could find into Phoenix’s already open mouth, shutting her up. 

She roughly swallows the massive piece of fruit, throat bobbing as it travels down to her stomach. “Hint taken,” she says through clenched teeth, elbowing Bradley’s side. But it doesn’t affect him at all, he barely moves at Phoenix’s rough jab. 

Everyone else at the table starts to snicker amongst themselves, reminded by the pet name they overheard you call him in the car awhile back.

“I think it’s sweet,” Bob speaks up, coming to Rooster’s defense, patting his mouth down with a napkin. 

Every pilot at the lunch table snap their heads to Bob, intrigued by his decision to join in on the conversation.

Bob clears his throat, trying his best to not mind everyone’s eyes on him. “It looks like she was careful enough to pack something healthy for him, plus it’s the correct portion size to fill someone of his stature too. My momma—she uh, always said making food for someone should be considered a love language in itself.” Rooster smiles at him appreciatively, in which Bob timidly returns the gesture. 

This had to be the most the quiet pilot has ever contributed to a conversation, and it causes a stir amongst everyone having their lunch break. Bob’s shared perspective makes everybody think to themselves—When was the last time someone packed them a lunch?

The rowdy table of aviators has fallen quiet, until Hangman decides to speak up first. 

“Hey so, you and your girl,” he starts. Across from him, Coyote is desperately trying to catch his best friend’s attention, making faces at him, begging him to stop his sentence there. 

“Have you guys thought about havin' a third?” 

At first, Rooster doesn’t react. He just absently looks ahead at Fanboy, who starts sweating bullets, as if he was the one who asked the question.

Everyone else at the table pretends to be busy, deciding to watch the scene unfold from the corner of their eye, silently chewing on their food. 

It’s spine chilling—the way Bradley starts to slowly twist his head to face Hangman. For a second, Natasha expects his head to spin all the way around, like the girl from the seventies horror film, The Exorcist.

“If I wasn’t freshly healed, I would mash you into Payback’s potato salad to the point no one could detect what chunk is Jacob Seresin and what chunk is a piece of potato,” he warns, coldly—causing Payback to drop his fork at the imagery.

"..So that's a no."

"It's a no." Bradley reiterates.

“Now where did you find a girl like her?” the familiar voice fills his ears.

Bradley knows exactly who it is, smiling to himself as Maverick slips onto the bar stool besides him. “Not sure, but I sure feel lucky.” 

“Two beers then?” Penny asks, seeing the two men wait together. 

Maverick nods, smiling politely at her before looking over to where Rooster has been staring off at. 

Across the bar, you’re laughing along with the rest of the team. Each person has a rose tucked behind their ears, which you individually placed. This is your first time meeting his team, and you wanted to make a good impression, bringing everyone a flower as a thank you for looking after Bradley when you’re not around. The scene makes Bradley’s chest warm. 

“She reminds me of dad.” Bradley quietly confesses, recalling the times his father brought his mother flowers to show his love. Bradley might be a carbon copy of his father physically, but you act more like Goose in every other way. 

If this was a couple years ago, this would’ve made Bradley feel sad. Back then, any mention or reminder of his parents made him itch in discomfort, it was a sore spot for him for awhile. But that was until you came into his life. 

You were unlike anyone Bradley’s ever dated. At first you were shy about it, not wanting to scare him away with the unusual way you took care of your partners. 

But after a while, he noticed that you began to buy him flowers at any occasion. You even made an effort to open the door for him instead, refusing to follow the rules of ladies first. And you insisted on driving the Bronco, convincing him that he deserves to be a passenger princess too. 

Bradley came to a quick understanding that you weren't doing it to people please, no. You did it simply because you felt like it, it was effortless the way you loved him. 

At first, it was strange for him, being looked after like that. Bradley wasn't used to receiving gentle treatment. But with time—he learned to love the dynamic of your relationship, because it reminded him of his parent’s marriage. You took care of him the way four year old Bradley remembered Goose took care of Carole. 

“Maybe he sent her your way, kid.” Maverick smiles, seeing the resemblance as you hook Hangman under the flap of your arm, messing up his perfectly combed hair.

And to their surprise, Hangman lets you do it, smiling ear to ear as everyone laughs harder, holding onto their stomachs. “I’m never the best at advice but,” Maverick chuckles. “..you should consider putting a ring on that, she’s special.” 

“I plan to.” Bradley confirms, reaching into his pocket, holding onto the fuzzy box, containing a engagement ring inside.

He could spend the rest of his life with you too.

gif credits

update- happy to announce that this blurb turned into a series, read more on babybear and bradley here.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

taglist: @pono-pura-vida @teaminator @alana4610 @angellwingsss @nataddz @deliriousfangirl61 @lonelysoul50 @bookchik26 @little-wiseone @blueoorchid

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster fluff #top gun rooster #top gun fic

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/747721307928559616/re-747330342209404928-every-time-a-discussion?source=share

I wouldn't even make this purely about oversensitivity - I've seen fic writers refuse to tag, say, breakup because they think it would be a Good Experience (tm) for fans of the ship in question to read it (because they often think it's Problematic in some brain-wormed way), or they just think their writing is so good or so "socially important" that people who would normally avoid this commonly tagged trope should have to experience it anyway, "it's good for you" etc. and then melt down when people have the predictable reaction that something that seemed to be billed as a fluffy romance was anything but, and of course, these people's social statements are never as deep and sophisticated as they think they are. These people are weirdly, often very outspoken about the need for Content Warnings in basically any other context.

Obviously, I don't want to say that anything other than major archive warnings are a requirement to tag (and I mean, even those aren't required, you can use CNTW), or that you're required to indicate a breakup will happen if it's a big spoiler or something.... but this wasn't just that, it was deliberately false advertising the fic as something it wasn't bc they thought it would be morally edifying or something for people who dislike that trope to read it.

I like fanfiction and I'm not going to say it can never be effectively used to convey Important Ideas (tm) .... but I do think if you are going to take this attitude and especially if you're over the age of 15 or so, and especially if you're then going to have a meltdown and accuse people of "harassment" for disagreeing with you when the readers are predictably not happy, you need to consider that perhaps fanfiction is not the medium for you. Maybe write original fiction instead.

I don't know why it's so hard for some to understand that people tend to be more allowing for a story not being as happy or fluffy as they expected when the story isn't about characters they're already attached to, especially when they're in a space that's often about seeking out specific outcomes that the original work didn't give them. Like I'm sorry there's often a double standard between fanfic and original fic in this way, but it exists for a way.

But also, none of these fanfic writers I've seen do this (and this sounds niche I know but I've seen it several times in different fandom) ever actually have Takes that are remotely original or startling or groundbreaking, lol, such that it's worth misleading people because they "need to hear." It's always like.... cool, I saw this take for the first time on a Tumblr post in 2017/from someone in my women's studies class in 2010, and I thought it was a bad shallow take then and still do.

Interestingly, the people who genuinely have really interesting and unusual and thought-provoking takes that they use fanfic to express feel no need to tag it inaccurately, feel no desire to force it on people who don't want to read it. Wonder why.

--

Hah. I too have seen this silly behavior many times.

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It's just that... you don't really get along all that well, do you? At least, that's what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers (very vague, im sorry, but you'll see), language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I know this trope is overdone, but, I wanted to do it a little... idk, different, I suppose. I've never written Joe like this either, so we'll see how this is going to go. This is part one (of five, you know me) and I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 2.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

Oh no.

Joe was going to royally fuck everything up. There was no question about it. You were one hundred per cent absolutely convinced that Joe was going to do a bad job. So, so bad. The flat out worst, actually.

Joe hadn’t the faintest idea of where to begin, of how to go about it, of what it all entailed.

It made you feel a little superior, which was nice. This felt like a competition you were going to win, even though you understood none of this was meant to be competitive. In fact, it would actually be considered to be bad taste and maybe a little tacky to even pretend like it was a fight for you to win, but you couldn’t help it.

“Are you sure, Poppy... I don’t want to, like, but... are you sure? Joe?”

Poppy laughed, said, “He’ll do fine,” and Mark followed up by slapping a firm palm to his shoulder, saying, “He’ll figure it out, just like you will,”

“Oh no need to worry about me, I got this,” and you couldn’t help but look at Joe, sharp and focussed. Almost challenging, in a way, but you meant it jokingly. Hoped that maybe Joe would soften a little because he never really seemed to let his guard down. Not around you, anyway.

But Joe just shrugged, kept his face entirely neutral, and your jokes fell flat which immediately made everyone feel awkwardly tense.

It wasn’t a huge secret that you and Joe didn’t really get along all that great, but Jesus, could this man be any stiffer in this moment of joy? This evening of good news and important questions and celebrations? The inner peacekeeper within you couldn’t stand it. You just wanted everyone to get along and be on the same page, but the distance Joe somehow seemed to really force in between you kind of ruined all of that every single time that you’d all hang out together.

When you’d be in larger companies, it’d be easy. You could stay at opposite ends of the room and sort of ignore each other. You’d say hi, you’d be cordial and polite, but you just... weren’t each other’s people. Which made no sense. Mark was your best friend and his fiancé Poppy had naturally become such a good friend of yours too, so why was her best friend this... big old awkward weirdo?

What a stupid way to end the evening, and one that started so blissfully pleasant. When you’d walked into Mark and Poppy’s place around dinner time, you could’ve never predicted the outcome of it all. Though, in hindsight, you didn’t know why you hadn’t expected it, because it made total sense. It really did. Mark and Poppy were going to tell their families about this, and you knew they wouldn’t ask any questions because, this obviously was inevitably going to be the way it was going to go.

“Won’t Poppy be joining us?” you let your coat slide from your shoulders before you hung it over the back of a dining chair as you looked around the place. The table was set for two, not three.

“Pop’s taken Joe out for a meal,” Mark said from the kitchen, and you felt a little guilty at the little marble of relief that reared its little head up. You loved Poppy, honestly you did. She was the perfect girl for Mark, they were the perfect couple. Two peas in a pod. Fucking gorgeous and so, so sweet... but you were too alike in all the wrong ways. Both unbelievably stubborn and potentially hot-headed in the wrong moments, so sometimes you’d butt heads with each other. You held strong opinions and there would be times where you’d find yourselves at the exact opposite ends of a spectrum, willing to die in the battle of trying to convince the other that you had it at the right end.

There had been many nights where you would practically be screaming over the kitchen table about something so fantastically meaningless with Mark in between you, silently eating his meal, not even really paying attention to what either of you were going on about.

Mark sort of loved it. Loved you. But really loved Poppy. Said he found the version of you that wanted to sleep with him which he claimed was all he’d ever wanted. That always made you cringe; made you tell him to fuck off and stop pretending that you weren’t practically siblings at this point.

Having dinner with just Mark at their place wasn’t what you’d expected when Mark had invited you ‘round, but it was so welcome.

Whenever it was you and Mark by yourselves, you’d start the evening like the adults you were, would complain about work, talk about all sorts of civilized things, have a glass or sensible slightly more expensive wine, and ask how each other’s parents were doing.

But by the end of the night, you’d feel like you were 17 at a house party where the one 18-year-old brought a bunch of shitty piss-coloured liquor, room temp cider in plastic 2 litre bottles and blue WKD that would leave everyone’s mouth stained. There’d be an urge to fucking trash the place like the place didn’t actually belong to either one of you, and you’d rummage through kitchen cabinets to make stupid meals at midnight after whatever vegan bullshit Mark cooked up for dinner that hadn’t filled you properly. Suddenly, Mark would forget he hadn’t eaten meat in years and go for a kebab with you.

You loved those nights.

Poppy hated those nights, because that was the Mark she didn’t know or understand. She’d find you both drunk of your tits, flinging Wii remotes dangerously close to expensive furniture pieces (where the fuck did you even find a Wii, Mark?!) grunting like you were the Williams sisters playing Wembley.

Whenever Poppy would try to tell Mark off for sort of letting go for a hot second, Mark would throw it right back in her face and go, “Pop, go have your fancy martinis with Joe – go eat a million oysters with him, us peasants here will be fine with our grey meats and questionable white sauce,” and you’d go, “Ew, shut up,” and apologise to Poppy through a mouthful of cheap fast food, and Mark would be giggling like a little school girl.

Poppy didn’t like that version of Mark, but that was the Mark that you loved and even though you knew this evening was just meant to be a quick catch-up on a work-night, you hoped you’d get to see at least a little of your Mark.

"She's taken him to Bob Bob Ricard to ask him an important question," Mark said as he set down filled plates full of beautiful colourful vegetables that honestly smelled amazing.

"I thought you guys were already engaged? You know, to each other?" you joked and made Mark snort.

"It's got to do with that though,"

"Oh no, is this, are you going to become a throuple? God," you slumped your shoulders. "I should've totally seen this coming," and before you could carry on Mark punched you in the arm with far too much force.

"No, you dick, she's asking him to be her maid of honour... sort of, but like, man of honour, I guess,"

"Oh my God," you pouted because honestly, that was kind of adorable. "Will he be, like, her little pageboy?"

You envisioned Joe in tails walking behind Poppy down the isle, holding the train of her dress or whatever pageboys actually did at weddings.

"Little more sophisticated than that, I think," Mark said before raising his full wine glass, prompting you to raise yours too.

"And you're here because I have a question for you too,"

Your eyes grew as you bit your lips slowly into your mouth when you realised where this was going.

"Oh... oh fuck, Mark, wait, this is a big deal," you put your glass down and jokingly fanned your face with your hands.

"Yes. Now, shut the fuck up and let me actually ask it,"

"No, what about your brother?" you interjected.

"My brother's a lazy sod who is not to be trusted,"

"He's going to murder me,"

"He won't," Mark grew more and more annoyed as you stalled him.

"He absolutely will,"

"Would you just..." Mark sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Let me please just fucking ask the question, all right? Jesus,"

You shuffled in your seat and sat up, batted your eyelashes and pursed your lips into a smile because this really was a big moment.

"Will you," Mark started, and then paused for a second before he finished, "be my best man - woman... person?"

"Oh my God. Yes."

You cheersed and just, couldn't stop cackling for a moment. What a bizarre moment in your friendship, it was all kinds of fantastic and lovely and so weird. You loved it.

You questioned what it even really meant to be someone's best man, and over dinner you both googled all the things that best men usually did. For the groom, but also, for the whole wedding. You were to give a speech, would look after the wedding rings, would have to make sure all the groomsmen - and obviously the groom himself - were all dressed and ready in time for the actual ceremony and, last but not least... the stag do.

You were so up for the job.

Deep diving into this project was the perfect distraction from the mundane boring structured routine your life had fallen into.

Halfway through dinner Mark received a text from Poppy, saying that Joe had said yes. She sent a picture of Joe with a cute pursed smile and crinkly eyes, holding up a beautiful blush pink card that read the question, "Will you be my Honour Attendant?" in one hand, and a flute of bubbly champagne in the other.

"Oh," you frowned at your friend. "Why didn't I get a fancy card? Or a fancy dinner?"

Mark put his phone down and and shrugged, just said, "That's not our style," and dismissed you completely.

It was the beginning of what started with you dramatically exclaiming, "Do I not deserve a little luxury?" and ended with you doing tequila shots by the sink in the kitchen.

Yea, Mark was right. This was more your style.

It was just after 10 when the front door opened and Poppy walked in, closely followed by Joe.

A small moment of heys and hellos, followed, and then welcome-home kisses from Mark and Poppy, and slightly awkward eye-contact between you and Joe.

Joe looked sort of stupidly well put together. All polished. He looked wildly overdressed next to you, and it made you feel like a slob. And you knew you were older, not by much, but you were definitely older than Joe was, which really should mean something, but Joe was taller, and definitely richer, and... all of it made you feel like a child.

"You're gonna be Mark's maid of honour?" Poppy squealed, all excited, practically bouncing on her feet after she'd hugged you.

"Nope," you smiled widely, "You're looking at Mark's best man,"

Poppy grinned and shot eyes towards Joe.

"See? I told you. You kind of have to go by Maid of Honour," and Joe laughed before scrunching up his nose in defeated, going, "Yea, well..." and you saw Joe look at his best friend and just turn so incredibly soft for her. Like she was the only good thing in his life, like he truly, really truly, loved her with all his might.

It was almost disgustingly sweet, and you wondered if there was ever going to be a line Joe could cross with Mark.

You could easily cross the line with Poppy. You would never forget the look in her eye when you'd fallen asleep on Mark and he'd just hugged you for a little bit. It was the hard way to learn that Poppy was a normal person with normal boundaries and you totally understood. Of course. You wouldn't want anyone just falling asleep on your boyfriend - not that you had one - either.

But when it came to Mark, he was just very.... whatever, about Joe.

You were so sure that, if Poppy were to fall asleep in Joe's arms, and Joe would cuddle her for a second, Mark would just be like, "Are you having a good nap, babe?"

Sometimes Joe would invite Poppy to go to insane award shows over seas and Mark wouldn't even care that they'd share a hotel room.

Mark was made of trust. It was a little wild, you thought. Especially when, look! Look at those eyes! Look at what Joe's eyes were doing! He was literally turning into a puddle in front of everyone as he looked at his best friend.

"Fine, I guess," Joe comically rolled his eyes at his new title. Maid of Honour Joe Quinn, who hadn't yet taken his coat off which was weird because you were all stood around the kitchen island and he was still in his coat. What a way to keep the yea-I-don't-want-to-be-here vibes alive. Felt real great, this.

The defeated acceptance of Joe to whatever was happening made you jokingly ask Poppy if she was sure having Joe as her maid of honour was the best idea.

The joke had fallen flat, but Poppy erased it immediately by clapping her hands together right in front of her face, all erratic and excited, her grin quite literally splitting her whole face open.

"Oh my God, it's gonna be so fun," Poppy predicted as she shook tensed fists in celebration and you couldn't help but smile at her.

"It's brilliant actually, you won't need to worry about the stag do at all, I'm sorry, but Mark, I won't be taking you to a strip club,"

Joe scoffed loudly, which... rubbed you a little wrong. Mark however, was about to argue you on it.

"I will, however" you quickly added as you laid a hand on Mark's shoulder, "get you so unbelievably wankered, you won't even fucking remember if we went to one in the first place," and that got him laughing loudly, head thrown back, showing off all his molars.

"Oh no, you're going to be bad at this," Mark then winced and made you gasp.

"No I won't be!"

"Maybe," Poppy started, then looked at Joe, "you could get together and help each other out?"

And Joe's eyes shot to you, and you saw every fiber in his being hesitate and think of a way to polite tell you no, that's all right actually.

"Listen," you started, and hoped to keep the atmosphere light and jokey, like it had been, even though neither you or Joe had joked or laughed together at all. You never did.

"I don't need Joe to keep me from losing the wedding rings," you helped Joe out. "I think we'll do just fine on our own – you wouldn't have asked us if you thought we were going to be shit at our jobs,"

Ever the mediator, you.

"Oh fuck," Mark squeezed his eyes shut, and tipped his head back a little.

"You just jinxed it!" Poppy said with huge eyes, but a secret smile playing underneath.

"What?"

"You're going to lose the wedding rings," Joe said.

"No I won't–"

"She's going to lose the wedding rings," Mark said to Poppy.

"If you fucking lose our wedding rings," Poppy spoke through her teeth with a threatening finger pointed at you, but couldn't keep her giggles in.

"Stop it, I'm not! I'm not going to lose your wedding rings!"

You wouldn't. Because you were going to beat Joe at this. You were going to do a better job, have more fun doing it and, you just decided, look better doing it too. And Joe was really fucking good looking, so that was really saying something.

And you wouldn't lose the wedding rings.

You wouldn't.

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610  @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #To Have And To Scold #part 1

[momojedi]

Bad Batch: Season 3

My Predictions

The final countdown has started and I'm not ready at ALL! Here are some of my predictions for Season 3 and what I could imagine happening!

1. Tech will be back.

Yes, the trope of dead characters returning is incredibly overused. But as many others I have a good reason to believe that Tech might still be alive. Think about it. It’s pretty likely Hemlock managed to locate Tech’s body considering he left us a huge breadcrumb: his goggles.

Why would Hemlock get rid of a genetically enhanced super soldier, especially considering he likely knows how to properly brainwash someone?

I too like to think that Tech might be the black armoured soldier in the front. It’s the same, if not similar armour as Clone X. Maybe these are part of a special type of clone assassins or troopers? Could they be the prototype for the Dark or Death Trooper?

It’s pretty plain to say that Tech will likely come back, though probably not as the Tech we know.

2. Crosshair & Omega Dynamic

We've seen Omega genuinely bond with all of the Bad Batch - except for Crosshair. Despite her trying her best to get to him every time they had the chance to interact, he denied her any kind of response. Whether that would be because he's just too withdrawn or because he refuses to let anyone see his vulnerable side, we don't know so far.

What we do know however, both based on pure logic alone and the fact that we've heard them both involved in a heated debate in the leaked trailer from the Star Wars Celebration last year, is that they likely will spending a lot of time together on-screen now that they're both captives of the Empire.

Hopefully Omega will be able to lift Cross' spirits, he doesn't seem to be doing very well from what we've seen!

3. Ventress will be an enemy!

Asajj Ventress! We all know and love her, so naturally it's incredibly nice to find out that she'll be returning to the screens for the final season of the Bad Batch! Despite they're naturally being some raised eyebrows considering her fate in the Dark Disciple book, I'm curious to see in what way they'll connect the stories!

However, seeing as Ventress could rather be classified as an anti-hero rather than a full on hero, I believe that she won't be helping the Batch but rather fighting them in order to get to what she wants - as she likes to do.

Perhaps she'll end up cooperating when she realises there might be no other solution, but I strongly doubt she'll be any help to them when it comes to following their personal goals.

4. The Fall of the Clone Rebellion

It's sadly no secret that given the events of Rebels and the three remaining clones Rex, Gregor & Wolffe, it's very likely the rebellions aka rescue of the clones didn't go as initially planned.

I could imagine this being explained a bit clearer in the finale, perhaps even leading up to a great fight against the Empire in the end. We can't forget that the series mainly revolves around a rogue batch of clones, so the thought that it might also go out with a clone-centric subject, especially such a big one, isn't necessarily far-fetched.

5. The End of the Mission

And finally, my most tragic prediction: The end of the Bad Batch.

The writers have been making it very clear that season 3 will likely be the darkest season of the show which unfortunately leads me to think that, as much as I'd want it not to be the case, the finale will lead to the ultimate end of Clone Force 99.

I suspect the series to end with the batch ending up together in some way, as the original five, and landing in a tricky life-or-death situation. Perhaps they'll be stuck in a crashing ship with a one-person escape pod or maybe they'll be facing a threatening figure such as Sidious, leading to the decision to sacrifice themselves in order to protect Omega.

Either way, despite season 3 likely becoming a tragic rollercoaster of emotions, I'm glad we had the chance to experience the epic story of the Bad Batch. It's sad to see them go and although these characters have become like a family not only to me, but to many other fans, let's enjoy our last moments with them and let them go out with a bang!

#star wars #clone wars #bad batch #bad batch season 3 #bad batch s3 #the bad batch #the clone wars #clone force 99 #star wars the bad batch #star wars the clone wars #star wars clone wars #tbb

[descendant-of-truth]

Y'know what maybe I'm not done talking about Journeys queercoding actually. maybe I do wanna work out my literary analysis muscles for the sake of Pokemon protagonists. why not

To clarify, this isn't about me personally enjoying the ship between Ash and Gou. I do enjoy it, but I'm making an argument for potentially deliberate queercoding in the writing, I'm not necessarily just here to gush (though that may be a side effect)

I'm also a firm believer that actions or behaviors that we typically think of as romantic are only made romantic if that's how the people involved feel about it. I don't think romance is the only possible way to interpret their relationship.

But when it comes to predicting where a story might be going next, or figuring out what the writers are intending to hint at us, I gotta pull out my textbook of Romantic Tropes first to see what fits the bill.

And I'm sorry, but even if it's not the intended interpretation, you can't include all of these scenes:

...and assume no one in your audience will think there's anything romantic happening here.

Of course, those are just the obvious visual interactions between them that can come off as romantic, to say nothing of the symbolic visual hints; the no less than four rainbows they've been under (one of which was reflected in Gou's eye), the two sets of heart-shaped pokemon that swam past them in a single episode which also had them falling under a rainbow, stuff like that.

But even all of that is pretty surface-level stuff. If the writing doesn't support a queer reading very strongly, then my argument for the queercoding being particularly intentional would fall flat.

Thankfully, the writing does support a queer interpretation, so I'm in the clear! Since breaking this part down will take a lot longer, I'm putting it under a cut.

So, right off the bat we've got the basic setup for the show. For the first time, the focus is primarily on Ash and one other person, as opposed to two or more people... despite having a third person in Chloe, who could easily make this into a trio dynamic, considering she's friends with Gou from the start. But they choose instead to make the core of the show about Ash and Gou.

This is even reflected in promotional material, where they'll often be placed closer to each other than Chloe:

Them being roommates is something I usually bring up as a joke, but it is worth noting anyway simply because it's another way the writers have decided they're going to spend almost all of their time together when they really didn't have to.

But now we gotta get into the real Writing Choices(TM) that are the meat and potatoes of this analysis, such as: making brief allusions to the idea that they might like other guys, too

One way to build up a character's orientation is to show them being attracted to people in shorter instances before giving them a main love interest. Think Luz from The Owl House; she had expressed attraction to both boys and girls before she got a girlfriend or started wearing a bi pin.

Likewise, this is Ash when he's thinking about Leon after seeing him battle for the first time:

I kid you not, he keeps up this blush and zoned-out expression for a solid minute, so caught up in thinking about how cool Leon is that he doesn't even think to eat the scones in front of him.

Now, Ash is a person frequently characterized by his love for food, and in previous episodes he had expressed a particular adoration for Galar scones, so this is pretty unusual behavior for him.

So unusual that it's. literally never happened before, to the best of my knowledge?? I don't think it takes much analyzing to realize that, even if it was brief, you could easily take this as Ash having a celebrity crush on Leon.

(There's even pink flowers in the background but that's probably less important)

Meanwhile with Gou, his "setup crush" in this scenario would be Horace. These two have a whole episode dedicated to their first meeting and the bond they forged, and how that turned bitter on Gou's end when he gets stood up right as he thought he was finally making a friend.

What sets this up for a romantic interpretation is largely the framing of things towards the end of the episode:

"Why do I keep thinking of him" is historically not the most platonic thing you could be bitterly thinking to yourself while you remember stargazing with someone, even if I do stand by my statement earlier of nothing being inherently romantic by itself

The end of the episode also implies that the feeling is mutual, if this shot is anything to go off of

(It's just a very shoujo manga-esque frame okay there's no way I wasn't going to point it out)

And the ending scene is two Celebies looking down happily at the two of them while the narrator talks about how pokemon form "many different kinds of bonds"

Many kinds of bonds, huh? Wonder what he could possibly be implying there

Okay so we've got orientation buildup, next in line is this. suspiciously consistent trend of characters who are close to Ash telling Gou to take care of him, or even going out of their way to test him to make sure he's good enough to be his rival or friend.

Gou himself even echoes the sentiment completely unprompted once, which says even more to me that they're trying to make a point out of this:

And here's the thing. None of the other companions have ever undergone this sort of treatment. Nobody questioned whether or not Ash's friends were good enough to hang out with him before, so why now? Why Gou? What makes him different?

Kiawe is relatively easy to explain because (from what I can tell) he's just Like That about rivalries, but why the addition of describing a rival as "the person closest to Ash"? Why does Gary suddenly care about the quality of Ash's buddies when that was never really a concern for him before?

Well gee I don't know about you guys but to me, this feels like the trope where someone's friends and family all start scouting out the guy they're interested in (or who is interested in them) to make sure they won't like, break their heart or something. And despite my best efforts, I'm struggling to see how this wasn't the writers' intention behind these plotlines.

Gou telling Ash's mom that he'll look after Ash on two separate occasions as opposed to the initial one also feels like an easy parallel to someone promising their love interest's parents that they'll be a good partner.

To my understanding, that isn't traditionally something friends also have to promise, even if there's more justification here as Ash and Gou are traveling around and getting into chaotic situations regularly.

So, with all this in mind, it kind of reframes the stuff I mentioned earlier, doesn't it? The blushing, the hand-holding, the spin hug that I'm never getting over, the frequent appearance of rainbows and the heart shaped Pokemon (Luvdisc if you were wondering)... it feels a lot more intentional once you take into account the bigger themes in the writing.

And once you start looking, it keeps piling up. The way Gou hurriedly says that he totally didn't want to help Ash out or anything after Scorbunny gives him a knowing look, like how most tsundere tropes tend to play out:

Or the specific way Gou is taken aback by one of Ash's compliments before trying to play it off by looking cool, only to be comically shocked when Ash gets distracted by something else:

I could go on but I'm running out of image space and I think you get the idea.

Ash's side of this whole thing is admittedly a lot more subtle than Gou's (*cough* because he's arospec) which is why I haven't gone over it much - my aim with this post was not to go too far into speculation territory - but we at least have marketing on our side for that

Gee Ash how come Animedia let you feed Gou two pastries

Anyway, in conclusion: I ran these two through the literary queerometer and the results were positive, thanks for coming to my TED talk

#pokemon #pokeani #anipoke #pokemon journeys #ash ketchum #pokemon gou #journeyshipping #satogou #analysis #meta #Can you tell I started this at a reasonable nighttime hour and finished at 3am #XD #TAKING THESE SCREENSHOTS TOOK SO LONG #especially since I had to backtrack and edit for a lot of them #Finding the animedia posters in decent quality wasn't exactly a cakewalk either

[ishcliff]

canto V speculation/spoilers, featuring discussion of moby dick and lots of guessing.

a note that with my predictions, i am just spitballing here.

still fascinated with the fact that queequeg is a former member of the middle. i would assume she was one of the more skilled members as well, even if only just to play off her original counterpart's position as nobility in his tribe. lest we forget his strong proficiency in harpooning. i wonder if we will have ishmael reference queequeg in being instrumental to her skills with a harpoon?

given ishmael mentioning in the blubbering toad's logs having someone long ago comfort her while crying over something, i have to wonder if this was queequeg, and if queequeg ended up being a mentor to her. the way the members of the middle are referred to as either "big brother" or "big sister" makes me think of a shield/protector sort of role being advertised by them, even if it ends up being a farce. perhaps queequeg had some disillusionment with the operations of the middle? a contrast between the middle's (probable) brutality and queequeg's (if we go by the source) kind-hearted nature?

i think often on source queequeg's sentiment that his exposure to the white christian world have become a taint in his soul, and that he feels unworthy of returning to his home. the world of the city being, for better and definitely for worse "aracial" makes much of the relevance and themes of moby dick a little tricky to translate, imo. for those who might not have read moby dick, my favorite thing to say about it is: "the whale is white for a reason."

schools in the united states often teach that the lesson about race to take away from moby dick are simply not to judge another person by the color of their skin, but that is a vast oversimplification. moby dick was released pre-civil war and asserted that the very concept of whiteness is an inherent evil. it condemned slavery, argued against the merits of the very-popular-at-the-time "scientific" school of phrenology. most importantly, it suggests that the glorification of whiteness as a designation of purity and the reason to guide the "lesser non-white races" is the source of all of christianity's evils. with this in mind, i'd like to bring up that sometimes people nowadays make a show of "wow, moby dick was a commercial failure, but now it's considered one of the greatest american books ever written. thank goodness we discovered it." what actually happened is that moby dick was critically panned in virtually all liberal (in the classical/socialist sense) media circles, but celebrated in socialist ones. you can probably guess why.

perhaps that gives context to my skepticism of how queequeg will be handled in a thematic sense. some people point to queequeg in moby dick as a progenitor of the harmful "noble savage" trope, and i don't think that's entirely without basis. but the difference between moby dick and many other media with "noble savages" is that queequeg was created as a philosophical counter to the very notion of white (and christian) supremacy, whereas the majority examples use this to show the virtues of white society. there is also the fact that queequeg and his fictional home were based on actual indigenous polynesians whom the author, herman melville, actually lived with for several years and maintained strong friendships with. i personally believe that matters.

so how will project moon translate that to queequeg? i don't really know. perhaps her home was a smaller syndicate in the backstreets. maybe she's even an outsider, especially given that ishmael has spent a lot of time exploring the outskirts. ishmael seems to be a blend of the character and a biographical account of herman melville's well-recorded life and philosophical quandaries. i am definitely curious and trying to be optimistic.

there's also the presence of tanya, who was obsessed with strength and survival of the fittest to the point of distortion. maybe she will end up being retroactively made a foil to queequeg? human!tanya in a flashback, maybe? i think she can be a very interesting point to develop PJM's take on queequeg, since queequeg abandoned the middle entirely.

so yeah. needless to say. i have been Pondering. there's a lot left to discover and understand, and i'm excited to see where they take it.

#limbus company speculation #canto v spoilers #lcb ishmael #lcb queequeg