#i started reading the first chapter and i think its brill

[pickinglilahs]

My One True Love... Drarry Ch. 3

AO3 link, Chapter 1 Ch 2; Ch 4 (1.7K) What do you think so far?

Harry devoured the next two books just as quickly as he had the first three.

By dawn, he was knocking on Hermione's door and dragging her back to the library—after she made him wait the ten minutes it took for her to get ready, of course—.

Armed with four books this time, he let her drag him to breakfast. She also made him promise not to skip lunch as she put toast on the plate in front of him.

He wrinkled his nose at her but conceded. She was helping him with this, so the least he could do was let her mother him a bit.

When he had obediently choked down the two slices of toast and jam, Hermione asked, "Have you thought about Malfoy's question?"

Harry paused in pulling out one of his new books. He hadn't. In fact, he had purposely avoided thinking about it.

"You don't have to. He said he could do the project without your help. But," her gaze found his, "for what it's worth? I think you should."

He blinked at her. "Really? Why?"

She shrugged, the hint of a smile playing at her lips as she turned back to her breakfast, "I think it would be good for you, especially after everything. It might help you come to terms with what happened. Find closure."

Harry stared at her bewildered. Work with Malfoy? Good for him?

"I'll think about it."

She nodded without looking at him and they fell silent, both contemplating the possibilities. Though, they both had very different ideas on how they thought this could go.

~~~

Harry went back and forth on it. One minute he was ready to walk up to Malfoy and agree. The next, he never wanted to see the blond git ever again.

After Hermione brought it up, Harry suddenly couldn't stop thinking about him. Or seeing him for that matter.

He sat in front of Harry in most of their shared classes—which were all but two on his schedule—. The, admittedly small, eighth-year table had them sitting closer during meals than they ever had, seeing as their house tables had been on opposite ends of the hall. They even sat near each other in the common room thanks to its limited seating.

It started to feel like sixth year all over again. Harry watching Malfoy, waiting for him to do something.

Granted, this Malfoy seemed like a completely different person. This Malfoy was quiet, relaxed, more than willing to let his friends carry the conversation, content to be an observer. He was also... kind?

Harry watched with his own eyes as Malfoy stopped to help a young Slytherin who had dropped—Harry was almost certain they had been jinxed—all their books down the stairs. He even saw Malfoy helping Goyle with schoolwork and fixing Parkinson's hair with a gentleness he had never seen in the boy before.

After a week of watching, Harry relented. If something went wrong, no one could say they hadn't tried.

So, Sunday afternoon, Harry pulled together all of their Gryffindor courage and walked up to Malfoy in the library.

"Okay."

Malfoy blinked at them. As did his friends who sat around the table with him. "Okay?"

Harry kept their back straight and chin up. "Okay, I'll help you."

Understanding lit Malfoy's eyes as a smile crawled across his face. "Brill! Thank you! Um... We could start tomorrow? After Herbology?"

Harry nodded. "Great. See you then." They turned and walked away, not letting his shoulders slump until none of the Slytherins could see him.

Former Slytherins?

Shaking the thought, Harry went back to their room with four new books. They were steadily making their way through the entire LGBT section. Hermione kept saying that, at this rate, he would have them all read by Christmas.

~~~

There were 2 1/2 hours between Herbology and dinner.

2 1/2 hours in which Harry was going to accompany Malfoy to an undisclosed location to talk about scars.

The scars that Harry had given him.

Great.

As it turned out, Malfoy planned on working in the library. This was a huge relief to Harry, but also made him worried for a whole different reason. He had also offered for Hermione to join them, in case Harry had another episode.

In the end, the three of them sat in a secluded corner, Hermione and Harry listening attentively as Malfoy mapped out his project and what he hoped Harry could help him with.

"Essentially, you didn't mean to hurt me. I can feel that, even now. What I want to know is why. Why does intent make a difference? Specifically, so long after the fact. To start, I was wondering if you could tell me what you remember."

Seeing the look on Harry's face, Malfoy quickly backtracked.

"You don't have to, of course. I know it isn't exactly a... pleasant memory. But anything you could tell me would be useful. Like, where you even learned that spell, and why you thought of it since you clearly didn't know what it did."

Harry took a deep, shuttering breath and nodded. "Right, yeah. Should-Should probably start with-with that. Um..."

He looked to Hermione, who had that sour look she got whenever the Prince's book was mentioned.

"So, S-S-Snape ha-ha-had this book- had this book from-from when h-he was in school. The-the-the book we were using that-that term. A-and he left it in-in-in the-the supply cupboard. And-And since I didn't think I cou-could take potions cause I-I only got an E- an E on my OWLS, I didn't have a- have a book. So-So I ended up with his- with his old book."

Malfoy was nodding along; taking notes without looking down, eyes trained on Harry. Hermione had taken their hand, squeezing gently to keep him present.

They took another shuddering breath.

"He-He-He had-had written-had written in it. Notes on-on-on the potions and-and things. Tips and-and tricks to-to-to make- to make them better."

Malfoy lit with understanding, "That's why you were suddenly so good at potions."

Hermione nodded. "I told him it was cheating but he wouldn't listen."

"Dumbledore needed information from-from Slughorn so-so I needed him to-to like me." Harry defended.

"What- No." Draco shook his head. "Never mind. So, this potions book, it had notes on the potions. What else?"

Nodding, "It-It had spells. Some I think he-he in-invented. And-and-and that-that one."

His breathing turned labored, and Malfoy backtracked. "So, you were using this book in potions to get on Slughorn's good side. It clearly worked. You were doing better than both Granger and I that year. I thought you were using some kind of enhancing potion or something. But it was only potions you got so much better in."

He paused; head tilted in consideration. "He took it back, didn't he? After the... incident? That's why you stopped being so good all of a sudden?"

Harry shook their head, "N-no. I-I hid it. In-In the Room of Requirement."

They all flinched.

After a beat, "Why didn't you go back for it?"

He shrugged, "I felt like... like it-it... betrayed me. It had-had helped me all-all year but then..."

Malfoy nodded. It made sense. He looked down at his notes, writing a bit more before, "What did it say? About the spell?"

The little color left in Harry's face disappeared. So quiet, Malfoy almost missed it, he whispered, "For enemies."

Eyes glazing over, Harry shakily pulled his wand from his pocket. Placing the tip to his temple, he pulled the memory free.

Hermione, quick as always, vanished the ink in Malfoy's pot and grabbed it; taking Harry's wrist to guide the memory into the small glass container. She set the now full pot down on the table absently, attention on Harry.

He was gone. Wand falling to the floor, hands over their ears, eyes shut tight. They were trembling from head to foot. Hermione pulled the Walkman from Harry's pocket, turned it on, and placed it over their hands. Slowly, carefully, she pulled his hands out from under the headphones and replaced them over top. When that was done, she retrieved his wand and set it on the table.

Then she turned to Malfoy.

He was sitting quietly, just watching. Upon her attention, he softly said, "I'm sorry. If I had known, I never would have suggested this in the first place. I swear."

She waved a hand at him, "I'm glad he's doing this."

He blinked at her, completely dumbfounded. "What?"

He must have heard her wrong. Surely dredging up the past like this, sending him into fits, was only hurting him.

"They need to process this. Need closure. To see that you've forgiven him and that he's allowed to make mistakes. Yes, it is going to be painful, but you need to clean a wound before it can heal properly."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, stunned. She was right, of course. That's why he chose this project in the first place. To come to terms with what happened. To find closure.

Malfoy re-read his notes, adding a few comments before packing them away. Hermione had already pulled out her Charms when Malfoy made to stand.

"You don't have to run away. I'm sure you have homework too."

Half standing, bag almost to his shoulder, he considered her. He glanced at Harry, who was rocking in their seat, eyes closed, and remembered what Hermione had said, 'to see that you've forgiven him and that he's allowed to make mistakes.'

He slowly sat back down. She nodded her approval at him and went back to her own work.

Dinner had just started by the time Harry came back to them. He took his hands from the headphones but left them on. After getting his bearings, they reached down to pull out one of their library books.

Malfoy didn't get a good look at the title but saw the rainbow cover. He tried not to be intrigued by that.

After another couple of minutes, Hermione finished the essay she was working on and started packing her things away. The other two followed suit and the three made their way to the Great Hall together.

At the table, Hermione sat in the seat beside Blaise, rather than leaving an empty space, with Harry on her other side. And Draco sat across from them, only one seat between him and Padma instead of two.

Padma raised an eyebrow at Hermione, but Blaise didn't blink. Harry left his headphones on but reached for a baked potato without being prompted to eat.

None of them saw the Headmistress' smile.

@bradley-95147-blog @shyshadows430

#Drarry #dmhp #hpdm #trans!harry potter #what even are tags

[jilyarchive]

Edge of Seventeen

Title: Edge of Seventeen Author: micster Rating: T Genre(s): Romance, Friendship, Drama Chapters: 27 Word Count: 130,707 Summary: Sixteen, almost seventeen year old Lily Evans is entering her 6th year at Hogwarts unsure of her place in the wizarding world. Outside conflicts are creeping into the castle, contaminating what used to be a safe and magical place, and she fears that she may be the only one who can see the storm on the horizon. A thoroughly unexpected friendship with Sirius Black is the catalyst for upheaval in Lily's life, as she discovers who she can truly trust, and finds allies who will help her face Voldemort and his followers in the war to come.

#outsider pov #slow burn #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #multichapter #drama #romance #hogwarts #rated t #y6 #friendship #user rec #its showing as me who's posted it again but i promise it was an external user rec #either way #i started reading the first chapter and i think its brill

[luxken]

rec some good castlevania fics luv

preferably ot3 but i will also happily accept trevor/alucard

u watch castlevania!!!!!! thats so seggsy of u honestly

abt the fics- i just got into the fandom😔😔 so ive just started reading the fics and i haven't seen that many yet. but here's a few from what i've seen that i think are cool

first summer fire by surveycorpsjean ;

it’s a summer romance fic abt alucard and trevor. it’s a one-shot around 20k. i love it a lot! i legit just finished it a few hours ago and it STILL won’t leave me alone. i just- the author uses devices and language rllyrlly well, and the simple yearning they feel hurts. but it’s also resolved so lovingly, like the author resolves it in a way that the castlevania script writers are too cowardly to do. so yea highly recommend this fic it lives in my head rent free

shade without colour by laquearia ;

it’s an ongoing fic (1/3 chapters) thats abt 3k words long. it hasn’t been updated for a few years but i dont care. they write trevor’ character so well, and they give him sm nuance i love it. there’s a hint of alucard/trevor but since its the first chapter there isn’t a lot going on. recommend this as well, its brills and im holding my breath on the author finishing it like skjshfjsfjshdgs idk what else to do w myself if i dont

so yea, when i meant i haven’t read a lot, i havent read a lot. im sorry there’s no alucard/sypha/trevor, i have some marked for later but i havent gotten to them yet😩😩 but when i have some more fics that i rlly like i’ll make another fic rec post and tag u😎😎

#greeny #asks #castlevania is so sex like jajdhfjsjdak

[maybeformepersonally]

Fic: from up here you can't beat the view (just watch me now)

Authors: kishere (@filisaceaf) & maybeformepersonally

Beta: @always-okay-katie

Artist: @kthnwss

Word Count: 22.6k

Rating: E / Explicit

Warnings: some slight internalised biphobia (it’s not a main plot point in the story) and brief mentions of Dan being bullied before the story starts. 

Summary: It's 2009 and Dan finds Phil on the internet when a well-meaning mate of his recommends him to a certain site she likes. Dan quickly becomes a fan: watching Phil's videos religiously and interacting with him on his socials. And, soon enough, Phil starts noticing him. 

A familiar enough story on the surface but here's the catch: Phil has never been involved with YouTube. Phil is a camboy.

Author Notes: We'd like to thank @phandombigbang for organizing this event and finally giving us the opportunity/excuse to write together that we had been searching for. We've been talking about this universe for a while and the Big Bang seemed like a great way to start the series with a bang so to speak. That does mean there are going to be other parts coming out in this series!

They always said it takes a village to raise a child and this is ours. I would love to thank our wonderful beta @always-okay-katie and our exceptional artist @kthnwss they dealt with our (reallyreallyreallyREALLY) erratic writing process and they are a blessing. We also have to thank the Phanfic Writing Discord (in particular @counting2fifteen and @sudden-sky) for alleviating some fears and looking over the fic along with the encouragement and support you have given.

Link to art: here!

(We don’t have enough words for how blessed we were to get these absolutely stunning art pieces to illustrate our story. The art is so ridiculously good guys, go show Kate some love and appreciation.)

[Read on ao3]

Chapter 1: sometimes you gotta try something new and that something new is a cam site

Dan could do this, he thought as he slowly hit the letters on his keyboard. 

Nicole had recommended the site when he’d been rolling on the floor of his room, going back and forth about finding men attractive. Again. He was bisexual, but he wasn’t sure just how bisexual he was. The occasional sneaked look in a locker room and some sweaty kisses at a party in the woods didn’t seem like enough to base wanting to have sex with guys on. 

“Have you ever even watched porn, Dan,” she had asked before laughing at him as he choked on the swig of Jack he had swiped from downstairs. Dad had been drinking more lately and wouldn’t notice the bottle had dipped low if he watered it down. He flipped her off and coughed a few more times to clear his throat. 

“You’re vile, Nikki,” he said, ignoring her as she gave him the finger in return. 

“Well? Have you,” she challenged, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, going from ‘funny Nikki’ to ‘serious, going-to-give-you-advice Nikki’.

“I mean... a little, but it didn’t really. You know,” Dan said, flustered as he didn’t make eye contact. “It didn’t feel… real.”

“It’s porn; there aren’t that many plumbing problems in the world. Have you tried live cams?”

“Live cams,” Dan echoed back hesitantly, feeling his nose wrinkle in confusion. He didn’t want Nikki to know he didn’t know what those were, but from the knowing looking on the girl’s face, he was failing. 

“Yeah. People like, film themselves getting off live and you can pay them for more private shit if you want,” Nicole explained. “I have a site I like sometimes. The girls on it are pretty hot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered, glad about the shitty Skype connection between here and America. “I’m not having an issue with hot girls though.”

Nikki rolled her eyes at him and stared at him. “You… could look for guys on there… Daniel.”

“Brill idea Nicole,” Dan sassed back. “Let the underaged boy try to find… something… on the porn site.”

“Adult cam site,” Nicole corrected immediately. “And you don’t have to pay. There are plenty of people who use it just because they are exhibitionists.” 

“I… maybe. Send me a link,” Dan said after thinking it over for a minute.

So here he was, three days later in a finally blessedly empty house. He was sitting in a shirt and some boxers as he slowly typed out the link into a Firefox window. Dan could have just clicked on the link, but that felt too definite. Typing it out himself gave him some sort of… plausible deniability. ‘Haha, what a mistype,’ he joked with himself as the page loaded and wow. 

That was a lot of naked skin. 

Like a lot of skin. 

Mostly tits, but he spied a few chests that looked like they could potentially belong to dudes. He clicked on the first one he saw and made a face. It was a little too hairy for his taste. Not that he was averse to a hairy chest. Maybe. He didn’t know what he wanted, really, but he knew it wasn’t older with an extremely hairy gray chest that had the kind of moans that he thought made porn so inauthentic. 

Dan huffed in disappointment and looked in the top left corner, finding a drop down menu. He clicked on it and blinked at the… staggering amount of choices on the site. BBW, Anal, Trans, and… Gay. There it was, that stupid label, in gaudy, yellow letters, waiting for Dan to click on it as his cursor hovered over it. He clicked on it and felt his body relax as he saw so many more options available to him, and scrolled. And scrolled. Clicked on a few streams and exited out but none of them felt right until him.

xoxoAmazingPhiloxox 

First of all, he was hot. Inky black hair and insane blue eyes that Dan kept looking into when he wasn’t looking at Phil’s hand squeezing himself through (of all things) Donkey Kong boxer-briefs. Dan realized after five minutes that his eyes weren't just blue; it was a kaleidoscope of blue, green, and yellow. Second of all, the username had a little star next to the name, which Dan assumed meant they were good at what they did. Dan certainly thought Phil was good at what he was doing. Phil was talking as opposed to sitting there and just moaning, which… kind of helped actually, even if he was answering questions from another viewer about why he chose those hideous pants. He didn’t even have his dick out yet, just squeezing the outline of his dick through his boxers and Dan was hooked like the other 1500 people watching the stream.

“Well bigduck71, thank you for the tip, sometimes, I just get hard playing video games. It’s not that I’m attracted to the characters,” Phil was explaining, breaking off to moan into his elbow, “it’s just that I imagine that someday I’m going to have a boyfriend. I’m going to have a boyfriend to cuddle up next to me while playing video games and then if we want, we can. You know.”

Phil looked shy for a brief moment, but he stopped talking to pull out his dick after a very generous (at least $10 seemed generous to Dan, it was his first time after all) tip and Dan felt himself go from half-hard to fully hard. Fuck. His dick looked so good. Dan wanted to kiss it because it was pretty, the way its head was red and looked shiny, and it looked girthy from how wide Phil’s fingers were stretched around it. No guy should have that pretty of a dick and face and body all together; it was going to give the rest of mankind a complex, Dan thought as he reached down and squeezed his own erection, letting out a whimper as Phil continued to speak.  

“If we want, I could push him down and kiss him. I don’t think I would rut against him immediately; I think we could just make out, me laying on top of him, and the sounds of the Sonic title screen playing in the background,” Phil broke off here to hum the opening from Sonic Mania. “And I would kiss him until his lips were swollen. Slide my hands slowly underneath his shirt and touch how warm his stomach and sides are. Wait until he’s grinding up into me and grind back against him. I hope he grabs my ass, to pull me against him. Like it’s a decent ass, right? It deserves a little grab?”

Phil turned around and showed off his ass. He gripped it, his nails digging into the pale flesh that was dotted with the occasional mole, pulling apart a miniscule amount. Not enough to expose his hole, but enough to tease and show what he wanted his imaginary boyfriend to do to him.

Dan estimated he had bigger hands than Phil. He could probably grip his ass well, he thought as his hand sped up against his dick. Dan came embarrassingly quick when Phil turned back around and he was staring into those multicoloured eyes. He was mortified at how fast he came and no one was even in the room with him to justify him feeling this level of mortification. Reasons why Dan’s a fail, Dan thought as he felt the come cooling on his hand. Coming to an emo talking on a shady cam site and Dan hadn’t even typed anything into the chat yet to let Phil know he was watching him.

He waited until his heart rate slowed down a bit before typing in a simple ‘thank you’ with a little heart emoji attached to it before closing out of the screen to go clean off his hand.

*

“So how did it go?” Nikki asked him a few days later on Skype. Dan shrugged which made her roll her eyes. “You didn’t even do it, did you? Wimp.”

Dan sighed and looked up to meet her brown, judging, judgy little eyes and nodded. “I did do it. It was...”

Dan trailed off, unsure of how much he wanted to divulge to her. Because he did jerk off and while Nikki was pretty chill, he didn’t want to gross her out either. Did he want to say how enlightening it was to see a guy who had such beautiful eyes he wanted to go swimming in them? Did he want to talk about how he hadn’t stopped thinking about the show the past three days and was going to try and find him again because his face kept popping up in Dan’s mind all the time? Did he want to talk about how reaffirming of his sexuality it was to know how insanely attracted he was to men and that it definitely wasn’t a phase?

“It was fine,” was what Dan went with. 

“Ahhhhh,” Nikki said, her face transforming into something teasing. Apparently his poker face had been slipping since he no longer had to use it on a daily basis to survive. “Dan’s got a crush.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Dan huffed, voice going embarrassingly high for a moment. He took care to speak at a normal pitch after that. “Just… I have a mild curiosity.”

“Sure, buddy. Sure,” Nikki said, her tone drawing the words out before diving into a tangent about how insanely hard one of the missions in Black Ops was, and how it had been kicking her ass.

*

The “mild curiosity” kind of becomes a thing: Dan will get horny and instead of just using his ‘wild imagination’ (thanks every teacher he had in primary school), he’d go on the live cam site if he needed something to visualize. He didn’t always go straight to Phil’s page to see if he was online; he does try and look at other camboys, but none of them keep his attention like Phil. Dan was pretty sure it was because he treated the audience like a regular audience, but he just happened to touch himself while talking and playing music. 

Dan was a bit obsessed with Phil’s accent; it was very Northern and different than the chav accent he heard at school from the wannabe gangsters. Like today for example, Phil was just talking about something random going on in his life and Dan wasn’t even watching him to see if he was touching himself. He was working through his maths homework and had his headphones in to just listen to Phil talk as he tried to remember what his completely unintelligible maths teacher had said during class. He gave up after a while and turned his attention to Phil’s show, cushioning his head on crossed arms as he laid on his stomach. 

“So today I filmed something for my class,” Phil was explaining on the webcam. “It’s kind of different but a couple of my mates really liked it.”

Phil broke off to laugh at something in the chat.

“No, no, tiittyfucker96 nothing like this. I don’t think I could look them in the eye if I showed them a recording of me doing this,” Phil said, idly twisting a nipple and letting out a laugh that trailed into a moan as he (assumingly) pinched his nipple harder. Dan never thought someone could be so care-free during sexual situations. He was constantly worried that someone would hear that he had been with a girl and say that his bisexuality was a phase or that he was faking being straight which made him nervous to be intimate with anyone, even his ex-girlfriend. So watching the way Phil’s eyes would flutter in enjoyment as he gripped himself, watching the way Phil would give choked off laughs as he read filthy comments? It… it made Dan want to gain that kind of confidence. 

Before he had fully thought through his actions, he was typing into the chat-box, lucky that the basic, no-payment level of being a site member still allowed for chat interaction with the cam-workers. 

‘how r u able to be so confident on camera?’ 

Dan waited after hitting send and felt himself start to grow antsy after a mere second. He had sent messages before, casual things like ‘is that muse in the background’ or simple thank yous after he’d come. He didn’t think he was going to get anything out of Phil, but then he heard his now familiar laugh, and when he looked up he saw Phil’s tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, something Dan shouldn’t be fixated on but he was rapidly learning that his fascination with anything and everything Phil didn’t make any sort of rational sense and his dick simply didn’t care. 

“Well Dennis, no Danis. Danis-snot-on-fire.”

Dan wanted to die. He had been noticed and for all the wrong reasons. Why did he use the worst username known to man? Now everyone probably thought he had a snot fetish or some shit. 

“Very creative username,” Phil chuckled, looking right at the camera and giving the world’s most awkward wink Dan had been on the receiving end of. Mainly because he was trying so hard to wink, tilting his head to the side and trying but only managing to blink. Dan muffled his laughter into his elbow because if he was laughing, his mum would know he wasn’t completely focused on his homework and come in to check on him, and he really didn’t want to explain why he was doing his maths homework shirtless.

“Watch out guys, it’s about to not be a sexy time for a moment. But to answer your question, Danis,” Phil said as Dan resisted the urge to throw himself out the window every time Phil called him the wrong name, “I get my confidence from all of you guys. It’s actually part of why I first started camming in the first place. When I first started, I was pretty awkward. Like I did bad angles and there were times I got so nervous that I’d uh. You know. Go soft. But everytime someone said something encouraging, it really helped boost my confidence to what’s in front of you now. I kind of just learned that the worst thing that will happen is you’ll have to try again. So yeah!”

Phil ended the talk with jazz hands.

Dan hated how he tracked the way Phil’s hands moved, imagining how warm they would feel in person. His maths homework sat uncompleted as he had himself a wank to the freckles he wanted to bite on Phil’s shoulders.

*

It only got worse with time. This… infatuation. He’d still search the site for new camboys sometimes, but he got bored easily, grew frustrated when he didn’t find what he liked. He knew what he liked, was the thing. He knew who he wanted. The problem was: he only had access to the open camshows Phil made, at the moment. 

There was a whole library of old camshows archived on the site, but it was locked for paying clients, and paying clients needed to have a credit or debit card and to be verifiably 18 or older, which Dan wouldn’t be for another month. And even then, he’d still need to get some kind of card. Which was way too much trouble just to get more porn, right? There was plenty of free porn on the internet. He didn’t need a paid membership. He didn’t.

But he wanted one, he really, really did. There were years worth of Phil camshows in there, plus some kink-themed clips, and special features like the superchat, and Dan craved. 

He tried to hold off his burgeoning interest, but soon enough he’d fallen into a rabbit hole of online sites where Phil interacted with his subscribers and answered questions and uploaded photos with funny commentary; fallen never to be seen again. He couldn’t stop scrolling, couldn’t stop reading his twitter, his #asks tag on tumblr, his dailybooth (especially his nakedbooths, which he posted whenever he hit a milestone), his answers on formspring (almost all of them were sexual, and fuck, Phil had a way with words).

He had now reached the point where his mind drifted automatically to Phil whenever he wanked, or even when he got turned on, like the two things went together, a Pavlovian response. He’d accrued quite the collection of Phil-specific fantasies, and all his old fantasies had now cast Phil in the starring role. And he’d become addicted to checking Phil’s socials more than was maybe reasonable.

Like now.

Dan refreshed tumblr at just the right time to see that Phil had answered a few asks. 

anonymous asked: how big is ur duck

amazingphil: [picture of a rubber duck next to a 50 cm ruler]

Dan couldn’t hold back a snicker at the response. He’d discovered that Phil was hilarious very soon after discovering that he was gorgeous, and though he mourned the loss of opportunity to get a Phil dick pic, he had to hand it to him. It was funny.

Dan clicked on the ‘amazingphil’ url to check if there were any more answers yet. Phil normally did a few at a time.

And today was no exception. 

anonymous asked: is it true that you did linguistics at uni?

amazingphil: it is! I’m an english language and linguistics graduate. sounds professional, huh? i got good grades and everything. i could totally tutor you if you’re having trouble with your homework, i’ll even bring out the glasses if you’re into it… (i’m into it)

anonymous asked: whats your favorite sex toy

amazingphil: oh, this is a hard one. mmm... probably my blue vibrator? tho the purple dildo that comes inside you gets a special mention too, maybe it’s that it’s new and i’m still super excited about it lol but if you saw that one camshow where i used it you saw how much fun i had with it ;) and i’ve used it a few more times already so...

Dan had seen that camshow. That thing was huge. And Phil had taken it like it was nothing, moaning and pushing back on it like he couldn’t get enough of it. Dan had come twice during the half-hour-long liveshow. Dan refreshed the page, and a new ask appeared.

anonymous asked: hav you tried bondage? i’d luv to tie u up ;)

amazingphil: i haven’t actually! but i might be up for it with someone i trust. but i’ve thought about it! it’s a hot fantasy. i’d like my partner to tie just my wrists the first time, to ease me into it, but a second time i think it could be fun to be spread eagled, wrists and ankles, back to the bed. i’d like to be on one of those four poster beds so that you could have my legs up in the air. i think i’d like to be fingered slowly when i can’t move away, teased a little and then fucked into the mattress while spread open like that with no friction on my cock so i can’t come until you’re done with me and then you get to decide how to make me come, i bet that’d drive me wild. i can get a bit needy in that kind of situation haha but that’s half the fun of it, yeah? that’s y’know, sth i think about sometimes :)

“Ngh.” Dan was suddenly very hard, his mind having taken a wild swerve into the gutter as soon as he’d clicked on Phil’s blog if he was being honest, but that took it to a whole new level. He wasn’t sure how true these were, but the idea that these were actually Phil’s fantasies, that this was what he thought about when he got off by himself, it always made it so much hotter for Dan, so much more effective. He wasn’t sure if it was just that Phil talked about his actual fantasies differently and he was picking up on it on some wavelength, or if he just got off to the idea of knowing something so intimate about someone he was attracted to.

He wanted more, so he refreshed the page again, barely resisting the urge to touch himself as he squirmed just a little on his seat.

The page refreshed, and there was a new answer.

anonymous asked: ur so hot i love ur cock i want to sit on it and ride u until u scream

amazingphil: mm… this cock? [gif of phil’s groin from the chest to his thighs, completely naked, he’s pumping his cock slowly, once, twice, the third time, as his fingers reach the head, a few drops of precome slide down his fingers, then the gif loops] yeah that sounds nice. but i think i could make you scream first... race you? ;)

“Fuck,” Dan breathed out, his own cock twitching sympatheticaly inside his pyjama bottoms. He reached down to squeeze it and couldn’t help but buck up into it, breathing ragged and mind already lost in the fantasy. How would it feel to sit on Phil’s lap, to tease him by rubbing against him, to have Phil finger him open and then kiss him while he slid down onto that pretty cock, feel it stretch him until he bottomed out and then stay still, perfectly, maddeningly still, until Phil couldn’t take it anymore and said “please, Dan,” and then to move up, feeling that cock dragging against all those hidden places, making fireworks go off behind his eyes, until he was almost all the way out, and then-

Dan had pulled out his own rock hard dick and was pumping it furiously, basically fucking his fist by this point, imagining himself bouncing on Phil’s cock, picturing how Phil would grab his ass, how he’d grip him by the thighs as he pushed him down into his cock, how he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking up into him, hips rising without even thinking about it. 

In the stark reality of Dan’s bedroom, he brought his hand up to pinch his own nipple and moaned; in his fantasy, it was Phil’s long, elegant fingers doing it, Phil’s fist around his cock as he fucked him, Phil leaving bite marks on his collarbones, telling him how fit he was, how good he felt, how much Phil wanted him, and just like that Dan was spilling into his hand and his shirt, pressing his mouth into the fleshy inner side of his bicep to muffle the whiny, breathy moans he couldn’t quite keep in, and the pleasure came in waves down his body, had him writhing in his computer chair for several long moments that felt like a short eternity, and left him a boneless lump, breathing too hard and staring unseeingly into the computer screen.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself once he’d come down from it. That was... really good, actually. 

The gif was still playing on the screen. Dan right-clicked over it and saved it on his computer. For reasons.

*

Next came the not-so-natural progression of his little hobby into a whole new level. It began as a fantasy.

He’d been spending so much time in that damned camming website that it was hardly shocking that the thought would form in his mind. What would it feel like to be in front of the camera? What must it feel like to feel so confident about your own body and sexuality that you can put yourself on display like that with the expectation that people will come, that people will watch, that some will even pay for the privilege of telling you how good you look or to ask you to touch yourself in a specific way? How did someone like Phil feel, knowing he can turn on his webcam and have thousands of viewers’ undivided attention based purely on how hot he looks as he gets himself off, thousands of eyes following his every movement, his every word, feeling their blood rush and their flesh crave at the stroke of his fingertips? 

The first stray thought was followed by another, then another, and it all built momentum until he found himself caught up in the fantasy of having all those anonymous eyes on him, wanting him, wishing they could be touching him, thinking he was so desirable that they wanted to pay him in exchange for scraps of attention. 

So Dan laid down on his bed, over the covers, naked (so that the anonymous men from his fantasy could take him in, could watch him, all of him, on display like-like art, or a celebrity, or something worth attention. Someone deserving of this kind of attention). Instead of following all the shortcuts he knew would get him to the finish line faster, he thought about what Phil (and the few other camboys he’d tried watching) did to tease and titillate their viewers. What would they like to see, if there really were people watching him?

He ran the fingers of one hand lightly down his neck, shivering slightly at the sensation, then down his collarbones and further down his chest until they reached one nipple. His other hand was resting to his side, gripping the duvet in an attempt to anchor him and help him pace himself. He tweaked his nipple, squeezed it between two fingers, and his hips swivelled a little in place at the bolt of pleasure. Dan’s eyes never strayed from his own body, trying to see what others would see if they were looking at him right then. His cock was hard already, resting flush against his lower belly and throbbing a little. 

He trailed the fingers down, teeth catching on his pink plump lower lip as his hand reached the crease where his hip met his thigh and he bypassed the hard flesh aching for attention between his legs in favour of running his nails down his inner thighs, leaving reddish lines on the pale soft skin and moaning softly at the sensation. Would his viewers like the noise? Would they like him? Would these hypothetical men (and while he knew the people who watched the camshows weren’t all men, it was important to some recondite and unexamined corner of Dan’s mind that they would be primarily men) be intrigued enough to want to stay and continue watching him?

Dan imagined it, countless men watching him in lust, unable to resist sneaking a hand down pants that felt too tight and rubbing one out, never taking their eyes off Dan’s form as they fantasised about all the filthy things they’d like to do to him.

He dragged his fingers down to grab a handful of his own ass, squeezing one cheek and  spreading it slightly to reveal the puckered flesh between the cheeks, spurred on by the mental image of faceless men rutting into their own hands at the sight. He ran his fingers teasingly around the rim, sparks of pleasure shooting up from the place where his fingers made contact and moving all the way into his core. He tamped down on the urge to thrust his hips into the air in a natural bid to find friction.

He considered his options briefly, fingers tapping a delicious rhythm and making his legs spread a bit wider by reflex, and reached out with his other hand to fish out the lube from his drawer. He didn’t do this every time - it meant more work and cleanup - but right then he knew it was just what he needed. 

He coated three fingers as quickly as he could and returned his hand to its previous position between his legs, bending his legs and planting his feet firmly on the mattress for leverage.

He teased around his rim for a bit longer, his other hand wandering aimlessly up his body as he pretended that he was waiting for a hefty enough tip before indulging his audience. Someone would crack, he thought; someone would want it so bad that they wouldn’t even care about the money, they’d just send it over, and Dan would smile at the camera in satisfaction before dipping one of his slick fingers slowly inside.

He’d talk to them, probably, during the whole thing. He’d tell them how badly he wanted it, how hard he was, how much he needed it. It was quite unlike anything else, that particular feeling; and when he craved it, nothing else would do. He’d ask them playfully if they wanted to see how well he took his own fingers, he’d beg them so nicely to please hurry up, he needed more, one finger wasn’t enough and he was ready, he was so ready for more, but he couldn’t until he got another tip, right? So please? Pretty please?

And then another tip would come, maybe more than one, and he’d thank them, looking straight at the camera again, and he’d reward them by sliding another finger with the first, twisting them slowly (and here he’d be unable to keep his hips on the bed, he could feel himself losing that battle as they bucked up into the air by their own accord), and fuck he couldn’t keep the noise down, not when he was like this, but that was fine, wasn’t it? His viewers would like that, they’d probably compliment the whiny moans he couldn’t keep down whenever he brushed his prostate, they’d love them, if anything they’d ask him to make more noise.

Another? he’d ask, he’d request, and the tips would flood, as would the praising comments. He was close, and he hadn’t even touched his prick at all. He pulled out the two fingers he’d been using to furiously finger himself and dropped some more lube on them, before reaching back down and slowly, too slowly, sinking three fingers inside. It burned a little, but the pleasure was far more intense; it made his eyes close and his jaw slacken and he had to grip the duvet again to resist touching his throbbing cock. 

It didn’t take long before he was thrusting his fingers in and out, effectively fucking himself on them and letting out high, desperate-sounding short little whines. He imagined countless people (men) watching him, devouring the picture he made with greedy eyes and tight fists, getting off to the fantasy of him, fantisising about what it might feel like to fuck him, what he might look like with their cock up his arse rather than his own fingers, thinking probably that they could wring out even sweeter sounds out of him with a proper cock, like some of Phil’s viewers said to him all the time.

He was feverish with the thought, the sensations, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this hard (he’d certainly never sounded this desperate, this needy before), and the stray thought of Phil’s viewers made him think of Phil and what if he was watching too? Pretty much everything Dan knew of camming he’d learnt from him. Would he think Dan was good at it? Would he be proud? 

Would he want me too?

The thought settled like an itch under his skin, setting him on fire. He unclenched the hand gripping wrinkled cloth to grip himself, felt his cock twitch as soon as it was (finally, finally) given some attention, and he tried to go slowly at first but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, the pleasure had been building for so long, so he just thrust into his fist and fucked himself on his fingers and imagined being watched and wanted and desired for all of it until the pleasure undid him. Wave after debilitating wave, all he could do was lie there and let it wreck him, and whine through it. 

He was left in a messy, sweaty, shaky tangle, quite sure that he’d just had the single most intense orgasm of his life and wondering if he’d even be able to walk to the bathroom for cleanup before his parents came home from work. 

(He was, eventually, but it was a close thing.)

*

Okay, so he’d discovered he had an exhibitionist kink. No big deal. It didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. 

Sure, he liked the idea of being watched by people who found him attractive, but that didn’t mean he’d necessarily enjoy the reality of it… Not to mention, exposing himself in the way that he’d been imagining - by doing a camshow where strangers could watch him - worked great as a fantasy, but who knew what kind of people he might attract... What if he got awful comments instead of praising ones? What if no one turned up? What if they didn’t even like him? 

The thought caused a ball of anxiety to settle somewhere around his lower chest, much as he tried to dismiss it. This kind of thing self-regulated, right? If someone checked him out and didn’t like him, they’d just leave to find someone more to their taste… 

Well, that thought didn’t help at all. With a grimace, he pictured a stream of people opening his camshow only to leave moments later, when they saw what he looked like, or heard how awkward he was. That’d be even worse than no one showing up.

And why was he still thinking about this, anyway? It wasn’t like he was actually going to go ahead and do it. It was just a crazy idea. 

He didn’t really want to do it. And he couldn’t, anyway. It’d be a disaster. 

And who knew how dangerous it might be. Better to file the thought away for wanking purposes and move on to more realistic endeavours in the real world.

...Right?

*

Apparently not.

He could not stop thinking about it. 

Every time he got off, even when he was watching Phil’s shows (and Phil’s shows were as captivating as they came), his mind drifted to this shiny new fantasy of his. He imagined himself in Phil’s place, imagined that the comments and tips were for him, (imagined that Phil was watching him, one of his regulars, that Phil was thinking about him when he grabbed and tugged and teased his own skin, when he lost himself in the pleasure, when he moaned and shuddered so prettily, when he talked about his future boyfriend).

And it wasn’t just that he was fixated on the sexual fantasy (though, that was how it got started). No, he’d started actually thinking about it. What it might entail. How it might go, as a job. How often he’d have to do it to live off it. 

He didn’t actually know if it would be viable as a way to make money, as a lot depended on whether people tuned in to watch him, and he couldn’t predict that. But surely it had to be a more attractive prospect than his shitty job at Asda, which he was barely holding on to as it was.

Going by the terms and conditions posted on the camming site (which he’d obsessively read several times over, heart in his throat and cheeks burning and feeling foolish and young and inexperienced), he’d get a fixed rate for number of subscribers, but the amount was negligible unless you were one of the heavy hitters. The real money would come from tips and private shows, and Dan was not sure he was ready to try doing private shows yet.

He wasn’t sure that he was ready to do any of it, if he was honest, but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he wanted to try. He wanted this.

It was a bit mad, yeah. Not the sort of thing you could bring up at Sunday tea time with grandma, that’s for sure. Not the sort of thing you could list on your resumé as a professional lawyer, either. And that wasn’t even going into the matter of romantic relationships, and how potential partners might feel about it. 

It was atypical, socially transgressive, scorned and undervalued by mainstream society; in a word, it was decidedly queer, in every sense of the word, but damn it if that wasn’t Dan all over. 

That’s how he felt, anyway. 

Maybe he should embrace it.

[Read the rest here!]

#phandom big bang #phanfic #am i writing now #phan au #phan #this is smut #but like with feelings you know #camboy au

[edwad]

If you had to choose 10 marxian econ books for someone who has only read marx, what would you recommend

by “marx” i have to assume you mean capital because that really is the root of “marxian econ”. it won’t suffice to just have read the manifesto or something like that and i don’t want to recommend books that will be saying things that you’re totally unfamiliar with because you’re skipping straight into the secondary literature which already largely assumes a reader which is familiar with capital. anyway, heres a list, which isnt in any particular order and which includes a few things that i’m still working through for myself:

1. essays on marxs theory of value - isaak rubin 

hugely important book which essentially all value-form theory derives from. written by an extremely knowledgeable marx scholar who had a much better idea of what marx was doing in capital than most marxists today. last month brill published a book called “responses to marxs capital” which includes some of rubin’s other writings, most of them being published in english for the first time. hes a huge figure in the literature and definitely worth looking in to. 

2. marx, capital, and the madness of economic reason - david harvey

i was obviously going to put something of harvey’s in here and i think his last book is a fairly good summary of the best of what hes done up to this point with some welcome additions (the visualization of capital, the stuff on anti-value, etc). not perfect but he definitely provides a good framework for how to understand the geography of capital which doesnt require necessarily agreeing with him on everything. honestly, if you keep up with harvey at all you’ll be able to tell that its mostly just typical harveyisms with the inclusion of some stuff from his recent talks (which have all been almost exactly the same). 

3. in the long run we are all dead - geoff mann

maybe this looks more like a book on keynesian rather than marxian econ, but its real argument is that keynesianism as a long historical project (meaning long before and after keynes himself) has been an immanent critique of liberalism and revolution and that keynes is to us what hegel was to marx. a really great book that covers a lot of ground which isnt always explicitly economic, but definitely worth the read if you have the patience. if you want a longer review, i left a pretty lengthy one on amazon a few months ago where you can get a better idea of what i got from this book, what its limitations are, and why i think its so important. 

4. monopoly capital - paul baran & paul sweezy 

an older book which hasnt exactly aged well, but its thesis has become extremely popular again since the crisis. written by baran and sweezy, the fathers of “the monthly review school” of economics, its played a huge role in the direction of marxian debates from the 1960s up until today. the authors were both tending in the same intellectual direction in their earlier works (sweezy’s theory of capitalist development and baran’s political economy of growth, the former still being considered one of the best introductions to marxs work and its relevance to the 20th century, with much controversy of course) and this was the result of them coming together to talk about what they saw as a monopoly capitalism which was fairly different in character than the “competitive capitalism” of marx’s day and therefore had to be dealt with differently. 

5. capitalism - anwar shaikh

probably the most ambitious work the left has seen in a long time which tries to thoroughly critique neoclassical theory and develop an alternative economics which is rooted in what shaikh calls the “classical” school (”classical-marxian” would probably be more appropriate but i think hes trying to downplay his reliance on marx). in it, shaikh takes a good look at many of the competing schools of thought (neoclassical, post-keynesian, sraffian/neo-ricardian, etc) and sees how they stand up analytically and empirically, taking issue with their underlying assumptions and the inevitable problems which arise from building a theory on false foundations. 

one of his bigger points is that the neoclassical theory of “perfect competition” is nonsensical but wasnt thoroughly combatted by heterodox economists, who only made it so far as asserting the “imperfect” nature of competition, which, in shaikh’s eyes, is to simply add imperfections after the fact into the theory which necessarily begins with the absurd assumption of perfection. the book’s argument is that the theorists of “imperfect competition” still rely on the theory of “perfect competition” as their starting point and never really manage to escape the latter because they havent actually created an alternative way of thinking about competition, they’ve just inserted a complication into a theory which was a completely unrealistic assumption to begin with. much of his attack is directed at the monthly review school and the idea of a “monopoly capitalism” which is supposedly different in form than the allegedly “perfect competition” of capitalism during marxs life. in this sense, this book serves as a counterbalance to the MR approach and is also probably the most successful attempt at situating marxs TRPF within an empirical study of kondratiev waves. 

hes also got a website with a bunch of resources and a lecture series from a course he did on the material in the book which is pretty interesting, but it assumes a good deal of familiarity with economics. 

6. a history of marxian economics - michael howard & john king (2 volumes)

this is a pretty thorough history of the internal debates among marxian economists ever since the death of marx all the way up to 1990. it covers a lot of ground and doesnt shy away from controversies where marx didnt come out on top. of course, a good amount of this is subject to the interpretation of the authors and they definitely have a great deal of input, but its a very impressive work which i frequently use as a marxian encyclopedia of sorts. 

7. the making of marx’s capital - roman rosdolsky

despite some problems, rosdolsky’s classic book on the development of marx’s critique of political economy is easily one of the most important marxological works ever written and it still holds a lot of sway. taking the grundrisse as its starting point, the author unpacks marx’s project and constantly asserts marx’s method and in particular his explicit reliance on hegel’s logic, pitting marx (as he was in his drafts) against the then contemporary thinkers and critics which were prone to misusing or misunderstanding the arguments in capital. as a disclaimer and partial criticism of rosdolsky’s portrait of marx, i dont believe that we can simply say that marx in the late 50s was identical to the marx of the 60s and 70s that wrote and published capital, but i also dont think that means we necessarily have to discount the grundrisse (or theories of surplus value, etc) simply because they werent written at precisely the right time for marxs thinking. 

i only just got my own copy a couple of weeks ago so i cant say too much more but i have skimmed through chunks of the pdf and its totally unavoidable in the secondary literature so im not totally unfamiliar. its one i plan on tackling in full very soon.

8. moneybags must be so lucky - robert paul wolff

another marxological one, this tiny book is a literary analysis of capital and in particular the first part of volume 1. wolff does a great job of deconstructing the arguments in chapter 1 to try and clarify what marx is doing and why with a lot of humor and philosophical tangents. one of his biggest points is that marxs heavy reliance on irony was the only adequate way of capturing the contradictory nature of capitalism and is therefore part of the theory itself, rather than simply being a way to dress up the theory and make it more palatable to readers. i approached this book after id already “read marx” too, but it was extremely useful because it wasnt until i read it that i finally started to actually understand marx. for that reason, i dont feel particularly bad about recommending it to anyone thats already familiar with capital because it does a great job of making the most difficult part of volume 1 infinitely more exciting and comprehensible – especially since its never enough to just read capital once. 

9. the production of commodities by means of commodities - piero sraffa

against my better judgement, i’m putting this on the list knowing full-well that i’m going to be harassed by an anon which has been on my ass for about a year now ever since i first recommended sraffa’s book in a reading list despite the fact that ive never finished it (barely even read it to be more precise). i do, however, know that its had a huge influence on the trajectory of marxian thought since 1960 and that many of the thinkers are still trying to recover from the theoretical displacement implicit in sraffa’s thesis. 

its a math-heavy book (which is why i havent been able to wade through it) and its status as a work coming from the “marxian” approach is hotly contested, but its certainly had its way with the marxian school (not to mention the neoclassical school, which has an easier time simply ignoring sraffa entirely), generating countless debates among scholars, many of whom simply wish that this book had never been written. for a short summary of the debate and whats apparently at stake, ive got an old post where i worked out some of the initial responses to sraffa and how this has snowballed into the controversy that it is today. ive got it on this list because of how unavoidable it is. you cant go into the secondary literature at anything resembling an intermediate level without knowing sraffa’s name and why everyone feels so strongly about him.

10. an introduction to the three volumes of karl marxs capital - michael heinrich

i dont quite like that im ending this list with a book that presents itself as an “introduction” when we’ve already established that this is a bunch of recommendations for someone thats already acquainted with capital, but sadly this is the only full-length book that heinrich has in the english language and its reading of capital is so unorthodox that it feels totally alien against all the traditional interpretations of marx. honestly, it doesnt feel like an introduction in the first place, reading more like a challenge and an intervention into the secondary debates about what marx is saying in capital which derives from the german debates which constitute the parameters for the “neue marx-lekture”, or “the new reading of marx”, which sits uncomfortably among the more typical marxisms that surround it on all sides, especially among non-german theorists/readers. 

as far as the dominant reading of marx goes, nearly everything this book says betrays marx’s project, but heinrich knows marx very well, better than most of us (as even his biggest critics readily admit). this may be considered reflective of a “new reading”, but that doesnt mean the old ones are any better or that this one is necessarily a “revisionist” project as many claim (or at least, i wouldnt consider it to be revising marx even if its guilty of revising “marxism”, which is by no means necessarily a bad thing). on the contrary, i think heinrich has the best understanding of marx out of pretty much everyone else right now and thats why i wanted to end with this one. yes, you should read all of the others, especially since you cant understand the way we read and think about marx without coming across the work of people like sraffa and sweezy, but that doesnt really change the fact that heinrich points to a big problem with the way we read and think about marx, that the debates have been getting it wrong all along and largely misunderstanding marxs actual project, miscontextualizing it and falling into dogmatism for various political or academic reasons. 

what heinrich does is to show how the way marx is read and interpreted often misses or downplays the most crucial elements of what marx is actually trying to get across. marxs critique of political economy simply gets converted into a newer, more correct political economy which simply builds on the classical school (shaikh), or it suffers in the hands of those that believe its foundations need to be updated as if it isnt all that relevant anymore (sweezy and baran), or that many of its categories are lacking utility and can simply be done away with (sraffa). rubin’s work plays a big part in establishing the NML reading and harvey draws on heinrich’s scholarship a lot, but nobody really does it as well as heinrich himself and i genuinely think hes lightyears ahead of everyone else. a lot of people are starting to agree and i was one of the most recent converts on the heinrich hype train which has been growing for the last couple of years. 

any day now, we should be getting one of his older books, the science of value, in english and i plan on devouring it as fast as i can, but sadly its been in limbo for several years, with its initial release scheduled for 2014 (if i remember correctly). in the mean time though, we’ve only got his introduction to capital and a bunch of shorter pieces/videos.  

so i guess thats my list of 10 things to read after marx with some explanations on why i think theyre important, culminating in ideologically correct heinrich-worship. this was sorta fun and if you have any other questions feel free to ask. 

#communism

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Origins Ch. 14

Title: Origins

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: The origins of Junkrat and Roadhog. Junkrat finds a mysterious treasure in the nuclear wasteland of the Australian Outback and quickly finds himself a target. When a hitman is sent to kill him, he convinces the man to become his personal bodyguard in exchange for half the spoils. Their ensuing crime spree could be legendary – if they can get over the initial bad blood between them. Can also be found on AO3 if you prefer reading it there!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

---

His first night in prison wasn’t a particularly restful one. He didn’t mind Thatcher’s snoring, used to the sounds of Roadhog’s mask at night. He did mind being woken by the sound of another inmate screaming bloody murder, and half of the block yelling at the offender to shut up.

He hung his head off the edge of his bed to look at Thatcher upside-down. “Does that happen often?” he blearily asked.

“You get used to it.”

Junkrat groaned and flopped back down on his bed. He was exhausted by the time breakfast rolled around, two trays of unidentifiable brown slop labeled “oatmeal” pushed through the slot in their cell door. He asked the CO if he could get a commissary request form and was told, “Maybe, if I don’t have to print more out.”

He went back to bed. There wasn’t much else to do if he didn’t have anything to tinker around with, and Thatcher was loathe to relinquish his TV -- he did offer his books, but Junkrat wasn’t the biggest fan of reading. It was difficult for him to keep the words in his head, and if it didn’t have to do with mechanical engineering, he wasn’t interested enough to put in the effort. His recreational enjoyment of books was limited to using them for target practice.

He was beyond relieved when their recreational hour rolled around, and he was the first to sprint out when the cell doors slid open with a shout of “Roadhog!”

Maynard growled at him as he passed, and Junkrat lowered his voice. He’d gotten a good look at the prisoner who had taken an immediate dislike to him, as his solitary hour outside his cell was directly prior to that of the rest of the block. He’d opted to spend it watching TV, which he presumably didn’t have in his own cell due to revoked privileges, and four guards had marched him past Junkrat’s cell. Maynard looked like a man who belonged in prison, roughly Junkrat’s height but at least twice his weight in solid muscle, with a scarred face twisted in a permanent scowl. Junkrat made a mental note to try and stay on his good side.

His face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw Roadhog. He liked to think that Roadhog was just as happy to see him and have the ability to talk unobstructed.

“They let ya keep yer gas mask!” Junkrat exclaimed, looking Roadhog up and down. He had shrugged off the upper half of his jumpsuit to reveal the white t-shirt underneath, tying the loose arms of the coveralls around his waist. The shirt rode up slightly around his belly, showing a sliver of his intricate tattoo.

“It’s for health purposes. I said I’d sue them if they took it from me. Still had to take it off to be searched, though.”

“Better than havin’ to take it off permanently, though,” Junkrat reasoned. “Oh, y’have no idea how happy I am to see ya, mate -- yer a good kinda bloke, not like the rest of these prison wankers.”

This got the attention of some of the nearby prisoners, who bristled, but Junkrat was oblivious to them.

Roadhog exhaled, the sound wheezing through his gas mask. “Watch what you say around here. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make yourself a target.”

“When have I ever done anything stupid?”

“You fired a grenade in a bottle-o.”

Junkrat paused. “Good point.” So maybe he didn’t always think things through before he did them. “Okay, I’ll watch me mouth.” They looked for a place to sit where they could talk freely. The TV area was taken over by the rest of the inmates, tensions high over who had control of the remote. While one prisoner was touting the merits of soap operas, another was making a strong case for the food network.

They decided to steer clear of that particular shitshow and found a corner to loiter in outside of the entrance to the shower area.

“Request to have Ava put on your list for phone calls and visitors,” Roadhog said when they were alone. “I am. But it doesn’t hurt to have backup. She can wire us our money.”

“Brill,” Junkrat said. “I need supplies, and Thatcher says there’s electronics in the commissary. Which, y’know me, is roight up my alley.”

“I know,” Roadhog said, a hint of a smirk in his voice.

“Anyways,” Junkrat said. “How ya coping with solitary? I’m goin’ stir crazy bein’ locked up, and I have a cellmate! Don’t know how yer dealin’.”

“I’m used to it,” Roadhog replied. Junkrat’s first thought was that’s sad, then that’s me.

“Well, not anymore! You and me, we had a pretty nice non-solitary thing going there. Too bad that got all stuffed up. I miss havin’ ya around, ya big lug.”

Roadhog didn’t echo the sentiment and simply said, “Whose fault is that?”

“Mine,” Junkrat admitted. “Shouldn’t’ve raided the bottle-o. Shouldn’t’ve let ya get caught. Shouldn’t’ve fucked up the rescue bit.”

“Shouldn’t’ve pleaded guilty.”

“That again? Come on, ya know it was the roight thing to do! There were what, five eyewitnesses? Who were all cops. If we pleaded not guilty, it’d have been months of a trial that would have ended with us as lifers anyway.”

Roadhog sighed heavily. “You’re right.”

“I’m always roight!”

Roadhog shoved him, and they were promptly reprimanded by the lingering CO for violent behavior.

Their hour together went by too fast, and Junkrat was disappointed to return back to his cell. He submitted the visitor request form the next time the CO came around and was informed that any phone calls he wanted to make would have to come out of his recreation hour. If he got his social privileges taken away, his phone privileges would similarly be revoked.

It was good motivation to behave.

Junkrat wasn’t sure what the exact timeline was for phone numbers being approved, but he hoped that within a few days, he and Roadhog would be able to call Ava and get some funds in their accounts. He didn’t know what, exactly, he would have access to in the commissary, but at least he could start dreaming up potential devices. He was skilled at working with salvaged parts; he could absolutely weaponise anything he could dismantle. He pulled out a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by their cell’s sink and used the blunt tip of his borrowed pencil to start sketching.

He was distracted by a scraping sound and looked up to find Thatcher working a brick out of the masonry of the wall. He took out a battered pack of cigarettes, which Junkrat was almost certain was not available in the commissary.

"What?" Thatcher said when he caught his eye, tone accusatory. "Don't go dobbing on me, or I’m gonna fucking well make you pay."

“What, ya think I’m gonna tell the screws?” Junkrat touched his heart, offended at the mere insinuation that he would snitch. “I’m no cobber dobber. I won’t if you don’t if I go doin’ anythin’ ‘illegal’ later.”

“Deal.” Thatcher slipped a cigarette into his pocket, put the package back into its hidey hole, and sealed the brick back up with a caulk of toothpaste mixed with supplement powder to avoid detection.

That night, Junkrat woke up around 7:00 at the screeching sound of a cell door opening. Curious, he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, strapped on his peg leg, and hopped out of bed. He pressed up against the window of their cell and watched as one of the inmates on their block, a meaty kind of man of average height, was escorted past.

“Where's he goin’?” Junkrat asked Thatcher.

Thatcher rolled over in his bunk. “Work. That lucky sonovabitch has a job, he gets to leave Mondays and Fridays to go to the workshop. He gets some privileges what the gen pop has, 'cause he's been here so long and has 'turned a new leaf.’” Thatcher’s tone was disdainful; he clearly didn’t believe that there was any possible way for a convicted felon, himself included, to turn over a new leaf.

At breakfast, Junkrat asked again about the phone list.

“Fer chrissakes, Fawkes, you gave it to me last night!”

“I know, but I need to call my mate and get cash in my account for the commissary! What, ya think I can survive off this shit yer feedin’ us?” Too late, he realised that it might not be the best idea to insult the food that the officer was handing him if he wanted his paperwork to be processed speedily.

Luckily, the CO seemed aware that the prison-grade food was barely edible, but he didn’t find Junkrat’s tone endearing. “Watch your fucking tongue, Fawkes, you’re on thin ice. Commissary, phone calls? Privileges. Privileges you convicts are lucky to have with the things you’ve done.”

“Sorry, sir," Junkrat said, placing extra emphasis on the syllable. He had intended it to be droll, but the sarcasm flew right over the officer’s head, who only heard the term of respect and used it to fuel his inflated ego.

“I’ll look at it today,” the CO said.

Junkrat grinned. “Ta!”

He busied himself with drawing a map of what he remembered of the prison layout that he traversed through the previous day. Thatcher helped him fill in the blanks where his brain failed him.

"Been put in the slot more than once," he said. "I've got a pretty good idea." He pointed out the various guard stations, and Junkrat marked them with angry smiley faces. "What's the point of this, anyway?"

Junkrat shrugged. "S'just good to know." He evaded the question. "I like knowin' my surroundings."

Thatcher didn't press further. Junkrat had the impression that he just thought he was a weird kook with no explanation for half the things he did, which wasn't exactly an inaccurate assessment.

He could tell that they were nearing their recreation hour when one of the inmates at the end of the catwalk shouted, "Po-lice!" A handful of correctional officers used their IDs to buzz into the block and approached Maynard's cell.

"Alright, Maynard," one of the guards said. The footsteps stopped, the four officers standing outside of the cell with Maynard's shackles clinking in their hands. "Hands out. Let's get a move on."

Junkrat couldn't see exactly what happened from the view of his cell; he just knew that after Maynard’s cell door slid open, someone was yelling, "Shank! He's got a shank!" and there was a massive flurry of activity.

The block was split into factions: half of the inmates were shouting encouragement to Maynard and egging him on, while the rest of the inmates were quiet, trying to get a better look at what was happening.

“Why don’t they just shoot him?” Junkrat whispered to Thatcher.

“COs don’t carry firearms,” Thatcher replied. “There’s been too many incidents, it’s easy to get your hands on your CO’s gun if you try hard enough.”

Junkrat filed away this tidbit of information for later.

In a matter of minutes, Maynard was brutally subdued and restrained so tightly that he could barely walk, his shiv confiscated. "Take him to Seg," one of the COs instructed, reaching for his radio to report the disturbance. "See if there's a way we can get an opening in Supermax, I've had it up to here with this asshole. Fucking menace to us all."

A murmur of discontent rippled throughout the unit when the door to the block shut behind Maynard and the guards. "I was hoping he would have at least wounded one of them," Junkrat overheard one of the inmates saying.

"The bloody bastard goes to all the trouble of making a shank, then he can't even get a stab in? Fucking useless."

The staff seemed reluctant to give the rest of the block their recreational hour after the incident with Maynard, but they finally acquiesced after much complaining and wheedling from the various inmates who were itching to get out of the confined space they called home. It was possible that they were concerned about inciting a riot if they denied a group of tensed up convicts their daily routine. Junkrat and Roadhog wandered into the living area, where Junkrat flopped down on the worn sofa.

He was seated for all of two seconds before someone -- the man who screamed in the dead of night, Junkrat thought -- growled at him, "You're in my spot."

Junkrat quickly stood up, not wanting to cause another disturbance, but he couldn't help but point out, "How can it be yer spot? This is communal, mate! I have just as much a roight to this couch as you do, and I'll be damned if I don't fight ya for it--"

Roadhog steered him away before he got too fired up. "Let it go. You’re rustling feathers."

Junkrat huffed and shrugged Roadhog's hand off his shoulder. "Fine. But I'm sitting on that couch tomorrow, mark my words." He found a seat at the chess table instead, which was missing too many pieces to be considered truly functional. Some of the remaining pieces were replaced by hunks of soap that had been carved by some illegal sharp object. You had to admire the ingenuity. "Anyways. Good lunch? I can't even tell what's meat or not, I dunno how yer copin' with it."

"It's hard. I miss making my own breakfast." Roadhog sighed.

"I miss me tire." Junkrat stared off into the distance, emotion welling up in his eyes. "I've gotta get it back, Roadhog.

"We'll get you a new tire when we get out of here," Roadhog told him.

"No." Junkrat shook his head vigorously. "I need that one!"

Roadhog exhaled, and Junkrat had the impression that he thought he was just being petulant. "Ya don't understand, mate! I got things in there. Important things." He lowered his voice to a hush, so that Roadhog had to lean in to hear him. "Me treasure, Roadhog. It's in the tire."

Roadhog stared at him for a long, silent moment. "You kept your treasure," he finally said, "in your tire. That is a motorised bomb."

"Yeah!"

"Do you even think before you do these things?"

"No," Junkrat admitted. "But it wasn't a bad idea! I always have it on me, so I'm not gonna lose it, like I could if I buried it somewhere. I get to guard it, and I'm the only one I can trust to keep it safe. Minus you," he added. "But really, yer keepin' me safe, not the treasure."

"It was a stupid idea, and you couldn't keep it safe, because it's probably in an evidence locker somewhere now. How is it not destroyed yet?"

Junkrat tapped his temple. "That's the beauty of it, innit? Got it encased in an old mine, tucked away nice and tight and sealed with high grade rubber. I've tested it out and everythin'. The bomb doesn't blow up the tire, and I've taken protective measures with it. It's ingenious."

"Insane, more like. What is it?"

Junkrat waved the question away with one airy hand. "Details, details. It don't matter if I don't have it anyway. That's our first order of business when we get out. Get me tire back, then catch meself a nice dinner, because I can find better food than whoever cooks this shit."

When dinner was brought around, the CO who slid the tray of mystery meat and withered vegetables through the slot informed Junkrat that he had approved his phone list, it was processing through the director, and that he should be able to make a collect call within a day or two.

---

Junkrat didn’t have the luxury of privacy when making his phone call. He made a beeline for the phone as soon as he received confirmation that he could make phone calls and was released from his cell for the recreation hour, but a guard stood by his side the whole while.

“Do ya really gotta stand here?” he asked after a message played informing him that this call will be recorded. “It’s not like I can hide anythin’ from you, this shit’s bein’ recorded.”

“Shut up and make your call,” the guard replied. "You have eight minutes."

"Ava!" Junkrat exclaimed when his call was picked up. "Oh, am I glad to hear yer voice, doc."

"Junkrat? I heard about you and Roadhog getting sentenced -- pretty stupid thing you guys did. How you holding up behind bars?"

Junkrat's eyes darted over to the correctional officer looming next to him. "Eh, can't complain. But listen, I wanna make use of this commissary they've got goin' on in here. My cellie won't share his TV, and I could use some basic creature comforts, y'know. Any way ya can wire over some cash to me? And Roadhog, I dunno if he'll be able to call ya, but I'm sure the big lug could use some commissary food."

"Yeah, I can't imagine he's doing too well on a prison diet," Ava mused. "I bet it's mostly meat based, isn't it?"

Junkrat laughed. "If ya can call it meat, yeah."

"Well hey, sure, I'll send you both some funds! I'll give the prison a ring, see how I can get that shit transferred to your accounts. And listen, I want to visit, if you have visitation rights."

Junkrat was touched. "Can't say it wouldn't be nice to have the company of someone who's not a convicted criminal. Give it a few weeks, let us get settled in, then swing by when ya get a chance?"

"Sure thing. Take it easy, Junkrat, and give Roadhog my best. Tell him to ring me when he can, yeah?"

"Gotcha." Junkrat hung up and turned to the guard. "There. Get yer jollies listening in?" He shook his head and slunk off to join Roadhog. "Ava says hi," he informed him. "She's gonna send us some cash soon as she can, says y'should call her."

There was a frown to Roadhog's voice. "I can't. Haven't been approved yet."

Junkrat's eyebrows shot up. "Really? That's a puzzler, I thought if I got mine processed, you'd have too. S'probably 'cause CO Smith moved the process along roight quick when I asked. He likes me."

"I can't imagine why."

"Oi! Watch it, I'm a fine specimen of nature, mate -- everyone likes me!"

"I don't," one of the inmates passing by said. "You're a real piece of work."

"Everyone except that bloke!" Junkrat said, modifying his answer. “And no one cares about his opinion!”

Roadhog shook his head. "This is why people don't like you."

"Ah, but you do, dontcha, 'Hog?" Junkrat elbowed Roadhog.

"Don't know why I do. I ask myself that question every day."

Junkrat grinned from ear to ear. All slights aside, Roadhog admitted to liking him, and that was all it took to make his day.

#junkrat #roadhog #roadrat #overwatch #nanowrimo 2016 #my fanfiction #origins

[sportsandideas]

The aging of ‘The Soccer Tribe’: A tale of socio-biology

I recently stumbled across a new (2016) edition of The Soccer Tribe by Desmond Morris, the peculiar tome originally published in 1981 with a mix of text and illustrations making a case for what amounts to an evolutionary  socio-biology of soccer. Morris, most famous for The Naked Ape, explains that he was motivated by anthropological curiosity:

“Hardly anyone seems to query the importance attached to the game. For those who do the kicking and those who watch it so avidly, the whole matter is taken for granted. Football is football, and of course it is fascinating, so what is there to question? For those who ignore it, it is plainly a stupid waste of time, so why bother with it? It is not worth discussing. Both sides overlook the fact that, viewed objectively, it is one of the strangest patterns of human behaviour to be seen in the whole of modern society.”

(Original 1981 cover on left, 2016 edition on right)

In seven sections and 44 chapters full of pictures, illustrations, and quirky charts, Morris then lays out an analysis of soccer in its ‘tribal’ dimensions: roots, rituals, heroes, trappings, elders, followers, and tongue. The whole thing is amazingly odd; in its scope, it compares to nothing else I’ve seen or read about soccer. In analyzing uniforms as tribal costumes, referees as tribal judges, or fan songs as tribal chants the book exhibits an imagination and ambition that I love (and have cited before here).

But since initially stumbling upon the first 1981 edition a decade ago something has always felt just a bit off about the book. It took this new edition, which seems to have been updated mostly in its illustrations (along with a few minor segments of text), to make me dig into that feeling.

The couple hundred words José Mourinho ‘wrote’ as a foreword to the new edition sets the tone:

“Total football has led to global football—on and off the field. And whoever fails to realize it doesn’t understand anything. Those who only know football know nothing about football.”

This blustering certainty is familiar from Mourinho, but it is also fundamental to the underlying premise of The Soccer Tribe – that all the patterns and rituals of modern soccer, and modern society, are a direct inheritance from humanity’s hunter-gatherer past. If Mourinho would have gone the academic route, I realized, he would have been a socio-biologist.

To be fair, Mourinho goes onto say something more interesting:

“Those who only see twenty-two men chasing after a ball fail to understand its geometry, its ballet, its psychological depth, its true nature. It is the most faithful representation of human nature and its may faces. It is a tribe where the rationale of tactics, emotion, and the fun of the game all prevail.”

Though still a bit grandiose (and not overly convincing as to the question of whether Mourinho actually read the book), the basic idea of their being more to the see than ‘chasing after a ball’ is the real value of The Soccer Tribe.

The problem, however, was well articulated back in a 1983 review of the original book by Ian Taylor in the journal Theory, Culture, & Society.

The Soccer Tribe and socio-biology, in other words, present a totalizing account of human behavior that ignores the dynamism of culture. Women’s soccer is a key counter-example. If soccer is a male warrior ritual to satisfy our hunting and fighting brain modules, what to make of women’s soccer and women fans? Taylor phrases it nicely (if academically):

“The empirical display of soccer as a natural form, spanning all cultures and time, masks the specificity of the game’s significance in particular social formations.”

The game itself, in the phrasing I tend to prefer, is mostly just an empty cultural form.

And, speaking of empty, the other substantive review of the original 1981 Soccer Tribe book that I could find was by the novelist Martin Amis for the London Review of Books. Amis, after a strange and extended prattling on about the English national team’s performance in qualifiers for the 1986 World Cup, dismisses Morris in two withering paragraphs, starting by noting that a soccer manager left alone with the book might “die of inanition”:

“In The Soccer Tribe Morris maps out the connection between ‘ancient blood sports’ and ‘the modern ball game’. Nowadays, the goalmouth is ‘the prey’, the ball ‘the weapon’, and the attempt to score ‘a ritual aim at a pseudo-prey’. Is this true? Or, more important, is this interesting? Morris goes on to say that ‘in England, there are four “divisions”, presenting a parody of the social class system.’ He then traces the analogies between football and religion: ‘Star players are “worshipped” by their adoring fans and looked upon as “young gods”.’ Later on, he develops a far more compelling thesis, arguing that ...

Ah, but the sands of space are running out. That’s enough football for today. I only have time to add that Morris’s book is handsomely packaged, that the pictures are great, magic, brill etc, and that the text is an austere, an unfaltering distillation of the obvious and the obviously false.”

Amis’s point, beyond being arrogant and dismissive, seems to be that it is hard to be an intellectual interested in football—and Morris fails unreservedly.

But I think that is too harsh. The Soccer Tribe is like much socio-biology (and contemporary evolutionary psychology): simultaneously problematically reductionist and thought-provoking in a challenging way. I find it interesting, for example, that The Soccer Tribe shows up as ‘cited by’ 250 academic works in Google Scholar – though a crude marker, it is clear from browsing those citing works that the book inspired some academics to new ways to think about the game.

But it doesn’t yet seem to have inspired another similar effort--I’ve yet to see another book that takes on the totality of soccer culture in an intentional way. The 2016 ‘new edition’ of The Soccer Tribe thus doesn’t need much updating beyond the pictures both because the analysis freezes culture as permanently set by evolution, and because not enough of significance has come out since 1981 to offer a more dynamic theory of the game as a whole. That may no longer be the way of academic work on soccer – which has indeed done much to chip away at understanding pieces of the game – but it sure would be fun to see.

#thelibrary #thesoccertribe #sociobiology #soccer #desmondmorris