#y’all what their ship name though. watch me write a whole ass fic

[stemroses]

Scrolls the Loki selfcest tags Bc … I mean come on…

Proceeds to scroll the thorki tags Bc y’all making me mad with this selfcest = incest bs.

#y’all can die mad. selfcest =/= inc*st #loki spoilers #thorki #lokicest #y’all what their ship name though. watch me write a whole ass fic #I’ll fucking do it #I’ll make a platonic sweet one AND a smutty one #catch these hands #loki series

[arcanadreams]

y’all know that dialogue from the beginning of episode 4 where you talk to Mathieu? the one where you can ask if he wants to reenact Titanic with you? yeah well i’m still salty we didn’t actually get to do that so i’m fixing it with some added self-indulgent headcanons for good measure (in second person format of course because i exclusively write and read x reader fic LMAO) headcanons will be under the cut!!

-----

“Want to come to the front of the ship with me and yell ‘I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!’?” Mathieu merely blinked in response to your suggestion, arching an eyebrow at you. 

“...No? Why would I do that?” You were honestly surprised at how unenthused with the idea he was. The only other earthling in the entirety of El and didn’t event want to reenact Titanic with you! The audacity!

“Because it’s fun! Why else?” Mathieu clearly disagreed with your reasoning, narrowing his eyes at you skeptically. “Fine, be that way. I’m going to go bask in Leonardo DiCaprio’s glory all by myself, and I’m going to have a great time.” With that, you left the brunette standing on the ship’s deck. You made your way to the bow. Standing at the edge, you sucked in a deep breath of air, sticking your arms out.

“I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!!”

Mathieu:

Still as unimpressed as when you proposed the idea, to be honest. But he respects that you have the gumption to go through with it.

You glance behind you when you’re done and stick your tongue out at him before smiling triumphantly.

It’s contagious, he’ll admit...he can’t help but smile back. Maybe it would’ve been fun to join in, if only to see that smile up close...

And the way the wind is blowing through your hair is quite pretty, too...

It’s only when you wink at him that he realizes he’s been caught staring.

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he looks away, running a hand through his hair in that way he always does. This time, though, there is a noticeable sheepishness in the gesture that isn’t usually present.

Later you tease him about it, saying he should’ve thrown his ego away and joined you if he was just going to watch all the fun you were having and shoot envious eyes from the sidelines the whole time!

Yeah...that’s definitely why he was staring...cough...

Lance:

Literally what in the name of fuck are you doing? - his inner monologue

AT FIRST

He’s an observant man; he looks around for context. Honestly, the way Mathieu is rolling his eyes and Koori is laughing at the scene makes him think you lost a bet of some sort and were purposefully embarrassing yourself.

But before he can think any more on the matter, you turn around with this brilliant smile on your face.

(heart eyes.jpg) It’s such a far cry from the sides of you he has seen up until now; he’s only ever seen you distressed or enraged...both of which were due to his actions and presence.

Seeing the crinkle of your eyes when you’re genuinely happy is new and, dare he say it...intriguing. Beautiful, even.

But then the sun hits your hair just right and you almost have a halo around you and suddenly he remember who he is looking at: the savior of El, the hero who saved the entire world...from him. And he remembers he has no right to be looking at you like this, to be peering in on your moment of joy. So he looks back out over the horizon instead.

Leiftan:

Ah, there’s the Y/N he knows. Always there to bring levity to his aching heart.

...Even if he has no idea what the fuck you’re doing.

Just be careful, please!! Don’t topple over the edge of the ship!! He’s a worrywart, be patient with him.

If he weren’t in self-imposed ‘all things to do with Y/N’ exile, he’d be heading right over to ask just what the hell you were doing.

But then the wind rustles your hair and you turn around, resting your elbows on the railing, and oh...the sunlight creates a halo around your head as you close your eyes, clearly enjoying the salty sea air.

Mans about to have a heart attack! You look just as stunning as you did the day he lost you (and himself but he doesn’t really care about that part) to the crystal.

He can literally feel your angelic aura singing, calling out to him in that moment, but he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes it off. He has sworn off anything of the sort. No matter how mesmerizing you are, he can’t give in...(yet)

Nevra:

“Good to know you’re taking this mission seriously, Y/N.”

We’ve got a Debbie Downer on our hands, folks! Ugh! (Just say, “You weren’t as much of a party pooper before I died for seven years.” That’ll shut him up!)

“I’ll have you know I am taking this perfectly seriously,” you turn your body around to face him, and he resists the urge to smile at the grin you meet his gaze with. “In fact, what I just did is a tradition on Earth for sailors. It promotes safe travels.”

“Is that so?” As you nod assuredly, the vampire rolls his eyes. He knows you’re bluffing...but he’ll still probably ask Mathieu about it later. When you’re out of earshot, of course.

“I learned from the best that having a little fun on missions never hurt anyone,” you say, thinking back to your first few missions with him, back before the crystal. Back when he was...different.

“And I learned that it can kill,” argumentative as always, he was...you sighed. Seven years in a coma and your favorite mischief buddy had shoved a stick up his ass while you were gone! Damn.

He noticed the disappointment in your eyes, then, as the sun vanished behind a cloud. Shit. He didn’t...he never meant...ugh. “...If the journey to Genkaku goes well, I suppose your sailor’s tradition will be proven to work.” He was happy to see your face light up the slightest bit at his peace offering. 

“It’s gonna be smooth sailing from here on out, and I’m gonna rub it in your face after.” “I look forward to it,” despite himself, his lips tilted upwards the slightest bit. He felt lighter, much more ready to face the mission ahead...as well as your teasing if you were right about the trip in the end.

Koori (because I’m gay and I love her):

Stands next to Mathieu and laughs. Like a lot. What can she say? What you’re doing is already funny enough, but the fact it’s making Mathieu facepalm is just the perfect cherry on top!

She loves when you get mischievous like this. She happily approaches you to ask what you’re doing.

“I’m reenacting a human movie by myself since Mathieu is too much of a coward to join me.” (There’s a clear “Hey!” in the background but the two of you mutually elect to ignore it.)

“Is this the same movie with the Let It Go song Mathieu likes to sing?” She asks, and you laugh. “No, but is it probably just as famous. It’s about a huge cruise ship that sank.”

“Don’t tell me you just set us up to get swallowed by the ocean!” Her ears pressed down to her head as she joked with you. She watched you laugh, the sun shining off your hair and creating a slight halo effect. It kind of reminded her of when she was able to create that illusion of your angel powers for you, only much, much prettier...

She asks for you to tell her all about the Titanic “so we can avoid the same fate,” but in reality she just wants to stare at you in this lighting, in this moment, for longer. 

Soon enough the two of you are sat on the stairs to the bow while you blabber on the whole story. She watches the way your eyes light up as you recount the dramatic bits and smiles. You’re so cute. You’ll make this rough journey easier on her, she’s sure of it.

#woo! my best writing done during an accidental all-nighter #as usual #eldarya #eldarya headcanons #posts #my writing #beemoov #mathieu #lance #nevra #leiftan #koori #eldarya new era

[star-killer-md]

Happy Hunting

A/N: Hello everyone, two updates in one week I know. Very out of character for me. Anyway, this is my first like actively dark fic so please be warned and mind the tags, it is dead dove. This has been sitting in my docs since October and I’m excited to get it out. There will be a part two to this with way more smut if y’all want it. And of course credit to @direnightshade for coming up with serial killer!Charlie, go check her out! Thanks to @sacklersdoll as well for being an absolute babe and reading over this for me. 

Warnings: Dead Dove, mentions of murder, mentions of fantasized violence against reader, Charlie is a murderer in this so ya know, drugs used on a non-reader character, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, implied noncon, stalking behavior, allusions to predator/prey dynamics reader is implied afab/fem presenting but no pronouns are used for them, once again, this is a dark fic so be mindful of the tags and let me know if I’ve missed one. 

Part 2

Ship: Serial Killer!Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Charlie is branching out, searching for some new hunting spots when he finds the perfect next victim. Soon he decides he wants more than to simply add you to his body count, but murder is tricky and not everything goes as he planned. 

He’d been frequenting different bars as of late, branching out into new territory. There were rules to these games, after all—rules to the hunt, rules to keep it sustainable. Charlie knew well by now that staying in the same place for too long would only deplete his selection of targets. And he couldn’t have anyone making connections, so he moved around but always stuck to what he knew. 

That was another rule: never hunt on unfamiliar land. It was just asking for trouble. With such a sensitive, calculated act, one could never afford any random variables. 

This was how he’d been so successful. 

He knew the rules, he played by them and he reaped the rewards. 

And he had just found his next victim. 

You were ordering a drink, lovely figure bent over the bar top while you waited. The curve of your back, exposed by the sheer lack of fabric, and the flicker of your tongue over the rim of the glass told him all he needed to know. 

Yes, you would be a perfect addition to his collection. 

But this was still too new, too fresh. So he settled for watching, memorizing the way your throat moved when you swallowed and the crease of your thighs as you crossed them. His hands itched to spread you apart, see how wet he knew you’d be. Soon, he reminded himself. 

Patience was the mark of a good hunter, and he’d have you in his hands if he simply waited for the most opportune moment. He’d get to watch your throat collapse under his weight and feel the fluttering of your cunt as he fucked you through the fear. 

It would be glorious. 

And well worth the wait. 

***

One week later saw him back in the same bar, ordering a drink and watching as you swayed to the soft music playing. He knew you’d be here, Charlie had a sense about these things. 

It helped as well that he’d trailed you to your apartment, curiously far away from this section of the city. But you seemed to spend quite a bit of time in this area. Took walks in the park nearby, and stopped in the odd cafe every so often. Maybe you worked around here, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. Though, it had only been a week. And where you worked wasn’t all that important to him. 

No, what was important was now. 

Now that he was sipping his Old Fashioned and watching you make eyes at another man across the room. 

He was shorter than Charlie, but not by much. The way he stumbled a bit when crossing the dance floor to you told him your new admirer had more than a bit to drink as well. 

What an amateur. 

You didn’t seem to mind, though, as you guided his hands to your waist and moved your hips with such fluidity, Charlie couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he’d wanted to. This man with his dark hair and hands that engulfed you let you lead him in clumsy circles, trailing like a puppy. 

He was very nearly drooling and you knew it. 

Charlie sneered and nursed his drink, taking it all in. The way your feet avoided being trodden on, the way you pretended not to notice when the man’s hands wandered lower, the way you glanced up through your lashes and smirked when he followed your lips with his. 

All so practiced. 

But the lumbering idiot grabbing handfuls of your ass in front of the whole bar was so predictable, Charlie wasn’t surprised in the least. 

You wouldn’t look so self assured when you were with him. 

Charlie was too full of surprises. 

He was something you’d never encountered before. 

And wouldn’t again, he thought with a chuckle. He’d be your best and your last and that was how it should be. 

Charlie knocked back the last of his drink, setting his glass down on the counter as you led your new find in his obnoxious, neon green sneakers off towards the doors. Your eyes never left the man trailing behind you, locked in place even as you disappeared into the New York night. 

He wouldn’t go after you this time. 

But soon, he thought. Soon those pretty eyes would find him and wouldn’t he be a magnificent last sight?

***

Charlie was trying something new again. Dangerous maybe, but progress was never made without taking a few risks. 

So here he was, walking through a park in broad daylight. It was the same one he’d seen you only days before, walking through the canopy of leaves that were so hard to find in the city. There was a bench positioned right under a few limbs that were already shedding red and brown onto the asphalt path. He sat on the cold metal and waited. 

You’d show up momentarily. He had learned you came here around this time in the afternoon during the week. Always dragging your feet through the grass and staring at the sky while you walked the little looping path. Maybe you came for inspiration. It was a nice place to write, he thought. He’d have to bring his notebook next time. 

That could be his keepsake from you, this place. He could come to this bench and sit and remember how you looked scuffing your heels in the dirt, facing up to the heavens. 

Just like you were now. 

Right on time as well. You’d always stuck him as a creature of habit, something he supposed you both had in common. 

Your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, collar turned up against the wind. He watched the subtle shake of your spine, working its way from your head down to your fingers as you shivered in the cold. 

His teeth caught his lip, sucking it between them as he thought of all the ways he could warm you, make your skin sticky with sweat and cum and blood, make you tremble all over again with the pleasure from his cock sinking into your warm, wet cunt. Charlie could quite nearly taste the hazy tang of you on his tongue, feel the way your thighs would tense and pull to pin his head, but he’d want you tied down. He’d need you splayed out and restrained, he could already tell—having only observed you this short time—you’d be a fighter. 

And didn’t that make you the best kind of prey?

He loved it when they fought, when they struggled, when they kicked and spit and bit at his hands. Or when they were so broken, bloody and hopeless and crawling on their knees, scrambling to get away. 

There was something in the way their eyes looked, something primal, like they knew what he was. Like they knew he was a hunter, a predator, and they were trapped under his claws. Wild and insatiable and delicious. 

He was hard in his pants just thinking about it—at the images his mind concocted. You with your sultry hips swaying in the dim bar light and that locked in look in your eyes. You, in that barely there clothing and the set of your jaw that says you’re just begging for him to catch you in his snare. 

He knew you wanted it, even if you didn’t quite yet. 

Charlie’s hand dropped down to palm at his throbbing length, his long coat covering most of the movement. It was cool enough that no one else but the two of you had wondered out this late in the day. So he brushed over the sensitive head of his cock and watched you making circles around the path until you stopped. 

That was new. That was a break in the pattern, and it made his hand pause. 

You froze and planted your feet on the earth, staring intently into a little copse of trees and shrubs. The barrier of leaves formed a small hidden space that you slip into easily, practiced and lithe like a cat weaving through iron bars. He could only catch glimpses of your face from between the branches, tilted up with eyes closed. 

You looked alive, that was really the only way he could put it. Charlie watched as the shadow of your body lowered itself onto the cold dirt and breathed in the scent of the dying foliage. Under the curve of the roots he could see it: your face scrunched up, lips parted, plump and bitten with your chin tilted back towards the sky. 

He couldn’t look away from the strange display. 

Couldn’t help but feel like he knew the look on your face. 

***

This time, running into you really was an accident. 

He was just stopping for coffee, on his way to work and rushing. Traffic was bad, but it was his turn to run for drinks and there would be an uproar if he showed up empty handed. And there you were, headphones in and seated right by one of the windows in the little cafe. 

Your face was half lit by the laptop screen you were leaning over. Writing, he supposed based on the way your fingers flew across the keys. So nimble, he thought, how skilled those hands must be. How lovely they’d look wrapped around his dick, lips spilling drool and split open— 

“What can I get started for you today?” the barista asked. 

Charlie’s head whipped back around to the overly cheery face behind the counter. He frowned, throwing glances back at you while he rattled off his list of orders. 

“Alrighty, can I get a name for the order?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw your fingers still on the keys, “Charlie is fine.” 

“Great, I’ll get that out for you as soon as I can.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tucking his wallet away and moving to lean against the far wall. 

From here he could look at you head on while everyone else would simply assume he was staring out the window, watching the way today’s light drizzle had doused the city in sepia grayscale lighting. You had gone back to typing, foot tapping on the rough wood floors. He studied your legs, the way they bounced to whatever rhythm was playing in your ears. 

They’d look good shaking, he thought, crawling breathlessly away and scrambling against the cool tile of his kitchen. 

What a joy it was to see you so unexpectedly. Certainly one of the better parts of this morning, even if it was a bit strange as well. This part of the city was a considerable distance from your apartment building. Maybe you liked the shop too, stumbled across it the way his crew had and been drawn in by the aesthetics and quiet atmosphere. Charlie didn’t have many regular stomping grounds but this place was one of them. 

If he was a better man, he might have taken you to coffee here, participated in banal small talk and gotten to know your favorite authors, where you worked and what a creature like you did there. If you hated your boss, if you were quiet about it, if you sent emails with exclamation points to seem friendly and non-confrontational. 

But this was sort of like a date. He had learned something new about you every time, even if you weren’t aware of it. In time, he’d learn even more, see all of you. See what you looked like in your purest form—primal fear in your eyes and blood on your lips. 

And you would get to know about him as well, in time. He’d show you everything, all of it. 

With every new meeting, the feeling grew stronger. 

This wasn’t just about the kill anymore. 

You would be the one, Charlie knew it in his gut. Different from the others who fell so witlessly into his trap, took the bait and barely had the wherewithal to even struggle as he reeled them in. They were dead fish on his hook, limp and rotting before he could drag them to shore. 

But not you. 

You were alive and kicking and perfect. 

You would be so good for him. 

“Charlie!” the barista called, breaking him from his reverie. 

As he swooped in to grab the two drink trays and hurried back out into the rain, he stole one last glance in your direction. 

Silhouetted by an errant ray of sunlight, you struck an immaculate picture. So much so that he missed the way your eyes trailed him out the door, catching on the edge of his coat and following him out into the gloom of the New York streets. 

But he was too busy engraving the image of your slightly curved spine, the arch of your shoulders and neck, to notice your stare on him all the way down the block until he melted into the background of the city. 

***

It was late and Charlie felt worn thin. The subway platform was crowded as always, despite the hour encroaching closely on midnight. They really were true, all those awful cliches about how the city never sleeps. 

He sighed, moved farther to the tile wall so he could avoid being tossed into the tracks by the rustling of passersby. There were dozens of people shuffling around on their tired feet, bitching about any number of things or playing music too loud. The smell of stale piss and the bleach public transit staff used to mask it was even stronger after the rain. Charlie wrinkled his nose against the onslaught and watched the westbound train come and go, rattling like a bull down the tracks and sweeping away passengers as it went. A slip of paper from the wall fluttered off in the draft and settled in a puddle on the ground. 

And a familiar face stared up at him. 

Large black text framed the photo. “MISSING” it read in all caps that quickly dissolved in the New York rain water. Rain here had a tendency to wash away everything just when he needed it the most. He reminisced about the way her blood had slipped down the sewer grates so easily, leaving his shoes free of any evidence. 

She had been particularly sloppy—not something to be proud of—but Charlie was nothing if not adaptive.

He learned from his mistakes.

His eyes flicked over the subway wall and was met with a plethora of blank xerox faces staring back. Most were young, photos taken from cell phones with lips stretched wide and smiling. There were more than a few men as well. Those he did not recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes, and arrogance clear even in pictures. Some of the others he did know, with softer looks—he always had a weak spot for faces like that. 

But they were nothing like you. Besides, all that pretty had melted away so quickly under the knife. And you would be different. 

You would bear him well.  

You would look so pretty hanging from the subway walls, grinning out from the tile or the occasional telephone pole. Charlie didn’t think he’d mind it much if someone made a poster for you. That way he’d get a pleasant surprise while walking down the city streets when he was coming home late like this and had been away from you for too long. 

It had been so long since he’d seen you last. Opening night was quickly approaching and work had been taking up far too much time. It had gotten to the point that he saw your face in every crowd. Walking from the station to his apartment he’d see you in the figures smoking on a neighboring balcony or in the cereal aisle at the grocery store or mingling with the backstage crew out behind the theater. 

And now as well.

In the crowd, peeking out from behind one of the dusty, graffiti-covered columns, he swore that were standing—the curve of your back, the set of your shoulders, the lock of your jaw. Charlie’s feet moved without his noticing, carrying him towards you. 

In the distance, the northbound train was approaching, he could feel the rumble of it in his bones as he pushed and maneuvered a trail through the crowd, but you were still slipping away. Faster than him and smaller, weaving easily through bystanders without notice. 

The train rushed past him, blowing locks of hair into his face that whipped at his eyes and forced him to stop. He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair and trying to catch sight of you again. Though as he looked closer, the figure retreating was just another faceless traveler, their gate was similar but not quite the same, steps too short and heavy. 

Charlie felt scoffed at himself, at the shameless desperation, and allowed the tide of people to sweep him into the train compartment. 

His hand gripped the standing rail hard in a fist and his eyes stared out onto the platform, tiled wall of monochrome faces staring back. He looked out until it disappeared as the subway roared down the tracks once again and left them all behind. 

***

He was finally here. 

Finally after weeks of rehearsals running into the small hours of the morning and a mess of late night dinners, rounds of drinks with cast mates, he was finally here. 

In your bar, watching you dance again in the dim light. 

Charlie would never tire of the sight, the way you moved to the music was addicting in its own right. He’d only just wandered in less than an hour ago, ordered his usual and taken a seat at the bar. From here he had the perfect view, the door was behind him so escape was simple and you were visible just across the table top, swaying to the soft beat. 

He wanted so badly to devour you. 

It was a hunger the likes of which he had never known. It made him reckless, excited him as nothing had in so long. He’d always heard hunters talk about their most prized prey. Seen the massive antlers hung on walls in sets and in film, and he understood it now. You were a trophy, a wonder of nature and he would be the one to win you. 

Keep you in your own trophy room for him to see you dance like that whenever he wanted. 

There were not many people tonight, so you were still swaying alone, not having found a partner  yet for the night as you had done before. 

Charlie was stuck on the way your jugular was highlighted amongst the shadows of neon lights when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was nearly blinded by the bright white screen as he read the notification for an incoming call from his stage manager. 

Shit.

He left his drink at the bar and stepped away for a moment, to the corner farther from the speakers and swiped to answer. She sounded frantic, muttering and hard to hear over the music. His supporting actress had broken her wrist from what he was able to gather, an understudy was being arranged. He huffed and thanked her, asking to be kept updated and saying that no, he absolutely could not give his input at this very moment, he was, in fact, preoccupied. 

When she finally consented to calling back later, he turned and immediately stopped in his tracks. You were there, standing at the bar right next to his abandoned seat and staring right into his eyes. There was a subtle smile playing at your lips, and you rested an elbow on the counter, never breaking your gaze as he slowly walked back. 

Had he been caught? 

Charlie cleared his throat and cursed his racing heart. A sweaty palm combed through his hair as joined you at the bar. Your smile only grew. 

“Mind if I join you?”

He nearly choked on his spit. 

“No, of course not,” he grabbed his glass and you clinked yours against the rim. 

You both sipped, and he tried not to stare too long at how your arms looked resting on the wood. This was...not something he had anticipated. But leave it to you to surprise him. 

“Do you come here often?” you asked, swirling the liquor in your cup. 

Odd that you hadn’t asked his name, but then again, he hadn’t bothered to ask yours either. He knew the constants and vowels of it by heart. 

“I wouldn’t say often,” he shrugged and took a long drink, something to numb him a bit and calm the shaking in his hands. “Only when it’s convenient.” 

“It’s nice here,” you said. “I like the crowd.” 

“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t expected to actually speak with you so soon. 

“No one really comes in to talk, if you know what I mean.” You pulled your lip between your teeth and nibbled at it. 

He could feel his cock twitch in his jeans at the way you bit at the flesh. 

“Is that so,” he mused. 

The look you gave him was succulent, mouthwatering and exquisite, “Wanna dance?”

He shouldn’t. It wasn’t time. There was an order to these things, there were rules and this was breaking them but, oh fuck you just kept looking at him and he was going to drown in how good it was. Charlie downed the rest of his drink and let you take his hand, pulling him slowly into the crowd of other dancers. Just as he had watched you do a dozen times, like he fantasized you’d to do with him. 

Dancing was never really his thing but when you placed his big palms on your hips and let him feel you sway, his feet found their place. You turned in his grip—back to his chest and ass pressed to his front—and moved. 

His vision tunneled. Homing in until the room melted away and there was nothing but your body and his hands. 

***

The streets were dark and empty, but your hand was so scaldingly hot in his that Charlie barely noticed. 

“Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Your voice rang out in his head. The music and the lights were brighter and louder and everything grew hazy the longer he touched you. 

God, he shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t time and hunting had rules but…

But this could be good. Go back to your place, learn the way in, maybe where you keep your keys, the door code and placement of security cameras—make it much easier on himself further down the line when you were ready. When he could take you. 

There were leaves crunching under his feet and the night seemed to grow darker and darker as you led him forward. 

“We can cut through here,” you said, turning to flash him another smile, tugging at his arm and making him stumble. 

He was losing track of where his limbs existed in space, strange since he’d only had the one drink. His eyes were dry trying to adjust to the pitch blackness he was so unused to. It never got this dark in the city, too much light pollution but there were barely any shadows here, too far away from the bustling center of town. 

Something cold and metal brushed his thigh as he followed you deeper into the darkness and towards the twinkling street lamps in the distance. 

The bench, he realized, where he sat and observed you walking your circles. 

This was the park. 

The copse of trees was just ahead. 

Charlie knew where you lived, somewhere far into midtown and not near here. Something unfamiliar was taking over him. His mouth felt thick, his face beaded with sweat and his chest was growing tighter by the minute. This was wrong, he should go, but his legs were like lead and as much as he tried to wrench his hand from your grip...he couldn’t. 

The shrubs caught on his pants as you yanked hard on his arm and sent him tumbling forward into the dirt. He tried to catch himself, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. Face down, he landed with earth and dried leaves sticking to his cheeks. Your weight settled on top of him, thighs gripping his hips and hands planted on either side of his head. 

“You bitch,” he gasped into the ground. “What did you give me?” 

“It’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with,” your breath was so hot on his ear, tongue flicking out to lick up the shell of it and bite down hard on the lobe. 

“You fucking whore,” Charlie hissed, trying to throw you off. He wanted to pin you down, fuck the plans he’d choke you out right here, right now. Wrap his big hands around your throat and watch you claw and grasp at him— 

You were supposed to be perfect. 

Supposed to be his. 

Your nails skimmed up his scalp, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking it back. His neck strained as you pressed your cheek to his, other hand coming to cup his jaw harshly. 

“Listen to me you arrogant piece of shit,” you snarled, no honey sweetness dripping from your lips now. He still wanted desperately to taste them. “I’m assuming you're new to this game so let me explain some things to you. Now be a good boy and listen, yeah?” 

Charlie tried to shake his head from your grip, work your fingers into his mouth and bite but your hand slipped to his throat and tightened just enough to restrict the blood pulsing through his carotid. He stilled, pursing his lips and nodded.

“Much better,” you whispered. He could only make out the blur of your face from his peripheral, feel the heat of your skin pressed to his. “There is one rule and only one to this dance of ours, do you know what it is?” 

He grit his teeth, silent until your nails ripped into his hair again and he groaned as the strands separated from his scalp

“Why don’t you tell me,” he bit the ‘t’ and waited. 

“You never shoot another hunter, dumbass,” you spat. “You make sure whatever the fuck you go after it isn’t wearing a bright orange fucking vest.” 

“What?” he was panting now, the ground fading in and out as his vision went dark. 

“Did you know prey animals never have forward facing eyes?” you stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Cause they’re always looking out, always watching the horizon for predators and the sign of a good predator is that we never let them catch us.”

Charlie’s neck grew weaker, the only thing holding him up was your hands on his throat and buried in his silky hair. 

“So the next time you go scoping for your next pretty young thing to kill, make sure it can’t look you in both eyes.” 

“You, you’re—” his speech was slurred, the words tumbling out in a jumble. 

Is this what they felt like? All the others when he was tying them down and preparing for the slaughter. 

“Yeah. So next time you think about branching out, don’t,” you let his head drop to the dirt and pressed his nose into the soil. 

This is where you took yours. That man with the neon sneakers. When laid here, when he watched you breath in the earth. This is where you came to remember. 

“These are my grounds, so stay the fuck off of them,” you slid off his back, pressing a knee into his hip and pushing so he flopped over limply on the leaf litter. “I won’t be so nice next time.” 

He watched blearily as you leaned over him, settling back and straddling his lap. You rocked your hips once lazily against his cock, still half hard and tenting in his jeans. “Pity I’m letting you go, you’re exactly my type.” 

Charlie swallowed, tongue like chalk as the world faded out around him. You leaned in close, patting his cheek twice and chuckling. It was so dark in this part of New York, he could actually see the stars as you shifted away and sauntered off into the night. Your parting words echoed in his head as he stared, immobile, up at the night sky.

“Happy hunting, Charlie.” 

#dead dove do not eat #dark fic #murder charlie #serial killer!charlie #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber smut #tw: murder #tw: drug use #tw: noncon #mind the tags #dr. b writes #baby's first dark fic

[protectwoc]

why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

#john boyega #anti reylo #raetalks

[tropicalfreckles]

Beej?

Anon you’ve opened the floodgates you absolute fool(i’m kidding) OKAY, let me tell you all about what I like about the smelly trash man cause if it wasn’t obvious before with me not being so subtle I have a big crush and enjoy this stupid demon a lot (crush on musical beej specifically of course LAWL)

Why I Like them: OKAY IN ORDER, first movie Beetlejuice. I enjoy he’s a big sleazy asshole that has funny one-liners every time he actually just show up in the movie. He’s a fast-talking con man that acts like a used car salesman and he has a sleazy charm to him. I also enjoy watching Barbara school his ass every time I rewatch the movie, stan movie Barbara y’all she’s a babe and will take you down. I also like to thank Michael Keaton for his performance it was a great one and we all have movie Beej to thank for the other Beetlejuices we got!

Toon Beej! Adorable, a brat, a jerk, a man that would do anything to make a quick buck and he’s gross and such a petty shithead I love him lmao. He can be pure and adorable and nice when he wants to be even if he doesn’t like to show that he has a soft side. Also holy shit all his puns??? YES?? I LOVE PUNS. His jokes, his powers, everything about this middle aged dead ghoul is A+ and ya know what when karma does slap him that’s good too cause he does deserve to get taken down a peg some times lmao. Toon Beej is someone I’d happily be friends with.

now we get to my big ass crush on a stupid, smelly BASTARD OF A BUGMAN

Musical Juice. What don’t I like about him? Besides his dumb ass plan of a green card marriage lmao (I mean movie beej also sleazy af for doing that too). ANYWAYS. What I like. His stupid smile (both blum and brightman just WHY ARE THEY BOTH SO ATTRACTIVE AHHH), his unhinged pansexual disaster energy, who tf is letting this man do coke that is a terrible idea but it gives such hilarious results, the fact that he uses his humor with his trauma he needs to NOT call me out like that lol. I weirdly relate to Musicaljuice like a lot (as someone who struggles with trying not to be petty or get jealous and stuff like that), plus him feeling invisible and lonely also hit home really hard when people in middle school and high school would randomly just drop/ghost me out of the blue. He’s such a chaotic sleaze and I just enjoy his energy and his jokes so much. His dirty humor? Sign me up I keep it clean here folks cause I got another blog for dirty stuff but I like dirty humor when it’s done right lmao. Also dadbod. Dadbod is CHEF KISS. The little things I also enjoy. How he does have an affectionate side (him being just affection/touch starved also coming for the throat cause me too), the fact that he jumped to protect Lydia after she rightfully killed him and he even gave her his cowboy hat as a goodbye present. I thought it was nice of him to yeet out of there cause he did do a lot of bads lmao. I also love how excited he got and the chaotic sibling energy he had with Lydia when scaring. I just really, really enjoy musical Beetlejuice a lot guys.

Sorry I’m such a simp for him lmao

He is my emotional support bastard

Why I don’t: I honestly do not hate his character at all, but, I can criticize his actions. To a degree. I can’t exactly say (ex. Musicaljuice)“Oh no! a demon trying to kill Lydia’s friends and family?? How unexpected!!” he’s a demon he’s gonna do evil-ish things. Which is why I applaud Lydia taking matters into her own hands good kid 10/10. and like movie Juice is a bastard sleazy man of course he’s gonna have a shitty idea as to marry a teenage girl so he can freely do whatever he wants in the world of the living. He never in the final script showed any creepy shit towards her which god I am grateful for I don’t need someone perving on this teenager that’s already having a wild time in her new house. He’s a conman just trying to have a good time but goes about it by crappy means. The petty/jealousy thing can go too far some times (but I chalk that up to musicaljuice’s sad upringing along with not having an positive relationships that we know of in his life to support him) for musical and toon juice (toon juice once again I don’t think had any friends that really understood him when he was alive and when he died so he just does whatever he wants since people already think so little of him before he meets Lydia), however with the proper talking to I think both could improve from it. Like in an analysis way I know these guys are fictional just like character development thoughts. All three have said and or done some things ranging from like small shitty things to problematic obviously. Beetlejuice is a very complex character as a whole. Movie juice obviously not as developed since he’s barely in the film to kind of shroud him in more mystery but that doesn’t mean his motives aren’t intriguing. I don’t want to make this post longer than it already is so that’s just all of my thoughts summarized.

Favorite Episode (scene if Movie): Fav movie beej scene is hard.

His first time meeting the Maitlands, his charades with Lydia, then the ending scene are all so good.

Toon Beej I’m trying to think. Once again I’ve only rewatched like 20+ episodes for the cartoon so it’s hard to pick with limited options. Uhhhh I like the haunted attraction episode lmao also the creepy tree and how he went out of his way to help Lydia move her favorite tree and in the end tried saying something nice to the tree even though eh was annoyed with it the whole episode.

Musical juice that is HARD, Blum and Brightman just own every scene they’re in shit lawl. I really like the evil plan reveal during the séance. The whole being dead pt 1&2 (the guide reprise), say my name, his scenes with the maitlands.

Favorite season/movie: Skip

Favorite Line: NICE FUCKING MODEL!! *honkhonk* (pfft)

also like... everything beetlejuice says in the musical lmao “new phone who dis”

Favorite Outfit: HONESTLY I love every single outfit all three beetlejuices wear. I want the fucking guide hat so badly!!!

OTP: 

hahahaAAAHH ah. Well. Ya see here. Let’s go with the first options. Cause of a number of artists on here I’ve been pretty keen on the BeetlejuicexMiss Argentina ship for moviejuice tbh lmao. I like the idea they had an office fling. Musicaljuice and Miss Argentina sounds cute too.

I don’t actively go into the Beetlands tag but I do think the art and idea for it (after a lot of building up trust/consent/and talking) think it can be a super cute poly ship! I like.

I don’t really ship Toon Beej with anyone tbh.

so now into the self indulgent shit lmaaoo

I love people’s ocs/self inserts with the Bugman a lot and I myself super hardcore ship my oc Leilani and musicaljuice. I... maye have drawn self insert art I have no posted here out of being shy but it’s on another blog that will stay hidden lmao. I don’t normally post self insert stuff of myself cause man I can draw it easily for other people but when it comes to myself I am shy.

I mean I’m writing a fic for beej and lani as we speak and you all know by now if you’ve been following me for the past couple of months I’ve drawn a handful of doodles plus commissioned numbnutspo to draw my self indulgent ship lawl

BROTP: The obvious for toon and musicaljuice is Lydia Deetz of course. Chaos siblings. Also I have a BROTP of my demon oc Antares with musicaljuice too. Dumb demon bros.

Unpopular Opinion: TBH Idk if I have one. I like to think there’s a resounding hiss @ the ship that shall not be named lmao.

A Wish: Same wish I had for Lydia’s ask, I wanna see the musical live REAL BADLY. I also wish I could tell the cast/crew of the musical how much it has helped me get through this shitty year and how it legit just revived my passion for drawing again. I got to meet a lot of people through the musical and made some new friends. Plus I’m actually making money off my art now???

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I wanna forget that clean beetlejuice from that one episode of the cartoon exists lmao it scares me (I mean I wouldn’t object to musical juice to taking a fucking bath or brushing his teeth but let’s be real that ain’t happening)

5 words to best describe them: Bastard, Unhinged, Handsome, 1-Brain Cell, Huggable

My nickname for Them: I mean when I refer to him or write fics it’s always Beej, BJ, Bugman, Bug, Bastard Man, Smelly Trashman, Garbage Man, Lawrence, the list goes on lawl

and now I have aired out more of my stupid obsession with this dumb demon

edit: I FORGOT HEADCANONS

OKAY HEADCANONS. Musical juice is definitely the oldest of the three, (in dead terms too, in alive terms he was ony alive for like less than 3 minutes or something), I love musicaljuice pansexual/genderfluid so much. I have a bunch but my mind is like blank rn for the rest shit sorry but I added those in at least

also I like the funny headcanon toon juice is taller than keatlejuice and musicaljuice

I also like the headcanon for autistic beetlejuice (as someone who is also autistic)

#asks #long post #anon #beetlejuice #musical beetlejuice #asks game #Anonymous

[gogo-karasuno]

Haikyuu Self-Ship Meme

I was tagged by: @haikyuudreaming

Tagging: @samwrights @bokutokoutarou @queenktbigal @pinkieperil @iwaixiumi Sorry if I’ve tagged someone who has been tagged before.

Rules: Ship yourself with your favorite character and give headcanons on how your relationship would go.

Notes: I’m an overly complicated, dramatic bitch so there’s like some build up here. Y’all getting some character set up and my personal headcanon for various characters too. This is about being Self-Indulgent and damn am I here to Indulge.

--- ---

Tsukishima x Tadashi x Gogo: TsukkiYamaGo

- The Basic Background: I’m a first year student at Karasuno and from Kitagawa First along with Nozomi Watabe, the Girl’s Team Libero. We’ve been friends for so long we kind of function as the same person sometimes. Since we’ve also been playing volleyball for just as long it makes us Something on the court. Because we went to Kita we’ve possibly had classes with Kageyama, Kindachi, and Kunimi. My personality has things in common with Kunimi so I imagine were were friends and this brought Kindachi into my friends group. Since I’m a Setter (for the pout, perceptiveness, strategy, and tendency to enjoy pulling the string) I did totally did some pick up games with Kindachi and Kunimi because sometimes a person just wants to get a toss they can hit. Nozomi and I both knew were were walking into Something for the Karasuno Girls Team but we still made that call.

- Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and I are all in the same class first year. Because I selected the college prep course I knew I wouldn’t share classes with Nozomi but it is still a total bummer. I’m at a new school, kind of introverted, and sort of on my own in class because she’s not there. This should, in theory, make me pay attention in class but it absolutely does nothing of the sort.

- If I reached out to someone first it would be Tadashi. One of those “Introverts Unite” kinds of things because maybe we can at least Exist near each other. I was used as the person to split up talkative kids in school and here is no different.

- Tsukishima and I do that thing that cats do where they circle each other while deciding if they want to coexist or slap each other. We’re both sarcastic piles of salts so we’ve got to figure out how that is going to meld together. I’m also delightfully bitch on top of this and am always ready to throw down at a moment's notice. If anything, we probably get along too well while shittalking other people.

- Before the Saturday First Year’s Game for the Guys I find out they play volleyball. There’s some actual apologizing because wow they have the King of the Court. Between my own irritation at Kageyama for being so Kingly (Part of being the Control Tower is Communication) and hearing even more details from Kindachi and Kunimi...I’m just so unhappy. This school doesn’t have an Oikawa to carry through the year either.

- I hide behind Yams a lot in class so the teacher forgets I exist with how quiet I am. If I could change it up to sit behind Tsukishima I would. After meeting the Girl’s Team, my free, and not so free moments, become trying to figure out how to make this team workable? There has to be something to do with what we have to be better.

- A lot of our original Just Us interactions outside of school tend to involve notes and homework. Sometimes I miss things in class or I need extra explanation for math so Yamaguchi helps me. Tsukishima, having nothing better to do, tends to show up with him to snark while helping. However, I won’t study with them because I’m very much a solitary studying kind of person.

- Eventually we start hanging out more and more without homework or class as the excuse. Sometimes it is the three of us watching movies, listening to movies, or just kind of moving around town. Other times, Yamaguchi and I throw a volleyball around while talking with Tsukishima sitting nearby and doing his own thing. Volleyball takes front and center more after Interhigh. The girl's team did way better but they lost out in the end. So, I double down practicing with the team and on my own. This carries over to a lot of practices with those two and occasionally Nozomi. I have a strong belief that everyone should be rock solid at receiving and as someone with a pretty great serve I openly admit to targeting Middle Blockers. It is something I really encourage Tadashi to learn because "A pinch-serving, Middle Blocker screams 'Target me!' if they need a person to spike at."

- A big note from Interhigh, though, is the guys actually saw me cry for the first time. I'm so frustrated at working so hard and still losing that it turns into angry, frustrated tears rolling down my cheeks. Nozomi and I are both just seething at losing to Niiyama because we were hellbent that this would be the time we went to Nationals. The past three years was playing second fiddle to Shiratorizawa Junior and now we've got Niiyama standing in our way.

- The first thing that should be a Clue about what is building up is very much the first time I slip up and call Tsukishima "Tsukki". I'm perceptive enough to have noticed that it is very much a Yamaguchi for Tsukishima Nickname and not a "For everyone" Nickname. I go  to apologize for my slipup. However, I actually get that it is okay. Tsukishima admits he doesn't mind hearing that name from me. Should be pointed out that I turn fucking scarlet because I blush at any major emotion. Yamaguchi also isn't annoyed at me using that nickname.

- I can also see Yams and I falling into a habit of being touchy with each other. When given the chance we sit close together we just do. We aren't exactly touch starved but there is something so reassuring to both of us. It goes from slight brushes to being draped around each other more or less. Sometimes Tsukishima is slightly pulled into things. We'll lean against him while animatedly talking in front of him or just watching something.

- These should be like Giant Obvious Hints that we are all clearly getting to be more than friends. It goes directly over the top of my head. Honestly, all three of us missing such hints feels like an ongoing theme for the three of us. For a perceptive trio of people we really are not picking up each other's hints.

- At some point I admit that they are like Nozomi to me in that they are don't count as "People". I'm very introverted by nature so there are very few people who don't drain me. It is a huge thing when someone doesn't tire me out let along finding two people who don't tire me out at the same time is gold.

- Since I'm a storyteller by nature I start to let it slip to them that I enjoy writing a lot and even want to make a possible podcast telling stories. Tsukki teases me because that is just how Tsukki communicates with people. But, I also see him sending me links later that night for microphones and headphones that would be great to start with. Yams is like 500% supportive from the get go. I tease them about how they should join me. We can all banter together, especially when Tsukki and I riff off each other so well.

- Summer is training for all of us and our time spent together is honestly trying to speed through summer homework. Sometimes it becomes more talking to each other over video calls or text than truly getting to see each other. I do make it a point to ask Yams about learning the Jump Float. I've got a regular jump serve but I need something extra for the next time I see Niiyama. I also Tsukki about blocking. Even if my team as a whole depends more on receiving than straight blocking there has to be something I can do.

- Sometimes before this I feel like it comes out that I have a couple of Mental Illnesses (and I headcanon as Yams having Anxiety and Depression as well) so like sometimes we are just both coping together. I also have a very poor reaction to "Fight or Flight" because I literally turned it into "Fight or Fight". It means I jump straight to arguing or spinning on my heel while swinging. Also, tears. I could see Tsukki originally being an ass about it until it quickly sinks in that this is actually a very serious thing. I could see both of them getting kind of protective over me because of these and I'm just as protective over them.

- Us actually getting together probably comes in the Exhilaration of both of us getting to go to the Spring Tournament to Represent Miyagi. There is something about doing the Impossible on top of Pure Exhaustion that just drops all sense of filters. It kind of comes out that hey we all kind of like each other as more than friends probably during a like 2am video call that night. Tsukki acts like he totally knew what was going on the entire time and was waiting on us to catch up. I admit I thought I was just misreading things a lot. Yamaguchi is probably the most together and we realize this is a thing. How do three people date? Well, that's something we're going to figure out.

- A lot of our dates are probably to museums or to the planetarium with cute cafe visits after. Tsukki's love of sweets, and mine too, mean we've been to a lot of cafes together. It is just like one of our Things.

- I am a caffeine fiend so sometimes I bring everyone coffee or one of them surprises us. Kei Tsukishima is weak for super sugary Starbucks style drinks and nothing will change my mind. Yamaguchi teases us about how much we love them. But, I will also drink coffee with two creams if it is good coffee.

- Tsukki blames Tadashi and I for the "Lame" Hobbies he picks up. My phone games expand to include the two of them so I have partners for things. Tsukki is fond of the quiz and stratgey games so we kind of get way too competative. Tadashi already pulled him into playing Pokemon but I double that need to actually play. Tsukki teases me, and to a lesser degree Tadashi, for reading fanfiction until a series he loved ended poorly. Guess who got really into Fix-It fics after that?

- I bitch and moan to Tsukki about “Playing volleyball with glasses *sucks* like. We get such ugly goggles to keep from shattering glasses.”

- Tadashi, and Tsukki who would die before saying it, thinks it is so cute when I argue up at him. I have to fully tilt my head back to make eye contact but that has never stopped me. In fact, Tsukki is a total dick about me being way, way shorter than him. Honestly, I look like an angry Porg when I argue with him. That being said, at concerts he works to get us seats where I can see.

- Yams has a picture of Tsukki and I flipping him off when he told us we look "Cute" with our sports goggles when playing. Even if we both found "cool" designs we still don't like them. But, we're also both smart enough to know that taking a volleyball to the face can crack contacts. 

- I told Nozomi about us but we otherwise were just like, "People can find out when they find out." and that's going to take a while. None of us are okay with PDA beyond like hugs or handholding. It's also not something out of the ordinary with Yams and I by this point. Yeah, I'm prickly about being touched unless asked but I'm also pretty touch oriented when I've given someone the go ahead. I also get lost easily, especially when paying more attention to my phone, or get super anxious in crowds and touch calms me down. 

- Akiteru nearly cried when he realized Tsukki had two partners. He cried when he realized Tsukki finally got along with a team and made a friend beyond Tadashi. Him dating Tadashi wasn't unexpected but the fact they're both dating me just causes him to have pride at coming out of shell to date people.

- Tadashi and I are flavors of nonbinary so we totally trades clothes with each other that fits sometimes. I love his hoodies and he gets my skirts or dresses sometimes. Makeup is a little out of my league beyond the basics but I could see him taking to way easier. I paint his nails a lot and introduce him to the base and top coats. I also totally braid his hair and put cute clips in it. We trade body sprays too. Tsukki glares at people who think of saying things to us.

#gogo tagged #self-shipping meme #gogo things #lots of my own headcanons #i'm poly bi and nonbinary #so i'm catering to me

[izzy-b-hands]

I Can Hear Music

Modern AU Sledgefu is go! 

Playlist for this fic can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KzkeIXXwi5zUm5a9JvXp7

in case anyone wants to listen as they read! Songs are in order as they are mentioned/sort of referenced in the fic, because if they were out of order I’d literally not be able to handle it lol.

Also, did a bit of historical tweaking here-they’re still soldiers, still Marines, but considering this is a fic focusing on them settling back in after being shipped out, having fun and being happy and in love, I didn’t go into detail as to where exactly they’d been shipped out to for this au. If I write another piece for this au to go with this one, then I promise I’ll get that all figured out and in proper detail for y’all. For now, this is just a lot of good music, dancing, and also some smut. 

Thanks to all who read/like/reblog! Hopefully you’ll like this one-be gentle lol.

Clubs weren’t necessarily his thing. He didn’t mind them, even liked them some nights, but he always felt a little bit awkward at them. 

Snafu didn’t have that problem though. He was there to have fun and dance, and he didn’t let anyone get in the way of that. He also helped relieve some the anxiety of the whole experience-there was no way to feel too awkward or unnerved when Snafu was dancing with him, grinning brighter than the sun. 

And they went anywhere-to clubs more industrial, some straight up disco, others a mix of everything from the hardest sounding songs to pop dance tracks. 

But this night was different. Snafu had insisted they leave earlier, because he wanted to stay out even later than usual. But it was weird to be dancing in the club when the sun was still shining in through the windows. 

“I’m gonna get you to loosen up, before the sun goes down. Little bit of sunlight shouldn’t stop you from havin’ fun,” Snafu said, pulling him onto the dance floor of the first club while Body Language played loud. The floor wasn’t quite empty, but it also wasn’t as full as he usually wanted it before he felt able to go out and dance. 

“Eugene, c’mon. I know you love this song-don’t let me down, lover boy,” Snafu was as close as he could get, hips grinding, feeling the beat like it lived in him every day. 

He tried to ignore everyone else, and focused solely on Snafu. He was fluid, able to shift with the songs easier than Eugene figured anyone could. Body Language slipped into Action This Day (he figured it was Queen night at the club-most of the places they frequented had one such night, at least once a month if not more, which was part of the reason why they frequented said clubs) then to Staying Power. 

And with that he had no choice but keep his full attention on Snafu. The club could have been rocked by an earthquake, but he wouldn’t have noticed with Snafu singing the song at him as he danced, smiling in a way that Eugene could only describe as utterly delicious. 

Little things like that usually sent them home early-after a certain point, the teasing got to be too much. But this was early in the night-he’d have to match Snafu’s teasing if he wanted to make it through the night without dragging him home to bed. Snafu occasionally hit that point and was the one doing the dragging, but not nearly as often as Eugene. It would be a point of pride to drive him crazy enough that he’d be the one to cut things short. 

The club dropped things down a bit as the dance floor emptied a bit-he figured most were hitting the bar. My Love is Dangerous was just the right beat he needed though. Just slow enough to justify grabbing Snafu by the hips every now and again to pull him close, and wind his fingers down to rest playfully against the waistband of his black jeans. 

From there, the floor started to busy up again, and a new favorite of theirs came on . He didn’t speak the language, so he couldn’t understand it, and though he couldn’t pronounce the name of it (he’d had the club DJ write it down for him- Hatrið mun sigra by an Icelandic group) he found himself in love with it. It was fast and loud and intense enough that even with the sun streaming in, he found the confidence to dance like it was pitch-black inside. Whether that was good or bad, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he figured he didn’t dance worse than anyone else. 

Another song (Spillingardans-he could remember the name of that one a bit better, for some reason) by the same band came on after, and as much as he wanted to keep dancing he found himself dying of thirst. Snafu was already on the same page, taking him by the hand and gently leading him through the growing crowd to the bar. 

“Start out with water. No gettin’ drunk till we get to the end of the night,” Snafu yelled over the pulsating music. 

“You plannin’ a marathon tonight or somethin’?” Eugene asked as the next song, X, started up. It had a few quieter moments that made it easier to talk, and shout their order to the horribly busy bartender. “How many places are you planning on taking me?” 

“Let’s try for double-digits tonight,” Snafu replied with a mischievous grin. “Think you got it in you?” 

He had plenty of thoughts in regards to what he had in him, as well as what he wanted to have in him by the end of the night. But he just nodded, and downed the water. 

“What say we hit the place next door after this next song?” Snafu shouted as the song started. 

“Sure. This place already got you feelin’ worn out, you need the break?” Eugene teased. 

Snafu rolled his eyes, smiled, dropped payment for the drinks in the bartender’s hand, and pulled him back into the crowd.

It was a little bit easier now, with the club starting to fill up and the sun finally going down. But it also made leaving a pain in the ass. 

“You may as well unbutton a bit too-only gonna get warmer,” Snafu said once they were out in the cooling evening air as he unbuttoned the tropical-themed short-sleeve shirt he was wearing. 

“Could-but maybe I want someone else to do it for me,” he replied, and enjoyed the blush that made its way across Snafu’s face. 

Inside the next club, it was like they’d jumped back to the start of the first club’s playlist. But he didn’t mind-Living on My Own was another one they spent a decent amount of time bouncing around the house, singing along to-neither of them could match the scatting portion of the song, however. And it was nice to change the pace up again, to have a song playing that gave him a moment to let a hand linger on Snafu’s hip, or up the back of his now open shirt to rest on the small of his back. It was the little things that seemed to really get at Snafu, to make him stare at Eugene hungrily, with enough energy and intensity behind his eyes that it was unsettling in the best way. 

It wasn’t even mid-way through Back Chat when Snafu started to get antsy. He pulled him in for a kiss, hard, his hands gently but quickly opening the first few buttons of the white, loose, short-sleeved button-up Eugene wore. 

When they broke apart, Eugene smiled. “What happened to double-digits? You really gonna drag me home now?” 

Snafu smiled right back. “Nah. Just givin’ you a taste of what you’re gonna get later. But you’re gonna have to wait till we’re at those double-digits before you get the full meal, if you catch my meaning.” 

He did, and it was a killer thought. But this was truly a bit of friendly competition now, and he wasn’t about to lose at club #2. 

He unbuttoned a few more of his buttons as Stop All the Fighting started up, fast and smooth, and watched as Snafu’s eyes trailed down his chest to watch his fingers work. 

First Time He Kissed a Boy beat through the sound system right after, and it took him back-it had been playing the night they’d gotten back, over a year ago now. The idea had been that Snafu would drive him home, then return to New Orleans. They’d danced around their feelings for each other carefully while they were away, in part due to the other Marines, but because (as they would both admit later) they were afraid of hurting one another. 

But that night, in Snafu’s car, barely out of New Orleans, this song had come on, and it was like a dam broke. They’d ended up pulling over in the back parking lot of a truck stop, unable to keep their hands off of each other. It had been a fever, which broke after and left them not just happily satisfied, but finally able to admit their feelings properly. 

At that point, he’d told Snafu to turn back around, and he’d been living in New Orleans with Snafu ever since. The one nice thing about the city was how many clubs and bars it had that let them make a night of this-dancing and relaxing and not worrying about anything but having fun and each other. He was still getting used to it, but any city would have been fine with him, so long as Snafu was there with him. 

A Childish Gambino song followed, with a beat that let him pull Snafu close again, to grind and press a few quick kisses to his neck. He occasionally worried about being so affectionate while on the dance floor, but a quick look around showed him that if anything they were still being fairly polite. 

The playlist fell into pop then, but he was only half paying attention to what was playing. Watching Snafu sweat and sway was mesmerizing, and damn him if he didn’t know it. 

He kept tossing Eugene shit-eating smiles with half-lidded glances, biting at his lower lip in the way that he knew made him weak in the knees. It took all his energy not to pull Snafu to a back hall and kiss him until he was breathless. 

“The place down the road?” he shouted suddenly, just audible over the heartbeat drumming of White Teeth Teens. 

“Sure. You gonna lead us out?” Eugene asked, suddenly aware of the very sizable crowd around them. 

Snafu grabbed his hand, kissed it, then carefully pulled them free of the crowd and out to the street. The cool air was a shock, but nice all the same, and it made the warmth of Snafu’s hand in his all the more noticeable. 

They were nearly to the next club when Snafu pulled him into a slightly secluded corner. “We aren’t goin’ home yet. I just can’t go in there without doin’ this.” 

His lips were warm too, as he kissed Eugene like his very life depended on it. The strains of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy playing in the little hole-in-the-wall bar near them floated by, and he had to smile in between the kisses. It was another one that Snafu sang at him often, usually at random while making dinner or something else mundane. It had eventually led to that as one of their nicknames for each other-and had also led to a few burned dinners, after they’d gotten ‘distracted’ after the song had finished. 

It was incredibly hard to pull away, especially as Get Down, Make Love started up next. He simultaneously loved and cursed the bar for that, and Snafu took his moment of sighing in frustration to gently bite at his neck, turning the sigh into a gasp. 

“You sure you’re gonna make it to another club?” he teased. 

Snafu licked at the spot he’d bit and grinned. “Could ask you the same thing.” 

After another moment, they’d composed themselves enough to make it to club #3, which was well into the throes of the night. He recognized the song playing as they walked in as one from the same Icelandic band being played at the first club, and let himself melt into the song and the crowd, pulling Snafu gently behind him towards the center of the dance floor. 

The crowd at this one were pushy, but he didn’t mind. It meant that Snafu was essentially forced to be right up against him, and he could tease to his heart’s content. Had Snafu told him to stop, he would have of course, but he clearly wasn’t interested in stopping it. He leaned back into Eugene, letting his head fall back against his shoulder and exposing his neck to the gentle touches and kisses Eugene put there. 

However, their second song at that club was only just over, and suddenly Snafu was pulling him to the bar, ordering them water again. They both downed them quickly, and then Snafu was pulling him back outside. They were barely into an empty alley before Snafu was on him again, moaning and grabbing at the buttons of Eugene’s shirt until it was open, then running his hands over Eugene’s chest. 

He stopped Snafu as he softly cupped his face in his hands. “Double-digits?” 

“I’m not givin’ up yet,” Snafu replied, pressing his hips as close to Eugene’s as he could get. “But yeah, I don’t know that we’ll make that goal. Maybe we can get to five.” 

“That’s at least two more clubs,” Eugene replied, rolling his hips to Snafu’s, watching as Snafu blushed and moaned, dropping his head to Eugene’s shoulder. “Why don’t we walk for a bit, then head into another. See if we can make it that far.” 

Snafu nodded, and they made their way back out to the street. Pop music spilled out of various other clubs they passed, some slower, some faster, but all of it feeling like it fit in perfectly with the night and Snafu’s hand wrapped around his, their skin cool as the sweat dried onto it. 

The next club had retro night going on-Two of Hearts blared as they walked in, and it was his turn to make Snafu blush, singing the song at him as they moved to the dance floor. 

“You’re driving me wild, you know that?” he murmured, his lips literally next to Eugene’s ear as they danced close. 

“That’s the idea darlin’,” Eugene murmured back, moving his lips down from Snafu’s ear to press a kiss just behind it. “And you still got one more club to get through to make your goal of five.” 

Love Kills came on, and gave them a chance to dance close, but with a bit of space, and strangely enough the break worked. It made him all the more eager to get his hands back on Snafu, and from the glances Snafu was shooting his way he felt the same. 

The club had moved to faster rock, with Let Me Entertain You. But that was fine too-that one being sung at him made Snafu blush even more than Two of Hearts, particularly Freddie’s lines in the first bit of the song. He figured Snafu knew exactly how he meant those words, and he could only imagine what after-club scenarios Snafu had running through his head. 

He had to laugh as Snafu pulled him out of the club as the song ended. “One more club. And we gotta stay for more than one song.” 

Snafu pulled him into the very next club they walked past, and it was like someone was watching over them in terms of playlist. Dancer was playing, and he happily let Snafu drag him onto the dance floor. 

They were close as could be again, and he had to gently tap Snafu’s shoulder once or twice when he got a bit overly handsy. The crowd was big, but there was still a chance someone might notice how Snafu had undone not just the button of his jeans, but the button on Eugene’s jeans as well. 

“This song is so long,” Snafu sighed into his ear, barely audible. 

“It isn’t even four minutes long, darlin’,” Eugene replied. But at the same time, he got it. He could barely wait to get Snafu home, but he wasn’t going to break the rule he had set up. They had to get through one more song. 

He hadn’t heard the next song before-it was slower, and gorgeous. A nearby crowd member dropped the artist name-Tyler, the Creator, and he made a note to look it up the next day. It was just fast enough with a good beat, that left Snafu alternating between bringing his hips close, then swaying away, but always keeping one of Eugene’s hands in his. 

It was also long. Halfway through, he couldn’t hold back. He pulled Snafu in for a kiss, and knew they were going to head home. 

There was no music aside from more random pop and rap strains floating into the street as they worked to get home. It was a longer than usual trip, with interruptions to find secluded corners to get in a kiss or a roaming hand. By the time they were up the stairs of their apartment, Snafu had ripped his shirt off and was working on Eugene’s as well. 

They nearly tripped over their cat, Delilah, as they came in, attached at the hips and the lips, not really paying attention to where they were going after the door was shut and locked behind them. 

After a few trips and near misses, they made it into the bedroom, and disrobed like it was their life’s mission. There was no time for more foreplay-hell, the whole night had been foreplay. He managed to grab the lube from their bedside table while Snafu kissed and left hickies on his neck and chest, moaning wantonly, loud enough he figured the neighbors could probably hear. 

“Get yourself inside of me,” he told Snafu, tossing him the lube once he’d come up for air. 

“With pleasure,” Snafu sighed. 

Snafu working him open was always a gift. He had a way with his hands that Eugene couldn’t quite explain, but it always left him a begging mess. 

Finally, Snafu was inside and he pondered if he was already as close to finishing as he was. 

A moment later, he got his answer in the form of Snafu no longer able to properly enunciate, just moaning and groaning with a smile on his face as he moved his hips. 

He didn’t time how much longer they made it, just let himself drift into the pleasure of Snafu inside him and against him, until he came. 

He knew he was moaning too loudly as he did, but he didn’t really care-let the neighbors enjoy the audio show that was his full-body orgasm. He was left so blinded and out of it after that he only just registered when Snafu came, with the sweetest strangled groan, then murmured ‘I love you’s’ in between kisses pressed to his stomach and chest. 

Neither of them were able to get up and grab anything to clean with, which made Eugene suddenly happy for Snafu’s habit of tossing a towel near the bed, just in case. They cleaned up just enough, then fell into sleep, warm against each other. 

The next morning, Eugene woke up to music playing. As he got up and went out to the kitchen and living room, and smiled at the sight waiting for him. 

Snafu, half dressed in pajama pants, making them breakfast, singing along to Freddie Mercury’s cover of I Can Hear Music. He turned, and motioned for Eugene to come closer as he sang to him, pulling him into a lazy almost-waltz, just quick enough to match the music. He didn’t want the song to end-it was a perfect moment, soft and warm, just like Snafu’s lips on his. 

Without a word, Snafu danced them over to his phone, and tapped the screen until it set the song to replay. The toast might burn a bit, but it was worth it, to keep dancing and holding each other. 

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu #in terms of sleep I am as they say fucked #but it was so worth it #I love this fic so much I'm glad I went for it #happy boys dancing and in love and having a good time #makes my heart sing

[towan-white]

The Mighty Boosh/Set The Thames On Fire Theory

Merging universes ‘n’ that. (It’s gonna be a long one, folks.)

Okay, so this is kind of a 2-theories-in-one sort of deal. The second came to me before the first, but they just make a lot more sense together.

1. Vince & The Mighty Boosh as a whole.

So it’s a safe bet to assume that the Boosh is set in the time period in which it was made/aired (2003-’07), and is set in a warped, surreal version of London. One thing that always bothered me about the Boosh was the continuity between episodes. It’s a surreal comedy so obviously I can’t expect it to have completely airtight continuity all the time, but things like The Hitcher appearing in Eels and Vince and Howard acting like they’ve never met him before always bothered me a little. Now, I don’t want to be that edgelord who makes “what if they were in a coma the whole time” theories, but hear me out.

What if the Boosh in its entirety was made up by Vince?

Consider this: you’re a struggling musician with a vast imagination who works in a small shop with your best friend while trying to get your career off the ground. Business is slow and there’s rarely anything to do during working hours, so what do you do to pass the time? Tell stories, of course. And what happens when the stories you have to tell are just as boring? Embellish them.

Suddenly the continuity issues start to make a lot more sense when you think of each episode as being a story that Vince is telling to the audience in the real world. Why are recurring characters treated like new ones? Because Vince is telling these stories on the spot and running out of ideas for new strange characters to include, so he reuses old ones hoping no one will notice. Why is Howard the same age as Vince in some cases and 10 years older than him in others? This could be because Vince simply doesn’t remember how old Howard is so he changes his age to fit the story, or he knows that Howard is the same age as him (implied by all of the flashbacks of them being in school together) and uses the ‘10 years older’ joke as... just that. A joke. Even in real life he likes to poke fun at Howard for how old he appears to be in comparison to others of his age.

Now, I’ve heard a lot of Boosh fans say that they would have liked Party to be the final episode of series 3 as opposed to The Chokes, as it felt like a natural conclusion with a somewhat happy ending (and possibly hope of an even happier epilogue, depending on where you stand on the Howince ship). But what if Vince wanted that to be his final story too? What if he wanted to desperately to convince himself and others that that was the end, but couldn’t shake the true final story from his mind? And, most importantly:

What if Howard never came back at the end of The Chokes?

Personally, I feel like The Chokes was the story that Vince never told to anyone but himself. When Howard left to pursue his acting career, he never returned, and this only occurred to Vince after the show at the Velvet Onion. He was so absorbed with his own agenda that he didn’t even notice that his best friend in the whole world was leaving, and that killed him. He didn’t want to remember it that way, so he told himself that story over and over again, giving himself and Howard the happy ending he wanted so badly. He thought that convincing himself that Howard had come back would actually bring him back somehow, but instead just left Vince feeling even more alone than ever. The magic of his imagination started to slip away from him. The bizarre characters he so often encountered were long dead. He was just a young man living in a shared flat above a shop owned by his landlord, whom he was once convinced was a shaman, and another tenant: a rather large, hairy man who often DJ’d at clubs using a fake age.

2. The Mighty Boosh vs Set The Thames On Fire

Now then, this all sounds very depressing already, but what does all of this have to do with Thames? Set The Thames On Fire is set in a dystopian version of London after the river Thames has mysteriously risen, drowning thousands of people and sending the city into a state of panic. However, I’ve watched the movie a few times now and I haven’t actually been able to find a date to indicate what time period it’s set in. (If anyone can find any anywhere in the film, feel free to submit them). A lot of the aesthetics look like a blend of old-fashioned WWII era England and modern day, but this could simply be the result of the powers that be enforcing a war-esque sense of fear and alarm upon the citizens of London to keep the corrupt power dynamics seen throughout the movie in place. The absence of any specific dates in the movie feels like a conscious decision to make a timeless story that could happen at any point in time, hence the blending of old and new aesthetics and tech. However, for the purposes of this theory I must conclude that, like the Boosh, the film also took place around the time it was released (2015-’16). This means that there is a gap of around 8 or 9 years between the events of the Boosh and Thames, and considering that StToF is supposedly set some time after the Thames originally rose, this isn’t an unrealistic amount of time.

Going back to Vince, he was alone for quite some time after Howard left, but at the very least he still had his other friends.

But what if, when the Thames rose, it drowned his remaining friends leaving him truly alone?

One can imagine such a tragedy could be detrimental to a person’s mental health. Vince is so devastated by the loss of every friend he’s ever had that in this new, darker world he finds himself in he turns to hard drugs to drown out the memories of everything that’s happened to him. Eventually however, the price of the drugs he’s taking eventually catches up to him and with the downfall of civilisation as he knows it, he resorts to the only thing he still has going for him: his appearance. He still took care of himself in all the years after Howard left, but could never bring himself to take pride in his looks anymore. He was disgusted whenever anyone flirted with him - male or female - and disgusted with himself for being so self-absorbed for so long. With no one left to care for him, he’s lost the will to care for himself.

He sees prostitution as his only way of having an income, and he knows that most of the clients seeking out the services of a prostitute are male, so he uses his femininity to his advantage and turns it up to eleven in order to attract more clients. Perhaps many clients initially think that he is a woman until they seek his services for themselves. Perhaps those clients talk about him afterwards, and give him a derogatory name referring to his... *ahem*... ‘nether region’. Perhaps Vince, half out of despair and half of insistence on forgetting his past, adopts this name and refers to himself as such.

I think you know what’s coming. My ultimate conclusion for this theory is that Dickie and Vince are the same person.

Leading up to the events of StToF, Dickie becomes the subordinate of the highest power in London: the Impresario. Initially, it may have been an offer he simply could not refuse because of the money and protection he would get from it (prostitution isn’t the safest job going, after all). However, as time went on Dickie grew to love the Impresario and his job under him because, in some twisted way, it reminded him of Howard, and being a sidekick to someone he felt was more powerful than himself.

He continues to abuse drugs until he no longer remembers why he enjoys working under the Impresario, or any of the stories from his past life, or even his own real name. Vince Noir does not exist anymore. His job as a prostitute and his (albeit unrequited) compassion for the Impresario fill a void of intimacy that he can’t remember the cause of until his untimely demise at the hands of the man he tried to have replace the only person he’s ever truly loved.

“But what does it matter if the whole world sinks when you’ve lost your friend?”

Okay guys this certainly was a bit of a long one and incredibly grim but I hope y’all enjoyed reading it. Even though I took a long-ass time writing this up I still prefer to believe that Howard and Vince are still together and happy. (And if I could just read one fic where Dickie gets a happy ending for crying out loud...)

Feel free to leave your opinions on this theory, add to it or disprove it if you wish! I wanna hear what you guys think of this!

#The Mighty Boosh #Set The Thames On Fire #Vince Noir #Dickie #Noel Fielding #Theory #Long Post #bit dark just warnin' ya

[historians]

rian, why do so many people have to be negative about fanfiction? it makes me feel kind of uncomfortable with myself, honestly :(. can you maybe name some ways in which fanfiction (+ shipping etc.) can be good? because 1. i think the world could use that right now and 2. in real life situations i can never think clearly enough to come up with reasons myself.

i actually went off about this on twitter a while back!! from a writer’s perspective, albeit, but you can read it here. (tl;dr: fanfic is uniquely useful writing practice and shouldn’t delegitimize a writer’s talent or potential) but like. now i’m gonna go off. i could talk about this shit for hours.

in general though, there’s a lot of reasons why fanfic/shipping/etc are often good and productive things! aside from the importance fanfic and shipping has to marginalized communities in fandom (who disproportionately write and consume them), in general they provide a space to creatively engage with media to personal and creative benefit. media a reflection, but it’s also a form of escapism. if you’re not reflected in it, the escapism part requires a little bit of creativity. for fans who don’t see themselves in media very often, or at all, it’s a powerful way to feel the same connection to media that we can’t get just by passively consuming it. for creators, especially ones interested in crafting narratives, fanwork is a creative outlet to examine the themes and boundaries of other works using your own medium. it’s invaluable. writing and reading fic has made me a better writer than classroom knowledge or talent alone ever could. full stop. at its most basic level, all fanwork, including fanfic, is a way for fans to connect with the content we love, and let it push our own creative boundaries. (to whatever extent you let it, that it is). the very nature of being a fan of anything makes its existence inevitable and necessary. 

i’ve seen people argue that fanworks/fanfic itself has credibility, but shipping within it doesn’t. (or straight up-discredits it.) it’s an arbitrary line to draw. shipping can be easily done in a way that is unhealthy (y’all remember misscribe?) or problematic (republican coworker who ships wincest but thinks lesbians are weird, i’m talking to you.) but even in the fucked up places it can sometimes wind up, the practice itself (imo) isn’t that hard to understand. it’s wish fulfillment, and extreme examples or ‘not getting it’ aren’t legitimate reasons to dismiss anything that includes it when wish fulfillment is all but inherent in fiction. i can’t speak for everyone, but i started shipping things because i wanted to see experiences i felt like i could relate to, and i write shipping fic because it’s an incredibly useful and fun way to play around with character dynamics, emotions, and motivations. it turns out it’s pretty good at doing those things! but more importantly, if it’s fun for you, it’s really fucking fun for you. some people get their kicks from watching sports teams win. others get their kicks from reading about two cartoon dudes falling in love. life sucks, you cling to what you can, and wish-fulfillment has never been an acceptable reason to dismiss the value of creative work. 

fanfic gets an unfair rep, and i can’t help but feel there’s a correlation with how often it’s presented as mostly shipping related (aka sexual, aka written for female sexual gratification), and how that’s conflated with low-quality writing. it’s frustrating how fanfic is still seen as harlequin romance for nerds, especially when it feels like other forms of fanwork are starting to be seen as legitimate skills. in reality, fanfic is just like everything else. there’s bad fanfic, with all those awful cliches and shoddy continuity, but we also have a very bad, very distinct sort of image that pops into our head at the mention of deviantart, don’t we? (no, not the furry porn.) but there’s also good fanfic, and fanartists who turned into the reason you picked up the pen. with anything, there’s a spectrum.

good fanfic is written by talented, skilled people who have spent years and years honing their craft and are choosing to do labor-intensive work for free out of passion. i’ve read countless works, with and without shipping, by people who are clearly publishable, but are gifting the communities they love with substantial works of art (bc writing is an art!) its detractors never seem to really grasp this. there are works that contain just as much technical skill, just as much character depth, and just as much emotional nuance as the majority of what you could pull off the shelf. the author of your favorite fic has probably put in just as many hours and years writing as the best fanartist you know has drawing. it can be really fucking good.

but honestly like who fucking cares if people don’t like it bc the principle itself is fucking harmless and we’re going to die someday! life is short! anyone who thinks it’s weird or fucked up can eat my whole entire ass!

#this could have been answered in two sentences but no gotta write an essay how predictably me #long post #i sound so pretentious jesus #Anonymous #witness testimony