Jax and his son André
(Jaxpomni child)
(ref: mother lily and son by Gerry Martinez
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Cosmic Funnies
Xuebing Du
noise dept.

shark vs the universe

roma★
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
🪼
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Peter Solarz
DEAR READER
occasionally subtle
h
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Mike Driver
wallacepolsom

$LAYYYTER

cherry valley forever

seen from Russia

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from Argentina

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@marokonna
Jax and his son André
(Jaxpomni child)
(ref: mother lily and son by Gerry Martinez

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
TADC FIC
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
______________________________________________________________
What if Jax (FTM) and Pomni (MTF) were married and decided to have a family consisting of three children? What if, instead of being set in the digital circus, they lived in a real-life setting during the early 90s? What if their relationship reaches a point of turmoil, affecting the life of their youngest child forever?
Set in Midwood, Brooklyn, NYC, a Brooklyn Technical High School Student named Andre has grown disillusioned with his mentally ill father, Jax while his mother toils away at an accounting firm to keep the family afloat. Alone, distraught, and tangled within an urban jungle, Andre struggles to make sense of a world that feels increasingly distant
_______________________________________________________________
_____________June 20th 1993_______________
The sun had overcast its dreary glow upon Midwood, seeping through the blackened rim of the rustic glass panel in my window. Reluctantly, I averted my gaze towards my left, determined to keep the light from striking my face. It had been three days since eighth grade had ended. The remembrance of the last day of middle school and the next big step had awakened within me the prospect of enthusiasm. Sooner or later, those feelings grew lax, all washed over me, returning me to a much more laid-back mood, subsisting on boredom and defiance. For the last fifteen minutes, I was lying on my bed, counting the luminescent vinyl stars I’d secured on my bedroom ceiling, much to my mother’s chagrin. I lazily twirl a strand of golden hair and uncurl it from my index finger, discerning a way to entertain myself. There were my Creem magazines stacked in a pile on top of my dresser, my vinyl records haphazardly thrown in a crate, and a book describing “The World’s Greatest Buildings" that I still haven't had the time to browse. An involuntary sigh heaved my chest, a physical command from my body to put my brain to use. Ultimately, I fight the urge to stay stuck in bed, and I walk over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. This was the summer before I would start high school, but not any regular high school around Bensonhurst. I remember the renowned day when I got my SHSAT score from the NYC Department of Education. My sister Maria, and my mother were bouncing off their seats in enthusiasm. Carefully, I tore the cardstock and pulled the paper inside. The letter said that I received a score of 530 and told me I got into Brooklyn Tech, Staten Island Tech, and Bronx Science. They were prouder than I’d ever seen them beaming in that quiet, overflowing way that made the house feel warmer, as if my score had cracked open a window to a future none of us had dared to picture too clearly. Their eyes lingered on me like they were seeing not just who I was, but every version of who I could become, all of it suddenly real and reachable. After a long, meandering family debate at the kitchen table, punctuated by my mother’s practical concerns and Maria’s dramatic opinions, ie: “It's near Park Slope, so Andre and Bishop are gonna have a lot of fun”, we settled on Brooklyn Tech. Before admitted students day, my mother stood behind me, fussing with my collar in the bathroom mirror, apprising me that I was becoming a man and that with my age came new and challenging opportunities. Her voice had that mix of pride and nerves she always tried to hide, the kind that made my body erect and my conduct streamlined and robust. The school, not to mention, was huge like an army base, a towering brick, caged windows glinting like it was sizing me up. My sister Maria is staying home for the summer after her junior year at Stonybrook. It was unlike the past few summers, when she continued to stay in the affluent suburbs of Long Island. As a pre-medical student, she would begin to prepare for the MCAT. Her goal after university was to get accepted into NYU Grossman Medical School, and after she receives her MD, she wants to be a pediatrician. Often she would volunteer as an EMT in her school's hospital so she could get clinical experience. She also would research a certain polka-dotted cancer cell, I cannot remember the name of. I was just happy that she was home because my older brother Jesse was barely there, and my mother too, because she was busy at work.
My father, on the other hand…he was his own specific category of unkempt fur and the miasma of Marlboro's emitted from his room.
My sister Maria would be coming out shortly after buying food at Pommegranate Supermarket. I specifically required her to buy pierogis because my mother forgot to get me them last week. I head downstairs to the kitchen, a grand table with fine Italian lace wrapped around each corner. All of Maria’s medical notes are laid out haphazardly with eraser crumbs dusting the middle of the table. There were diagrams of the nervous system, lymphatic system, chemical models of the physical medicine, and some physics exercises laid out. Sometimes, if I couldn't sleep, I would go down to stretch and drink some water. Overlooking the dinner table, I would see her studying, reading a hardcover textbook, flipping paper pulp pages, writing dutifully (like she always did) in a beat-up composition notebook. I pray for her sometimes cuz god knows how much stress and time she pours into her work, trying to build herself a better future, trying to make a better future for herself. Just like that, she is back. I see the box of Pierogies laden in plastic wrap and a bag of Wethers caramel coffee candy, the same candy that used to be served to kids outside of my mom’s office at Barclays. Maria cleared her throat and adjusted her hair.
“Is Papa awake yet?”
“...I don’t know,” I answered
Maria muttered something along the lines of
“Fancying that morning smoke probably,” and her face scrunched up.
How are you anyway, Andre?
“I’m fine, just woke up. Thank you for the pierogis.”
“You're welcome! Seinfeld's playing on channel four, wanna watch?”
“Sure!”
I open the packet with the pierogis, lay it on a fine china plate and put it in the microwave.
On the boxy TV, I see Kramer and Jerry with the former holding a silk shirt akin to the intricately laced blouses in my closet. Even though I have an affliction torwards that type of fashion, the way he was holding it looked kind of amusing.
“This is gonna be a new look for the 90s. You’re gonna be the first pirate!” Kramer said
“I don’t wanna be a pirate!” Jerry exclaimed. Maria and I giggled as the whole scene was very silly.
All of a sudden I hear Jesse’s clomping loudly, slamming the patio door and entering inside of the house. Upon sight we saw that his flannel shirt has a beer stain and he is carrying a damp paper brown bag.
Maria retorts in revulsion, “And where the hell were you?”
Jesse smirks and straightforwadly replies with, “Ah, I was at the ‘New Order’ concert at CBGB’s.” He threw the paper bag on the dining table as if he was a wind current and turned his head to us.
Don’t worry though I crashed at a friend's place at Bowery.”
Maria sighed. “Mother was dialing you nonstop last night and even papa was slightly concerned.”
“ Well at least I go out and I live a little unlike you consumed in your books.”
Jesse flipped through Maria’s papers sneeringly and sat down on an old wooden chair.
“At least I’m not the one going to community college,” Maria scoffed.
“Ah, you're so funny, sis. Just so you remember, I’ll probably get a good job before you do, even with your extended years of ‘higher education’.”
Maria was about to say something, but she pursed her lips, glowering, as soon as she had finished, averting her head. Jesse had an upright, condescending grin, characteristic of our father, and nudged the bag towards us.
“Anyways, I got y’all a little surprise!”
Inside there were 3 Katz’s sandwiches: One corned beef reuben, with shining gleaming red meat; pastrami with mustard, thin brown meat piled on top of each other like layers of sedimentary rock; And turkey on rye, smaller in size, with thin blank strips of meat coating the insides.
“Ooh,” I exclaimed
“Yeah, take whatever you want, it's on the house”
Maria took the turkey on rye, Jesse took the corned beef reuben, and I took the pastrami with mustard.”
“Oh, Seinfeld is on!” Jesse remarked
We continued like that for the next two hours. It was very rare in the last three years that we actually sat together at the dining table. In part, Maria’s graduation from Bensonhurst and Jesse starting school near Manhattan Beach. As the minutes slipped by, I found myself watching the two of them more than the TV. I noticed how Maria’s shoulders had finally relaxed and how Jesse’s usual sharpness balmed into a calmer disposition. The house didn’t feel like it was holding its breath. There were no slammed doors, no raised voices, and no one storming off to their room. It struck me how strange it was that something so simple felt almost surreal. Like we were playing a role in a film, disconnected from the current reality. Sitting there, I realized how much I missed this. How I missed the quiet of being together without having to try. I didn’t say anything out loud; of course, I just let myself sink into it. For once, we weren’t three people living separate lives under the same roof. I wished, selfishly, that time would slow down, just enough for me to hold onto it a little longer.
Flip Magazine February 1967
Dennis Wilson Flips Out!
You've never been more beautiful Your eyes like two full moons As here in this poor old dance hall Among the dreadful tunes
[close up without the effects layers after the break]
TADC FIC
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
______________________________________________________________
What if Jax (FTM) and Pomni (MTF) were married and decided to have a family consisting of three children? What if, instead of being set in the digital circus, they lived in a real-life setting during the early 90s? What if their relationship reaches a point of turmoil, affecting the life of their youngest child forever?
Set in Midwood, Brooklyn, NYC, a Brooklyn Technical High School Student named Andre has grown disillusioned with his mentally ill father, Jax while his mother toils away at an accounting firm to keep the family afloat. Alone, distraught, and tangled within an urban jungle, Andre struggles to make sense of a world that feels increasingly distant
_______________________________________________________________
_____________June 20th 1993_______________
The sun had overcast its dreary glow upon Midwood, seeping through the blackened rim of the rustic glass panel in my window. Reluctantly, I averted my gaze towards my left, determined to keep the light from striking my face. It had been three days since eighth grade had ended. The remembrance of the last day of middle school and the next big step had awakened within me the prospect of enthusiasm. Sooner or later, those feelings grew lax, all washed over me, returning me to a much more laid-back mood, subsisting on boredom and defiance. For the last fifteen minutes, I was lying on my bed, counting the luminescent vinyl stars I’d secured on my bedroom ceiling, much to my mother’s chagrin. I lazily twirl a strand of golden hair and uncurl it from my index finger, discerning a way to entertain myself. There were my Creem magazines stacked in a pile on top of my dresser, my vinyl records haphazardly thrown in a crate, and a book describing “The World’s Greatest Buildings" that I still haven't had the time to browse. An involuntary sigh heaved my chest, a physical command from my body to put my brain to use. Ultimately, I fight the urge to stay stuck in bed, and I walk over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. This was the summer before I would start high school, but not any regular high school around Bensonhurst. I remember the renowned day when I got my SHSAT score from the NYC Department of Education. My sister Maria, and my mother were bouncing off their seats in enthusiasm. Carefully, I tore the cardstock and pulled the paper inside. The letter said that I received a score of 530 and told me I got into Brooklyn Tech, Staten Island Tech, and Bronx Science. They were prouder than I’d ever seen them beaming in that quiet, overflowing way that made the house feel warmer, as if my score had cracked open a window to a future none of us had dared to picture too clearly. Their eyes lingered on me like they were seeing not just who I was, but every version of who I could become, all of it suddenly real and reachable. After a long, meandering family debate at the kitchen table, punctuated by my mother’s practical concerns and Maria’s dramatic opinions, ie: “It's near Park Slope, so Andre and Bishop are gonna have a lot of fun”, we settled on Brooklyn Tech. Before admitted students day, my mother stood behind me, fussing with my collar in the bathroom mirror, apprising me that I was becoming a man and that with my age came new and challenging opportunities. Her voice had that mix of pride and nerves she always tried to hide, the kind that made my body erect and my conduct streamlined and robust. The school, not to mention, was huge like an army base, a towering brick, caged windows glinting like it was sizing me up. My sister Maria is staying home for the summer after her junior year at Stonybrook. It was unlike the past few summers, when she continued to stay in the affluent suburbs of Long Island. As a pre-medical student, she would begin to prepare for the MCAT. Her goal after university was to get accepted into NYU Grossman Medical School, and after she receives her MD, she wants to be a pediatrician. Often she would volunteer as an EMT in her school's hospital so she could get clinical experience. She also would research a certain polka-dotted cancer cell, I cannot remember the name of. I was just happy that she was home because my older brother Jesse was barely there, and my mother too, because she was busy at work.
My father, on the other hand…he was his own specific category of unkempt fur and the miasma of Marlboro's emitted from his room.
My sister Maria would be coming out shortly after buying food at Pommegranate Supermarket. I specifically required her to buy pierogis because my mother forgot to get me them last week. I head downstairs to the kitchen, a grand table with fine Italian lace wrapped around each corner. All of Maria’s medical notes are laid out haphazardly with eraser crumbs dusting the middle of the table. There were diagrams of the nervous system, lymphatic system, chemical models of the physical medicine, and some physics exercises laid out. Sometimes, if I couldn't sleep, I would go down to stretch and drink some water. Overlooking the dinner table, I would see her studying, reading a hardcover textbook, flipping paper pulp pages, writing dutifully (like she always did) in a beat-up composition notebook. I pray for her sometimes cuz god knows how much stress and time she pours into her work, trying to build herself a better future, trying to make a better future for herself. Just like that, she is back. I see the box of Pierogies laden in plastic wrap and a bag of Wethers caramel coffee candy, the same candy that used to be served to kids outside of my mom’s office at Barclays. Maria cleared her throat and adjusted her hair.
“Is Papa awake yet?”
“...I don’t know,” I answered
Maria muttered something along the lines of
“Fancying that morning smoke probably,” and her face scrunched up.
How are you anyway, Andre?
“I’m fine, just woke up. Thank you for the pierogis.”
“You're welcome! Seinfeld's playing on channel four, wanna watch?”
“Sure!”
I open the packet with the pierogis, lay it on a fine china plate and put it in the microwave.
On the boxy TV, I see Kramer and Jerry with the former holding a silk shirt akin to the intricately laced blouses in my closet. Even though I have an affliction torwards that type of fashion, the way he was holding it looked kind of amusing.
“This is gonna be a new look for the 90s. You’re gonna be the first pirate!” Kramer said
“I don’t wanna be a pirate!” Jerry exclaimed. Maria and I giggled as the whole scene was very silly.
All of a sudden I hear Jesse’s clomping loudly, slamming the patio door and entering inside of the house. Upon sight we saw that his flannel shirt has a beer stain and he is carrying a damp paper brown bag.
Maria retorts in revulsion, “And where the hell were you?”
Jesse smirks and straightforwadly replies with, “Ah, I was at the ‘New Order’ concert at CBGB’s.” He threw the paper bag on the dining table as if he was a wind current and turned his head to us.
Don’t worry though I crashed at a friend's place at Bowery.”
Maria sighed. “Mother was dialing you nonstop last night and even papa was slightly concerned.”
“ Well at least I go out and I live a little unlike you consumed in your books.”
Jesse flipped through Maria’s papers sneeringly and sat down on an old wooden chair.
“At least I’m not the one going to community college,” Maria scoffed.
“Ah, you're so funny, sis. Just so you remember, I’ll probably get a good job before you do, even with your extended years of ‘higher education’.”
Maria was about to say something, but she pursed her lips, glowering, as soon as she had finished, averting her head. Jesse had an upright, condescending grin, characteristic of our father, and nudged the bag towards us.
“Anyways, I got y’all a little surprise!”
Inside there were 3 Katz’s sandwiches: One corned beef reuben, with shining gleaming red meat; pastrami with mustard, thin brown meat piled on top of each other like layers of sedimentary rock; And turkey on rye, smaller in size, with thin blank strips of meat coating the insides.
“Ooh,” I exclaimed
“Yeah, take whatever you want, it's on the house”
Maria took the turkey on rye, Jesse took the corned beef reuben, and I took the pastrami with mustard.”
“Oh, Seinfeld is on!” Jesse remarked
We continued like that for the next two hours. It was very rare in the last three years that we actually sat together at the dining table. In part, Maria’s graduation from Bensonhurst and Jesse starting school near Manhattan Beach. As the minutes slipped by, I found myself watching the two of them more than the TV. I noticed how Maria’s shoulders had finally relaxed and how Jesse’s usual sharpness balmed into a calmer disposition. The house didn’t feel like it was holding its breath. There were no slammed doors, no raised voices, and no one storming off to their room. It struck me how strange it was that something so simple felt almost surreal. Like we were playing a role in a film, disconnected from the current reality. Sitting there, I realized how much I missed this. How I missed the quiet of being together without having to try. I didn’t say anything out loud; of course, I just let myself sink into it. For once, we weren’t three people living separate lives under the same roof. I wished, selfishly, that time would slow down, just enough for me to hold onto it a little longer.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
TADC FIC
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
______________________________________________________________
What if Jax (FTM) and Pomni (MTF) were married and decided to have a family consisting of three children? What if, instead of being set in the digital circus, they lived in a real-life setting during the early 90s? What if their relationship reaches a point of turmoil, affecting the life of their youngest child forever?
Set in Midwood, Brooklyn, NYC, a Brooklyn Technical High School Student named Andre has grown disillusioned with his mentally ill father, Jax while his mother toils away at an accounting firm to keep the family afloat. Alone, distraught, and tangled within an urban jungle, Andre struggles to make sense of a world that feels increasingly distant
_______________________________________________________________
_____________June 20th 1993_______________
The sun had overcast its dreary glow upon Midwood, seeping through the blackened rim of the rustic glass panel in my window. Reluctantly, I averted my gaze towards my left, determined to keep the light from striking my face. It had been three days since eighth grade had ended. The remembrance of the last day of middle school and the next big step had awakened within me the prospect of enthusiasm. Sooner or later, those feelings grew lax, all washed over me, returning me to a much more laid-back mood, subsisting on boredom and defiance. For the last fifteen minutes, I was lying on my bed, counting the luminescent vinyl stars I’d secured on my bedroom ceiling, much to my mother’s chagrin. I lazily twirl a strand of golden hair and uncurl it from my index finger, discerning a way to entertain myself. There were my Creem magazines stacked in a pile on top of my dresser, my vinyl records haphazardly thrown in a crate, and a book describing “The World’s Greatest Buildings" that I still haven't had the time to browse. An involuntary sigh heaved my chest, a physical command from my body to put my brain to use. Ultimately, I fight the urge to stay stuck in bed, and I walk over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. This was the summer before I would start high school, but not any regular high school around Bensonhurst. I remember the renowned day when I got my SHSAT score from the NYC Department of Education. My sister Maria, and my mother were bouncing off their seats in enthusiasm. Carefully, I tore the cardstock and pulled the paper inside. The letter said that I received a score of 530 and told me I got into Brooklyn Tech, Staten Island Tech, and Bronx Science. They were prouder than I’d ever seen them beaming in that quiet, overflowing way that made the house feel warmer, as if my score had cracked open a window to a future none of us had dared to picture too clearly. Their eyes lingered on me like they were seeing not just who I was, but every version of who I could become, all of it suddenly real and reachable. After a long, meandering family debate at the kitchen table, punctuated by my mother’s practical concerns and Maria’s dramatic opinions, ie: “It's near Park Slope, so Andre and Bishop are gonna have a lot of fun”, we settled on Brooklyn Tech. Before admitted students day, my mother stood behind me, fussing with my collar in the bathroom mirror, apprising me that I was becoming a man and that with my age came new and challenging opportunities. Her voice had that mix of pride and nerves she always tried to hide, the kind that made my body erect and my conduct streamlined and robust. The school, not to mention, was huge like an army base, a towering brick, caged windows glinting like it was sizing me up. My sister Maria is staying home for the summer after her junior year at Stonybrook. It was unlike the past few summers, when she continued to stay in the affluent suburbs of Long Island. As a pre-medical student, she would begin to prepare for the MCAT. Her goal after university was to get accepted into NYU Grossman Medical School, and after she receives her MD, she wants to be a pediatrician. Often she would volunteer as an EMT in her school's hospital so she could get clinical experience. She also would research a certain polka-dotted cancer cell, I cannot remember the name of. I was just happy that she was home because my older brother Jesse was barely there, and my mother too, because she was busy at work.
My father, on the other hand…he was his own specific category of unkempt fur and the miasma of Marlboro's emitted from his room.
My sister Maria would be coming out shortly after buying food at Pommegranate Supermarket. I specifically required her to buy pierogis because my mother forgot to get me them last week. I head downstairs to the kitchen, a grand table with fine Italian lace wrapped around each corner. All of Maria’s medical notes are laid out haphazardly with eraser crumbs dusting the middle of the table. There were diagrams of the nervous system, lymphatic system, chemical models of the physical medicine, and some physics exercises laid out. Sometimes, if I couldn't sleep, I would go down to stretch and drink some water. Overlooking the dinner table, I would see her studying, reading a hardcover textbook, flipping paper pulp pages, writing dutifully (like she always did) in a beat-up composition notebook. I pray for her sometimes cuz god knows how much stress and time she pours into her work, trying to build herself a better future, trying to make a better future for herself. Just like that, she is back. I see the box of Pierogies laden in plastic wrap and a bag of Wethers caramel coffee candy, the same candy that used to be served to kids outside of my mom’s office at Barclays. Maria cleared her throat and adjusted her hair.
“Is Papa awake yet?”
“...I don’t know,” I answered
Maria muttered something along the lines of
“Fancying that morning smoke probably,” and her face scrunched up.
How are you anyway, Andre?
“I’m fine, just woke up. Thank you for the pierogis.”
“You're welcome! Seinfeld's playing on channel four, wanna watch?”
“Sure!”
I open the packet with the pierogis, lay it on a fine china plate and put it in the microwave.
On the boxy TV, I see Kramer and Jerry with the former holding a silk shirt akin to the intricately laced blouses in my closet. Even though I have an affliction torwards that type of fashion, the way he was holding it looked kind of amusing.
“This is gonna be a new look for the 90s. You’re gonna be the first pirate!” Kramer said
“I don’t wanna be a pirate!” Jerry exclaimed. Maria and I giggled as the whole scene was very silly.
All of a sudden I hear Jesse’s clomping loudly, slamming the patio door and entering inside of the house. Upon sight we saw that his flannel shirt has a beer stain and he is carrying a damp paper brown bag.
Maria retorts in revulsion, “And where the hell were you?”
Jesse smirks and straightforwadly replies with, “Ah, I was at the ‘New Order’ concert at CBGB’s.” He threw the paper bag on the dining table as if he was a wind current and turned his head to us.
Don’t worry though I crashed at a friend's place at Bowery.”
Maria sighed. “Mother was dialing you nonstop last night and even papa was slightly concerned.”
“ Well at least I go out and I live a little unlike you consumed in your books.”
Jesse flipped through Maria’s papers sneeringly and sat down on an old wooden chair.
“At least I’m not the one going to community college,” Maria scoffed.
“Ah, you're so funny, sis. Just so you remember, I’ll probably get a good job before you do, even with your extended years of ‘higher education’.”
Maria was about to say something, but she pursed her lips, glowering, as soon as she had finished, averting her head. Jesse had an upright, condescending grin, characteristic of our father, and nudged the bag towards us.
“Anyways, I got y’all a little surprise!”
Inside there were 3 Katz’s sandwiches: One corned beef reuben, with shining gleaming red meat; pastrami with mustard, thin brown meat piled on top of each other like layers of sedimentary rock; And turkey on rye, smaller in size, with thin blank strips of meat coating the insides.
“Ooh,” I exclaimed
“Yeah, take whatever you want, it's on the house”
Maria took the turkey on rye, Jesse took the corned beef reuben, and I took the pastrami with mustard.”
“Oh, Seinfeld is on!” Jesse remarked
We continued like that for the next two hours. It was very rare in the last three years that we actually sat together at the dining table. In part, Maria’s graduation from Bensonhurst and Jesse starting school near Manhattan Beach. As the minutes slipped by, I found myself watching the two of them more than the TV. I noticed how Maria’s shoulders had finally relaxed and how Jesse’s usual sharpness balmed into a calmer disposition. The house didn’t feel like it was holding its breath. There were no slammed doors, no raised voices, and no one storming off to their room. It struck me how strange it was that something so simple felt almost surreal. Like we were playing a role in a film, disconnected from the current reality. Sitting there, I realized how much I missed this. How I missed the quiet of being together without having to try. I didn’t say anything out loud; of course, I just let myself sink into it. For once, we weren’t three people living separate lives under the same roof. I wished, selfishly, that time would slow down, just enough for me to hold onto it a little longer.
TADC FIC
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
______________________________________________________________
What if Jax (FTM) and Pomni (MTF) were married and decided to have a family consisting of three children? What if, instead of being set in the digital circus, they lived in a real-life setting during the early 90s? What if their relationship reaches a point of turmoil, affecting the life of their youngest child forever?
Set in Midwood, Brooklyn, NYC, a Brooklyn Technical High School Student named Andre has grown disillusioned with his mentally ill father, Jax while his mother toils away at an accounting firm to keep the family afloat. Alone, distraught, and tangled within an urban jungle, Andre struggles to make sense of a world that feels increasingly distant
_______________________________________________________________
_____________June 20th 1993_______________
The sun had overcast its dreary glow upon Midwood, seeping through the blackened rim of the rustic glass panel in my window. Reluctantly, I averted my gaze towards my left, determined to keep the light from striking my face. It had been three days since eighth grade had ended. The remembrance of the last day of middle school and the next big step had awakened within me the prospect of enthusiasm. Sooner or later, those feelings grew lax, all washed over me, returning me to a much more laid-back mood, subsisting on boredom and defiance. For the last fifteen minutes, I was lying on my bed, counting the luminescent vinyl stars I’d secured on my bedroom ceiling, much to my mother’s chagrin. I lazily twirl a strand of golden hair and uncurl it from my index finger, discerning a way to entertain myself. There were my Creem magazines stacked in a pile on top of my dresser, my vinyl records haphazardly thrown in a crate, and a book describing “The World’s Greatest Buildings" that I still haven't had the time to browse. An involuntary sigh heaved my chest, a physical command from my body to put my brain to use. Ultimately, I fight the urge to stay stuck in bed, and I walk over to the bathroom to brush my teeth. This was the summer before I would start high school, but not any regular high school around Bensonhurst. I remember the renowned day when I got my SHSAT score from the NYC Department of Education. My sister Maria, and my mother were bouncing off their seats in enthusiasm. Carefully, I tore the cardstock and pulled the paper inside. The letter said that I received a score of 530 and told me I got into Brooklyn Tech, Staten Island Tech, and Bronx Science. They were prouder than I’d ever seen them beaming in that quiet, overflowing way that made the house feel warmer, as if my score had cracked open a window to a future none of us had dared to picture too clearly. Their eyes lingered on me like they were seeing not just who I was, but every version of who I could become, all of it suddenly real and reachable. After a long, meandering family debate at the kitchen table, punctuated by my mother’s practical concerns and Maria’s dramatic opinions, ie: “It's near Park Slope, so Andre and Bishop are gonna have a lot of fun”, we settled on Brooklyn Tech. Before admitted students day, my mother stood behind me, fussing with my collar in the bathroom mirror, apprising me that I was becoming a man and that with my age came new and challenging opportunities. Her voice had that mix of pride and nerves she always tried to hide, the kind that made my body erect and my conduct streamlined and robust. The school, not to mention, was huge like an army base, a towering brick, caged windows glinting like it was sizing me up. My sister Maria is staying home for the summer after her junior year at Stonybrook. It was unlike the past few summers, when she continued to stay in the affluent suburbs of Long Island. As a pre-medical student, she would begin to prepare for the MCAT. Her goal after university was to get accepted into NYU Grossman Medical School, and after she receives her MD, she wants to be a pediatrician. Often she would volunteer as an EMT in her school's hospital so she could get clinical experience. She also would research a certain polka-dotted cancer cell, I cannot remember the name of. I was just happy that she was home because my older brother Jesse was barely there, and my mother too, because she was busy at work.
My father, on the other hand…he was his own specific category of unkempt fur and the miasma of Marlboro's emitted from his room.
My sister Maria would be coming out shortly after buying food at Pommegranate Supermarket. I specifically required her to buy pierogis because my mother forgot to get me them last week. I head downstairs to the kitchen, a grand table with fine Italian lace wrapped around each corner. All of Maria’s medical notes are laid out haphazardly with eraser crumbs dusting the middle of the table. There were diagrams of the nervous system, lymphatic system, chemical models of the physical medicine, and some physics exercises laid out. Sometimes, if I couldn't sleep, I would go down to stretch and drink some water. Overlooking the dinner table, I would see her studying, reading a hardcover textbook, flipping paper pulp pages, writing dutifully (like she always did) in a beat-up composition notebook. I pray for her sometimes cuz god knows how much stress and time she pours into her work, trying to build herself a better future, trying to make a better future for herself. Just like that, she is back. I see the box of Pierogies laden in plastic wrap and a bag of Wethers caramel coffee candy, the same candy that used to be served to kids outside of my mom’s office at Barclays. Maria cleared her throat and adjusted her hair.
“Is Papa awake yet?”
“...I don’t know,” I answered
Maria muttered something along the lines of
“Fancying that morning smoke probably,” and her face scrunched up.
How are you anyway, Andre?
“I’m fine, just woke up. Thank you for the pierogis.”
“You're welcome! Seinfeld's playing on channel four, wanna watch?”
“Sure!”
I open the packet with the pierogis, lay it on a fine china plate and put it in the microwave.
On the boxy TV, I see Kramer and Jerry with the former holding a silk shirt akin to the intricately laced blouses in my closet. Even though I have an affliction torwards that type of fashion, the way he was holding it looked kind of amusing.
“This is gonna be a new look for the 90s. You’re gonna be the first pirate!” Kramer said
“I don’t wanna be a pirate!” Jerry exclaimed. Maria and I giggled as the whole scene was very silly.
All of a sudden I hear Jesse’s clomping loudly, slamming the patio door and entering inside of the house. Upon sight we saw that his flannel shirt has a beer stain and he is carrying a damp paper brown bag.
Maria retorts in revulsion, “And where the hell were you?”
Jesse smirks and straightforwadly replies with, “Ah, I was at the ‘New Order’ concert at CBGB’s.” He threw the paper bag on the dining table as if he was a wind current and turned his head to us.
Don’t worry though I crashed at a friend's place at Bowery.”
Maria sighed. “Mother was dialing you nonstop last night and even papa was slightly concerned.”
“ Well at least I go out and I live a little unlike you consumed in your books.”
Jesse flipped through Maria’s papers sneeringly and sat down on an old wooden chair.
“At least I’m not the one going to community college,” Maria scoffed.
“Ah, you're so funny, sis. Just so you remember, I’ll probably get a good job before you do, even with your extended years of ‘higher education’.”
Maria was about to say something, but she pursed her lips, glowering, as soon as she had finished, averting her head. Jesse had an upright, condescending grin, characteristic of our father, and nudged the bag towards us.
“Anyways, I got y’all a little surprise!”
Inside there were 3 Katz’s sandwiches: One corned beef reuben, with shining gleaming red meat; pastrami with mustard, thin brown meat piled on top of each other like layers of sedimentary rock; And turkey on rye, smaller in size, with thin blank strips of meat coating the insides.
“Ooh,” I exclaimed
“Yeah, take whatever you want, it's on the house”
Maria took the turkey on rye, Jesse took the corned beef reuben, and I took the pastrami with mustard.”
“Oh, Seinfeld is on!” Jesse remarked
We continued like that for the next two hours. It was very rare in the last three years that we actually sat together at the dining table. In part, Maria’s graduation from Bensonhurst and Jesse starting school near Manhattan Beach. As the minutes slipped by, I found myself watching the two of them more than the TV. I noticed how Maria’s shoulders had finally relaxed and how Jesse’s usual sharpness balmed into a calmer disposition. The house didn’t feel like it was holding its breath. There were no slammed doors, no raised voices, and no one storming off to their room. It struck me how strange it was that something so simple felt almost surreal. Like we were playing a role in a film, disconnected from the current reality. Sitting there, I realized how much I missed this. How I missed the quiet of being together without having to try. I didn’t say anything out loud; of course, I just let myself sink into it. For once, we weren’t three people living separate lives under the same roof. I wished, selfishly, that time would slow down, just enough for me to hold onto it a little longer.
TADC OC: André
Background:
This AU is set in Midwood, Brooklyn, NYC during the 90s. The TADC digital counterparts live irl in this setting.
André is a student at Brooklyn Technical High School and has grown disillusioned with his mentally ill father, Jax, while his mother toils away at an accounting firm to keep the family afloat. Alone, distraught, and tangled within an urban jungle, Andre struggles to make sense of a world that feels increasingly distant.
youngest son of Pomni and Jax
14-18 yo in my AU
Maria and Jesse are his older siblings by 5-6 years
Since Maria and Jesse are adults, he is usually the only one in the house. That is with Jax and Pomni (who comes home late because of her accounting job)
hypervigilent, responsible, and his father's caretaker
Interests/likes:
Architectural engineering (he is going to Brooklyn Tech for it)
STEM
60s pyschadellic/acid rock
fav musicians are Jimi Hendrix, Donovan, Eric Clapton, Wes Wilson, Chuck Berry, Simon & Garfunkel
fav bands are The Doors, Cream, The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band, The 5th Dimension, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and The Monkees
pierogi's and Polish food because Pomni is Polish
flowly, vibrant clothes that are multi-patterned and intricate
anything Lace
Dislikes:
Jax (he has to take care of his mentally ill father)
being overlooked/ignored
being talked down to and made to feel small because of his style
being alone
anything that looks dull
people making fun of him because of his style
weird behavior and fake people
Loves:
His boyfriend Bishop (Queenie and Kingers son) 🩷💛💙
happy belated pride!!! 🏳️🌈(●ˇ∀ˇ●)
The Fruit of Love - Mune and Glim

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
late to the trend but Reform Rabbi Hatsune Miku
Anya wearing a frisette (wig) and tichel (head covering), sitting on a seat wall with a cherry blossom tree in the background.
And yes Anya is married (but not to anyone on the crew, a mystery to figure out)
What inspired me to make this was the speculation of her ethnicity in the fandom and I saw her as sephardi because she has olive skin, dark hair, and big eyes which resembles (not definitively) characteristics of jews who lived in the Iberian Peninsula. And I'm also projecting my jewishness onto her lol.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82473906/chapters/217090946
All Quiet on the Southern Front
A half-Choctaw, half-British Crown Army soldier named Munroe Davy grieves the death of his lover Eriche Wolffe, after he is inexplicably killed at Passchendale, West Flanders, during The Battle of Ypres _____________________________________________________________________________ Six weeks later, a botched version of his lover, Eriche, is brought to him by the power of the Rezzer. Munroe is becoming increasingly attracted to their feminine allure. As the months go by, Munroe is assigned to the 36th Infantry Division, 141 Regiment with American Choctaw men, by Colonel Alfred Bloor. The men are assigned to interpret and signal German tactical moves in order to effectively combat the other side. Munroe, wallowing in self-pity, wonders how he can love the Ersatz while aiding in defeating the Axis Powers.
It had been the 20th night Munroe lit the paraffin candle, a pitted cylinder, its long, mushroomed wick, in honor of Eriche Wolffe.
The crimson, ardent flame rose, scintillating, licking at the fetid air. It parts the flesh-like wax like the hand of Yahweh dividing the Red Sea.
“I see it, I see it!”
Munroe discerns his lover in the light, a brutish, handsome man, hoary locks shrouding the scarred side of his face. If the light hadn't illuminated him, Eriche would have looked no different than a golem or a dragon, his hardened stare igniting weariness in anyone who saw him. Yet here he was in the glimmer of the air, in the trembling pulse of the moment, and all the nights before and all the nights to come.
He laid the candle down on the concrete plane, a table-like surface just under his bed. His coarse fingertips brushed over the abrasive surface, furtively chafing his skin.
A robin’s egg blue container was seated next to the portrait of Eriche, a luxurious scent reminiscent of their favorite Starlight mints. It is embedded with Baroque motifs, and at the center of the metallic tin is a French noblewoman. Her powdery-white skin, pink cheeks, and a lacey caraco, echoed of elegance and artifice, asserting refinement that was impossible to find in West Flanders. A Belgian province now touched by war, the German salient, like the Mesopotamian crescent, once filled with rivers and fertile land, was vehemently undermining the British forces. He had purchased the tin in Boulogne-sur-Mer, off of a woman wearing a chestnut kirtle with saggy, droopy skin. He gave it to Eriche, who laughed, low and bearlike, saying, “What do I want with a box that looks like it belongs in the house of Versailles?” He then pried the lid and ate four of them, throat pulsing with resounding pleasure just as he and Munroe had once been when they had slept together.
The noblewoman’s glance was lidded, coquettish, and fixed upon the rest of Munroe’s shrine. As if to acknowledge her presence, he traced the embossed curlicue of a leaf on her arm. It was a flourish that seemed so delicate, in the bilge of a Flemish dougout where the earth itself had been blackened and churched until it was made infertile.
He looked past the marmalade-colored cans which he and Eriche shared, filling their bellies with sustenance. The noblewoman then cast her eyes to the Venetian lace dolly, safeguarding the larger portrait of them together, Eriche’s hand brushing his shoulder .
The dolly was pure white, with baroque patterns emanating from the base, the edges scalloped with intricate picot stitches. The designs are ornate, undulating swirls that flow in a constant motion. Acanthus leaves curled outward from the center, unfurling, budding with life. Garlands looped endlessly into the other, each tendril beginning exactly where the last had ended, continuing in a resolute pattern. It was intricate and airy, barely touched by the grime that had settled into the plaster walls and onto the cots. How it was preserved intact, Munroe could never know. Yet, it represented a tumultuous sea, containing the depths of Munroe's love, infinite in all of its glory, and would remain unbroken even in passing.
Many days had he prayed to Yahweh to envince Eriche wholly, to conjure about his soul. The sun god seemed indifferent, casting his prayers aside as if he were a small ant in the grand scheme of nature. As if the sun god viewed all men as inconsequential to the universe. There were times when Munroe’s soul felt weary, when he rested on his laurels, giving up his determination and hope. He debated whether the word of Yahweh was obstinate, that they are a just and loving god.
Next to the shrine, he keeps something equally sacred. The portrait of his mother, Talulah, and his father, Alan.
Talulah Davy
Alan Davy
When Munroe was younger, people commented on how similar he looked to his mother. He had her thick black hair, which was indistinguishable from the mousy brown heads of all the grammar school girls. His reddish-copper skin, combined with his father’s peach complexion, made him a shining rose gold. He had inherited his father’s height and the particular slope of his nose, but everything else was his mother's. Sometimes Munroe would look at her portrait and find his own face looking back.
Munroe remembered giving Eriche a portrait of him when he was a teenager. He was still presenting as a girl, thick raven hair down to his back and pooling down his shoulders in turrets of ink. He was adorned with a comb, made of a carved antler, decorated with glass beads and radial designs, emphasizing spiritual harmony. The rachis of a copper turkey feather, suited with a tannish tip, was tucked underneath the rigid yet brawny teeth. He was wearing a cotton yoke dyed with velvet, embedded with patterns resembling the eastern diamondback rattlesnake.
He looked down at himself now. The body that had been beautiful and reminiscent of a human was now restructured with animal parts. Sharp claws were wedged between his fingernails; his arms, which had been a normal length, were now elongated, hanging at his kneecaps. His hair, which once had been shiny and gleamed in sunlight, is now a rough, wet, tangled mass, akin to scraps of seaweed or algae blooms that spread in streams. His sciera was blackened, and his gray pupils had whitened, as if some creature had possessed and embued him into a creature hollow of himself.
He remembered that before he had to shave his luxurious hair off before enlistment. It was customary for men to ensure sanitation, uniformity, and safety compatibility, no matter their heritage. He kept it still, wound carefully in a strip of cloth, tucked beneath everything else in his kit. He was hideous, but Eriche had not thought so.
Munroe stood before the shrine and folded his hands the way his father had taught him when he used to go to church. It was in a neat and deliberate position, the posture of a Sunday school Anglican boy, his father's thin, veiny hand guiding him.
Closing his eyes, he did not say the name, Yahweh. The sun god had given up on him a long time ago. Instead, he called upon the god of his mother, a god that would not do him any wrong. The Great Spirit.
" Hushtiahli
Thank you for providing me with determination, courage, and a hearty body.
Thank you for giving me life in this hellscape, and I ask for strength, that I may live another day.
And I want my Eriche to return to me as one ."
"Yakoke."
wip - need to see them happy n joyous for once
ap exam season is coming up so cant draw as much as i wanna :'( once may passes ill be free !!
Fem! Roger Daltrey for pride month. Yes I put the lesbian flag there

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming