#[ because yeah he's absolutely horrible but even he has sides to him that people can relate to ]

[despairforme]

2 awkward moods from reading this blog: 1) Nnoitra, you are disgusting 2) closeted bisexuals solidarity ///Toby you&ur writing are great <5

❝ I hate 'ta break it 'ta ya, but most guys are like me. Maybe some pretend 'ta be nice, but it's just so they can get some pussy. ❞ That would be his reply to being called ' disgusting ' ( it was not something new to him ). He supposed people were used to guys censoring themselves, to at least seem like they were decent. Nnoitra was not about that. He didn't like being fake. Like HELL he was going to change who he was just to make others comfortable. If people couldn't deal with him? It was their fucking problem.

--- As for being closeted. That was a different matter. That was not about faking something, but rather just keeping something private. If he didn't do that, then people would perceive him in a different way. They'd see him as something he was not. So, by keeping this part of him hidden, he actually gave people a MORE authentic view of him. That's how he saw it anyway. Sometimes, it was frustrating. A lot of the times, he wished the world was different, so that he didn't have to be closeted. And SOMETIMES, he even wished someone would understand what it was like. Maybe he didn't want to talk to someone about it, but yeah - having some solidarity would be nice.

[weebsinstash]

Sitting here watching that clip of Valentino with that demon girl going "you're gorgeous! Do you need a job? 🥰" and started thinking of Val either intentionally or unintentionally making Reader feel massively insecure and ugly and Val using that to manipulate them

I've mentioned "oh what if your job is serving him drinks at his club" but what if he also starts dragging you along when he goes out like some kind of weird PA. Like he's just throwing random bills at you that he clearly isn't counting like it's pocket change in a very "yeah sure whatever just do it bitch" kind of way so you put up with it, it's good income, but it's still... WEIRD. He's going to get his antenna done at the salon, and you're like. Having to STAND THERE beside his chair, you're not even in the lobby waiting room, you've gotta be WITH HIM, and you just get all these windows into his cunty personality where he's spoiled and mean to service workers and is a total fucking diva and it's extremely off-putting I'm sure

He's in a night club hitting on people whose bodies are absolutely insane like I'm talking GYATT city, ass and titties, you've got twunks and you've got hunks, and you're like, in sneakers, off to the side, head down playing games on your phone since you can't even put earbuds in because you unfortunately have to keep an ear open since he'll order YOU to bring drinks, not just for him, but for these complete strangers who don't even work for him too, AND he'll let them be fucking mean to you. You bring some bubble butt twink who's on Val's arm the daiquiri he asked for and he gives you a very clear look up and down before laughing, cuddling up to Val, "yeah I can SEE you need new employees 😋" and they all laugh Including Fucking Valentino

I dunno, I'm on the fence. It really changes with the story. You get the yandere who are obsessive but more abusive-adjacent and then you have the more true-blooded kind that won't accept any slander of you at all. Like can you imagine Valentino's smile just dropping off his face because some chick like, tells you you have cellulite or even something MILD like your mascara is bad or idk what are, male insults.... you have a flat ass??? And Valentino just instantly shoves them away "okay you're done bye, let the door hit you on the way out 🤭"

But today we're talking about angst and feeling fucking miserable so. Over time it just, makes you feel so horrible about yourself to go to these nightclubs. It isn't even about fucking Valentino, it's about how you're sitting here watching everyone EXCEPT YOU receive all this fawning and compliments and attention, even if Val is faking some of it just to lure in more workers. You see a girl who has the perfect skin and you run fingers over an ice pick scar on your cheek, male reader sees a guy who's tall but muscular with nice facial hair and you feel your own baby face and smaller build, there are people thinner than you, curvier than you, stronger than you, smarter than you, and you watch all of them get called gorgeous and beautiful and handsome and sexy and you're just the fucking dweeb who gets teased, mocked, BULLIED

One night Valentino is sitting there talking to another girl, "oh my gosh, honey, I would TOTALLY do body shots off of you. Hey, can we get some shots over here? .... helllooooo, I SAID can we get some shots? ...bitch if you make me repeat myself again--" and he looks over and you're not even there. It's like ice. Suddenly without warning you're not there and he doesn't know what to do because you're ALWAYS there and whenever you're not it's because he LETS YOU leave??? Like??? He's immediately standing up even if it knocks away the people hanging off of him and he's looking around, "you BETTER be in the fucking bathroom--"

And over the crowd of people he sees you on the opposite end of the club, as if you were actively trying to put as much distance between you two as possible, and you're with a guy, some big furry monster boy, and you laugh with a big smile and Valentino GRINDS his teeth as he realizes it's been ages since you laughed around him, let alone at anything HE'S said, and you're actually drinking with this guy where you would always be way too stiff and cautious around Val (although he also really wouldn't let you drink anyways, being more of a waiter when you're 'on the clock')

Obsessed with the idea of Val making Reader carry around combs and brushes to comb his antenna/fur and Val sees you using them on another guy. like I think he'd go absolutely violently fucking crazy honestly because 1. Those are HIS and he is a bougie Gucci material man like those are high quality things being used on some RANDO 2. Those are for HIM, you're using them on someone ELSE 3. The person using them on someone else is YOU, YOU'RE brushing another man, YOU'RE cuddling another man like some kind of UNGRATEFUL WHORE--

When I say you suddenly look up and you're being GRABBED, HAULED UP to your feet by your arm, grip on you so tight it's ready to fucking bruise, and Val just shoots this guy in the head, like cartoonishly powerful gun just splatters the dudes head from what should have been just a single bullet hole I'm sure. You're like vaguely traumatized and trying to tell yourself the man will regenerate and be fine but now Valentino's got a gun in his hand and he's furious and you just start CRYING. He doesn't even CARE about the people he was flirting with anymore, if he has any employees in the club with him he doesn't even call out that it's time to go, he just starts DRAGGING YOU to the limo and will just LEAVE EVERYONE there because he's in such a rage, also, have you guys seen the posts where people point out there are moth squeaking effects when he speaks sometimes. So he's just fucking mad, voice cracking, shouting, squeaking, and i think it'd be funny if he spends like 15 minutes screaming about THE GUY while he has you like all but glued to his lap on the ride home and doesn't say a single thing about what you did. Just manic ranting on his phone as he HAS to call Vox, "oh my god you wouldn't FUCKING BELIEVE what this piece of shit did in front of me, the ugliest fucking guy I've ever seen was--" and you're like trembling wondering when he's going to pivot and realize like, you were also. Intentionally willingly sitting with that guy.

But he doesn't even like. Acknowledge it that way. He just keeps ranting about the guy touching something that doesn't belong to him, he's gotta replace all his fucking combs now, oh my GOD Vox like SERIOUSLY-- and then it's probably Vox that's like, with a disinterested voice, "sooooo.... WHICH whore did this happen to again???" And Valentino without hesitating just straight up says your name, "the nerdy one, you KNOW which one I'm talking about"

And that's when you just start to blubber cause you're tired and you're tipsy and you're mentally worn down, "oh OF COURSE I'm 'the nerdy one'!! You drag me all over the fucking place and I never get any time to myself and I have to WATCH everyone ELSE have fun, and when I finally find someone who calls ME cute, calls ME pretty, you fucking SHOOT HIM!" and you're just, face in your hands crying and you can't see it as Valentino GRINS like some fucking MONSTER because, "Aw, pobrecita, is that what this is about? You're lonely? ❤️w❤️"

And you're just mad and crying and pouting and you're telling him to go fuck himself and actually starting to get a little mouthy and have an attitude with him and he doesn't even care because how upset you're getting is going right to his head. even if you don't want to, you're jealous of him giving other people attention instead of you, and now he's watching you get all upset and sniffly over it and he's so full of himself, this makes him feel so powerful that he's reduced you to this insecure bawling state, and he's rubbing your shoulders, "awwww, don't cry mami, you should've told me you were wanting some 'attention'"

At this point you could be literally slapping his hands away but he's gonna keep pulling you close to him on purpose and NOW, now he's laying on all the fucking compliments, stroking the tops of your thighs. He knows exactly what scent you're using in your hair. Oh, you're wearing the nail polish you bought during one of your first months here; he's always liked this color on you. He's commenting and bringing up things you didn't expect him to notice let alone remember about you and... you're just so weak to it.... you're lonely... and he's here... and maybe it's the smoke or his cologne or what but he smells so good, he's so close, your head feels a little funny--

The rest of your night blurs together after that, but when you wake up, you're not at your place, or the studio, or anywhere you mildly recognize. You're in a bed way too big for someone your size, and you're especially not used to SOMEONE ELSE BEING IN IT WITH YOU. Val just has you caged in all of his arms and is passed out drooling in a post alcohol, post drug, post fuckathon coma, and you can FEEL in your muscles and in your body that you two were up to some wiiiiiild shit together.

IF you may manage to sneak out of V Tower without being stopped or caught, it won't make hin suddenly forget all the things you told him, or him now knowing how it feels to have your hands on his body, or how it looks to have your big sad wet eyes looking up at him and then sparkling with one of his compliments. Usually he WANTS bitches to be gone when he wakes up but, this time? When those eyes open and you're not there? Instantly feeling rejected, mad, irritated, he can't exactly identify why, he's just MAD you ran off without telling him and he's instantly blowing up your line to figure out where you are, and now you have become a recipient of The Voice-mails

"Heeeeeeey, baby, so, it's so funny but I just woke up and I can't find you in the tower? Did you run off to get breakfast somewhere? You KNOW you shouldn't run off without telling me first; I need you to come on back here ❤️"

"-- so answer your phone you fucking SLUT!! You better not be with another fucking guy, or I swear to fucking GOD--"

"--It just stresses me out that there are so many different kinds of people down here, I worry someone might hurt you, amorcito. I can't help protect you if I'm not there, soooooo, why don't you just, tell me where you are--"

"Is this fucking funny for you, you cunt?! You get all worked up about how PATHETIC AND SAD you are and then leave me? Leave ME? ME?! You're LUCKY i even TOUCHED YOU AT ALL--"

"Heeeeeeey, oh my gosh so this is so funny ummmm, Vox just let me know that Velvette borrowed you for something, soooooooooo, please don't listen to any of those other voicemails, ok? You know how CRAZY you make me, right? Don't forget you have a shift tonight, and if you even think about not showing up, I have some hellhounds that know your scent already and they'll drag you back here by your hair, sooooo, see you later love you byeeeeee ❤️"

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Eddie hated this and he'd just started.

See, he was so proud when he made it, when he got his first office job. He saw what decades of physical labor did to Wayne's back, his hands, and he wanted to make his uncle proud. So he kept applying and applying and getting ignored and rejected and finally, finally he got a job in a pretty large corporate. Not exactly something prestigious, but hey, it had potential. The experience counted and all that.

He thought maybe workplaces would be different, that the good ol' high school dynamic would fuck off, but no. He was sitting at his desk, trying to fill in paperwork after a taxing phone call, but all he could focus on was whispering from the neighboring cubicle that was ostentatiously loud. He didn't know who sat there yet, the guy had been on vacation for the two weeks Eddie was in the company. From the stuff he was hearing, he was getting introduced anyway and not exactly the way he'd have liked to be.

"Can you believe they actually let him work here?" It was Carol, of course it was, the office gossip and mean girl knockoff. "I mean, he doesn't even look decent! Did you see that hair?" Okay, that hurt. He actually pulled his hair into a neat bun every morning, but you can't please some people. "And he has tattoos, what would our customers think if they actually met him, plus you should have heard the rumors about his past-!"

But just as he was about to slam down the pile of paperwork and either take an extended smoke break or gently ask Carol to go fuck a polar bear, he heard another voice. Bored and wonderfully bitchy.

"That's absolutely fascinating, Carol. Please tell me more, what could this guy possibly have done? It must be something juicy. Did he perhaps fuck his boss during the Christmas party and then lie about it to his boyfriend of five years? Oh wait no. That was you. Silly me."

Eddie had to bite his pencil to stay quiet, but his whole chest hurt by trying to keep the snickering in. And then the offended gasp. "I- you promised you wouldn't-!"

"I didn't promise shit, Carol. You just came to me, cried your eyes out - bad move by the way, invest in some waterproof mascara for god's sake, mascara in wrinkles doesn't good on anyone, and yes, you do have wrinkles - and tried to play the victim. Except I heard your small proposition to the guy before so it didn't really work out. But it's fine, you know," and oooh, the tone was smug, so bored, Eddie loved this guy already, "Tommy saw you as well and had a good time with Nicole to get even. So there's nothing to worry about. Now tell me, what did this horrible Eddie Munson do to summon wrath of such a righteous woman such as yourself?"

Eddie heard a sharp sound as Carol got up from the desk. "Fuck you, Steve Harrington," she spat out and sped past Eddie's seat. He just gave her a small salute.

When the sound of high heels faded, Eddie leaned over the cubicle wall and knocked to draw the guy's attention. And yeah, maybe he was a little bit biased because he'd just obliterated a textbook definition of a shrew, but this Steve was fucking gorgeous, light brown eyes looking at him, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

"Oh hi," said Steve and offered his hand, shaking Eddie's. "Sorry for that. I'm Steve Harrington and whatever deepest, darkest secrets you're hiding, I don't care, I'm pretty sure I've heard them all. What did you do? Shave your head in school? Join a cult? Cut dolls apart and chant hail Satan?"

That had Eddie laughing again, but he still had an introduction to make. A proper one. "Nice to meet you, Steve. Eddie Munson, and I'm worse than your darkest nightmares. I sometimes wear socks in sandals."

Steve's eyebrow twitched. "Oh, Carol was right, you are a monster!" he muttered. "Speaking of monsters..." His head leaned to the side, towards Carol who was angrily carrying her coffee mug, her mascara running again.

Before he could catch himself, Eddie leaned over the wall and whispered as loudly as he could muster. "Can you believe some people wear dotted dresses with stripes on their stockings? We can't all be born with taste, I guess...tragic."

And again, maybe Eddie was just biased, but Steve's laughter was so pretty that it actually made dealing with Carol's bullshit worth it.

[bibibbon]

I made a huge mistake in going to the MHA subreddit. The braindead takes on 427 have me convinced I'm stuck in a parallel universe where we're reading a completely different story:

"It's great seeing Deku play therapist with the LOV, but all it seems to have done is make things worse!" A) Izuku shouldn't be having to play therapist to begin with, considering he's a 16 year old kid. B) most of the LOV don't see anything they did as wrong, so idk what the fuck Izuku can do about that. Also, WHY AREN'T PEOPLE HELPING IZUKU WITH HIS OWN GODDAMN FEELINGS?!

Apparently Bakugou killed Kurogiri, and there's absolutely ZERO reaction to it both in and out of universe. So of fucking course Izuku is a murderer, but not their precious Bakugou 🥱.

"I feel like Hori's really underrated as a writer!" Horikoshi doesn't know Show Don't Tell, how to actually develop characters, and how to craft actual stakes in the narrative from a hole in the ground. Also, MHA is one of the most popular mangas worldwide, so you're not even using underrated right.

"I feel like Horikoshi sees our discussions and then implements them in the story!" This I can kind of agree with, considering how much y'all hate Izuku and worship Bakugou. But on the other hand, I really doubt Horikoshi thinks the MHA subreddit is as important as you think it is.

"Bakugou's totally going to ask Izuku to start their own hero agency together at the end!" Jesus fucking Christ, just say you hate Izuku. How would that be a great ending for him? He not only has to see the source of his low self esteem and borderline suicidal feelings achieving the dream he'll now never have, but you want them to WORK together?!

@nutzgunray-lvt 👋

Well a lot of the time looking into Reddit is always a mistake unless you're asking a very niche question and you get an answer from 9 years ago or something.

I feel like a lot of people whether that be in universe or in fandom forget that izuku is a 16 year old child soldier. Izuku is more than a decade younger than a lot of the villains in the leauge. He is a child who has been exploited by the system and abused. We have seen in 425 izuku try and talk to someone but simply get brushed aside and while I don't blame shoto or ochako for doing that as they probably didn't mean it and are traumatised themselves it kinda of shows how much this has effected izuku. Also this doesn't help BECAUSE HORI GAVE US NO FLIPPING INTROPSECTION ON IZUKU'S BIT AGAIN!! Also Iam not sure if it's just me but Izuku's eye bags are heavily prominent in this chapter especially when he is talking to spinner.

The fandom especially the lov stans side of it love babayifying the actions of the leauge and hyper fixating on the humane soft side they may have while completely ignoring the horrible actions they commited. I talk about this better in one of @palesweetscherryblossom asks

I still can't believe that bk may of killed kurogiri. I don't even know when that happend and I checked the wiki but it says that kurogiris status is unconfirmed so I will be waiting until the last chapter to fully acknowledge if kurogiri is dead or not. However this brings up the point that the fandoms is being quite hypocritical if they're calling izuku a murder but not bakugo. They both killed people but for some reason it's izuku thats put into public light and bashing instead of all the other characters that have killed in the series including villains.

Yeah sometimes it feels like hori is looking at discussions of his series and implementing ideas but I think that goes more for his Japanese fans than us to be honest because after all they're his target demographic. I remember when I first joined Tumblr one of my earliest posts talked about how horikoshi's writing decisions were heavily influenced by his fans which may or may not be true.

At this point IAM convinced that izuku isn't getting a proper happy ending. Every time I think it can't get worse it does. Just by your comment of them starting an agency together haunts me just like the possibility that bk may become the number one hero

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Hiiii

So I was thinking about drakes spoiled brat (as I do. Quite a bit) and while scrolling through the DSB tag on tumblr I found those posts talking about epilogs and how that would look. And honestly-just imagine being a normal civilian at the end of this story and all you know is that Timothy "trash" drake is abruptly adopted by the Wayne's and suddenly is very very chill??? Like lol that would confuse the shit outta so many people LMAO

Timothy: I'm a cisgender heterosexual rich Christian white man. And I am better than all of you who are not all of those things. And even if you do check all the boxes, you still aren't me and therefore will never compare.

*the next day*

Tim: I'm uhh gender? Shit next question. Sexuality? Uhhh boys. And girls? Yes. Christian? Shit- fuck- no I'm an atheist...I'm rich and white I wasn't gaslighting myself about those two. So technically it cancels out. Anyways. Uh. Shit man idk I'm running on fumes rn ive been awake 51 hours straight...don't tell Bruce.

The general public: *slow blink* ...who are you and where is Timothy.

The bats: *low key getting some amusement over Tim fumbling*

Anyways. Idk if this is coherent lol I'm just bein silly. I love your fic so much and it's inspired me for some ideas of my own so thanks. You're a very talented author <333

Oh don't worry about coherency hon its brainrot and I just so happen to be a native speaker- and thank you for the praise <33

I will say that Timothy isn't your "classic" wolf on wallstreet guy-

Gotham rich people are a whole new breed because yeah there are social expectations and what not, but once you reach a certian class its mostly "fuck all as long as the investors are happy"

The public perception of Timothy is like a guy who you WANT to feel bad for, and can easily go "yeah that explains a bit of his behavior-" but your still making it REALLY hard to take your side

Most of his "Scandals" have come from him verbally assaulting people, underage drinking/drugs use, and just doing stuff that was not PR approved. To some hes a fucking menace, to others he's as entertaining as those two birkin boyfriends.

Yes he's an asshole, but he's also a kid who lost his parents pretty horribly (wink wink for future lore) and instead of being free as a young nepo baby should be, he's tied down to Gotham, keeping his parents company alive and dealing with all sorts of shit behind closed doors.

Of course hard to feel pity for a rich asshat so there are absolutely a decent percentage of people who roll their eyes whenever someone brings up "Timothy Drake" and everyone has a story of someone with a shit experience

BUT he gets adopted by the Wayne brood and is suddenly- half decent?? Most people would just accept of "Good- everyones favorite himbo gets a new kid, a bit of a fixer upper but lord knows he needed it"

Anyways heres MY ramblings in turn- will definently explore more of Tim and Timothys relationships in Gotham in the future so this is due to fluxuate but as of rn this is generally the perspective <33

[bordysbae]

can u do a luca blurb where there’s like an argument and it’s like luca and his gf vs someone else and it’s the two like sticking up for each other? i hope that makes sense

“a new side of you”

luca fantilli x f!reader

warning: profanity and underage drinking

despite the ending of frozen four not being what everyone was hoping, the boys still threw themselves a party as soon as they got back to michigan, just because of how far they had made it. it’s also a party to say their “formal” goodbyes to the seniors, and the boys who won’t be returning next year due to upcoming signings with the big league.

the party isn’t a rager, but it sure isn’t small either. there are people everywhere, but the only person you care to find is your boyfriend luca. you got caught up in a conversation with johnny while luca went to get another drink, not even realizing luca hadn’t come back in quite some time. you eventually find him in a conversation with one of his classmates. you’ve met the guy before but he’s nothing special. in your opinion he has a bland personality and thrives off of his daddy’s money, but since he’s friends with a few of the guys, you almost always see him at parties.

“jonah, hey!” you greet him, as luca wraps an arm around your shoulder.

“oh hey, y/n right?” jonah nods his head towards you as his form of addressing you.

“uh, yeah,” you say, annoyed by him already. you know he knows your name since you guys have met over five times, but he chooses to have a douche bag persona. “not like we haven’t met already” you mumble under your breath making luca chuckle.

“what’d you say?” jonah asks you, straightening his back. you look up from your cup at him, and chuckle at his new tough-boy stance.

“nothing, what were you guys talking about before i got here? i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say in an attempt to change the topic.

“no, fucking tell me what you said,” jonah blurts out, startling both you and luca.

“dude relax. i didnt even say anything, chill out man,” you scoff.

“someone’s on their period. control your woman fantilli,” jonah jokes. your mouth falls agape at his statement.

“what did you just say to me? i’m on my what?”

“you heard me,” jonah chuckles before taking a sip of his drink.

“watch your fucking mouth douchebag. don’t fucking say that shit about my girlfriend! especially right in front of her or me,” luca starts up.

“oh it was a joke relax, you can’t even talk like you’re some big guy anyways! you warm the bench, and you guys lost in the frozen four. just chill out luca you’re not some hotshot,” jonah exclaims. your mouth falls agape, and lucas whole body tenses up.

before you can even think, your mouth just starts running, “oh you wanna talk about hot shots? you thrive on daddy’s money and think everyone is in love with you. newsflash, just because you never went d1 for hockey after high school, doesn’t mean being friends with the team makes you important. honestly, they all think you’re a dick. and so what if luca doesn’t get the absolute most playing time? he still went d1, unlike someone else in this conversation”

luca chuckles at your words, and this makes jonah even more pissed. “you think i’m gonna listen to you? don’t you have a fucking nail appointment to go to?”

“jonah you sound like an idiot. pulling out misogynistic ‘insults’ like that’s gonna do anything? just accept the fact you’re in the wrong, it’ll be the only good thing you ever did. notice how i’m the one in a relationship, and you can barely get a girl in your bed unless she’s intoxicated? which by the way is horrible in itself, but that’s a conversation for another time. just go home bud.” luca declares.

despite the topic of conversation, you can’t help yourself but be attracted to this side of luca. you’ve never seen him act out this way, and him defending you like this is only making the attraction worse. the heavily intoxicated jonah flips you both off and makes his way back into the pool of people, leaving you and luca alone in the kitchen.

“that was a new side of you. i liked that” you admit, making luca blush ever so slightly.

“oh yeah?” he laughs, and pulls you closer to his body so that you’re now against his chest looking up at him.

“i’m sorry about that, he’s an asshole.” luca says to you softly but loud enough for you to hear over the music.

“no i’m sorry. he said some rude things about you babe, don’t listen to him he’s just jealous”

“eh, i don’t mind. i get enough chirping from adam anyways,” luca chuckles and kisses the top of your head. you both embrace each other a little bit more before heading back to the swarm of people throughout the rest of the house. you guys went back to luca’s dorm afterwards and spent the rest of the night in each others arms, never forgetting the moment you two shared tonight.

[crepes-suzette-373]

"Failure": The Defective Product

You know, the Vinsmoke boys use many different terms to say Sanji is a "failure", and in English it's all just translated as "failure" or "good for nothing" (or "dud" in some fan translation).

All of them, barring one, are actually varying ways to say "something that is [not right]". It's, to me, supportive of the theory that Sanji's brothers are just upset that he's different from them, and they're only acting the way they do because of, well, Judge being a horrible example for what is the proper way to behave.

There's 出来損ない (dekisokonai), that also happens to mean "defective product", "unfinished product", or "creations that are below standard level". Like for example, if a chair has no legs, or an electronic that exploded the moment you turn it on.

Or if I as an artist draw something really half-assed and it's a hot mess, that's also 出来損ない.

Yeah, when it refers to a person it usually just means someone who doesn't perform well in general, but in sci-fi stuff people also use it to speak of things like "defective clones" (which, you know, is relevant here).

That other one, 役立たず, doesn't have double meaning. It just means worth for nothing/useless. However, in that panel it's not entirely clear who's saying 役立たず. It could be Judge, for all I know, even though the official translation says "brother". The raw doesn't actually have any explicitly identifying terms. It just says "cheers to that useful good for nothing".

When it's clearly the brothers talking, it seems to be 出来損ない more often.

There's also 失敗作 shippaisaku, which is "failure" also in the same sense of "poorly made". For example, if I try to bake a cake and it comes out an inedible disaster, that would be a 失敗作. Or, a really terrible movie that everyone hates and just absolutely bombs at the box office, it's also 失敗作.

And what Yonji said is ochikobore 落ちこぼれ, which is something like "scraps/leftovers". Literally speaking, it can mean actual drops or spills, like if a container overflows and its contents then spilled over the sides. Or if you do wood turning and there's wood shavings all over the place, that's 落ちこぼれ.

It can be understood as "failure" in the sense of "not successful in the conventional/mainstream manner". For example, school dropouts, or "outcasts" like people who can't find jobs and such. Even just fringe/unusual crowds like "starving artists" can also be called 落ちこぼれ.

Again, it's all to me signs saying that what they meant was "Sanji is not like us and there's something wrong with him, and we don't like it". I mean, they all clearly have a warped sense of "normal", but I have hope that they're beginning to, you know, understand or accept that "different" is not "bad".

(I have other conspiracies related to the raid suit, but maybe next time, this one is just pure text analysis)

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

I am really getting annoyed with people said "loki is just narcissistic person, strange is just arrogant doctor, Wanda is just selfish crazy", okey they are lie that more than that but somehow everyone forgetting that they have trauma and pain(not justify bad actions but still) and they keep insist that they need getting more punishment.

Then we have stark, yeah we know him and if someone say he is just arrogant selfish billionaire other standard will say he ore than that and they said stark didn't deserve punishment what he did , really?

I am have to say I have one fanfic not Wanda friendly but I take theme in MOM because how I hate Wanda in MOM (thanks Waldron make me hate Wanda) from all her on screen MOM is in my hate list.

Also you can see how many Wanda, loki and strange got punishment in fanfic rather than stark, they justify his actions.

They never cared to humanize Stark's victims. We just had that woman in CW who was written horribly and to make matters worse, Stark was framed sympathetically in that scene. Go figure! And of course that scene is followed by him claiming the entire team has to be """held accountable""" (not just him, the team) and when some of them push back he's shown to be the rational one. What a joke.

With that kind of absolute narrative protection, is it any wonder so many people claim he feeling bad for 0.2 seconds is enough?

Whereas with Wanda we know the names of the people she hurt, we heard them speak and explain how much pain they were in. (I always laugh every time I see someone claim WandaVision was on Wanda's side.. lol no).

In Loki's case, his whole past and characterization were retconned and simplified by Waldron and Feige, and those around him were framed in a positive light while he was shown as an evil character who will always have to be paying for his mistakes. Odin, Thor, Sylvie, Mobius... none of them are held accountable so the difference in framing is even clearer.

And with Stephen, he's so unlucky that he got his own movie taken from him and once again his story was simplified for some reason I do not understand. His pain, sacrifices, his story are an afterthought in MoM and ironically enough, he was written miles better in NWH than in his own film. And of course, we got other characters telling him he's evil, he's selfish, he's a villain, bla bla.

In short: he's defined (negatively) by others. Just like Loki. Ever see them defining or defending themselves? Nah. If they defend themselves they're "arrogant" and "narcissistic" 🙄

So I'm not surprised those three are treated like crap by the fandom while Stark is praised to the heavens and back.

Stephen, Wanda and Loki are not perfect. But the thing is... they don't need to be. In fact, they shouldn't be. That's what makes them so interesting, it's what sets them apart from the clear-cut heroes. What we should be getting about them is the why they're not perfect + the circumstances behind their actions and beliefs, those are crucial when it comes to morally grey characters. Otherwise we just end up with "they did x so they're y" bullshit writing.

[dozing-marshmallow]

Dawg…..i NEED NEEED NEED more of Chris Nibling with the other campers please 🙏 🙏

You ask, you shall receive ;D

CHRIS MCLEAN’S NIBLING! READER AND CAMPERS (CONTINUED HEADCANONS)

“Where did I leave it...?” The pretty blonde girl wondered around the campsite one day, in search of something. She finds you sitting in your beach chair and the missing item fades from her priorities,“Oh! Evening (Y/N)! Woah...you look tinier than I remember...” 

“Huh?” You look up at her. Did her mind go on holiday again?

“Yeah! You’re like a little kid, I’m surprised they let you on the show!” She blurted out. Yep, it has.

“That’s because I am a kid! Not a little one.” You proudly remind her,“A little kid wouldn’t own a makeup kit now, would they?” you held up the one you found to her, not knowing it was hers, let alone what she was searching for until she squalled.

“Omg!” She plucks it from you, her long hair shimmering with the sun,“Thanks (Y/M)! You’re like my Santa’s little helper! Oooo! Have you ever tried this stuff?” 

“The makeup?” You tilt your head,“Isn’t it for adults?”

“It’s for everyone!” Lindsay averred,“Oh, it’s a must! Makeoveeer!”

The idea startled you,“I don’t know... Uncle Chris might not-“

“Ohhh we’ll be fine! He’ll totally change his mind after seeing it!” She was very certain, which could either mean it’ll go exceptionally or horribly.

Only one way to find out.

"So lucky!” She holds your jaw up,“You're still at that age where you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!”

"Huh? Can't you also eat whatever you want?" You asked your beautician of the day, unaware of adolescence’s side effects.

"I caaaan't! Too many carbs and butter tarts is bad for you!" She complained,"You break out into hives, grow hair everywhere and get taller...!"

“Eww!” you pull a face of repulsion,“I can’t imagine what you’re going through! It sounds so hard!”

"As Buddhism says, it's a part of life if you wanna keep tanning." A breath of sorrow, she searches her bag,"Okaay... Um, let's start off with the foundation!"

You watch her squirt some of this skin matching liquid on her blender,"Do you know what you’re doing?”

"Sure I dooo! But I bet you didn't know that when I was eleven, we had this charity called something Foundation visit us at school and they weren't even about make up!” She begins to dab it on your cheek,“So glad I exposed those con artists in front of everyone! What kind of charity deceives people like that?"

Uh huh...

"Eyeliner time!" She declares, hoarding the blender back into her kit.

You didn’t recognise what “eyeliner” was until she took it out, a pen looking thing,“Ohh I know what that is! My uncle uses that all the time! I always thought the way he did it looked creepy.”

“Uncle? You...have an uncle?” She repeated wide-eyed like the term was foreign.

“...Chris?”

“Ohhh right!” Her mind brought back to the minimum work,“That’s where I know you from!”

Having that needed to be recalled, you were kind of getting scared about what was she putting on your face.

“Let’s add a beauty mark therrrre! And you’re done!” She takes out her mirror and holds it in front of you,“Tadaa! What do you think?”

“It’s the wrong way, Lindsay.” You lightheartedly inform her.

“Oops! Sorry!” She flips it around, and you see the final product at last.

You gasped... 

Wow!

Maybe it’s because you were inexperienced with makeup, but in your eyes, Lindsay was phenomenal, the very best: the shine on your nose and correctly placed pastels were all so glamorous to your young mind, you felt guilty for ever doubting her. She knew what she was doing!,“I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it! I look like those models Uncle Chris talks to sometimes! I don’t think I ever wanna wash my face again!”

"You're welcoooome!” The “dumb princess” chimed, twirling her finger around a strand of her hair,”Still think he won’t like it?”

Absolutely not! Maybe if he likes it enough, you could convince him to replace his current make up artist with her! Fingers crossed!

Hearing DJ, you jump into a non-lethal bush and waited until he was in your peripheral vision to grab his attention.

“Thought I heard you (Y/N)!” he warmly came over to you, used to your ways of a child,“Everything alright with you?”

“Yep!” you emerge, lifting your head up to make eye contact with the tall jock,“I wanted to know if...you wanted to feed the squirrels with me.”

“Aw, I’d love to-“ He paused. He had to remember that this adorable child was related to Chris,“Count me in!”

"Yay!" You pull onto his large hand and led him into the woods. Seeing a family of squirrels, you lean on a log and pass him your spare bag of nuts. While you waited for the bushy tailed rodents to warm up to you, DJ had a very serious question to ask.

“What’s the name of your teddy?”

Oh man! You were going to miss him so much when he goes,“Mrs Maple! She was there for me since day one! Chris got her for me.”

He takes a second to appreciate your innocence, connecting the story to his relationship with momma,“You really love him a lot, don’t you?”

You made a fuss from his imprecise words,“Mrs Maple is a girl!”

“I know that! I meant Chris.” Now they were precise; even at your error, he managed to not raise his voice if it meant the feasting squirrels could continue entrusting their vulnerability to the both of you.

“Ohh! Yeah, I love him a lot too! He’s on my top ten favourite people list(and so are you)! There’s no uncle in the world I would trade him for.” You exclaimed, goodbye-ing the squirrels in your thoughts,“Aww...”

Luckily, you weren’t left alone by nature’s animals for long; something further away moves into your sight, slow and mature. You excitedly point it out,“DJ, do you see that? There’s a moose over there!”

And he returns the excitement, by picking your smaller body up and sitting you on his shoulders. Woah! You’ve never been this high before! “Let’s get a closer look! Moose are also friendly.”

With his hands secured around your legs, you spread your arms out, mimicking an airplane,“Weeeee!”

Another session of free time led the campers to be diffused everywhere on the island, so there were very few people in the mess hall- such as Harold, Leshawna, and yourself, who was playing uno with Duncan. The stack was currently a green 8, like his mohawk. It’s Duncan’s turn and he takes a pause, before smirking.

“Two plus six makes eight...” he places down two cards at once, a blue two and a blue six.

This boils you to take discipline,“Pick up two cards, Duncan! You can’t do that, that’s cheating!”

“No it’s not!” He revolted back.

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!” you huff,“Chriiis!”

Having being called, your uncle gets up from where he was sitting and comes behind you,“What’s the problem?”

“Tell Duncan he can’t do that!” You demand, throwing a finger at the smug juvenile delinquent.

Chris complies to your exact words, by repeating in a dull tone,“Duncan, you can’t do that.”

“Aww come on, dude! You should’ve seen what I did! Look and decide as the host if it’s fair.” He gleefully folds his arms.

So Chris does and whether it was so he could see you irritated or that he genuinely liked what Duncan pulled, he approved of it.

“Hah! Sorry smarty pants!” Duncan laughed in triumph at you gritting your teeth,“Looks like you’ll be the one picking up two cards!”

You throw your deck at him,“No I won’t, because I quit!”

“Aww, is someone mad they couldn’t handle my genius?” He derided, resting his face on his palm, monobrow wiggling.

“Shut up, cheater!” You stuck your tongue out at him,“Cheater!”

So annoying!

[thetarttfuldickhead]

If When Jamie is named England’s captain a few years from now and he’s asked about inspirational figures and captain role models, he will not stop singing Isaac’s praises. Just, the way Isaac runs a tight ship and won’t tolerate any nonsense but always has their backs and makes sure there’s a lot of fun, too, silly stuff that keeps the team close and happy and mutually supportive; keeps them feeling like family, almost. It’s Ted’s heritage, the seeds Ted planted, but Isaac’s nurtured and sustained them, tended to the garden and kept it in bloom, and added some vibrant saplings of his own.

Jamie probably names a couple of other people too, whoever was in charge when he played for Man City, someone from his academy days or England’s under-21s, people like that.

He doesn’t mention Roy. And no one asks about it, and no one thinks anything of it—

—except for Roy, who watches the interview with Keeley curled up against his side on their couch and who notices the omission with a wild jumble of hurt and wounded pride and shame and jealousy (all mixed up with the shocking, burning pride he feels for Jamie, England’s captain, fucking hell).

Because Roy knows he wasn’t a great captain for Richmond, yeah, and was a horrible captain for Jamie (though to be fair, Jamie was a horrible person to captain, and Isaac isn’t likely to have been able to handle him at full-on prick either, only Roy’s not fantastic at being fair to himself, so), but he’s still Roy fucking Kent, the best on any team he’s ever been on and Jamie’s fucking childhood idol and his fucking everything now, so to have the little prick not even mention him…

He sulks. He tries not to, because he knows it’s silly and it’s Jamie’s big day, isn’t it, and Roy’s not going to ruin it by having A Feeling, but the feeling(s) persist and he walks through the afternoon with his scowl several shades darker than normally.

“What’s the matter, babe?” Keeley asks, and Roy’s long since given up trying to bullshit her so he spills. Keeley nods and listens and gives him a hug and a kiss and tells him that yeah, you’re gonna need to let that go or actually talk to Jamie about it, because she has long since taken a stand on not sorting their shit out for them.

And she has a thing with Rebecca that afternoon (only it’s the first Roy’s ever heard of it, so he can’t help but wonder if she had a thing with Rebecca prior to Roy’s confession), so when Jamie gets home, bouncing through the door like a puppy on speed, it’s just Roy there to greet him and tell him how amazing he is and yes, of course Roy watched the announcement, your hair looked fucking fine, yes, Keeley saw it too, no, don’t worry, she’s just out for coffee, she’ll be back for dinner and let you know how very impressed she is, and it’d be easy to just let it lie, put the lingering regret away and bask in Jamie’s joy, but they’d said they’d try not do that anymore, not cover stuff up when there’s the chance they might fester, so when Jamie furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side and asks if he’s okay, Roy takes a deep breath:

“It fucking hurt my feeling when you didn’t mention me, when they asked about captains that have inspired you,” he says, and then adds before Jamie can reply, “I know why you didn’t and that’s… that’s fucking fair, innit, but. It also made me wish that I’d been. Better. A better captain. For you.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says after a long, silent moment. He’s wearing that slightly blank look he adopts whenever someone’s caught him by surprise and he’s trying to figure out how to react. “Um. Sometimes I wish I’d been less of a prick, too, you know.”

Roy nods. He knows. And it’s not absolution, and it neither erases or rewrites any of their past mistakes, but it eases the ache in Roy’s chest all the same.

“We’re better now,” he offers, to Jamie, to himself.

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees with a small sigh. He grabs hold of Roy’s hand, tugging him along as he sits down on the couch, and then he curls up against Roy’s side, same as Keeley did just hours ago. “You’re a great fucking coach, though” he tells Roy seriously. “Me favourite, swear down.”

Roy snorts a laugh as he puts an arm around Jamie. “Better fucking be, considering how many blowjobs I’ve given you this week alone.”

“Mm, fucking mint, those,” Jamie agrees thoughtfully, then jabs a finger in Roy’s side. “Oi, this is the part where you tell me I’m your favourite player.”

And oh. That’s perfect, innit. “You’re not my favourite player,” Roy says, carefully not looking at Jamie.

The noise Jamie makes are equal parts disbelieving and outraged. “Um, excuse me, mate?”

“You’re not,” Roy insists, feeling a smile tug at his lips as he innocently adds, “It’s probably Isaac.”

And Jamie huffs a laugh against his neck. And Jamie says you’re an arsehole. And Jamie says you’re me favourite arsehole, though.

You’re me favourite everything, man.

And Roy holds him tight and breathes him in and, for the moment, believes him.

[antiwhores]

Surrendered! - Bakugou x villain!reader

——-

A villain who dynamite couldn’t catch? Crazy. Especially a villain that cant even villain right.

This has been sitting in the drafts for months. I just decided to finish it because I’ve been gone for a bit. Short drabble

You were possibly the most annoying fucking villain ever. Bakugou would die on that hill.

You had built quite a name for yourself in the villain society. You were known as Dynamite’s archenemy; or migma. Because you were the only villain he couldn’t get rid of. You were actually rather respected in the villain community for it.

The government calls you a villain but some people would say you’re more of an anti hero than a villain.

Its not as if you kill people or anything. You are no mass murderer - you have never killed someone. Nor do you have any planes to take over the city or destroy all heros. You have never put a civilian in danger. In fact, you’re known to help people. Sometimes during intense battles you’ll even swoop in to get civilians and maybe throw off the villains from a far. You’re just… mildly infuriating.

Your evil doings are just stupid pranks with your stupid quirk that you had no license to use. And it absolutely infuriated Katsuki.

Some of your most well known feats are as such:

you hacked into the Japan news broadcast just to stream a video of you doing horrible karaoke of old 2000s albums.

You broke into hero Dynamites agency, stole some computers and made sure to keep their location on. Then you sent the whole agency on a wild goose chase to find them and what they hoped was you.

You cut the power in the building of one of the most important hero celebrations and award ceremonies right when they were announcing the number one hero.

You planted a harmless but rapidly spreading pineapple species in low income neighborhoods. They spread like flowers in the cracks of a fluorescent city in no time. Apparently its “vandalism” but everyone got to eat for a bit.

Everything you have done, it was to piss off a certain group of people.

Dynamite started chasing you around about 3 years ago when he was climbing the ranks after UA. And in all these years he has never been able to catch you.

You are the only thing that he cant win against because you always have an idea.

So naturally, he’s heavily on guard when he follows you down a busy street. A quirk was imprinted on him to completely mask his identity. He was like a whole new person.

Little did he know that you knew it was him. He can hide his face and voice but he can’t hide his booming presence.

Too bad you didn’t have time to indulge in some teasing with him. You had just done another one of your crimes a week ago and you had to see someone. It wasn’t too bad this time, you just blew up a building that was destroying the local echo system. No one was hurt, you evacuated everyone.

This person you had to see had key information on another man you needed to find. So you hoped that Dynamite would fuck off long enough for the quick conversation to end as you stood in an alleyway.

The man spoke to you in your mind. A telekinetic.

When he was done, he spoke aloud.

He took out a cigarette and lit it, offering you one. You refused. “Also, I’m sure you know this lass but…” He puffs out smoke to the opposite side of you and points directly at the wall Dynamites hiding behind. “That man has been following us for quite a bit!”

Dynamite barely holds back his sharp intake of breath. He thought that he was being to slick! What the fuck is up with you and your friends? At least you didn’t know who he was.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “thats my best-friend.” You spun towards him, lifting your hands to project your voice. “Where are your manners? Following a lady! Come say hello Dynamite!”

Damn it all.

In a split second he’s on you but you’re even faster. You’re suddenly behind him, embracing him in a tight hug.

“I haven’t seen you in like 6 months, Dynamite!” You squeal. “I was afraid you moved on to those other stupid villains. Like that bitch Movaro. You know, she tried to kill me!”

He’s been held in this grip before and he knows you have no intention of running away until he cuffs you so he just lets you speak into his neck.

“Serves you fucking right.” He reached behind his back and drags you off by your hoodie with one hand. You just let him hold you off the ground in front of him with a smile.

Although he hates to admit it, he’s grown quite attached to you. These past 3 years have been… weird. All he thinks about is how he wants to jail you already. But jailing you seems so wrong for him. You’re a villain, sure, but no extra has avoided him successfully for 3 years straight like you have.

He slams you against the wall and pins you there, preparing for a move to escape. You just smile at him though, “I have good news!”

You put your hands up and behind your head, “I give up!”

[weebsinstash]

When I say with my entire being in my heart of hearts that I know with certainty that this-this-this THING right here would do the absolute most unbelievable petty gross obsessive dahmer level shit to you

He's petty he's evil he's got a childlike fascination for seeing what breaks people down and I hate him I hate him I hate him but ALSO what that dick do tho? 🤔

Mahito is the yandere over here doing shit like imprisoning you for his own selfishness and perhaps genuine affection but making you live in absolute deplorable conditions because He's Not Fucking Human And He Doesn't Even Know How To Feed You. He locks you away and disappears for an entire day and comes back with like a single can of wet dog food that he watches you eat from a squatting position like 5 inches away looking at you like Harley Quinn and the egg sandwich. Motherfucker would take all your clothes because he wants to see more of "the natural shape of you" and then doesn't understand why you start shivering. Or he deliberately keeps you like that because he wants to see how long it takes you to crack and beg him for help. He wants to see the depths of your pride as you refuse to grovel, curious of the lengths you'll go, the limits of your body against the chill

This depraved fuck will do dehumanizing little emotional experiments on you where he does shit just because he wants to see how you think and feel and what you'll do and I mean like he'll do SOME REAL SHIT. I'm talking maybe he's stalking you and you can't fight or use cursed techniques and you think he's just like, a human shaped spirit or something who's just a trickster, he's not being violent or getting you alone or anything yet, and then you come home to your apartment one day and he's literally disemboweled your cat on your coffee table and he's playing with pieces of it and says you were giving it more attention than him and sits there pouting as you scream and even tries to like touch you or hold your hand or hug you with. The fucking blood covered hands. like he would be so fucked up on purpose, "awww do you need me to hold you? You're so sensitive but i dont mind :3"

This man out here like "wdym you want me to stay away from you, all I did was kill your cat kill your mom kill your neighbor kill your best friend kill your boss' cousins' landlords' newborn baby BUT WAS THAT REALLY SO BAD 🥺" and does something infinitely worse to scare/coerce you into tolerating his presence

I'm not really uh into body horror or gore but as a side detail I feel like. Uh. There's like a legitimate risk of him actually unintentionally REALLY hurting you and has to use his powers to heal you. Like the one good thing he does is if he were to have you on death's door or like horribly injured he could just. Fix it. He twists a limb in a way he doesn't know it's not supposed to go and breaks it and then puts you back together like a broken toy while ooo'ing and aaa'ing at the way your skin stretches over the grotesque misalignment. Dare I say the horror of "him putting things that are way too big or weirdly shaped in you" also yeah he's one of the things he's putting in you and he's got a really gross like fascination with learning all about that stuff

He's really living just to see how many different ways he can make you cry and how many different emotions he can get you to display, just absolutely dedicated to terrorizing you while also chasing his own internal weird repressed desire for his own sort of belonging. You could be sitting there sobbing and he's either borderline getting off on it or he's standing there MAKING FUN OF YOUR CRIES like deadass even fake crying back to you

And the worst part is he'll do all this fucking shit to you and then the night comes and he'll still be over here like "and you'll let me cuddle you while you sleep right? 👉👈" and he'll be doing that Every. Single. Night. And what are you gonna do, try and kill yourself? Have fun risking accidentally making yourself a Curse and being stuck with him basically FOREVER

[megabuild]

so you like transfem etho right? how do you think she figured it out?

did pause call her a girl once and etho decided she liked it or was there more thought involved

i don't think she ever "figured it out" in the way most people would but that's mainly because i see etho as having a very weird upbringing. she was very lonely as a child and didn't really start meeting people from wider society who treated her like a human but also would inflict gender roles on her until mindcrack when she was like... mid 20s. and yeah there definitely was a bit of teasing there but i don't think it really awakened anything in her more just confused her. if you pushed him about a bit and called him a girl insultingly he'd be like ? No I'm not. Because he has lived so far detached from society he can't even conceptualise the idea of feminity being a "weakness" yet #feminist but also he was raised to play very particular roles and wear very particular masks and girl is not and never has been one of them, he is a Guy, theres no questioning that.

But then yeah of course there is because she leaves mindcrack on pretty bad terms and spends some short time alone before she gets pulled onto hermitcraft and while she's sitting alone she does eventually realise oh, people can do that, people can change. And that fucking terrifies her, so much, because she already has horrible identity issues and doesn't really fully understand it so to her it's an all or nothing 100% change of self, and that's sort of awesome in a way but also really scary because that means rejecting literally everything about herself both past and present and she goes AHHHH FUCK and puts that back in the box and then xisuma recruits her like at the end of iron man when they were setting up the avengers movie. And she goes to hermitcraft and doesn't think about any of that for a really long time despite the never ending horrors happening all the time.

In my head he sort of. Doesn't Get Over It but he comes to terms with all the weird shit that happened to him when he was younger re: 404 and the LP between HC 5 and 7 like he was away on a soul searching mission. And then HC7 has its own fresh nightmares as he comes to terms with HC5 because that was a can of worms itself but this time the difference is that he has friends around him who gets it and can help him. And this is roundabout the time she starts to think about it more because she gets quite close to grian post-mycelium resistance and grian is a trans girl who takes estrogen and everything which is like, everything etho was terrified of, and they have some very clumsy and candid conversations where grian is definitely Not the best person to talk to because she's like well you're fucking stupid. But after talking to her and maybe cleo a bit too though idk if they would have been close enough at that point and bdubs too because while he doesn't know anything about this he knows a lot about etho, she eventually realises wow this doesn't have to be a new mask or a massive upheaval this is just something i can try out on the side if i like it. And so she does! Originally just with her absolute closest friends using she/her sometimes (she ends up using he/she alternately, because she doesn't really have any problem with he/him) and while she never formally Comes Out because that's not her style it spreads until most people use it.

Etho is very much a character of certainty imo, he likes rigid ideas when it comes to himself so he knows what to live up to, so i think not making her label her gender (or sexuality except that's. A different can of worms albeit a slightly less complicated one) is a bit of a character growth thing as much as it is a personal decision. Learning he can not constantly stress over the finer details or try to live up to what others decide he should be whether that's a man or a woman or something else entirely and just accepting that she's herself, and that's her own choice, is a Big Thing for her. though i don't know if she recognises that .

[goingbuggy]

When you have time I would LOVE to hear your thoughts about post time skip buggy!!

Hi, anon! Sorry for the late-ish reply. I thought carefully about how I wanted to reply, but alas, here I am again, starting my metas in the strangest places. Anyways, here’s a seemingly unimportant question: Why is it funny that Buggy keeps failing upwards?

My answer also happens to be one of Pixar's 22 Rules of Storytelling:

"Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating."

You might be wondering why I chose this quote -- after all, Buggy manages to escape most conflicts by sheer coincidence. Take the canon-filler episode(s) “Little Buggy's Big Adventure,” for example; coincidence is the sole reason why he ends up on Gaimon’s island and eventually finds Alvida, one of his future allies. But for as much as Oda is guilty of using coincidences to benefit Buggy, he also creates coincidences to get Buggy into trouble. Sure, Buggy left on good terms with Gaimon/found Alvida, but only after:

Suffering a humiliating defeat at the hands of Luffy

Losing most of his body

Being chased by killer fish/eaten by a ginormous bird

Nearly getting shot in the head by Gaimon over a misunderstanding

Being chased AGAIN by a deadly crab???? LMAO???

Buggy’s “luck” functions like a pendulum -- for every good thing that happens to him, horrible things are guaranteed to follow. This core aspect of his character is what keeps the gag afloat. Buggy is never rewarded by the narrative without experiencing consequences. In order to earn moments of respite, he has to suffer.

I find it hilarious when people argue that Buggy doesn’t deserve to have good things happen to him. Because, yeah? Duh. Oda loves having his cake and eating it too. It’s not necessarily good to play both sides with the audience when it can cheapen emotional impact, but Oda will absolutely continue to make Buggy both a complete joke and a genuine character. He has fun that way. However, he’s not going to help Buggy without hurting him first.

But that's a very meta perspective. How does Buggy view his own beneficial coincidences? He’s now an emperor, and extremely close to the One Piece/Pirate King title that he so desperately wants. But why does he think he’s being rewarded, in-universe?

His facade.

His devoted followers, his influence, that billion-berry bounty, his emperor status -- all of it stems from his fake persona and its snowball effect. He’s well aware of this. In fact, I think it’s likely that he hates himself for being such a coward and hiding behind lies. But when he sees his true self as worthless, what else can he do except dig himself into a deeper hole?

Look at 1082. Buggy finally stands up for himself, claiming that wealth and power come from chasing after your dreams -- not grand schemes. Here, he’s talking to himself as much as he’s talking to Crocodile and Mihawk.

“This is wrong… This isn’t how I wanted my life to go…”

It’s a very depressing peek at the man behind the curtain. Buggy only ever wanted to follow his dreams, but he uses schemes to get ahead instead, because they're all he thinks he has. His lies are a crutch to depend on, so he doesn't have to face the truth: he doesn't believe in himself. 

To me, 1082 reads as a "Hail Mary" moment from a character at an emotional low. Buggy still doesn't believe in himself, but he is saying: Fuck it. If Shanks and I finally have an equal chance at becoming Pirate King, I at least have to try... Right? We can confirm his lack of self-confidence, because Buggy even admits he got here by “luck or chance or whatever."

He cannot entertain the possibility that he'd get this far any other way. Of course he doesn't see himself as Shanks' equal. It’s one of many reasons he didn’t want to go with Shanks at Loguetown; he assumed he’d be working “under” Shanks (even though Shanks only said “Come with me!"), because he truly believes he is lesser in terms of potential/greatness. ("You coward!" can also be interpreted as Buggy projecting his own insecurities onto Shanks.) Buggy's decision in 1082 is a desperate leap of faith. "Go for broke," "shoot for the moon," etc.

Post-Timeskip Buggy may appear more dangerous than ever before, but in reality, he’s just a small fish in a big pond. The farther he crawls his way up the ladder of success, the worse he feels, because the life he has built is not how he wanted to live at all. Based on everything we've known about Pre-Timeskip Buggy, we should expect him to be happier than ever. He has influence. Power. His monetary value in the eyes of the World Government has shot up exponentially. But look at the poor guy. He's miserable.

If you've ever seen Better Call Saul, I think this scene from S4E9 is very similar to how I feel about Buggy:

JIMMY: There you go! Kick a man when he’s down! KIM: Jimmy, you are always down.

Buggy is a character who is always down, even when you think he might be up. Until he stops maintaining that false image, he will always be punished by the narrative pendulum he's trapped himself in.

Unfortunately, change is hard, especially with the stakes he’s currently facing. If Buggy actually has to fight Blackbeard, Luffy, or Shanks... he can’t. Not alone. He needs people to believe the facade, because that's what got him here in the first place. He may look invincible, but he is quite possibly the most vulnerable character right now.

Crocodile and Mihawk would sell him to Satan for one corn chip (especially after that stunt he pulled in 1082). We haven't seen him improve his physical abilities (unless Oda pulls some off-screen bullshit). As an emperor, he has more people gunning for his head than ever before. Buggy’s last line of defense is his long-running gag -- if Oda decides to subvert our expectations, he’s a dead man walking.

And who would he have to blame but himself? He built his image on smoke and mirrors. Eventually, he's going to have to pay the price.

If Pre-Timeskip Buggy is a man defined by coincidence, then Post-Timeskip Buggy is defined by consequence.

[missoneminute]

As the resident "Peter person" which frankly is in short supply in these parts (listen, I mock y'all but with love), I get being on Peter's side in like, 2004. I was, I get it.

I bought into a lot of the narrative Peter spun, about how wounded and betrayed he was. And he was, that is fair. But Peter is very good at whining, and it takes a while a work out that for every raw truth he speaks, he has ten more fleeting agendas on the go, and all of them literally contradicting each other. And back then, Carl was just, really, really guarded - he was a lot, lot quieter than Peter on that front, he wasn't airing that laundry every fucking time he opened his mouth, unlike the big one. It was easy to see him as aloof, his motivations unclear and untrustworthy. Yeah, there was the occasional tearful interview, but Peter was LOUD. Very, very loud, and right after that he got so ridiculously famous that Carl's narrative was utterly drowned under the noise of it all. I can even admit it took me until I saw There Are No Innocent Bystanders to understand that these two people carried equal wounds, equal love, equal obsession and walked away from that experience both extremely damaged, and with a huge chasm in their lives only the other could fill. But in the intervening years it also became clear that you can't always trust what comes out of Peter's mouth. He may say the exact opposite exactly five minutes later, and for all the genuine, horrible pain he went through with that band, and with Carl, it's undeniable that he caused most of it. He wasn't well, neither of them were, they each handled it badly, as you'd expect a pair of mentally ill, drug addicted, codependent weirdos would. In hindsight, it's all incredibly visible, how it all played out and that there's no one left to blame, as the song goes. But that is what gets me. As someone who went on that whole journey, who absolutely took a side at the time, I cannot fathom how in the year 2024, with everything right in front of us and 20 some years of history so entirely exposed, how anyone held onto those prejudices, when those two men themselves have not. And if you got as far as 2010 still on a side, I don't know how you held onto it by sheer force after seeing them spill their hearts like they did. So, really, when I see these absolute muppets on certain Facebook groups act like it's 2004 and we haven't had a literal decade of water under the bridge and twenty years to gauge what these men's personalities are actually like, it's honestly embarassing. At the bare minimum people ought to grow up at the same rate as the band they love. If they can put it all behind them, y'all ain't doing anyone any favours pretending the sound of Peter spitting in a cup would be better than a Libs album just because you still think you gotta protect him from a man he loves and who loves him, dearly.

[sparxwrites]

The Body Shots Incident

A prequel-ish to this nonsense, aka "the origin story of the Hermitcraft server party tequila ban". cw for lots of alcohol consumption and excessive innuendo [ao3]

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Mumbo, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He’s trying to delay the inevitable – primarily, being shirtless in front of a lot of people with Scar ‘Godlike Abs’ Goodtimes right next to him for comparison. It’s not working very well. “Just, I can think of, off the top of my head, oh, sixteen ways this could go wrong. At least three of them end with us respawning. At least.”

“Oh, no!” Scar, already reclining across a table in a distinctly louche manner, is nude from the waist up and looking distinctly self-satisfied about it. If anybody present knew who Jeff Goldblum was, multiple comparisons would have already been made. “It’s a terrible idea, and it’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Scar, unlike Mumbo, had taken his shirt off with precisely zero shame and absolutely maximum enthusiasm as soon as the whole concept had been suggested. It had taken three people – Bdubs included, remarkably – to stop him from removing his belt and pants as well.

Mumbo’s unclear whether the nearly-double-digits-worth of brightly coloured cocktails are to blame for Scar’s enthusiastic stripping, or whether this is just a Scar Thing. Probably just a Scar Thing, if he’s being honest. The man’s shredded. If Mumbo had pecs and abs like that, he’d take his shirt off all the time too.

“Okay, both of you, lie down,” says Pearl, officiously. Or as officious as one can be, after multiple bottles of Prosecco and a round of Jaeger bombs – which is frankly not very. She’s wielding a salt shaker in one hand, like it’s a hand grenade; two lime slices in the other, like– some other kind of weapon. Or something. Mumbo’s not exactly sober right now, either. Similes are a little beyond him at this point.

Scar, already draped elegantly across his own table, gestures to Mumbo with a raised eyebrow.

Mumbo, very reluctantly, sheds his shirt.

Grian, loitering next to Impulse, wolf-whistles in what Mumbo assumes is supposed to be a supportive sort of way. It doesn’t feel very supportive. Doesn’t do much to actually support him, either. Mostly, it just makes him go bright red – brighter red than he’d already gone, anyways, at having so much skin exposed in a room full of people.

Though admittedly not that many people, realistically. There’s him and Grian, as a team; Scar and Bdubs, as the opposing team; and Impulse, the judge of this ill-conceived competition. And Pearl, of course, as his self-proclaimed beautiful assistant. But pretty much every other Hermit is on the other side of the room, busy getting drunk and being noisy. Usual server party stuff.

It’s only them over here, with the two tables in the room not currently covered in alcohol and cups, because Grian and Bdubs had had a stupid argument, and decided that clearly the best way to solve it was a body shots competition, of all things. Which, yeah, sure, tracks as far as drunk Bdubs and Grian logic goes, but– Mumbo’s not even sure how you score a body shots competition.

That’s what they have Impulse for, though. Impulse knows how to judge a body shots competition. Probably.

So there’s not that many people watching, by the grace of any god paying attention. It’s just that, well. Mumbo has his shirt off. Right next to Scar Goodtimes, abs god extraordinaire. And Mumbo’s got no abs, and skin pale enough a vampire would flinch from it, and a soft little belly, and enough body hair it probably technically counts as thermal insulation.

And, to put the icing on the misery cake, pert little nipples. It’s not his fault it’s bloody cold with his shirt off but, for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s going to stop anyone from commenting on their pertness.

“Nice nips, Mumbo,” says Grian, as though he’d read Mumbo’s mind in the worst, most malicious way possible. He cackles when Mumbo turns self-consciously pink. “Hey! That was a compliment!”

Impulse clears his throat. “No– no commenting on competitors’ nipples without their explicit consent. Well-established rule of body shots competitions that I definitely didn’t just make up. I mean. Preferably no commenting on nipples at all but–”

“Don’t worry, Grian,” interjects Scar, cheerfully. “You can comment on my nipples all you like.”

“Thanks, Scar. That’s great. I appreciate the offer.” Grian does not, under any possible stretch of the imagination, sound like he appreciates the offer.

“Hey!” snaps Bdubs, immediately, outraged on a reflex. “No commenting on my competition partner’s nipples, okay?! Get your own!”

Grian, moderately drunk and visibly bewildered, flounders. “Get… my own nipples…?”

“Yeah! Get your own nipples, Mister!”

“Anyway,” says Impulse, loudly, clapping his hands together. Several Hermits look over. A few drift over for a closer look. Mumbo’s insides curl up like a dying spider. “If we could, uh, get things started…? Pearl–?”

Pearl crosses her arms.

“–sorry, my beautiful assistant, Pearl, could you do the salt, if our contestants want to lie down…?”

“On it!” says Pearl, with entirely too much glee. She approaches, menacing, salt shaker and lime slices in hand.

Both Scar and Mumbo, rather hurriedly, scramble to arrange themselves appropriately for their salting, and then endeavour to lie very, very still. They get a lime slice placed besides their head for their troubles.

Mumbo is chosen as the first victim for salting. He holds himself frozen on the table – deer-in-the-headlights frozen, even – as Pearl, tongue between her teeth in concentration, begins to tip salt in a line down his chest, right between his pecs. It’s a pretty wobbly line. Mumbo blames the Jaeger bombs.

“This is ridiculous,” mutters Grian, watching his half-naked best friend get salted like a slug by a drunk Australian. This, Mumbo feels, is a bit rich coming from the man who enthusiastically agreed to the idea when Bdubs proposed it.

Bdubs glowers at him by way of reply. Impulse just looks tired.

When Mumbo has had the appropriate salt applied, Pearl moves onto Scar. She wields the salt shaker like a loaded gun, and is doing a poor job of muffling her giggles. Those in her way move out of the way, very quickly, as she heads to Scar’s table.

“Do not get that on my nipples, by the way, Pearl,” says Scar, firmly, craning his head up as she approaches to watch the proceedings. “I don’t want any chafing!”

Pearl, already struggling to keep anything so much as approaching a straight face, barely manages to set the salt down before she doubles over in hysterics. “Im– Impulse–” she manages, wheezing, her grip on the edge of the table the only thing keeping her upright. “Gonna– tagging– tagging you in, mate, oh, oh my–”

Impulse, with an apologetic twist of the mouth in both Mumbo and Scar’s directions, takes up the salt.

His attempt at setting up a line of salt down Scar’s chest goes significantly better than Pearl’s did with Mumbo, primarily because he’s not a bottle and a half of prosecco down and sloppy drunk with it – just a few beers tipsy, instead. In short order, the pair of them are salted, with a lime slice ready to go in their mouths when the competition begins. Then he heads off to fill shot glasses of tequila, with the tongue-between-teeth concentration and unsteady hand of the moderately inebriated.

Bdubs and Grian take the opportunity to approach and examine their victims.

“Cute,” says Grian, and pokes Mumbo in the bellybutton.

Mumbo yelps, raising a hand to swat at him, before freezing when he remembers the salt. “Hey! No– no. I am sensitive. No poking.”

“Ooh,” interrupts Bdubs, peering nosily over at the competition. At Mumbo’s chest, specifically, and the thick fuzz of dark body hair growing across it. Much of the salt has ended up across it – or, rather, beneath it, within it, and amongst it. Mumbo’s not looking forward to tomorrow’s shower. “Look at that. Very nice. Lucky you!”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Lucky?” he asks, disbelievingly. “I– look, no offence, Mumbo, I’ve got nothing against a good bit of chest hair, but… I’m just not convinced licking it is going to be the best sensation in the world.”

“Lucky,” repeats Bdubs, firmly.

“You want to swap…?” Grian is once more visibly bewildered. Though, admittedly, that’s not an uncommon expression to find people around Bdubs wearing. “Because that’s fine, I don’t mind–”

“I do not want you two to swap,” mutters Mumbo, nervously.

He’s concertedly ignored by everyone involved.

“Aha!” Bdubs grabs Grian by the front of his jumper with both hands. “So it is true. You are trying to steal Scar from me, and you do want to lick his– Scar! Stop laughing, you’ll ruin your salt.”

Scar manages to muffle himself down to stifled sniggers, with what looks like a Herculean effort of drunken willpower. “C’mon, Bdubs. Leave poor Grian alone. We can discuss him licking me when I don’t have salt, uh, perilously close to my delicate nipples.”

“How’re you managing pel– perir– pelirousy after nine cocktails?” demands Mumbo. “You can’t even bloody say that sober!”

He is, once again, ignored.

“I don’t want to discuss him licking you! I want him to not lick you! That’s not his job.” Bdubs sounds aggrieved. He does, however, obediently release the front of Grian’s jumper, stepping back to give the other man the stink eye. “He’s not Deputy Mayor, now, is he.”

Bdubs is, technically speaking, not Deputy Mayor either. It’s several months and an entire world since he was Deputy Mayor. But everyone present is aware that, for Bdubs at least, Deputy Mayor is less a job title and more an eternal-obsessive-crony-to-Mister-Scar-Goodtimes state of mind.

“Since when has licking the Mayor been part of the Deputy Mayor’s job?” asks Mumbo, of no one in particular, though he suspects the answer is since Bdubs got the job.

“I do not want to lick Scar,” says Grian, firmly. “I’d just, you know, prefer not to lick Mumbo’s chest hair. No offence, Mumbo.”

“Some taken, mate, I’m not gonna lie.”

Scar pouts. “You don’t want to lick my–?”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and uh, sentient mosses,” says Impulse, returning with the shot glasses. Pearl has given up on proceedings entirely, sinking down to sit against one of the table legs and looking distinctly out of it. Not out of it enough, however, to have surrendered the prosecco bottle she has in a death-grip. “If we could maybe get back on track with the competition…?”

“How’re we scoring this?” asks Grian, because of course he does. Grian plays to win, after all.

“Uhhh.” Impulse, preoccupied with setting the slightly precarious shot glasses down on Mumbo and Scar’s belly without spilling them, flounders. “I was thinking maybe, like, speed, and style, and… Spanish-ness…?”

“Tequila’s from Mexico, idiot,” interjects Bdubs, helpfully.

“Mexican-ness, then.”

“None of us are from Mexico, though,” Grian points out. “Or Spain. Or anywhere in South America or Europe, actually.”

“Fine! Fine, speed and style, fine, can we just– god, I need a drink. Can we get this over with so I can get a drink?” Impulse’s voice has picked up the whining desperation of a man powerfully regretting several recent life choices.

“Yes,” agrees Bdubs, emphatically. “I would really like to get started, oh yes.” He’s looking at Scar, laid out on the table, as though he’s a slab of particularly well-cooked steak. Scar – somewhat worryingly – preens beneath his hungry gaze.

Mumbo’s relieved when Grian, deciding for reasons known only to himself to be reasonable for once in his life, tosses Impulse a casual salute by way of agreement.

“Alright.” Impulse inhales, and exhales, as though to centre himself. Or perhaps brace himself. Either way, it adds an unexpected gravity to the situation which Mumbo could really do without. Bad enough he’s shirtless on a table covered in salt, without it feeling like some big deal. “Ready, everyone? Right. Lime slices in your mouths, Scar and Mumbo. Bdubs and Grian– On your marks. Get set. Go!”

Grian goes for speed. He’s done the shot, licked the salt, and bitten the lime out of Mumbo’s mouth before Mumbo even really knows what’s happened. He’s kind of grateful for it, honestly – like ripping a bandaid off.

Bdubs, of course, goes for style.

The noise Scar makes as Bdubs drags a tongue up his belly is positively pornographic. Bdubs is flushed red-cheeked from the shot, and Scar is flushed red from a tongue dragged across sensitive skin and taut muscle. By the time Bdubs cranes his head up to take the lime from Scar’s mouth, it’s more of a lewd, open-mouthed kiss than anything else. It’s like watching a train wreck. None of them can look away.

“…Well.” Impulse clears his throat, awkwardly. His nose looks a little pink. Even odds on whether it’s from the alcohol, or the display he’s just witnessed. “I, uh… I think I’m gonna have to call that one for Scar and Bdubs, guys? Um.”

Scar whoops, gleeful. “Yes! Bdubs, it’s official. We’re the best.”

“I,” announces Bdubs, with the smug delight of a man who’s just licked a line of salt off of Scar Goodtimes’s abs and gotten an award about it, “am going to find us some more tequila. To celebrate.”

He’s gone before any of them have the time – let alone the inclination or recovered cognitive faculties – to point out that that’s probably a bad idea.

There’s a long moment of silence, as they all slowly come to terms with what they’ve just done.

“Oh, god,” says Grian, miserably, breaking the quiet. He sticks two fingers in his mouth, and comes back with something dark and wiry clutched between them. “I’ve got bloody– Mumbo hair, in my mouth–”

Mumbo is not looking at Grian. Mumbo is busy staring at Scar, still laid out across the table and looking quite pleased with himself. “Yeah, well,” he says, “I think the rather more pressing issue is that Scar’s got–”

“Absolutely no need to comment on that,” says Scar, cheerfully, finally sitting up. There’s still a little salt clinging to his abs, shimmering and crystalline. It draws the eye to it, and then encourages the eye to move further down, to his happy trail, and then on to his– “Perfectly natural reaction to getting your stomach licked. You wouldn’t shame a man for his natural reactions, now, would you, Mumbo?”

Suddenly unable to make eye contact with Scar, Mumbo averts his gaze. As he does, he mutters something that sounds remarkably like, “Bloody well would.”

He is, once again, ignored.

Scar is saved from having to discuss the particulars of his natural reactions by a loud crash from the opposite side of the room. Grian, sensing trouble occurring that he’s not yet involved with, whips his head around with velociraptor-like enthusiasm and speed.

“Bdubs, please, I just really think you don’t need any more–”

“I won!” Bdubs is yelling, holding the bottle of half-full tequila above his head as high as he can – which, given his height, is not very. Somehow, despite being far taller and significantly more sober, Xisuma’s attempts at grabbing it are going exceedingly poorly indeed. “I won, I licked Mayor Scar so, so good and I won, which means I get to celebrate, okay? With tequila.”

“No– no, Bdubs, you– come on, please, that’s very– you know what you get like when you drink too much of that, please, I really don’t–”

“Let him drink!” yells Keralis, from the sidelines, with both his characteristic lasciviousness and the motivated enthusiasm of a man who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. “It’s a democracy, Shishwammy. Let Bubbles drink! Or at least let us vote on whether he can drink. I vote yes.”

If it goes to a vote, Mumbo knows, Xisuma will lose. Keralis is not the only person who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. Far from it, in fact.

“Bdubs–” wails Xisuma, now weeping openly. Bdubs is stanced for combat, knees bent and arms wide like a sumo wrestler, the neck of the tequila bottle gripped in one fist. His moss hoodie and undershirt, somewhere in the proceedings, have vanished from his body. A circle of interested Hermits, sensing the evening’s entertainment, is beginning to gather around the scene.

Scar, Grian, and Mumbo watch from the other side of the room in companionable silence for a long moment – soaking up the general chaos, and attempting to process what’s just happened, respectively.

Then Scar swings his legs off the table, and stands up, with an admirable amount of grace and balance for a man nine cocktails down and counting. It’s an ongoing, server-wide mystery that Scar somehow becomes more coordinated and better with his words when drunk, and it’s always struck Mumbo as deeply unfair. “…Do you think we should go help?” he asks, mildly, watching Xisuma make yet another failed grab for the tequila.

“Absolutely not,” says Mumbo, immediately and very firmly.

As he watches, Bdubs downs two large mouthfuls of the tequila without flinching, and manages to duck Xisuma’s lunge with the poise of a ballet dancer. Xisuma, regrettably helmetless, lunges head-first into a table full of bottles instead. The resulting crash shakes the floorboards. “I do not want to get mixed up in that, thank you.”

“I think we should go and make it worse, actually,” says Grian, brightly. He is, Mumbo notices, holding a prosecco bottle – prised from Pearl’s now-empty hands where she’s slumped half-snoring beneath the table. He takes a sip, directly from the bottle, and hums appreciatively.

“Why,” says Mumbo, weakly.

“‘Cos it’ll be funny. Duh.” Grian offers the bottle to Mumbo, and wrinkles his nose when Mumbo doesn’t take it.

“Excellent point, Grian.” Scar swipes the bottle instead, tilting it up and taking a hearty chug – because that’s the part of the evening they’ve gotten to, apparently. Chugging prosecco from a bottle. “See! This is why you’re the brains of the operation. However, consider– you could also go make out in the bathroom.”

“With who?”

Scar strikes a pose, arms out, abs flexed. “With me, of course!”

“Eww. No,” says Grian, as though he hasn’t made out with Scar at nine out of the last ten server parties. Mumbo should know. He’s been keeping track. For the Boatem Pool, of course. It’s important to have those kinds of numbers to crunch, when you’re trying to work out how and when your best friend and your other best friend are going to have sex for the first time. Which is, of course, a perfectly normal thing to be trying to work out, thank you very much.

“I just want you both know,” Mumbo interrupts, “that I want no part in this.”

Grian turns to look at him, and Mumbo quails beneath the intensity of the mischief in his gaze. “What,” he says, “not even the bathroom makeouts?” as though he hadn’t been objecting to said makeouts mere moments ago.

Mumbo is just a heartbeat too slow in his denial.

“Mumbo. Mumbo!” says Scar, brightly. He’s grinning at him, a salesman’s smile, a snake’s smile, all teeth and smirk. “If you want the rewards of bathroom makeouts, you have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of doing crimes with us! You should know that by now.”

“What does that mean?!” Mumbo’s beginning to wish he’d taken the prosecco when it was offered.

“It means you should come with me and we can both take our pants off in front of Xisuma,” whispers Scar, secretively. “As a distraction. So Grian can do crimes, while everyone’s distracted by our ahmayzin’, uhhh– underwear.”

Scar’s natural reaction, Mumbo cannot help but notice, has not quite subsided yet. And, despite his trousers sitting low on his hips, there’s not so much as hint of underwear peeking out above the waistband.

“Underwear,” Mumbo repeats, slowly. “Right.”

“Absolutely not,” says Grian, but Scar is already gone, sprinting towards the Hermits ringing Xisuma and Bdubs’ ongoing tequila battle. “No! Scar–! Keep your damn pants on!” And then he’s gone, too, chasing after Scar. Or the promise of chaos.

Or, more realistically, both.

In their aftermath, Mumbo sinks – miserable, shirtless, belly hair still faintly damp from being licked – to the floor. Consumed by his own bewilderment, it takes him a moment to realise there’s a hand on his head. Pearl, apparently awake again, is petting his hair gently.

“There, there, mate,” she says, sympathetically. Her eyes are bleary, but her hands are remarkably steady as she pulls a fresh bottle of prosecco from god-knows-where and uncorks it with her teeth in a manoeuvre that leaves Mumbo staring, impressed. “Prosecco?”

“…Yeah, actually,” says Mumbo, as the noises of tequila-based disaster from the other side of the room increase, abruptly, in volume. “Yeah. You know what? Why not.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the chaos unfolding. Xisuma is on the floor, weeping. Bdubs is shirtless, teeth bared, wielding a now mostly-empty bottle of tequila. Scar is invisible through the throng of other hermits now watching, heckling, egging them on – but Grian is yelling, “Scar! Put your trousers back on!”, which gives them a pretty clear mental picture.

“They’re going to have sex in that bathroom, aren’t they?” says Mumbo, absently, after a while. The prosecco has settled, warm and fizzy, in bottom of his already thoroughly alcohol-lined stomach. A pair of trousers just flew out of the middle of the Hermit huddle, which is rapidly looking less like a circle and more like an active, good-natured brawl.

“Yeah. Probably.” Pearl pauses, thoughtfully, and makes grabby hands at the prosecco bottle. Mumbo obediently passes it over. “That is, if they don’t just give up and fuck right in the middle of the party.”

Mumbo ignores that last bit, because if he starts thinking about that then he’s a bit concerned he’s going to have a natural reaction of his own. Across the room, Bdubs has begun wailing in misery, in the way only Bdubs can. “I should probably be there,” he says. “If they are. For Boatem Pool purposes, you know?”

“Boatem Pool purposes,” repeats Pearl, solemnly. “Totally.”

She passes the prosecco back, and fist-bumps the bottle in solidarity when he takes it. And then they sit there, in silence, sharing the rest of the drink between them as the sounds of tequila-based disaster fill the rest of the room.