#Teen Screen Magazine

[thislovintime]

Photos 3 & 4 by Henry Diltz.

A look at Peter in 1967, through the lens of Flip, Tiger Beat’s Monkee Spectacular, and Teen Screen:

“He has this magnificently low voice and sounds about ten years older than any of the others. But sometimes, he acts about ten years younger than any of the others. He is not ‘zany’ however. Just kind of childish at times. He forgets that he is an ‘adult.’ I think that all adults do occasionally, because of the tension, and he certainly is under stress as much or more than other people. [...] He lives for other people, [to] talk with them and to be with them. He knows everyone in the world. Like when he goes to clubs and things, he spends most of his time talking to friends, instead of watching what’s going on. ‘Well, I just can’t ignore my friends,’ he says, but what he doesn’t say is that anyone he’s ever been introduced to his friend! You know how some people can always find something to say, like I never can. Well, Pete’s one of those. It’s not just ‘How’s the weather?’ or ‘Is it hot enough for you?’ And he remembers things. Once I was with him when this guy he knew very casually in the Village came up to him, and Pete not only came up with his name, but where he lived and who was at his house when Pete went to his party. (I expect him to say which songs they sang, too, but he could only remember a couple!) He has the proverbial shoulder to cry on. I don’t know why, but you just feel like pouring your heart out to him. Maybe it’s that warm smile. I mean, no offense intended, but he’s never come up with a fantastic solution to anything. He just pats you on the back and smiles and tells you that ’sometimes a disaster clears things up.’ And he’s right. He loves to tell jokes. And he’s very unhappy when you don’t get the point. His mouth does this great reverse smile, like a clown’s frown. He’s very serious about music, however. He won’t be content until they do something really special — ‘I want us to make a contribution to the music world, like all the big groups have.’
He reminds me of a cocker spaniel puppy, ya know what I mean? He’s so eager to please and excited when people are around. Then suddenly he’ll fall into a sulk or just a quiet mood and lay down his hands clenched under his chin. He’s the type of person that you worry about a lot and yet you don’t. That’s as clear as mud. I mean, you know he’ll be all right in the end, but you’re not too sure about the middle. Now it’s just dusty, huh? He tends to be gullible — a sob story will get him every time, but he manages to wise up. He’s the ‘flower child’ of the quartet — hip to love, peace, beauty and all that (not that the others are in favor of hate, war and ugliness, but you see what I mean). This ties in with his complete trust of his fellow man. He says, ‘If everyone trusted everyone else, then 99% of the people would live up to that trust. All kinds of crime and cruelty would be eliminated. No one would be saying, Well, I always knew he was a bad sort. Everyone would just expect you to do the right thing and you would.’” - Tracy Thomas, Flip, September 1967

“When he talks, Peter likes to sit cross-legged. This doesn’t have anything to do with meditating or yoga, it’s just that he likes to sit cross-legged. His piercing brown eyes focus intently on the person he’s speaking to. This is a quality Peter radiates… one of making others feel totally involved. He’s there all the time and you can feel him.” - Ann Moses (presumably), Monkee Spectacular, June 1968

“My first meeting on the set was with Peter, who is a nice, easy-going and friendly guy. I noticed that whenever Peter had a little time to himself between takes he would pick up his guitar and play for his own enjoyment and relaxation. In the show [‘Monstrous Monkee Mash’], Dracula decides that Peter had the perfect brain for the Frankenstein Monster. One that would be easy to control — but I found Peter in complete control of his brain. My own impression was that Peter is a self-made young man who is enjoying his success. And I felt he dressed not to please others but to please his own individual tastes.” - Ron Masak, Teen Screen, November 1967

[inkskinned]

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

[nanaslutt]

pls super nasty smut w todo where we are his favorite idol 🙏

Todo FUCKS and i know it………

contains: fem reader, fanboy!Todo, protected sex, quickie, hair pulling, dirty talk, rough sex, backshots, dacraphillia, using panties as a gag :3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Todo had been waiting for this moment his whole life.. he was finally going to meet his idol. The large man stood behind a group of shorter guys, all giggling as they watched you hug a sweet-looking fan. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, he was so close he could smell your perfume. Just the annoyingly giddy group of boys in front of him and it would be his turn.

He had gone over this exact moment over and over in his head. You looked so pretty in your light pink dress, frilly thigh highs to match, that squished the fat of your thighs at the top, making his eyes roll back in his head in disbelief at how anyone could look so perfect. Todo had been a fan for years, he had watched every show you had been on, every special, he had seen every magazine, poster, and any form of media there was of you he had seen; he would like to own all of it but his collection was quite impressive already.

"Thank you for your support!" You spoke kindly, averting your body to shake hands with the boys instead of hugging them. You could tell he looked dejected, but the boy smelled like BO and you had noticed his lock screen when he went to take a selfie with you-- it was of a young-looking anime girl in a bikini.. not exactly the kind of guy you wanted up in your personal space, but by the way he gripped his hand and stared at it in awe when he walked away you could tell he was more than satisfied.

You sighed, growing tired from meeting all the fans, sure you loved seeing all their cute faces and tears of appreciation, some even bringing you gifts, but you had been standing in the same spot for almost five hours now, the heels you were wearing felt like they were slowly melting into your feet and becoming one with the skin. You looked over to your manager, keeping a faux smile on your face as you did so, but widening your eyes to let her know you were going to cry if you didn't get a break soon.

"U-um, H-hello my name is Todo Ali Its-" A deep voice broke you out of your silent plea to your manager, snapping your neck to behind you a man more than twice your size stood in front of you, fiddling with his hands in his pockets as he took everything in. You knew you had quite the male-dominated audience, but this man didn't fit the description for your usual fans.

He was handsome, extremely fit; so much so it looked like his pecs were going to burst through his shirt and you could faintly make out the indents of his abs; he smelled amazing, which was refreshing after all this teen boy musk, his voice sent tingles down your spine, and he hadn't immediately tried to touch you in some way when he stepped into your space. "Hi there big guy~" You responded, reaching your arm out to grab onto his bicep, stroking it friendly (also simultaneously trying to cop a feel.)

Todo blushed, you were touching him right now, not just touching him you were stroking his arm. He had to take a deep breath in order to not pass out. "I've been a fan for so long when I found out you were coming to Kyoto I-" Your giggles cut him off, your sharp acrylics lightly scratching down his arm as you pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and took it in yours; you couldn't help but notice how much larger it was than yours. "I'm so glad you came Todo~" You cooed, swinging your hips in circles as you looked up at him from under your lashes.

Todo froze, his face turning an even darker shade of crimson. He gulped, watching you caress his fingers with your smaller, more delicate ones. You were so much shorter in real life, the size difference between the two of you was making his brain short circut, and simultaneously all of the blood that was being drained from his head was getting sent to.. another head. "Y-yeah?" He replied, giving you a quick one over before he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

A lightbulb went off in your head at that moment. This was a handsome man who looked to be about the same age as you, he looked like he could bend you in every way your body would allow him to, and you bet he wanted to, from the way he was blushing and shaking with adrenaline. He must've thought he was being sneaky when he would steal glances down the low cut of your dress that showed off a generous amount of your cleavage.

You're not sure where this sudden arousal came from. Maybe a combination of being an idol with such a strict team; never allowing you enough time to go on dates; your exhaustion, you were on your ovulation week.. and Todo had been the first person you saw today who was handsome AND didn't try to invade your personal bubble in some way; combined with all the other amazing things about him. You were about to go on a break anyways, this might just be perfect, you thought.

"Yeah~ It's so refreshing to see someone like you here, you're so handsome and you speak so politely ~" He felt his pants get tighter at the compliment, briefly looking down at them he prayed you wouldn't see the imprint through his pants. You looked around, making sure no one was close enough to hear before you leaned it, standing on your tippytoes you used one of your hands to steady yourself on his solid chest. Taking the thin material of his shirt between your fingers, you pulled him down so your lips were by his ear.

"To be honest, a lot of these guys are sooo creepy~" Todo could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, the loud beat of his racing heart almost drowning out your sultry voice, "But you would never treat me like them.. would you Todo?" The man was sure he was at full attention down there, he tried to adjust his shirt subtly enough so you wouldn't see him while you were by the crook of his neck, but he was sorely mistaken. You grabbed his wrist, stopping him from covering the now very obvious tent in his pants.

From what you could tell, the outline looked huge, what about this man wasn't? You smiled at him, tipping your head to the side. "I've never done this before, but I think I like you Todo~" You spoke. The world seemed to slow down, everything around you besides your voice was drowned out in the man's ears as you spoke your next words. "I'm about to take a little break, wanna help me relax?" Todo swallowed, hard, before nodding his head and watching a sinister little smile appear on your face.

--

"Fuck f-fuck Ohm-" A massive hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your loud cries. "Shhh pretty girl, stay quiet for me okay? Know you can." Todo cooed. Was this really the same man who was blushing and stuttering just a couple minutes ago when you finally met for the first time? He must've imagined the exact scenario before because he was fucking giving it to you.

Todo stood behind you, your back to his chest, arched agaisnt his pelvis as he fucked into you harder than anyone has. He had one hand wrapped around your body, rubbing your sensitive clit between his fingers and his other hand was pressed over your mouth. One of your hands was steading yourself agaisnt the sink ledge, the other gripping his wrist as you looked at him with teary eyes and scrunched eyebrows through the little bathroom mirror he was fucking you in front of.

Your panties had been pulled down your thighs hastily and stored away safely in Todo's pants. "That's a good girl~ Fuck, you look so pretty." He groaned. You watched his eyes look down between where the two of you were connected, shaking his head and his jaw dropping in a little o as he watched his thick cock split you open, your sore walls having to make quite the stretch to fit him inside. "Your pussy is eating me up-" He moaned, pulling his lip between his teeth as he gave you harsh thrusts, relishing in the loud squelches that met his ears.

"You needed this, huh?" He asked, bringing his eyes up to make contact with yours once more. You nodded against his hand, tears of pleasure falling down your face at the precision with which he was fucking straight into your sweet spot, making your legs feel like jello. Todo let up on your clit, his hand digging in his pocket briefly before he pulled out your panties. His hips stilled against your ass, burring his cock as deep as he could inside you as he released the hand on your mouth, brining the other holding your panties to meet your lips.

He balled them up before pressing them agaisnt you, "Open." He instructed. You were quick to follow, opening your mouth you let him press the fabric between your lips, the taste of yourself flooding onto your tongue when he used two fingers to push the fabric deeper into your mouth, making sure you would keep in in. "Good girl." His deep voice praised, making you giggle against the fabric. You were able to notice when all the motion from his thrusting ceased that he was shaking like a leaf.

You were wondering how he was staying so calm and composed, but in reality, he wasn't all that composed. Todo was grateful for the short break when he pushed your panties into your mouth; using them as a gag so he could use his hands elsewhere. Truthfully every time he looked into the mirror and caught your eyes on him he felt like he was going to cum, it was a miracle he was able to hold out for this long. The only thought keeping him going was not to embarrass himself in front of you, but god the though of cumming inside his favorite idol was right there on the forefront of his brain with it.

He pushed your lower back down into a mean arch, your forearms resting against the sink as you waited with bated breath for him to continue. He knew you didn't have a lot of time, so if he was going to bring it home soon he was gonna make sure you had the best orgasm on his cock before you went back out there. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping strongly before he started fucking into you again, this time rougher and faster than before.

Immediately cries and muffled wines filled the room, more tears quickly welling up in your eyes as he bullied his cock into your tight cunt, yanking your head back by your hair to make your arch deeper. Surely he was messing up your hair, and your makeup would absolutely need a touchup, but you couldn't exactly find it in yourself to care at the moment. Todo's groans and heavy breathing into your ear was so erotic, making the coil in your stomach tighten with your impending orgasm.

"Fuck, I can't believe I have you on my dick like this." He breathed exasperatedly, his eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure. "And you're crying from it-" He finished, yanking your hair back, resulting in a loud wine from you, the fabric doing little to conceal that one. "Todooo~" You spoke his name through the fabric, the sound successfully reaching his dick, making it jump inside you. Todo grit his teeth, without a second thought he released your hair and ripped the panties out of your mouth, throwing them down on the sink.

He grabbed the side of your face, not letting up his incessant hips as he fucked into your sloppily, his hips losing rhythm, "A-again say my name again-" Todo begged against your lips, your skin grazing each other as your slack jaw moaned against his mouth. "F-fuck Todo!!" You cried, resulting in a groan from the man as he pressed your lips together, slotting his tongue with yours in a messy kiss, filled with lust and need. "Again." You heard him speak against your lips, his thrust speeding up, you felt your own arousal drip down your thighs.

"Todo-" thrust "Again." thrust "Fuck! F-fuuck! Todo I'm cumming, you're gonna make me c-cum!" You gasped into his mouth. He quieted you with his own, his moans increasing in volume as his own high rapidly approached him. At the exact moment, your jaw went slack against his lips as he felt your cunt squeeze him rhythmically, his own orgasm crashed over him. "C-cumming- f-fuck-" He pretended his cum wasn't currently filling up the condom he had on, and instead was shooting deep inside you, filling up your womb.

Your legs were shaking and wobbling as you came around him, his shallow thrusts working you through one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had. Todo groaned long and loudly against your lips, both of your jaws open and eyes squeezed shut as the two of you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms together. The room was filled with your pants and gasps as the two of you frantically tried to catch your breath. "Fuck.. thank you, did so good, thank you," Todo whispered.

You turned your head forward once more, staring at Todo behind you, who currently had his eyes glued to your cunt as he slid his massive softening girth out of the comfort of your warm walls. You winced in overstimulation as he slid out of you, leaving your walls with a lewd squelch. "Sorry, are you feeling alright?" He asked, holding your hips in his large hands and rubbing the skin there. "I'm more than alright Todo, my legs are a little compromised but other than that I'm alright~" You reassured, rubbing your hand atop his, making his blush deepen.

The man looked back down between the two of you as he started pulling the used condom off of his cock, cringing at the feeling. "Todo." Your voice echoed into his ears, making him look up at you, blushing at the use of his name--he would never get sick of it. "I'm not leaving this room till I have your number in my phone." You said, picking up your cutely decorated phone from the sink in front of you and waving it side to side.

You've never seen someone nod so eagerly in your life, making you giggle. "Need to take care of you first." He said, kissing the back of your neck, throwing the tied condom in the trash by his feet before his hands started to make work on smoothing out your wrinkled dress. "Todo, I have an entire team out there for that, you can take care of me by putting my mind at ease and letting me know that this will happen again, by giving me~ your phone numberrr~" You drawled, turning your body around as he held your hips, your hand pressing the device into his chest.

The man hesitantly took your phone in his hand, staring at you with disbelief. You leaned into his large frame, pressing a kiss to his solid chest and making him gasp before you pulled back, bringing your hand up to his head to push away any stray hairs he had, "I like you, you better call me~"

[pedropascalito]

The Last of Us Joel Miller Character Study S1E1: Living Room

Joel's sofa is so classic and cozy; cognac overstuffed leather is a solid choice, and combined with the transparent glass coffee table, very shabby chic meets West Elm. Not bad for a contractor.

I love that pillow is smashed flat. This is a family home, well lived in.

I deeply love Sarah is reading a magazine instead of playing on her phone/tablet. Very accurate fo that time. Magazines were my jam in 2003 as well. There are stacks of them around the room, and I really wish we could see some titles! I'm guessing: a teen fashion/culture mag for Sarah, a sports magazine for Joel, maybe some free contractor industry publications. Definitely Texas Monthly. Is Joel a Playboy man? Hmmm...

Dinner plate: she is used to preparing her own food and eating on her own, it seems.

More bay windows. What a cute home.

Either this scene was filmed in both daytime and nighttime, or that is one bright-ass porch light.

Joel has gone to the Javier Peña school of lamps and afghans because there are a lot of lamps in this room! And most of them are ugly.

Knock-off Eames chair? Or the real thing? (I'm guessing knock-off.) @veryprairieberry identified it as an IKEA Poang with matching ottoman. Knock-off indeed.

I wish this photo were more clear; I'm guessing it's Sarah, and I even thought it was Nico Parker on the lake in the raft, but the photo doesn't have the life jacket. EDIT: It’s Tommy, thank you @bluestar22x

More magazines

A TV tray for eating in this room; I wonder if Sarah or Joel uses that more?

I love a good sofa console table, and I also put them against the wall. My 2003 apartment would feel very at home in Joel's space.

The Lone Star key holder on the wall; so Texas, so accurate.

Laundry basket of clothes waiting to be folded, and we know that never happened. :(

I love this shot because it shows a few awesome things:

Guitar!

That sweet ass speaker and sound system set up. I want.

Having a flat screen tv in 2003 was still a status symbol. Joel invested in this.

Another soccer ball, so homey to have sports equipment scattered around.

It looks like that's a Longhorns logo blanket, but the color is wrong, so I don't know what it is for sure.

More plants Sarah is single-handedly keeping alive.

The block color rug is aggressively 00's Target. I love it.

I can't tell what that pronged object is on the stereo; anyone know? Edit: an antennae, thank you @veryprairieberry

That painting on the wall is rather dull compared to the artwork in Joel’s bedroom. I wonder if they know the artist personally?

How sweet is Joel coming home after a long day? We want this view.

Joel and Sarah are so sweet together and I am devastated all over again with this episode and Sarah's death. Just tragic.

Also: I'm sorry y'all, I have to point out the anal beads lamp. Not even Javier Peña would have this. Joel has definitely stepped it up.

[kingofooo]

standee design by writer/storyboard artist Hanna K. Nyström

design cleanup by color supervisor Carolyn Ramirez

ADVENTURE TIME at SAN DIEGO COMIC-CON 2023!

———

WARNER BROS. TELEVISION SCREENINGS

WEDNESDAY, JULY 19th at 6:00pm – 9:30pm

Ballroom 20

Comic-Con and Warner Bros. Television proudly continue our annual Preview Night tradition featuring the world premiere of the highly anticipated series Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake, alongside all-new episodes of Riverdale and Teen Titans Go!, and screenings of Mrs. Davis and Superpowered: The DC Story.

———

MAX ORIGINAL ANIMATION

THURSDAY, JULY 20th at 11:00am – 12:30pm

Ballroom 20

Max Original Animation celebrates new and returning animated series' including an expansion in the Adventure Time universe, Adventure Time: Fionna & Cake; a new animated series, Young Love, based on the characters from Matthew A. Cherry and Sony Pictures Animation’s Oscar-winning animated short, Hair Love; and a preview of the upcoming fourth season for the fan-favorite Harley Quinn. The panel will feature exclusive sneak peeks, surprise panelists, and more. Moderated by Damian Holbrook (TV Guide magazine).

———

SUPERSONIC: The 15th Annual Behind-The-Music Panel

THURSDAY, JULY 20th at 10:00am – 11:00am

Room 25ABC

Get a behind-the-scenes look at what goes into creating the scores and sounds to some of today's most popular TV series and films. Panelists include Phil McGowan (score mixer, Star Trek: Picard), Amanda Jones (composer, American Horror Stories, ADVENTURE TIME: FIONNA & CAKE), Chris Bacon (composer, Wednesday), Sherri Chung (composer, Gremlins: Secrets of the Mogwai), Kurt Farquhar (composer, The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder), and Michael Yezerski (composer, Cabinet of Curiosities).

———

[lady-ashfade]

The trio

Day 11 of celebration marathon

Platonic!Trio x reader

-£ ask: Can you do something about how Percy, Annabeth and Grover would be meeting a new mortal friend after the quest? Like Annabeth having her first friend outside camp and maybe having all the awesome kid moments she missed ie sleepovers, movies, school dance... stuff like that. Grover making a friend he isn't trying to protect or save and can just be himself. And Percy making a friend with the confidence he got from knowing he's different but not broken. (I loved tonight's episode and can't wait for season two! I hope your enjoying the books they were my favorite when I was 12) @poemfreak306

-£ Warnings: fluffy friendship, hcs, me just going with what my brain comes up with, I haven’t slept since yesterday.

It’s funny how you were so excepting of their situation. Of course you were confused but you got over it pretty fast.

you had watched them defeat a monster on your way home from school and hid while they took care of it. You actually thought you were losing your mind.

They were just surprised as you when you went up to them, a normal human. I mean humans could see through the fog before but you were different.

“So…you actually have goat legs?” You point down at Grover as he blushes and nods.

“Awesome.”

You took them to your house and offered them a place to stay for the night, or some meals at first since they didn’t want to stay around you to long.

Annabeth likes to talk about things she feels like she can’t around anyone at camp, like girly things. Maybe you teach her a new hair style? Or show her a new teen magazine with cutes boys, then show her new movies she might like.

(I have a feel for wound either love or hate legacy blonde and you can’t convince me otherwise)

She likes when you gossip about your regular life and the problems you have, she likes to live through you. She also likes to teach you things to if you ask.

Grover is so happy to have you. He doesn’t feel the pressure. Not that it’s a problem with the other two but he likes to chill in your room. He’s a sucker for laying down in your room while you listen to music and play with his hair. Also, teach him videos games and battle him. He likes to visit you all the time to complain or rest up. You are his battery charger.

Also, Grover loves you because you always prepare snacks for him. He eats anything, Tin cans and random things he could find but you take the time to make him something. Makes him feel loved and cared about.

You are a blessing in Percy’s eyes. The other kids made fun of him for his whole like. But here you are, not a care in the world. You do scold him if he gets hurt and about being more careful tho he enjoys that. He had a kinda normal childhood with his mom so he knew a lot of things like you did so it was easy to bond. You got all his references!

Percy likes it when you listen to him rant on about his problems, about how camp is, or how he killed some monster. He enjoys how excited you get when he tells his stories. You call him and the others your hero’s.

Movie nights are always fun with them. Either you and Percy are showing them a movie you watched or you show them something.

If it horror. Grover will be watching intently while eating popcorn unlike what you thought the first time, he likes it. Annabeth is screaming at the tv how they are messing themselves up and somehow ends up rooting for the killer, (she never will admit she yelps at times) and Percy is in the middle. Sometimes his curling up and turning away, or laughing at the screen.

They get to be kids and enjoy a sleepover, eating snacks and throwing them around, laughing so hard they cry, staying up “all night” and then crashing.

Everytime they return to camp they have a new photo of you to hang up. Even as a mortal you are their best friend and they wouldn’t change it any other way.

taglist: @maria699669 @purplerose291 @itzmeme @ravenmedows

-£ this was edited poorly so many mistakes are made because I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

[steviewashere]

Welcome Home

Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Steve Harrington & Wayne Munson, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (Not Graphic But Prevalent), Referenced Period Typical Homophobic Slur(s), Referenced Drug Use (Recreational Use of Marijuana) Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Wayne Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Wayne Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington has Bad Parents, Coming Out, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Gets a Hug, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Al Munson is a Bad Person

Read the content warning!!

🫂—————🫂 He knows the person he wants isn’t home. But Steve can’t afford to stall any longer. If he continues to wait out in his car, it’ll probably be towed, and he’ll be arrested, and he won’t have the person he needs to bail him out. It’s not like he can just turn the car around, though; make his way back home.

Home doesn’t even exist anymore. It took one night where he thought he was alone, because he was always alone, for them to come back and see him. See him with another boy. Not experimenting, because he knows damn well who he is. But making semblance of love, because he’s been desperate enough for it his entire like. Now that he had it, or something as close to it as he can get from a late night cruising pull, it’s even farther away.

Yeah, maybe he should’ve rain checked. Maybe he should’ve bought out a motel room for the night. Maybe he should’ve just entertained himself with his own hand and the wrinkled magazines that Eddie smuggled for him.

Speaking of Eddie, he’s not here. His government replaced van isn’t parked outside the new Munson’s trailer. Only Wayne’s is. And he’s not sure if he’s ready to face another adult. He is an adult, he knows this, but sitting behind the big wheel of his car—his hands look like they belong to a child and looking at himself in the rearview mirror, it’s like matching gazes with ten year old him; wide-eyed, afraid, and forced against his will.

He is afraid. And maybe he should just let himself feel that. But he doesn’t have the time or the energy or the gall. So he shuts his engine off, hauls an old duffel bag over his shoulder, and makes the arduous journey that is the thirty second walk up the front steps.

Knocking, he swallows his pride. Every part of him is lost and disorganized. He didn’t style his hair. And he couldn’t grab his belt from where it had been kicked under his bed in panic. His shoes are untied. There’s also a large hickey at the base of his neck, unhidden by the stretched collar of some ratty maroon t-shirt he thought he tossed years ago. It’s stark against him in the reflection of the nearest window. He can also catch the dark bruises left on his biceps—grabbed by his dad when he tried to make an initial escape. Maybe he should’ve risked the arrest.

The doors open rather quickly, though. And through the screen, a plume of smoke pools over him from—what smells like—a stale joint. Wayne Munson stands on the other side with tired eyes and a pinched mouth. He’s dressed down in flannel pajamas and has that joint between his fingers. All his movements are slow as he takes Steve in.

“Eddie’s not home right now,” he states instead of offering a greeting. “Is there something I can do you for?” His eyes dip low from Steve’s. Following down the stretch of his neck, where it’s tense and rigid, over that hickey. Pauses momentarily. And then continues to look around, over, down—right up until he notes the bruises on Steve’s arms. “You…Uh…You making a runaway from a bad date, kid?”

Steve swallows. It stings a bit, though not from the hickey. When he closes his eyes to gather his words, he can almost feel the hand around his throat—the wedding ring cold over his wanted bruise, but the red hot spray of spit over his forehead. All as he cowered against his bedroom wall, tense to the floor he stood on, praying that his dad would make it quick.

He’s shaking, he knows. Trembling something minute that, hopefully, Wayne won’t pick up on. “Good evening, Mr. Munson,” Steve greets quietly, voice quaking. “I—I’m sorry to intrude, but I don’t know…There’s nowhere else I can go right now.” He peels his eyes open and peeks up through the screen door. Wayne’s eyes are the size of saucers when they lock stares. He hefts the bag over his shoulder higher, there’s a warm ache through his upper back. Slammed against the wall; remember, he reminds himself.

The screen opens wide and Wayne gestures over to the couch. “Leave your stuff by the door, kid.”

He steps through, plops his bag by the small breakfast nook, and chucks his sneakers to mingle with the pile. Then, he just stands in the doorway. Wayne’s off of his right shoulder. Towering over him a bit, but warm and solid. Steve knows he doesn’t have to be afraid, yet something in him skitters when Wayne’s left hand rests gently on his lower back. “Have a seat,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Acknowledging, without words to say, Steve nods. He shuffles over to the sofa and sits on the farthest cushion on the right, where he tends to settle when he comes over.

“You eat?” Wayne asks.

“No,” Steve mutters, “my dad didn’t give me enough time.”

“You like pepperoni on your pizza?”

Steve nods. “Anything except mushrooms, sir.”

“Wayne,” he says softly over his shoulder, “that’s my name and you wear it out all you like. I ain’t your daddy.” Steve just grunts in response, watching warily as Wayne orders them some food.

When he’s done, Wayne faces him again, leaning against the edge of the dining table. His joint has long since been put out, resting warm in the ashtray on the same table. Steve leans forward on his cushion, hands dropped between his knees. His hair falls limp in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters now, does it?

“I’ll only be here a night, promise.” His shoulders hunch inwards. That ache back and persistent. And he knows wherever he sleeps, be it on the floor or the sofa or even in the grass outside, he’ll just wake up hurt. More than just physically. “I know that there really isn’t space for me here and I…I don’t know. I’m not expecting you to take me in just because I get myself in messes.”

For a moment, the room stretches with silence. Going diagonal with the former words.

Then, Wayne takes a deep breath. Shuffles over to a dining chair. And plops down, watching. “You mind telling me what happened?” He asks gruffly, though not pessimistically. “If you’re in trouble, I can only let you stay here a night.”

“Depends on what you view as trouble, Wayne.”

Wayne narrows his eyes, twisting his mouth. His left hand rests on the surface of the table, fingers stretched towards the ashtray and the discarded lighter next to it. “Illegal shit. Anything that gets you in trouble with that Powell bastard. Not including weed. That’d make me a hypocrite, and that’s one thing I ain’t.”

Again, Steve nods his agreement, the acknowledgement. He fidgets with the tips of his fingers. Nails digging into the fatty parts, turning them white with pressure. “I didn’t do anything illegal, swear. Just did something stupid.” Warily once more, he eyes Wayne. “How do you feel about Reagan?”

“That man can rot in hell for all I care.”

He chuckles, despite everything. Then, he takes a sobering breath. “I had a…I picked up a boy tonight. Because I wanted to have—We were going to have sex, to put it simply, Mr. Munson. And I took him to my room, thinking I’d be alone for the rest of the night…”

“And you weren’t,” Wayne states, not asking. What questions need to be asked to an admittance like that? Steve nods, mouth pinched and eyes shiny. “I’m guessing your folks came home.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers just loud enough to be heard. “I must’ve made a…noise loud enough to be heard downstairs. And my dad had just come home. And he…maybe the boy also made a noise, I don’t know. But one thing came after the other, and the next thing I knew my dad had gripped me on my arms and threw me against the wall and I thought he was going to kill me dead right in my own room and he was spitting about…he called me a-a fag and a fairy and I…

“I didn’t fight back. I didn’t speak. I was so scared. I am scared, Wayne,” Steve admits, voice trembling and his nose burning. “All I could do was take it.”

Carefully, Wayne extracts himself from his seat and situates himself on the coffee table. Right in front of Steve. “Where all did he hurt you, Steve?”

He swallows, remembering. “My arms,” he mutters, pointing, “and my neck and…he dropped me down on the ground and while I was reaching for my shirt, he got me on the ribs.” Narrowly, he misses Wayne’s furious gaze. Instead, he finds a shiny blank spot between mugs on the far wall. “He was so furious he didn’t even take his dress shoes off by the door,” he meekly states, “and he didn’t stop until my mom screamed at him to at least let me grab some of my stuff. She told him it wouldn’t be worth it, and I quote, ‘to murder our son.’ He told her that I wasn’t his, but he let me leave.” 

He’ll never thank his mom for that, but at least she granted him grace. Though, she didn’t look pleased either. Her face set and jaw clenched. He knows that if she had the chance, when he wasn’t in earshot, she would’ve said the exact same thing as his dad. Steve withers further at the thought, if that’s even possible.

“I’m just lucky that I’m not dead, right?” He adds a moment later, face wet with tears and throat thick with grief.

Wayne sharply inhales. “You’re safe here,” he says lowly, “just as Eddie is. You’ll forever be safe here, I promise you that.”

Steve’s eyes cut back to him. That ferocity in his gaze like a warm blanket over Steve’s shoulders, something he can cling onto and believe. “You know about him?”

“You’re not the first kid to run here from their daddy,” Wayne utters.

Something in Steve’s stomach twists slowly. His chest crackling with those words. Remembers when Eddie Munson was out of school for a week in eighth grade. When he came back: long sleeves in late May, hair shaved close to his scalp, heavy eyes, and new silver scars over his knuckles.

“I’m not…”

“Eddie would never cut his hair voluntarily,” Wayne states, voice grim.

Steve looks down at his lap, fingers picking nervously at each other. He murmurs, “I’m safe here,” but more of a reminder to himself. He’s not sure if he’s had a promised safety in years. All the stuff with Vecna and the Upside Down and now his dad—which never started with tonight; it had been growing to that, always something small like a slap to the wrist or a dull smack to the back of his head, but his life had never been almost choked out of him. He never feared, just always worried.

God, he always worried. And now here he is, trembling with his tail between his legs.

The silence stretches between them after that. Wayne gets up at some point to pay for the pizza, gather a couple plates, even relight his half-gone joint. And in the time it takes him to sit back down on the sofa with the food, Eddie comes back.

He tumbles through the door, a thousand words spilling out of him, coat hanging off of his elbows, and one shoe already stepped out of. He’s a whirlwind of movement and thing after another after another. But then he spots them on the couch; Wayne eating slowly and Steve curled nervously, face turned away from the door. “Aw man,” Eddie drawls. “Sharing pizza and weed without me? You guys always have all the fun when I’m not here.”

“Ed,” Wayne mutters, “we need to have a conversation, alright?”

Steve peers over, just as Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Did I…Is it something I did?” Eddie murmurs, voice falling meek. “Is everything okay?”

He can’t help but try to hide further. Flinching into himself, eyes closing on their own accord, cheeks flushed, and lips trembling. Tries to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he’s already opened the waterworks once tonight—they’re not going to close up again just from this. He looks to Wayne, eyes pleading for him to explain. He’s so tired of having to digest this, let alone regurgitate it.

“Come sit in my chair, Ed,” Wayne says, gesturing to the brown chair near the window. He waits until Eddie does what he’s told, sitting slowly and looking at them with his too big, concerned eyes. His eyebrows raise, even Steve can make that out through his blurry vision, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Okay, I need you to listen and not ask questions. No interruptions unless I ask you to respond, you got that?”

“Wh—Yeah, Wayne. I’m all ears; you’re freaking me out.”

Wayne nods gently, his left hand out in a placating manner. “You remember, I mean you most definitely do, but do you remember when you had to come here all those years ago?” He asks softly. Eddie acknowledges by nodding, nothing more. “Steve is going through something similar,” he explains gently, “and I’m letting him stay. If you want to know the specifics, that’s something that you’ll have to hear when Steve’s ready, got it?”

Eddie inhales slowly. His face gaining that same furious ferocity that Wayne’s had. But then he looks to Steve and all the hard features of his face soften. Back to something familiar and warm and homely. “Stevie?” He ventures. “You okay?”

He shrugs. Answers thickly, “I don’t know.” His cheeks wet with more tears and he roughly wipes them away with a shaking hand. “I don’t…I thought they loved me? Even just a little bit.”

Warmth crowds him as Wayne lays a firm arm over his upper back, hand wrapping around his right shoulder, just missing his bicep. “Eddie? Why don’t you clean up a bit in your room for his stuff? Get some new sheets on your mattress, too. Think he could use a sleepover, that alright?”

���Course,” Eddie answers almost instantly, voice soft and calm. “I’ll set out some pajamas, too, Stevie. You want a sweatshirt or a t-shirt?”

Steve sniffs and swallows heavily. “Sweatshirt, please.” 

Slowly and carefully, Eddie comes over towards the couch. He places a gentle hand on the back of Steve’s head. Thumb running up and down at the base of his skull. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “we’ve got you now, though.” And with that, Eddie retreats to his bedroom, the door clicking softly behind him. The rustle of things being moved around ever apparent through the thin wood.

Wayne clears his throat and pulls Steve in a little closer, tighter. He says close to Steve’s ear, “We love you here, you got that? You have no reason to hide yourself or sneak around or try and fit yourself in a box.”

He nods minutely. “M’kay,” he mutters, “I’ll try and find another place soon, I promise. I just don’t have the money—“

“Nonsense,” Wayne states steadfast, “this is your home now. And I won’t have it any other way.” He pulls back just enough to make them lock eyes again. The air smells of grease and weed and Irish Spring. Amber light flooding around them and dim enough to not hurt his head. Everything around him is soft, gentle. It feels like home. Wayne holds him by the shoulders, firm but not suffocating. “Don’t tell Eddie I said this,” he whispers, “but he doesn’t shut up about you. He’d kill me if I didn’t let you stay and I’d beat myself up about it. As long as you stay true and playful with my boy, then you’re my boy, too. You hear me?”

Steve’s eyes blur again and his nose stings and he wishes that he could stop crying, but this is nice. The warmth and the love and the tenderness. He could burn alive from it and still be grateful. It’s so much better than the lonely, cold sprawl of his parents’ house. A house he never thought he’d leave.

“I hear you,” he musters.

“Good,” Wayne murmurs. “Why don’t you go use up some of the hot water and take as long of a shower as you want? I’ll get your things into Eddie’s room and—don’t tell that Powell bastard at the station—but I’ll roll something for you, if you want it.”

Despite everything, Steve finds himself laughing from his belly and smiling enough to ache his cheeks. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Warning, though, I’m really annoying when I’m high.”

“Then annoying you’ll be,” Wayne gets out around a chuckle. “And keep smiling, boy. You ain’t got a thing to worry or fear here. Even if your daddy comes running on over, I’ll make him leave just as fast with his tail between his legs, swear it.”

His smile relaxes to something soft, a ghost of a thing. He leans forward and hesitantly wraps his arms around Wayne, relishing in the hug that he gets in return. “Thank you,” he says, muffled into Wayne’s pajama shirt, “think you literally saved my life tonight.”

“You’re a good kid, Steve,” Wayne murmurs, “you’re always welcome in my home.”

He knows he’s crying again, a gentle and silent thing into Wayne’s shoulder. And yet, despite everything, he’s lighter.

Later, he tells Eddie all that happened and is held close, a hand in his hair and fingers tracing over his trembling shoulders. Later, Wayne will make a grand breakfast spread to celebrate new family. And even later, Wayne’ll crack a joke about no funny business while he’s sleeping. But Steve will know, through the tired and playful glint in Wayne’s eyes, he’s all too happy that Steve and Eddie figured themselves out.

For now, though, Wayne hands him a clean, soft towel. It’s dark green and well loved. And he knows, too, that his soul will eventually look just like that. And just like the towel, he soaks it all up. Including the warm, “Welcome home, son,” Wayne says before he closes the bathroom door.

🫂—————🫂

[losergender]

pjo / hoo headcanons i have collected since my hyperfix came back

ignore the huge amount of nico and will. six years after reading the series i'm still obsessed with them </3

nico helps cabin 11 steal candy from the infirmary because everyone knows will can't stay mad at him for longer than 5 minutes

the apollo kids gifted nico a bunch of mythomagic packages after learning he had burnt his collection so he could start a new one. he thought it would not be as exciting but turns out he really really missed collecting them from zero because he had gotten used to getting doubles all the time

on the same note, cabin 7 (and specially will) try to learn to play so he has someone to play with. will and him always exchange doubles and sometimes he sacrifices good cards for mid ones just so will doesn't have a mid deck

nico once got a double perseus card and gifted it to percy

the first times nico played his favorite music to hazel she was flabbergasted by the emo genre but didn't want to be mean so she smiled and said it was "very cute"

leo calls will "güerito"

connor stoll owns a nintendo switch that used to be his and travis' (mostly travis') until he accidentally almost destroyed it and it became only his (the screen has a sepia filter to it, one of the joysticks needs adhesive tape to stay in place, it works slowly and the screen has cracks on it). when he can't sleep (because who in camp half-blood can sleep properly?) he plays pokémon until he falls asleep. he is also a big fortnite and minecraft fan.

lou ellen knows how to do balloon modelling

nico once asked chiara about what has italy been doing the past century and she showed him winx club like it was the most important thing italians did (and it is)

percy and will love teen beach movie

austin lake takes it upon himself to show nico all the music he missed during the past decades + the reason cabin 7 learns nico doesn't know any song from after 1942 is that they invite him to play a letter association game and he opts out because of this (the game is forgotten right after because having him listen to the classics is more important). no one suspected he didn't listen to modern music because 99% of his clothes are band shirts he got from percy and thalia.

will was obsessed with hannah montana / miley cyrus as a child (the climb is his favorite song)

connor didn't go to college with travis because he doesn't know what to study yet but instead he spent the year getting his driver's license

each cabin gets a "call home" day every other few days (initiative promoted by the iris cabin)

children of tyche's fatal flaw is impostor syndrome because they are constantly afraid everything they have is undeserved and just a product of their godly heritage

will's favorite dessert is texan sheet cake , nico's is panna cotta

the aphrodite cabin didn't like that nico was the only one with a personalized camp shirt (they are so done with the color orange...) so they started an initiative to get every cabin personalizes shirts with a representative color voted by the head counselors and their cabins number.

the iris and hermes cabins got together to start a camp half-blood magazine released monthly for year-rounders. they do a gossip section about couples at camp (for which they "hired" a child of aphrodite as their correspondent), interviews to the seven or to popular campers, the athena cabin added a crossword section...

[sugar-coat-it]

Teenage Dream: Firsts

Original fic: Teenage Dream

EEEEEE we’re so back. This is the first part of a little series I’m working on <3

Contains: underage drinking, awkward flirting, teens crushing, seven minutes in heaven, making out in a closet

WC: 5.6k

—————————————-

FIRSTS: the first kiss.

—————————————-

It’s quiet in the house when your phone rings, vibrating on the kitchen island. You were spending your Wednesday evening baking, mostly out of stress over exams. You lean over and squint to see the caller ID on the small screen, your heart almost stopping in your chest when you see the name displayed. You take two deep breaths, one to steady yourself, another to ensure you won’t simply squeak when you pick up instead of saying real words. You press the button to answer, holding the phone up to your ear with bated breath.

“Hey?” you speak into the silence of your kitchen, wiping some of the flower speckled on your hands onto your jeans. 

“Hey, it’s Matty,” he says, embarrassingly making a chill of excitement run through you. 

“Oh, hi. What’s up?” you answer, attempting your best impression of someone who knows how to be calm. 

Your microwave begins to beep, the timer for your brownies counting down to zero. Blindly, you reach behind you, hitting a few buttons before the noise stops, far too focused on the boy on the other end of the line. 

“Nothing much, what are you up to?” he asks.

“Just baking… for fun…” 

You cradle the phone a little closer to your face as you wait for a response, hearing rustling on the other end. You picture Matty shifting around on his bed to get comfortable, his head leaning back against the covers with his wild hair spread around him. 

“Baking?” he echoes, an amused lilt to his voice, “Don’t know many people our age who bake for fun. What are you making?”

You chew at the inside of your mouth, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets, wondering if you should have lied and said you were doing something cooler like… smoking three cigarettes at once.

“Brownies. From scratch, not the boxed stuff.” 

“Oh. Yeah, nice one. Homemade are better anyways.”

“Yeah…”

There's a brief moment of silence between you as your brain goes into overdrive, whirring like a laptop with 40 tabs open to try and figure out what to say next. The topic of brownies seems somewhat exhausted, but you can’t seem to think of anything else. None of your trashy magazines that are sat on your bedside table prepared you for this, no matter how many guides to “irresistible flirting” you’d read. This was real. 

“Um. Did you ring me for a reason?” you ask softly.

Matty then realized that he’d forgotten to mention the whole reason he’d called you. He’d gotten a little distracted by the sound of your voice, to be fair. He stops picking at his nails and sits up straight, clearing his throat.

“I did, I did,” he answers. 

He goes quiet for a moment, trying to build a little suspense as if you’re not overwhelmed with it already, practically drowning in it. 

“So?” you laugh softly, anxiously. 

“I’m throwing a party on Friday and I want you to come.”

At that very moment, you catch the smell of something off, something… burning. Shit. You’d turned off the timer for the brownies but hadn’t actually taken them out of the oven like you were supposed to. 

“Fuck, no!” you yelp, dropping your phone onto the counter to grab your oven mitts.

On the other end, Matty frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he hears clanging in the background. He waited for a few moments, bewildered by your sudden exclamation. Were you that opposed to going to his party? Did you hate him or something? 

 “Uh. Hello?” he questions, sounding disheartened. 

You mutter out various curses as you look down at the pan. They’re certainly crispy. But likely salvageable. Your ears prick up at the sound of Matty’s faint voice through your phone, rushing to scoop it up in your oven-mitted hands.

“Hello? Matty?” you say, hoping he hadn’t just hung up. You can hardly finish saying his name before he answers. 

“Hey? What the fuck happened?” 

You sigh, shaking off one of your oven mitts that lands on the ground with a plop, leaning yourself over the counter. The coolness of it feels nice against your skin after such a frazzled moment.

“Nothing. Just almost burned my house down. What did you say before about a party?”

Matty chuckles, finding your response strangely endearing. He could just imagine you running around in your kitchen like a chicken without a head. Meanwhile, you’re reeling over the fact that you’d made him laugh. You made Matty Healy laugh, and oh god, it’s a nice sound.

“I’m having a party on Friday and you should be there,” he repeats.

“Oh, really?” you say, before quickly correcting yourself, “I mean, yeah. That sounds cool. I can probably make it.”

“Just probably?”

Your eyes widen slightly as he echos your word choice, realizing that he’s teasing you. You clear your throat, scuffing your sneakers against the linoleum floor tiles. 

“Probably.”

After a pause, he speaks up again. You can hear the smile in his voice and it’s doing terrible things to you. 

“So, no guarantee?”

“Do you want a guarantee that I’ll be there? Is it because I have a fake ID, Matty, be honest,” you grin, your cheeks a little warm at the way you’ve slipped into casual banter. This was good, it felt somehow familiar. 

“Yeah, that’s it. You caught me,” he sighs playfully, rolling onto his stomach on his bed. 

“Damn. You had me feeling special for a moment. Called me up at 9 pm on a Wednesday and everything.”

Matty laughs again, a bright little sound that makes butterflies riot in your stomach. You’re smiling so wide you think your face might crack open. You felt a little stupid for being so smitten, but honestly, you could live with that. 

“Calling you up at 9 pm on a Wednesday night. A school night! How dare I?” he mocks, mimicking your tone, causing you to let out a shocked laugh at his teasing. 

A few more beats of quiet pass. You pray he can’t somehow hear your heartbeat that’s hammering against your ribs. Matty swallows hard, running a hand through his hair as heat rises at the back of his neck.

“But… really, you should come,” he says. 

You could swear there’s a bit of sincere warmth tinting his normally casual tone. Your breath catches in your throat, your heartbeat thumping in your ears. He wanted you at his party. 

“I’ll be there.” “Yeah, you’d better be,” he teases, trying to sound confident but his voice cracks. 

You shake your head with a beaming smile, biting at your lip at how cute he sounded when his voice cracked, something you definitely shouldn’t find as attractive as you do. Quickly, you decide to leave things off here, better to end on such a high note before potentially saying something dumb. 

“I’m gonna finish up these brownies before it gets too late, okay?”

Matty frowns, now turning onto his back, never able to keep still while on the phone. Was it ending so soon? Things felt like they were going so well, it was so comfortable. And you’d agreed to go to his party. At his house. With him there (obviously).

“Yeah, alright. I’ll leave you to it!” he says before immediately pulling a screwed-up face, mentally kicking himself for sounding so dorky.

“Night, Matty,” you say, loving the way it sounds on your tongue. You can’t help but hope this won’t be the last time you get to say it. 

“Night,” he answers before speaking your name just as gently. 

You pull the phone away from your face with a slightly trembling hand before hanging up. The moment the device is placed safely on the counter, you’re jumping up and down, thrill and anticipation rushing through your veins in amounts that could rival riding a rollercoaster. What the hell were you going to wear?

Meanwhile, Matty lays on his bed, completely still, just staring at his phone before he slowly bursts into a smile, bringing his hands up to his flushed face with a shuddering sigh. He cannot stop smiling. You’d agreed to come. The girl he’s had an eye on for ages. And the way you’d said his name when you said goodnight... he could get used to that. 

———————————————

It feels like years have passed before Friday night rolls around. Unbeknownst to either of you, both of you had been endlessly anticipating it, planning out little scenarios in your minds in the middle of class. Matty had invited almost everyone he knew, but there was only one guest he wanted to see walking in through his front door. 

By the time you show up at his house, the party has already begun raging, music bumping loud enough that you can hear it from the front lawn. You walk into the front door that was conveniently left open, your bag clutched close to your body, the bottles inside rattling against each other. You’re met with the exact scene you’d expected: kids who can’t handle their liquor, messy couch make-outs, and way too many tube tops. You wander through the large house, your eyes widening as you take in the decor, the winding staircase littered with cans, the hallway lined with primly posed family photos. God knows he was going to be spending the whole night corralling people to keep them from trashing his posh, suburban house. Plus, you’re pretty sure you can hear some guests that have made themselves very comfortable in his parent’s bedroom.

Distracted by the sight of someone passed out cold against the wall (jesus christ, it’s only 10 o’clock), you weren’t paying attention when Matty himself suddenly rounded the corner, nearly crashing into you before you both quickly stumbled backward. The bottles in your canvas bag knock together, making you cringe at the sound of delicate rattling. His eyes instantly brightened at the sight of you, putting his hands out awkwardly before letting them fall at his sides, almost like he’d considered hugging you but just as quickly changed his mind. 

“Hey! You made it!” he greets, steadying the beer in his hand that had almost sloshed onto the floor at your encounter. 

“Yeah, hi!”

There’s a moment when you’re simply looking at each other and you can practically feel your eyes sparkling. You have to remind yourself to not smile too wide, but you know you’re being so damn obvious anyways. Matty chuckles as he glances over at the guy having a little “nap”, slumped forward on the floor. 

“Yeah this is a bit of a mess so far, I’ll have someone check on him, but welcome!” he says lightheartedly, “you uh, look nice.”

His eyes flicker down your body briefly. You looked different than how you looked in school, but a good different. A very welcome kind of different. Honestly, he was internally screaming at the top of his lungs because you looked so beautiful. Well, you always look beautiful to Matty, but tonight, you look more stunning than ever. He has to hold back from letting his gaze linger too long, swallowing hard at the low cut of your shirt. This night just got ten times more difficult. 

“Oh, thanks,” you grin, a warmth simmering in your chest at the simple compliment. 

You’re fairly sure you would have gotten that feeling no matter what came out of his mouth, but you’ll take “nice” any day of the week. Your gaze shifts to the top of Matty’s head, your brows raising as you eye the furry trapper hat sitting there, the flaps coming down by his ears. Not exactly party attire. 

“You do know we’re indoors right? And it’s May?” you mention, pointing to the cap.

Silence.

“...yeah.”

Truthfully, Matty hadn’t planned on wearing a furry winter hat to his party, but his hair was an absolute atrocity when he’d woken up that afternoon, sticking up in all sorts of directions, refusing to cooperate no matter how many times he passed a brush through it. He scoured his closet for something, anything to hide it, coming across this little gem buried under a pile of clothes. He simply shrugs as you wait for a further explanation, muttering a sarcastic “Fashion police, much?” before pointing at your bag. 

“What’s, erm… what’s in the bag?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer. 

Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they wander down his face to his lips, watching them wrap around the opening of the beer bottle, his head tilting back slightly as he takes a sip. You only allow yourself to watch for a fraction of a second. 

“Oh, this?” you say, holding open the bag to him so he can peer inside, “Just Smirnoff… I wasn’t sure what your friends would like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’d drink rubbin’ alcohol if that’s what was available,” he snorts, looking down at the various small bottles, “you’re a legend though, thanks for bringing it.”

You laugh, finding it amusing that sometimes he talks to you like you’re one of his mates. It’s not long before Matty is holding your bag for you, leading you into the kitchen. You get a short tour through his house on the way there, seeing the various kinds of debauchery taking place at every corner. He sighs at the sight of cans and bottles laid across the coffee table, already dreading cleaning all of this up later.

Matty adds your bottles to the island of liquor already set up and from there, drinks are poured and clinked. You find yourself nursing some kind of mystery concoction in a red solo cup that Matty promised was his specialty. (It’s about four different sodas and far too much vodka. “You trying to get me drunk, Healy?” you’d joked after taking a sip. “No, no, god, no. I’m just a terrible pour,” he’d sputtered in response, waving his hands around). 

While chatting over the blaring music, Matty rolls up his sleeves, your eyes finding the dragon inked on one of his forearms. Whether it was the vodka that sits warmly in your belly or not, you’re not sure, but you found yourself reaching for his arm, picking it up to examine it. 

“Mortal Kombat?” you ask, squinting at the design. Of course, he had a tattoo for a video game. 

“Yeah– yeah. You play?” he stammers, his eyes widening slightly as he watches you stare at his arm, hyper aware of each of your finger's placement on his skin, deciding at that moment that you were his dream girl. 

Matty’s cheeks are slightly flushed when your eyes meet again, the air between you becoming charged, surrounding you in a field of almost palpable electricity. Slowly, you trace your thumb over the path of the ink, feeling goosebumps rise on Matty’s arm. You open your mouth to speak, wanting to tell him what a nerd he is in the most affectionate manner you could muster, but loud, angry-sounding voices cut you off. Matty blinks at you for a moment as the moment is shattered, turning his head in the direction of what sounds like a fight.

“So sorry, if you’ll excuse me– OI! PIPE THE FUCK DOWN!” Matty bellows, his arm being pulled from your grasp as he goes to find the source of the scuffle. 

You’re left alone in the kitchen with the terrible drink Matty had made you, looking down at the “cocktail” with a frown. It really felt like something had happened between you there for a moment, but he’d been pulled away to chaperone some idiots before you could know for sure. 

Matty is pulled in every which way for the next twenty minutes or so. Standing right where he’d left you, occasionally, you catch a glimpse of him as he’s running around. He shoots you an apologetic look before having to berate someone for almost vomiting in his mother’s porcelain vase. You can’t help but smile a little over the rim of your cup at how hard he’s working to keep his friends in line, promising yourself to get him drink when he’s done. 

Eventually, Matty drags himself back into the kitchen with a sigh, sitting at the counter that’s overflowing with red solo cups, half-full and otherwise. No one wants to know what’s in them. He mutters an exasperated “fuck me”, raking his hands over his face, defeated. Wordlessly, you slide a beer over to him across the marble countertop, making him glance up at you through his fingers. He smirks, the sight making tingles ricochet down your spine.

“Hi. Cheers,” he says, holding up the bottle to you before taking a long swig… that quickly turns into him chugging most of it. Classy. 

“That bad?” 

“I fuckin’ hate hosting,” he mutters, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. 

“So… why do you do it?” 

Matty shrugs. He knows exactly why he was so adamant about hosting this party, and it was because he couldn’t get you out of his head, he needed a reason to see you outside of school. But he wasn’t going to tell you that. Instead, he stands up and takes you by the arm, his beer in hand.

“C’mon,” he smiles softly, cocking his head towards the living room, “Can’t have you cooped up in the kitchen the whole night. Plus, I have people you should meet. You’ll like this lot.”

He guides you into a small circle of people sitting on the floor, you recognize a couple of them to be his bandmates. Matty introduces you to the group, the circle opening to allow the two of you to join. He sits cross-legged next to you, so close that your knees brush. It’s ridiculous how even the smallest grazes make your whole body light up.

You watch your classmates banter, occasionally interjecting, but mostly enjoying observing him in his environment, admiring he way his eyes light up when he laughs, how his friends roll their eyes when he makes a stupid joke. Meanwhile, Matty had a plan. If he could somehow casually slip it into conversation…

“You guys wanna play a game?” he suggests, tracing little patterns into the carpet with his fingers. 

There are a few nods throughout the group, a party game being an old reliable amongst the young and the bored. 

“Ever played seven minutes in heaven?” Matty grins, wagging his eyebrows. 

Mixed reactions break out. A few groans, a couple of giggles, and giddy looks were exchanged all at once. Adam withdraws from the circle entirely, saying something about going to find his girlfriend. 

“Fuck’s sake. We’re not preteens, Matty,” his close friend George mutters, shaking his head. 

“Lighten up, mate. Seven minutes of your life, you’ll be alright,” Matty chuckles, patting him on the shoulder, “Just giving the people what they want. Gotta keep ‘em entertained.”

A lie. He’d been fantasizing about being in a dark, enclosed space with you far too much over the past few weeks. He was convinced that he could get the group on board with the party game because this plan needed to work. You reach for your cup again, deciding another sip (or three) might be in order if you’re going to end up in a closet with a random classmate.

The group dawdles a little but eventually tightens the circle to properly play the game, some looking more enthusiastic than others. Matty trains his face to stay neutral, but he was buzzing with the hope that he’d end up in that coat closet with you. He had to. He’d even resort to praying if it came to that, and that says a lot coming from him. 

A bottle is placed in the middle of the circle of about twelve of you in total. A girl with spider lashes so thick that you're not sure how she can see through them goes first. The group all watches the bottle with anticipation as it spun in the center, everyone collectively holding their breaths, even George. An exhale resounds through the circle as it slows down and stops, the bottle neck pointing towards another one of Matty’s friends that you didn’t know the name of, the two of them exchanging curious looks. There are a few boyish wolf whistles, the guy glancing back at the group with an enthusiastic thumbs up as they get up.

Seven minutes tick by and the process starts all over again, the girl returns from the closet complaining about how her partner’s braces had gotten tangled in her hair somehow. You and Matty exchange grimaces, likely both hoping to not have any close encounters with someone’s braces tonight. While people go off into the closet in pairs, you mostly talk with Matty, getting to finish your earlier conversation about Mortal Kombat and finally having the chance to tell him that he’s a nerd. He doesn’t deny it. 

Matty’s turn. He leans forward, grasping the neck of the bottle firmly, and spins it. Even though the music pounds and the chatter roars in the background, for a few moments it feels like there’s silence besides the beating of your heart. It goes around so many times from his firm flick of the wrist that there are some grumbles of annoyance. After what feels like weeks, it slows to a stop, pointing right between you and Ross at an angle that looks like dead center. Your eyes narrow as you try to deduce if it's closer to you or his bandmate.

“Uhh…” Ross mumbles, likely trying to decipher the same thing, along with everyone else in the circle. 

Matty swears under his breath. He was desperately trying to work out if it was closer to you by sight, but he really couldn’t tell. God, why did the bottle have to land exactly in the middle? He has to physically stop himself from lunging at the egghead kid across from him who shouts “Redo!”. The group is silent, no one can tell who it’s closer to, and he’s sure as hell not going to redo the spin. 

“Think it’s closer to her,” George interjects before clearing his throat. 

Matty glances back at George, his eyes swimming with gratefulness that the boy had his back. You feel a pang in your heart like being hit with a tonne of bricks when his eyes meet yours, gauging your reaction to the bottle supposedly being closer to you. You take a shaky breath and nod. You weren’t about to argue with that, even if, in all honesty, it was probably a little closer to Ross.

Matty’s heart is pounding when he realizes that you’re waiting for him to do something instead of just staring. He clambers to stand up, reaching out a hand to you politely. He shoots a deadly look at one of the guys snickering. 

Your breath catches in your throat as your hands meet, letting him pull you up from the floor. His palm is slightly sweaty against yours, he can’t quite seem to look at you as he leads you to the nearby coat closet. Stepping inside, so close in the cramped space that the tips of your sneakers are nearly touching, you remind yourself to breathe. In and out. In and out and– oh god, it’s even worse with the door closed. The only crack of light available seeps from underneath the closet door, your eyes squinting to adjust to the dark as you slowly let your gaze rise from your feet to his face. Matty’s tongue darts out to lick his lips anxiously. Your cheeks are both flushed but it’s not from the alcohol. 

You know that the clock is ticking. Every second counts. Every second wasted is one that could have been spent putting your hands all over him. This is the shit daydreams are made of, but you're not in the middle of math class trying to drown out your teacher’s dull voice. He’s real and he’s right in front of you. And he looks… petrified. 

“So… what do you want to do for about 7 minutes?” you ask, your voice low. 

Matty feels the hairs at the back of his neck rise at your whisper, suddenly completely stunned by how truly intimate this felt. He’d spent so long planning out how he was going to get you alone but now that it was actually happening, he felt completely stonewalled by his nerves. 

“Uhh. I dunno. Up to you, I suppose,” he says, glancing away.

The tension begins to steadily bloom, thickening the air in the cramped space. You let your eyes roam over his face while he’s looking away, noticing new little things about him now that you're this close for the first time. He has a few beauty marks. A few acne scars. His lips are slightly chapped. His lips... his lips are nice. Bitten pink by his nervous habit. Before you realize it, you’re staring at them.

"No ideas? We're gonna get bored," you smile bashfully, inching just a bit closer to him.

He notices your eyes roaming his face, quietly hoping you weren’t judging his every imperfection that he tended to endlessly pick at. Matty swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he watches your gaze linger on his lips. He takes a small, shaky breath in as you inch closer to him, closing some of the distance between you both, not that there was much to begin with. No one has ever had Matty’s full attention the way you do right now. He’s captivated.

“I’m… I’m open to suggestions.”

Open to suggestions. God, he was adorable. All of that confidence and boisterousness he’d been displaying with his friends all night had shrunk into almost nothing, leaving him nervously picking at his nails, barely able to hold eye contact with you. Your stomach is twisted in a tangle of knots as you lift one hand to rest on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. You feel his breath stutter under your palm. 

“It’s okay. It’s just us. Just… just tell me what you want,” you whisper, your eyes searching the gentle depths of his brown irises. 

Matty swallows again, his eyes flickering down to your lips for just a moment. He knew exactly what he wanted. 

“You,” he says, his voice barely audible.

You feel a wave of want wash over you at his answer. He’d only said just one word yet it’s everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. You nod slowly, letting your hand slide up his chest to the back of his neck, feeling sparks flying under your fingertips as they graze his skin. Your eyes are locked on his, anticipation swelling, humming in the air. You feel like you’re not in control of your body, your brain frozen but your hands somehow knowing the way. 

The alcohol’s pleasant buzz fizzles in combination with excitement and nerves, your stomach swooping as you inch forward again, your chests almost touching, your warm breaths mingling in the small space between you. Matty’s lips part, his lidded eyes piercing into yours. Oh, this was really happening. 

You slowly lean in until your mouths gently meet, your eyes fluttering shut as sensation skitters up your spine, rushing through your veins as soon as his lips slot against your own. Matty’s hands are awkwardly stuck at his sides like they’re foreign appendages as he kisses you back, so stiff and entirely afraid of screwing this up. He was pretty sure at that moment that he had forgotten how to breathe entirely.

The kiss is gingerly and quick, you pull away with butterflies explosively fluttering in your stomach, your eyes lidded, cheeks dusted bright pink. Matty looks dazed and breathless, much like a deer in headlights. You manage a giddy little smile, gently toying with the hair at the back of his neck that peeks out from under his hat. Your eyes are twinkling, you feel so high, much more intoxicated by this boy than the drinks. The air between you feels electrified. There’s a silent understanding that now that you’ve both gotten a taste, you need another and another. Matty’s voice cracks as he speaks.

“Can we do that again?”

You nod quickly, instantly. Your heart hammers in your ribs as this time, you wait for him to make the move, staring with unbridled anticipation. Matty’s lips curled into a tiny smile, dumbstruck with how lucky he was that you seemed eager for his kiss. He honestly believed he was normally a lot more suave than this, but apparently, you had shattered that part of him to pieces. He could hardly keep his cool for the life of him. But he liked it. He liked this feeling.

Matty ducks his head down, his lips finding yours again with a newfound bit of sureness. His hands shakily rest at your waist, holding you delicately, unknowingly making heat seep through your body. You move to wrap both of your arms around his neck, your elbows nearly knocking against the wall as you pull him closer, your frame pressing against his. Admittedly, it was a little clumsy, the cramped space not exactly making this easier. But neither of you seem to mind, too focused on getting drunk on each other. 

This kiss feels different than the first, the energy is undeniable as his lips meld against yours, his thumbs rubbing little circles against the fabric of your shirt. You feel a flood of dizziness as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, stealing your breath from your lungs. You gasp, allowing Matty to slowly push his tongue past your lips, searingly licking into your mouth. It’s all so much in the best way, too overwhelming to be described with words. 

Slowly, while your lips continue to lock, you reach up to his head, tugging the trapper hat off. Matty’s eyes snap open, pulling away with swollen, shining lips, stained with your lip gloss.

“Hey!” he protests, his eyes widened. 

You grin at the sight of his hat hair. Flattened in some places, unruly in others. You loved it. Matty shudders at the look in your eyes, about to complain some more until you grab him by the front of his shirt, crushing your lips to his. He groans, lashes fluttering as your hands tangle in his thick, dark hair. 

“Fuckin’ hell, woman…” he mutters against your lips, pulling you closer by hooking his fingers into your belt loops. 

The concept of time is completely forgotten as you make out, warm bodies against each other, unable to think about anything except heat, want, and a little friction. That is, until a knock on the door rips through your shared, dreamy haze, nearly making the both of you jump out of your skin. You swiftly pull away with a string of saliva connecting your lips. Matty mutters a swear at the sight of it. 

The moment your eyes meet, you’re both breaking into giggles, both at the way the other looks right now (messy hair, flushed cheeks, disheveled clothes) and because oh my god, you just made out for 7 minutes straight without realizing it. The only words to describe this feeling would be totally fucking giddy. 

“Shh, shh, you’re going to give us away,” he whispers, but he’s still laughing himself. 

You’re both breathing heavily, lightheaded from barely breaking away for air that whole time, breathing each other’s oxygen instead. Matty looks like he’d happily pull you in for another seven minutes.

“Holy shit. That was wicked…” he chuckles, lovestruck.

“Shut up,” you grin, your whole body swirling with excitement, “We should… we should go back out there.”

“Do we really have to?” he whispers back, “I mean, fuck ‘em, it’s my closet.” 

“Matty,” you chide, brushing some of his hair away from his face. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, gazing into your eyes. 

After some quick adjustments and Matty’s hat being placed back on his head, the two of you step out of the closet, your knees a little weaker than you would have liked. You pretend you don’t see Matty awkwardly adjusting his pants as you walk back to join the group. 

The game continues until everyone gets bored, abandoning the circle to get involved in other teenage bullshit. With George delegated to make sure no one wrecks the house, Matty gets to steal a moment with you before you have to get home, curfew hanging over your head. 

You sit on his front porch, watching the occasional car pass by. It’s comfortably quiet as you pass a cigarette back and forth, taking note of how it feels when your fingers brush. He laughs when he notices that your lip gloss had stained the filter a cherry shade of red. It’s nice. It feels like the beginning of something. 

“So… you don’t have a boyfriend or anything, yeah?” he asks, stealing a glance as you take a drag. You give him a look.

“I wouldn’t have kissed you that way if I had a boyfriend!” 

“Hey, I’m not judging!” 

You give him a playful shove on his shoulder. He sways right back with a grin, shifting a little closer to you now. 

“Why do you ask?” you whisper, unable to hide the excitement creeping up on your features.

“Well. I was just thinking. It might be cool to like… go out or something.” 

You pass the cigarette back to him, exhaling the smoke into the night air, watching it curl upwards. A passing car illuminates Matty’s face for just a moment, letting you catch the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Your heart nearly stops. 

“I-if you’d fancy that,” he adds, adorably. 

“Yeah. Yeah I really would,” you exhale. 

Matty can’t stop the smile that spreads across his lips, unable to properly take a drag of the cigarette. 

“Cool.”

[soft-for-them]

Palm readings and tulips - Roman Godfrey x plus size reader

Summary: You and Roman are close, best friends even. You think he doesn't love you despite everything pointing to him loving you.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Before writing this I hadn't watched Hemlock Grove since I was like fourteen so at this point in time I've only re-watched the first few episodes so the characters are probably way ooc. Not proof read.

-

Since turning eighteen, aka a legal adult, you’ve realised that you still don’t have the power to do much at all. You’re still learning to drive despite knowing that you won’t be able to afford the cost of a car on your own. You’re working part time and you’re still somehow waking up every morning to go to school which seems to never end.

Then there’s Roman.

Best friends since your family moved to Hemlock Grove when you were twelve, the promise of a job at the steel mill shattered as soon as you arrived leaving you to play outside alone whilst your parent(s) worked over jobs. Roman's always been generous with his disposable wealth when it comes to you because of your family situation.

Roman Godfrey with his fancy little red car always filled with fuel, his house always open to you when you don’t feel safe at home, his disregard for the price of anything, him choosing to always pay for your shopping the rare time he stalks around a shop with you when he’s not busy bedding other people. With a flick of a wrist he can get anything he wants no fake ID or drop of his prestigious name needed, though he does the latter one regardless, Roman Godfrey has the world at his feet.

Maybe that’s why you’re forever thinking up reasons why he’s still friends with you.

As you bang you head on your dull green locker, no one around the hallways to stop you doing so for most if not all the students have been killed in gruesome bloody ways only leaving the younger students and the less than savoury upper-classmen left. To think, if you didn’t have someone like Roman following you around like a shadow then you’d probably be mauled to death and left in a ditch somewhere.

What a lovely thought indeed.

Raising your head you look down the hall, only small clumps of people mulling around, a larger group of tall teens clad in baggy clothes huddled around some lockers probably looking at something indecent catching you attention.

“I am an adult for crying out loud.” you mutter to yourself as you check you book bag filled with heavy textbooks and your large novelty pencil case, “I should be out of this fucking town.”

Then a loud obnoxious laugh, one that sounds more like some exclaiming ‘HA!’ rather than a proper laugh echoes down the hallway reminding you that nothing good ever comes from such fake sound.

So with a reluctant sigh you mosey over to the group of boys, not caring that you look half dead in your oversized baseball jersey and baggy mom jeans, your bag clutched in your hands ready to use it as a weapon if need be.

“Alright fuckers what you looking at now?” you holler as you squish in between two towering boys who smell like B.O and dress like nul metal band rejects.

The best outcome is that they’re all ogling at a magazine of scantily clad women or huddled around a small screen of a phone looking at social media but no, sitting against a locker looking horrified is none other than Shelley Godfrey.

Her long faux hair droops over her entire face as she tries to look as small as possible, her long grey cardigan pooling on the dirtied checked floor of the hallway, her arms holding onto her speaking tablet with an inhuman clutch.

Your face turns stern, tired eyes showing how pissed off you are, the very small amount of power you have in this supernatural town bubbling up.

Most all the boys huddled around you both are way taller, a couple of the shorter ones plus size like you, so really you are outnumbered in every way including size. However, somehow the remaining gaggle of teenage boys who roam the school have an odd resect for you. Much like how Roman, when he’s not fucking someone or completely gone like he was never alive, they follow you around school like lost puppies finding you entertaining, your straightforward and sarcastic wit making you ‘one of the boys’.

That and you’re one of the very few teens who Roman hasn’t bedded, some of your classmates almost seeing you like a challenge for surely soon enough Roman will fuck you too. You’ve overheard them talk about you like this many times, too many for your liking and you have mixed feeling about how they see you. On one hand some people see this pretty young woman who must be next on Roman’s conquest whilst others see you as just ‘the fat girl’ and nothing else.

For once in your life you’d like to be seen as more than a piece of meat but you digress, you’d much rather have the respect of these teenagers than have their ogling eyes look you up and down like your either their next fuck or next bullying target.

 “What? Her wig was falling off, it’s funny (y/n).” one smiles thinking that you’re going to happily chuckle alone with them.

Honestly you feel too much like a mother goose sometimes, these greasy teenagers your rebellious goslings who think you’d laugh along with them at such cruelty.

“Oh! FUNNY LIKE BREAKING YOUR DICK!” you shout at the top of your lungs, everyone is a five mile radius knowing it’s you shouting out your secret knowledge.

No one other than you and the gaggle of lanky teens surrounding you know who you’re exactly talking about however everyone else will have a fun time trying to guess who ‘broke’ their dick and hopefully the humiliation will hammer it into their head not to mess with Shelley Godfrey again.

“Come on (y/n)!” one scoffs whilst another gives you a “not cool bro.” to no avail.

“Where’s your brother?” you ask in you softest voice as you crouch down to Shelley’s height ignoring the scattering boys who try to do damage control now that everyone, which isn’t a lot compared to the beginning of the year, has heard what you shouted.

Speak of the devil Roman appears out of nowhere crouching down beside you as you talk softly to Shelley.

“Where the fuck have you been rich boy?” you scoff as you turn your head to look at your childhood befriend.

“How did you know Tyler broke his dick?” Roman retorts back with a handsome smile.

You ignore him, instead you help Shelley up.

“I’m not a blushing virgin Rom-“ you smile up to Shelley silently nodding asking is she’s ok which gets you a smile back before looking back to Roman, “- me and his brother was in the middle of some things when that idiot fell in the shower screaming bloody murder ‘My dick’s broken, my dick’s broken!’.”

You were having fun too, it’s not that often that a hot guy genuinely takes an interest in you let alone a hot college type who can take your wondering mind off Roman Godfrey, but then his idiot younger brother had slipped whilst belting out pop tunes in the shower making everyone in the house hold privy to the fact he hurt his member.

It was quite easy sneaking out whilst his family crowded around the bathroom, though your thoughts where quickly back of Roman.

As of late all you’ve been thinking about is Roman, that and escaping Pennsylvania but mostly of Roman’s stupidly handsome face.

Him looking at you now with eyes so filled with emotion, most of which you can’t decipher makes you almost blush and fumble. However before you can blurt out your feelings for the guy who used to follow you around town whilst you caught bugs or explored the library instead of going home you offer your arm to Shelley stating you’re going to take her to her class.

Shelley takes your arm with a small smile, a faint glow of blue like a firefly radiating from under her fringe. Roman follows closely behind you protectively, his heart filling up with an emotion he hasn’t properly felt in his life.

Love.

Roman Godfrey, the most powerful person in school, the man who is your shadow, in love with you.

“He’s not happy with you (y/n).” Peter says between puffs of his cigarette the two of you sat at the front of his static home.

He offers the cigarette to you but you refuse it.

“He’s never happy with me lately.” you say not believing a word that comes from your lips, you don’t think Roman has ever be properly angry or disappointed in you, not really.

“You know that’s a lie.” Peter says nudging your arm as you stare off into the distance to the house upon the hill.

“Peter, don’t contradict yourself.” you hit his arm back.

Ever since Peter Rumancek moved here you’ve been spending more and more time with him, well not as much as Roman has but you’ve been spending more time with the shaggy haired man then at home.

“What I mean is that he's annoyed at you.” as Peter talks you lean you head down on his shoulder, the late afternoon slowly fading into sunset, the air around going cold.

“How so?” you ask looking up at him.

“Something about a brother and you helping his sister.”

“Ah, that.”

Sighing, nuzzling your face into Peter’s bicep you try to figure out how to explain to him the situation that you hadn’t even realised was a situation until now.

So you explain it to him. In as little words as possible you recount the story of having a one night stand with a classmate’s older brother and the ensuing hilarity that you used as leverage to help Shelley.

“He really likes you.” Peter says bringing his hand up to pat your head as you slump down more into his arm like it was a pillow on your bed.

“Of course he does Peter, we’ve been friends since we were twelve.”

You don’t want to really explain anything more to Peter because you know exactly what he’s trying to get out of you.

Surely someone like Roman can’t like you back, right?

And from that conversation sometime later the next week you find yourself sat awkwardly on a throw covered blue sofa, a decorative pillow on your lap and Peter by your side fully relaxed.

Destiny has been kind to you the half an hour you’ve been here, she’s offered you tea, told you embarrassing stories about Peter and genuinely been hospitable and nice however as she breaches the subject of why you’re here you start to feel nervous.

It was Peter’s idea, he had been the one to bring up Destiny’s palm readings and curtsey of Peter you’re getting the palm reading for free. You’re not some naive little girl any more so you can take whatever Destiny gives you. Unlike the bigots of the town who think Destiny is scamming people out of their money because she is Romani you’re hopeful that she can give you a good reading and get Peter off you back to boot for he has been trying to tell you that Roman like likes you all week.

But still you’re nervous and jittery.

Destiny asks for your hands which you reluctantly hold out.

“I know you’re probably really good at this-“ you begin as she cradles your hands, your palm upward facing, Destiny leaning over to look at them, “-but I don’t need you tell me if I’m going to have kids or if I’m going to rich.”

Your eyes flicker between her and Peter.

“That’s no entirely how this works.” Destiny grins as Peter touches your arms to try to calm you down, “Anyway from what Peter has told me we may only need to look at your heart line.”

“Heart line?”

“Love.”

“Oh! Yeah, love…” your face scrunches up in worry, “Sorry, I’m not saying you’re a fake or anything but I, well, I already know who I love already, I just haven’t done anything about it so I don’t need a reading for that.”

She smiles, the dimpled lines either side of her mouth appearing as she does, her eye sparkling with curiosity.

“Peter you should have brought her over sooner.” she says eyes trained on you, “Shall we begin then?”

You nod a quick yes.

She begins tracing your palms, her fingers light but slow as she figures out both your past and your future form just the curved line of your hands.

“This hand-” Destiny begins cradling your non dominant hand, “- this one show your past.”

Her manicured finger traces a long line slightly jagged and curved.

“You’ve been through a lot.” she states, not trying to get anything out of you but allowing you to speak if you want to, “I assume it’s to do with your family.”

Two hours later Peter's leading you out of Destiny’s flat, a promise to visit again as a friend promised to her, tear soaked tissues stuffed up your sleeves and Peter holding your hand as he leads you onto the street now bathed in yellowing streetlamp light.

“That was a lot.” you try to upbeat but all that comes from you lips is a solemn exhale, “Promise you won’t tell anyone about all that?”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand squeezing yours in a silent ‘yes’.

“Not even the bit about twelve year old you falling in love with Roman?”

“Shut up.” you laugh as you knock your shoulder into his back playfully, “Now walk me home.”

The next day after Destiny’s palm reading you’re overthinking too much so much so you get a headache that can only be cured by taking a long mid-morning nap.

Thankfully it’s the weekend and you don’t have work but unthankfully as you groggily wake up from your impromptu nap you hear the tell tell signs of one Roman Godfrey lowering himself down on top of your crowded double bed, his nicely dressed frame clashing with the teddy bears and old granny floral sheets of the bed.

“You climb through my window or something?” you ask as you drag yourself up into a sitting position, ignoring the fact your face comes dangerously close to Roman’s.

“No one’s here (y/n) so I used the key underneath the front door mat.”

“Liar-” you joke as your rearrange your twisted t-shirt on your plush body, “-the key is under the pot Rom, you know, the one with the dead tulips.”

You both maybe siting side by side, you under the covers and him fully clothed, but you can see his growing smile on his smug face from the side of his face, mischief soon to come.

“What, stop smiling like that and spit it out.”

His smile grows into a clown like grin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He bends down to the side to pick something off the floor. On hand latches onto your leg anchoring him down as he bends down hanging his other arm off the bed, warmth rising in your face at the rather forward action.

He rises bringing, what at first you think is a wad of paper, up but as you look closer you see the paper is combined with translucent pink plastic in a cone shape holding flowers in place.

Flowers.

Not just any flowers but blood red tulips, much more vivid and alive than the ones that used to live by your front door. And they’re not some supermarket type flowers either, there’s no barcode stuck to the plastic or creasing on the paper from where they’ve been sitting in a pot with other bouquets of flowers. No, they’re big, new and most certainly handmade, so perfectly arranged that they must have cost too much, well too much for you anyway.

For Roman it probably was nothing at all, his wallet still filled with too much money.

You must be frozen in place for Roman, one hand still on your leg, passes over the bouquet of tulips.

“Who you got these for?” you ask.

“I don’t like seeing you sad.” he says leaning closer so your noses almost touch.

“I’m not sad.” you try to smile, your eyes flickering between the blood petals and his sharp mesmerising eyes.

“I saw you yesterday with Peter, you were crying.”

Despite there being a thin blanket separating your bare legs from his hands you can feel him stroke patterns near your knee.

“Then why didn’t you come over then? You know I’ll always have you.”

Your words come out wrong for you were trying to say that he’s always welcome in your home though you guess the growing bubbling feeling of love has impaired your mind just a bit.

As your eyes look at the flowers you miss the hungry, almost monstrous look flash in Roman’s eyes, his pupils going large. It takes all his strength not to grab you and kiss you all over making you his.

He won’t even tell you either that last night another classmate died, that he was trying to investigate it.

“I’m taking you out.” he demands.

“Ok.” you say feeling that you can't decline, the thought of it being a date pushed out your mind for Roman always seems to be spending money on you, “Let me get dressed first Rom.”

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Prompt request- 6 and 18?

6. Why are you completely drenched?

18. Is he always like this?

I hope you like this!💜

-------------------------------

The store was quiet tonight. Usually, it was filled with young teens trying to decide what movie to watch or young couples in search of a good flick to put on. Now, it was quiet. The only noise audible was the static coming from the dozen television screens showing clips from several movies.

It was weird for it to be so quiet on a Friday night, but in all honesty, I couldn't really be bothered. Maybe if it stayed this quiet, I could go home early and have some time for myself. I sighed as I leaned on the counter, staring at the boardwalk. The sign on the door clearly said open - on the right side, I checked that one twice already - and even the door was propped open. The boardwalk itself was quite busy, but hardly anyone even looked towards the store. I sighed as I flipped through a magazine, finding the reason: some big-time artist was performing down the beach. That explained a lot. It would also mean that afterwards it would get busy.

"Jesus, you look like a walking depression!"

I looked up with an annoyed glare. Paul stood in the doorway, blocking any potential customer from entering.

"I do not. I look like an exhausted and bored customer service worker."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

I laughed, causing him to grin. He stepped into the store, a loud sloshing sound following him with every step he took. I frowned, looking at him.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. I looked at him, then at his clothes and realised in the bright light of the store that he was soaking wet.

"Why are you completely drenched?" I asked, slightly panicking. Max would not be happy with this...

"I fell in the ocean."

"You fell? In the ocean?"

He nodded, jumping up to sit on the counter. I quickly pushed him off, earning an annoyed 'Hey!'.

"No, listen - you get the whole store wet, and I am the one that gets to clean it and gets to deal with an angry Max."

"He wouldn't get angry with you."

"He would, Paul. Either get out of the store or help dry everything off."

"I'll go!"

With that, he left, leaving a long wet trail behind. I sighed as I searched in the back for a mop and a bucket. That asshole. Sure, I was no longer bored, but I preferred being bored over cleaning up someone else's mess. I found the mop in the corner of the broomcloset and made my way back out on the floor. With an annoyed and tired sigh, I got to work, quickly cleaning up the wet footprints.

"Have you seen Paul?"

I jumped, almost kicking the bucket I'd used to empty the mop in over the floor. David stood in front of me.

"Hold on," I said as I grabbed the bucket and placed it on the counter, quickly calming myself down. It was a miracle how someone who wore that kind of boots could make so little noise.

"Well?"

"Yeah. He was here."

"What did he do this time?"

He must have picked up on my mood - although that wasn't that difficult to do. I motioned towards the - clean - wet floor and the mop leaning against the counter.

"Is he always like this?" I asked. Surely, he wasn't, right?

"Chaotic and an asshole?"

"You said it, not me."

"He is."

I nodded. It was good to know that I wasn't anything personal anyway.

"He's also very adamant to visit you every night."

"I see all of you each night." I countered - they always came in to bother Max.

"He comes in for you."

"Why?"

"Ask him. Not my thing to tell."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You're just as much an asshole as he is, you know that?"

David just grinned, a sudden unpredictability in his eyes. "I'm worse, darling."

I shivered. "Well, if you do find Paul, could you tell him to come back?"

David nodded as he lit a cigarette. I decided not to mention anything about it. That was a Max problem - if he didn't want anyone to smoke in his store, he should enforce that rule with the most problematic customers, and not the customer service worker working for a minimum wage.

He left the store, and I finished cleaning up Paul's mess. It got me wondering, though, why was he so adamant about coming here each night and talking to me? None of the other boys really paid much attention, but Paul? Besides the obvious tomfoolery in his act, he was quite sweet. One time, he'd gotten me dinner when he realised I forgot to eat. He always checked up on me, even stepped in one time when I had a difficult customer. And I always did like to see him. It did cheer me up. It did make me feel more relaxed. So, I thought to myself, if he comes in here and I ask him why and he tells me he likes me - maybe I actually like him too?

[cowboyjen68]

i am 24, from chicago and i have a crush on youuuu

You are very sweet to tell me and this is my opportunity to talk about how healthy internet personalities or "celebrity" crushes are to young lesbians finding thier own sexuality in a world that mostly assumes people straight (becuase statisically that is objectively true).

I still, to this day, remember, as a teen and young woman having a crush on Christy McNichol, Nancy McKeon (or more particularly her character Jo), and Tatum O Neal. There were older women like Markie Post and Erin Gray who I crushed on. "Ooo older women, they are so steady and have their shit together .. and HOT". I actually knew very little about them off screen. My Teen magazines were featuring TEEN stars, for good reason.

But I still crushed on them and watching thier sitcoms. Most of these women were straight but that was not really important. What was important was they were not really real. I could build them to be how I want to be in my mind using the superficial things I could see about them or learn from little interviews etc.

The internet has changed that dynamic slightly. I am accessible. Reachable. A real person. I wonder if someday media experts will refer to"CowboyJen" as a character I created. They would be wrong but I would understand the thought process. There are aspects of my life I don't share. No one wants to see me ass dragging at 10 pm after a 15 hour shift sitting on my bed trying to untie my shoes before I fall asleep or cleaning my bathroom . My life is entwined with others and I protect their privacy unless they agree to participate.

I do answer DM's. I do respond to comments. I am not simply a character on a small screen that does not interact with the audience. That is a shift in the "celebrity" paradigm. And it can make crushes seem much more real.

What I want to address is that crushes and fantasizing about other women IS NORMAL and healthy and a tool to help us figure what we like, learn to enjoy our sexuality. I remember feeling shame for thinking about these women because it was "dirty" and "creepy". In reality it was no such thing. It is just a normal part of being human, to seek out a safe outlet for fantasy, day dreaming and forming our dislikes and likes in our own head and heart so we can translate that to our real dating/love life.

Crushes don't stop at the teens or 20's. I would argue most adults experience crushes as well and it is just another tool in our humanity that we use to navigate the world we live in.

The largest difference is my generation's crushes were relatively unreachable. Fan mail was mostly answered by an employee or a hired service. Any contact in real life with back stage passes or "meet and greets" were heavily controlled and monitored for safety and to protect the image of the celebrity. And also to often to prevent the musician or actor from over stepping his/her bounds too.

Now many smaller scale recognizable people are accessible in real life. We live and work in our communities. I didn't create a character I just share my life and my reality because I think it can truly give other lesbians and women hope that we are not destined to life of stereotypes because we are butch, or lesbian, or bi or female or not rich or any number of things that get false expectations attached to it.

I guess what I am saying is your crush is healthy and normal and I would never shame anyone for having such feelings towards me. It is also my duty as a role model to not breech appropriate boundaries and I take that job very seriously. The fact is I travel to Chicago on occasion and I am out and about in the real world so the chances of me meeting followers like you and and others is highly likely at some point. I love meeting people and often to respond to and meet followers, who become my friends, in person. We are all people and I am dead serious about forming intergenerational lesbian connections in real life.

Your crush is your safe place to explore emotions and attractions so enjoy.

Side note: I don't not consider myself a "celebrity" LOL I am using that word in the broad sense as meaning a recognizable person outside of my in-person friends and community.

[sugar-omi]

That last ask making me think of MC sending Derek a video of themselves riding a toy while saying his name or MC calling and saying dirty things to Derek while he touches himself. This can either be in step 3 or step 4.

If this was in step 3, imagine the fucking yearning and if this was if MC was very clear about their feelings for him before he became too busy.

no because now you got me thinking abt it...

what if you and derek are on the phone late at night, trying to milk every second before you have to go about your separate days. derek insists you don't worry about him getting enough sleep for practice, and his lack of sleep makes his lips looser than usual, saying in a raspy, although laced thickly with drowsiness, tone: "hearing your voice is worth a lot more than sleep."

every minute you talk on the phone, the topic gets more ridiculous, both of you muffling your laughs so as not to wake others. if you're on facetime, you can't decide if it's your bleary eyes making derek's expression look dreamy or if it's your wishful thinking.

imagine you start reading some of your sister's old magazines from when she was a teen, reading the questions targeted towards teen girls and the exerts about boys and "what your crushes favorite color means for you"

you're both giggling at the silliness of some of the pages, answering some of them or ranting about how something makes no sense, and that your favorite food has nothing to do with your future career. derek even loudly rants about all the celebrity gossip from back then.

but imagine the light conversation turns dirty.. maybe you looked up some questions to ask friends when hanging out late at night, or maybe you decide to play truth or dare or never have I ever (that was my first thought)

but yknow those questions from those dirty card games you play with your girlfriends or partners? imagine you start asking each other those questions..

what turns you on? have you ever had a dirty thought about someone you know? what's your biggest sexual fantasy? have you ever had a wet dream? do you prefer to top or bottom in bed?..

just on and on.. derek’s cheeks are flushed, and he bites his lip when you ask certain questions, his lashes fluttering.

if you really pay attention.. you can see how his throat bobs when he swallows when you give a particularly nasty answer.

you're both so tired, you can even remember the turning point. but now you have your lamp flicked on, giving a decent amount of light for the show you're putting on for derek..

he'd be so flustered. so hot, watching you fuck yourself with the toy. you can hear every pant and moan, every gasp and low curse and hiss of your name...

it's perfect. and it's nasty.

you don't know what you'll tell people when they ask how you got together, because saying that you confessed to each other while masturbating to each other getting off over facetime, is not a family friendly story...

derek's fucking his cock so pathetically. thrusting up into his hand, pre running over his knuckles and his cock making obscene wet sounds.

he's such a mess, and this turns him on beyond belief.

can't believe he has his lifelong crush with their ass facing the camera, your tit squished in your hand as you grope and twist your nipple / your cock leaking and twitching on your stomach, and you're desperately fucking yourself on the toy, doing short thrusts to minimize the squelching.

and the way his name falls from your lips.. he wishes he was there in person to hear it, and to have his lips on you. God he needs to kiss you, kiss your body, suck and lick every sensitive place..

he can't take it. cries out your name, tells you you're so pretty. you're amazing. he likes you so much, so so much. fuck, he can't believe you're doing this.. please don't stop, he's gonna cum, cum with him, please please please..

i hope you're paying attention, because the way derek fucking squirms all over hisbfist and tummy is so fucking hypnotic. you wish you would've screen recorded so that way you can see how his body twitches, his thighs flexing and his abs tightening as his cock twitches and pulses in his fist as he finishes

he's so pretty. so so pretty. and how his head falls back, showing the expanse of his throat. you could briefly see his eyes rolling back in pleasure.. it's just so cute

but also imagine being dared to send a nasty video to your crush..

and derek, who is so unsuspecting, just going about his day.. maybe he's practicing. or he's about to shower, or hanging out with the fam...

and you text him, asking if he's alone. he responds, already going somewhere secluded and making sure he has privacy. what if you're going to tell him something personal? he wants to make sure whatever you're going through, you can safely talk about with him

gets confused when you go on about how you hope you haven't read him wrong, n that you really like him. but... you like him as more than a friend. a lot more.

hardly has time to process your confession before you send a video, and his body is instantly washed over with heat as he sees your body from the beginning.

his heart seems like it's gonna jump out his chest, watching your hands inch down your body, slipping in two fingers, than three..

his head is spinning by the time you sink your toy in, and he's trembling when you gasp and moan, calling out his name as you sink inch by inch on the toy..

so torn between asking what the fuck, and why the fuck, and telling you he likes you too, and just pushing down his joggers and fisting his impossibly hard cock right now.

ends up calling you. his chest is full with both relief and a suffocating feeling. because he's so in love with you, but fuck you have him relied up. and he's so overwhelmed, he can hardly think straight

stutters out "do you mean it?"

curses when you say yeah. doesn't know what to do, hunches over the phone with his hand over his mouth. he's so happy, but it's impossible to ignore his hard-on

exhales when you ask if he liked your video.. wants to curse and just say back "what do you think?" but he's a gentleman, and it's not like you can see his expression. or his bulge..

growls out a yes, it's breathy and hot, and he hears some rustling, and some creaking followed by more rustling...

"what about this?"

he opens up your chat again, and if he wasn't already sittingp, he'd hit the floor. you've sent him a picture of you wearing his hoodie that he left behind last time he visited. that was a long time ago, he doesn't even have the mind to be bitter about how long its been.

so focused on how it hangs/hugs your body.

maybe you're tugging it down a bit, trying to cover your lower half pretty unsuccessfully. or you're pulling it up, just showing him everything.

he curses, still too engrossed in the picture to be embarrassed about you laughing about him cussing.

is so hypnotized by your voice, but when you suddenly gasp into the phone, and derek realizes what you're doing.. he'd shove off his joggers, taking his leaky cock into his hands as you ramble on..

telling him how much you fantasized about him. how you wanted, and want him. how when he does visit you, you could hardly focus because all you could think about was those arms wrapped around you, his hands slipping under your pants/skirt and fingerblasting you.

how you could hardly focus last time because he looked so good with a fresh haircut and his increasing strength.. all you wanted was his mouth on your sex, cradling his head between your thighs so all he could do was suck you off / eat you out and look at you with those pretty green eyes, all glassy and pleading..

he has to stuff his shirt in his mouth to stop all his moans, so deep in the rabbit hole of pleasure and dirty talk that he can't control himself.

pants and gasps when you say he probably looks so good right now.. that you wish you could see him. that you wish you could jerk him off instead, more than that even.

groans when you ask him to send you a video or picture back. need to see him, please? don't even be afraid to say that he owes you for the pic and video, because he'd have to agree.

props up his phone to take a video, his cock and chin visible. you can see how his abs tighten and his his muscles and veins flex and move as he fists his cock, he can't help but work his cock so furiously, he needs more. needs to make up for the pleasure he can't have with the distance between you

doesn't even care that he already came once while you were dirty talking him, just keeps working his poor sensitive, flushed cock.

tells you how he wishes it was you fucking his cock with your fist, how you looked so good.. how he wishes he was there.

promises he'd take care of you, that he wishes you would've just snatched him up and rode his face / fucked his throat last time like you wanted.

final straw is when you tell him to hurry up and visit you then, so you can make it a reality.

he's so spent.. limp, thighs shaking, and his cock twitching and leaking on his stomach, his cock jumping as it spurts out more cum, the liquid running down his length n balls

it makes such a good video. topped off with his teary eyes seen just before he turned off the video. don't be shy about playing it over n over again..

(still ends up sending you a picture a few days later on of him in his jersey, spent cock in his hands, his cheeks flushed n eyes heavy from his orgasm.. he's a tease, but let him tell it, it's his payment for your photo last time, as if that video wasn't like hitting the lottery.)

[adventures-in-mangaland]

I've been seeing posts about Scooby Doo popping up, so I thought I'd share this:

(Source: The Scots Magazine, Feb 2023) Full text below.

This actually happened. I am obsessed!

The passion! The energy!

Amazing!

Such signage!

(Images: Daily Record)

A brilliant effort all round! The children of Scotland saved a pop culture powerhouse the world would be poorer without. I can't believe this. I love this so much.

Text of the article:

FROM THE VAULT

Strange tales from the archives. This month – How furious fans of cancelled cartoon rose up in protest.

By CHRIS Ferguson, Jan 12, 2023 (The Scots Magazine)

THROUGHOUT the ages, principled protest has been a hallmark of youth – a rite of passage for many. Today it is Greta Thunberg and her army of teen climate activists, or Extinction Rebellion protesters, who make headlines.

In the 1960s it was the Vietnam War objectors and Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament believers who set out their political agendas.

In later decades young people swelled the ranks of those demanding an end to apartheid in South Africa.

They were at the barricades as then-pm Margaret Thatcher introduced the poll tax and back out again to try to stop the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

Another generation, too, had the courage of its convictions. In 1971, youngsters rose in anger at a threat to remove cowardly canine Scooby-doo from their television screens.

This was in February after the cartoon had been running for two years. Although the decision not to commission another series had been taken in the US, the BBC was the target of fans’ fury because it had to pass on the bad news to young viewers.

Within days of the announcement, an army of parka-wearing children sporting knitted jumpers and questionable hairstyles was formed.

Across Scotland children grouped together with placards, just like so many other worthy protesters before them. In Glasgow, the massed kids marched on the BBC Scotland headquarters and, in Dundee, they gathered in outrage in City Square.

Petitions were raised and demonstrations took place across the country and, by April, the BBC announced a further series had been commissioned in the US.

Legend has it these Scots Scooby fans had persuaded the American television executives to reconsider.

Hanna-barbera, the animation company behind Scooby-doo, never forgot the Scottish reaction.

A spokesman for the company said, “We’d never had a response like that before, it was very exciting.”

[Beneath the main text of the article is an illustration of Scooby Doo and the gang accompanied by the pull quote: “An army of parka-wearing children was formed”

The title and byline of the article are also accompanied by a black and white photo of a boy in school uniform sitting with a little black dog in his lap, grinning and holding a sign reading "We've saved Scooby Doo" with an illustration of Scooby. The caption reads: Jimmy Brown fought to save the cartoon."]

[sixhours]

happy birthday, baby girl - birth day

Ellie has never had a birthday. Joel can fix that.

Series masterlist | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Chapter tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller, birthdays, swearing, canon-compliant, angst, mentions of childbirth and babies Words: 5.4k

Notes: A bunch of birthday one-shots loosely based on this headcanon. This might be a five-times/one-time fic in disguise, it hasn't decided yet.

Ellie comes out of sleep to the sounds of a house waking up.

Knocking. The crackle of oil in a skillet. A door opening, footsteps downstairs. Murmurs, low voices, Joel’s and…someone else.

She squints at the clock on her nightstand; 6:35 . Her alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. Grumbling, she pulls the blanket back over her head to try to shut out the noise and almost manages it…but then she hears the telltale tread of boots on the stairs and a light knock before her bedroom door creaks open.

“Mornin’, kiddo.”

She turns over and glares at Joel, haloed by the hallway light. He hesitates at the threshold; he always does. This room has a history for them, ugly pink stripes and all. Sometimes Ellie likes that it still makes him uncomfortable after all these weeks in Jackson, worries at it like a canker sore with her tongue.

“C’mon, man. It’s too early.”

“I know. But that was Tommy downstairs–looks like Maria’s havin’ the baby.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘bout what he said,” he mutters.

“So like…right now?” she asks, sitting up and pulling the comforter to her chin.

“Not quite. She’s in labor.”

“How does that…work?”

He blinks and gapes, that same stunned look she saw in the rearview mirror when she asked about Bill’s dirty magazines. “How…uh, they didn’t, uh, cover that in–”

“Gross, dude. No, I mean how does that work here ? Is Maria at the clinic, or…?”

“Oh, right,” he breathes, shoulders sagging. “No, she’s at home, there’s a, uh, midwife, I think. Won’t bring the doctor in unless things go bad.”

There’s a sinking, twisting feeling in her stomach at that. She’d known Maria was pregnant, of course, and she knew how babies were born. FEDRA school was shit, but every kid with a uterus started hormone shots when they hit puberty, and they made them watch that one awful childbirth video every year as an extra deterrent. Until now, with Joel standing in the door and talking about things going bad, she hadn’t connected the dots.

“But…things look good, right?”

“Oh, it’s…yeah, kiddo, everything’s gonna be fine,” Joel says, his voice registering a bit too high to be believable. “Tommy said everything’s fine, Maria’s good, baby’s fine…nothin’ to worry about. It’s…gonna be…everything’s gonna be…fine.”

That’s way too many “fines” for things to actually be fine. He follows this abysmal performance with a smile that’s so thin it’s practically transparent. Maybe she’s imagining it, but she thinks she can see his eye twitch. Sometimes she wonders if he knows he’s a bad liar or if he’s really fucking clueless.

“Look, I know I said we’d go camping tomorrow, but I gotta change plans,” he continues. “Tommy needs someone to cover his patrol shifts, ‘least for this week.”

“Oh,” her face falls before she can rearrange her expression into something neutral. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I just…he needs us right now.”

“I get it,” she shrugs.

“Promise I’ll make it up to ya once they have his rotations covered, alright?”

She shrugs again, swallows hard. This is so much to process and she’s just barely woken up.

“I gotta go, gotta get the horses ready,” he says. “I’ll leave breakfast. You good to get yourself to school?”

“You mean like I do every day?”

“Right,” he nods. “Okay. Should be home for dinner–”

“Whatever,” she says flatly.

“I–”

“Dude, I’m fine,” she groans, throwing herself back into the bed and yanking the covers over her head. “Go.”

He lingers for a moment, then sighs. “Have a good day, kiddo.”

“Bye.”

She waits until she hears the screen door slam and Joel's boots on the porch steps before tossing off the blanket in a huff. There’s no way she’s getting back to sleep now. Stupid Joel and this stupid family and their stupid baby–

No, no, she takes that back, bile rising hot and thick in the back of her throat. No, the baby needs to be okay, Maria needs to be okay, they’ve lost too much already. Her disappointment over the camping trip wilts and withers in the face of a worst-case scenario. All she can hear are Joel’s paper-thin assurances– fine, fine, fine .

She lingers in bed long after her alarm has gone off, throwing on her jeans and a shirt in a rush. Downstairs, she pointedly ignores the plate of scrambled eggs and toast and sliced apples Joel left on the stove, suppressing a gag at the smell of fresh coffee in the air. Her appetite is fickle at the best of times and this is definitely not the best of times. She shoves her feet into her shoes without bothering to tie the laces and grabs her backpack from the hook by the door.

The other Miller house is surprisingly calm as she steps onto the porch. She half expected to hear Maria’s cries of pain echoing across the street, but the place is quiet, nothing to suggest this is anything but an ordinary day.

She drags her feet all the way to school, earning a look from Mrs. Abraham when she creeps into class just after the first bell, and the next two hours pass in an agonizing crawl. Every time she looks at the clock at the front of the classroom, the minute hand seems to taunt her, barely moving at all. Twice she puts her head down on her desk just to feel the press of the cool wood against her forehead, twice she gets a light poke on the shoulder and a frown from the teacher in warning. While Mrs. Abraham drones on about quadratic equations, all she can think about is Joel’s pathetic attempt to reassure her this morning– everything’s gonna work out fine , yeah, right.

Dina makes it worse by cornering her in the hall between second and third period.

“I heard someone’s gonna have a new cousin soon.”

A cousin.

Ellie doesn’t respond, pretending to look for something at the back of her locker. Dina isn’t so bad…usually. She’s one of the few who’s made an effort despite Ellie’s clear attempts to blow her off. But right now, the last thing she needs is her chirpy, Polly Positive bullshit.

“So d’you think she’ll have the baby today, or–”

“How the hell should I know?” Ellie snaps, slamming her locker door. “I’m stuck here, same as you.”

“Jeez, what’s your problem?”

Ellie doesn’t answer, just brushes past her and makes for the bathroom as the third period bell rings. Fuck it, she’ll skip. Mr. Henderson manages to make science boring as shit, anyway.

Once the halls have cleared out, she sneaks out the back of the school and escapes into the yard, trekking past the school garden and the little kids’ playground toward the greenhouses. The raspberry bushes are thick this time of year, mostly picked over, but they make a good place to hide. She crawls between the rows and plants herself toward the back, out of sight of the gardeners working in the greenhouses and the fields on the other side. Her stomach growls and she plucks a few of the forgotten, overripe berries from the lowest branches, letting them burst with tart sweetness on her tongue. The juice stains her fingers a bloody red, dampening her appetite as quickly as it came.

She pulls out one of her comics and tries to read, but the story is too familiar to hold her attention. While Dr. Daniela Star is preparing to take on the threat posed by a strange alien lifeform, her mind keeps drifting back to Maria, to hormone shots, then to Dina’s words.

A new baby cousin.

“Cousin” implies Tommy is her uncle and Maria is her aunt, which means Joel is her…well, what the fuck does Dina know, anyway?

She shoves her comic back into her bag and flops onto her back in the dirt, wincing at the brightness of the summer sky. Her shoulders are sticky with sweat and she scratches at her scar over her sleeve. She wonders what Joel is doing. He only started patrol shifts a couple weeks ago, but every time he leaves, a hollow knot of worry takes up residence behind her breastbone.

She wishes desperately for her old Walkman, that she could put on some headphones and crank up the volume to drown out her thoughts. Instead, she watches a bumblebee dip and buzz among the raspberry branches, finally alighting on a leaf. She digs her fingers into the soil to feel the cool earth and takes a deep breath the way Joel showed her–in for four, hold for four, out for four. The knot loosens a tiny fraction.

When she can't listen to her mind run in circles any longer, she heads to the cafeteria for lunch, blending in with the line of kids coming from school. It’s her favorite today, grilled cheese and tomato soup and carrot sticks, but one bite of the sandwich sends her stupid stomach roiling. She chokes it down with a glass of water and a spoonful of soup, but spends the rest of her lunch break picking her food into tiny pieces that she can’t eat. She pockets the carrots for Shimmer and leaves before anyone notices.

She fully intends to skip the rest of the school day and hide in the hayloft or the greenhouse until her shift at the stables, but no such luck. She’s passing the school when she hears a familiar voice call her name.

“Ellie Williams.”

Mrs. Abraham is standing at the edge of the schoolyard, beckoning her over with one crooked finger.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Ellie groans, but she turns around and trudges back.

“A little bird told me you weren’t here for third period. You were missed.”

Ellie scowls. “Was it Dina?”

“Actually, it was Mr. Henderson,” she says, cocking an eyebrow and biting back a smirk. “He said there was, and I quote, ‘a distinct lack of foul language’ during the lecture on climate systems. Like I said, you were missed.”

Ellie bites her lip, thinking fast. “Joel said he needed me for something after lunch.”

“Your dad is on patrol today,” she says wryly. “I know this because so is my wife. No one has radioed.”

Fucking fuck.

“Yeah, but he told Tommy and–“

“And I know your uncle and aunt are otherwise occupied,” she continues. “I heard all about it from Dr. Tsu at lunch. Very exciting, you’re going to have a new family member soon.”

“I guess,” Ellie mutters.

“Tell you what,” she says. “I won’t tell your dad that you skipped class if you go straight to Mr. Henderson and pick up your make-up work after school–”

“Fine.”

“ And you have to promise not to skip the rest of the day. Deal?”

The question in her tone is meant to make it seem like a choice, but Ellie knows better. If she tries to cut class again, Joel will hear about it. He probably wouldn’t even care that much, but he’d be annoyed at having to deal with her teachers. The last time she got in trouble, he’d pulled the, “I’m not mad, I just know you’re smarter than that,” card and that had felt worse than any punishment.

Ellie stares at the ground and gives Mrs. Abraham a tight nod, digging her nails into her palms.

“Good. Now, let’s get you back where you’re meant to be.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and stomps into school, back to her next class. Dina gives her a what the hell look when she takes her seat in a huff, but at least she keeps her big mouth shut.

The rest of the day drags on in a monotonous slog. Her knee won’t stop bouncing, eraser end of the pencil tapping frantically on her notebook until stupid Michael Sumner at the next desk glares at her. She flips him the bird with one nail-bitten finger.

She watches the classroom door, hoping for Joel’s broad, flannel-clad frame to appear and dismiss her early. Then she decides that would probably mean bad news, so she switches to willing him not to appear. But what if she’s wishing for him not to show up and something bad happens? She was kind of a shit to him this morning, even though it’s not his fault he had to cancel their camping trip. Sure, he said patrols were usually uneventful and “downright borin’ on the best days,” but with her luck, today will be the not-boring kind.

Fuck. What if the last thing she ever said to him is “bye”?

By the time the last bell rings, she’s ready to crawl out of her skin. She throws herself down the hall, doesn’t bother to pick up her science homework. She slams through the double doors and outside into the warm sun, desperate to get away.

At least she has stable duty to look forward to. As soon as she enters the barn, the familiar scents of fresh hay and leather polish calm her a little. She slings her backpack down in the corner and goes straight to Shimmer’s stall.

“Hey, girl,” she whispers. “You all alone today?”

“She’s been waitin’ for ya.”

Bryce, the stable manager, speaks up from his desk in the little office. He’s a wiry old man with white hair and kind eyes who likes to joke that he’s sharper than the average breadstick, which makes no fucking sense, but Ellie gets the impression it’s not supposed to.

She smiles a little and strokes Shimmer’s velvety soft nose. “She’s getting so big.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t get too comfy in there, young miss. Need ya to muck out number three ‘fore the patrols get back.”

Ellie does, shoveling out the stall and laying fresh shavings down, cleaning and filling the water and feed troughs. When that’s done, she takes her break and spends more time with Shimmer, brushing her down and sneaking her the carrots from her pocket when Bryce isn’t looking.

Her shift is supposed to end at four, but she lingers to finish mucking out one more stall and clean the spare tack. Joel promised to meet her after, but that was before he went out on patrol. His group isn’t back yet, anyway. When the work is no longer enough to keep her worries at bay, she approaches Bryce in the office.

“Hey…any word from the group that went out this morning?”

“Nothin’ on the radio, young miss. Should be back soon, though. No news is good news.”

That’s a fucking lie, she thinks dully, going back to spread fresh shavings in the last stall. No news could mean Joel is lying dead in a ditch somewhere. No news could mean Tommy is a widower or a childless father or both. No news is bullshit.

Finally, she can’t come up with any more excuses to hang around and Bryce shoos her away, tells her to go home and wash up and get dinner. “Too damn skinny to be working so hard,” he says, and she bites her tongue on a few choice “cuss words”, as Joel calls them, because she likes the stables and she likes the horses and she even likes Bryce when he’s not being a dick.

She walks slowly down Rancher Street, dreading the unknown expanse of time until Joel gets home. It’s still daylight, but their house looms like a dark, empty shadow.

Just then, Tommy steps onto the porch at the house across the street. He’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, his normally shiny curls flat and mussed, feet bare. Ellie stops short, barely recognizing the man without his denim and cowboy boots.

He doesn’t notice her at first, just kind of stares off into space, and her stomach clenches. Her feet begin moving toward him without her permission, and Tommy finally comes to when he sees her at the curb.

“Hey, Ellie girl.”

She opens her mouth, meaning to greet him, but what comes out is a rush of questions.

“Where’s Maria? Is the baby here? Is it–”

He holds up a hand, eyes tired but calm. “Baby’s not here yet, but everythin’s fine,” he says evenly.

“Oh. Shouldn’t you be, like, up there?”

He sighs and takes a seat on the top step, tips his head to the spot next to him. Tommy is familiar now, even safe, but she still sits a couple steps down, keeping some space between them.

“Just takin’ a breather,” he sighs. “Maria’s orders. Says things are probably gettin’ real interestin’ soon and I need a clear head.”

Ellie glances up at the house. “Is Maria okay? Is it…bad?”

“Oh, a little labor pain ain’t nothin’ for that woman. Don’t gotta worry about her, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “This is the easy part, everythin’ that comes after…that’s where the real fun is.”

Somehow his reassurances land right where she needs them, some of the day’s fear untwining itself from her ribs. She takes a deep breath, that hollowed-out spot soothed a little by the fresh air and the company.

“No Joel yet, huh?” he asks as if reading her mind.

She shakes her head.

He nods thoughtfully. “S’just a normal run. No news is–“

“Ugh, don’t say it,” she groans. “I know, I get it, he’s fine.”

“Okay, then,” he sighs, looking out over their street, content to sit quietly.

But her worry grows in the silence, so soon she peers up at him. “Were you there when Sarah was born?”

“Oh…yeah, yeah, I was. In the waitin’ room ‘til all hours. She kept us waitin’ awhile. Always did things on her own time like that, right from the get-go,” he smiles.

He gets the same soft look in his eyes that Joel does when he talks about Sarah, the look that makes her heart clench. She wonders if there was anyone in the waiting room for her, if there was even a waiting room at all. Probably not, on both counts.

“I was the first one to hold her…after her mama and daddy, of course. Weren’t much older than you are now,” he says, still smiling, though there’s a slight tremble in his chin now. “Felt pretty special, though. She was so small. Joel was hoverin’ over my shoulder the whole time, all puffed up like a damn peacock.”

She tries to picture Joel with a baby and can’t do it. She’s seen his hands broken and scarred and bloody, can’t imagine them holding something so fragile, so pristine. He’s gentle with her, of course, but she’s the furthest thing from pure.

“That girl had us both wrapped around her little finger from day one,” Tommy murmurs, then nudges her shoulder with his knee. “Not unlike another kid I know.”

She stares at her hands, all ragged cuticles and chewed fingernails. Then footsteps at the door, the midwife’s voice calling from inside. “Tommy? She’s asking for you.”

“You alright on your own?” he frowns, visibly torn. “Your old man should be back any minute–”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, wiping her palms on her jeans and standing up. “Good luck, I guess.”

He gives her a tired wink. “Here goes nothin’.”

She makes her way down the little walk, resigned to returning to the empty house across the street, when she sees a familiar figure turn the corner at the end of the cul-de-sac. Relief spurs her forward until she’s practically running at him, colliding with Joel in the middle of the road.

“Whoa…easy, kid.”

She buries her face in his chest, traitorous eyes welling with tears. She presses into him harder, wraps her arms around his waist and melts even more when she feels one big, rough paw come up to cradle the back of her head.

“Everythin’ alright?” he asks carefully.

“S’fine,” she mutters, still clinging to him like a barnacle. “Baby’s not here yet.”

“Ah. Well, takes time, I guess.”

She sniffs. “Tommy said things’re good, though.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, murmuring low into her hair. “Sure you’re okay, kiddo?”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles, throat tight. If she tries to say more she’ll start bawling, so she holds on tight and waits for her heart to settle. When she finally pulls back, he’s watching her with concern, but he doesn’t ask questions and he doesn’t mention the tears now drying on the front of his shirt, thank fuck.

“How was patrol?” 

“Nothin’ special. That Jesse kid got his horse caught up on an old perimeter fence, took a while to get ‘im loose. How was school?”

She shrugs, wipes at her eyes. “Stupid. As usual.”

That earns her a smirk.

“Why don’t we go back to the house and get cleaned up ‘fore dinner?” he wrinkles his nose. “You smell like a horse.”

“You smell like an asshole,” she fires back, but her smile betrays her. That hollow under her breastbone is full. The scary things always feel lighter when she’s with him.

“Takes one to know one, you little punk,” he mutters, giving her ponytail a gentle tug as they walk back to their house.

After showers, they head to the caf to get dinner. It’s busy tonight, the dining hall aromatic with the smells of garlic and fresh-baked bread and thrumming with friendly chatter. Ellie’s stomach gives a loud growl as they wait in the serving line, and she eats her fill of vegetable soup and goes back for more, dipping her buttered oat bread in her bowl so it soaks up the last of the broth.

“Slow down,” Joel chides as she’s slurping up her second bowl of soup.

“But m’starving,” she mutters, mouth full of bread.

“If y’ate your damn breakfast–”

She blinks up at him, shoving another giant hunk of bread in her mouth.

“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice,” he sighs.

“Wasn’t hungry then,” she counters. “M’hungry now.”

Several people approach them while they’re eating to ask about the new baby, to ask how Maria and Tommy are faring, and to send their well-wishes. More than once, Ellie has to stop shoveling bread and soup into her mouth to tell them what she knows.

There’s custard for dessert with fresh whipped cream, and when she finally puts down her spoon, her jeans feel snug and she thinks she could fall asleep right here in the middle of the caf, with Joel at her side and a full stomach and the buzz of conversation around them. She leans into him and lets her eyes close, comforted by the familiar softness of his t-shirt against her cheek. She must have drifted off, because soon Joel is nudging her awake.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Time to go home.”

Home.

Joel grabs extra food from the kitchen before they leave, a jar of vegetable soup and packets of baked chicken and warm crusty bread for Tommy and Maria. They walk back to Rancher Street with the food in a tote, prepared to leave it on the porch, but Tommy sees them coming and meets them outside, a little breathless.

“Y’all wanna come meet the new kid in town?”

She feels Joel tense at her side and the day’s nerves resettle like a heavy stone alongside the food in her stomach.

“You have a niece, big brother,” he says, clapping Joel on the back and pulling him into a fierce hug. Ellie has to look away because the mushy stuff makes the sinking feeling worse. Then Joel’s hand is on her shoulder, squeezing like he needs something to hold onto.

“C’mon.”

They’re ushered upstairs and into the bedroom, lit by the glow of a single lamp. Maria is sitting up in bed holding the new baby, tired but smiling.

“It’s a girl?” Ellie asks, unable to stop herself from leaning over the bed to peer at the swaddled bundle. 

“A girl,” Maria confirms, carefully angling the baby so Ellie can see her face, all scrunched up, poking out from the soft yellow blanket. “She’s had a hard day, but she’s eight pounds of pure spitfire.”

“Just like her mama,” Tommy preens. “You wanna hold her?”

It takes a moment for Ellie to realize he’s talking to her.

She hesitates until Joel gently nudges her forward. “Go ahead, kiddo.”

She’d held babies at the orphanage, but never one so new. She’s nervous as Tommy places the baby in her arms.

“Hold her head, just like that; neck’s a li’l floppy.”

She does, cradling her with one hand on her bottom and the other supporting her neck. The solid weight and warmth of her against her chest is soothing. The baby seems to melt into her, settling with a stretch and a sigh under Ellie’s chin.

“What’s her name?” she whispers, absently stroking the back of her head the way Joel sometimes does with her.

“Isabel,” Maria says. “Isabel Sofia.”

“Hi, Isabel,” she whispers against the girl’s curly brown head. “I’m Ellie.”

“S’your cousin, baby girl,” Tommy says, touching Isabel’s back, and the word falls around Ellie’s shoulders like a shirt that doesn’t quite fit. The baby gives a tiny, sleepy grunt, and a new feeling swells and burns bright as a comet in Ellie’s chest.

Joel leans in the door frame, arms folded, expression unreadable in the low light. He hasn’t said much, just a few murmured words to Maria asking how she’s feeling, offering to help while she’s recovering. All the while he’s watching Ellie and the baby with wan hesitation. She looks over at him, grinning.

“She’s all wrinkly…just like Uncle Joel.”

Tommy doesn’t even try to suppress a snort of laughter. Even Maria is hiding a smile behind her hand.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Joel grumbles. “You see how you look when that one’s fifteen an’ turnin’ your hair gray with her sass.”

“Dude, you were old waaaay before you met me. Like a fuckin’ dinosaur.”

“At least half these grays have your name on ‘em, kid.”

“Bullshit,” she says easily, but she’s already lost interest, too busy examining the little hand that has escaped the swaddling blanket. “Whoa. She’s so tiny. Joel, come see!”

“I saw, kiddo. She’s, uh…she’s real pretty.”

“Gets that from her mama too,” Tommy says, and Maria rolls her eyes.

“Thomas Miller, save your flattery for when I’m not wearing a goddamn diaper.”

“Never looked more beautiful, baby.”

“Your parents are gross,” Ellie whispers to Isabel; the baby sleeps on, unconcerned.

When the conversation wanes, she looks up to find Joel still eyeing them. 

“You gonna hold her or what?” she asks.

He winces, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to say no. Then he ducks his head in a nod.

“Alright. Give her here.”

He scoops up the baby with practiced ease and tucks her against his chest. There’s no awkward fumbling, none of his former hesitance. He sways on his feet, looking down at the little girl, whispering something Ellie can’t make out. He smiles then, a sad but inescapable thing, and she feels that stone in her stomach grow and grow, all their earlier light-hearted teasing forgotten.

She watches his hands, big enough to span the baby’s back, rubbing in slow circles, and she realizes she was wrong. Those hands had been broken and bloodied for her, they’d killed for her, but they were made for this.

When the grown-ups start talking about Maria’s maternity plans and patrol schedules and how the council will get by for a few weeks without her, she slips out of the room and goes downstairs.

She wants to run. She wants to curl up on the couch and sleep. She wants Joel to hold her like he did earlier, palm to the back of her head so she can hide from the world.

It’s too much; the phantom weight of the baby on her chest and the comet within, your cousin , the smile on Joel’s face even as he looked like he wanted to cry. Isabel was barely two hours old and she’d already embedded herself in their family, slotted into place like a missing puzzle piece. It’s not jealousy–it’s not–but the thought of Joel’s hands on the little girl’s back fills her with a yearning she doesn’t have words for.

She finds herself standing at the mantle.

Sarah, 7/20/89 - 9/27/03

Kevin, 4/3/00 - 9/29/03

Without thinking, Ellie grabs a match from the box on the hearth and lights it, touching the head to Sarah’s candle, then to Kevin’s before blowing it out and tossing the blackened remnant in the fireplace. She watches the twin flames flicker and burn like the candle on her birthday cake. It is a birthday, after all. They should be part of it, too.

Then, a shining reflection out of the corner of her eye. She turns toward it, watches as the polished glass of the picture frame reflects the dancing fire.

She’s been over every inch of this room; every weekly family dinner with the Millers ends with Maria and Tommy on the couch and Joel in the chair and Ellie browsing the bookshelves while they talk. She’s cataloged every memento and salvaged family photo because there are so few.

But she’s never seen this one before. She definitely would have remembered it.

It’s Joel–a young Joel, no gray in his hair, fewer wrinkles around his eyes, god she almost doesn’t recognize him he’s so fucking light . His hip is cocked, a grin so bright it’s blinding, one arm slung around a young girl’s shoulders. She’s making a goofy face, throwing a peace sign, braces flashing in the sun, soccer ball at her feet.

There’s no doubt who she’s looking at. The love in Joel’s expression gives it away.

Sarah.

She gets it now; the pain on his face, the hesitation. Sarah would have looked a lot like the little girl upstairs.

Joel’s familiar steps on the stairs, the warmth of him at her back.

“Oh.” It’s less a word and more a sharp, punched-out breath.

She hunches a little, looking up at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I just…it was right there, I didn’t–“

“S’alright,” he murmurs, resting a hand on the nape of her neck in reassurance. “I just…wasn’t expectin’ it is all. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she whispers.

He takes the photo from her hands, examining it. “Yeah. That’s…that’s Sarah. Soccer tournament in ‘02, think it was.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Tommy went back to Austin a couple years ago, I guess. Found it at the old house. Said there wasn’t much left, but this one was in a drawer or somethin’. Showed it to me when we got here, but I told him…told him to keep it. Couldn’t…didn’t think I could, uh…have her around,” he whispers thickly, brow furrowed.

A sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he hands the picture back. “S’a good one, though. We can put it up at the house if you want. Think I’d…think I could be alright with that…now.”

He notices the candles on the mantle then. “You, uh…you light these?”

“Seemed like the thing to do.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s…that’s good.”

She shrugs, staring at the photo again, studying it like an archaeologist looking for meaning in the rubble.

“I’d never seen her before,” she says carefully, chewing at her lower lip. “She doesn’t look like you.”

“Yeah…got that a lot,” he chuckles. “Got her mama’s looks and my attitude. An’ let me tell you, arguin’ with a miniature version of yourself all day ain’t as fun as it sounds.”

She pictures a pocket-sized Joel with a chipmunk voice yelling up at her and almost cracks a smile.

“Was a lot like you that way,” he continues. “Too smart for her own damn good and no filter on that mouth.”

He nudges her, quietly letting her know he’s teasing.

“She was all mine, though,” he murmurs. “Through an’ through.”

Mine .

The word sends another pang of longing through her, so strong she shudders. He must pick up on it, because he squeezes her shoulder gently, shaking it a little.

“Hey. That goes for you, too.”

She doesn’t have a response for that. She’s been reduced to the weight of the frame in her hand, the lump in her throat, the comet in her chest, the stone in her stomach.

She goes easily when he puts an arm around her and pulls her into his side, warm and safe and slotted into place like a missing puzzle piece, a mirror image of the photo she holds in her hand.

[oneatlatime]

The Earth King

As always, commentary off.

No. Sokka. No. Stop. This is your stupidest idea yet. I want to LEAVE Ba Sing Se.

Sokka. Listen to your sister. And your other sister.

Toph embodying my will manifested on screen.

What makes you think the Earth King is going to listen to four teens and their fluffy dog? When I put it that way, this is Scooby Doo. Scooby Doo plus Momo. Does that make Momo Scrappy Doo?

We're going back to Ba Sing Se. Great. Yay. I'm so excited.

It is rapidly becoming apparent that Sokka has lost his mind.

Surface to air rocks is funny. I'll give it to them, that's good.

This fight scene music is fantastic.

Aang took a level in badass at some point without my noticing.

I know these hats are inspired by real historical hats, and so I really shouldn't make fun, but these look like the lovechild of a toilet brush and a feather duster.

This fight is majority Toph and Katara. RIP the egos of these several hundred Earth Kingdom soldiers.

Please ensure your fluffy little butt is securely stored in the overhead bins before takeoff.

There's no way these guys are still alive. This is what was done to Jet, doubled. They dead.

The girl who doesn't even want to be here is doing all the work. Typical.

My congratulations to Toph, Katara, and Aang for demolishing an army without breaking a sweat. If only season 1 Katara could see you guys now.

I said in my previous write up that Zuko doing something good always comes back to bite him. I didn't mean it this literally. Did he have to take the jug out with him, or was that for the drama?

Good job guys!

Soka steals my job and points out the fulfillment of the Beat Up Sokka quota.

His earthiness has an interesting set of priorities.

So... is this episode just going to be talking?

He brainwashed your friend? Did you miss that he killed him too?

I said in my last write up that Long Feng was Avatar's first competent villain, but the tone he takes with the Earth King is so unsubtle that I'm thinking of rescinding that claim. Unless the King is so dumb that subtlety isn't required?

Toothprints. Sokka the idea guy coming in clutch. Too bad his brain wasn't engaged at the start of the episode.

Appa is a herbivore. Confirmed. Although he should have fangs for aesthetic reasons. Fanged Appa would be metal.

This king is a confusing mixture of endearing and infuriating.

No mere fever will prevent me from doing mundane actions in the most dramatic way possible!

Way back in the 90s there was a print ad for Chevy trucks that I remember seeing in magazines. It had a shirtless guy in jeans sitting on the bed of his truck in a field, pouring a bucket of water over himself. It was kind of at sunset and had a very late summer vibe. I had completely forgotten about it until I saw Zuko's bucket shenanigans in this scene, at which point I was abruptly -ABRUPTLY- reminded of how much time little me spent staring at that ad.

OH MY GOD. The King doesn't know about trains!!! BLASPHEMY.

Huh. So the King isn't stupid, he's just horrifically naive.

Positive attitude Sokka is kind of frightening. I do not like.

If I told this King that I had a bunch of puppies in my windowless van, he would totally fall for it. So much about the Earth Kingdom suddenly makes sense.

That one guard is having a doozy of a day.

Did the King just show a smidge of self-awareness? Wasn't expecting that.

Who is this? I have no idea who this is. I didn't realise how integral the scar was to the character's design. Give it back.

Yikes. A bunch of shmymbolism. I suck epically at decoding shmymbolism unless it's really spoon fed to me, so I'm not even going to try to understand this dream beyond 'poor guy has a really bad fever.'

Has anyone seen the Spencer Tracy movie Father of the Bride? There's a bit where he has a dream that the floor on the way to the altar does pretty much exactly this. Hungry floors must be a common dream experience.

Pretty.

If the King is really this completely ignorant of the war, who's been directing the army?

It's pretty neat that Sokka is the spokesperson of Team Avatar, and that no one disputes that.

Aang says "there's a comet coming this summer," but I heard "comic" and I know they made tie in comics for the show, so I was like "ooh a crossover episode!"

"You're already vulnerable. The Fire Nation won't stop until the Southern Water Tribe falls. You can either sit back and wait for that to happen, or take the offensive, and give yourself a fighting chance." -Sokka's dad speaking to the men of the Southern Water Tribe, while his son listens perhaps a bit too closely.

If the King really was completely in the dark about the war, how does he even know who the General is? Did Long Feng have the power to keep the General from mentioning the war?

"Your majesty I'm General How, head of the Council of Five." "What's that?" "It's in charge of your army." "Right. And what's the army up to these days?" ... " ...I planted a lovely tomato garden this year."

I love that earthbenders don't wear shoes, and that it's culturally normal. Makes an intriguing visual contrast to their fancy duds.

I have GOT to know what Mushi the teamaker's secret file says.

Toph can't read guys.

Sokka, Katara, I get it. You miss home too. But how would anyone at all from your tribe know to send a message for you to Ba Sing Se? Last time you all touched base, you were headed to the Northern Water Tribe. And those guys sent you off to Omashu, not Ba Sing Se.

Nitpick time! Katara starts reading the text of this letter out loud before she unrolls it.

Katara's voice acting while she's reading the letter is sweet. She's so excited.

Iroh. Priorities. Tea can wait.

"Huh? What's happening?" "You huffed a bit too much cave slime under Lake Laogai. Just ride it out."

This vase is lit like a main character.

"You're going through a metamorphosis my nephew." Iroh, he's a bit too old for that talk. Hang on I just realised that Zuko went through puberty on that ship. I bet that was rough.

I don't trust this. This news is all too good.

Aang referring to them all as "the family" hurts a little bit.

It is unbearably sweet to let Sokka go see their dad while Katara helps the Earth Kingdom plan, but Katara sucks at planning. Then again, the Earth Kingdom sucks in general, so maybe having a sucky planner will be a net improvement?

Either way it's good little sister content.

But there are six Kyoshi warriors. I counted in Appa's Lost Days.

Oh they didn't

Attack hug!

Airbender Zuko is a very effective jumpscare. Don't blame him for freaking out.

You know it's bad when finding the scar intact comes as a relief.

Nope. Don't trust it.

Fuck this guy.

Long Feng even eats rocks maliciously.

Fuck these guys.

Oh they did. Fuck these guys.

Final Thoughts

And just like that, it all went to shit. Or it will.

I was braced to be annoyed by how conveniently quickly the Earth King got with the program, but it actually fits well into the rest of the episode. Instead of a thing that goes improbably well, it's the one thing that goes right in episode filled with set up for everything falling apart. That bothers me less.

This episode was actually fun. At least until the end. It was mostly talking and Zuko on a bad trip. But it was win after win for everyone but my Ba Sing Se hating self, and it's always good to see your favourites having a good day. But! I have a glimmer of hope! So long as Sokka and Aang aren't completely written out until they return to Ba Sing Se, at some point I'll get some episodes outside of the city. And I have Appa back, so things aren't too bad in the grand scheme of things. I wonder that Appa wasn't upset at having all his people back for five minutes then having them split up again.

I do not like positive thinking Sokka, and I especially don't like that I have no idea where he came from. That point wasn't set up at all. I want my baby cynic back.

If letting Appa go was enough to trigger Zuko's morality crisis to the point of physical illness, why didn't letting Aang go in The Blue Spirit, or choosing to chase after Iroh rather than the Gaang in The Winter Solstice Part 1, cause a similar illness? What is different about this time?

Toph was once again the voice of reason in this episode, or rather my personal audience insert. Although it did surprise me how excited she was to see her mom. I thought that sending bounty hunters after their own daughter was kind of unforgivable, but either Toph doesn't know, or she's a more forgiving person than I am.

I realise now that this should have occurred to me when I watched Appa's Lost Days, but what idiot didn't take the Danger Ladies into custody when the Drill was stopped? btw I keep calling them the PowerPuff Girls in my head.

This episode was simultaneously a finale to a lot of threads and an introduction to a lot more. It was a chance to breathe between crossing the finish line of the 'find Appa' quest and starting the 'season finale' quest. It was also structured backwards. The big fight was like six minutes in. The 'what are we doing this episode?' was one of the last scenes. But it still works. I'll be interested to see what I think of this one when I rewatch it. It was such an info dump that I wonder if my opinion of it will be different once I watch it with all of the relevant facts known to me already. Either I'll appreciate the episode's other parts like the comedy, or I'll be bored. We'll see.

Two episodes left this season! I don't think I'll be getting to those before next year. See you all in 2024! (time needs to slow way down)