#either way it��s grody grody grody

[rhaegang]

for all the fluids in saltburn there are NO PISS FICS!!! WTF!!! i just know oliver has a piss kink i know it

Gonna talk about some saltboys and PISS under this cut.

I think piss gets a lot of Nopes because it’s a toileting activity / excretory.

But like — there are fewer bacteria in your piss than in your spit. It is sterile! Less grody than someone’s bath water.

If the piss isn’t happening anywhere near the toilet, it’s a pretty damn clean bodily function, all things considered.

Aside from that, there’s the sensory issues — smell & taste, mainly. It is absolutely not something most people consider pleasing for either of those senses.

Okay — BUT

Oliver is not most people. Oliver did fucking slurp that bath water. And why?? Because it was steeped in the essence of Felix. It had his sweat, his cum, his skin cells in it. To Oliver, that made it ambrosia.

Of fucking course he’d be down to drink Felix’s piss. It wouldn’t even need to be coming straight from the source. He’d drink it from a cup. He’d fucking do shots of it.

But if it was coming directly out of Felix? If Felix’s dick was right there, even just a peek of it through open jeans and an unbearably large hand, Oliver would be more than down.

And if the smell and the taste were terrible and made him feel sick, it wouldn’t even matter. Something disgusting becomes something devotional when done on one’s knees, he’d think. If he had to struggle to swallow, if he had to choke it down, he’d consider it even more of a victory when he did it. Mastering his own body like that so he could take Felix inside him in a way he’s sure no one else ever has — yeah. He’d be fucking crowing about it, to himself at least.

There’s everyone else, and they all love Felix. And then there’s Oliver, the one who loves Felix more than them.

So that’s all pretty focused on just ONE way to approach piss kink in this ship. We ain’t even started in on how it could play into degradation kink (Felix’s 😊) or D/s and denial.

Felix loves to feel like Oliver is all his. That’s obvious. And every so often, he needs Oliver to prove it. (Looking at you, Tennis Court Champagne.)

Imagine, if you will, the whole crew out at the pub the night after exams. They’re all still wearing their silly hats and boas and giant sunglasses etc. And they’re all getting just indescribably hammered.

And Oliver, squished into the booth, wall on one side and Felix on the other, elbows him a bit. Leans up to whisper shout in his ear that he’s gotta run to the loos. Of course he does! He’s had how many pints and liquor besides?

And Felix meets his eyes for just a moment, then gives the tiniest shrug — not my problem — before going back to his conversation like Oliver hadn’t said anything at all.

So Oliver tries again. But Felix won’t even acknowledge it.

And on and on, until finally, when the person sitting on Felix’s other side has just gotten up to go buy the next round, Felix looks at him.

And he says, “how about you just hold it, mate? last call’s in less than an hour. if you hold it, you can use the toilet in my room after.” (Of course he’s one of the privileged few with an en suite for his room.)

Oliver would be so unsure if he’d heard that right or not. What was Felix getting at, anyway? Why would he care if Oliver held it? Why would he think Oliver wanted to use *his* toilet?

So don’t you think he’d ask “but why not just let me up out the booth so I can go now?”

And don’t you think his eyes would be so, so wide, and go so, so dark, if Felix replied, “well, I’m not going to hold your dick for you in the pub toilets where just anyone could walk in, am I, Ollie?”

Yeah. I think that’s how it’d go. And I think Oliver would be white-knuckling the edge of that table in the pub, and crossing his big toes over the others inside his socks, and bouncing his knee, and dropping his head against that wall, suffering every second of the rest of that hour. And Felix, able to see all of it, would be fucking glowing.

Because Oliver is doing what Felix told him to do. And why would he do that? Because he is wholly Felix’s creature. No one else’s. No one else has that sort of hold on Oliver. No one else even knows just what Oliver is willing to do for him. How fucking devoted he is to Felix. It’s not the sort of shallow lip service Felix gets from most people. It’s something stranger, but realer.

And no. No, I don’t think Oliver manages to hold it all the way until they get to Felix’s room. I think, more likely, he grabs Felix’s arm when they’re nearly there, in a narrow walkway between buildings, and squeezes so hard Felix thinks it really truly may bruise.

And so Felix, already having been reassured of what he needed to know, says “take your cock out, Ollie,” (and damn, tequila makes for loose tongues, doesn’t it?), then spins him by the shoulder to face stone. He curls over Oliver’s shoulder so he can see what he’s doing, which is reaching around his hips to scoop Oliver’s soft dick up in his hand and give the head just the softest little squeeze with his thumb and forefinger.

Amazingly, despite how big his hand is, Oliver fills it much better than Felix expected. But Oliver’s just standing there, trembling. Missing the point, as usual.

So Felix has to remind him, “Isn’t there something you’ve been wanting?”

And Oliver, well. That’s a loaded fucking question, in his mind. But he grabs Felix’s forearm with both of his hands. He leans back into Felix’s chest. And enveloped there in a tiny world that’s fully defined by the shape of Felix, Oliver can let go. Can surrender to the neediest, messiest side of himself.

It would definitely be loud as fuck when Oliver’s piss hits the wall. And once he starts, he’d be so relieved, he’d have to moan.

Don’t you think so? Don’t you think that as Oliver’s inhaling the scent of cigarettes and cologne and tequila breath and his own concentrated piss, and above all the scent of Felix, he’s moaning like a highly paid whore? He’s pulling a stupid fucking face, and he hears Felix chuckle, but it just feels so, so, so good to let go.

Yeah. “Yeah, bet that feels so good, doesn’t it, mate?”

A little sob of agreement.

“And aren’t you terribly glad I didn’t let you out of that booth? It wouldn’t have felt nearly this nice, obviously.”

No response aside from a shudder and the sound of the stream slowing to a drip.

And since Felix is SUCH a good friend, he’s definitely going to give Oliver’s dick a shake or three (or six) before stuffing it back into Oliver’s boxers for him.

See???

There’s so, sooooo many opportunities for cattonquick & piss to work.

Anon — If you think this post might convince others to see the light, feel free to share it. 😇

[unlimitedhearts]

Shopping for a therapist is not unlike shopping for jeans.

Finding the right one is overwhelming and arduous

Every fucking pair of jeans feels like they're trying to sell u on why they're the best jeans ever and all the other jeans are grody and narsty and they make ur butt look too [insecurity here]

If u pick wrong ur just uncomfortable and annoyed that u have to even wear these

Bc the return process is difficult and it's easier to just deal with it instead of arguing over refund vs store credit

And like. Either way you're still wearing jeans and if u maybe lose/gain weight or ur skin changes and they stop fucking ITCHING u could maybe fit into them

But picking a bad pair of jeans will literally ruin ur life and you will go out of your way to do everything in ur power to never wear fucking jeans again

If YOU EVEN S E E denim it's fucking OVER

But finding the right pair?

That holy Grail of jeans that does everything right?

It fits u, it's stretchy but not too much, snug enough u don't need a belt, your ass looks GREAT at any angle and they look good with EVERYTHING YOU OWN.

There's pOCKETS. Deep enough to hold your entire hand - no stitch pockies here no SIR

Ur legs look long and theyre the perfect colour.

It's the perfect pair

Too bad it's $800,000,000 dollars

And the store doesn't accept your insurance I mean credit card

[knowlesian]

stede and ed and communication and e8 breaks my fucking heart, the short version.

so: from stede’s end, he’s in an ever-more wildly spinning nightmare. he woke up to chaos and his shit getting blown up, jack is an ASSHOLE, he’s monopolizing all ed’s attention and ed is going along with it as well as not picking up on the array of hint flares stede throws at him and then understanding what they mean and reacting accordingly, the crew keeps siding with the frat pirate from hell, the pained smiles he starts throwing out this episode pain me— this sucks for him. this suuuuucks.

but from ed’s end, his bro from back in the day just rolled up and he’s excited to try and merge his old life and his new one. shades of jim and nana, but calico jack is no nana. he’s not factoring izzy’s fucking insane embrace of a bootlicking plan into things, so he thinks stede and jack are giving each other a shot, not that stede is trying his damnedest despite poor communication to give jack a chance and jack is just here to fuck shit up for eeeeeveryone. 

(because if nothing was Afoot, ed would probably be right! i get the sense jack would just say ‘fuck your nerd fetish, no chances shall i give ed this guy is weeeeeeeiiiiiird and super gay as in uncool, now let’s stab shit or fuck, unlike izzy i am a gross toxic pirate who actually fucks’ if he wasn’t here to be the world’s most arrested development flavored honeytrap. jack using tactics from stede’s world while wearing the aesthetic of ed’s world: veeeeery narratively cool.)

anyway. stede and ed both have no idea what’s actually going on there, re: The Plan, but here’s where things get really interesting— i think if two very small moments of communication go better, jack can’t work his grody magic and the episode unfolds very much another way.

moment one: when ed comes to check in with the... admittedly seemingly somewhat obvious if you think about stede for point five seconds ‘hey, should we like... not blow up your stuff???’ question. ed’s ready to hear he fucked up, he’s not going to take it hard or be mad at stede. he introduces the idea and assumes yeah: shit. look at him. i fucked up.

and then stede, having been trained in the ways of Never Being A Bother (OR FUCKIN ELSE) is like no! i love it when people blow up my things! this was something i would have done anyway.

he is obviously not telling the truth, ed is like ...well. that seems untrue but you said it, so... okay? either i believe this or you’re lying to me in a way i need to be wary of, because three episodes ago you explained passive-aggression to me and i don’t see it as a social nicety as well as a weapon, i’m only seeing it as a mode of attack.

which: in a way, this helps shove ed harder at jack. stede thinks he’s making this easier on them both by not acknowledging that YEAH, ed, that’s not cool? i AM annoyed? because honestly, if you’d been thinking about my feelings at all when you did it, this conversation would not even be happening. what actually happens is that now ed is aware stede’s unhappy but cannot be entirely sure why. that sets him off-balance again in a way they had been working past since e7′s breakthrough, fuuuuck i love this team.

so. if stede says there, because ed clearly is ready to hear it: yeah, you fucked up, that changes how ed approaches the situation going forward in terms of not just diving headlong into the thrill of seeing an old buddy and falling back into your old patterns together.

second moment: the breakfast table. if stede says in that moment something along the lines of ‘sure, jack can eat with us! why don’t we grab another plate. i don’t mind waiting to start until he has some food, too’, the gameboard switches up again. 

one moment of setting a gentle boundary and reminding ed that understandable nostalgic impulses aside, stede does not like being left out and is having a particularly rough time with this version of it, and jack’s shit loses power.

because ed doesn’t want to hurt stede. not even a little. he wants to have fun with jack, and i imagine is telling himself that if stede and jack can get along, this means stede can accept him but maybe even more: that ed can accept these changes in himself. (since izzy, the other avatar of ed’s past, was like literally the fuck i hate this man more than i’ve ever hated anyone and edward. edward. i RUN ON THAT SHIT.)

ed’s pushing on this so hard and needs it to work for reasons that are all about his own internal process, stede’s holding back for the exact same internal reasons, it’s all understandable.

and if two itttttty bitty moments go slightly different: nigh on entirely avoidable.

[birbleafs]

[fic] It’s A Matter Of (In)Convenience

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Toritsuka Reita, Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Nendou Riki, Yumehara Chiyo, Teruhashi Kokomi Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Saiki Kusuo’s plan for a quiet Sunday spent shopping for desserts in an ordinary konbini is thrown into disarray when he runs into several… inconveniences, much to his dismay. A/N: I've been re-reading/re-watching Saiki K. during this quarantine period and I haven't laughed this hard since I was into Gintama. This series has given me so much ridiculous joy, it’s great for helping keep anxiety and existential despair at bay lol. Fic can also be read on AO3

_______

Saiki Kusuo could not say he dislikes commuting by public train but he’s not particularly a fan of it either. After all, it’s exceedingly more troublesome and vexing for someone like him, encumbered with psychic abilities beyond human comprehension. He’s unable to switch off his telepathy at will, so it’s no small feat being stuck in a packed cabin and trying to filter out the cacophonous thoughts of fifty-odd passengers buzzing incessantly in his mind throughout the long ride to the next town. Distance isn’t an issue today, however. Not that it had ever been an issue, mind you—he could teleport to almost any location he so wished. But Kusuo had long since mastered inconspicuousness into an art form, and teleporting to his destination and appearing seemingly out of thin air in the middle of a packed convenience store was sure to draw unwanted attention to himself. No, it’s not worth the risk, even for such a coveted goal at the end of his journey. Besides, Kusuo is a man of principle, one who does not easily succumb to using his powers for self-interest. He will do this the ordinary, pedestrian way.

In any case, travelling out of Hidariwakibara-chō to neighbouring Tonari Machi on a random Sunday morning would also mean the chances of him running into certain... inconveniences are very nearly zero. Forty-five minutes and twelve stops later, Kusuo beams in quiet triumph as he walks past the automatic sliding doors and into the aforementioned convenience store, barely registering the musical jiggle over the speakers. He steps through the sparse crowd, pausing midway through the snack and desserts aisle when he finally catches sight of the neat row of orange boxes with silver trimmings on the top shelf. Kusuo allows himself a tiny grin as he reaches for a box, eyes bright with anticipation as he gazes upon its wondrous contents—three cups of chocolate brownie and cherry parfait, infused with coffee jelly and topped with dollops of luscious cream and cinnamon sprinkles. A simple but unmatched delicacy right here in this nondescript konbini, he thinks, savouring the glorious moment a little longer. Still, as fate would have it, he would be reminded in less than ten seconds that his life is but an unfortunate series of daily disasters, and his current reprieve short-lived. And it comes in the form of a young woman who had waltzed through the crowd and is now latching onto his arm with garishly pink manicured nails, her wavy blonde hair already casting a dark cloud over Kusuo’s face. Aiura Mikoto, resident soothsayer and trendsetter gal. Inconvenience No. 1. Ah. So it begins. “Wassup, Kusuo!” Aiura chirps a little too brightly. Already two or three mob characters in the konbini are throwing scandalized looks their way, but to Aiura they’re nothing but background scenery and lazily drawn silhouettes. “Who woulda thunk we’d meet here like this? It must totes be our destiny as soul mates, fer sure!” Isn’t it more because someone is totes a stalker? Kusuo deadpans telepathically her way, even as he makes no real attempt to avoid Aiura’s smothering embrace. Instead, he fixes her with a stare as blank as stone canvas. This is an invasion of privacy. Also, what’s with the meta observation in the previous paragraph? Stop messing with the readers like that. “Man, you sure are a ray of sunshine sometimes,” Aiura pouts, before she breaks into a giggle and relents. She unlatches herself from him, putting some distance between them. “Anyway, can’t your BFF like, just accidentally bump into you while shopping for the same box of snacks you no doubt travelled all the way out here for?” So you admit you really are a stalker then, Kusuo counters drily, only to frown again at the sudden creeping presence of another aura. He feels the weight of another arm draping carelessly over his shoulder, followed by the brusque yapping of an over-eager and desperate hot-blooded young male in his ears. “Yooo, Saiki-san! What a coincidence!” Toritsuka Reita, the spirit medium and an exemplary specimen of the most depraved life-form, the lecherous scum. Also known as Inconvenience No. 2. Saiki Kusuo, a man most unfortunate, lets out a weary sigh. “I see you’ve got that accusatory glare painted all over your face.” Toritsuka wags an annoying finger before Kusuo. “Now, now. Before you also accuse me of stalking, Mister Doom and Gloom, let me just say that I’m only here for one thing.” He flicks a furtive glance towards a discreet corner of the magazine section. The shelves are filled with magazines wrapped in plastic, large R-18 stickers plastered across the covers and over the spines much like indecent warning signs. Toritsuka dabs towards the third shelf, waving a mini poster at both Kusuo and Aiura, and this sentence then abruptly proceeds to describe the close-up of said poster—a particularly titillating centre spread featuring a curvaceous model’s skimpily clad... assets. “Surely there’s no better reason to be here now than for the special compilation of EROmag’s Greatest Upskirts And Panty-shots Of The Month!” Toritsuka exclaims, echoing the thoughts of all resident perverts. “Ugh, grody to the max,” Aiura says, lips curled in utter revulsion. For once, the stars are aligned and Kusuo finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with her sentiment. Before he can get a retort in edgewise however, he’s unceremoniously tugged closer into Toritsuka’s one-armed embrace, who then proceeds to thump a hand over Kusuo’s chest in a grand show of obnoxious male posturing and solidarity. “You women will never understand,” Toritsuka counters with an ingratiating smirk. “But Saiki-san and I, we’re bosom buddies, connoisseurs of refined aesthetics. Together, we’ll finally gaze upon those heavenly lace panti—A-ACKK!!” He hacks up a lung just as Kusuo nonchalantly drives a sharp elbow right into his solar plexus, causing him to stagger backwards onto the floor. Bosom buddies? Kusuo echoes ominously, glaring daggers at the pathetic writhing form before him. Pretty sure that ridiculous thump you just pulled is both an outrage and insult of my modesty. Hey, can I call the police? I’m calling the police. Aiura nods at that, lips curved into a Cheshire grin and looking extremely pleased with herself as though she’s the one to suggest calling the cops. “Delusional sleazebags should just crawl back into the garbage bin where they belong. Like the skeevy trash panda that they are, right Kusuo?” “Who are you calling delusional, huh?!” Toritsuka snaps, jumping back to his feet. “I’ll have you know that Saiki-san and I have been nothing but the most loyal, the tightest of all bosom buddies—” Refer to me as your bosom buddy again and I’ll crush your windpipe, Kusuo interjects without missing a beat, and the EROmag poster in Toritsuka’s hand spontaneously combusts into flames. “Argh, not the panties!!” Toritsuka yelps, watching in despair as the poster shrivels up in the blaze, only to catch sight of the eerie, voidless depths of Kusuo’s inscrutable gaze. The spirit medium pales at the split-second reminder of his fleeting mortality, sweat dripping down his nape as he carefully backs away from the precarious jaws of death. “B-B-Bros! I-I meant that we’re the best kind of bro-some buddies, ahahaha! T-That is to say, brotherly and wholesome—R-right, Saiki-san? So don’t get all conceited just because you’ve got big knockers, Tits McGee!!” “Pfft, brotherly and wholesome? As if!” Aiura scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re about as wholesome as your d*ck aura and a college frat boy’s porno stash. Just admit you ain’t nothing but a tiresome anime trope!” “Look who’s talking, Miss Fanservice. This is a wholesome shounen series, so how about you take those bazongas back to Hooters where they belong!” “Haaah? You looking for a fight, you raunchy racoon?!” “Bring it on then!” Kusuo scowls at the petty squabbling, exasperated at how easily his quiet Sunday was already going awry, much like the metaphorical train wreck poised for a manic spiral off its rails. He decides to take his leave then from the two inconveniences bickering loudly, making his way towards the self-checkout station near the entrance. He pays for his items, stealthily packing them away with a subtle flick of his psychokinesis, and is only a few paces away from complete freedom at last when the generic musical jingle blares from the speakers overhead. “♪~Welcome to F☆mily Mart Konbini, We Guarantee 99.9% Shopping Satisfaction! It’s A Matter of Convenience~! ♪” Kusuo frowns at the jingle. Why is it only 99.9% satisfaction? And really, a matter of convenience? Not when he’d already run into two inconveniences in a row and all in a convenience store. Is God conspiring with the universe and pulling a sick prank on him right now? What a horrible sense of humour. The automatic doors at the entrance slide wide open then, and in saunter three terribly familiar faces—Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, and Nendou Riki. Inconvenience No. 3, No. 4, and No. 5 respectively. “What did I tell you, Aren? Not only did we manage to beat traffic, but this unexpected change in my Sunday routine would’ve thrown a wrench into Dark Reunion’s plans of attempted kidnapping. Too bad I, The Jet-Black Wing, am always several steps ahead. Heh.” “Uhmm, yeah I guess… Hey, Shun, look! There isn’t a queue for the limited edition Ginta-Man figurine raffle tickets here at all. Good thing you insisted we meet at the crack of dawn—Tch, Nendou, don’t dawdle around and block the entrance like that! What’re you looking at anyway?” “Oh? I thought I saw my pal just a few seconds ago...” “Huh, Saiki’s here too-?! Oh, you mean that. Don’t be daft, Nendou, that’s just a cardboard cut-out of that kiddie hero show, Cyborg Cider-man Mark II.” Seriously?? Kusuo curses irritably as he dives inconspicuously out of sight from the passing trio, right into the bath and shampoo aisle. It’s just been a series of inconveniences one after another this morning, the metaphorical train wreck already hurtling itself past the edge of no return. Good grief, what a pain. May as well have the rest of the cast show up next— Another cheesy musical jingle, another swoosh of the sliding doors, and— “Waahh, it’s really you, Kaidou-kun!” “Hello, what a nice surprise to run into everyone here.” “Oh, hey there, Yumehara and... Offu~! T-T-Teruhashi-san?!” Saiki Kusuo, ever the suffering protagonist, drags a hand over his face. See? God hates him. Two aisles over, he can still hear Aiura and Toritsuka’s voices drifting over: “Man, I’m sick of looking at your pervy mug. C’mon, Kusuo, let’s ditch this loser—Huh, where did you run off to, Kusuo?!” “Your petty squawking has given us all an earache and must’ve driven Saiki-san off as well!” Oi, oi, Kusuo flinches inwardly, seized by a helpless fear of watching his quiet Sunday careening off the cliff and further away from his grasp. Quit yelling out my name like that and throwing me to the wolves already! Too late. At the mention of Kusuo’s name, Nendou cranes his neck 270 degrees Exorcist-style like a hideously monstrous owl and rushes over to Toritsuka’s side. “Oh! Did you just say my pal is here?!” he exclaims happily, shaking Toritsuka by the shoulders like a dog shaking an unfortunate chew toy. “I knew I’d seen him when we walked in earlier!” Not to be outdone by Nendou, Teruhashi also leaps forward before Aiura with none of her previous composure, her unblemished, porcelain visage now dusted with a hint of rose, a conflicted mix of perplexity and (envious) shock pooling in her angelic eyes. “D-Did you say ‘Saiki’?! H-Hey, Aiura-san, you did say ‘Saiki’ and not actually ‘Kusuo’, right? M-My, I must have misheard things, right? R-Right?!” “What the heck is going on? Is Saiki really here?” Anxious, Kusuo grits his teeth at the growing clamour as his friends converge from all corners of the store towards the aisle where he’d been forced to hide. Guess there’s no avoiding it after all, he frets despairingly, and in less than a nanosecond, teleports unnoticed from the konbini to an empty street outside. Kusuo sighs, relieved to have finally escaped. Minor inconveniences aside, perhaps a quiet Sunday spent savouring chocolate brownie and cherry parfait in the comfort of his home isn’t beyond his reach yet. What? Didn’t he just use his powers for self-interest to teleport out of a sticky situation? Foolish readers, that was for self-preservation and completely acceptable, of course. He holds his shopping bag close, pleased that he’d managed to avoid a disaster, and begins to walk down the street—only to freeze mid-step when he feels a sudden splitting headache jolt through him… A flash of images appears: Aiura and Toritsuka crouching in fear together, Kuboyasu bracing his bleeding arm, Kaidou screaming shrilly as he shields Yumehara and Teruhashi from a masked man brandishing a gun, Nendou digging his nose with his pinky—That’s just disgusting, no one wants to see that, stop it!! The vision finally ends, and Kusuo lifts a hand to his face, massaging his temple to clear the precognitive fog from his mind. An armed robbery, huh. He lets out another resigned sigh. Good grief—What a pain, Saiki ‘I-don’t-(but I actually really do)-care-about-my-friends’ Kusuo mutters internally in annoyance, even as he yeets himself head-first into other people’s business and right back into the convenience store to stop a future robbery. Still he smiles, eyes soft with perhaps the slightest flicker of affection for this dysfunctional bunch of people in his disastrous life. Someone has to protect them and save the day, after all.

  –End–

[apex-academy]

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#22)

We finally make it to the morning meeting, in which nothing happens. I missed the omelette train, so in lieu of asking Yuki to make me one anyway, I just have some fruit and toast. The usual, I guess. Hard to call anything here “usual” at this point.

Don’t feel like any more social time this morning. Sitting by myself gets me a few looks, but no one tries to drag me away. That’s nice.

No one comes to blows over breakfast, and then I have the morning to myself. Don’t know what to do. Between nearly murdering a guy and watching the others tear themselves apart, I just... don’t want to bother. Don’t have the energy. Have to wonder if anyone has slept well since this whole thing started.

I end up reading a book in my room. Peaceful enough, even if I’m barely concentrating. I could go play pool, but then I might run into someone on the way. Let’s not right now. Just... not right now.

Unfortunately, I don’t always get a choice in the matter.

“U-um, hello? Hello, everyone! I, um, have an important announcement to make, so if everyone could please come meet me in the gym...!”

“...”

Maybe he’s announcing that he’s tired of this game so he’s letting us go free? Ha. No. Guess it’s about time again.

I let out a deep breath and start over there.

Apparently I was the closest to the gym, because I make it here first. Or was my TV the only one that went off? No, that wouldn’t make sense.

I’m not alone for long.

“Oh, Kakumi... Hello...”

“Hey.”

I’m not sure what small talk I’m supposed to make in this situation, but I’m spared by the doors opening again.

“Good morning, you guys!!”

“Is it not after noon now?”

“It feels like a morning, sooooo!”

Sure, that makes sense.

Kanagi comes in wheeling Aidan, and Tsunyasha strides in a bit after that. 

“Is Kaichi coming...?”

“He doesn’t exactly have a choice. I don’t suppose anyone crossed paths with him on the way here?”

“Not I.”

“You don’t think something happened, do you...?”

“What, like he fell over?” 

“Ooh, or the elevator broke?!”

“It is Riseiin. He doesn’t know where the gym is most of the time, correct?”

“Tru.”

I should probably be more worried. Guess I’m too burned out. Or maybe it’s the fact that Monochap hasn’t made his entrance yet, either. Not as dramatic if somebody else walks in after you. 

A few moments later, the hallway door opens.

“Howzit?”

“Oh, good...”

“That’s everyone accounted for, then.”

I glance from face to face but try not to think too hard. Everyone. This is everyone who’s left, huh?

“.......”

I don’t get much time to dwell on it before a familiar dull grating fills the air.

“Oh, oh—!” 

With his least graceful entrance yet, Monochap clangs up onto the stage. We’re nearly hexed with whatever he might have on under that skirt, but thankfully he doesn’t fall down that hard.

“Ehe, whoops!”

“Grody.”

“I-I’m not...”

He sniffles before shaking it off.

“A-anyway! I have a big announcement to make! Is everyone ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I’m sure.”

“Do get this jest over with as quickly as possible. I’ve other matters to attend to.”

“This is important, though...! To you, too!”

“Do not deign to tell me what is and is not important, whelp. A creature like you knows nothing of the holy.”

“Can w’ just let ‘r talk?”

“Y-you mean me, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Okay! So, um... it’s time for another motive!” 

I wish I could find another word for it, but I can’t—Ichiriki squees.

“Oh, I hope it’s a good one!”

“Please stop interrupting!”

“Hmm... I think it’s a good one?”

“I hope you all feel the same way...!”

“So! Um, it’s a little unusual this time! Instead of something that starts right away, or a prize you’ll get after you murder someone...”

“...this motive has a time limit.”

“Time limit...?”

I assume he means something different from, you know, however much time it would have taken to die from oxygen poisoning.

“That’s right! You have five days, starting today. If no one is killed before nighttime on day five...”

“...all of you will have your loved ones back home executed.”

“Huh? Like... killed?!”

“That is typically what ‘executed’ means, yes.”

“That’s right! We’ve picked out a few friends and family members for all of you—”

“—well, for everyone who has more than one...”

“—and those people will provide your motive! If no one here kills by the time limit, they will all die by the next morning.”

“You—”

“You can’t do that!”

“That’s right!”

“Killing that many people in the outside world would draw far too much notice.”

“If you truly have no intention of letting us leave this building without following your rules, then you can’t afford that kind of risk! Even if that many people only happen to ‘disappear,’ anyone with two brain cells to rub together will be able to figure out the incident is related to this academy!”

“But he’s kinda kept us here, right?”

“And we’re all connected to the academy, too!”

“Yeah, but ‘s normal for Apex Academy kids t’ cut off social media ‘n stuff for a while, yeah?”

“All ‘f their friends ‘n family, not s’ much.”

“Then... he really can’t do it, right...?”

“Wh-what do you mean?! Of course I can do it...!”

“Then you fully plan to self-destruct your entire operation for a single motive?”

“And surely leave those little ‘leads’ behind, hmm?”

“Whatever assassins you intend to send could never be as skilled and efficient as myself.”

“But I really mean it...!”

“And you, like, meant the money stuff, too, I guess, but we totally never saw that, either.”

“What do you mean? I-I had the briefcase the whole time...!”

“Really not the same.”

“......”

“I-I can double-check, but... It’s for real! Really!”

“You do have some time to get used to the idea, at least...”

“And come up with a good plan!”

“So, um, good luck...!”

He hurries back to the trapdoor like we’d never contradicted him at all, and then he’s gone. 

“...” 

"..."

Aidan, shockingly, is the first to speak up.

“Everyone please remain calm!”

“As we’ve already made clear, this is the most obvious bluff yet. Don’t fall for it. We’ll use the time we’ve been given to continue working on our own way out of here.”

“Please be sure to attend our morning meetings! I’ll have more to say then!”

“Like, of course you will.”

“So... don’t panic, right...? Because it’s fake?”

“Right.”

Would the young master really do such a thing? After all this, I can’t doubt they have the resources, but... We’ve made a good point. Maybe you could hold one class hostage at a reclusive academy for a while and get away with it, but mass murdering that many people, overnight no less? There’s no way.

But is the mastermind crazy enough to try it anyway? I still don’t know what they want, so it’s hard to be sure of anything.

Mom... Dad... Saki... Who else? Could they really...

I don’t get the chance to finish the thought.

“Yooooooo!” Kanagi waves her arms around to get our attention.

“Since we’re already in the gym, anybody wanna shoot hoops?”

“As if I would fraternize with your ilk.”

“Weren’t you part of her betting group...?”

“That’s hardly the same.”

“I could do Horse ‘r something, ‘f that’s cool.”

“Works for me! Kakumi?”

“I... I guess?” This is such a whiplash my brain can’t keep up.

“Iggy! You in?”

“..........”

“Mahavir...?”

“I... No, I...”

“I-I don’t feel well. Excuse me...!”

“Mis—”

Mahavir’s already out the door.

“The burned one is contemplating his attack already? My, my. I suppose I should have expected as much.”

“He’s doing no such thing!”

“I’ll go catch up with him. Ah... Miss Kurokame? If you could get the door?”

“Oh... Okay.”

I watch him go and keep staring at the doors long after they’ve shut. Some of the others are chattering behind me, but I can’t focus on the words.

Mahavir... Surely he’s not already...

“............”

Maybe he really isn’t feeling well. He is injured. And if not...

I’ll leave it to the others for now. I’m off damage control for the time being.

Might be dangerous to keep that up at this point, but... I have to look out for myself, too.

My thoughts are interrupted by the ringing thump of a basketball dribble.

“All right! We ready to go, dudes?!”

Right. Apparently looking out for myself starts with playing Horse. For some reason.

“Sure.”

[BACK] [NEXT]

[starrysamu]

QUEENS GAMBIT,,, spare thoughts on beth and benny ? 🥺

YEAAAH i got thoughts and all i’ll hand them to u at any moment!!!! queen’s gambit spoilers ahead ->

BUT. okay when i first saw benny, i was like what the hell did they do to newt from maze runner bc 16 year old me was soooo in love w that skinny white boy. i cannot get down w whatever p/rnstache thing he’s got going on

anyways i think when we first saw the prospect of them hooking up, i was like i knew this was coming and THEN he totally played it cautious w her. and like truth be told, i don’t know if it’s because he cares that much more for the game or for her (i think it’s both) or if he just didn’t like her at the moment. i thought this whole thing with cleo was a little stilted and like i can see why adding her would maybe put ... a block in the way of benny and beth getting together, but when you’ve got benny sort of closed off and beth sort of still holding onto feelings for someone else, you’re bound to only get so far

that being said, them hooking up was NOT a surprise. i think it’s very radical of the writers to introduce the idea of an unmarried woman and man living together in that time period and honestly for them to go that long without hooking up is not shocking but ... just interesting. i can appreciate that she had a first good time with him too, instead of that other guy

i did find myself getting a little like shocked at the pacing of them though. because the hook up was coming we know that, she’s sort of already established that sort of pattern w the men in that show leading up to it, but benny’s “i miss you” also feels a little stilted just because i don’t think we were given 1) enough build up for that to be justified and 2) enough time to adjust to them as a pair. again, it did not come to a shock when she didn’t respond to that statement

despite that, i do like his redemption arc. he needed one - his character was grody and bitter and with the extra maybe i-love-yous, he needed one. so to see him call her at the end as perhaps the main point of contact in putting all of her friends together probably indicates some sort of hope for them to either stay friends to get back together.

i’m a romantic person. the whole time i watched this i was really craving romance for her just to spice things up a bit. so i’m not gonna say i’ll be upset if benny and beth do end up getting together, bc unlike her relationship w beltik, benny shares an equal love for her passion (u can literally see it when they talk about it after HAVING S/X). and especially with how recurring he was after he “left her life” and told her not to call him again, it’s very very likely. plus, with a little redemption on his side, i don’t think he’s all too bad for her anyways :)

[kensboytoy]

The Classifieds Ch. 1

Title: The Classifieds Fandom: Beetlejuice (Movie) Pairings: Beetlejuice/Reader Ratings: Explicit Chapters: 1/? Summary:  A curious leaflet falls into your possession on the day you move into your new place. You decide to call on the services of one 'bio-exorcist' and realize that you might be crushing pretty hard on a dead guy. How seductive can a sleaze like Beetlejuice really be?

Continue Reading or Read on AO3!

Moving into a new place was already a pain in the neck. Moving all by yourself? The worst. Well, except when you donated all your furniture to Goodwill because you knew that you weren’t strong enough to lug it up the teetering second story floor where your new place was. So, three big poofy comforters, several dozen pillows, stuffed animals, and many, many boxes full of weird 80’s toys later… Well, you collapsed in your makeshift nest and enjoying the rest of your busy evening in total silence.

The only lights you had were battery-powered string lights because the electric company hadn’t turned the power on yet, so you made it a lazy, comfy space all your own.

But without power, you couldn’t sit down and edit on your laptop or even use your phone (you’d need it to be on power-saving mode until the lights came on.) So you tried reading. That worked until the sun went down and your shitty vision was impaired. Then you tried sleeping but every creak of the apartment settling gave you a fright.

You idly flipped through the leaflets you had gotten in the mail around, squinting to see if there were any coupons to use. A small business card fell into you lap:

Betelgeuse: The 'Bio-Exorcist' 

Call BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE!

You snorted. It was cute! Maybe you wouldn’t throw it away. But… there was no number on the back? You flipped it around and held it to the light. Nada.

“Pft. Like a dorkier version of Bloody Mary.” There was a smile on your face and you folded the paper up neatly to put in your wallet.

With a yawn and a stretch, you arose from your nest and waltzed into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The only light you had was a pocket flashlight you had gotten along attached to a rape whistle from some medical center long ago. You stared into the mirror for a moment as you patted your face with a warm towel.

“Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you.”

You waited. Nothing. You shrugged your shoulders. That myth had been scary when you were younger but it never yielded any results.

As you started brushing out your hair, you continued.

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice…”

Another yawn and you closed the medicine cabinet before you changed into your nightgown and waltzed back into your bedroom. You flopped into your makeshift bed and stared at the card once again.

“What the hell is a Beetlejuice?”

Had you been looking at the mirror for a moment longer, you would’ve seen Bloody Mary, hair done up in curlers and charcoal face mask covering her very surprised expression before flickering away the moment you began to speak the words for the other spirit.

He was… stronger? Maybe that was the wrong word. Mary only had a passing interest in terrifying people, whereas Beetlejuice?

He thrived on it. Hell, almost got off on it, if he was honest. There was something delicious about scaring the living shit out of breathers.

So, Mary never stepped in when it was clear that the person had moved onto summoning him, instead. It’d be rude.

And summon him you did.

The lights flickered for a moment before shutting off, throwing the entire room into a pitch-black darkness that shouldn’t have been possible. Some of the light outside should still have been filtering in, or at the very least there should have been moonlight. Something. Anything. but all you got was darkness.

Darkness and the faint feeling that you were no longer the only one there.

After a brief moment, there was the distinctive sound of slithering and something crawled across your foot, wrapping around it as the lights flickered back on to reveal a… guy?

Well, a slob. He was normally built everywhere except for his stomach where he was decidedly bulky enough with a round beer belly. His hair was wild and all over the place - you couldn’t decide if his hair was white, blond, or green from the moss covering every inch of him. He looked like a bad Halloween decoration you’d leave on the porch to scare neighbors away from trick-or-treating.

“Why hell-o there, sweetcheeks,” he purred, voice somewhere between when you inhaled a fat cigar and the flush of a toilet. “You called?”

You yelped, flinging your blanket off you in a state of panic before grabbing your phone and fumbling to turn the camera light back on. You didn’t have a chance. The lights came back on to illuminate the figure in front of you and you shrunk in your seat.

And then you squinted.

“What the fuck?” you managed to gasp. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

Your hands instinctively reached for a pillow to cling onto for dear life and to use as a potential weapon if he got any closer.

“Holy fuck, there’s a fucking crazy homeless man in my fucking house and he looks like Riff-Raff from Rocky Horror fucked a pile of moss. What the fuck.”

Had you not been completely terrified, you would have said he was kinda cute. Kinda. If you were into creepy corpses with shit-eating grins.

“I understood-” Beetlejuice paused, counting on his grimy fingers for a moment and having to think about what he was about to say. “More than half of those words, I think. But I’ll go ahead and treat ‘em like compliments, babes.”

There was a wide grin on his face that displayed his crooked teeth and showed off some of the most prime real estate for bugs that existed in this or any other plane of existence. It would have been charming to a certain type of people, but as you had not taken any hard drugs in your life, the chance of you being one of those types of people was slim.

Spitting into one hand and using it to slick his hair back in a manner that usually turned a few stomachs, the ghostly, grody apparition leered down at you in what could almost be likened to a man leering at his hangover-curing breakfast after a long night drinking.

“Beetlejuice, at your service. Bio-exorcist and professional haunter since the late black plague.” He swiftly bowed and smirked. “What can I do for ya, little breather?””

“Oh, you’re Beetlejuice? I mean, I guess… that makes sense.”

You paused and sat up, staring at him over and over again, your heart still racing. He certainly made the place smell damper than an apartment in this neck of the woods usually was.

“Uh. Your ad - well, I found your ad in my mail. It was pretty vague. It just said to call your name three times-”

You reached out and touched his leg and then quickly recoiled. Oh, he was real. You were not dying.

“What the fuck. Am I really seeing you? I swear to God I don’t use coke or anything weird and - holy shit - you’re real.” You poked at him. “You’re actually here and not some Hatsune Miku hologram what the fuck is happening.”

You scrunched your face up and furrowed your brow.

“Bio-exorcist? …Living exorcisms?” you frowned. “Shouldn’t it just be ‘exorcist’?”

Pursing his dangerously chapped lips, the poltergeist frowned at you and let his bushy brows furrow into a look of confusion, mimicking your expression.

“I’m real, dollface. What, you didn’t think my business card was serious?”

Oh, now that was worrying. He’d spread those out as much as possible during his last visit to the world of the living, and what if people were just calling him up for no reason other than thinking it was just some prank?

“Just ‘cause I ain’t flesh and bone doesn’t make me any less real.”

Then the subject of bio-exorcism. Oh, one of his favorite topics, aside from how good he was with his tongue and how easily he could drink anyone in any dimension under the table. Despite the fact that sometimes, he did drink under the table.

Not a lot of bars liked that. Wasn’t really a good party trick either.

“I'm here for spirits, y’see? If some living jackass moves into their place, I chase ‘em out. Keep the crib empty. Make sure no one’s tryin’ to regular-exorcise them.”

You frowned.

“Well, like I said, it was pretty vague. Slipped in with the coupons you usually think you’re going to use but never end up using.” You took out your wallet and removed the slip before handing it over to him. It was one of his more vague cards that left out the specific details of his gig. “There was something about it that just made me… I dunno.”

You, being the sweet young thing you were, blushed and cleared your throat gently.

“I’m really sorry - honestly I am. But I… Well, how to put this very gently and in a sincere way… I personally don’t believe in ghosts. Not saying they can’t be out there, especially not after that crazy weird stunt you just pulled.”

You held up your hands defensively, trying to show that you didn’t mean any harm.

“If I did, I think that’d open a lot of gates to my already hard-to-deal-with trauma.”

Then, you sighed and slumped back in your big cushion of a bed to stare up at him. You were studying him in what little light there was now that it was back on. He didn’t really look like he was fucking around.

“But I guess this might shake that idea up.” Your eyebrow perked up in inquiry. “Are you some sort of ghost advocate? Like… their protector?”

“Their… protector?”

Beej stared, open-mouthed and slack-jawed for a long moment before leaning back and slapping a hand across his knee as he let out the world’s loudest hoot of laughter and fell into hysterics.

Oh, first you didn’t believe in ghosts, and now you thought he was there to protect them? That was absolutely rich.

Just because he worked for them didn’t mean that he was suddenly their protector.

Tears of absolute mirth rolled down his ghostly cheeks, the spirit having to try a few times before he could actually stop laughing. Chuckling and wheezing a few more times before he could actually calm down enough to answer you, he glanced down at you and let his face fall utterly blank.

“No.”

A wave of his hand and a cloud of smoke, a pair of reading glasses appeared perched upon his face along with a booklet in his already outspread palm.

“I am solely here to facilitate the removal of pre-mortem nuisances from the property of any spirits, hauntings, or those of the ghostly persuasion,” came the weirdly educated, prim and proper voice before it dropped down a few registers to rock tumbler. “I boot living folks out of ghost homes.”

You shrugged, not fazed by his childish behavior. Sure, you thought he was weird and yeah, it was freaky to have a stranger in your house. But for all you knew, he was harmless. Annoying but harmless.

“Well, I’m not a ghost and there ain’t one here, my dude. I don’t think I need your services…” You frowned and opened up your wallet again, this time grabbing a couple twenty dollar bills and handing it to him. “I feel like an asshole for calling you. I was gonna use that for take-out but I think you should have it. Y’know. For showing up to perform your services of, uh, removal. Like a cancellation fee you gotta pay if you fuck up.”

You thought for a moment. And then uttered words you never thought you’d ever say:

“Or you could hang around here for awhile. Lights aren’t on and there’s no cable… But I could order that food for two-” Wait. “Uh, if you eat? Sorry. I don’t want to seem ignorant. I just. This shit is a lot to process.”

Annoyed at yourself, you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

“What I’m saying is that even though there aren’t ghosts, you can kick it if you don’t want to go back to wherever I summoned you from. Can’t imagine it was pleasant.”

“No ghosts, huh? What 'm I, chopped liver?”

As if to prove his point, Beetlejuice kept very steady eye contact with you as he reached into his torso and stuck a hand out the other side, the other moving to yoink off his head and alas-poor-Yorick with it.

Practical effects were good. But to do that on the fly? And as convincingly as he did?

That wasn’t really… something possible.

Beetlejuice pulled his hand back through and replaced his noggin as he stared right at you, one grimy brow lifted as he wordlessly pocketed the bills. Even if he didn’t typically use living money, there was still bartering worth in the paper. He could always sell it to some sentimental dumbass who missed the green of the living world.

Which were… far more people than most thought. Most would assume that the first thing you’d do when you died is embrace socialism.

But apparently not.

You grimaced. Not because the sight was scary to you - you had grown up on horror movies. It was just the suddenness of his motions that unnerved you. You ran your fingers through your hair and shook your head before he continued.

“And we do eat. it isn’t something we need to do, but it’s… fun. Little reminder of breather life.”

“This is nuts. I’m talking to a dead guy on my first night in my new place. Who the fuck even prepares you for this shit?” You sighed and moved towards the edge of your bed. “Look, man, I’m going to play the dumb living human card a lot tonight and I’m sorry but…”

You eyed him up and down again curiously.

“I didn’t even think there was a God or an afterlife - to me this just feels like some drug trip. But… you’re real.” You stood up to walk around him. Your hand gently touched his lapel, fingers sliding down the fabric before you pulled away. “I’m having a fucking existential crisis with some zoot zuit wearin’ - pimp? - showing up because I said his fucking name three times.”

Your eyes locked with his briefly.

“I’m guessing say it another three times send you back to - Hell? Purgatory? So I won’t, ‘Juice. Unless this is painful to be here.”

Annoyed at the situation, you rubbed your tired eyes. Without another word, you unlocked your phone and pulled up a Chinese delivery place's menu.

“Well, dinner’s on me. I promise not to ask you anymore super stupid questions if you stay. Lord knows I’m too dumb to get this shit. But, uh. Company would be cool. If you want.” You blushed. It wasn’t like you were asking him for a date. But you were curious if you could learn more. “Or I could send you back to whatever bliss awaits you. Uh. Dealer’s choice?”

His face contorted at the mere mention of the other side. Sure, it wasn’t eternal damnation. but it also wasn’t blissful. It was… mostly like being alive. Paperwork and jobs and having to still deal with money.

Capitalism didn’t stop along with someone’s heartbeat. No, the fucking system stuck around post-mortem. Perhaps there was some special place where the really exceptional people went - to some sort of good place - but Beej’d be fucked if he ever saw it or even heard mention of anything like that.

“Eugh. No, the longer I can stay topside, the better, dollface,” he grimaced, one eye following you as you walked around and examined him. And sure, he tried to look his best, puffing out his chest and sucking in the gut he had. After all, he did that around any pretty little thing he saw, on the off chance that… well…

That you’d wanna hitch a ride on the B.J. Express. First and only stop: Fucksville.

Christ, that line was probably why he never got laid unless it was through the exchange of some cold, hard cash. He nearly owned a huge stake at Dante’s at this point.

“I'll stay with you,” he proclaimed, then as if he could read your mind, “Consider it a date. I'll pay ya back for this.”

“A date?” You didn’t sound repulsed like a normal person should have been. No, you were more perplexed. “A cool ghost pops into the world of the living and wants to go on a date with some random human - no wait, what did you call me, a breather?”

You laughed softly and handed your phone over to him, the menu pulled up. You rested your chin on your hand as you looked up at him quizzically.

“Not trying to presume anything, but, uh. I heard demons and shit were hot, right? I mean, you guys can have orgies and orgies without fear of STDs or baby-making. Plus, again, demon girls are hot. Now you’re stuck on a date with a breather?”

Figuring it was a joke, you shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat. You don’t gotta pay me back. Like I said, I could use the company.” You flashed him a smile. “You are pretty cool, after all. It’d be nice if you stuck around…”

“Oh, yeah, no. Don’t get me wrong, succubi are great. They’ll ride you until you can’t see or walk straight. But, uh.”

Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be an outright lie, but that wouldn’t make him seem like too much of a creep. After all, most folks didn’t go for creeps. And those who did? They were usually into the stereotypical “hot stalker” creep. No, he couldn’t blow this shit with his usual molestation and upfront attitude. He might actually have a chance here.

“They don’t tend to be my type. Waaaaaay too aggressive. I prefer to be the one in charge,” he said, glancing at the living human to see what sort of reaction that would have on you. To see if you scoffed, turned red, or both.

To see if you would be into banging.

You blushed. Well, you had asked so you couldn’t be mad. Not like you were. Beetlejuice seemed gross and weird but… no alarm bells were ringing yet.

“So I was right about the pimp suit?” you chuckled. “Well, if you wanna live lavishly like a King then by all means, order whatever you want. Just be careful ‘bout the duck. It’s the fanciest thing on that menu but…”

You waved your hand flat out as if to say so-so.

“Not worth it. The kung pow chicken? Super bomb.”

You relaxed back in your cushions and waited for him to place his order.

“I get more of a switch vibe from you, Juice. But I’ll believe you. I’d be confident with a cool suit too.” You pursed your lips for a moment. “Did you die in that suit or do you get to pick your outfits in the afterlife?”

A switch?

Oh, that was entirely true. Hell, if anything Beej could be a pushover if someone batted their eyes and pursed their lips in the right way. But would he ever admit to it outside of either regular or sexy torture?

Never.

...well, maybe. But he’d have to be either overwhelmingly drunk or high to do so. He didn’t like to admit that there was any part of himself that was anything other than a smooth-talking, dominant, seductive casanova, but he knew that secretly there may have been something that wasn’t wholly dominant about him.

However, he wasn’t about to let this pretty young thing know. Not unless there was a whip or stilettos involved.

“Nah, doll. I'm all daddy.” He thumped his chest at that, shooting you his best smile. Which was more like looking at a pane of broken glass.

“And this old thing? Buried in it, but can change if I want. I just think it adds a certain charm, don’t you agree?”

You giggled, delighted that this old dirt bag used such a trendy title. Sure, older gals used to call men Daddy all the time, but the way he said it wasn’t exactly in that context. It was more like the horny millennial fad.

“You must have been fucking some younger spirits to get that lingo, Daddy-O,” you teased, purposely using the outdated version of the name.

At his narcissistic question, you decided to indulge him just a little bit.

“I like it. Not everyday someone pulls off stripes so well,” you complimented to boost his ego. “If only I could see you properly, but all these little lights can only show me just a little taste.”

Maybe he could light up the room. If you goaded him with compliments… Free utilities were free utilities, man.

“I guess a Daddy does need a suit. Maybe a nice belt…”

Oh, you hoped it was too dark to see your clever little smirk. You liked playing this game with a dead man.

“But it depends on what kinda Daddy you are, Juice. The word is so carelessly used nowadays. So many wimps using it to sound cool.” Woah, hello sudden confidence. It was nice to feel like you weren’t some meek geek. “There are lots of ways to wear the name up here in the living.”

Oh, but he wasn’t going to fold just like that. Even if you were acting so confident, Beej still had enough ego to topple civilizations. Granted, had you taken the lead and pushed him over, that would be a completely different story.

But as it was? He could deal with words.

At least until you either started pointedly giving commands or begging for his cock. Either of those - anything that was explicit and couldn’t just be mistaken for simple flirting - and he would be a goner.

With a snap of his grimy fingers, the lights buzzed and came on. Not with their usual electric glow, but with what almost seemed like candlelight from within. He wasn’t really turning the power on - he was using them to conduct a different light source.

And from there? His suit was all the easier to see. Along with the very obviously hard cock that pressed against the front of those striped slacks.

“How’s about it, dollface? Like what you see?” he purred, running a hand down his body for either your amusement, or for your enjoyment. Depended on whether or not you were just teasing to be a tease, or if you would actually go for a roll in the hay. “Does Daddy measure up to what you were thinking?”

You gawked. You stared! Your eyes were round like dinner plates. That blush burned your face so suddenly that it was an obvious tell. And your heart nearly skipped a beat. That was very unexpected, despite you explicitly trying for this very result.

Beetlejuice was gross. But in a very, very attractive way. A slob with charm.

“O-oh wow,” you murmured. Bashfully, you looked away and grabbed the pillow you were holding earlier. You bit your lower lip. You didn’t find it wrong to embrace being dirty, but part of you felt like it would be too ‘slutty’ of yourself to start flirting harder. The ghost just met you - would you really want to mess with someone who would hit it and quit it?

“That and more,” came the soft reply. “You sure I called a bio-exorcist and not some other dirty line?”

Cautiously, you sat forward in your seat and looked up at him. God, he was cute.

“I can see lots of us living folks calling you up.” You wet your lips eagerly. Then, you paused. And blushed even harder.

It was then that you realized that you were only in your pajamas. No underwear underneath, nada! Just the thin fabric of your shirt and pants. It was pretty revealing in this light if you could look at yourself the way he was leering at you.

“I-I feel very underdressed compared to you… Um. Sh-should I change into something nicer? I, uh, don’t want you to think I look like a trash goblin.”

Oh, he could instantly see that you were hardly wearing anything once the lights flickered on, his eyes doing a full sweep of your body and taking in your warm, plush form as he felt his cock twitch. Hell, it was probably something that was very visible.

A slow grin spread over his face, Beetlejuice leaning in and reaching out to touch your thigh as he gave his lips a long lick. Entirely done just to draw attention to how long and talented his tongue looked. Just wanting to spur you on and encourage the little slut to get up and climb over and onto his lap.

“Oh, not at all. I think you look good enough to eat, babes.”

Slut? Was that already what he was thinking of you as?

Well, given that some of his favorite folks were sluts? Including himself? He thought of slut as a term of honor - the way some folks might call their pals bastards.

Almost immediately, the hand on your thigh slid further inwards, pressing against the clothed flesh of your cunt. Straight to the point. After all, as much as Beetlejuice did love himself some good bush, he hated to beat around it.

His thumb set to stroking you through the thin fabric of your pajama bottoms, the lights beginning to dim a bit more. Grow hazier. Grow more seductive. in line with his mood and actions.

“In fact… I think i could forego dinner for somethin’ sweeter.”

You stared at that tongue for a moment and let your face feel hotter. It was clear you liked what you saw. There was a small piece of your mind telling you not to let some creep get it on the first date, but...

He was cute. Gross. Very, very much so. But he was a poltergeist just looking for fun.

When he touched you, you gasped involuntarily. Your back stiffened along with your now hardened nipples and you froze. What should you say to that bold statement?

“Do you do this to all the humans who summon you or did I catch you in a mood?” you breathed. It wasn’t a denial or a refusal. And from how the thin fabric clung to your wet self, that very much indicated that you were already turned on from the sight of him.

“You haven’t even been here ten minutes and you’re already so handsy.”

You tried to be as playful as you could despite being so nervous.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna skip foreplay and try and get to it… Why, that would be no fun at all, Daddy.”

Oh, you were playing with fire now.

“Well, when I see such a cute little doll, surely you can’t blame me for being so eager to get to know you,” he purred, fingers slipping past the fabric as soon as he could see that you wouldn’t put up a fight and plunging knuckle-deep into your soaked little cunt. Getting a good feel for what he’d be fucking later.

And then you insinuated that he wasn’t gonna give you any foreplay. Beetlejuice didn’t take kindly to that. He may have been a pervert, a scoundrel, a knave, a bastard, a…

He forgot where he was going with that.

Oh, right. he may have been all of those things, but he was also an egotistical prick. Meaning that if he could have someone begging for his cock after being teased for hours, then he would put in the extra effort.

So one of his striped tentacles slipped forward, curling up your shirt to wrap around your tits and mimic fucking them.

“Are you gonna be good and let me have what I want, babes? Or does Daddy have to take it?”

With your cunt throbbing and body aching for his touch, you moaned abruptly as soon as he entered you with those dirty digits. You squirmed and let your tight hole wrap around him, tightening as he played around. The tentacle was what really caught you by surprise. There was a small squeak from your lips and you tensed up before allowing him to continue.

Oh, was he threatening you?

“Well… what happens if I struggle?” you asked curiously. It was clear you were a little freak who enjoyed the idea of both. “Will that tentacle make sure I join you in the afterlife?”

You were pouting a bit up at him. Your body wanted him to continue, that was clear. But you wanted to know which side of the dice to roll.

“I wanna know what Daddy’s capable of - if he’s mean or if he wants to be playful…”

“Depends on how you act, sweetheart. Daddy’d love to just be playful, but if you don’t behave…”

He leaned in at that, rancid breath blowing in cold clouds along your skin as he chuckled to himself. Wondering what your reaction to his next words would be; if they would repulse you, or if you’d be hornier than ever.

Thankfully, he was already buried knuckle-deep in the best lie detector there was when it came to something like that.

“Daddy’s fucked dollies that were unwilling before. That fought and screamed and cried.”

Oh, he didn’t even touch on if he would kill you for not behaving or not. He was a vengeful spirit, of course he would. He knew that there was life after death, so dooming a toy to forever have to be fucked by him? Essentially creating his own undead sex slave? It’d be like heaven for him. honestly, it was kind of a wonder he hadn’t done it yet. Well, he did like it when they were warm, after all.

“But Daddy knows best.”

Your heart started to beat faster at that. You weren't scared - no… quite the opposite. Thrilled? You were playing with a powerful being now. One that could kill you in an instant but was deciding to indulge your dirty fantasies. Maybe he could sense what freaky shit you were into. The more likely thing was that he hadn’t had a proper fuck in awhile and now had a prime toy to test out.

Your cunt constricted around his fingers, being the dead giveaway that he needed that you were indeed a little freak.

“What does Daddy like best? When they cry or when they give in easily?” You watched him closely for a response, your teeth raking over your bottom lip. “I…”

You were very embarrassed at the next words that fell from your lips:

“Wanna make sure ‘m good enough for you and can keep up..”

Beetlejuice grinned at that. Because even if he did enjoy forcing himself upon people and watching as their will slowly drained away until they were nothing but pliant little fuckpuppets… He had to admit to being charmed by obedience. It was pretty rare that people actually begged for him. Most were disgusted by, well, all of him. The only good lays had been at Dante’s and those were paid for. Having a willing, breathing slut? Oh, that was priceless.

And so, he stroked your hair. Rewarding you for being so good for him so far. Good enough to make his cock throb and leak. Leak a nasty green, glowing ooze.

Ectoplasm. It wasn’t just something that the dead produced on their flesh when trying to scare the living. No, since their bodies technically couldn’t produce real cum, it made do with the closest thing it had.

“I like both. but you’re being such a good doll for Daddy. I'm thinking being willing’s gonna be the hottest thing you can do.”

You could see the bulge in his pants, your eyes widening like two full dinner plates. Eagerly, you wet your lips. His fingers were still curling and uncurling in you that you almost found it so unfair that you couldn’t see what he had in his pants. Your imagination was running wild! Was it a tentacle like the one groping your tits? Or maybe it was something even more peculiar? Dude was a straight up ghost! He could have anything.

Whatever it was, you were eager to have it be inside you.

So you sidled up closer to him and gently sat on his lap, not wanting to crush the poor poltergeist under you. You had no idea what his limitations as a now corporeal being really was so you played it safe.

Shyly, you fiddled with his tie and bit your lip, worrying the skin until it broke. How was one supposed to flirt with a ghost that was knuckle-deep in your pussy? God, he was so handsome…

“Good,” you murmured, mouth so dangerously close to his. “I wanna be good for you, Beej.”

[forkanna]

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NOTE: Thanks for all your reviews! We're winding up with the final few chapters of Part 1 now, and we hope you enjoy them!

The next day dawned bright and ridiculously early. They had managed to get most people to start leaving by about 2am, and fortunately for Anna, she had no curfew to speak of. One of the few freeing things about this whole insane journey.

Elsa had managed to convince her parents that she was staying at Doc's for the night to make sure they had enough time to get ready for the dance (Anna was sure that her grandfather had tuned out long before that point, but he'd definitely let out a grumble when Elsa had said that). Somehow, Anna had enlisted Doc in the ruse, even to the point of ringing the Baines' to reassure them. Anna wasn't sure what they thought might happen over there, but his words seemed to help.

The aftermath of the party wasn't even that bad, either. Al's crew took the leftover grog home – much to Anna's relief – and most of the kids had been polite enough to actually use the bins, most of the time. Elsa had stolen her family's Dustbuster to clean up the crumbs. Compared to the nightmarish idea of college parties perpetuated by the movies, this was wonderful.

Glancing over at her friend, she caught Elsa already looking her way, a small smile on her face. It vanished, a blush replacing it when she realised Anna was looking back. Neither spoke about the confessions the previous night. It was as though the daylight had chased away their nerves, sapping whatever courage they had. They did speak, but it only seemed to get more and more awkward the more they tried, so eventually they gave it up as a bad job and worked in relative silence.

Anna was dreading that night. Even though she knew she wasn't the kind of person to take advantage of someone, there was the undeniable end result of Plan B – which was now their only plan. If they went through with it, Elsa would have to feel attacked, even if only for an instant. It wasn't spectacularly comforting, and felt like undoing all her hard work to make her accepting of her own sexuality, but what choice did they have? If she didn't do it… she would disappear.

And possibly destroy the world via paradox. No pressure, though.

"So… I'll pick you up around eight?" Elsa asked once they had finished cleaning the model home. If Anna were honest with herself, it probably looked even cleaner than before the party. But then it clicked that Elsa had asked her a question, so she paused in her cleaning to do a few mental calculations. She needed enough time to put her plan into action, and then for Kristoff to 'just so happen' to see struggling in the Gremlin.

"Hmm…" One of the bags was chucked into the back of Al's 4x4, the only half-decent means of getting everything to the dump. "Make it 8:15. I'm gonna try a thing with my hair."

"But it's agony to wait," Elsa teased very softly, and Anna couldn't help grinning. Even if she was trying her best not to find her mother "cute" during moments like that, sometimes it just wasn't possible.

"Well, you'll have to wait if you want perfection. If you're going to the dance with me, I want to look my best, right? Not all… 'grody'."

Elsa giggled; maybe she had used that slang term wrong, or maybe it was just that she found the thought of Anna looking anything less than beautiful to be a ridiculous thought. She had no way of knowing, because after that, Ariel brought out the final bag of trash and she didn't have the chance to finish.

Then they drove back to her house. They had mostly just talked about party details and excitement for the dance on the way over, but now that they were there, Elsa seemed to have switched gears.

"So… the… last night."

Anna froze in mid-movement, hand so close to the door handle. So close… "Right. The kissing?"

Elsa nodded, not looking her way. "Yeah, that. And… everything else… I'm sorry it got so out of hand; I kept meaning to stop, but you were so…"

"Elsa, I think we both know why you found it so easy to release your inhibitions. And it wasn't just that I was 'so' anything, was it?"

The blonde's porcelain cheeks darkened, and this time she could tell Elsa was a little ashamed of herself. "Maybe you're right. I would have really wanted to do it, anyway! But, um, you're probably tired of hearing me act so gay about this."

Anna winced. That was the first time in a long while that she had heard that word used as an insult, and it was Elsa insulting herself. So she reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You're okay, you know. I mean… maybe we both need to learn some self-control; clearly it's a real problem. And I'm not super thrilled you were drunk, but nobody died, and… and we'll both get over it." Maybe. Anna wasn't sure she'd ever be over this, but her mother didn't need to hear that right now. "So stop beating yourself up, okay? It was a little bump-and-grind, not a train crash."

That seemed to do the trick, however. Elsa lifted her head and shot a grateful smile. "Thanks, Tori," she breathed. "I'll um, I'll see you tonight! It's gonna be the raddest and baddest!"

Opening the door, Anna finally escaped into the cool morning air. Though that wasn't really fair. It wasn't Elsa she was trying to escape from – it was her own feelings. Which was really messed up.

Sighing to herself, she trudged up towards the door. As she got closer, she could hear strange sounds coming from inside. A few muttered expletives (that were about as vulgar as "Dante's Inferno!") joined in the cacophony, and Anna was almost scared to open the door.

Then there was a scream of "Fire!", giving her no choice but to burst in.

A smoke-filled garage greeted her, including a very flustered Doc stamping out the last remains of a pile of laundry. Not that Anna had any idea why it had been burning in the first place. Her heart did beat a little faster but she didn't truly panic since he seemed to have it under control.

"Hey, Doc! What the hell is all this?!"

"An experiment!" What other answer had she expected? As she helped him put away the fire extinguisher, he went on, "I've been trying to work out the calculations in my head, but sometimes a practical test is in order!"

It was then that Anna noticed the model of Dell Valley. Every detail was represented, even if crudely. For a second, she merely walked around the table, coughing into her fist and marvelling at the handiwork.

Doc moved to stand next to her. "Apologies. I was pressed for time so it's not as accurate as it could have been."

Anna goggled him for a moment. "It's uh… it does the job," she said, voice disbelieving. Geez. She wondered when he could do if he actually did have time.

"That it does," he agreed. "Now, from my tests I've been able to determine where you need to start driving from, taking into account the time, acceleration speed, and the weight of the car."

"Cool. Basic physics. How are we going to channel the lightning into the car?"

Doc picked up the little model he was using as the DeLorean. There was a wire jutting up from the rear; it looked like a bumper car. "This." Putting the car on the model road, he began 'driving' it towards the clock tower. There was a wire hanging across the road, connected to the tower, that Anna had missed earlier. "If my calculations are correct – and they are – the moment the lightning strikes the tower, it will channel through this cable suspended between these lampposts. The car will make contact and, presto, you get sent back to 2015."

"Nice!" Anna couldn't stop a little grin from forming on her lips or the little thrill of excitement. Not many people boast about being struck by lightning. But then pretty much no one could really boast about being in Anna's position right now, either, since she was actually the first human to ever time travel.

Nodding his agreement, Doc returned back to stand at her side. The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable, and she thought he looked like a kid who finally figured out how to tie their shoes. "This is our best and only shot. Otherwise, I'll probably have to find some terrorist group willing to part with plutonium, and trust me… that is not going to go quite so easily in 1985 as it will in 2015."

His chuckle at the end was distinctly derisive. But his mention of a terrorist group brought something back to Anna's mind that she couldn't ignore any longer.

"Right. Yeah, um… about that." Clearing her throat, she glanced down at the fake street on the scale model, then back up at Doc's face. "There's something I need to tell you. That night-"

"Nope," he forestalled her, holding up his hand and closing his eyes. "Not a word, not a word. The consequences for the future could be disastrous. I won't hear another syllable."

At that, Anna frowned. "Come on, this isn't just me telling you what the hot phone apps are gonna be! It's really-"

"You can't tell me!" This time, he set the model DeLorean down and grasped her shoulders. "Listen… whatever it is, I'll find out through the natural course of history. Look at the damage we've already done through ignorance. What if I began doing things deliberately to work toward a certain end? I could sabotage myself irreparably! Make things even worse for us, create another paradox!"

"Paradox? You mean that universe-destroying thing like me never being born?" Sighing, she wilted. "Fine. You're the doc, Doc."

"Good. Now, what do you say we try another experiment? Only hours left to go!"

Anna assisted him, though her heart felt heavy thinking about what had become of the Doc she knew. There was no way she could let that happen. But clearly, she was going to have to think of another way to warn him. Telling him straight out was going to be met with opposition no matter how she approached it.

And as Doc reset the model city to do another test run, Anna thought she knew exactly how.

                                      ~ o ~

After seeing to her plan, the rest of her day was spent working on her hair and nails. Normally, Anna didn't care much about that, but she knew as much as any girl and muddled through on her own. The only thing left to do was to put on her dress – though she didn't want to until the last second, however, given her own experience with nice clothes and toothpaste.

When she was done, even she was rather proud of the result. Her twin braids had been lost – instead, she'd wrangled her hair into a somewhat elaborate bun. Nails that would match the colour of her dress, once she put it on. A work in progress but everything was shaping up pretty well.

And good thing, too. She and Doc had a reasonably tight schedule, but Anna was also reasonably confident that everything would go okay. She refused to get too cocky, however; that was how she normally handled things, and she had to be better than she was normally.

The lightning was going to strike the clock tower at exactly four minutes past ten. To get there from the school, Anna had make sure Kristoff came out to save Elsa at nine at the absolute latest. There would be enough time for Anna to give a heartfelt apology and for Elsa to decide she was better with Kris. Then a last goodbye and she was off, sailing into the future that wouldn't have ceased to exist.

She hoped. But she had to try. Giving up would accomplish nothing.

When the front doorbell rang, Anna ran down the stairs in a bit of a daze. Elsa was early! Anna wasn't in her dress, but not her clothes from the party, either – instead, she had on one of Doc's old polos. Terribly underdressed but hoping Elsa would understand, since she was early, she opened the door–

And felt her pulse flatline.

Elsa Baines was decked out in a stunning blue dress, made of satin or lamé or something. A white cardigan covered her shoulders and chest, and the exposed part of her neck showed off an elegant pearl necklace – one with a small sapphire pendant that was not nearly gaudy enough for the era. Probably her grandmother's, though Anna couldn't remember having seen her wear it before, nor the matching bracelet on her left wrist. The dress hung down just past the knees, a little longer on one side, and the look was finished off with a silvery strap heel. Now she noticed that Elsa's toes were blue to match, like her fingernails were as they nervously hung onto the sequinned handbag. Even her hair was tamer than usual, the wild locks sweeping backwards from her temples. It wasn't a perm, and Anna realised that Elsa looked… completely different to how she expected.

And that she would look completely terrible in comparison. How was this gorgeous queen supposed to show up standing next to an actual trash bag?

"Tori? What is- are you wearing that to the dance?"

"Like it matters," she sighed in utter defeat. "Next to you, I'm gonna look like a square anyway. But I do have a dress. I just… couldn't quite get it on by myself."

"Ahh, and I suppose your uncle isn't much help?" Anna shook her head, eyes still stuck on Elsa. It didn't seem to make the other girl uncomfortable. "Did you want- I mean, I could… help?"

"Yeah, please," she laughed. "I mean, without you I'll be struggling into it and asking Doc- I m-mean, my uncle, to zip me up, but… you doing it is better."

That certainly got her young mother smiling as she nervously shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Rad. I mean, um, I'm glad to help. Want to show me to your room?"

That was exactly what Anna did. She couldn't help but think how silly this would be if she was living in Doc's tiny shack in the future; showing Elsa to a living room couch. Still, the cozy little corner of the house was nice, even if there were no real personal touches other than her clothes for the prom and a pair of sneakers near the foot of the bed.

"Cute room," Elsa breathed nervously, tossing her handbag next to the door so she wouldn't forget it. "So um…"

"Yeah, let me just… get started." However, she didn't move a muscle. "Yep, here I go." Nothing. She knew the reason she was so nervous, and the reason was standing a couple of feet away from her, but knowing it didn't seem to help her overcome the anxiety.

At least Elsa also seemed to understand. Ears burning red, she turned around without a word. And maybe that made it worse. Ripping her shirt off, although still trying not to mess up her hair, Anna tossed it to the side. She heard Elsa inhale sharply behind her. Pushing past that, Anna quickly stepped into the dress. The longer it took, the tenser the space between them became. Finally she had the cup sleeves up over her shoulders, the ruffles of the hem bobbing about mid-thigh. It wasn't a terrible shade of green, but the shoulder pads made it impossible to forget the era. Who put shoulder pads with cup sleeves?!

Either way, by the time Anna was able to manage a soft, "R-ready," she found that she didn't feel ready at all. Not for any of it. She wasn't ready for the dance. She wasn't ready for Elsa to step close.

She wasn't ready to go home.

Then she felt soft hands sliding up the exposed middle of her back. "It's a nice dress," Elsa whispered softly, the air caressing over her skin.

"Y-yeah? You like it?" When Elsa only continued to tease her, she managed a weak chuckle. "Or… do you like what's in it a little more, maybe?"

"Sorry." Except she didn't seem sorry; not if the little kiss she left on the back of Anna's neck was any indication. "You're just so… irresistible."

Then she did it again, ending the little kiss with a sigh against Anna's skin. With the zipper done up, her arms came to circle around Anna, holding her there. Perhaps Elsa had remembered their time together was fast coming to an end. Just as she was blinking back tears, she felt Elsa step away.

"Els-?"

"I um, I got a camera for my birthday. I haven't used it much because I haven't really had anything that I wanted to take a picture of. And I guess… now I do."

Alarm bells immediately began ringing in Anna's head. She head Doc's voice, warning her about how it might change the future. Confronted with Elsa, looking so vulnerable, and her own small understanding that she's already fucked herself over regarding time travel… it made it so easy to break and give a shaky nod.

"Great!" Elsa breathed, her entire face lighting up with glee. "Hang on, let me get it - this is gonna be so awesome!" She turned and crouched down, beginning to rummage through her sequined handbag for the camera…

And poor Anna had to suppress a flicker of heat as she watched an appealing rump shift back and forth with the effort of locating the device. Did she have to find every part of this teenage version of her mom attractive?! She was still gazing stupidly in that direction when Elsa straightened up and turned back around.

"Okay, so it does have a timer, so I think if I set it on… the… what?"

"Huh?"

Elsa blinked a few more times before the mischievous smirk began to pull at her lips, passing the ancient camera idly between her hands. "I think somebody was just checking out the goods while I was bent over."

"I think… someone's a little… full of themselves," Anna managed to retort. Incredibly unbelievably. She felt puffed, even though she'd done nothing to cause it. Elsa's smile only widened.

"I think someone was checking out the goods," she repeated, "and I think someone liked it." She bit her lip and took a few steps closer. The way she was looking at Anna could only be described as "sultry", and Anna felt her whole mouth go dry. When Elsa finally came to a stop, just in front of her, Anna felt her pulse thrumming fast enough to bring on a heart attack. She could hear the blood in her ears, and actually missed it when Elsa asked her a question.

"Wh-what?"

The smirk was back – it actually seemed wider than before, too! "I asked if you're ready for this picture?" Elsa repeated. Anna's face burned.

"Sure. Sure, yeah, um… yeah let's do it let's go let's picture."

"You don't sound ready," she teased as she moved to set the camera on the dresser. And this time, Anna could very much tell that Elsa was moving her ass around on purpose as she attempted to aim the camera lens properly.

"That donk," she couldn't help breathing.

"What's a donk?"

"N-nothing."

Giggling, Elsa turned back to smile at her. "I'm gonna give you a pass for being a total dweeb, because… I think you're really hot, too." Then she bit her lip for a second before adding, "Oh, can you put your heels on? So we're closer to the same height and all that?"

Anna was so nervous that it took her more than a few tries to get the first bright pink plastic high heel on. By then, Elsa was kneeling in front of her with the other one, slipping it on as if she were Prince Charming. Her heart certainly didn't feel like it would slow down anytime soon. Then Elsa was looking up at her, smiling all soft. Her thumb, whether she was aware of it or not, was stroking the skin on the top of Anna's foot. It was such a delicate gesture, and Anna felt her bottom lip tremble again. She tried for a smile, and Elsa released her foot so she could stand up.

She was really in trouble.

"P-picture time?" she asked. Elsa took her hands, and for the first time since arriving in the past, Anna felt herself looking at a glimpse of the woman who would one day be Elsa McFly. That sweet spot between Anna's birth and the alcoholism that was in full swing by the time her youngest daughter was twelve. The eyes of someone who cared with all her heart. It only lasted a moment – less than a second, really – but it was enough to sober her up.

"Ready?" Elsa asked, and all Anna could manage was a nod. There was a quick movement while Elsa set the timer before she had returned. This time she stood next to Anna, who tucked her head into Elsa's shoulder. Whether it was instinct or insight, Anna couldn't say.

Flash.

"Got it!" she cried out as she dashed over to the camera, snatching the Polaroid and waving it back and forth gently to help it develop faster. All smiles. This was a woman who was truly full of joy to be where she was then and there.

Anna came up and stood behind her, stomach tying itself into knots. How bad was it? How recognisable would she be? Her deepest hope was that she could get back to her own present day and her mom wouldn't remember having the hots for her, which was going to be a lot more difficult if there was photographic evidence laying around…

"Awww, why did you do that?" Elsa half-laughed as they gazed at the two of them on the celluloid. You could see the top half of Anna's face very clearly - and could tell by the bunching of her cheeks that she was grinning - but the lower half was shrouded behind her mother's shoulder.

"Sorry! I'm just… I was blushing, b-because you, with the shoe thing, and…"

"It's okay," she giggled. "It's really cute. Thanks, Tori; you let me be a lame geek, and I appreciate it."

Anna smiled at her. She was still smiling even as Elsa began packing up the camera, and it only broke when Elsa, stood in front of her, tried to give her the picture.

"W-what? No, Els. You- you should have it…"

"Huh? Oh… well, I mean, we could both have one. Here, let's do this again."

"Alright. Wait…" A smirk stole over her face. "Let me have the camera. Just for a second."

Curious now, Elsa indulged her. Anna took the camera, turned it around, and held it at arm's length as far as it would go, slightly above them. "Okay, purse your lips like you're gonna kiss somebody."

"Hm? Oh, sure." Elsa obeyed, leaning in and pursing her lips, though still looking at the camera. A thrill shot through Anna's stomach as she repeated the same gesture, and she felt her mother shiver at the closeness. They might as well really have kissed again.

"Okay, now hold it… hold it…" Then she pursed her own lips just before hitting the shutter. "OW!"

"Ow, ow," Elsa echoed as she rubbed at her eyes from the flash. But once the bright spots stopped dancing in front of their eyes, she nabbed the Polaroid from the front of the camera. "What the hell were we doing? I've never taken a picture like that before."

Anna had to forcibly stop herself from answering "A selfie"; she knew that word wouldn't exist for another couple of decades, and Doc would kick her butt if she did even more to disrupt the timeline. "It'll be cute. Just you wait."

The result was a sepia-toned image, only very slightly out of focus. The whole scene was softer because of it. And yes, they were dressed in 80s attire, but the angle and duckfaces were strictly Millennial. A unique artefact if ever there were one.

"Oh my God, Tori, we look ridiculous!" Elsa cackled. There was a massive smile on her face regardless, complete with a pretty red tinge in her cheeks that wasn't just the make-up. She passed over the picture anyway. "You're so unusual, but like… really cool."

"Thanks. And thanks for this; it'll remind me how much fun I had with you this week."

That was a sobering thought, and Elsa's smile slipped from her face. "Y-yeah," she said, very quietly.

"Awww, c'mon, turn that frown upside down," she chirruped with a big grin as she blew on the Polaroid and slipped it into her bag that stood on her dresser - the one Doc would be throwing into the DeLorean soon enough. "I'm just happy we got to hang out so much! And we still have tonight! Let's rock the Casbah!"

"Well…" Huffing for a moment, Elsa finally seemed resigned and nodded, patting down her hair as she finally smiled again. "I guess you're right. Come on, let's get to the dance. I can't wait to see all those nerds go crazy when they see two girls walking in together!"

The little chuckle was weak, but it was the best Anna could manage. "Yep. Can't wait."

"Okay," Elsa breathed as they moved downstairs, obviously as nervous as Anna was. One of her hands came up to delicately push aside a wisp of her wild hair, tucking it back into one of the wings sweeping backward from her temples. "Do… I still look good?"

"Fuck me." However, she had to shake herself when she realised that it wasn't used as frequently as an exclamation of disbelief in the 80s, and that Elsa would probably take her literally. "I m-mean, yes! Yeah, you're gorgeous!"

Elsa had blushed a deep red at hearing Anna's expletive, and it only got worse at the follow up comment. "Thanks. Um… so you're channeling your Cyndi? Though your hair's not wild enough."

Immediately, Anna was flooded with ideas that could most certainly result in messy hair. Coughing awkwardly, she held out her arms. "Yep! I bop! Anyway, let's uh, let's get to going."

But Elsa didn't move. At least, not to the car. She actually took a step forward. Her hands ceased their fidgeting, coming up to hover in the space between them. Anna said nothing, and within moments, Elsa made a decision.

Her hands fell forwards, down to rest briefly – appropriately! – on Anna's hips. There were mere centimetres between them; so few that Anna could smell the mint on Elsa's breath; could count the pale freckles dotting her nose. Anna held her breath. She knew what Elsa wanted to do, knew that she should stop her. But, she found that she couldn't; not after making out, grinding, getting themselves off in mixed company. She was completely helpless by now.

Not that her resignation was needed. Elsa surprised her, yet again, by curling her arms around Anna's waist and pulling her into a hug.

"Wha-"

"I'm so glad I didn't screw things up," she breathed against Anna's shoulder. "This night is going to be incredible. I… I can't believe I get to go with you!"

A little droplet of guilt fell into the pit of Anna's stomach, but she ignored it soundly. Maybe she shouldn't have been so disappointed that this wasn't going to be a real date. That Elsa didn't kiss her. That was stupid… wasn't it?

"Tori?"

Wasn't it?!

"I'm glad, too," she finally forced herself to breathe, pressing her hands into Elsa's back through her cardigan. "Now… let's go make everybody jealous that they don't look as rad as us."

Finally, Elsa drew back to grin at her. "For sure! Joan Jett, eat your black heart out!"

                                      To Be Continued…

[indieharry]

Mark Your Territory 

Or: The Very Soft and Cute Beginnings of Hantoni Porowski-Styles

i literally??? could not??? have done this without paloma @kissyharriex she’s the best and came to my rescue when i was being a big baby about this. also y’all know i post like zero (0) writing on here so uhhh enjoy and if you hate it then lie to me and say you love it ok thanks!

It’s like when you come home from a long trip. The smells are familiar, and you know where every light switch is, even in the dark. Your shoulders automatically slump in relief, and you feel the floating warmth of comfort wash over you.

That’s what it felt like the first time Harry saw him.

It was in a bright bar with arcade games and a 90s karaoke machine in the corner. Harry felt like he was back at university in London when he was forced out to grody pubs with uncomfortable seating and cheap liquor. Nevertheless, he wasn’t one to turn down an open bar or the opportunity to toy with a few men who either knew who he was or wished they knew.

He was always being invited to these sorts of things. Owners and promoters figured it was free press to have people like Harry at their events. He was the prince of Williamsburg, a trust fund baby who made a career out of fortnight romances and weekend getaways across the world. Everyone knew who he was, and he knew everyone.

Except for one person.

Harry’s brain short circuited when he glanced at the door that had opened to let a chill air into the room. A man with deep, tender eyes and a nervous mouth stood in front of the entrance. And before Harry even knew his name, he already knew what he wanted from him.

Harry was brave. He never shied away from a challenge or raised a white flag in the face of defeat. All his conquests had been a result of Harry’s charm and determination.

He came, he saw, and he conquered. That’s just what it was like for him.

He took a sip of his drink and brushed the man’s shoulder with his own. He turned, looking at Harry with those deep brown eyes of his, a little too warm and inviting for Harry’s liking. He just smirked while sliding up to the barstool next to him. He pretended to pay no attention, chatting to some of the other guests around him, causally sneaking a glance to the other side to see if he was looking.

“I’m Antoni,”

The man had said while sticking his hand out for Harry to shake. Harry glanced at him, raising his eyebrow.

“Harry,” he said, holding out his hand as well, but barely lasting for a proper shake. He quickly returned back to his conversation with some self proclaimed influencer from Los Angeles.

Soon enough, there was no one, so Harry turned back towards the man, Antoni, and asked the bartender for another drink.

“Do you reckon I can pull this off?” He asked, tugging at the bright red turtleneck he had worn.

Antoni just replied with a “sure,” so Harry sighed loudly and said, “It’s the color of my aura.” Not for anyone in particular to hear really, just whoever cared enough to listen.

He leaned in, closing the distance between himself and Antoni’s stool.

“I believe that,” Antoni replied, taking his drink, and walking away to talk to what seemed like an old friend.

It turned out Antoni was well-known among the invitees of this bar opening. The owner was Antoni’s former classmate in Montreal.

Harry, typically the life of the party within most scenes in Brooklyn, pouted his way through four vodka Sprites before scanning the room to find Antoni again. He made a path in his brain before sliding off the stool and sauntering over to the other side of the small bar, wriggling his way into the tiny circle of people crowded around the karaoke machine.

“Excuse me, I’ve got something very important to do,” Harry said, to no one in particular again, but completely meaning for Antoni to hear. He turned around to face the rest of the people in the bar, refraining from making eye contact with anyone but the man in front of him. Maybe it was his earnest gaze or the way he looked at Harry like he wasn’t afraid of him. Whatever it was, Harry knew that he’d do anything to be on the receiving end of Antoni’s affections.

Harry crouched down to click through the songs before he found the one he was hoping for. The song that never failed to get him laid. His conquests were putty in his hands when he slinked around them, the charisma vibrating off of him too infectious for them to resist.

The synth music and empty bits where Whitney Houston’s riffs usually went played through the speakers and Harry shook off what little nerves he had before taking a sultry stance and following the words to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” all while trying his damndest to make his dreamiest bedroom eyes at Antoni.

Antoni’s notice was genuine but minimal, even when Harry hammed it up and began grabbing other men from the crowd to participate in his one man show.

“Hey, you,” he called, breathless, after the end of his performance. Antoni looked away from the person he was talking to and raised his eyebrows at Harry with inquiry.

“Could you be a doll and get me another drink?” Harry asked, grabbing Antoni’s wrist gently.

“What are you drinking?”

“Whatever you want me to drink,” he replied, winking and turning around to choose another song.

Antoni came back with some dark concoction that Harry was determined to drink because not only would it get him drunk, it would also show Antoni he was agreeable and easygoing. He choked down the first one fast before batting his eyelashes and asking for another. He didn’t dare ask what was in it, but rather could only focus on how the drink was catching up with him. His head was spinning, and normally this was when he would start to feel extra courageous and boldly make his move. But his stomach churned in the bad way.

Antoni had disappeared, and Harry was stood against a wall, nervously scrolling through his phone. It was a weird sensation, not having an entourage or acquaintance to fall into. Why had he come in the first place? It certainly had never bothered him before to go to places alone. Why was he bothered now? Regardless, he was flustered to no end that he was pulling out all the stops for Antoni and it wasn’t working.

Moving in all sorts of contortions while taking a seat again at the bar, his face melted into his palm.

“Hello!” He called over to one of the bartenders, rather loudly. “Hello. Hi. Got a question for you. Could you perhaps tell me what’s in this? My...friend brought it to me.”

The bartender eyed him warily. “It’s a long island iced tea...would you like some water?”

Harry sighed, burying his face in his hands. “No thanks,” he slurred.

“What do you think about this shirt, mate?” He stared down at his red turtleneck, frowning at the bits of liquid that had fallen onto it from previous drinks. “Can I pull it off?”

The bartender snickered at his question, and Harry furrowed his face. “Oi!” He started, his index finger raised in protest. The sudden movement caused his ears to start ringing and his vision to blur a bit.

“I don’t…” he started before he climbed off the stool and ran towards the front door, turning a sharp corner once he was out, to a small, dark alley. He ignored the group of people next to him, barely caring that the next time he was out and about, someone would incessantly tease him about throwing up at some random bar opening.

He hadn’t thrown up like that since uni, and on top of it all, it just had to be when he was wearing that goddamned red turtleneck. He quite liked it, thought it was a bit of a bold statement piece.

He shut his eyes, once he thought was s done spilling his guts, and slid down the brick wall, feeling like he wanted to cry a bit.

He heard an oddly familiar voice, getting closer to him and he didn’t really want to open his eyes because he knew that once he did, there’s no way that he would ever look at him in the eyes again.

He tried to ignore it, but he knew he had that gorgeous man standing in front of him, asking him if he was okay. And frankly he wasn’t, but he couldn’t help but blink them open.

“Want some water?” Antoni asked, handing him a bottle and looking at him like he had just witnessed a puppy being kicked.

Sipping the water made Harry’s stomach feel all icky again and in no time, he was throwing up again, this time on Antoni’s leather shoes.

In that moment, he wished the cracked pavement he was sitting on would open up and swallow him.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry,” Harry said, immediately trying to stand up all frantic and not knowing what to do.  

“It’s okay,” Antoni waved his hands in objection. Harry recognized the look on his face - polite aversion.

“Let me go get a rag or something to clean them with. Do you want to wear mine? Shit, I’m sorry. What shoe size-”

“Harry,” Antoni put his hands on his shoulders to steady him. “Calm down. You’re gonna make yourself sick all over again.”

“But you can’t just walk around with vom all over your shoes.”

“They’ll be okay,” He said in a hushed voice. He slid down the wall, just as Harry had earlier and sat next to him.

“I’m mortified,” Harry whispered.

“If I had a dollar for every time I threw up outside of a bar I’d be a millionaire.”

“I bet you haven’t thrown up on the shoes of someone you’ve been trying to flirt with the whole night,” Harry sighed with a sad laugh hidden in the back of his throat.

They made eye contact for a millisecond, and the look in Antoni’s eyes confirmed everything he had been thinking about all night. Antoni wasn’t going to be a quick shag or a two-week lover’s parade around the city. Harry couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him, but the thought alone was terrifying.

“God,” Harry changed the subject, “who would’ve thought that a fucking Long Island iced tea could’ve killed me?”

Antoni laughed and looked down at his lap, “It just so happens that I’ve got the perfect remedy for too many of those,” he grinned.

“Do you now?” Harry raised his eyebrows at him.

“I do actually,” He started, “I could show you if you’d like, I only live a couple of blocks away from here.”

“How can I be sure you’re not going to kill me and stuff me in a dumpster?” Harry asked, only half-joking. This was too good to be real.

“Google me,” Antoni replied. “You’ll find too much about me to know I’m not a murderer.”

Harry pulled out his phone and did a quick search to find his Instagram, with 2.5 million followers, and a well-populated Wikipedia article.

“Self-assured, are we?” Harry asked, looking up from the screen to see Antoni staring at him eagerly.

A part of Harry wanted to say that he couldn’t -- the embarrassment alone had bruised his ego too deeply. But this is what he had been trying to do all night, right? Get Antoni to be all his?

So he nodded and smiled, taking the hand Antoni offered to get up. “As long as I don’t end up in a bin somewhere,” he murmured in jest.

They ended up in an uber -- Harry’s head was pounding and he didn’t think he’d survive a walk to Antoni’s apartment in his “sensitive condition” as he put it. Harry had experienced his share of awkward cab rides, but he was so nervous he swore Antoni could hear his heart thumping from across the seat.

“I’m really sorry about your shoes,” he started.

“Harry - please stop apologizing.”

“Sor-” he started, but stopped himself. Antoni just smiled and shook his head.

They made it to Antoni’s apartment without much talking, just Antoni commenting on what a shame getting puke on that red turtle neck was. “It’s quite the statement piece,” he told Harry. It was all Harry could do not to puke all over again, but not from the liquor.

Antoni’s place was as airy as a small New York City apartment could be -- plants nestled in the corners and vintage French posters on the walls. Harry scanned the den and his eyes landed on a small bookshelf lined with vinyl records. Harry’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he saw the pieces in the collection.

“Are you joking?” Harry gawked.

Antoni explained to him that most of the collection had been given to him by his grandfather, who brought them with him after migrating from Poland.  

“I didn’t even know half these albums came in vinyl,” he ran his fingers through them, stopping at an Amy Winehouse record that was frayed at the edges and looked like it was constantly played. “May I?”

“Of course. Great choice,” Antoni said from behind him, already with a kitchen towel on his shoulder.

Harry just hummed to that and shut his eyes for the first few spins before turning around and sitting on a stool facing Antoni.

He wasn’t wearing his leather jacket anymore and the thin material of his shirt showed off his back muscles, which Harry had a difficult time ignoring as he moved swiftly around his kitchen.

Harry watched over the island, trying to reconcile the night in his mind. He had messily tried to get with a really hot guy, to seemingly no avail, which rarely ever happened. Then he got wasted and as a result, threw up on said hot guy but somehow still ended up at his place. He knew the formula, but the pieces weren’t fitting together quite right.

The smells began to float around the room and after a few moments, Antoni was plating the most delicate grilled cheese and sliding it in front of him. “Muenster and gouda. Mayo instead of butter. A little bit of garlic powder,” Antoni explained simply before placing a cloth napkin and a bottle of coconut water in front of him as well.

“Wow...five star service here,” Harry chuckled. Maybe he should barf on guys more often.

Antoni shrugged sheepishly in response, then leaned on the island

“Harry…if you knew the drink I gave you would make you sick, why did you drink it?”

“To be polite,” Harry replied after a small silence.

“Why?” Antoni asked, confused and slightly skeptical. Harry was nice, but he didn’t seem like the type to go out of his way to please a stranger.

“Because I wanted you to think I was down for anything,” He said after taking a bite, “which I still am, by the way! I just need to maybe pace myself next time you give me a drink with five different liquors in it.”

“You can stick to your Vodka Sprite next time.”

“How did you know I was drinking Vodka Sprite?”

“Smelled it on your breath when you were practically pissing on me to mark your territory,” Antoni said, looking down at the counter and pretending to clean a spot with his dish towel.

Harry’s jaw dropped, he didn’t expect that at all. Antoni just came closer, and there was no longer a kitchen island to separate them.

“I...no comment,” Harry said finally.

“I thought you’d be one to dish it back,” Antoni replied.

“Wasn’t expecting you to call me out on my antics.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to be so obvious.”

“Shh,” Harry pouted. “Let me finish my toastie.”

“You mean you’re not going to share?”

“Oh, did you want some?” Harry offered it to him.

Antoni leaned into Harry’s hand where the half-eaten grilled cheese was. He stared up and Harry and gingerly took a bite of the sandwich.

Harry willed his skin not to blush from Antoni’s proximity. Instead, he took a drink of the coconut water and tried to focus on keeping his breath steady. He wasn’t used to being this speechless. Usually you couldn’t stop him from mewling sweet words into people’s ears as he worked to wrap them around his finger. But he couldn’t utter a sound.

So Antoni beat him to it.

“You’re cute, you know?”

[mifhortunach]

some Unfortunate vague vambling into the void wrt tpf

The book is a grail quest, about ppl - either knowingly or unknowingly - on grail quests, and (with/presuming the small amount that can Ever be discerned about SL) written during/around a time when a grail quest was essentially occurring/could-would be a comfort narrative. Its a surprise (to me at least) that its, as Hopeful(?) as it is*. growth occurs! people move on & move past traumas/big Events(tm)! 

I had wanted to compare it to ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’ for some reason**, but its honestly not especially similar. If one was to take ILD as a starting point, as people/LD trapped in a cycle by the v nature of Who They Are, TPF kinda jumps from that point, or some a point of hitting a level of Rock Bottom and Acting/. For some of the characters its been a more gradual shift into decisive action, (Tracy, ARY Lewis), while w others its a hitting breaking-point/epiphanous kinda thing (Bob, Sid & Danny) - action is Spurred, etc. 

A reading could be taken then, as Action as Redemptive Force, mayhaps***. in certain cases. maybe. Sid & Danny, would probs be the easiest players to be reading this theme from, “fucking up”**** & then immediately deciding ‘yk what! lets find this fckd up old musician dude u/i really loved, and ask him to restart his 60s-70s band but w us in it this time’. SO! then they go from essentially wasting away, getting high & rehashing old routines & watching/critiquing awful (beastiality) pornos, to going on their drug-smuggling funded ‘grail quest’, to meeting & reteaching the dude guitar, to Genuinely /Finding/ the grail - before (thru an act of giving up on Expectations / releasing Bitterness) - giving it up. the previous wallowing / lacking of Authenticity is Absolved though all tht, as is a long standing weirdness between them regarding giving up on what could've been their Original /Actually Lucrative/ band*****. ARY Lewis thru action comes to terms / peace w himself even tho he Doesn't find his grail, Tracy finds a kinda “peace” thru a ‘mortifying ordeal of being known’ thing, etc etc. The man (SG Lee) loves his Things Bigger Than The Self stuff i guess.

As a theme this can maybe Also be seen in reverse/inversion, w Abby (p fckn minor character), not rly being Unredeemed or anything, mostly bc she starts off as one of the ppl Least in the gutter. but from the like, glances/vignettes of her once she leaves the main story ( “[god] has a hack screenwriter’s sense of drama” ), shes now set a drift in a way tht she kinda wasn't before, and as it goes on loses diff aspects of control/certainties in her own life. i don't think shes mabs treated as sympathetically as she maybe ought to be? could the loss of these things be read into as a weird punishment for /NOT/ going on or supporting ppl going on grail quests******** ? idk ! or idk, the ending w PR running off bc he's finally found that cigerette end, and her then missing the Avril Lavigne’s hit early 00s song ‘sk8r boy’ reminiscent bit w S&D ringing her up to send her audio of the 1st of the New round tabyls’ gigs, might be read as her still being Stuck/. everyone else has (to one degree or another) improved their position since the start of the book, except her, as the only thing she now no longer has is a deadweight boyfriend and his kinda grody bffl, otherwise everything is The Same.  

Not surprised tht he (i think?) doesn't think its necessarily aged well? or. that it is no longer Quite as Relevant bc of the internet & stuff - idrk if thats Properly True******* - both bc that kinda thing can Just About still happen, but also bc if there wasn't a p minor mention of 1997 being in the past, you'd probs assume it was set earlier. ditto some of the concerns wrt oh, You Know, fckn, Exoticism/native american/shaman stuff - which i don't think is bad/ignorant/racist! but its always difficult to tell, and everything (but which i legit mean Everything/ in Gen, in The World) could use more Nuance.  

I had smth else i wanted to say, but I've forgotten what it is tbqh - & ofc, this has mostly been an exercise in Thought ReHashment(tm). It might've been that the ending seems Terribly/ Tidy. like, i don't think there could BE another ending? but its very Neat: the Bad are punished, some leads are paired off in a (presumably) cishet coupling, bad feelings are trowelled up & buried, the bois remake a hot, niche & authentic band, Luther Peyote can play the guitar again: Picture Perfect. Its an ending that fits, its an ending tht (i think? idk Anything abt this kinda thing) puts emphasis on the quest-y stuff, and the poss redemption angle; but it feels like a far remove from the kinda squalor of the first while - which is probs another point in its favour, rip.*********   

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

*not to say/imply (ofc! ofc!!) tht this might be seen as somewhat ooc of stewart lee, but it still kinda caught me off-guard. poss bc its a Very Tidy wrap-up, and it happens quite fast, i felt. but tht might just be the time that in it. 

**this reason may have been qs of #authenticity! or maybe just bc things/backgrounds/the world are kinda gross

*** “almost. action as redemptive force (as a form off faith/belief? faith/belief as redemptive force - if not in a god, in the World or Others?)” -> thats from the Even Worse! orig version of this, lmao. but also Action as a way of Escape/breaking a cycle

****for want of a better descrip

***** the orig uhm, idfk, them lemon boys, could probs be read into - if one Wanted to read too much into these things mabs - as some kinda weird parallel to the original On The Hour stuff(?) w AL vs L&H, & how they Didn't get royalties/whatever was up there. you'd never be able to be either Accurate or Sure about that though, even w certain traits of S&D being p clearly lifted from L&H, or old SL routines - theyre not Explicit or Perfect cyphers/inserts yk?******

****** following on! (if i may) some of the. not /Tension/,, but smth similar, w S&D often feels. not truly emotionally resolved? or just like, Unclear/ at times. the whole novel speeds up a fair bit once more than 2 (two) characters have to be properly juggled in a scene. [which is to say tht in some real Old L&H interviews, (usually in the ones where L isn't present, lmao) RH says tht SL gets ‘embarrassed’ by having to directly explore how ppl might feel about each other/relationships yk? can't say thats necessarily true! but it Is smth i couldn't help thinking about. but emotional exploration & openness is also the realm of fanfic, so maybe I'm asking too much, fgdksh] 

*******im trying not to use the word ‘necessarily’ here again

******** for the small sum of €5 a month, you too could support a pilgrim on a grail quest

*********tho tbf, could also v much be influenced by the whole thing being written over the better part of a decade, place/s while writing & stuff yk? idfk

[dykeinvan]

an anonymous account of a lesbian living in a van

It’s my birthday today, I turned 28. A pretty uneventful age, not yet thirty and officially not a member of the 27 club. Which is funny because that was a group of people I spent so much time romanticizing as a kid. The rock-n-roll successful artists that burned out brightly. Living through 27 without the weight of world renowned success was still incredibly challenging and I’d be lying if I didn’t spend many days during my 27th year fantasizing about checking out of this life. Calling down to the lobby but luckily no one answered. Now I’m 28, a little less wanting to die but also a complete mess based on societal standards.

Living in a van was never something I had fantasized about. I’m sure the thought crossed my mind with not much thought either way. I don’t think there’s a lot of female representation of van living, at least pre-tik tok. To me, it seemed like something associated with mentally ill and/or drug addicted men. Not mentally ill addicted to smoking weed dykes. Tik Tok has changed that, the wave of van life popularity has given a place to a lot of different type of people to move into this alternative lifestyle. Also making it slightly more socially acceptable.

I have tried to film parts of my van life but it is really hard to stylize being homeless. At least in this van, she’s from the early 90′s, dirty stained carpet, a VCR that doesn't work but lots of beautiful wooden trim and an air of nostalgia that’s borderline euphoric. I love it. I’ve never felt like I could stay in one place for long and. not gonna lie, I’m low-key grody. I prefer to be clean but I’m not shy to be disgusting if needed. Life just be disgusting, as I typed this my dog just threw up in the side pocket door of the driver seat. We gotta roll with the nastiness. For the sake of my sanity I’ll keep this first post short but will leave you with some highlights of wisdom I’ve acquired since van-lifing. 

1. Shit Gets Messy

2. Change is Good

3. Things having a spot is actually helpful 

4. Listen to your gut, if something feels sketchy leave 

5. There’s not time like alone time 

6. Everything is temporary 

[phaltu]

psst hey, here’s a fun idea,, college au pals, going out for a Christmas karaoke party that they always do and made the mistake of lance choosing costumes, anyways Keith is late and gets the last costume and everyone makes him wear it (mean girls Christmas dance costumes if yk What I mean) and shiro is Santa and long story short, Keith sings Santa baby to shiro in his lap and everyone’s like ‘ok woaH calm down there pals’

Okay this is a really cute sexy Christmas prompt but I am the worst and my day has been 30 hours long so here’s a little ficlet:

(RATED G or T or S for Stupid)

please click the links to find out what the gang’s wearing

Keith is absolutely ready to protest with his entire heart and soul. He’s ready to say that he shouldn’t be punished for showing up half an hour late for karaoke, that having a meeting with a professor should be a valid excuse. He’s ready to challenge Lance in hand-to-hand combat so he can wrestle his Rudolph costume off of him.

But: his friends are all giving him shit-eating grins, except for Shiro. This is partly due to Shiro’s face being obscured by a fluffy white beard, so for all Keith knows, he could (wrongly) think this entire situation is hilarious and embarrassing for Keith.

They all think they’re so smart.

“Yeah of course,” He says with an even tone as he picks up the slick red fabric, and he can see Lance’s face slip a little. “Where’s the bathroom?”

The dress has the same weird shine that all Party City specials do. It’s on the looser side, and Keith has a faint feeling that Lance has worn this before. He probably hasn’t washed it either, because it smells like it was drenched in Axe, shoved into the bottom of a closet, and hasn’t seen the light of day till today.

Every big holiday, his friends like to get together at a karaoke bar. Lance brings his plethora of costumes; they all dress up like the world’s ugliest cabaret troupe and proceed to bray along to whatever song Pidge picks out, because she has a knack for picking things that suit nobody’s vocal capabilities.

Keith always vocalizes his hate for the tradition, and always shows up regardless of whatever else he’s got going on. Right now, there’s a paper with an extended deadline that he’d rather die than write.

Keith would also rather die than get naked in a grody bar bathroom. He pulls at the waist of the dress, noting how it stretches in his hands. It’s short and sleeveless with a white fake fur trim. The black belt around the waist is frayed, and the golden belt buckle is chipped. Keith gets an idea.

“Nice,” Hunk’s the first one to comment, and Pidge snorts. They’re both dressed like elves, but Pidge has the same matching red sponge nose as Lance.

Allura tips her mistletoe-wrapped felt fedora at Keith, and Shiro pulls down his Santa beard before giving a wink. Lance groans.

“This is maybe the ugliest thing I have ever seen,” Lance says flatly as Keith approaches their booth. “My eyes are literally burning.”

“Good,” Keith says, plopping down in the empty space beside Shiro.

“I think it looks nice,” Shiro says and Lance scoffs.

“You’re ugly too,” He turns to informs Shiro, and Keith laughs as he adjusts himself over the dress. 

He’s kept his jeans and his black shirt on underneath the dress, similar to how Allura used to wear her spaghetti straps in the fifth grade. The dress sits weird on him, the top half of it sliding down, and Shiro leans in to adjust it for Keith by one of the padded insets. 

“Thanks,” He says and Shiro smiles. Lance throws a fry at them.

“I’ll buy you a shot if you do this solo,” Allura suggests as the song title splashes across the screen.

“No,” Keith responds. It’s not that he has any reservations; he’s had a few shots and a bottle and half of rice wine to himself and he’s definitely loose enough to deliver a rendition of “Santa Baby” to his best, drunken capabilities. It’s more to do with the fact that if Keith plays the card of the grumpy reluctant friend well enough, he’ll be able to glean more free drinks out of his friends.

“I’ll do it too,” Hunk chimes in and Pidge adds a “Me too!”.

Lance gives a world-weary sigh like he’s not offered more to Keith before to do something stupid, and throws his hat in with the rest of them.

“Do what you want,” Shiro says from beside Keith because Shiro likes to act Good and Pure at all times. It’s a poor way to disguise the fact that he really just wants to absolve himself of all responsibility.

Keith decides Shiro’s going to be his victim.

The instrumental starts tinkling in, and Keith starts having second thoughts. He’s drunk, having been provided the shots before the song, and suddenly singing to the best friend that he’s had a Blatant Crush™ for the better part of a year doesn’t seem as hilarious an idea as he previously thought. 

“You’re missing your lines,” Shiro calls out and Keith snaps his attention back to the screen. Right. 

Santa baby…

Keith pivots on his heel as he starts to sing, and wonders if he should have eaten a little before he got up to sing. His wooziness is a little evident in his voice, but he saunters over to where Shiro’s sitting. His friends ooh as Keith bends down at his hips to sing off-key directly in Shiro’s face.

Shiro raises his eyebrows and grins a little, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. Keith feels a little emboldened, so he gives him a horrible ugly wink with both his eyes.

He wraps up the first chorus, and it all goes good and well till Shiro leans back against the cushion of their booth. He spreads both his arms on the headrest, and his legs splay apart a little and Keith hates that his brain starts immediately thinking SEXY SANTA SEXY SANTA SEXY SANTA-

 “You’re missing your lines again,” Shiro says easily, and Keith can’t even hear what Lance quips in because he’s suddenly got the world’s worst drunken tunnel vision.

The pull is almost magnetic, and Keith can’t help but stalk closer towards Shiro.

Keith has this fantasy where when he eventually seduces Shiro, he’s lithe and strong and moves in a way that screams primal appeal. This is his opening.

Keith clumsily lands into Shiro’s lap while practically yelling out the lines to the song, drowning out Shiro’s oof! when he catches Keith’s weight. To be fair, wearing a sexy christmas outfit over a three day old shirt and stained jeans is not the epitome of attraction but Keith works with what he has.

“Hey Shiro,” Pidge pipes up from the corner. “Did you bring enough bills for this, or should I lend you some?”

Shiro’s turning steadily redder as Keith continues to drape himself across Shiro’s lap and sing what is possibly the ugliest rendition of Santa Baby ever. His friends are equal parts cheering and telling them to stop embarrassing them, that they need to get a room.

The song wraps up, and Keith’s prepared to roll of Shiro’s lap and onto the floor, and preferably out of the bar completely and back to his dorm where he can proceed to sober up and then die once his drunken antics finally register in his brain. 

However, just as Keith’s about to launch off, a strong arm wraps around his waist, bunching up the cheap fabric underneath.

Shiro’s still red, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he tugs Keith closer.

“I’ll buy you a shot if you do another song,” He says, grin lopsided and tipsy and Keith’s so sorely tempted.

[lordlyhour]

Mr Teeth Auxilery Information

But yeah, Anyway to the setting of that poem, Basically, It's a fuggin yuge city built over a ravine.  The Beneath is the name of the Chasm they're built over,  Like a bridge and it;'s filled with all sorts of Nasty things, Basically demons et al 

Fairly precarious at the outer edges but solid as a rock near the center actually paved and stuff Couple of feet thick whereas right out at the edge you can put your foot through the boards. So basically, Mr Teeth was a Magic dude who wanted UNFATHOMABLE POWER etcetera and so turned to communing with demons to get that The Beneathers really don't like humanity, especially those dicks what built a big ol' bridge over their nice view (in truth, the beneathers are actually thriving because they really dislike the light, so they're able to stay out for longer, but it'ss till the principle of the thing) So they aim to bring the bridge a tumblin' down and to that end, they do their best to corrupt people.   It's EASIER if the person is willing, Like Mr Teeth, But if they have someone who can act as a channel (Like Mr Teeth before he became a specter) they can be beamed right into the heads of whoever Also, some psychics are susceptible without but that's basically only those who are both powerful and untrained and most psychics are only one or the other and most are neither.   Ghosts are fairly common, but seldom last for more than a few days,  Unless they're being powered by demonses in which case they're called specters. Specters are visibly corrupted too,  Like, weird spectral glitches. Hence Mr Teeth being called Mr Teeth as his mouth is far too wide for his face and his teeth are fairly dang grody.   Like, when I say far too wide for his face I mean, there's his face and then theres his grin floating about 3 inches out either side.  It's also always facing whoever's looking at him even if they're behind him There're quite a few other spectres flying about the Bridgetown too, Including Ms Smiles who's a pleasant young lady who befriends people when they're at their lowest and escorts them further down, which is only partly a poetic way of saying she encourages people to commit suicide.  She has actually been known to show people ways to climb down to the beneath, Which is harder than it sounds since, while the bridge does have supports,  none of them are in the beneath if for no other reason than the Beneathers'd probably eat them.  the bridge is basically a miracle of engineering with a fair bit of magic backing it up and some of it is being reinforced with the ghosts of people who died during their prison sentences 27 Life sentences MEANS something in Bridgetown.   some poeple also donate their ghosts for the purpose Generally "in case of ghost shortage" Ms Smiles was one of the Powerful But Untrained psychics and had the Beneathers whispering into her head all her life. She thinks she’s being Helpful. 'cause, like, Hey, she died and look at her now! Cool Spooky powers and she can hear her friends talking to her even more clearly! Like Mr Teeth She also has weird Reality Glitch Shit up with her mouth.  It's, like, a Compulsion to hyperfixate on her mouth, and, like Be able to see it, even with your eyes shut.  Quite Possibly even if you're Blind (so like, You're trying to Ignore the fact she's there, and talking to you, eyes screwed shut, hoping she goes away, and nope. She's there. Talking to you.  You can see it through, like, Physical Objects that are between you and her, even if they aren't your eyelids, as well.  You also know when Ms. Smiles has her attention on you. You can feel it, like a physical sensation, The Compulsion to turn and follow the path of her smile as it travels to you. Ms. Smiles is probably the more dangerous of the two, because she can pass as a regular ghost until she decides you're interesting. She's legitimately friendly, she just has a very skewed perspective on The Beneathers and their goals. Mr Teeth is, like, Along with being kind of obviously Not Good What With How He Looks, his demeanour is, like, untrustworthy. The sorta person you think like "wow, he was a bit of a creep" He is legitimately somewhat Charismatic, but at the same time, just kinda. Off. and that was before he was a toothy Phantom The Poem This Ramble Is About Some Excellent Visual Representation Courtesy of @coonillo

[halloweenfor]

80's Costumes - Valley Girl 80s Costume

Theme Halloween Costumes

Like, For Sure! Your girl loves bright colors, mixing prints, bold style, and throwing more than the occasional “like” into her sentences. She’s also totally taken with the music and movies of the 80s. And as we hear it, she doesn’t mind a good shopping spree, either! No, we’re not calling her a valley girl, per se…but you must admit, this Valley Girl 80s Costume sounds like a fun and festive way for her to like, rule  Halloween this year.  Bright as can be and full of signature 80s flair, this exclusive costume helps bring out the diva in your kiddo (at least temporarily!). She can have a great time, like, mastering her upspeak and feeling like a total Betty. What else makes this costume cool for your kid? Like, the fact that she’ll be the only one wearing it, which is lucky, because imposters are grody. Unless she chooses to coordinate with a posse of like-minded gals to gallivant around the neighborhood and like, totally stock up on candy. Then that’s way cool!Design & Details While some people may see contrasting colors as like, overwhelming, we know they’re the bomb! Our costume studio knows that mixing colors and prints was (and still is!) totally fresh, especially in a neon palette that screams 80s, like this one! This costume comes with the too-cute yellow top that says “Whatever,” as well as the hot pink skirt,  green tiger leggings, and a hair scrunchie. There is no end to how your gal can accessorize this costume. May we suggest bangles, baubles, leg warmers, and sunnies?Chill PillBeware—she may be so excited to turn herself into a Valley Girl this Halloween that she may totally bug out! Just calm her down, remind her that this costume is well made to last, so she can wear it as often as it suits her! It’d be perfect for a trip to the Galleria next week.

See Details & Get More Deals at: Best Halloween Costumes 2019 :: Shop