#he’s the token fat guy

[tatonslice]

ive complained about it several times and i will continue to complain about it until the end of time but it absolutely baffles me how badly morikaze got fucked up by the writers

[kokoinupi]

are we not gonna talk about how pah-chin is fat, is always and has always been fat, is shown with clear chub the few times hes shirtless EVEN IN THE CHIBI SERIES (have you EVER seen a fat chibi in an official thing??) and his fatness is never once joked about (his stupidity is lol, and i think he really does not mind that dnwkdksk) AND hes the first one of all his friends to get married????!??!???

[fushiguho]

For eons, I’ve been thinking about sweet, well-mannered, farmhand!Gojo ☀️ who fucks the literal breath out of you and you guys WILL hear me out, okay?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

As your father’s one and only employee, Satoru is held to incredibly high standards, which essentially boil down to two, very simple rules; never show up to the farm late and never, he means never pursue his daughter romantically. Seems easy enough, right?

Or so Satoru thought.

“Miss,” a thick, meridional voice utters from far behind, “miss, pardon my frankness, but I believe you just might be the prettiest woman I have ever seen.” Satoru admits candidly, briskly jogging to match your fast-paced gait as you trudge up the hill, toward the farmhouse over yonder.

“Oh, don’t be silly now,” you dismiss, waving a banishing hand, suppressing the ever-growing giddiness that threatens to invalidate your dismissal, “my father wouldn’t like that one bit, you know that. He’ll kill you ten times over, Satoru.” Surely he’s kidding, right? Surely he would never disobey your father’s wishes… right?

Now trudging beside you, Satoru nods slowly, adjusting the rusted buckles of his muddy, denim overalls. A dispirited sigh drags from his pretty, pink lips. Of course he knows. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you plod toward the house, his lingering gaze as subtle as a sledgehammer, but when is it not?

“I’ve been made well aware,” he finally mutters under his breath as if coming to the unfortunate realization all over again, “but you don’t make it particularly easy for me, miss… you must know that.” His voice is a deep, southern drawl—beautifully elongated vowels like silken honey, the perfect melody for battered souls.

“How do you mean?” Your hand is coming up to your face, shielding your eyes from the sun so that you can peer up at the ivory-haired man beside you. “And you don’t have to call me that y’know.”

“What? Miss?” His incredulous tone forces a giggle past your lips. “Just a token of respect is all, blame my momma,” he smiles, cheeks glowing a beautiful crimson from the parching heat, “and it’s fitting… a pretty name for a pretty lady, hm?” He’s nudging you in the shoulder teasingly.

See? Satoru is sweet. So why on this godforsaken planet does he have you painfully spread apart on your family’s dining room table? Why are his large hands pinning your thighs to the stained wood so that he can watch as your desperate, drooling pussy swallows his cock whole? Why is he leaning down to whisper debauched words of praise directly into your ear?

“Look at this wet, little pussy, goddd… you take me sooo fuckin’ well—fuuuuuck, miss,” he’s deliriously tossing his head back to dangle between his shoulder blades, subconsciously yanking you closer to the edge of the rustic table, desperate to feel more of you, “like it was made for me, heh. Was this pretty pussy made for me, miss? Is this my pussy?”

It’s like switch has been flipped, like he’s possessed beyond saving and is now only a shell of his former self. Has he always been this way? Has he always had this filthy of a mouth? You’re not sure, not really. The only thing you’re sure of is the repetitive, obscene strike of his swollen balls against the fat of your ass. It’s the only thing you can hear, feel, think.

“C’monnn now… asked you a question, miss,” he’s leaning closer, mockingly cupping a hand over his ear to observe the way he fucks the breath out of you, “talk to meee, pretty, I wanna hear you. This pussy too loud, huh? Is she too wet for you to hear me?”

“It’s yours! Your p-pussy—mhmm,” you cry, nodding frantically in immense rapture, “fuuuck, you fuck me sooo good… s’good!”

“Yeah, sweet girl? You like how I fuck you?” The dark, breathy chuckle that drags from the depths of his chest sends yours mind blank as you nod dumbly. “You like how I give you everything? All of my cock?” A big, greedy hand is slipping beneath the small of your back, pulling you upright and impossibly closer. “Yeaaaah, you like my cock, look at you…” his hungry gaze is scanning over your stupid expression, “eyes rollin’ to the back of your head like that. Can’t even hear me anymore, can you?”

A pool of light washed denim surrounds Satoru’s feet, the hem of his white t-shirt tucked between his teeth, baring the sweat-ridden skin of his chest and abdomen. The bruising buck of his hips as he fucks himself deeper is only scooting the large table further and further across the hardwood floor. Even his deep, guttural moans are like kindle to an ever growing flame.

It’s always the ones you least expect.

[rowenablade]

Okay. I’m going to wait to do a second watch before I articulate most of my other feelings here, but I want to address one thing.

I’m seeing a lot of posts like, “I related to Izzy because I am also queer and older/disabled/depressed. By killing him off, the writers are saying that I deserve to die.”

Guys.

I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid. I totally understand grieving a character that you relate to. But speaking as a writer, I just want to point out that trying to write with the shadow of “what is the absolute worst and most harmful way a reader can interpret this” will smother your ability to create. Twisting yourself in knots, trying to think up the worst-faith takes possible and scotch-guarding all your writing decisions against them is exhausting to the point of making you just not want to write anymore.

And we’ve seen the writers deliberately choose not to do this in Season 1. Remember all those terrible “Izzy is racist” takes that the writers and cast seemed completely blindsided by? That happened because the writers and directors and actors weren’t going over every scene with a fine tooth comb, ferreting out every shot or line of dialogue or micro expression that could possibly be interpreted as racist, and scrubbing it off. Because there comes a point where your story is what it needs to be, and you have to accept that some people will interpret it in ways you didn’t intend them to. And if you can’t accept that, you’ll never find the courage to put your work out there.

The point of diverse casts and writing teams isn’t to achieve a state of, “Nothing bad ever happens to a character from a marginalized demographic ever again.” It’s to achieve a status quo of these types of characters just being people in the world of the story. Not symbols, not representation boxes to tick, not tokens that you can point to so that you can say, “Here, we acknowledged this type of person exists, now where’s our woke points?”

OFMD is full of characters of color, queer characters, older characters, characters of differing body types. And in stories, things happen to characters. Some fall in love. Some make the same mistakes over and over. Some turn into birds. Some die.

Izzy’s character represents a lot of things, but he does not represent every older, disabled fan or fan who has struggled with suicide, any more than Jim represents all genderqueer fans, or Olu represents all black fans. That’s not how the writers were handling him. They were handling him like a character, because that’s what you have to do.

Again, I understand being sad. I am so, so fucking sad. But this idea of, “Any time something bad happens to a character I relate to means that the writer thinks I deserve these bad things to happen to me,” will poison everything you engage with eventually. Because stories are full of things happening to characters, and they won’t all be good things. And the more representation we get, the more often bad things will happen to characters we relate to.

But good things will happen too.

Queer couples get married. Disabled women run off with their favorite husbands. Middle-aged characters change careers. A multiracial polycule finds a home at sea. A fat man covered in tattoos stars in a drag show and all his friends cheer. All these things happened in the same show as Izzy’s death. This is what this world is.

Anyway. I know emotions are running high and I’ll probably get blocked or unfollowed by a few people for this. But I’m just trying to find my peace where I can, and if anyone else finds this useful, cheers.

[princessbrunette]

Rafe likes dry humping the least out of the guys. He’ll let you have your fun for a couple minutes but he’d manhandle you on to your back the instant he’s over it because he wants to control the pace 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

୧ ‧₊˚ 🐇 ⋅ 🌸 ⋆˙₊˚

he never claimed to be patient, but he believes that even the most tolerant of men wouldn’t be able to hold out for long having you on him the way you were. that flimsy little sundress of yours was tugged up, clenched in your clammy fist to display your lack of panties, glossy folds spread over his bulge as you hump away at his dress pants to your hearts content.

you’re a wreck, already — and he knew you would be just from the way you’d been looking at him at the country club. you always got like this when the weather was especially humid. something about a warm summer breeze up your skirt made you absolutely ravenous. you’re rolling your hips, smearing the crotch of his light grey pants with your glittering slick.

“easy… that feel good, yeah?” his thumbs rest lazily at the fat or your hips as he holds you gently, letting you do the work for once. he can feel the heat and moisture of you through the layers and he licks over his parted lips, unable to remove his eyes from the scene.

“s—so good, rafey!” you can barely talk, the material stimulating your clit just right. he spreads his legs, bucking his hips a little which makes you squeak in pleasure, body buckling on top of him.

“shit…” he drawls, hands briefly sliding up your dress to paw at your tits, running his thumbs over your hard nipples as a silent token of appreciation for you ditching the bra today. “why you always fuckin’ on daddy through his pants, huh? too shy to get rocked by the real thing or what?” his lips tug up in a smirk and you press your hands into his chest, concentrated on rubbing yourself on him with your eyes shut.

“be—because it feels so… oh god, ‘can cum like this, ohh —” you’re distracted, and rafe feels like he’s just about ready to explode. in a quick movement, he hooks an arm under your legs and flips you onto your back, making you whine as you bounce briefly.

“well, tough luck… i’m over it, aaand i’m in charge here, right? so…” with one hand he gathers your legs to push the backs of your knees up, unbuckling his belt with the one hand and freeing his cock, sliding it over your sloppy folds a few times. “time for me to have my fun.”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🐇 ⋅ 🌸 ⋆˙₊˚

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

here's my masterlist!

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[punkeropercyjackson]

Children's media can absolutely and does radicalize kids when written correctly,it's just that shitty bigoted adults in fandoms deliberately misenterpret their messages and trick them into believing they're canon and that's how we got here.Bleach had Ichigo be a goth punk dude who's a fantastic older brother and choose his female love interest because she's his best friend and he finds her weirdgirlness to be enchanting which is good rep for us because being punk is about nonconformity and so is the fact that he never joined the military system his species was largely a part of because he didn't give two shits about them but over half the fandom is convinced the mangaka is a 'sellout' and 'pandering' for not making him essentially a paranormal cop for the sake of pairing him up with the fem mc that he has a familial and queerplatonic relathionship with as confirmed by the aformentioned mangaka

Pjo had Percy hate the gods as much as Luke does and act on it too but directly TO them instead of grooming younger halfbloods to work for him as soldiers and in fact he basically adopted every one of them he came across as his siblings and pseudo-kids and this is explicitly framed as why he's a hero and Luke's evil but you see nonstop erasure of his anti-corruption and anti-authority mentality and direct action despite being his core character traits to make him more palpable as an 'average fantasy protagonist' when the point of him is that he's not normal in any way

The Owl House had 3/5 of it's mcs be poc with the two white ones being an autistic and ocd lesbian and the other a disabled boy with zero conventionally physical traits that're never made out to be ugly and the protag is an inmigrant afrolatina girl while the big villain is a puritan colonizer and every single ship on the show is queer including the m/f one and the token white boy has almost all the important characters to his arc being black and the only one who isn't is a fat asian girl who's also disabled but the HUGE amount of positive rep in the show is deliberately taken out of context for bad faith critisism by a bunch of 20/30/even 40 year olds who've never written actual good stories themselves and this includes them adoring and gushing over the colonizer guy while dismissing the poc and women in the cast as irrelevant

Across the Spiderverse had an EXTREMELY black in every way character literally named SpiderPUNK who makes his beliefs clear in every single one of his lines and isn't all talk for a single second but he's reduced down to 'annoying edgy older brother figure' and made to listen to Taylor Swift and go to Hot Topic and called 'obviously a skater boy' and every other poser punk trope in the books

Atla had Aang and Katara be a gnc boy of a lesser known type of asian race and Katara a brownskin native girl that reclaims femininity for herself with their character drives being to save the world with Zuko's arc hammering it in again and again that while he always had good in him,he WAS evil,he DOES have a lot of bad traits and that made him do a lot of bad things and THAT'S why he needed a redemption arc to be a hero but Aang gets called racist for following the buddhist belief that in-universe he was sole remaining follower of that killing humans is bad,Katara gets adultified and stripped of her actual personality to make her just 'hashtag relatable teen gurl' and Zuko gets infantalized and upholded as the least problematic character in the whole show

And my last and not quite like the rest example is Harry Potter,including the spinoffs and fanon.Everything in it is neoliberal bs and the fandom just made it worse-Oh,the house that's a metaphor for fascism and white supremacy legacies?They're just misunderstood little babies and every minority-coded🥺The lower class family who canonically were Jkr's best attempt at good people that still flopped?Awful homophobic bastards😡All the female characters?Perfect slay 'You can't sit with us' girlboss,precious little baby angel who can't tie her shoes without her reverse harem's help or manipulative self-obsessed hyperfemme pick me,those are the only three categories they can ever fall in.Marauder's Era not only existing but being very,VERY popular is nothing but whiteness-What is there for you to be attached to there exactly?With the canon cast i can least see why you'd have nostalgia but M Era is literally nothing.You just CHOOSE to pick a franchise that's violently bigoted towards basically everyone and who's creator actively influences and helps caused that hurt irl oppressed groups instead of making ocs since you're already building them from scratch anyway

It's not the fault of actual good creators and especially not kids in fandom that grown ass bootlickers couldn't accept that their precious 'escapist comfort media' isn't apolitical at all instead of absorving it's messages like they should have since they have no care for other people despite insisting how kind and unproblematic they are

[sgiandubh]

Thirst

I just made the huge mistake of taking a stroll down the comment rabid hole (pun totally intended) on Instagram and I am very tempted to say something along the lines of 'don't try this at home'.

I mean, I knew Tumblr is OTT and X is gladiatorial, but to be honest I had no idea Instagram could be at the same time LOUD, jejune and raunchy.

Louder than a floral dress at a funeral, y'all. Compared to what I could see, C's comment threads sound like a Victorian parlor chit-chat.

It felt like landing in a chicken coop, but make it international:

No, #silly - it's a selfie. Also, why should he (or us, by the same token) care she's late for the gym (some A-class ass-kissing there, too).

A Frenchwoman: 'my big teddy bear' 🙄 (also slang for a middle-aged, hairy and yes, fat guy - but let's not insist). At the same time, someone in America spit out her (sweet?) tea, bless her heart. The third comment is a kind, decent person (no wonder, she's a vet student), lost in an ocean of drooling.

Yet, this remains unparalleled:

I am not asking 'who are these people', because even sarcasm must have limits. I am rolling my eyes and telling myself he can't possibly enjoy this. After just three minutes of scrolling, my head started spinning with nausea: there is something cannibalistic about all this. Oh, no, no, no: he can't possibly enjoy this.

Yet, here we are. And sugar on top, someone we all love to hate chiming in:

(bless him, he did not answer)

I am at a loss. The worst of it? I bet whatever you want many of these women don't read the books, watch OL for the biceps only and don't even buy the booze.

Why, oh why, then? Who the hell told this man this is the way to make it?

I almost forgot - nothing better than the resort's sales department intern to add even more smoke and mirrors to the game, as in 'not a latergram' (my right foot):

I am probably naïve, but I don't care. This is so wrong and unfair, in so many ways, I can't and don't even want to start counting.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I have all these incredible request prompts that want to turn into something but my jobs have got me exhausted! I'm having a hard time not just going asdfghjkl b-bellies

So, the best I can offer you for now is my latest brain worms about fat mechanic Steve Rogers and diner owner Bucky Barnes.

Steve starts out as this burly mechanic, always in his dusty, dirty dark blue coveralls and work boots with grease stains on his face and hands. His blond hair is fucking mess so often from running his fingers through it and getting it stained and rumbled. So, Steve is just this huge dude working on cars and trucks and even big rigs because-! His auto shop is next to the truckstop just off the interstate.

I can not stress this enough. He's a big, capable guy. Lifting heavy shit with teeth-gritted grunts, putting in the elbow grease to turn the most locked up lug nuts, sweating and swearing his way through jobs that look grim but always pulling the car or truck through. He's a damn good mechanic, so much so that he has clients that want to repay him. Truck drivers that come back through after he did them a solid with a damn good job on their rigs will bring tokens from other states, drop off homebaked food if their significant other happens to live around there, or some of them even bring gift cards. Gift cards like one to the newly opened diner just across the street in the heart of the actual truckstop.

It's an all-American diner, so at first, Steve passes it up. He can eat American food whenever he wants! He can at least make burgers on the grill. He isn't a totally helpless cook. C'mon. But when he has a gift card and works late for a client to get them back on the move... he doesn't have dinner with him, so... might as well try it.

The diner is seemingly run by this one guy, Bucky, despite how much foot traffic this place has to get with all these truckers and road trippers stopping in. Bucky's a damn fine cook, though, Steve finds that out quick. Everything he orders for dinner is moan out loud good.

The first night, he has a greasy, heavy American food feast. A bubbly coke with a thick bacon double cheeseburger and a side of heavy loaded fries. For dessert, he splurges on a wide slice of pie and a healthy scoop (scoops, really) of ice cream. Before he leaves, taking time to digest before he has to walk back, Bucky even sweet talks him into adding a milkshake to his dessert. Steve has to eat it with a spoon, the shake is that thick. It's so sweet that he can feel it in his teeth.

Bucky's food has to be enhanced somehow, though, 'cause he can't stop. It's too good. Steve's never lost control with food like that before. Woof. Steve waves it off that first night, though, he'll work off the calories easy. It's just one night.

It's not just one night.

Steve first goes back every once in a while, which turns into a few times a week to every day for lunch to... he has lunch there and then heads back to the diner for dinner, too, even if he's not staying late at the shop. Sometimes, he has dinner at the diner, and by the time he gets home, he's hungry again. So he makes himself dinner, too.

With all the greasy, stick to your ribs diner food Steve's coveralls change from baggy to fitted to tight.

His whole body gets wider. His thick, strong neck welcomes a friend in the form of a thickening double chin. His shoulders start to slope, soft and fat, not hard chistled stone. His big arms are bigger, muscle covered with this layer of pudge. His chest gets soft, so soft that his stretched nipples start to poke through his grease and sweat stained white undershirt when he rolls his coveralls down and ties them around his (fatter) waist on hot afternoons. His belly and waist are the real goners, though. His butt rounds out, and his thighs pack on enough to jiggle - something he's never experienced before - but nothing comes close to his gut. And it's a GUT. Round and firm and huge.

Even when he hasn't just stuffed himself to the point of groaning and sweating with excess, his fingers don't sink into that fat. It's hard fat that gets in the way. He presses himself harder and harder against the cars and trucks he works on, trying to get as close as he wants to be to work, but he can't get there. His belly doesn't squish nearly as much as he thought it would but... maybe he's just never empty. His stupid belly's in the way. It's in the way constantly! When he's zipping up his coveralls (and when they're already done up, his rounding stomach presses against the heavy fabric like it's trying to break free), when he's on a creeper under the chassis, he has to jack up the car more than normal now, just to make sure he fucking fits underneath the thing, when he's looking in a client's trunk for a spare tire or whatever and he has to bend over and there's his gut, oof, when he's taking the vehicle for a test drive and he has to suck in to attempt fitting behind the wheel... usually, he ends up having to adjust the whole seat, and still, his gut pushes up against the wheel. His gut can't stop being in the way but... Steve can't stop eating. He's weak for Bucky's cooking even if it's making him feel heavy duty himself, or like his body has gone from a regular truck to a big rig.

He feels it most after he's gorged himself on another unending diner meal, leaving the place bloated unbelievably, having had to unzip his coveralls or burst the zipper with all the pressure of his overfull belly. He waddles back across the street to his shop, stomach gurgling and churning audibly the whole way. Hell, as he goes, he's stifling burps behind his fist from jostling his gut too much, half-running across the road to get outta the way of traffic. He's not getting any work done like this. He can't. Too full.

He's gonna fucking lie on the floor and wait for his bloat to go down or something. His coveralls are unzipped to his big waist, and his undershirt has rolled up to expose his tight, shiny, stretch-marked gut where it sticks out between the open half's of his coveralls. Someday soon, he's not gonna be able to fit into those things. Too, soon, he's gonna get stuck in a car or underneath it or some shit, he swears. It's worth it for that food, though, God, he's addicted to it. The greasy, salty, fatty flavors. The aching fullness of too much. The way Bucky stares at him like he wants to have him for dinner as he sweats and groans and burps through his hearty meals. Lunch and dinner.

Suddenly, with an uncontrollable craving in the pit of his overgrown stomach, Steve wonders what the breakfast menu of the diner is - he's never had it. Maybe... if he heads home now, he'll get to bed early enough to digest in his sleep and wake up in time to make it here for breakfast? He can't drive with his belly in the way like this, though! What if... what if he sleeps in his shop and gets to the diner first thing? Then he can eat his heart out before work 🥵

[thestarryeyedadmirer]

🧠: Thinking about sloppy, pregnant Nick… just a big ol’ miserable mess of a man.

He’s endlessly tired, too exhausted to maintain himself anymore. Hardly ever gets up from the bed, or the couch. Hardly moves. He dresses in dirty sweatpants and XXL-sized, food-stained t-shirts everyday — often wearing the same clothes for days on end — because he hates the way that any other clothes look and feel on him. Unsurprisingly, Nick is carrying large… and he’s put on at least 50lbs. It’s beautiful, the way that he’s filled out! In his head, he’s no longer attractive enough to wear anything other than sweats… at least, not while he’s all big and bloated with your baby. He’s insecure, and very uncomfortable with everything. He doesn’t even wear socks anymore, because his feet are so incredibly swollen… and he used to HATE being barefoot.

All he does is lay around and complain about how fat, gross, and hungry he is… how repulsed he is by what he’s become. He wants nothing more than to get this baby out of him, and move on with his life… but, by the same token, he dreads the idea of giving birth and taking care of a kid for the rest of his life. Even though he feels like a disgusting slob, and hates himself for how he’s living, he hardly has the energy to get up and take care of himself in the same meticulous ways that he used to. Nick doesn’t do his hair, brush his teeth as often, apply deodorant to his musky pits, or shower for more than five minutes at a time. Grooming just isn’t one of his priorities… if he even has any.

He eats food like his mouth is a black hole, and craves some of the most outlandish things. He wants to eat lip glosses and chapsticks, suck on pickles until their soggy and tasteless, and guzzle down entire canisters of whipped cream. If he wasn’t already big enough, from the baby alone, he’s constantly bloated and gassy too… cramping and passing noxious gas. He burps and farts freely, not caring who’s around or how foul he smells. He doesn’t have the energy or willpower to care. When he’s not stuffing his face, or lying around, he’s feeling sick and throwing up. Nick is so miserable in his pregnancy… getting his ass kicked so badly by the symptoms and struggles that come with carrying a baby… that it seems like he’s become an entirely different person — a shell of himself. He doesn’t want to go out, travel, or socialize with any of his friends. He doesn’t want to do anything.

He hates being pregnant and resents you for knocking him up… although, he knows that he could never get through this without you. You, Chris, and Matt are the only people who understand what he’s going through… the only people that give him any reason to go on… and he finds security in that. He never expected pregnancy to be a walk in the park… but he didn’t expect it to be so arduous either. Despite his fears, deep down he knows that everything’s going to be fine. Even still, Nick doesn’t want you to touch him, or even come near him. He’s so disgusted by himself, and ashamed of his appearance that he doesn’t want to to see him or smell him. It’s his way of trying to protect himself, and preserve what little of his pride that he has left… and you understand that. Whenever you’re in a different room though, he wants you to come be with him, and wait on him hand-and-foot. One minute, you’re coddling him in your arms and reassuring him of how beautiful and loved he is… the next, you’re being shunned and sent away to another room. You’re massaging his swollen feet… then you’re being yelled at. You’re feeding him his breakfast… then you’re the bad guy, being blamed for his suffering. He’s hot and cold all the time, extremely hormonal. It’s a vicious cycle… and yet, you can’t get enough of it.

[xviistrings]

so basically, yukiko has a big fat crush on chie but chie doesn't feel the same since she's the token hetero, and chie's had crushes on every guy on the investigation team at some point but eventually raised her standards after realizing her own self worth. you go girlboss. in the meantime, rise's got feels for yukiko but she can't say anything because unfortunately all of inaba is under the compulsive heterosexuality spell.

elsewhere, kanji used to have the hots for naoto but those feelings kind of faded, and after he sorts out his problems with his bi-ness good ol' yosuke comes to him with his own sexuality crisis and they talk it out for a long long time, and in that timespan they definitely shared a kiss but decided that's really gross and they're not going down that path.

yosuke's so totally into yu anyway who feels the same but they're both too scared to confess because they think the other is too good for them, also yu's too busy secondhand experiencing homosexuality through involuntarily watching his uncle and his twink coworker get it on while they're drunk. please, there's children watching.

naoto's the one responsible for rise's aro awakening since they also sat down and had a big talk about queerness with a capital q, where they concluded she was not straight, not lesbian, not mspec, but a secret fourth thing and those feelings she has for yukiko were definitely not what she thought they were. (QUEERPLATONIC!!!)

naoto might have thought they had a crush on someone on the team at some point, but really they're just experiencing friendship for the first time and don't know how to handle acceptance other than wanting to gather everyone up and kiss their faces all over. me too naoto, me too.

teddie is just sitting back and watching all of this unfold. he doesn't get why relationships are so complicated. me neither teddie, me neither.

[vivalas-vega]

Real Friends / Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader / Part Seven

happy valentines day my loves - this seemed to be the perfect chapter to mark the occasion ;) i hope you all had the most lovely day, here is some pure sap and a much needed break in tension between our two favorite friends. I have always wanted to reference a very specific grey’s anatomy scene in my writing and I thought this was the perfect pairing to break it out for - you can watch that here and that is all I’ll say in order to not spoil what’s to come - it is up to you if you watch it before or after you read it ;)

real friends / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part seven

one - two - three - four - five - six 

word count: 4.5k

warnings: sap. lots of sap. 

“Cobra,” Penny started but was cut off by a round of rowdy frat boys to which she gave you an annoyed look. “Cobra, you know I would never ask…” she said, and you just nodded before she even had the chance. She’d lost one of her weekend bartenders and she was definitely feeling it right now as the Hard Deck thrummed with energy and you had no problem slipping behind the bar and taking the spare apron from Penny.

“And you don’t have to, who knows, could be fun to get back into the swing of things,” you smiled as you took an order and got to work. You’d never liked living on base and avoided it at all costs, which resulted in you picking up some bartending shifts in your early twenties to help cover the costs of living on your own on just the Navy’s salary and in all honesty you’d loved it. The energy was usually always good, tips were fantastic, especially on the nights when you dressed to make the old-timers wallets hurt, and it was a great way to distract yourself from the stress of your day job.  It was like riding a bike for you, easy to slip back into your old routine of managing patrons and keeping up with the conversation as well as making sure their drinks were well taken care of and you smiled brightly at Rooster as he approached.

“Have I stepped into an alternate universe?” he asked as you set a beer in front of him.

“Pen was swamped and I happen to know my way around a bar,” you said, mixing up an old fashioned for the guy waiting beside him… based on his young appearance and choice of drink you’d inspected his ID three times to make sure it wasn’t fake. 

“Full of surprises aren’t you?” he teased and you just winked in response, flitting around to clear empty glasses.

“Get away from my bar, Roo, you’re in the way,” you said as you made your way from table to table, pushing him in the direction of the pool table and watching as he joined your group of friends. You helped Penny through the rush, and even got to ring the bell once which was secretly something you’d always wanted to do, and you wiped your hands in satisfaction as you looked over the bar, now only occupied by regulars who weren’t quite as demanding. 

“Cobra, you’re a literal lifesaver,” Penny said, giving your shoulders a squeeze from behind as she slid a rather fat stack of tips your way and you just shook your head.

“Pen, I didn’t say yes for some extra cash, I was happy to help.”

“Come on, most of these are from all the boys on base that are utterly obsessed with you anyways, just take them as a token of my gratitude otherwise I’m never making your margaritas spicy again,” she warned and you placed a hand on your chest in faux shock.

“You would never.”

“Try me,” she smiled, pushing them closer to you and you gave her a soft smile before tucking them away in the pocket of your shorts as she waved you off to join your friends with a fresh drink in hand. 

“Have to say, Cobra, you are a much better bartender than I would have thought,” Rooster said when you approached the pool table.

“I take offense in that, I’ll have you know I bartended for years.” you retorted, “but nevermind that, I uh… I actually have some news, guys.” you said hesitantly, waiting until you had everyone’s attention, trying not to linger on the fact that you’d had Hangman’s all night.

“What, is this where you tell us you're ditching us to spend your days here instead?” Rooster joked and you just shoved his shoulder. 

“No, it’s a little bigger than that… I got a call from Admiral Simpson today, I’m being promoted to Lieutenant Commander,” you said and the entire group broke out in cheers. 

“Holy shit, Cobra, this is amazing!” Phoenix cooed as she pulled you in for a tight hug, “I am so proud of you,” she whispered in your ear.

“Alright, alright, break it up, let me get in there,” Rooster said, pulling you from her arms and into his own. You were essentially passed around the entire group, being hugged so tight you almost thought your ribs could be bruised until you made it to Hangman who really wasn’t sure what to do or say. You still hadn’t spoken, but he didn’t want to let this moment pass either of you by.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander,” he said, giving you a salute and you laughed, shaking your head at him. You tentatively reached out for him and he immediately wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the ground before twirling you in a circle as you let out a giggle, “I always knew you’d be the first to break Lieutenant,” he said setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist and you had no intention of removing your arms from his shoulders. “You deserve it, Cobra, this and so much more.” You just beamed up at him, his words of praise washing over you and filling your chest with warmth and you pulled away from him when Coyote cleared his throat behind you.

“So, when’s the big celebration?” he asked as you turned to face him and adjusted your dress awkwardly.

“Rather soon actually… they thought we would want to do it before we return from break, turns out they know a thing or two about what we get up to in our free time,” you laughed, “it’s this Friday.” 

“Well, then you and I have to go shopping for dresses. Of course we’ll wear our stuffy dress uniforms for the actual banquet but… afterwards we’re going out for a proper night on the town to celebrate our girl, what do you say?” Phoenix asked, addressing the rest of the group and everyone nodded.

“Oh, oh no…” Bob said and you all looked at him in confusion, “this is going to be a repeat of the night after the uranium mission isn’t it?” he asked and you let out a loud laugh before reaching over to ruffle his hair. Poor sweet Bob had been the only sober one present to keep everyone alive and well after you’d all returned home, desperate to let loose and blow off steam once the mission was over.

“Oh, Bob… have I told you today how much I love you? These new glasses really suit your face,” you said, fully redirecting the conversation which was confirmation in and of itself that yes… it was going to be a repeat.

—--

You stood at attention as Admiral Simpson read out your new rank and you saluted, smiling softly as Maverick came to affix your new pin to your uniform, as was tradition for a loved one to do the honors. You’d thought about calling your family, but with the short notice you knew they’d be unable to attend and Maverick was the next best thing, he’d been absolutely delighted when you’d asked. The night had passed with a blur, you making introductions with several important people you’d not yet had the chance to meet as Cyclone essentially dragged you from person to person. You kept chuckling as you’d spare glances towards your team, keeping up an air of professionalism but if you looked just a little closer you could tell they were getting up to nothing but trouble as they sipped the champagne that seemed to be flowing freely and laughed amongst themselves. You couldn’t help the laughter that escaped you as they all scrambled to salute you when you finally approached their table, almost yelling Lieutenant Commander completely out of sync.

“God, I love you guys,” you said through your laughs, “things are finally wrapping up, still the plan to meet at the Hard Deck at nine?” you asked and everyone nodded as they got ready to leave. 

“Mind if I drive you?” Hangman asked, and you nodded at him despite everything in you telling you no. You made your way out to the parking lot where he opened the door for you and helped you climb in, chuckling to himself as you grunted.

“No reason to have a truck like this in San Diego,” you muttered, buckling your seatbelt as he got in, “purely aesthetic, Jacob Seresin, people back home would laugh at you.” 

“They would not,” he scoffed, pulling out of the lot and beginning the short drive to your home. 

“They surely would. They’d call you a poser, say you’ve forgotten your roots with this fancy thing in the city.” 

“If anything this truck is me remembering my roots,” he countered and you shook your head.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but all the real cowboys back home don’t drive frilly rigs like this.” 

“You know what, I’ll let you have it, seeing as it's your day and all,” he said, smirking at you before returning his eyes to the road.

“As you should,” you said simply, turning your attention out your window as a silence settled over the cab.

“I really am proud of you, you know,” he finally said, “you’ve been busting your ass. Not just on the mission, but by naturally stepping into a leadership role at Top Gun, going out of your way to help everyone… it’s really impressive and I just thought you should know that.” 

“Thank you, Jake,” you said, cheeks flushing under his praise as you pulled into your driveway. “You coming in or will I see you in a few hours?” 

“I’ve got my change of clothes with me but… I- I don’t want to impose,” he said and you smiled softly at his suddenly sheepish demeanor. 

“I did ask, Hangman,” you said, getting out of the truck and making your way to unlock your front door and he was quick to follow. You made your way through the foyer, checking the clock on your wall and seeing you had plenty of time to spare as you kicked your boots off. “I don’t know about you but I am dying to get out of this uniform, bathrooms right there if you want to change,” you said as you made your way down the hallway and into your bedroom where you changed into a tee shirt and flowy shorts to get ready. When you reemerged you had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor, blinking slowly as you took him in, wearing a neutral patterned short sleeve button up with well-fitting blue slacks and he smirked as he noticed.

“Well, you certainly clean up nice,” you said, fetching the pair of you beers before motioning him to follow you to your bedroom where you took a seat at your vanity.

“I should say the same, San Diego won’t know what hit them when you hit the town in those… What are those, daisy shorts?”

“Oh hush, this obviously isn’t what I’m wearing,” you said as you gestured for him to take a seat on your bed and you made eye contact in the mirror as you plugged your curling iron in, “on a scale of one-post uranium mission how rowdy do you think it’s going to get tonight?”

“Considering Phe was already a little tipsy when we left, I’m gonna say it might be a little worse,” he chuckled, taking a sip of his beer.

“Poor Bob,” you mused, sectioning your hair and beginning to curl as he watched with amusement.

“I think he actually enjoys it,” he shrugged. “Look, I’ve been wanting to talk to you… I understand why you’ve been avoiding me, I was entirely out of line with what happened and I just wanted to apologize.”

“You weren’t out of line, Jake,” you said, dropping a section of hair before starting on the next. “You surely took me by surprise, but you weren’t out of line.”

“If it wasn’t out of line you wouldn’t have dropped off the face of the earth for three days… it’s really okay, you have no obligation to spare my feelings, I just want us to go back to how things were… I’ve really missed you.” 

You sighed, setting the iron down and turning to face him, “I did kiss you back. Twice.”

“It’s a little detail I’m willing to overlook,” he said, looking at you with pleading eyes and you felt your body thrum under his gaze, drawing you in and clouding your judgment. Ever since Rooster had shown up at your door, you’d been thinking and overthinking, carefully considering his words and the chord they’d struck within you. 

“I’m not,” you said, turning back around and starting back in on your hair as silence fell over the room. You’d gotten almost all of the way through when he finally spoke again.

“What does that mean?” he asked, running a hand through his hair as his knee bounced nervously.  You finished the last strand of your hair, unplugging the iron as you took a swig of your beer and clipped the front sections away from your face. 

“It means I don’t want to overlook it.” you said, taking a makeup wipe to your face and removing any trace before you could start fresh. 

“Okay, but like… what does that mean?” he asked again, confusion clear as day across his face as he tried to understand what you were implying. You made eye contact in the mirror as you blended foundation into your skin. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you kissed me. Ever since that day you came over and we agreed to be friends I’ve been fighting this… attraction towards you with every fiber of my being because you scare the shit out of me. I’m okay right now, I have great friends, my career is progressing exactly as I would like it to,” you moved on to swirl blush onto your cheeks, speaking so nonchalantly it was as if you were giving him the weather report. “Giving into this, giving in to you, threatens all of that. I’ve never been good at relationships and your track record speaks for itself but I know enough to know that this? This is just dangerous,” you dusted your cheeks with highlighter before taking another drink as he just stared at you blankly. “Letting you in means potentially compromising the friend group, compromising everything I’ve worked so hard for, hell it compromises my own sanity because honestly I think when this burns in it’s going to devastate me,” you said, moving onto your eyes, still speaking so calmly. “These are all things I know to be true and yet I just don’t have any fight left in me anymore.” He finally moved, setting his beer bottle next to yours and placing his hands on the back of your chair, watching you in the mirror as you continued on with your makeup, your focus sharp as you drew wings onto your liner.

“Sweetheart, are we going to get to the part where you tell me what this means?” You remained silent for a moment, sweeping mascara across your lashes before discarding the tube on the messy table top and taking another drink of your beer as you met his eyes.

“It means that if that kiss was foreboding something that is just physical for you, you need to tell me so I can… so I can process it and move on, because I-” for the first time emotion seeped into your voice as you stumbled over your words, and he gently grabbed your arm to pull you up and into him as he stared down into your eyes.

“Honey, I am just as terrified as you are, but you and me… we don’t run from the scary stuff, we dive in headfirst and I don’t want to do anything but that with you. This has never been just physical for me,” he whispered as he cradled your jaw between his hands.

“You are… god, I just, I can’t stand you sometimes because you’re… it’s like you’re in me, even when we weren’t friends and all we did was fight it was like you were apart of me, like I was infected by Jacob Seresin,” you chuckled dryly as tears welled in your eyes and you lost your grip on all the reasons why not you’d been clinging so tightly to as his hands slipped down to grip your waist, “I- I… I love you and I, fuck I didn’t… that just flew right out but I love you,” a tear slipped down your cheek as you unraveled before his eyes and as much as you wanted to force yourself to shut up, to claim some kind of psychotic break and lock yourself in the bathroom you couldn’t stop now that you’d started. “I-I do, I love you and I have been trying so hard to just mash it down and ignore it and not say it because this is just… this is a bad idea and I know it but I just can’t think about anything or anyone and I can’t sleep, I can’t- I can’t breathe because I am just so in love with you and I-” you were cut off by his lips on your own and you melted into him, tangling your hands in his hair as you pulled him closer only for him to pull back and leave you breathless.

“You’re in love with me,” he said, wiping a falling tear and looking down at you almost as if he didn’t believe it and you chuckled, cheeks flushing at the uncharacteristic emotional outburst.

“Be cool about it,” you sighed and he brushed your hair away from your face before placing another quick kiss to your lips. His hands enveloped your jaw, fingers splaying across your neck as he tipped your head back and drank you in.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, kissing you again and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips. He pulled back, reaching to grab your makeup sponge and dab at your cheeks and you gasped, plucking it from his hands and swatting him away.

“What are you doing, you’re going to make it worse,” you said, “very sweet but I’ll fix it myself.” He chuckled, sitting down in your chair and pulling you into his lap as you fixed the tear streaks and ran your fingers through your curls.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, placing kisses to your shoulder and you smiled softly, standing and pulling him up with you.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, kissing him again and retreating to your closet where you picked out a set of strapless lingerie you’d bought a few weeks ago and slipped your dress on, walking back out and turning away from him, “zip me up?” you asked and you felt his fingers trail up your arm.

“Is that a bit of red lace I see?” he asked, slowly tugging the zipper up, “you’re killing me, honey,” he whispered into your ear before roughly turning you around and pulling you into him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said innocently, giggling as he rolled his eyes at you.

“Sure you don’t,” you escaped his grasp, grabbing your shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed to strap them on and he crouched before you, taking them and sliding them on, carefully fastening them into place as you watched in adoration. His hand trailed up your calf before pulling you up and twirling you around, “you are a sight for sore eyes, honey.” 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you said, smiling up at him as his fingers brushed just under the hem of your dress.

“Where have you been hiding this thing?”

“You have Phoenix to thank for this,” you laughed and he promised you he would. You briefly thought you should have been freaking out. You should have been overwhelmed by what had come tumbling out of your mouth but you weren’t, you felt lighter than you had in weeks and you felt nothing but excitement at the idea of embarking on a night of celebration with him at your side.

You walked into the Hard Deck hand in hand with Jake, having just got into an argument about kissing you and disrupting your perfectly applied lipstick as everyone’s heads turned to face you. “Look at the lot of you,” Penny said shaking her head, “is the Navy only accepting movie stars these days?” She set a drink before you as you laughed, “this one’s on me, congratulations, Lieutenant Commander.” 

“Thank you, Pen,” you blushed as you approached the rather dapper looking Dagger Squad. “I see everyone understood the assignment tonight,” you teased. 

“Yes, and everyone finish their one drink, we are not wasting this on the place we wind up every night.” Phoenix ordered as Penny approached with her phone out.

“I’m going to try not to take offense to that. At the risk of sounding like a mom on prom night, everyone squish together, I want a photo of you on this most momentous occasion,” she said, gesturing you all to pose and Jake swiftly pulled you into him, his hand settling on your waist as you leaned against him and smiled for the photo before you all broke apart. 

“I’m serious, you might be the woman of the hour but chug. There’s this super cute bar downtown and I want to go before it gets too crowded,” Phoenix said, gesturing to your margarita and you just looked up at Jake.

“And so it begins,” you said, tipping your head back and polishing off the drink, “oh fuck, that was spicy,” you wheezed and everyone laughed as you were whisked away to a rather swanky little bar that seemed a little too posh for what you were sure this night would entail. One shot turned into two, then three and suddenly you were on top of a table with Phoenix as you both drunkenly sang along to Beyonce, flipping off the camera Rooster had pointed in your direction. Your heel precariously slipped off the edge of the table, causing you to lose your balance entirely and before you could even process what was happening you found yourself in Jake’s arms as he just looked down at you amused.

“You doing alright, princess?” he asked and you beamed up at him.

“Wonderful. This is the perfect night,” you grinned and he leaned down to place a kiss on your lips, lipstick be damned, only pulling apart at the chaos it caused.

“Hold on.” Phoenix muttered.

“Oh, I fucking knew it,” Fanboy laughed.

“Are you guys blind? They walked in holding hands,” Rooster pointed out but it only added fuel to the fire. 

“To be fair, I was distracted by her legs,” Phoenix said and you hid your face in Jake’s chest as he placed you back on solid ground. The group devolved into questions and Phoenix just gave you a look, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the bathroom to leave Jake to fend for himself. 

“When did that happen?” she asked and you sighed as you leaned against the sink.

“After the banquet… he drove me home and we got ready together and I don’t know what came over me. I was telling him all the reasons why I didn’t want to and before I knew it I was telling him I was in love with him.”

“A big night for you, indeed,” she said, fixing your hair. “I really am so happy for you. This is good, and I’m not even going to tell you I told you so.”

“I think you just did,” you giggled before the two of you stumbled out of the bathroom with your arms linked. 

“Come on you booze hounds, we’re switching locations,” Rooster said, slinging an arm over Phoenix’s shoulder as Jake navigated you out into the cool night air. The next bar was much more your speed, filled with people just as drunk as you all were and decorated modestly. It was the group's natural instinct to migrate to the pool table, overtaking it and claiming it as your own as you and Jake went head to head. 

“Don’t think I’m going easy on you just because I got mushy earlier,” you said as you racked the balls and he just shook his head and laughed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” The game went as it always did, with the two of you hurling insults left and right but with the addition of subtle teasing on your part to throw him off his game. Just as he was lining up the winning shot you rested your hands on the pool table just in front of the eight ball, leaning forward and giving him what he considered to be the best view in the house. His eyes raked over you and even from your spot across the pool table you could see them darken but it only served as motivation instead of a deterrent, “as much as I love you, I’m not throwing the game that easily.” he said as he sank the ball and you groaned.

“I am not going to get used to hearing that,” Coyote said as you perched yourself on the edge of the pool table and pouted as he came to stand between your legs.

“Come on sweetheart, no one likes a sore loser.” he teased and you rolled your eyes, pushing him away. 

“I am not a sore loser,” you protested.

“You are when you’re drunk.” 

“I’m not that either,” you said, narrowing your eyes and he just laughed at you as he brushed your hair behind your ear.

“Oh princess, you are absolutely hammered.” He kissed the tip of your nose and you just smiled dopily at him.

“Okay, maybe I am…” you giggled as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into him. You breathed in his cologne as you clung to him and sighed in content as he placed a kiss to the top of your head before you pulled away to look up at him. “Everything is perfect, so very perfect.” you said, turning your gaze to look over your friends, smiling as you saw Rooster and Phoenix over at the dart board, Coyote and Fanboy talking to a pair of girls at the bar, and Bob sitting in a booth keeping a watchful eye over everyone. 

“It really is, isn’t it?” he said, never moving his gaze from you as you lovingly looked at all of your friends.

“You cheeseball,” you said when you turned back to him and he just chuckled.

“Your cheeseball.” he said, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss, “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you, too.”

previous part / next part 

taglist:  @potato-girl99981​ @olliepig​ @roosters-girl @angelbabyange​ @loveforaugust​ @seriouslyseresin​ @sopheeg​ @shanimallina87​ @laneyspaulding19​ @djs8891​ @zbeez-outlet​ @startrekfangirl2233​ 

[moonlit-escape]

‧₊˚꒰♱꒱༘‧⊹ Zane Mystreet headcanons !!

i love this lil emo freak i NEED to get wine drunk n watch ponies w this guy

hetero. (comfortable with this label, but honestly his attraction isn't limited to cis women and he has even had crushes on femme men (he just wants to be the token hetero friend))

he mostly dresses casual emo, but sometimes my guy wants to rock a pair of demonias and a fishnet bodysuit with some heavy, pure silver chains and rings, alri

piercings,. piercings piercings piecings. no lips piercings... septum and eyebrow, though. and DEFINITELY gauges in his ears. and ABSOLUTELY ones with cute shapes.

if he didn't cover his mouth all the time, i think he would like wearing dark, cool colored lipsticks

and it'd be smudged all the time bc he keeps fuckin snacking on sweets

of course he paints his nails, and he treats them well bc he hates chipped nail polish (rich boy gets the highest quality, strongest clear nail protection youve never seen before in your life)

honestly all the ro'meave brothers are a bunch of gnc kings like okayyy!! pop off boys w your dresses, heels, skirts, n makeup!!

god can that boy sing

idc he listens to vocaloid and his favourites are vflower and rin kagamine

also listens to emo songs (ofc) and cartoon songs

prefers rock band over guitar hero

one time he smacked vylad in the back of the head with a rock band drumstick and he felt so bad he ran off and cried

boy is the most fuck-ugly crier

secretly steals stuff from people he cares about as keepsakes (like, little things: garroth's old gameboy, vylad's old sketchbook, aph's other half of a pair of lost earrings, nana's ribbons and pastry wrappers)

actually has pretty high metabolism, and one time he gloated abt it to aph and accidentally made a joke in poor taste, and she kicked his ass. so, he just lets her call him a lil fat boy as his eternal penance for being an asshole

okay this isn't a headcanon but sort of is but, why were him and dante like Tightrope-walking that fucking incel line as teenagers. like they were one wrong step from falling into an incel category. thank god their brothers would NOT have had that from their baby brothers anyway bc Wtf

anyway

honestly, he doesn't feel as cold toward vylad as he used to as a teen, and kind of wishes he had the strength to show that and reach out and ease the tension between them. but, he's afraid of making it worse by being awkward, so he wants to wait and hope that vylad makes the first move, if he ever does. (and if not, he'll probably ask garroth to do it for them)

has rejection sensitive dysphoria, made even worse by a rejection complex from: garte's blatant favouritism, bullying and rejection in school, and isolation as an adult. it's part of why he became so attached and possessive of aph. but, he's safer now

he was a harry potter kid. garroth was the percy jackson one, and vylad was warrior cats.

he always thought he was a slytherin but i think he's more of a hufflepuff than he realizes (nana on the other hand.)

he has a lot of sanrio merchandise. more than he will ever admit. his pony merchandise does outweigh it, though, of course

yes, his main comfort character and obsession lies with pinkie pie cake. but, the rainbow dash backpack Objectively fucks

[gingertumericlemon]

When Last We Met

@pearlypairings sent along a sweet little prompt for "crashing the party" and here we are. A stupid little bonbon for the Hellcheer crowd❤️

The captain’s quarters looked empty but by now she knew that meant nothing. Instead of rushing inside, she took her time to peer intently around the room.

The walls were lined with hide-bound books and maps to skies she did not recognize. The few spaces on the shelves not packed with texts showcased arcane curios and dazzling artifacts–few she recognized; but their intricacy and value was apparent to even those who had not traversed the Holy Seas and the Nine and Twenty sky channels besides. In stark contrast to these trophies of taste and sophistication were the instruments of murder mounted on the wall–blades and rifles frugal in design, the easier for claiming lives. Their simplicity spoke of their danger. Her starry, lavender gaze landed on the bay window framed by cobalt velvet curtains behind the wide desk (strewn about with telescopes and astrolabes and a cinnabar opium pipe) through which nothing but clouds could be seen. If she looked through, she’d see nothing but clouds until the faintest smudge of earth some 15,000 feet below. A beautiful emerald-green bird with elegant curling tailfeathers sat contentedly on a perch beside the desk, looking at her with a curious expression. Beneath her feet was a persistent but not unpleasant hum–the tell-tale sign of the pumping pistons and firing steam engines which kept this magnificent, mysterious vessel afloat above the unwitting citizens of Faerun. 

Cosette raised her wrist to her flushed lips and whispered into the little topaz token embossed with her party’s totem. “The coast is clear.” Then she tugged her blouse up. It somehow kept riding down beneath her corset. 

Luthandriel entered first, his radiant broadsword at attention as he scanned his flank for more pirates beyond those they’d already left gutted in the galley. Dumas followed, his halfling form obscured at first to Cosette by a massive globe depicting a far-off celestial landscape. He whistled in admiration as he absently strummed his zither, trailing silver sparks of enchanted music behind him. “Good taste for a barbarian,” he muttered as he pocketed an hourglass of fine dwarvish make. My’thias came last, his massive golden wings barely squeezing through the door such that he had to kind of half turn-out and scooch sideways to fit.  He wiped pirate blood from his snout with a scaly claw. “Is it here? The codex?”

The Beggar’s Mercy spread out and began to search. All except Cosette who was made to stand by the door and keep watch because she. Well. Because they all told her she was the best at it, she guessed!

She shrugged her shoulders (pale, shimmering like quartz in the light) and sighed. Somehow the top of her bodice had gotten all pulled down again amongst the hooks and stays of her corset which was brocade and the color of a new dawn. You could almost see her nipples for um Tyr’s sake! She turned her gaze downward for just a moment to adjust herself and froze. There was something cool and violent positioned at the nape of her neck. 

“You would do well,” a voice like charred and honeyed meat dripping with fat murmured into her ear, “To leave your garments as I fancy them.” 

She did not move. There was the subtle but unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol. “Should have been more thorough in your search, pet,” the voice continued. A hand–huge and calloused and covered in rings–seized her by the waist….

Weakly, Cosette bleated, “Um, guys….” Luthandriel, Dumas, and My’thias turned and groaned. 

“Did you investigate the room?” Dumas didn’t sound angry. Just deflated. Cosette blushed. “I did, I mean–I thought I did–”

My’thias flapped his wings in draconian agitation. “Passive perception isn’t the same thing, we TOLD YOU–” but Luthandriel cut him off. “The lady is new to our land and new to our laws,” he said in a lofty voice. “You would do well to extend her grace and courtesy.”

Against her neck, Cosette could feel the captain smirk. She squirmed in his incredible mighty  powerful grip but no matter how hard she fought she couldn’t break free! “Your paladin speaks sense. I’d pay him mind. Now. Let us be reasonable. We’re all men of business here.”

“You’re no businessman! You’re a murderous sky-pirate!!!!” Cosette thought that sounded pretty good!!! 

Into his fist My’thias could be heard to mutter, “Sky-pirates aren’t even high fantasy, they’re steampunk,” and dodged a caltrop aimed at his eye by the captain in return for his insolence. 

“All men have their price. What’s a pretty rogue like this trade for on terra firma these days?” The captain punctuated his query with a hot swipe of his tongue along the side of Cosette’s face. She liquidated and swooned in his grasp. The party stared in flat-eyed disbelief.

Luthandriel whispered, “Nasty.” 

Then the halfling, the paladin, and the dragonguy thing went into a huddle. 

As they conferred, the captain rumbled in her ear, “Love the corset.” Cosette frowned. “I messed up the–the spying.” He laughed and rubbed his–no she wasn’t gonna say that part!!!!!!!–himself against her. “Little one, that’s half the fun.” 

The huddle ended and Dumas stepped forward. He had an unconcerned expression on his face, like, he was actually pretending to clean his fingernails!!! 

“What use have we for such a silly rogue? She brings us nothing but misery and ill-fortune. Take her. Have your way with her. All we ask is safe passage from your quarters and use of a lifeboat.”

Cosette gasped. “You…you little WORMS!!!” She stamped her foot! What the FUCK! She’d barely even gotten to DO ANYTHING! 

The captain threw his head back and laughed, drawing Cosette ever closer against him. Her nipples were basically entirely exposed at this point, like there was some force outside her control drawing them out as if with a magnet. “I have her already within my power, halfling! You presume you have leverage? You’re lucky I don’t slit her throat where she stands.” Which, like–no. But also, like—hmmm! 

Dumas sighed. “I thought you might say that. To sweeten the deal, we’ll throw in this.” He reached into the pocket where he’d stashed the stolen hourglass except now it looked like a freaking enormous diamond which twinkled and shone just like that one in The Rescuers! Cosette gasped. There was a pause. She could feel the captain settle and consider as he stared at the diamond. She wriggled a little against him, just once, just in case he like. Forgot his hostage!! Or something! 

The captain tilted his head which she knew because the plume from  his hat tickled her face. “That’s a fine stone, halfling. What’s to stop me from taking it from your cold fingers right now?”

Dumas tried to stand a little taller. “It’s four against one, Dreadnought.” Cosette felt a pink sweet thing uncurl in her chest at being included as one of the four. She should have known! Good old Dumas! The captain made a faux-thoughtful noise. “You’re right. Seems hardly fair.” And he snapped his fingers and three sky-pirates rushed into the room!

Foul and heartless they were, these pirates, with not one wink of compassion gleaming in their dull and greedy eyes. These were no mercenaries, who might be bargained with for a higher salary. These were bloodthirsty men, hardly men at all, expelled from the earth’s warm soil to the cold and bitter reaches of the heavens to better indulge their lawless appetites for treasure, ale, flesh, and murder! Their leader of sorts headed up the pack with a cutlass in his hand–in his horrible grin, the party could glimpse he had razors for teeth (ew!) which flashed with malice in the candlelight of the quarters. His companions each boasted pistols which they aimed at the party. 

The Beggar’s Mercy sort of jockeyed for position amongst themselves, and Cosette took advantage of the distraction to wrest herself free from the pirate captain’s grip! Yeah!!! She heard him grunt once in surprise and maybe something else, oh my GOSH ANYWAY she was free. Then she reached to her belt (oooh it was pale deerskin from a market in Neverwinter and studded with silver coins from her finest heists!) and withdrew Shiver by her ebony handle. She steadied her hand and remembered her extremely tragical backstory in the dew-drenched woods of Collum’s Close. Then she took aim and threw Shiver directly into the heart of the farthest pirate! It was a deadeye hit! Her best shot ever!!!! Luthandriel and Dumas cheered. The pirate made a noise like “AURGH!” (everybody always kind of sounded the same when they died…..) and slumped to the floor. Viscous black blood began to drain from his lifeless body. 

Dumas’s eyes went wide with glee. “Does that mean he’s–”

“He’s not undead,” the captain interrupted. Cosette could see his face now and it was VERY handsome :)  “For the last time. These are not fucking undead pirates. Black blood is just cool.” 

Dumas played a pissy little riff on his zither and pouted. “I think undead pirates are pretty cool too but what do I know….”

“She doesn’t have a bonus action,” My’thias said.

Everybody was like, um. 

“She used her whole–”

Dreadnought popped one fearsome eyebrow. My’thias went sort of pale around the edges of his scales and corrected herself.

“She used all her strength to escape from you. She can’t–it doesn’t seem NARRATIVELY PLAUSIBLE–” and here Captain Dreadnaught nodded like you may proceed, “That she could do both things at once.”

The dead pirate’s head lifted off the ground by a half-inch, with one eye cautiously open. The other two lackeys exchanged a look. 

Cosette knew who she was attacking the next chance she got. 

Sheepishly, Shiver withdrew herself from the chest of the pirate with a noise like schlorp, shook off the black blood like a wet dog, and floated back to Cosette’s hand. The rent flesh and shattered bone at the center of the no-longer-dead pirate’s chest knit themselves neatly back together and he scrambled to his feet. Cosette caught Dreadnought’s black and wild eyes and mouthed sorry. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” the emerald-colored bird squawked from the perch. 

“Happens all the time,” flapped an ancient open caster’s tome with dry pages.

“It’s called a learning curve!!!” Three pewter goblets with lids of horn chorused from the captain’s shelves. 

“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!” My’thias snarled. Smoke poured from his nostrils and tongues of flame flickered along the edge of his snout. “GIVE US THE CODEX OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!”

Dreadnought laughed. “You know, our galley’s amateur theatrical society is looking for someone to play Faithful Madeline in MY WANDR’ING TIEFLING’S HEART. If you’re auditioning.” 

“Oi’m playin’ Sweet William,” offered the pirate with razors for teeth. 

More smoke–dark and sulfurous–leaked into the room. “I GROW WEARY OF YOUR GAMES!” My’thias’s snarl grew to a full-throated roar. His scales began to glow white-gold. “I CAST–”

“Do not even THINK ABOUT IT–” Luthandriel shouted at the same time that Dumas groaned, “Are you fucking kidding me dude–!!” but all this was drowned out by My’thias’s screech of, “FIREBALL!!!!!”

In the split-second before the explosion, Cosette saw the faintest glimmer of a smirk pass over Dreadnought’s face. He made a complicated little sigil with his fingers. She braced for her own incineration, but instead there was an enormous shattering of glass and a feeling like whiplash as suddenly she was jerked towards the bay window at the end of the quarters, which was no longer a bay window at all but a massive, gaping hole in the ship’s side. There was a horrible roaring, whooshing noise, loud enough to deafen all other sounds. Then a terrible pounding in her ears as she desperately clung to a chair which luckily seemed to be bolted to the floor. The air was freezing and wild, yanking her without mercy towards the yawning chasm of clouds. She tried to breathe but could not–the air was sucked from her lungs by the change in pressure. Her yards of lilac hair were ripped from their extremely adorable braided buns festooned with ribbons and charms, and now whipped painfully behind her as she clung with a weakening grip to the armrest. She turned towards Dreadnought, silently pleading, her lips were turning blue–!! 

And suddenly she fell to the floor. It was still. It was warm. Strong hands, calloused hands, drew her up gently from the ground. “Steady there, little one,” Dreadnought murmured. “Take your time. Find your breath.” She looked up into his eyes and felt her heart shimmer. He had a scar running from his right eyelid to his Cupid’s bow. Oh wow. Like. Haha! WOW! He held her aloft as she breathed for a moment. 

Then she looked down. Her tits were completely out. 

The captain shrugged. “Call it my savior’s fee.” The beautiful bird had somehow found sanctuary too. It was perched on his shoulder. “SAVIOR’S FEE, SQUAWK!” it echoed. It did not sound very much like a bird at all, actually. 

WHATEVER. She looked over her shoulder and saw there was a thick veil of golden mist sealing her, the captain, and the rest of the ship from the charred ruin which was once his quarters. There was no sign of Dumas–he must have been instantly sucked into the sky. Poor dear Dumas! He never was very strong. Luthandriel was holding on with what little constitution he had left to another bolted-down chair, as My’thias twisted his claws into the splintering wood for grip. “THIS IS PUNITIVE!” he screamed, but it was muffled as if shouted through a thick sweater. “YOU ARE RAILROADING–”

A ballast beam ripped from the side of the ship and hit him in the face. 

“But Captain Dreadnought, what of all your fine treasures?” Cosette trembled as the beast advanced hungrily upon her.

“IF YOU SAY SHE’S ALL THE TREASURE YOU NEED I’LL–”

BONK. Another beam.  

“You heard the dragonguy thing,” Dreadnought pushed a lavender curl behind one of her lovely, slender, pointed ears which had two diamond earrings and a couple really sweet silver hoops pierced through it too! “The time has come for me to claim my bounty.” When he kissed her he tasted like caramel rum. (This part was private too but when he pressed her body to his her nipples rubbed against the rough flax of his unlaced shirt and it was like ooooooh it was so NICE!!!!!) 

Just before My’thias lost his hold entirely and vanished into the void, Captain Dreadnought broke away from Cosette’s warm and tender (aw!) embrace. “By the way, lads,” he mentioned. “The bird was the codex.”

“AWK! I contain the key to all mythologies!” the bird said. “Ok, that’s pretty cool–” Luthandriel tried to add but was lost to the sky. “I HATE STEAMPUNK, I HATE IT SO MUCH!!!” My’thias screamed, but then he was lost to the sky too.

“Now, little one,” the captain whispered in Cosette’s ear. “Have you ever heard of an acrobatics check?”

“Oh my GOD–I mean TYR–” Cosette tried to roll her eyes but then he was kissing her once again so she had to check if she got a bonus on splits or anything like that. 

It turns out she did and everybody except them got mad about it!!!

[rappaccini]

.......... kingdom of the planet of the apes thoughts

noa

great new protagonist. excited to see how he evolves as a character. he's definitely The New Caesar, but his gentler personality is a welcome change.

damn somebody else CAN actually hit the andy serkis notes for playing an ape. props to this actor.

glad he isn't caesar's descendant and that his clan's totally apart from caesar's tribe. thank you for expanding the world instead of star warsing it. -- and for calling out the obsession with nostalgia via proximus.

his arc was great. questioning the state of things and wanting something better should hopefully spell good things for the development of the ape society in the reboots. more on that in a sec.

that or he's about to have one hell of a disillusionment arc.

these movies keep coming up with clever ways to distinguish their ape characters. the bald spot, green eyes and armband being his thing are his.

his tribe and their eagle culture is fascinating. the concept of apes using abandoned skyscrapers as towers for bird husbandry comes from a history channel documentary i remember watching as a kid and i love seeing it pop up here.

even the eagle song, which could've been so cheesy, works in context.

even his name is so well thought-out. noa as in noah, who guides people through a flood; which noa does at the climax. and noa as in 'no', the first word an ape spoke out loud in the first trilogy, which is paralleled when mae shouts his name- the first word a human speaks in the second trilogy.

.... anaya and soona were certainly there.

the soona romance felt out of nowhere. like oh ok so the one girl in the friend group is the future gf. we're doing that. fine.

and all that just so her designated bf can emotionally cheat on her with a human for two more movies. girl. get out of there now.

yes i think noa and mae had chemistry. pota is a franchise that simply does interspecies romance. a lot. you just have to roll with it if you're gonna be here.

i was wondering when that would make it to the movies again, and it seems like they're trying to see how much they can get away with.

like it's 100% intentional that they have young adults who aren't married and have no kids as the pro and deuteragonist in this trilogy. they know about the chemistry. they animated him checking her out like that on purpose. they made them co-leads for a reason. they did a parallel to the "NO" scene in rise with mae calling noa's name. they gave mae a beat of jealousy when she learned about him and soona. he's catching her on horseback and giving her a token of clothing from his clan. he's unable to choose between his childhood sweetheart and the girl he's been traveling with for weeks. there's a layer of innuendo in the climb to access the military silo that had me cackling.

they know what they're doing.

it's probably not gonna be a literal ship, more like a symbolic one. i don't want them to kiss or fuck or say i love you i want them to stare at each other, obsess over each other, debate the nature of humanity and sentience, touch foreheads, save each other, try to kill each other and die in each other's arms. they're gonna make their symbolic breakup everybody's problem.

general worldbuilding thoughts

maybe it's just that i've been getting back into fantasy but there's a very... familiar vibe to the rhythms of the story. a noble prince, a fat goofy monk and a belle dam sans merci setting off to fight an evil king. but it's apes!

damn we're really so desperate for gay rep that we're taking raka saying "he was my village" about a guy he was close to and running with it huh

(👀 at noa and mae encountering another unconventional couple. it just keeps stacking up.)

okay. then we have to talk about how the only possibly queer character is the guy who can't even admit that he's gay even though none of the characters should have a problem with it, who drowns halfway through the movie. and is played by the only person of color in the main cast. oh so i guess these apes aren't that different huh.

no this is such a gripe i have with pota reboot worldbuilding. the apes are starting a new civilization... and building it like humans. everyone's straight, even though bonobos are famously up for anything and even chimps, orangutans and gorillas have been known to get gay. apparently monogomous mates are a thing even though apes don't do that. all power is held by male characters, even though bonobos are matriarchal, orangutans wouldn't give a shit either way and female chimps may not lead their troops but they sure as shit don't hide at home with the babies. yeah okay ~they don't have to behave like their species~ but... isn't that a missed opportunity? if you're going to build a new society based on a species of animal, wouldn't it be more interesting to build it around how those animals behave? or at least do something different than the same system we have?

at least this reboot doesn't fridge any of the female characters. was sure noa's mom and soona were toast. still think they won't make it to the end of this trilogy but they got through part 1.

.... so are gibbons evolved too. i think raka mentioned gibbons. wtf would that be like. skinny little dudes with big voices. can we meet some.

mae

a great deuteragonist. another gripe i had about the caesar trilogy was how male-centric it was. no seriously i was sitting in the theater ten years ago watching dawn, thinking, those humans could've sent a team of women up to restart the dam and this whole mess could've been different because koba's specifically triggered by the presence of men. because men were the people abusing him. (and because bonobos follow the females in the group)

not a coincidence that when the apes adopt a human into their tribe, it's a little girl.

so kotpota having a female deuteragonist was very needed and even something as small as noa's mom being a leader figure was too. the bar's in hell. don't love soona being The Designated Girlfriend, and mae only interacting with guys though. please let her interact with women.

seeing kingdom actually use that angle, of apes being calmer and more accepting of women than men, and having mae exploit that with those puppy eyes? oh that was smart. even if they didn't realize they were writing it that way i'll take it.

another smart detail: the bunker being in the plains. humans were grassland apes. makes sense that would be where they'd continue to exist, and where the other species would avoid.

adding onto that: humans are good swimmers compared to other primates. wish more was done with that given how much of the story revolves around being near water. i'm just saying i wish we got a scene where mae casually swims across the river while raka and noa are like. trying to inch their way over a fallen tree or something. different apes are good at different things. let's see more of that.

anyway love the mae twist. love that she isn't an astronaut-- but is setting in motion events that will lead to their return. and that there are pockets of intelligent humans out there.

extremely funny that she keeps accumulating dirt and has the rattiest side braid. this girl simply does not bathe.

i am staring hard at the implications behind mae always wearing eagle clan blue after she accepts noa's mom's blanket. it's the blanket, then the shirt, then the poncho. hm.

i'm wondering if there are in fact cultures where humans and apes are living together peacefully. or if this is the story of how one is created.

regardless it looks like the conflict's going to shape up to be humans trying to reclaim earth and apes fighting to maintain their new lead. cool.

still annoying that even in the apocalypse women have tweezed eyebrows and hairless armpits. okay.

i'm so curious about mae. how much of her backstory was true and how much was a lie. her group being massacred was clearly true, but her mother being dead may not be. she's clearly isolated from the bunker civilization given that she isn't allowed inside, so is she just... alone. unable to go home again. do they think she's contaminated. is she going to be stuck outside alone in a hostile world for years until the next movie comes out. what's going on there.

anyway the foiling of her and noa is great. smart but naive rule-following son of the chief who's never had a hard day in his life, vs bitter manipulative grimy girl who grew up in constant fear. that's juicy. he can fix her! she can make him worse!

she's clearly not evil. she's just been through some shit. you can see the wheels turning in her head as she realizes raka and noa are genuinely kind, and where her fears about apes are coming from when she literally watches them hunt other humans for sport, had her group murdered by them last week and just narrowly escaped being killed by them. her paranoia and bitterness is actually justified. when she lies to noa, it's because she has good reason to fear him and her distrust of him is well-founded. when she blows up the dam to destroy the weapons inside the vault, it was the right move because proximus absolutely would have used them to enslave more apes. and when she conceals that she has the gun, i don't blame her. (also worth noting that she takes the smallest one in the locker and leaves the rest)

... love that she's the one who made the choice for noa about ~which girl will you choose to kill~. nah bitch. she's choosing YOU.

and she WAS honest to noa about what she wanted from the bunker. dude's not gonna get what a hard drive is, so "book that lets us speak" WAS accurate.

(... very clever of the movie to have noa and co pick up a book of abcs, aka, a book that teaches you how to translate letters into sounds, and see images of apes in cages. the misunderstanding makes sense: he thinks she was here for that. and symbolically, she kind of is.)

the mission she's on IS that serious. fuck yeah getting the satellites working so we can speak to other survivors is worth taking all those risks.

.... and fuck yeah it's gonna lead to some conflict. gonna be interesting to see what mae does when that breaks out.

if she's getting a redemption arc, i love it. if she's about to turn into a tragic villain, i love it.

she's the koba of this trilogy.

(... and since koba was gay as hell for caesar. you know that that means.)

proximus

great villain. great personality. great example of the apes getting in on serfdom and organized religion. he's got an immortan joe flavoring that's exciting.

i know i'm the only person who gives a shit about this but noa should absolutely have been a bonobo and proximus should've been a chimp. putting aside that we're really doing that Good Chimp Evil Bonobo shit again... the softboy from a pacifistic clan being a bonobo just makes more sense because bonobos are the peaceful apes. like yeah ~they don't have to be exactly like the species they're based on~ but when are we gonna get a good bonobo depiction. why is every bonobo an evil wannabe dictator.

and the violent caesar wannabe being a literal chimp and using that heritage to try to claim an inherent connection to the ape messiah feels like a missed opportunity.

especially when you consider that the bronze age apes are already starting to take after humans in their social structure: the apes, all on their own, just invented organized religion, monks, animal husbandry, kingdoms, patriarchy and raiding parties that capture and forcibly convert other tribes to make them into slave labor.

... odds are speciesism is next. it's already there with the humans. how long's it gonna take before they start insisting that certain apes can only serve certain roles in society. we already have it as a given that the chimp Must Be The Protagonist and the bonobo Must Be The Antagonist, that the always-male gorilla's the enforcer, and that the orangutan's always a chill smart guy. what happens if someone doesn't fit that caste system, or if the system fragments into tribes that don't mix species. probably not anything good.

... at what point are we gonna talk about how humans are apes too. it's not the 60s anymore, let's go into that.

or how we really needed to expand the 'proximus wants to be like humans and that's why he's bad' theme to 'any ape that becomes as evolved socially as humans will end up emulating human civilization in all its best and worst ways because humanity isn't the problem, power is'

i hope we still get there. the reboot spent an entire trilogy building up how human apes are and how apelike humans are; let's see the lines start to blur.

anyway frank gallagher being his human advisor was fun. proximus has a real king louie vibe that's funny and eerie.

did proximus and frank gallagher explore each others bodies

of course this fucker's obsessed with the roman empire.

.... still think there's a missed opportunity. like. think about it: proximus wants to be human and is obsessed with evolution and speeding ahead through it by any means necessary. and with bringing an intelligent female human to his court alive and mostly unharmed, and keeping her in a gilded cage. and his manservant's warning said human female captive that whatever the fuck proximus wants with her, it might be worse than death.

all i'm saying is, when proximus literally pulled a 'bathe her and bring her to me' and had her eating at his table as he was breathing down her neck right in front of the guy who has a crush on her who he's trying to break the spirit of, talking about speedrunning evolution and how superior he thinks humans are, preening about how he's made himself a kingdom, sneering about how interesting it is when humans and apes pair up, and. uh. the innuendo in him saying he wants to speed up evolution by forcing his way into an enclosed chamber that's important to mae that she desperately wants to keep him away from that she insists is only for humans (... which she will let a different ape into anyway later that night by clinging to noa as he... you know. gets her there. as they're soaking wet.)

look i was waiting for him to drop the bombshell that he's looking for a human queen and has decided that he wants mae.

you know what that implies.

i wish they'd gone there. it's not even new territory for this franchise!

it would've given mae a visceral reason to snap necks and blow shit up that the audience would understand a lot easier than amorphous ~mistrust of the apes~ -- you really needed a concrete example of what mae personally is afraid of, and this was the best opportunity to give her that while disrupting as little of the story as possible. it would've taken one line of dialogue and maybe one gesture from him to pull that off.

it hammers in that proximus really does want to repeat the worst aspects of human civilization. which contrasts him to noa, a chance to do things differently. the law is wrong, and whatnot. what's the point of starting over if you're going to do it all the same.

it gives proximus another level of menace. fast way to switch the audience's perception from 'he's a dick but he's fun to watch' to 'oh yeah this guy needs to die.'

and since you're clearly playing with interspecies relationships, you gotta establish that they're going to start happening. this would've been a good opportunity to say "yes, we're going there" and show the audience what a bad one would look like, so they can recognize that the good one is different.

predictions.

... ok so beneath the planet of the apes is next, right? and then conquest to close out the middle chapter trilogy?

my wild guess is they'll focus on mae and her bunker people to contrast noa and his clan, and they'll have a female human antagonist to balance out the male bonobo. possibly dichen lachman's character.

maybe they'll drop a male human love interest in for mae to balance things out. another layer of plausible deniability. also it would be extremely funny if he and soona met and were like 'wait a damn minute'

… if they’re really doing a beauty and the beast, what if he’s the gaston figure

and to really drive the foils home, this time noa's gonna have trust issues and instigate the shady fuckup that results in the climax.

and then in the third, there'll be another war that the apes, in some form, will win. and noa and mae will either be trying to prevent it or leading their factions into a death spiral. fun either way.

they won't ever Go There with them being a couple. like no way would they have the balls to do it, and soona being the out-of-nowhere gf for noa pretty much confirms it. unless she's fridged. (man i hope she dumps him)

but their dynamic's got that vibe for a reason. i wouldn't be shocked if they ride that ambiguity through the trilogy and then have their historical interpretations in poto 7-9 be assumed to have been a couple, the same way caesar's been reinterpreted-- either the story of a human-ape relationship that made it possible for their species to live together, or a cautionary tale about Why We Do Not Mix. or springing some indication that the first human-ape hybrid came from them after the credits roll on the third movie, assuming they survive it. which i doubt.

part of me really fucking wonders if the twist for this reboot's going to be that apes and humans DO find a way to live together and noa and mae do succeed at getting their respective factions to live together. maybe it will be some romeo and juliet/uniting the tribes through symbolic marriage shit. feels like the fullest encapsulation of the do-things-differently theme they're playing with in kotpota.

or maybe they'll kill each other. which would also be fun but in a tragedy rubberneck way.

either way i'm excited. i missed these movies!

[sunkern-plus]

there are so many reasons fictional characters could and should be fat but they're drawn skinny as a rail for no other reason than people think everyone should be skinny to be loveable.

example: guy who drinks a lot of alcohol, like a whole 6 pack of beer every day, is somehow drawn thin as a rail. that guy should have a beer gut and be as wide as a house. why are you drawing him thin

example: woman who is body positive (especially about fat bodies) and is kinky and loves sex AND loves eating is somehow skinny as a rail despite there being an entire kink fixated on eating a ton of food and another kink around appreciating fat bodies. same woman was raised in an orphanage and is trans, likely had to starve herself (which a prior history of starvation can lead to weight gain) to fit the ideal mold of what a trans person "should" be to be able to transition in the first place but is now leaning into hedonism and "if you don't like me the way i am then fuck you" attitudes. why are you drawing her thin

example: person with impulse control issues who even has a quote about how they eat even when they're full. their parents are also notably fat. somehow despite obvious signs of binge eating disorder and having fat people genes is the same size as most of the average characters of their birth assignment.

EDIT: THOUGHT OF ANOTHER EXAMPLE

example: this guy doesn't do much physical activity given that he's the token non superpowered guy in a group of superpowered people, mostly uses his brain as his "superpower" (he's just really smart lmao) and has a diet consisting of instant ramen and candy. somehow is one of the thinnest characters there.

example: this guy can shapeshift into a huge tiger the size of a 6 foot tall human basically, which would logically require a lot of body fat and calories to sustain without pain, EXTREME amounts of stretch marks, or some sort of chronic fatigue. is even joked about in the manga about having "love handles". eats tons of food because of his history with starvation (another factor in weight gain and fatness is previously being starved as i stated in the second example). SOMEHOW is, according to his stated height and weight, UNDERWEIGHT.

like. do you SEE the problems i'm talking about