#or should I say backbend

[chaifootsteps]

[major spoilers for Netflix's Baby Reindeer]

so it's a show about a comedian Donny Dunn based autobiographically on the creator's experiences having been stalked and sexually harassed by a woman and in his past having been groomed and raped by a man

the show treats it with care and shows all the side effects of SA and rape - he questions the effect of his past assault on his sexuality, he ends up accepting the stalker's facebook invite and not reporting her for a while because despite how scared he is of her he feels validated by the attention, etc etc

my point here is if a show wants to talk about abuse, or about rape, it should actually do that. and if it wants to represent female on male abuse it should do that, too

but as it is, abuse or SA is just something that gets mentioned once in Helluva and then never again.

like, how have his experiences with Crimson shaped Moxxie? does he ever think about the murder of his mom? Crimson could come back in a future ep (probably) but is Moxxie at all concerned about that? idk, because the show doesn't bother giving characters a consistent emotional state except when it remembers to

same with Stolas and Stella. Fans leapt to claim Stella raped Stolas based on flimsy evidence, yet only cared if Stolas was slightly tipsy (and tied up) the first time he slept with Blitzo the moment they could use that information against Blitzo. and yet they're all for stol!tz despite how bad a person Blitzo supposedly is? We also see Blitzo and Stolas both have lousy dads but the effect of this on them is largely unknown. worse still, the show could have had a good lens on cycles of abuse by showing how Stolas was neglected and mistreated, but he still turned that treatment on someone with less power and made self-serving excuses for it, but nope. we can't have that

the closest the show has gotten to a realistic depiction of the effects of abuse is Blitzo himself. he's seemingly hypersexual in present day because of how his father made him feel like nothing by literally selling him off for an afternoon to a rich family and also because his trauma around the accident has left him with a deep seated fear of letting people in, in case he lets them down and them loses them. he behaves in contradictory ways that are frequently unheathly. he reads like someone who has compartmentalized the living daylights out of his poor treatment by Stolas because he maybe thinks he doesn't deserve better, and previously when he had someone better he self-sabotaged by stealing their car and maxxing out their credit cards so they would dump him

and how does the show treat him? victim blaming him for being sexually coerced by Stolas & being unable to give informed consent to Stolas' deal, then levelling every 'not a perfect victim!' excuse and 'not if he enjoyed it!' rationalizaion against him. it's honestly been morbid to watch the show do backbends to excuse Stolas and the fandom not only swallow it but say worse things about Blitzo on the regular

Morbid is an excellent word for it. I know that there's really no comparison, that Baby Reindeer is based on a true story (and basically one long therapy session for Gadd) and HB isn't, but if Baby Reindeer was about how how all of Donny's problems could be solved by marrying the man who abused him, you'd have HB.

[tranquilpetrichor]

twister

synopsis: what begins as a lighthearted game of twister leads to you finally admitting your feelings for your dance friend.

cast: chen kuanjui x gn!reader ft friend!ricky

genre: fluff

wc: 2k (2025)

warnings: descriptions of physical affection, there may be grammatical errors

a/n: please freaking save me i don't need more boys planet trainees wrecking my life.. anyways if the links to this on my masterlist are weird please let me know, i’m on vacation right now and can’t really do much stuff on my laptop.

taglist: @restlessmaknae

you place the box labeled twister on the floor and open it, your friend kuanjui beside you. he takes the mat and carefully lays it out. you get the spinner and fiddle with it for fun.

kuanjui's set out the mat and is stretching on it—a familiar sight to you over your years of friendship. while you used to gasp whenever you saw him casually go into the middle splits or do a backbend, it no longer fazed you. he simply had no bones.

staring at the mat with colored dots on it gives you nostalgia. "oh my god, i haven't played this in a while," you say, groaning. "please go easy on me."

he only laughs at you. "we're literally both dancers. if anything, i should make it really hard for you!"

you sigh, knowing that he’s almost never lost a game like this. "ugh no. if you're gonna be that way, you should buy me food after we play."

it’s a joke, but you wouldn’t mind food. and eating with him.

he points over in the distance to a guy (aka another idiot friend of yours) listening to music with airpods in. "ha, why don't you ask ricky then? he's the rich one, after all. oh, and speaking of which, we need someone to spin."

you glance over again. “i'll get him."

he smiles knowingly. “you mean you’ll go annoy him, right?”

“yep!”

since ricky’s facing away from the two of you, it's easy to sneak up on him and you make your way closer, finally closing in on his shoulders. after you tap him with your hands, he groans.

“what the hell? not this again.”

you start laughing, amused by ricky’s annoyance.

"dude, you've been on your phone enough. you wanna spin the wheel for me and kuan jui while we play twister?"

you can't miss the undeniable smirk that appears on ricky's face.

"alright, it's not like i have anything better to do," he begins to whisper, "except help two soon-to-be lovebirds out."

"hey! it's not like that," you hiss.

he only shrugs in response. "if you say so."

the two of you walk back, and you try to remain composed. “we have our spinner,” you say, gesturing to a still-smirking ricky.

"dude, quit it with that look," you mutter to ricky, and he just laughs at you.

kuanjui claps, a smile on his face. “let’s start! prepare to lose," he says with a glare that you know isn't malicious at all. you could even say it's adorable, although that's not something you should admit aloud.

you both go on opposite sides on the mat, and ricky spins the wheel.

"right hand on blue."

the two of you move accordingly. even with simple movements like this, kuanjui is graceful.

“right foot on red.”

it's easy so far, but in a few minutes, you know you're sure to struggle. sure enough, you do end up in a precarious position which could only be described as being a human pretzel. he’s reaching over you, like a cat taking a stretch.

"please do not crush my back," you say with a groan. "i don't know if i can handle that."

he protests. "i'm not going to crush your back! i am perfectly capable of holding myself up. if you fall, it's your fault."

"what? i won't fall..."

ricky interrupts. "good one, y/n. a little late on that.”

you glare at him as best as you possibly can from your position. "shut it."

kuanjui is clearly confused. "huh? is something wrong?”

you try to laugh it off. "never mind. he’s just being annoying again.”

there’s no time for him to question you, because ricky keeps talking. “alright, let’s continue! left foot on yellow!”

at this point, you understand why you wouldn't play this game with anyone you don't trust. there's no way you could do this with anyone else without feeling incredibly awkward.

"are you gonna give up?" kuanjui asks, and although you aren't looking at him in an attempt to focus on not trembling, you imagine a satisfied grin on his face.

you barely register ricky’s next command.

“right hand on green!”

no, now is not the time to get embarrassed. you absolutely knew what you were getting into, playing this damn game of all things. your heart definitely wasn’t racing. not at all.

you readjust your hand slightly. “nope. never.”

right about now, he’s probably pouting. “please? if you give up, i’ll buy you strawberry ice cream…”

hm, would you really choose food over your pride?

“aw damn, that’s tempting. but no. also, i’m sure you would do that for me anyways.”

his lack of a comeback tells you all you need to know.

“i feel like a third wheel,” you think you hear ricky mutter, before his speaking volume returns to normal. “alright, left hand on yellow!“

you strain to reach your hand behind you, but manage to get it on a circle. kuanjui’s face is now visible, and the two of you laugh at the absurdity of this whole game.

“i wonder how long we’ve been here,” you say.

ricky checks the time on his phone. “12 minutes, honestly that’s kinda impressive. but can someone please win already?"

“ah, now my wrist hurts. actually everything hurts,” kuanjui whines.

you smile. “you're such a big baby, despite being older than me by a few months.”

he hits you softly. “am not.”

a response leaves your mouth before you can tell your brain to stop saying whatever the hell it wants to. “you are, so stop being so cute.”

he scrunches his face in confusion, but then smiles slightly. "you think i’m what now?"

ah, shit. i definitely said too much.

well, might as well own what you had said. “cute, did you not hear me the first time?”

a slight blush appears on his face. “well, uh—“

ricky yells exasperatedly, “left foot on red!”

kuanjui moves first, slipping his foot behind your back. you try to find a red circle, but it’s a rather inconvenient move.

now you’re pretty much in the splits with your hands spread semi-far apart, and while it’s not the worst position to possibly be in, you’re kinda sore and can’t wait to rest.

“ah, is this what being a worm is like?” you joke.

“i don’t wanna be a worm, i wanna be something pretty,” kuanjui says.

you try to think of a suitable representative animal for him. “a butterfly is pretty.”

that seems to make him smile, and you feel like you've done your job for the day.

at some point, your strength gives out and you drop to the mat, beads of sweat cascading down your face. you're panting heavily.

kuanjui lifts himself out of the weird backbend position he's in with relative ease. how he's not too tired to do that, you're not sure.

"yes! i win!" he says with a fist pump.

you dramatically sigh, placing a hand on your chest. “i humbly accept this fatal defeat. you have kicked my ass once again.”

he giggles. "i'm sorry, i'll make it up somehow."

you pout. "that's what i get, for playing twister against one of the most flexible dancers in our academy."

you try to get up, but he motions for you to stay on the mat. "i'll get water for all of us, be right back. you need to rest!”

ricky puts the spinner down after kuan jui’s left. “please. just kiss. please! you two are so flirty that it’s gross.”

you laugh at his show of pleading. well, at least he was being honest. “i mean, i might confess to him today. i don’t want it to be grand or anything, i just want to say it. now’s as good a time as any, right?”

ricky gives you a genuine smile, probably the first of the day.

“well, good luck. if anyone should be his partner, it’s you.”

he pauses, seeming serious for once, before continuing. “it seems like you guys have a lot of fun around each other. i remember meeting you during dance practice and you were so strict, i didn't think you had an unserious bone in your body!"

kuanjui's walking back, so you try to wrap up the conversation. "gee thanks, i can be fun. but i think some people really bring out different sides of you."

he gives a grateful ricky some ice water, then sets down another cup beside you. "i cut a lemon slice and put it on the side of yours, if you don't mind."

you take it, grateful for the sweet gesture. "thanks, i mentioned that i like that, but only once.”

he smiles, and even that simple action seems ethereal. “i remembered anyways.”

ricky seems more than eager to excuse himself from the conversation, citing “video games” as the reason to leave.

“but you always say that though,” kuanjui retorts.

the younger boy shrugs. “and it’s always true.”

“i’ll see you guys later, you should enjoy yourselves!” he adds with a wink.

that damn guy. but you’re not gonna complain about getting alone time with kuanjui.

you spend about a minute quietly playing with his hair, which you’re both used to. although you do it often, you usually do it when something’s on your mind and you need to focus on something else.

kuanjui traces mindless circles on the mat before deciding to break the silence that has settled between you two. “hey, y/n?”

“yes?”

“did you really mean it when you said i was cute?”

you smile, a little embarrassed. but of course, no going back now. “of course, i wouldn’t lie.”

"i didn't think you would, but it was a little unexpected," he says, laughing. "since when did you ever call people cute?"

you take a sip of water, feeling suddenly as if there was something stuck in your throat. "well, i don't call people cute, unless they're you," you say with a small giggle, averting your gaze afterwards.

you're surprised you can even continue to speak.

"and, i wanted to ask you on a date. i mean, you don't have to! i've liked you for a while now, but i didn't want to make anything awkward… even though it probably seems awkward coming from me anyways.”

there’s a relief you feel after your confession and a sense of nervous anticipation. your hands need somewhere to be, so you reach for the cup.

kuanjui gasps and ruffles your hair affectionately. his eyes seem to sparkle.“oh, i’ve liked you too, and i’d love to go on a date. it’s just that i’m a little bit cowardly and probably wouldn’t have confessed first!”

“ha, believe me, i know.”

he seemed to have another moment of realization. “no wonder ricky seemed so annoyed! it’s like he was waiting for.. well, something.”

“watch what you say, he could come back any moment,” you whisper.

he goes along with your little joke and whispers back.

“what if i say he’s short and poor, old and ugly?”

“then he’ll definitely come back.”

the two of you burst into a fit of giggles. you take his hand, as if you need tangible proof that you’re here, experiencing this beautiful moment.

“do you mind if i kiss you on the cheek?”

jeez, why are you embarrassed? you’re usually physically affectionate with him anyways. still, it’s best to ask about things like kissing, you figure.

he shyly smiles. “go ahead.”

you give him a peck, which elicits more giggling from him, and there’s the lingering feeling of fluttering in your chest. he's definitely happy from the physical contact. as he lays down, he tugs your shirt, bringing you to the floor with him.

"i'm sleepy," he says through a yawn. "could you stay with me for a little?"

you're more than happy to oblige, and somehow, you end up with both of your arms wrapped around him, the twister mat still below you both.

as you settle into a comfortable position with kuanjui (perhaps the most comfortable you've been the whole day), you're thankful for playing that little game of twister, and for finally giving into your feelings.

[pup-pee]

*presents u my dick grayson hcs like ur @ my garage sale* (dick hcs #1?)

♡ this

♡ hes a passenger princess(no this is cannon whoopsie)

♡ dick is like the first girl 2 b killed in a slaughter movie, but just as a 27-ish yr old adult man

♡ draws on a beauty mark in a different spot everytime & gaslights any1 who asks about it -"hey wasnt ur beauty mark under ur other eye?" -"idk i cant see my own face"

♡ hes always losing his hairties bc he keeps shooting them @ ppl -& rubberbands 4 that matter

♡ we dont talk about the skin grip example -it involves a lot of falling & a lot of crashing -if ykyk

♡ dick usually has a twix in his pocket, but in order 2 get it u have 2 guess if its a left or right twix -he also respectfully keeps the left twin in his left pocket & the right twix in the right pocket

♡ he never believed in santa claus but is terrified that watermelon will grow inside him if he swallows the seeds

♡ not rlly a hc but hes vry mcdonals girl toy coded

♡ says "fuck it we ball" b4 jumping in2 a drug ring

♡ the hardest hes laughed in a while was @ a bucket falling over

♡ "masculine but in a peacock way" quotes,,,,,

♡ makes hot chocolate in a pot -refuses 2 make it in a mug it HAS 2 b done on the stove or its not the same

♡ knows how to do his make-up but doesnt know the name of the product he uses -foundation? no thats just my face paint

♡ if u ask him 2 draw, hell say "i cant even draw a straight line!"

♡ dick; *pulls out sticker sheet* *puts mlp sticker some1s face*

♡ swallowed grapes/blue berries whole as a kid bc he didnt know better -didnt chew them*

♡ dicks fav turtle is leo

♡ fixates on tinkering w/his bits & bots

♡ wears crocs -"y do u wear crocs?" -dick; kicks in their direction so the croc hits theyre face

♡ eyeballs measurements(like cooking) -until it comes 2 clothes, then its ultra mega super duper whopper popper deluxe edition focus

♡ h8s grippy socks -the textures weird + attracts halys hair(as if all socks wouldnt but-) -prolly h8s socks in gen

♡ had 2 have snorted pixie stick as a kid -i am such a believer that every kid has done this so he will 2 -as a dare @ LEAST

♡ when hes angry he plops 1 of those sweet cough drops in his mouth 2 chew on just so that he doesnt go off -any hard candy works 2 -he needs 1 of those chewie chewables

♡ biting/chewing hcs bc it needs a separate category @ this point -keeps chewing on earbuds -h8s biting his nails actually -no pen or pencil or eraser is safe -loves biting but h8s when his food is 2 chewy/has 2 bite harder than usual -has more than 1nce caught himself about 2 chew on electrical wire -bites ppl he loves 2 show appreciation/love nom -(i will defend this goddamn hc till the day i die)

♡ pizza bagels -if ur confused, come see me after class

♡ titans have basically banned horror movies from movie nights bc dick would complain about the gore/physics/traps/mo/literally anything 'inaccurate' -"dick its just a movie" "U DONT UNDERSTAND."

♡ has the most social media followers out of batfam but only posts 1nce a month(sometimes not) -its just a picture of his half eaten cereal captioned "beautiful day today"

♡ titians walked in on him doing a backbend & thought some1 murdered him(not 4 vry long though cause oviously he was alive i just like the thought of some1 like roy when he 1st joined the team walking in & doing the most dramatic gasp ever)

♡ listen, i like contortionist dick -its fun & silly

♡ takes 'cringe' as a compliment

♡ "ur mature 4 ur age!" dick; "let me fix that real quick"

♡ hair grows vry quickly

♡ h8s functioning labels(i mean we all should but yk)

♡ skilled in bingo

♡ over buys treats 4 haly -& toys

♡ insane internal clock -kinda ties in; tells ppl specific times -"meet me @ 2;37 pm" as an example

♡ comic sans enjoyer(literally stole from ttg but shhhhhh)

♡ more invested in presidential gay love affairs than WW1 or 2

♡ hes about yay high

♡ hyperfixates on languages istg

i literally could go on 4ever bc my brain is that highway in germany but i wont i regret nothing

pt 2 <- if i make 1 lol

[janis-1987]

Fizzarolli’s Backstory  (Angst)

Hey all, this is part one of two of my really long Fizzarolli one shot, I figured it would be better to break it up into two parts so that way it didn't get too overwhelming for me or for you. This part covers childhood to young adult. So enjoy!

Tw: fire, greed, Mammon, abuse, minor child abuse.

If you aren't in the headspace to read any of that please come back later or steer clear. Without any further ado, enjoy!

Fizzarolli was born to preform, or at least it seemed that way. Ever since he was little he'd been a star. But that came with other issues. 

“Again!” Buckzo yells at Fizzarolli. He takes another long swig of his beer, “And this time, don’t fuck it up.” 

Fizzarolli whimpers, he had just fallen off the large ball for what felt like the hundredth time, his eyes wet with tears as he gets up, “Pl-please, can I have a break Cash?” He begs softly, his little legs shaking in pain. 

“No, you’ve got potential kid, you could go far but to do that you need to master your craft. So, we’re staying right here until you do it right.” Cash responds coldly, “You should be thankin’ me, I’m setting you up from a bright future in show biz.” 

Fizz looks longingly at the exit to the tent, where he can see Blitzo and Barbiewire playing with the other children that performed in the circus. Only for the tent flap that acted as a door to be shut, draping him in shadow. “Please, please can I go play? Just for 15 minutes? I promise I’ll come right back.” He begs, desperate for a break and to be a normal kid, if only for a few minutes. 

“I already told you no. If you get this trick right then you can have the rest of the day to play with Blitzo and Barbie. Okay?” Cash responds, trying to get the kid to just do the damn trick again. 

Fizz's eyes light up at that, he was really close to getting it, surely he could do it before the sun set and finally, finally after weeks of practicing from sunrise to set, only ever getting a break to preform in shows, he could play with Blitz and Barbie and just be a normal kid for a few hours. So, sniffles and wipes away his tears. He walks to the edge of the ring and starts his trick. He does three cartwheels before tuning the 4th into a backbend, which he then turns into a handstand and finally, he pushes himself off the ground with all his might, launching himself into the air, thanks to a spring beneath his hands, he flips and sticks the landing perfectly, one foot balanced perfectly on the ball while the other is off of it, his arms open as he pants. “Was....Was that good enough?!” He asks excitedly. 

Cash nods, “Yeah kid, you did good.” He affectionately pats the spot in-between his horns, “Now, go have your fun.” 

Fizz cheers happily and jumps off the ball, running outside to play with the other kids, but as soon as he got out there, the other kids groaned, except for his best friend, Blitzo. Fizz frowns why had they all groaned? 

“Hi guys! I finally got done with rehearsal, so what are we playing?” He asks happily, his tail wagging. 

“Well, we were playing tag, but you’re probably too tired for that.” Barbie says, crossing her arms. 

“Yeeeaaaah.” A bunch of the other kids whine at him. 

Fizz shakes his head, “I’m not, I promise I’m not. I can play!” He cries, clearly distressed by the idea that he wouldn’t be able to play, after he worked so hard too. But he couldn’t deny they were right, his whole body ached. But he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He wanted to play and he was going to. 

The others looked unsure until Blitzo spoke up, “Hey, if he says he can play then he can. Come on guys.” 

Fizz smiles, grateful to have one friend in this awful place. But truthfully, he didn't think it was that awful, and on days when he wasn’t worked to the bone, the other kids actually liked to hang out with him. 

He smiles, as the other kids agree to play with him, that is until gunshots start to go off, at first Fizz doesn’t think they’re that close, that is until one of the adults running to get their kid inside falls to the ground. Blitzo grabs Fizz's hand as his mother grabs Blitzo and Barbie’s hands, pulling them inside a tent to hide. Fizz tears up and curls up in a little ball, hiding with the twins. His one chance to play, ruined by some idiot with a gun. It wasn't fair. He just wanted to play, was that such a crime. He starts to cry, hiding his face in his hands as Blitzo tries to cheer him up by telling his absolutely horrible jokes. 

Things continued like that until they reached the age of 13, with the decrease of physical games and the increase of gossiping and shit talking audience members, Fizzarolli’s popularity sky rocketed. He was a joy on and off stage, it seemed like he was always ready with a joke or witty remark. He was still worked to the bone and constantly chastised about what he was eating and how much, but he didn’t care much. He was the circus’ biggest draw. He brought in the crowds that allowed this place to stay open. 

He remained close with Blitzo, even if his best friend had only gotten weirder, that strange obsession he had with horses did not go away with age like Fizz had thought it would. But that didn’t really matter. Fizz adored being around Blitzo and hanging out with him. It was alway the best part of his day. 

Blitzo eagerly waves to his tired friend as he gets out of rehearsal, “Fizz! Ready to go fuck shit up?” 

Fizz smiles, “You know it! You got the stuff?” He asks softly as the two slip into the tent they shared, so he could change out of his jester outfit. 

“Of course I did, it’s not hard to get my hands on spray paint.” Blitzo replies with a laugh, showing off his haul of spray paint, hidden away in his backpack. 

“Good, because I am never using the paint you brought last time again.” Fizz teases. 

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that it was body paint? Besides, I had to be fast that time, the shop keeper was on to me.” Blitzo whines. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Blitzo.” He says as he finishes changing, “Now come on. Let’s go before your dad decides to make me do another run through.” He says grabbing Blitzo’s hand and leading him out of the circus grounds. It wasn’t hard to get out, no one payed much attention to the two anymore, not since Blitzo’s mother had died. 

They eventually make it further into the industrial district and get to work on spray painting any wall they could reach. That was until they heard the police sirens. 

Fizz drops the can and takes off running, which prompts Blitzo to yell at him and try to grab the can, “These were expensive you prick!” He yells. 

Fizz whines and runs back, throwing the can he had dropped into Blitzo’s bag and then grabbed Blitzo’s hand and drags him along, he was not looking to get caught today. 

They reach a fence and Blitzo looks at Fizz, he was the shorter of the two, “Give me a boost and then I’ll help you over.” He says as he pants, seeing the cops flashlight, Fizz does just that but Blitzo falls onto the other side of the fence, unable to help Fizz.

 Shit. Fizz breathes heavily, as he looks for a way out, he had to do something, so he takes a chance, he jumps, landing on the side of the wall, he quickly pushes off that to get higher up onto the other wall of the alley, which puts him high enough to clear the fence, he lands on the other side only to see, Blitzo wasn’t there. He didn’t like that, but he didn't have time to wonder where he went, he runs, and runs until he’s back at the circus. 

“Dad, please! I didn’t mean for him to get caught!” Blitzo pleads with his father, only to be slapped across the face. 

“You fuckin idiot! We don’t have the money to pay bail! So you’ve just cost us the only person who keeps people coming to this place! You’ve fucked us Blitzo!” His father screams. 

“HEY!” Fizz yells once he’s caught his breath and he gets in-between the two, “I didn’t get caught. I’m fine. The circus will be fine.” Fizz says, glaring at Cash. 

Cash rolls his eyes and shoves Fizzarolli to the side, “I’m glad you’re alright Fizzarolli but that doesn’t change that he put you in danger. No go to your tent, Blitzo and I need to have a chat.” He says through gritted teeth. 

“No!” Fizz says, grabbing Cash’s arm, only receive a slap across the face, knocking him backwards and onto his ass, he yelps and holds his face. 

“I told ya to stay out of it!” Cash roars, “Go put some ice on it. I don't need you to get a fuckin bruise.” 

Fizz whimpers and runs off to get some ice like Cash suggested, no longer brave enough to get involved, even if Blitzo was his best friend. 

Five years later and Blitzo and Fizz were dating and for their one year anniversary Blitzo was taking Fizz to see a Mammon concert. Fizz was absolutely over the moon about it. He had always looked up to Mammon, there weren’t many in the greed ring who didn’t but Fizz wanted to be as famous as Mammon and at this point he nearly was. Sure he still worked for the little circus that was nearing bankruptcy but that certainly wasn’t holding Fizz back, so many places were offering him a job with them but Fizz insisted that he stayed with the circus. Especially since potential investors have started to show their faces willing to buy the circus just to get their hands on Fizzarolli. But those were just imps from the greed ring, Fizz wanted to be known throughout the rings of hell, just like the prince was. He certainly was on the right track for that. 

But he wasn’t thinking too much about all that tonight. Tonight was just pure dumb fun with his boyfriend, no business bullshit. At least, that had been the plan. 

That plan changed after the concert however when two of Mammon’s security guards approached Fizz and Blitzo. 

“Are you Fizzarolli?” One of them asks, giving a stern look. 

“That’s what my id says, why?” He says with a laugh, Blitzo holds his boyfriend’s arm and glares at the guard.

“If you want his number you can’t have it. He’s mine bitch!” Blitzo says annoyed. 

Fizz elbows him, “So, why do you care who I am?” He asks snarkily. 

“Mammon wants to speak with you.” The security guard states. 

Fizz freezes, the Mammon wanted to talk to him a little imp who was just starting to make a name for himself? He had to be dreaming. He doesn’t know what to say, he had promised Blitzo that he wouldn’t talk business with anyone tonight, but he couldn't say no to a deadly sin. 

“Okay yeah, could we do that another time, I’m kinda on a date.” Fizz asks, hoping the answer would be yes. 

“No, either you talk with him now, or you never talk to him. Up to you.” The guard responds. 

Fizz looks at Blitzo with the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, “Please baby? I’ll be quick.” 

Blitzo sighs but nods, “Yeah, alright, I’ll be right here, okay?” 

Fizzarolli squeals happily and covers his face in kisses, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He says excitedly as he follows the security guard to the backstage area. 

He looks around the area in awe, all the tech here was new, and expensive, he had never seen equipment so nice, the circus was severely outdated and his shows were what was keeping it alive.

The guard knocks on the door to Mammon’s dressing room and a small imp opens the door, smiling when he sees Fizzarolli, he welcomes the taller imp inside and Fizz can’t help but be nervous, after all he was about to meet the prince of the greed ring, his idol, Mammon. 

Mammon turns around to look at Fizz, “Fizzarolli! Just the imp I wanted to see, I’m glad you could take the time to come and see me.” Mammon says sweetly, eager to lure this new fly into his web. 

Fizzarolli smiles brightly and his tail wags, he couldn't believe Mammon knew his name,“It’s an honor sir, of course I had time to come and see you. I can’t really say no to meeting not only a prince but my idol.” 

Mammon chuckles, “Please, just call me Mammon kid, you’ve made quite the name for yourself, you’ve earned the right to address me by my name.” 

Fizzarolli is amazed to hear that, from what he'd heard no one was allowed to call Mammon by his name when they met him, not unless they were royalty, it made him feel special, which was exactly what Mammon wanted to do, “Really? Thank you Mammon.” 

“Sure kid,” He says with a shrug, “Any way, I’ve heard quite a bit about you and with how popular you are, I wanted to make you an offer.” 

An offer?! Mammon wanted to make him an offer? This was the best day of Fizz’s life. 

“I want to make you a true star kid, known throughout the rings of hell. But from what I understand, you aren't willing to part with that circus you work at. So, I want to buy the circus and convert it into an amusement park of sorts.” Mammon tells him, he didn’t really want the whole circus but Mammon knew Fizzarolli would be worth the investment, the kid had that it factor that everyone looked for in performers and he had it, he could go far. Plus, more importantly, he could make Mammon a shit ton of money. 

“Wait, really? You’re going to buy the circus? But... I don't own the circus, you’ll have to talk to Cash.” Fizzarolli starts only to be shushed by Mammon. 

“Don’t worry about that kid, I already knew that, I wanted to ask you something, are you and that other imp that you perform with, do you have to be a duo? Because I’m gonna be honest, he’s holdin’ you back. I can make you a star kid, but if you want that, you have got to ditch the side kick. He can still perform at the new circus, and don’t you worry about the rest of the circus folk, I’ll make sure they got jobs too. But if you want to go big, you gotta ditch that dead weight. So if you want me to save your circus, and your ass from the streets, you need to be willing to do whatever it takes. Are you willing to do that?” Mammon asks.

Fizz falls silent as Mammon finishes speaking and his tail droops, was he willing to ditch Blitzo? He wanted to be a star but the two had been inseparable, a duo since they were young, he wanted to talk to Blitzo about it and get his opinion or blessing before making a decision but he didn’t have that luxury right now. Blitzo would understand, right? I mean, he was his boyfriend and he would be happy for him, right? 

So he looks up at Mammon and nods, “I’m willing to become a solo act.” 

“Wonderful, I’ll take care of everything else within the next few days so don’t even worry, we’ll get your contract set once I’ve gotten the circus, so go enjoy your night, Fizzarolli.” Mammon replies with a smile on his face, he truly was happy, he had just gotten exactly what he wanted. 

“Thank you Mammon, have a good night.” He says happily, his tail wagging as he runs to go and tell his boyfriend. 

“You WHAT?!” Blitzo screams at him angrily.

Fizz looks upset, he knew Blitzo wouldn't be happy but he still wasn't expecting him to be so angry about it. “Blitzy, baby, Mammon gave me the offer of a lifetime, plus he said he’s going to make sure no one in the circus goes without a job, this is a good thing. The circus is dying. Please, can you just try to be happy for me?”

Blitzo sighs, “Yeah... yeah, you’re right. This is a good thing Fizzy. Now, how about we go hit that dive down the street to celebrate? You know, the one that lets us in because you’re famous~” He teases. 

Fizz smiles as his boyfriend decides to support him. 

Things changed drastically when Mammon took over, everyone was relocated to this new amusement park called Loo Loo Land, luckily none of the performers had to change careers but honestly, that was because there weren’t very many left, besides Fizz and Blitzo, there were maybe 15 other performers remaining, one of which was Blitzo’s new performance partner, Barbiewire. 

Despite some things getting better with the change, a lot got worse. The stunts became more dangerous, all the performers had to sign contracts that most of them couldn't read, those who didn’t were immediately fired. Those who stayed started to resent him because they knew Mammon only cared about Fizzarolli. But Fizz had lost the most freedom, everyone thought he was working himself to the bone because he wanted to but in truth, if he was even slightly off Mammon would hurt him, badly. The last time he messed up, Mammon threatened to chop off his horns and mount them on his wall. Which of course scared Fizz stiff.

Even his boyfriend had started to hate him, he was upset that Fizz couldn’t spend as much time with him any more. And he constantly told him what a sellout he was and how he hoped that it was everything he had wanted. But Fizz stayed with him anyway, because what else was he going to do? Who else would he be with? Besides, Blitzo only got like that when he was drunk, otherwise he was still really sweet to Fizz, so Fizz didn’t really see a problem. 

That all changed when a fire stunt was introduced. Mammon had approved Blitzo’s idea to add a fire stunt to the performance figuring the danger of it would bring in bigger crowds. Fizz was much more hesitant about it. Fire was not something that mixed well with circus tents that were made completely out of flammable material. 

“Mammon, sir? Are you sure this fire stunt is a good idea? I’m just a bit concerned about the safety of the audience and performers.” He says in protest. 

“It will be fine Fizzarolli, don’t worry about it. Have I steered you wrong?” Mammon asks the small imp, hardly paying attention to him. 

“I guess not.” Fizz says softly. 

“You guess?” Mammon asks, “I did you a favor by buying that stupid circus you used to work at. So don’t question me and do your job.” Mammon huffs in annoyance. 

“Yes Mammon.” He replies, scampering off to go practice some more.

As worried as he was, he had to admit, it was nice to see his boyfriend so happy. Blitzo hadn’t been this happy since before Mammon took over the circus and Fizz stopped being his partner for acts. But this fire stunt involved him, the clowns were going to preform the fire routine while Fizz was doing tricks of his own, it was a three ring circus for a reason after all. Fizz would be in the ring ring that would be front and center to the main audience, while the beast tamers and fire stunts would be behind him in the left and right ring respectively. He couldn’t say that he was thrilled that fire and dangerous creatures were going to be behind him during his act but he knew it helped with the crowds, he may be the headliner but the place couldn’t run off just him. 

Things went well the first few times that act was run. All the catches were on time and other than a wardrobe mishap or two with the clowns playing with the fire, it was fine. No one was seriously hurt. So, surely he had just been being paranoid. Right? 

He should have listened to his gut. 

It was late show, the last one of the day. Everyone was tired and ready to be done for the day. But when that happens mistakes are bound to follow. And of course they did. 

Blitzo tossed his flaming baton in the air and it hit the main support beam of the tent before coming back down. But with the smaller crowd and how tired everyone was, no one noticed. This allowed the fire to spread, smoke began to fill the tent, making the audience and performer cough and before anyone can really processes anything there is a sickening crack as the support beam breaks and lands on Fizzarolli’s legs, since he had fallen over from all the coughing. No one realized that Fizz was trapped as panic erupted, imps and demons fleeing the tent, Fizz is screams out in pain but his screams are drowned by that of others, the animal tamers lose control of their animals, two of them crush Fizz’s arms beyond repair, and another broke off his horns in the rush to get out. 

Fizz screams for help as smoke fills his lungs and his vision starts to go dark. But no one hears him. It isn’t until Fizz has passed out, left for dead. That Mammon saves him as he realizes who was left in the burning tent. 

It takes 2 weeks but Fizz eventually wakes up from his coma, and the moment he does, he screams at the top of his lungs. Pain fired though his body and the doctors were quick to come running in. They were amazed, they had him on the maximum dose of morphine and yet they could tell from his raspy screams he was in tremendous amounts of pain. 

Scars covered most of his body which was now more white than red. His horns were gone making his head feel far too light and most tragically, both his arms and legs were gone. 

Tears fall from his eyes as he realizes what happened. It was over, his career, his life. All of it was for nothing, his thoughts went dark, maybe he should have died in that fire. It would have been more merciful than this miserable existence. 

But then Mammon comes in. 

“Hey Fizzarolli, how’s my star doing?” Mammon asks, sitting beside his bed. 

“M-Mammon? What are you doing here?” Fizz asks as he sniffles, he was getting used to the constant stinging pain. 

“Well, who do you think is paying for you to be here?” Mammon asks gruffly. 

“Oh... I’m guessing I don't have a job anymore?” He says quietly, looking down at his lap. 

“No, quite the opposite actually, if you’re willing to sign a whole new contract." Mammon says with a smirk, "You're a big deal kid, demons across the rings of hell want to see solo shows from you. They think you're amazing and I want to take you on a tour of hell as a test."

Fizz looks at him with confusion all over his face, "But, I can't move. I don't have arms or legs anymore." He says sadly.

"If you take this new deal kid, you'll be set for life." Mammon encourages.

"but what is the deal?" Fizzarolli asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes as Mammon starts to explain. ______________ Part 2 X

[justmypartner]

Did it ever occur to you that Kim's return to work was the unrealistic one and maybe not Adam's???? Kim should have been out longer than Adam and it was glossed over by Eid in an extremely bad fashion. She should have had to do the tests and even the therapy before stepping foot in that station back in S9. I know Gwen has gone back and forth with Upstead but this part is actually more realistic than injuries in the past (how many concussions has Hailey just walked away from and gone straight back to work with in previous seasons? She nearly got blown up in S9 and just dusted herself off; she's a badass but c'mon???)

Okay I need some of you anons to start actually reading my posts before jumping me over stuff lmao

Nowhere in my post did I say Adam’s return to work was unrealistic?? I actually agree that Kim should’ve been out longer. Pretty sure I voiced this back when the episodes were airing. I also wholeheartedly agree that Hailey’s injuries have been unrealistic. I also called out Kevin’s explosion scene last season too. I know it’s fictional tv, but I’ve almost always been pretty vocal about calling out some of the more unrealistic aspects of OC. Sure, you can’t blame Gwen for Kim’s s9 SL being unrealistic because she didn’t write those eps, but she did write Voight getting shot in 9x22 and being back on the job in 10x01 without the retread process. The point of my post from earlier was to point out the backbending Gwen’s been doing to justify why she’s going certain directions that, in the grand scheme of things, appear pulled out of thin air. It’s fine if being more “realistic” is her goal for the season. I’m here for that. All I ask is that there be some consistency with it

[hcdidterms]

Hello! Please do not take this negatively. I only mean it out of concern.

I do not think it is a good idea to have program flags. It can be dangerous. It can go to the wrong audience and people who are not programmed may start believing they are, ultimately leading to there being less available therapists for us survivors. All in all I just believe it can be a very bad idea.

Flags mean representation. Pride flags are good to showcase identity, flags for disorders are beneficial because it increases awareness, but I do not think flags for programs are a good idea.

I just think it is dangerous.

I understand why you could be making it. You state on your pinned message that you’re doing it for a sense of normalcy. But programs should not really be normalised. It is an awful thing that has happened. Coping with it can be done by so many other ways.

I understand if you may dismiss this but please understand the concern.

Thank you.

Disclaimer, someone else got to this before I could(probably Dani, now that I think about it) and answered it in a very,,,, completely and utterly rude way

We completely understand your concern, even the jackass (/aff) who wrote the reply

I am frankly too tired to write this out nicer(because I do agree with his opinions, but not her execution), so you're stuck with their version

Please try to look past all the sarcasm and mocking, I will be happy to try to elaborate on anything you're confused about

Okay, this is stupid.

how is making a *flag* gonna make people think they're programmed??? "Oh pretty colours lol I like them might as well be a ramcoa survivor"? That's hella dumb.

If someone sees our flags and does fucking research and comes to the conclusion that they're Programmed that's fucking great(well, not great as in- yk what I'm trying to say)

I swear to god you people have a HORRIBLE gatekeeping problem.

Also you think there won't be professionals left for you???? Are you kidding me

Ah yes, 13 yr old joe from down the road is gonna take away all the *hard to get to and expensive* therapist. You fucking rectangular spoon

Now on to the stupider part

I can't even understand all the backbending logic you wrote out

Fucking gonna ignore parts of it because Im so annoyed I can't think, but what is your problem

Also you COMPLETELY misunderstood our pinned

I don't want to "normalize" being programmed

I want to FEEL NORMAL.

I want to BELONG.

That's what a sense of normalcy means.

"it's an awful thing" yea no fucking shit Sherlock

ALSO don't yiu fucking dare try to police the way we cope.

Tldr: this is stupid and gatekeep-y and fuck off. Don't like it? Block. We aren't doing anything wrong you goddamn empty paper roll. All your concerns are just???? What planet are you living on

-?

[moodboardsbysarah]

The whole "women should be fat to repulse moids" movement is utterly pathetic. I say this as a slightly overweight woman myself. I'm not even that fat, I'm only slightly above 25 bmi, and I can still feel the physical effects of overweightness weighing me down. These women actually cope so hard by saying that people only lose weight and put effort into being slim because they're trying to appeal to moids. the reason I hate being fat is because I feel the extra weight getting in the way of my athletic abilities. Especially in summer. Some people actually want to climb trees, pull up their own body weight, cycle, surf, do flips, do backbends, swim, have bodies that can walk a few miles without fainting. After gaining 10kg I can feel it weighing down my knee and ankle joints when I walk. Also when I walk my thighs chafe against each other which is super uncomfortable. I want a thigh gap and I want slimness for my own sake. I understand that being slim is really difficult with the stressful lives we lead which are full of poison food and poison vaccines we received as children. I understand that people ruin slimness by sexualizing it and making weight loss all about how attractive you are as a woman. Still doesn't change the fact that being slim improves your quality of life by making you capable of doing more things. if you don't recognise being slim and fit as an objectively good ideal for everyone to aspire to, something's wrong with you.

[feralsteddie]

thank you @mylilplanet for the tag <3

1. Are you named after anyone?

Sort of! Me and my two sisters all have a 'Ray' sound somewhere in our names, after my bio dad's bestfriend/bandmate. My middle is Rain, which I kept bc it's kinda cool as fuck.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Uhhhh, like three weeks ago

3. Do you have kids?

Not legally or biologically, but I raised so many kids growing up and now every queer teenager I sort of interact with calls me mom.

4. What sports do you/have you play/played?

uhhh at various point in my life i did softball, track, soccer, basketball, and volleyball. none of them for very long and i stopped in middle school

5. Do you use sarcasm?

i am such a sarcastic shit it gets me into trouble so much

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

honestly? hair. hate to be on the nose here, but when all of my coworkers are having me fix their hair for them it becomes habit lol

7. What’s your eye color?

Grey

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

scary movies! but i do like a scary movie with a happy ending every once in a while

9. Any talents?

uhhh. problem solving, i'm good at whatever art/craft i pick up, and i can do a backbend and put my head between my feet

10. Where were you born?

Orlando, Florida.

11. What are your hobbies?

i have too many, adhd side affect

12. Do you have any pets?

Not personally but i live with two dogs

13. How tall are you?

5' nothing. i am... so small

14. Favorite subject in school?

Out of every subject I took, I feel like as an artsy person I should say like art/theatre/choir/french or something similar, but if i stop and think really hard it was actually probably history (especially bc i was a little shit who would correct every lie and half-truth i found) or the robotics coding class i took

15. Dream job?

I really want to be a professor! Like ultimate dream job would probably be a live exhibit in a museum doing different kinds of clothes making based on whatever time period they were going for, but realistic dream job? I just wanna be a professor. I love teaching people things

no pressure tagging!

@grandwretch @gayaliensyndrome @my-thyla-my-captain @crowleysnaketattoo @corrodedcoughin @starrystevie @ratboybubs @oneweirdcryptid

[smua70]

Chapter 19 of The War of the Hs is up! As humans continue to evacuate Hell, demons and angels continue to interact.

The music speeds up, and Tabitha adds more shimmies and backbends to her choreography. She approaches Lunael, thrusting her hips at them but not coming close enough to touch. With a final flourish, Tabitha poses with raised arms. She smiles coyly as she meets Luanel’s gaze.

To their surprise, the rest of Lunael’s dancers have retreated, leaving them the sole Heavenly dancer in the ring. They are left miracleless and alone with the entire armies of Heaven and Hell watching every move. They should be terrified. Instead, they feel exhilarated.

Finally, finally, someone who understands dance.

“Would you dance with a demon in the pale moonlight?” Tabitha challenges.

Lunael grins. “Oh, I adore moonlight.” They drop into a split and bounce back to their feet. “As the humans say, it is on.”

[cyarskj1899]

Here's How to Give an Actually-Good-Not-Awkward Lap Dance

Taylor is one of the sex and relationship editors who can tell you exactly which vibrators are worth the splurge, why you’re still dreaming about your ex, and tips on how to have the best sex of your life (including what word you should spell with your hips during cowgirl sex)—oh, and you can follow her on Instagram here.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but you don’t have to be an amazing dancer to give someone a lap dance. Seriously. Even if you have zero coordination and can't hold a beat to save your life, lap dances have little to do with "skill" and more to do with confidence. (It's like the saying look good, feel good, do good.)

In other words, there's no right or wrong way to give someone a lap dance, so long as both parties are enjoying themselves. 

That said, there are a few things you should know before diving head first into it. And luckily for you, we've tapped experts Jaclinne Cheng, CEO and founder of Spicy Lingerie, and Rori Gordon, owner of gentleman’s club Billy Deans Showtime Café to drop all the tea.

Here's what to do when you literally don’t know what to do. Enjoy! 

1. The average lap dance should last at least two songs. 

This would equal a total of six or so minutes, but obviously adjust this to your own preferences and add time as you see fit, says Gordon. If two songs seems excruciatingly long to you, remember that it's not. You can watch 6-7ish TikTok vids in that same amount of time, don’t let your anxiety win this one. 

2. Plan your song playlist ahead of time.

Just like you check your PowerPoint before giving a big presentation, make sure you have your music cued up and ready to go. Depending on what kind of vibe you're going for, picking from this playlist of sex songsmay be ideal. 

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

“A lap dance is supposed to be seductive, so choose songs that inspire your sexuality,” says Cheng. Her picks: “Climax” by Usher, “Girl With the One Eye” by Florence and The Machine, and “Naughty Girl” by Beyoncé. 

3. Wear the right clothing.

You should put on anything that makes you feel extremely sexy, says Gordon. “I love lingerie, garters and thigh-high stockings with a long sheer gown,” she says. You can also pair your outfit with some slip-on heelssince they accentuate the hell out of your body. Just make sure you walk around in the shoes beforehand to get used to them, suggests Gordon. No shoe is worth breaking an ankle over.

It's also important to layer your clothing, especially if you want the lap dance to lead to sex. This may involve stripping down as you give your partner a lap dance, which is like a super-sexy added bonus. 

4. Do a quick lil stretch before.

“It’s important to stretch before you perform to prepare yourself for any extraneous movements,” says Cheng. There's no greater buzzkill than bending over your partner and killing your back in the process. 

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

5. That said, please don't do anything your body can't handle.

If you can't do a somersault, it's probably not worth trying a backbend. Same goes for the splits. But if you are flexible, definitely show it off. Going for a backbend while sitting on your partner’s lap is definitely a crowd pleaser too, says Cheng. 

6. Set the mood with dimmed lights and candles. 

But don't make it too dark to which your partner can't see you. You might also want to play into a role-play fantasy if it's something you and your partner have discussed beforehand. Dress up as a nurse, devil, teacher, whatever—just make sure your setting resembles the theme at least a little bit too. 

7. Make sure you have mastered some moves beforehand. 

No need to plan a full-on dress rehearsal, but you should have an idea of what you want to do, how you want to touch yourself, how you want your partner to touch you, etc. before just going into it blindly. Here are some v common moves you can add to your routine:

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

Stand between your partner's legs and lean your upper body forward with your back arched and your butt up in the air. This gives your partner a super-hot view of your body. Trust me. 

Turn around and hover your butt just above their crotch, moving your butt in circles like you're painting their lap with your cheeks. (Feel free to place your hands on their thighs or the arms of the chair for balance.)

When in doubt, know your hottest seduction tool is your hips. So slowly start swaying your hips from side to side, and then move them in a figure eight to the beat of the music. 

8. Choose your setting wisely. 

This can be in a bed, on the couch, on a chair, or wherever you’re most comfortable. Just make sure that with whatever setting you choose, you can switch between standing above your partner, sitting, and squatting easily and whenever you want. 

9. Think less about dancing and more about connecting with your partner. 

If you’re not a dancer, taking the pressure off of a lap dance can help. I don’t know any receiver who isn’t going to enjoy the view (the view being you, someone they’re already super into, stripping and undressing right before their eyes). I can promise you, the last thing they’re thinking about is how on-beat you are with the music.

10. Have fun and be confident. 

“If you’re not having a good time, your partner will be able to tell, and it won't be an enjoyable experience for both of you,” says Cheng. Let loose and don't be afraid to move to the music in whatever way you want to. There's nothing you can do here that would be wrong or incorrect. Remember, so long as everything is consensual, it's literally impossible to fuck up a lap dance.https://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a3394/how-to-give-a-lap-dance/?&utm_source=facebook_membership&utm_medium=cpm&utm_campaign=cos_membership_content_lap_preview_inline_oct2022&source=cosmo_post_engagers_-_ap_-_lap_preview&utm_id=fb_cmp-23850071617090338_adg-23850071617840338_ad-23853615825650338&fbclid=IwAR2NvtYIljHPbYqhryWxFqx9kaIB2ymMVfnUJyTxG4OLtG_2WWWFNQDyQ3o_aem_AU6IdvJVfaBOU-wzpSPEDUt_67gws-YLwxc1HDEWExlBWOLYZi7IH24YCLnnzT_6dHJHIfJTc0e4ejt56jMN1jk1erhWceG9RsNUNebTeqeBm992AJZ5x5M3RGTs4uRzzcM

Here's How to Give an Actually-Good-Not-Awkward Lap Dance

Taylor is one of the sex and relationship editors who can tell you exactly which vibrators are worth the splurge, why you’re still dreaming about your ex, and tips on how to have the best sex of your life (including what word you should spell with your hips during cowgirl sex)—oh, and you can follow her on Instagramhere.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but you don’t have to be an amazing dancer to give someone a lap dance. Seriously. Even if you have zero coordination and can't hold a beat to save your life, lap dances have little to do with "skill" and more to do with confidence. (It's like the saying look good, feel good, do good.)

In other words, there's no right or wrong way to give someone a lap dance, so long as both parties are enjoying themselves. 

That said, there are a few things you should know before diving head first into it. And luckily for you, we've tapped experts Jaclinne Cheng, CEO and founder of Spicy Lingerie, and Rori Gordon, owner of gentleman’s club Billy Deans Showtime Café to drop all the tea.

Here's what to do when you literally don’t know what to do. Enjoy! 

1. The average lap dance should last at least two songs. 

This would equal a total of six or so minutes, but obviously adjust this to your own preferences and add time as you see fit, says Gordon. If two songs seems excruciatingly long to you, remember that it's not. You can watch 6-7ish TikTok vids in that same amount of time, don’t let your anxiety win this one. 

2. Plan your song playlist ahead of time.

Just like you check your PowerPoint before giving a big presentation, make sure you have your music cued up and ready to go. Depending on what kind of vibe you're going for, picking from this playlist of sex songs may be ideal. 

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

“A lap dance is supposed to be seductive, so choose songs that inspire your sexuality,” says Cheng. Her picks: “Climax” by Usher, “Girl With the One Eye” by Florence and The Machine, and “Naughty Girl” by Beyoncé. 

3. Wear the right clothing.

You should put on anything that makes you feel extremely sexy, says Gordon. “I love lingerie, garters and thigh-high stockings with a long sheer gown,” she says. You can also pair your outfit with some slip-on heelssince they accentuate the hell out of your body. Just make sure you walk around in the shoes beforehand to get used to them, suggests Gordon. No shoe is worth breaking an ankle over.

It's also important to layer your clothing, especially if you want the lap dance to lead to sex. This may involve stripping down as you give your partner a lap dance, which is like a super-sexy added bonus. 

4. Do a quick lil stretch before.

“It’s important to stretch before you perform to prepare yourself for any extraneous movements,” says Cheng. There's no greater buzzkill than bending over your partner and killing your back in the process. 

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

5. That said, please don't do anything your body can't handle.

If you can't do a somersault, it's probably not worth trying a backbend. Same goes for the splits. But if you are flexible, definitely show it off. Going for a backbend while sitting on your partner’s lap is definitely a crowd pleaser too, says Cheng. 

6. Set the mood with dimmed lights and candles. 

But don't make it too dark to which your partner can't see you. You might also want to play into a role-play fantasy if it's something you and your partner have discussed beforehand. Dress up as a nurse, devil, teacher, whatever—just make sure your setting resembles the theme at least a little bit too. 

7. Make sure you have mastered some moves beforehand. 

No need to plan a full-on dress rehearsal, but you should have an idea of what you want to do, how you want to touch yourself, how you want your partner to touch you, etc. before just going into it blindly. Here are some v common moves you can add to your routine:

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

Stand between your partner's legs and lean your upper body forward with your back arched and your butt up in the air. This gives your partner a super-hot view of your body. Trust me. 

Turn around and hover your butt just above their crotch, moving your butt in circles like you're painting their lap with your cheeks. (Feel free to place your hands on their thighs or the arms of the chair for balance.)

When in doubt, know your hottest seduction tool is your hips. So slowly start swaying your hips from side to side, and then move them in a figure eight to the beat of the music. 

8. Choose your setting wisely. 

This can be in a bed, on the couch, on a chair, or wherever you’re most comfortable. Just make sure that with whatever setting you choose, you can switch between standing above your partner, sitting, and squatting easily and whenever you want. 

9. Think less about dancing and more about connecting with your partner. 

If you’re not a dancer, taking the pressure off of a lap dance can help. I don’t know any receiver who isn’t going to enjoy the view (the view being you, someone they’re already super into, stripping and undressing right before their eyes). I can promise you, the last thing they’re thinking about is how on-beat you are with the music.

10. Have fun and be confident. 

“If you’re not having a good time, your partner will be able to tell, and it won't be an enjoyable experience for both of you,” says Cheng. Let loose and don't be afraid to move to the music in whatever way you want to. There's nothing you can do here that would be wrong or incorrect. Remember, so long as everything is consensual, it's literally impossible to fuck up a lap dance. 

Sent from my iPhone

[sockgate]

Sorry Canadian fans if you event want a chance at Toronto tickets you have to sign up for the [redacted] event

[worstloki]

tom hiddleston not bulking up for Avengers 1 but specifically working on stamina and flexibility means,, its literally canon that loki’s fight style is Like That™ because the dude uses the extra agility and everything, so,, where is it? hmm? where are the unnecessary flips and splits and back bends??

[blackwoolncrown]

Saw someone the other day say if you hookup w your friends it should still totally  be normal to say “I love you” during sex like even if you don’t see that person for a year and that’s what I’m taking about

like have sex w whomever but this idea that y’all wanna just fuck ppl and not even express that you give a damn about them is fucking wretched and absolutely does not match the ‘expand love to way more people than just your spouse in marriage’ praxis and I think it’s highkey weird that the same ppl who would talk about that as some revolutionary social concept then do all kinds of backbending to keep that same ‘love everybody’ talk in the bedroom.

Like ‘I’ll fuck you but I don’t love you” is nasty? it’s status quo patriarchal unfeeling transactional objectifying b.s. Get in your feelings.

[eyrieofsynapses]

i’ll be your god of loss

(from “The God of Loss” by Darlingside, which will make you cry.)

so I was thinking about the trio and kids. Because these people, you know, they adore kids! they’re great with them! And they might not admit to that, they may not believe it, but we know it, we see it with Eliot and Molly, with Hardison and Trevor, with Parker and Josie, with the kids from The Stork Job and The Fairy Godparents Job and their clients’ children and so very many more. 

Most of all we see it with Breanna. We see how they mentor her, how they provide advice, how they encourage her, how they build her up, how they laugh with her and speak of teaching her and telling her stories from the beginning. they unashamedly adore her. And they are so very good with her—they know how she looks up to them, they know they are always watched, and they behave like it. They are truly wonderful with her. 

We know they love kids. We know, too, that they see the foster system’s flaws, and we know they fear for the children they save from bad situations. We see how they instinctively nurture the kids of the clients who have lost a parent. We watch how they will lift up the children of the marks who do not treat them well. 

But they are not meant for white-picket fences. 

These are not the kinds of people who settle down. They do not get tired of what they do one day and say “perhaps we’d best end this now.” They never get tired of it. They adore their work, they adore their life, they cannot imagine anything else. They will never willingly stop.

But there is a point where need eclipses want. There will be a day when they cannot do it anymore. 

This is a known fact, but it is not a loved one.��

The years trickle by. The time of Redemption comes and goes. They raise team after team, create an ever-reaching map of International, help people by the thousands and by the singles. And they are not the management. They leave that to the capable people they have trained, the ones they trust with their lives and more, and they keep doing the jobs, they stay involved, they get their hands dirty. Because there is nothing else for them. They began this doing what they loved, after all, and that love has not faded. If anything it has only grown. 

Parker cannot sit still in an office all day, and Eliot cannot watch others fight and listen to them take the blows that he should, and Hardison will never be able to see all the things his algorithms raise and all the troubles that pass in the media and not do anything about it himself. This is against their very nature. 

But the years go on and on, decades pass, and Hardison realizes one day that this cannot go on forever. 

It is Hardison, because it is him who sits in the headquarters or the van or the discreetly close location with his laptop open and monitoring frequencies. It is Hardison, not Eliot or Parker, who can pay the most attention to the every soft grunt and caught breath and withheld noise of pain. 

It is Hardison who realizes, one fateful day, that those moments increase day by day, job by job, and his injury logs have grown exponentially thicker in the last year. He watches their medical supplies drain away faster and faster even as he replaces them. More and more there are mornings when the other two linger between the sheets for longer than they used to. 

It is he who watches Eliot squint ever more at the files and sees his glasses come out of his pocket with unusual regularity. There is a box full of spares in the bottom drawer of their wardrobe for when they break on the job. Hardison begins tipping the lid more often when he starts hearing the crunch of broken glass in his husband’s jacket pocket. They disappear faster these days. 

(One day Hardison has had enough. He makes the toughest case he can and slips it into Eliot’s jacket pocket the night before a job. Eliot never says anything, but it lays on the bedside table sometimes when they’re off, and the glasses stop disappearing from the box so often.) 

It is he who notices how Parker reinforces her rigs more and more, how ropes and straps support more than they used to and stretch further. The vents don’t thud so often these days. She has hung a hammock high in the rafters of their house, and he sees her less in the harness and more tucked away there. 

(He adds padded bottoms to some of the vents and larger places to rest. Parker never says anything, but the vents rattle a little more often.) 

It is he who observes how Eliot isn’t at the punching bag as regularly anymore, how he wraps his hands so carefully when he is, he who sees how Parker does not stretch quite as far as she used to, how she painstakingly plan jobs where she does not have to do a backbend or a particular contortion. 

It is he who watches every time they step out—not jump out, no, not anymore—of the van, carefully holding on to the sides, and thinks to himself as he watches them walk away— 

Is this the last time I will ever see you?

It’s Hardison who, whenever he finds a new job for them to do, eyes the circumstances and determines whether it’s something he can ship off to another team or not. His algorithms are prioritized now to chances of harm rather than potential jobs, attuned to the ever-growing injury logs. Their jobs begin to skew further to grifts and simpler building plans. But that never stops him wondering: Will this be the last job we ever take? 

Will I send them to their deaths today? 

For it is not his hair that fills with grey streaks faster and faster. It is Parker’s. When he sits behind her on the bed with her brush beside him, carefully separating her hair into strands for braiding, he finds more and more of them silvering. 

(He watches her braid it every day, but some mornings she slips before him anyway. She was delighted when she discovered he could do it, courtesy of too many little sisters and not enough time in busy school mornings. It brings a grin to his face every time he thinks of her sunshine smile.) 

It is Eliot’s, for there are late nights when Hardison finds him stretched out and half-asleep on the couch, and when he comes back with a blanket Eliot will be sitting up and waiting. He always sits beside him. Sometimes, Eliot lays back down with his head in his husband’s lap and lets him card gentle fingers through his hair. Those cherished moments become bittersweet when he finds that it is not so thick nor as deep in color as he remembers (though it is always soft). 

And it is Hardison who bolts awake in the midst of the night with the ringing of the comms in his ears, clutching at the sheets to reassure himself he is not in the van he is not in the headquarters he is not on a job he does not have the earbud in his ear he is not listening to his lovers dying. 

These nightmares plagued him from the beginning. He cannot count the number of times he has dreamt of sucking death-rattle breaths, the crack of spines, the sound of screaming in his ears, cannot count the times he has dreamt of searching and searching for bodies. Sometimes he does find them, staring eyes and crushed ribs and mangled limbs. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes they aren’t dead at all—but those times he never finds them. He can never figure out which is worse. 

But the nightmares have never been so bad as they are now. 

Other nights he does not sleep. Other nights, he sits awake and watches his lovers’ scarred chests rise and fall in deep slumbering breaths, and wonders when will I lose you? A year from now? Two? Or only months, only weeks? 

What if it’s tomorrow? 

He wakes to the others’ weeping often. But he thinks they are the ones comforting him more these days. 

Finally Hardison has had enough. 

They can’t do this any longer. He can’t do this any longer. Hardison cannot live without them, these two lights of his life, his sun and moon and bright diamond stars—but he knows he will die last, should they continue down this path, and he will die alone and many years from now. 

For it is not he who takes punch after punch from men decades younger than himself, who climbs into stories-high elevator shafts where one wrong button-press could end it all, who stares down the barrels of guns without one himself, who hangs off the sides of buildings by his fingertips, who pushes and pushes and pushes his body day in and day out. His husband and wife are resilient. The odds say that they should have been unable to keep doing this a decade ago—and the odds are wrong.

But Eliot and Parker are not the kinds of people who can merely stop. There will never be a day, Hardison knows, when they will sit down with him and say we do not want to do this anymore. They will push and push and push themselves till they break. 

Hardison knows what their breaking will look like. His dreams have told him so. Hardison will not, will never, let that happen on his watch. He will have to stop them. 

If he asked, they would. It would take coercing, it would take shouting and arguing and probably many hours of the two of them off on their own and thinking, but they would. 

But Hardison turns this over in his mind as he forges paintings and writes code and sends out emails to the teams, tries to picture stopping, and it makes him go nearly as cold as the thought of breaking does. 

Stopping means no more jobs. No more jobs means… 

Well, it means a lot of time spent volunteering, he supposes, and overseeing International’s teams. It means a lot more nights spent at home and not hotels. More of Eliot’s home cooked meals, he guesses, and more movie nights, more trips for fun. The medical kit wouldn’t have to be refilled nearly as often. Eliot’s box of glasses would never have to be replenished again. It means fewer days spent watching his partners hobble around and deny that they need to sit. Hardison wouldn’t have to plan jobs around the weather that makes their bones ache, or watch Parker wince as she drops out of a vent, or notice how Eliot needs the volume in his comm brought up higher than he used to. 

There would be no heart monitors that spike and fall on the screens. 

Hardison thinks of this, and then he imagines Parker and Eliot in their house, day in and day out, and it brings a shake to his breath rather than a steadiness. 

Ever-moving Parker and Eliot, his never-stopping always-going wife and husband, for whom he has to fill the house with distractions to keep them from pacing and snapping and looking for trouble. Parker has vents and climbing systems and a room full to the brim of boxes of locks, safes, puzzle-boxes, books of riddles, absolutely anything and everything that could challenge her. 

There’s a small gym for Eliot. Hardison always puts new gadgets and cookbooks in the kitchen, and he’s found that there are indeed some books that Eliot will spend hours reading (assuming he can find his glasses). A guitar found its way into the living room one day, and now books of music pile up on the nearby shelves. He keeps a closet specifically for outdoor gear. 

But there are only so many meals that can be cooked. Parker is already bored of most of the puzzle room. More than that, they both have to move. Challenges from books and puzzles and games have never and will never be enough for them. 

Hardison thinks of them in that house, day in and day out, growing wearier and wearier of what they have, growing tired of what life has to offer, and it sends a racking shudder through him. 

He goes on, day in and day out, and he watches them, and they push themselves, and he worries and he wonders and he dreams and he fears. 

And then, one day, it hits him. 

They’re sending off yet another kid to the foster system. Hardison will track them and make sure they find the right place, but it always aches a little to watch them go. He’s been through that hell. There is nothing he wouldn’t give not to help them. The three of them always see them off, but it never feels like enough. 

This time, though, he’s rushing, running to meet them. The kid is already leaving. Parker and Eliot watch them go, tension laced in their shoulders, and it occurs to him that he rarely ever watches them watch the kid. 

They look with the same love in their eyes he saw so many years ago. In a moment he is struck with memories: listening to Eliot teaching Molly how to hit balloons with a dart in the mirror, Parker putting her hands over Josie’s ears as she taught her to break into a car, the worried love in his husband’s voice as he searched for the girl he had known for mere hours, the outraged passion of his wife’s protectiveness over the teenager she had seen so much of herself in. 

There is the ringing of Parker’s half-choked declaration they’ll wind up like me. There is the way Eliot had spoken of Cory, a boy who still carried his father’s lunchbox while he worked in a mine for his family. There’s the kid from the boxing ring and the kid whose father was killing himself in the ice rink and the children tackling Eliot in the school and, and, and—

—and Hardison remembers teaching bright, precocious Trevor about hacking when they were trying to steal a goddamn potato of all things. And of course Breanna, wonderful, perfect Breanna, who leads International now. Breanna, whom he spent so many long, long days and nights teaching how to hack and how to build software and hardware and engineering and whatever else she asked of him. Breanna, who called even when it was four in the morning for her, just to hear his tales of the crew. She still calls. Half the time it’s only to hear their voices. 

With her comes the loud, bustling noise of Nana’s house, the shouting echoing off the walls, the warmth of his little siblings on his hip, the attention and focus it took to put braid after braid in his sisters’ hair. Nana was forever busy with the kids. He still loves coming over as often as he can to help. One thing never changes—her house is forever noisy. There are always new kids around, and there are always lessons to be taught: how to fold laundry, how to dance along to a song without worrying whether you’re doing it right, how to complete all of your schoolwork for the night, how to speak kindly, how to work together, and the most important one of all: 

Love yourself.

Nana’s work is never done. She is always busy.

Eliot and Parker cannot stand to be still. They need to be doing something. But most of all, they have to be helping someone. 

The puzzle snaps together like a flash of lightning. As the thunder rolls, so does his mind: he knows precisely what he needs to do. 

First there’s the matter of housing. Their house is big, but not that big, and anyway, the only home that matters to them is each other. Nana’s only one person, and she can manage plenty of kids on her own. Between the three of them, Hardison is sure they’ll wind up with quite the brood. 

There are any number of mansions lying around the States. It’s shocking how many there are. They’re not small, either: most of them could fit a whole extended family in them, though most of the time they’re just bought by too-rich people who can’t hope to fill a quarter of the space. Hardison should know. The crew has infiltrated plenty of them. But he knows they’ll find a way to put one to good use. 

He searches for the ones that are unlikely to be bought and only takes up space. There’s a lot of them, half too damaged to be good for anything, but one sticks out: secluded with beautiful grounds, an area with good (but not too good) schools, a half-decent price point, and a bit of a fixer-upper. 

Standing on ladders and driving in nails isn’t not physical, but it’s a lot better than dodging punches or dropping two stories off a building. Giving Eliot and Parker a project right off the bat will help ease the blow of quitting the jobs. 

Then he hunts down research. He already has shelves upon shelves of books on psychology and parenting and foster children and anything else that could be helpful, but there’s always more to read. A refresher course is important. 

While he’s got algorithms searching for that, he sets some to hunting down more details on the local area as well as building renovations, then begins building a plan. He’ll have to introduce the idea slowly. Parker and Eliot won’t be opposed, per say, but getting them to completely agree will be a challenge. 

It takes a few weeks, but it’s going well, and Hardison’s almost ready to present his idea to them. 

Then his world shatters. 

It’s another job, another day, another time when he watches his lovers head out the door and wonders will it be this time? 

Except then will it be this time? changes to oh God, it’s this time. 

Eliot’s breaths choke off at the same time something crunches.

Parker screams his name so loud Hardison’s ears ring. Or maybe that’s him—maybe that’s him screaming so hard that the taste of blood coats his throat—but it doesn’t matter because Parker’s cut off with a jerk and the comms go dead and they are dead dead dead and— 

The world spins and drops out. The next few hours are black but for agonizing pain. 

His only memory is not of sight or sound or hearing. It’s touch, the thready warmth of two pulses flickering under his fingers. 

They tell him later that he found them in the nick of time: two unconscious bodies collapsed side-by-side in a back alley, and him, clutching their wrists with 911’s number still glowing on the phone beside them. Apparently he rode in the ambulance, because they couldn’t get him away from the other two without restraining him. Every time they tried they feared they’d hurt him. 

What he remembers next is this: waking in a plastic chair, head dizzy (with sedatives, he learns later), an ice-cold knife of grief sunk into his heart and tears coating his cheeks, to the steady paired beeping of twin heart monitors. 

They survive. Miraculously, they survive, somehow with only minimal injuries. Hardison knows it’s only because of the advancements made within the last few years. Three days later they’re out of the hospital and back home, Eliot on crutches and unhappy about it, Parker complaining at length over the stitches in her arm. Hardison can’t even be annoyed by it. They’re here and they’re alive and they’re still here. 

He gives them the evening. But the next day he’s up even before them, spreading papers on the table and making breakfast at the stove (because you learn some things when your husband is a world-class cook) when the two of them come to the table. 

When they ask, he doesn’t bother to soften the blow. This is the last time he’s doing that. They’re done. 

Eliot and Parker look at each other, then at him. They nod. 

He blinks. Just like that? he wonders, and then asks it aloud. 

“We don’t want to hurt you again,” they answer, and his heart could break with relief. 

When he presents the plans they answer with all the joy he had hoped for. They’re worried, of course—will they be fit to care for children?—but Hardison only rolls his eyes and reminds them of Breanna and Josie and Molly and Cory and all the rest, and they relent. 

Two months later they move out to the mansion. It’s a difficult project. Even Hardison didn’t anticipate how long it would be (though Eliot grumbled at him about how much harder this would be than it seemed, dammit, Hardison, what have you gotten us into this time?) but it’s good work, hard work, busy work. He doesn’t have to watch them pace in a hotel room with boredom. There is no angry snapping born of too much time spent sitting around. They work and Hardison blasts music and the other teams chat with them over voice calls. 

Some nights Eliot sits in the central hall, the ceiling four stories above them and laced with Parker’s rigs, and plays new songs for them on his guitar. They all sing along when it’s one they know. The acoustics of the room are perfect for echoing and strengthening their voices. 

Other nights they curl up on a pile of king mattresses spread three-wide and two-deep, blankets heaped high, and whisper stories to one another before falling asleep to the songs of morning birds outside the windows. 

Hardison still wakes screaming. Eliot and Parker do too. But it’s not every other night anymore, and now that they aren’t on jobs, his nightmares begin to recede. 

(Of course there’s always the recurring one that did happen. Sometimes he sleeps with their wrists in his hands or his fingers pressed to their necks, just to reassure himself their hearts are still beating. If Eliot and Parker are still awake, one of them will pull him close and press his ear against their chest, and he falls asleep listening to their heartbeat.) 

Some of the International people show up to help. They come with suggestions and ideas that get put to good use. Breanna delights in helping them pick out the tools for a massive workshop. His other siblings come too, and he puts them to work. Nana is too old for traveling these days (though he knows she’ll outlive them all), but she talks to them over video calls and gives them tips on how to make everything work. 

“How on earth are you going to handle so many kids?” some of them ask. “You’re looking at a school’s worth.” 

The three of them just smile. They’re up to the task—and besides that, there’s a number of people from other crews who are also on the brink of retirement. An entire section of the manor is planned for incoming helpers: they won’t be alone for long.

Finally the mansion is done. Or, well, done enough. It’ll always be a project. There will always be a room that needs repainting, or a sink that breaks out of nowhere and needs repairing, or a piece of roof that’s leaking. But it is more than livable—oh, so beautifully livable, the best home Hardison has ever found for them, filled to the brim with all they could ever want. 

There is a library with shelves that stretch two floors up, filled with more books than he could read in a lifetime and skylights flooding the room with sunlight. The gym has endless features: a dance studio, a martial arts room, weights, gymnastic mats and bars, a goddamn ball pit because Parker loved the idea, and slides to go with it. Eliot has the biggest and best kitchen he could have ever dreamed of. There’s even a walk-in fridge and freezer. 

(“The hell do you expect me to be cooking for, an army?” he asks once, and Hardison laughs. 

“Worse. Kids.”)

 They’ve made the bedrooms a little plainer than usual, though they have rooms filled to the brim with furniture and curtains and decorations of all shapes and sizes. It will be the kids’ home too. They deserve to decorate their own rooms, no matter how long they’ll be staying. 

There are movie rooms, and rooms of pillows and couches and blankets, hidey-holes aplenty (Parker knows them all), games, puzzles, music (Hardison’s pretty sure a band could set up shop in there), art, writing spaces, closets and closets waiting to be filled, bathrooms with tubs big enough to be small pools, a real pool both indoors and out, and Hardison sometimes loses track of what else. They make sure all but some reserve rooms are used and functional. None of them will let this space go to waste. 

Getting everything up to code is a job and a half, but there’s plenty of disabled International people (and Hardison’s siblings too) who give them pointers and let them know who the right people to call are. Hardison delights in picking out elevator music. Eliot informs him that programming them to play The Imperial March every time he uses them is not as funny as he thinks. Parker plans little puzzles in Braille and puts them in all sorts of places. 

She, of course, has rigging all over the place. The high ceilings are her dream. There are hammocks everywhere. Eliot adores the greenhouse and gardens, spending hours mulling over plans and determining precisely what will work best. Hardison watches the lawn service mowing the massive yards and mulls over the best use for them. There are paths aplenty for running and walking. Eliot’s got a whole space mapped out for an orchard. Parker’s claimed a not-insignificant section of it for mazes and a high ropes course (which is going to be godawful hard to build, but he can’t wait to watch the kids on it).

Hardison’s read a lot of books and seen a lot of research supporting animal-raising as an excellent activity for kids. And he’s always wanted a dog.

When they visit the local shelter they end up with three (because Eliot’s a softie for them) and two cats. He plans a chicken coop in the back and goes to long-term planning for more farm-type animals. Parker has come to love horses over the years, and he knows Eliot’s fondness has never faded. Maybe a stable or two. 

Their adoption and foster papers process not long before they’re done. (Hardison technically already had them, but they hadn’t been done the legal way, and though the law is pretty stupid about this whole thing he still wants to do it right.) Then it’s time to get to work. 

They’re careful, of course. They begin with two siblings in the summer. Both are teenagers, that age where it’s hard to get them into a foster home, let alone to adopt. (Of course the three of them aren’t looking for adoption unless the kids want it. They’re human beings: they get to choose their own parents.) Both are quiet and wary, looking overwhelmed as they stare up into the manor’s heights. 

Parker and Hardison exchange glances, wincing. They’d known from experience that this might be tricky.

They start small, relegating everything to a single wing. It’s around the size of an ordinary house, maybe a bit bigger, and while the three of them have their own rooms elsewhere they make sure to sleep nearby. (That’s something else the kids look at them strangely for: there aren’t many polycules who foster kids, after all. There aren’t many polyamorous couples visible in the media period, though that’s changing with Breanna’s generation. )

When Eliot loads one kid’s laundry into the machine (and oh, they need to go shopping so badly for these kids), he finds a worn dress at the bottom of a pile of boy’s clothes. The same kid, he recalls, who had shaken their head a little when he had asked them about haircuts, whose hair was already brushing their shoulders. It’s fraying at the edges, obviously well loved. There’s a hole in the skirt. When he brings the laundry up he takes out the sewing kit (well, a piece of it—there is a truly enormous area of the arts room dedicated to material arts) and makes sure to fix the hole before he puts everything in the closet. The dress goes first and foremost, hung delicately on a special hanger. 

The days go by, the kids become more open, and a routine falls into place. They fill closets with dresses and scarves and put boxes of pins with pronouns in their rooms. Eliot teaches them to chop vegetables and shows them basic self-defense. He helps them walk the dogs, and when he offers they let him teach them meditation. 

Parker takes them to therapy (a tricky conversation, but well worth it) and shows the younger one how to climb. The older one is more interested in puzzles, and she happily complies, bringing out a massive box full to the brim with puzzle-boxes. 

Hardison, for his part, puts together movie nights and video gaming sessions. He shows off the library and makes sure they know where to find everything, as well as the rules of the house. When one of them shows an interest in fandom, he makes sure they know where the cosplay stuff is. One day he starts a DnD campaign with all four of his family members. 

Four becomes five, five becomes seven, the school year begins and some choose homeschooling and others choose public. Homework is done, meals are cooked, dogs are fed, cats are befriended, lightsaber battles play out in the yards and Nerf gun fights are had in the halls (Eliot still prefers a shield), pillow fights go down, tears are cried and arguments ring out in the halls, the fridge doors and pin boards and walls are covered in artwork, kids eight, nine, and ten show up, conversations about queerness are had, a Pride parade is attended, there’s therapy and therapy and so much therapy, sports teams are joined, clubs are attended, problems occur and they handle it, they handle it, they handle it all no matter how hard it is.

Hardison isn’t sure he’s ever seen the other two so happy. He, for one, cannot contain his joy. The children are hard but they are wonderful, bright sparks ready to go out into the world with no one to dim them. 

There is a baby one day that International directs to them. The rest of the kids dote on them. The work is hard, but they manage anyway, and there’s three of them to get up when the little one cries. There is nothing more endearing than watching Eliot asleep with a tiny baby crooked in his arm or Parker carefully climbing with them strapped to her chest. 

One day, as he’s sitting on the porch with the other two at his sides and watching the kids play, he glances to the sides and realizes that his partners have gone fully gray. He himself finds his joints creaking more and more these days. 

The International retirees are doing fantastic and Breanna is the perfect heir to their throne, directing teams with all her brilliance while getting her own work in on the side. She’s mentioned she thinks she might hand it off to one of her own proteges, just so she can go back to some of the old work. 

We built a legacy, he thinks, and then, We built a legacy, and we are here now, and they did not die and leave me here alone, and we are happy. 

He realizes Eliot and Parker are looking at him with that we know what you’re thinking expression. They smile at him when he notices. Parker kisses his cheek and Eliot pulls him closer on the porch swing, and though they say nothing at all, he knows they’re all thinking the same thing: 

We got our happy ending, and we made sure everyone else will too.

[kinoyoga]

I was not born naturally flexible. The first time I tried to do a backbend it was nearly impossible. I fell on my head so many times trying to learn to stand up and drop back. I was never a dancer, a gymnast or even on a sports team. Whatever you see in my practice is a result of a combination of what my body was naturally given with lots of practice. _ Ashtanga Yoga isn’t about doing what is easy. It’s about learning how to face adversity and learn from it. I always like to say there should be at least one, if not a few, honestly challenging moments in your practice every day. Only when you test your peace at the outer limits of your comfort zone will you truly know whether Yoga is working for you. Of course, there also have to be moments of ease and flow otherwise it gets overwhelming. Working with a qualified teacher can help you find the perfect balance between challenge and comfort so that you have the best chance for growth. _ Free Ashtanga Primary Series class with at 10 am on Thanksgiving @omstarsofficial _ One week Mysore with me starts in January at our new space @miamiyogagarage _ Tune into my podcast with a new episode each week. _ Day 19 #ashtangayogachallenge is #urdhvadhanurasana _ ✨Follow our hosts: ​@omstarsofficial @kinoyoga @wellness_yogini ​@monicarellano ​@patriciaamadoyoga ​@tatianauprimny ​@ashtangawithesme ​@danysayoga ​@lottasebzdayoga ​@sirisyoga ​@josepharmstrongyoga ​@eddy_m_rivero ​@emilia_ashtangayoga ✨Follow our sponsors: @crystalmoongoods ​@mandaracbd ​@navarroofficial ​@soulfire.collection ​@de.nada.empanada ​@personal_pours _ Photo @ifilmyoga #ashtanga #ashtangi #kinoyoga #yoga #miamiyoga #omstars #yogachallenge #yogi #yogapractice #miamibeach #backbend #urdhvadhanurasana 💕 (at Miami Beach, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWeJpS1PC62/?utm_medium=tumblr

[bytheangell]

The Treat of Trick Arrows

My @shadowhunterbingo​ Bingo Square: Halloween, also for the @malecdiscordserver​‘s Halloween Fic Crawl!)  (Read on AO3)

“I can’t believe you got him to agree to this,” Jace says, adding quickly with an appreciative up-and-down look at Clary’s outfit. “Not that I’m complaining, but…”

Clary stands in the middle of the Ops Center with her green pants, black crop top, black gloves, and black boots on in addition to her seraph blade and other required patrol gear. She knows no one here will fully understand her Kim Possible It’s Halloween, and while she’s stuck on duty with Alec and Izzy she got Alec to agree that they could wear a costume as long as it wouldn’t interfere with their ability to fight.

Honestly, she can’t believe she got Alec to agree to this, either.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Clary asks Jace, who somehow managed to not be scheduled patrol tonight and is, instead, staying in to run surveillance with Underhill.

“Nah, someone has to stay behind while the rest of you have fun,” Jace says, just as Alec arrives.

“Definitely wouldn’t call this ‘fun’,” Alec points out. “It’s just work, same as always.”

“Sure, for you! You aren’t even dressed up!” Jace points out.

“I am, too!” Alec insists, waving the arrows in his hand around for good measure before slinging them over his shoulder to rest against his back. “I’m Hawkeye.”

Clary shakes her head slightly. Alec is wearing all black, and while he is wearing the black vest with dark purple accents Magnus conjured up for the occasion he also wore a long-sleeved black shirt underneath it.

“It’s cold,” Alec insists, following Clary’s disapproving gaze to his covered arms. “What if I’m too busy being cold that I get distracted?”

“Mmmhmm,” Clary says, but doesn’t push her luck.

“Maybe you should wear mine, then. You’ll be plenty warm,” Izzy says, making her arrival in a black leather bodysuit that covers from her ankles to her wrists, with a pair of black gloves and her black boots covering the rest. A form-fitting black cap with cat ears completes the Catwoman costume, which Simon suggested to go with Izzy’s signature whip.

The irony of this probably being the most covered Clary’s ever seen Izzy on a patrol is certainly not lost on her, given the usually more revealing nature of Halloween costumes.

“Can you even move in that?” Alec asks her, eyeing the outfit suspiciously.

“Of course I can,” Izzy says, leaning into an effortless backbend kickover, landing upright without a single hair out of place.

“Of course you can,” Alec echoes, shaking his head. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Clary gives Jace a quick kiss goodbye and heads out into the night with Alec and Izzy.

---

It’s a busier night than any of them anticipated, which is saying something considering Alec reminded them repeatedly before going out how it’s the most active night of the year.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call for backup?” Clary shouts to Izzy between deep huffs, trying desperately to get her breath back. Even with her stamina rune activated she’s having a difficult time keeping up with Alec and Izzy - or just Izzy for now, since Alec doubled back a bit to try and get a better vantage point.

“What backup? Everyone else is spread as thin as we are,” Izzy reminds her.

Clary is about to reply when an arrow shoots past her face and, instead of piercing the demon in front of her, opens up at the tip to shoot out a web of netting that ensnares and pins down all three of the demons nearby. Another shoots off to Izzy’s right and, much to Clary’s surprise and immediate concern, explodes.

It’s enough of a distraction that Clary and Izzy, once they shake off the initial shock, make quick work of the remaining demons.

Barely a minute later Alec is back by Clary’s side.

“What was that?” Clary asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, a little warning would’ve been nice,” Izzy adds.

Alec brings a hand up to rub at the hair at the nape of his neck, looking sheepish.

“I wasn’t actually planning on using them,” he admits. “But I told you I went in on the Hawkeye thing. Magnus made me a few trick arrows.”

“Trick…” Clary starts but trails off shaking her head incredulously. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to write off Alec’s participation with the costume. “Jace is going to be livid when he hears he missed this.”

“They were kinda cool, weren’t they?” Alec admits.

Clary nods her very obvious approval, just as a noise at the end of the alley catches their attention.

“I don’t suppose you have any more of those?” Izzy asks, whip already in hand.

Clary watches Alec reach into his quiver and pull out an arrow that very clearly has a different colored and shaped tip than his usual set.

“Let’s go.”