#then it's on to the rest of the lesson which is setting up a scene and rendering that :)

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 2, day 26

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[occamstfs]

Conjuration: The Call

Ozzie begrudgingly plays a thinly disguised trading card game and finds some fun teaching his meathead friend a lesson.

Something between a role reversal and devolution! Jock -> Twink and Nerd -> Brute! Hope you enjoy this tale of a wishful role-player growing to dominate a try hard, Best! -Occam

Ozzie absolutely hated trading card games, he missed the boat and loathed being made to feel stupid like they always end up doing. Perhaps some self-reflection could see him giving Conjuration: the Call a fair shake, when a game of CTC was thrust on him instead of the DND session he was coming to play, the man was in not so charitable a mood.

Prepped to play his Druid all night, Ozzie is sulking in the kitchen when his friend Lily, patient zero of getting their group playing CTC again, brings over a proxy deck she made for him. “Heyyy babe~ Sorry about the bait and switch, I thought we were going to play DND too but apparently Mark’s sick and Alex thought this would be a great chance for you to learn how to play!”

His scowl quickly shifts between Lily, her half-hearted olive branch, and their friend group’s surly Adonis, Alex, who winks before returning to set up the table for their game. Ozzie sighs, not wanting to make a scene, he reaches out to inspect the printed deck in her hands. She perks up, “perfect! You’re gonna love it I swear!

The hitherto hater sighs, “ughh. You guys are just going to steamroll me like always! Is the deck too complicated to learn on the fly?” Her eyes glimmer as she slyly makes sure Alex can’t hear, “Not at all! I’ll be right there if you need any help and-“ 

Before she can explain, the man at the table interrupts, “you ladies done yet?” In their running campaign the impatient Alex plays a barbarian which mimics both his stature and nature out of game quite well, in Conjuration however he’s emerged as quite the rival to Lucy. Which Ozzie knows as she begins to explain, now at a whisper, “okay so it’s actually a deck to counter Alex’s.”

She immediately goes to defend her ulterior motives as Ozzie’s scowl returns with a vengeance, “oh c’mooon Ozz, I made this whole deck for you! I found the commander in the bulk bin and thought it sounded like your thing!” Shuffling through the box he checks it out, Loggan the Brain, nice and holographic. He pauses to appreciate how it feels in his hands, heavier than expected and almost warm to the touch. After a moment he looks up to find Lily has already gone to join the rest of the party at the table.

Finishing up his huffing, Ozzie sits opposite Alex who performatively flexes as he shuffles his deck, “Ready to get schooled by the man?” They’re friends at the end of the day so Ozzie doesn’t try to hide his irritation as he responds, “oh I’m sure there’s nothing you love more than beating newbies huh”

Alex takes a few seconds trying to think of some clever reply but after a few playful jibes from Lily and Tim, their fourth player, he decides to save any further taunts for the game. It’s not Ozzie’s first time playing Conjuration, how else would he hold it in such blatant disregard. Resolutely he refuses a tutorial from Alex and Lily. The pair make eye contact as they try to push down the urge to take candy from the new player and instead scheme how they can both use his inexperience to their advantage.

The first couple rounds go by in a flash, the other three begin setting up decks they are clearly incredibly familiar with while Ozzie races to read the little cheat sheet Lily made for the deck before performing a decent opening few rounds himself. Ozzie figures Alex must be running some kind of counterspell deck as Lily’s notes make it very clear that this proxy is a counter-counterspell deck, as it were. 

Lily would never be able to play this deck as it relies on someone counterspelling the Loggan the Brain without checking the specifics, and Alex would never do so to someone with as firm a grasp as her. When Ozzie goes to summon his commander though there's a glimmer in the jock’s eyes as his fingers go to counter the summon before Ozzie even announces, and in doing so he falls into the trap of the deck. 

Alex reaches over to push Loggan back off the board only to be stopped by Lily, almost shaking from excitement as she bursts out into laughter and explains the situation. She points to the ability text Drain: Start of the round gains one “Devolution” spell card. When “Devolution” is used to counter an offensive spell on yourself, put a token on Loggan the Brain. After ten tokens are placed on Loggan the Brain, replace him with Ogg the Brawn.

Hearing his opponent groan from an easily averted own goal he finishes his turn to see Alex scratching his chest and complaining, “I’ve never seen these stupid cards before, are you sure these are legal?” His eyes narrow at Lily who shrugs and tries to taunt him into casting a spell at Ozzie, “Who knows man, maybe it’s not even that good? You should cast a spell at him to see what it does!” With a wry grin she meets Alex’s scowl. For now he stills his hand as they prepare to deal with the quiet Tim as he quickly becomes the biggest threat on the board.

When it comes back to Ozzie’s turn the fun begins at last, launching a spell at Alex who has no choice but to counter, which is of course met with the new player’s own “Devolution” counter. Ozzie and Alex both open their mouths to complain, about the game being convoluted and unfair respectively. Before they can lash out however both men see a token appear on Loggan the Brain without anyone reaching to put it there. 

Only Alex and Ozzie seem to notice the board changing without any human aid, before they can react however they are both filled with an alien warmth. Alex’s hands shoot to his crotch and his face flares with embarrassment. All eyes fall to him as he almost squeaks as his meaty hands struggle to hide the fact that he’s getting obscenely hard at the CTC table, “GrheEEK! AH- hEM” the macho man tries to hide the voice crack from the table, failing to do so they all incredulously stare.

“Psh jeez- can’t a dude sneeze? Fuck!” Knowing they have most of a game still ahead of them no one goes in too hard on Alex, even as his complaints sound decidedly whinier to their ears. Were they to look even a smidge closer at the sscowling man’s face they’d surely see its hard edges begin to soften as his scratchy perma-stubble starts thinning. Alex flips through his bulky hand wondering how he’s going to overcome the pair of opponents, ignorant as his arms are slowly drained of the strength he has honed for over a decade at the gym.

oes Ozzie fail to see how he too begins to shift over the next round. When all hands go to counter a spell cast once more the situation ends once more with Alex being rebuffed by a Devolution card Ozzie drew. Thin fingers go to cover his mouth as he tries to quiet his laughter at Alex’s lips pulling into a pout, looking plumper than usual. Ozzie ignores the flitter at finding that exciting to instead taunt the man looking mousier but is distracted as he scratches his cheek, “Ah c’mon there Aluh- hm.” 

Ozzie pauses as he hears his fingers scratching at, well it sounds like stubble? After a few more strokes he speaks up again, “Uhh guys did I need to shave when I came in?” The party is focussed on his question so they take no heed of his voice sagging deeper with every word. Instead they narrow their eyes at his jawline. It takes him quite a while to grow any kind of facial hair so it’s not like it just sprouted up all of a sudden? Right? Alex laughs and rubs his own face, “Ah Hah! Followin’ the lead of your favorite role model huh! Heehee! Er-”

All laugh as Alex giggles uncharacteristically, cuing him up to go all out and defend his fragile masculinity. Ozzie sits back and watches as him and Lily tag team their fourth player into an early knock-out. All the while though he begins to feel odd? His palms are sweaty, upon closer inspection he realizes his whole form is sweaty. 

Eyes off him he airs out his chest and yelps as he accidentally grabs a tuft of chest hair. He looks down his shirt, slightly obscured by a stubbly little mustache poking out of his upper lip and barely quiets a gasp from shock as he sees a few curls sticking out the center of his bony chest. His inspection then falls onto the hand still grasping at his tee, almost imperceptible blond hairs that have humbly decorated his wrist have lengthened, darkened, and spread into a truly thick jungle on his forearms.

Needing to draw a few more cards to get his target out, Alex can’t help but shoot a couple more spells out at Lily who then redirects them to Ozz. Returning his focus to the board he grunts and prepares to take the hit before checking his hand to find two more copies of Devolution in his hand. He tosses them clumsily on the table and guffaws and shouts in his gruffer voice, “Hah! When’re you gonna learn to not target the man, fucker!” Ozzie reclines once more as Alex ignores his taunts and continues to take his turn.

Half-way to switching out his commander for a card he hasn’t read yet he tugs down his shirt as he feels a breeze on his exposed midriff. There seems to be a volley of new curls stretching above his waistline, briefly making sure no one’s watching he scratches at the pubes slowly inching into a dense treasure trail and almost moans at the distracting pleasure. With each quivering new sensation the blonde curls he has long been proud of darken and recede to something choppy and brown, shrinking back as from every inch of his form curls of the same pervasive brown race to assert his primal masculinity.

With each drag into the growing garden of hair on his waist the urge to vocalize his pleasure grows more difficult to ignore. The stubble on his face continues to thicken, growing into something more than five o’clock shadow that would put Alex’s to shame at its best. Speaking of, as his usual ungroomed stubble continues to fade and shrink into a face shifting as smooth as porcelain he can’t help but stare at Ozzie’s face with jealousy, his cock pulsing once more in his gym shorts and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the game and not on how Ozzie’s sleeves almost seem to be hugging his arms.

Ozzie similarly doesn’t see as his eyes are closed to be almost obscenely lost in the fulfillment of scratching his itch. Though he feels it. His arms slowly edging larger, straining his sleeves almost to tearing with each meagre movement. He feels stubble slowly growing up past his neckline, giving him a few stray curls that would need a turtleneck to hide as his chest begins to amass new weight and muscle itself.

In his death throes Tim follows Lily’s lead and forces Alex to toss a few more spells that will hopefully be blocked at Ozzie. Still lost in the reverie of his changing form, Ozzie doesn’t even check his cards as his hand quickly shoots up from his crotch and tosses two cards onto the table. Without looking two more tokens appear on Loggan the Brain and both Alex and Ozz clench the table as they are struck with another wave of changes. 

The other two players at the table are suddenly engrossed in checking their hands, as if compelled to not notice as Alex is suddenly swimming in clothes that he chose explicitly to highlight how built he was looking today, his neckline droops low enough that it should expose his burly-hair covered chest. The only thing it shows now however are two spray-tanned pecs that seem to be shrinking.

Alex doesn’t notice as his shoes almost fall off of his feet as they drop a few sizes, no instead he bites his lip and stares hungrily at the man who was supposed to be his quarry. His cock feels wanting his balls blue, more than that though for the first time in his life his ass almost feels empty, in need of something- or someone. He doesn’t put two and two together as he continues to stare at Ozzie growing hairier. 

The once mousy man finally fills his nerdy tee enough that it begins to fray and tear. Similarly do the slacks he threw on for game day find themselves more than filled with meaty thighs and a package that has blossomed into an absolute veiny beast. His eyes widen in wonder as he takes it in for the first time. His thicker, rougher hands reach downward and with the slightest touch his hips buck and his zipper blows out as his cock strains it to the breaking point. Barely contained in his briefs Ozzie has to ignore the wet patch of pre staining through them and put all his energy towards not cumming then and there in front of his friends as the game remains ongoing.

While the two were distracted by their changing tastes and bodies, Tim was officially knocked out of the game leaving everyone worse for wear. Though after another couple rounds it becomes clear that Alex is very much off his game. His white teeth continue to chew at his plumper lips as he’s lost in thought. 

Ozzie similarly chews his lip, champing at the bit as he stares at the shrinking man. Fuuuck, he’s real cute when he works himself up. His inner monologue sinks deeper in tone to match his new voice as his thoughts grow rougher, simpler. Under the table his hand can’t help but go to his crotch as images of some massive beast of a man dominating the twink push to the front of his mind. Drool dripping from teeth bared onto Alex’s back as he arches up into heavy pecs, as if he were made to be under the man, if he were made to be under Ozz- Fuck.

Alex shivers as the table shakes from Ozzie rutting into it, gasping as his own ass fills out. He’d never really spent dedicated time crafting the perfect butt, or no- is that true? His phone suddenly fills with nudes taken of his sculpted, smooth butt and sent to- Ozzie’s bearded face forces itself to the front of his mind. Alex can almost feel his sweaty muscular chest against his own, his fingers curling around hair that inches up from his ass and down from his shoulders. He can almost feel the phantom cock he’s bouncing on before across the table the only player not lost to their lusts clears her throat.

“What is up with you guys?” There’s forced confidence but something is clearly throwing her off her game. Something’s not right. Is it? Oggie- Er, Ozzie? He’s always been a tank, it’s why he’s been so against playing right? And Alex, well shoot that twink is obsessed with Conjuration since it’s the only game or sport that he can beat his- She clenches at her head as she’s seized by a migraine. Perhaps that’s how she falls into the trap that Alex has been setting since turn one.

“Ah HA! Finally biitch! You played right into my hands!” His voice cracks higher, something in the back of her mind swears she’d never let Alex call her a bitch but as she looks at the twink she can’t imagine why. The cocky sneer remains on Alex's face as his hair lengthens into a floppy garden of dirty blonde curls, after looking at the board it fades a little as he struggles to recall how exactly he’s supposed to finish her, “Uhm?”

He scratches at his head and the sleeve hanging on his thin bicep slides back, revealing his pit as the last few hairs remaining of his once proud tuft fall away, leaving behind a fruity scent that will never quite fade instead of the heady musk that could never be quenched. Ozzie didn’t realize he was staring at the twinks pits as they finished smoothing. Looking to his own pit stains on a shirt that seems moments from bursting off his form, he grins toothily and figures he produces well enough stink for the both of them. His canines almost feel larger in his mouth.

 After the song and dance of Lily walking Alex through her own defeat, accompanied by a fair share of giggles from a man who wouldn’t be caught dead speaking even vaguely ‘like a chick’ before the game, Lily heads off with Tim to go grab pizza before the next game. Leaving behind Alex and Ozzie as the game nears its close. Both men struggle to decide on their next moves, or rather if they care enough to even make them, as the other players depart. Ozzie scratches the back of his head like an ape, apathetic to his arm finally bursting free from its sleeve and exposing a hairy pit that Alex eyes hungrily. 

Drooling and wanting to be done with the game as soon as possible the once jock eyes his hand filled with spells and wonders why he has so many? Was there a reason he wasn’t using them? He hesitantly throws one down and is immediately met by a counter. Ozzie grunts as his form bulges larger, brow jutting slightly over blue eyes that don’t quite look so bright any more. He tears off his shirt with one meaty fist before moving to scratch at the carpet of hair covering his torso as if it were a shirt itself.

Ozzie’s own eyes glaze over as he drops his cards on the table, he want game over. His underwear is filled to breaking and he grimaces before going to tear them off just like his shirt. Grunting he punches the table in shock as the elastic band snaps back against him. Veins bulge everywhere across his form as rage fills him enough to rival his hunger for the twink sitting across from him. Struggling to control his breathing as he sits stewing in lust and anger he speaks in a gravely town as his stomach begins to bloat, “Your turn,”

Alex similarly is lacking the focus to continue the game, tossing his hand down his eyes flash as the remaining tokens stack onto Ozzie’s card. Neither man notices as a final line of text appears at the end of the dense paragraph, “If you lack a copy of Ogg the Brawn in your deck, become one.” He doesn’t read the card of course, nor will he chase the urge to read much of anything anymore, but as the ability is activated OzzOgg obeys the instructions to a tee.

Spit drips between gnashing teeth as Ogg stands to his new height. Waist filling out as he pounds onto the table and he grows into a true brute. The elastic band digging into his waist acts like a flank belt as he glowers at Alex and bucks into the table, making a mess of the organized decks as he feels his mind unable to focus on any pursuit other than chasing his hunger.

Alex stands and his pants fall to the floor, unable to remain on his thinned waist, “O-Ogg?” he squeaks out, what was was a tight muscle tee now hangs off a shoulder, perfectly framing a hard nipple and hiding the noticeably smaller bulge where his dick must be. Ogg knocks the table over and tackles the twink with power he never imagined or desired to have. 

Grunting, Ogg can’t control his hips as they continue to rock and thrust as he struggles to position his twitching cock over Alex who endeavors to roll over and present his perky ass. Ogg forces his face down into the nape of Alex’s neck, breathing in his scent, magically alluring and the diametric opposed to the bestial musk that steams off the man whose eyes dull to a dark brown as his stomach bulges into a massive muscle gut.

Underneath, the twink’s mental faculties grow similarly vacant as he feels the hairy stomach scratching against his back, as Ogg’s massive cock finds purchase and fills him with far more powerful pleasure than what Alex has inflicted on many a partner throughout the years. His moans fill the air, rivalling Ogg’s grunts as the pair leave sweat and cum stains on the cold tile. 

The air of the apartment is filled with Ogg’s primal, almost proto-human musk which only makes Alex hungrier for the man he is evermore to be obsessed with. When his face is shoved into Ogg’s jungle of pit hair he wonders how he lived before now as his cock is pressed up against Ogg’s bulky, curl-covered torso.

Eventually their preternatural lusts absolve themselves and in a brief refractory period Alex rushes to clean up the worst of their mess before the other two return with pizza. Ogg of course is no help as he throws on a pair of boxers Alex would’ve sworn were his own and goes to sit on the couch, arm behind his head to air out his steaming pit and continue to rile Alex up. After righting the table and wiping away all the stains he could see the twink indeed goes to nestle up alongside the man on the couch as he throws on some nature documentary.

Alex doesn’t notice as his head finds itself almost immediately in the man’s crotch as his cock starts to poke out the leg of his boxers. Well, when in Rome- Before they can get up to too much fun, they hear the door being jostled. Alex jolts up and swallows the pool of pre-cum filling his mouth before doing a poor job of hiding the rock hard rod in Ogg’s boxers. The brute grunts in irritation and grasps at his needy balls, apathetic to the return of the other platers.

Setting down the pizzas Tim looks over at the clearly worked up pair and rolls his eyes as if this is normal, “Well are you two horndogs up for another game?” Eying both Alex and Tim something besides the Id in Ogg rears up, still seems like there’s a lot left he can drain from the two men. Bulge already inching larger, he stands and goes to pick up Loggan from the floor. Time for round two-

[marigoldenblooms]

That's a Wrap - One Shot

Pairing: Director!Natasha x Fem!Actor!Reader x Actor!Wanda (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Summary: You and Wanda can’t seem to get this scene right. With your director’s help, you manage.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Is Y/N in the room with us right now (They aren’t), Dom!Natasha, Switch!Wanda, Bottom!Reader. Dub-con, power dynamic (Director/Actor), voyeurism, degradation, praise, semi-public sex, semi-orgasm denial, light edging, objectification, oral (W receiving), fingering (R receiving), strap-on use(R receiving), some pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling, ma’am, Tasha(For N), Wan/Wands(For W), Mommy(For W, used loosely)), Nat calls her strap her dick, semi-previous established relationship? Porn with plot, clothed sex, sextape, light aftercare, fluff at the end. 

A/N: Welcome to the first issue of Smut Saturdays! Want to really create some good shit in this genre, so I'm posting at least one spicy fic every Saturday (if I can help it)! This came to me in a vision (called the five minutes before my math class)- After my last smut fic did well (An Important Lesson, Prof!Wanda x Reader, which you can read here), I thought I’d do some WandaNat practice! Not proofread, written in the span of an evening. This is a crime against intimacy coordinators, I’m so sorry. Asides over. Natasha wears a strap to her films and she can dick me down with it, please and thank you!

Word Count: 2.4k - Read Length: 8 minutes, 49 seconds.

~~~

It was never fun when the producers came by. 

They’d always arrive in droves of two or three, never the top dog- as if Natasha’s ‘avant-garde chick flick’, as they called it, wasn’t worth their time. They certainly treated it as much. Today was the worst day for them to arrive, in pressed jackets and always on a phone call, because today you were filming the sex scene. It was more of a ‘romance’ scene, with alluring cinematography and enough passion to make your eyes fall out, yet you hadn’t even gotten to remove any clothes from your beautiful costar- Wanda. You knew she was incredible, her previous films as a fem fatale showing her dominant streak, however the spark couldn’t burn when interruptions from the suits kept happening. You weren’t on a porn set, and yet sometimes you wish you were. Might’ve been faster, or at least more fun. 

“From the top,” A groveled voice muttered, Natasha’s steely gaze breaking into your skull-  though a part of you wished she’d break your back. The redhead had always been an inspiration, one of the leading reasons for your participation in her project, besides her being so fine. But now, she looked pissed, worn down by hours of appeasing the producer’s half-baked suggestions and guarding you and Wanda from their prying eyes. “Yes Ma’am,” you replied, earning a slight chuckle from your director, the twinkle in her eye not lost on you- she was on her last legs, but it was yours and Wanda’s compliance that kept her going.

You’d return to your blocking, centered in the middle of your ‘apartment bedroom’, with Wanda’s hand placed gently on your waist. Your roles were lovers, reuniting after a long day of hardship, slowing down after it all. You’d stare up at her, the mild exasperation in your expression making her smile. She’d send a wink down to you, muttering something about being ‘bored too’, but ‘not hating kissing you again’, or the like. She’d invited you out to coffee tonight, and especially after a day like this, you’d take it. Perhaps you’d even forget the paparazzi and really kiss her as you’d been wanting to do this whole shoot. Throw a bone to the fanfiction writers and make their canon comply with reality. Maybe. It was Natasha’s words which startled you from your thoughts, a look of tenderness overcoming your face as you’d sink into your character, “Action!” 

Within an instant, Wanda hiked her hands under the hem of your shirt, eyes darting down to your face. Her palms were warm against you, smooth against your soft skin, as your head rested gently on her shoulder. She’d tug at the fabric- and you’d send her a quick nod, smiling as you’d lean up to capture her lips in yours-

 “Well that’s not very marketable!” A producer would crow, scoffing with both his hands outstretched towards the two of you. You’d freeze, feeling all of the passion drain out from the scene, no more than a shell of itself. His bald head wasn’t very marketable, looking like a morally dubious Mr. Clean- and yet you didn’t comment on it. He’d look at Natasha, the woman pinching the bridge of her nose with a stern sigh, and you gulped. Oh, shit. She was going to lose it. “Can’t you get their clothes off faster? Our focus groups won’t wait around for-”

“Fucking Christ, get- out!” Natasha shouted, a growl in her tone bringing heat to your face. She scowled, roaring to the surrounding suits, “Leave, get off my set- it’s my fucking turn to direct them.” Her hands would fan away their deer-in-headlights looks, ushering them out before locking the door. Her fiery gaze would bore into you then, jaw locked as her heels would click towards you and Wanda, many feet apart. 

The two shared a knowing nod- And before you could speak, your director grabbed Wanda by her shirt collar and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Your jaw would drop as the brunette’s eyes widened, fluttering shut as Wanda moaned into the embrace- Natasha’s hands planted firmly on her tits. She’d squeeze them, earning a gasp from Wanda, your costar’s head swung back as Natasha swiped her thumbs across her nipples. Your director’s gaze would strike yours, and you understood why Wanda’s submission was so quick. You shuddered at the redhead’s gleaming smirk, her voice a husked whisper, “Get those clothes off and get on the bed for me, baby. Now.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Your reply was instant, Natasha’s grin only widening as you’d shed your layers, kneeling on the mattress’s soft sheets. They were cold, goosebumps settling up your spine yet you wouldn’t move, eyes trained obediently on Natasha. You were so perfect for her. 

Natasha’s mouth would return to Wanda’s, pressing her into the faux wall that had outlined the bedroom. Her hand would splay against Wanda’s stomach, and you saw how she hiked up the shirt there, continuing to palm her tits while unclasping Wanda’s bra with the other. She’d pepper kisses across the brunette’s neck, sucking hickeys the lower she’d go. 

They’d part only so Wanda’s top could come completely off, your director keeping a claiming touch on Wanda’s hip as she’d look back at you over her shoulder. Her hair was wild, mused from Wanda’s hands slung loosely around her shoulders while her expression remained flushed, dark eyes darting down to the slick that pooled between your legs. Wanda’s voice would ring to you, almost reverent as her hips would stutter against Natasha’s, “She’s fucking drooling for us, Tasha..” 

The redhead would bite back a smirk as she’d watch you twitch. You ached to touch them, yourself, anything- your hands already balled into fists on your thighs, legs rubbing together, desperate for friction. But neither had given the command, and you had an inkling from their hungry looks that they wanted you needy, right where they had you. Natasha’s rasp came second, “Then show her what I taught you.”

Wanda would reach you first, discarding the rest of her clothes in the process. Her hands trailed warm touches up your legs and to your chest, digging into your soft flesh as her lips would meet yours. It was explosive, sweet and tender yet with a ferocity that claimed you quickly, heating up your skin as her knee would slot between your thighs. You’d feel Natasha’s calloused fingers on the small of your back, the sinking of her weight in the mattress behind you, and her tone husked in your ear, “Stretch her out for me, Wan- like we practiced.” Your director’s words sent a buzz to your core, cunt grinding mercilessly into the sheets below as Wanda’s hand would trail there, dragging two fingers along your folds before arcing dazzling circles around your clit. 

You’d eagerly press your hips into her touch, moaning lowly as she’d chuckle, “So wet for me, sweetheart…bet I can just slip right in.” She’d coax her fingers inside, your pussy walls taking her gladly as Wanda curled her digits against that spongy spot. Your back would arch, head growing fuzzy as you’d feel your slick drip down her hand. Her thumb would press into your clit as you’d buck your hips against her, cursing a quick “Fuck-” which was quickly swallowed up by Wanda’s mouth. She’d bite your lip, dragging it with her teeth as she’d settle into her rhythm, spare hand palming your tits with a rougher grasp, “Been waiting for this, haven’t you sweetheart- pretty whore, just for us.”

 “Mhm, good girl just wants to be fucked, don’t you?” Natasha would grit, and you could see her stroking something behind your back. She’d unzipped her slacks- her strap heavy in her hand, glistening with the spit she’d gathered in her palm. Natasha bucked her hips against her hold, cursing as the cock’s base would rub against her clit. She looked incredible, sweat across her brow as her hand would clench around the toy, like she could feel it. “Keep going, Wands- want her perfect for my dick.”

 Natasha would pant, breathing ragged as her hand moved in time with Wanda’s fingers- curling into you almost torturously, feeling your cunt clench around her. The brunette’s kiss would claim you again, moaning into her warmth as her thumb would circle your clit. She’d sigh almost lovingly, fondness overtaking her expression as your head found the crook of her neck, “She’s already perfect, Tasha-” She’d coo, although her hand wouldn’t stop, gasping at the squelching sound of her fingers up your cunt, “This pussy was made for us, darling.” 

Their words and touch brought you so close, yet Wanda’s hands slowed down when she felt your legs quiver or your breathing seize up, never giving you what you needed. You’d squirm against Wanda, begging for more, a lingering touch, anything-  “Please, Wan- I‘m so close,” You whined, earning a tut from your costar. She’d devour your pleas, lost to time as her mouth would reach yours, softer than before. You felt her sympathetic smile against you as she’d shake her head, locking eyes with Natasha’s heavy stare, “Not yet, sweetheart..It’s not my turn anymore.”

The redhead groaned when Wanda slid her fingers out of you, her fingers shimmering with your arousal. Your walls fluttered around nothing, aching for anyone’s touch as you felt Natasha’s rugged grasp on your hips, pulling you up and back so your pelvis was against hers. The strap had warmed in her hand, dragging between your legs. You were dripping for her, soft sparks of pleasure seizing you as her tip would brush against your clit. Her voice would thunder through you, almost delirious with her own need, “Fucking finally..want this pussy all to myself…” 

Wanda would chuckle at that, your director kneading at your hips as Wanda’s thighs settled in front of your mouth, your arms propping yourself just above her soaked cunt. “We promised to share, Tasha..” She’d croon, face flushed and touch softer than Natasha’s as she’d cradle your face in her palms, “Such a pretty girl..are you ready for your reward, darling?” You nodded, a flurry of sensation hitting you all at once- Natasha’s strap sinking into you as the redhead would push your shoulder blades down, pressing your face between Wanda’s legs. 

The stretch was incredible, the woman behind you vicious as she’d drive her dick into you, bottoming out as your mouth would be smothered against Wanda’s cunt. Each thrust would drive Wanda crazy, your gasps and whimpers vibrating right into her core, especially as you’d flat your tongue against her clit, suckling on the sensitive nub. Her thighs would threaten to shut on you, her stretched words lost in your pussydrunk haze, “Yes, like that sweetheart- such a good girl..-” Natasha would rock her hips into yours, pace bruising as she’d pull your thighs flush to hers. You’d hear her muffled curses as she’d bottom out again, sighing as if she could feel you clench around her. “Baby..fuck, so perfect for us…” Wanda’s hands would thread into your hair, anchoring her hold on you as she’d press your face further into her cunt. 

The sight would echo a curse from Natasha’s mouth, her hips growing a little more erratic, “Fucking christ, she’s our perfect little whore, aren’t you baby-” You’d try to nod, moaning as Natasha’s hand would press further into your back, keeping you from moving an inch, “Don’t even think, baby- just fucking take it, fuck-” 

Time would seem to slow, your brain fuzzing into blissful static as you’d feel Wanda’s thighs tremor around your head, her grip tightening as she’d see your body tremble in Natasha’s touch. “Come with me, sweetheart- be a good girl and come for Mommy.” Her saccharine words spurred you into a blinding release, your tongue working Wanda through her orgasm as your body quaked with your own. You’d feel Natasha follow shortly thereafter, cursing aloud as she’d pull herself out of you, watching as you’d clench around nothing. Her hands would immediately find your waist, bringing you gently up to kneel with your back against her clothed front. 

Panting, your arms would shake as you’d catch your breath, leaning up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You could feel both women’s eyes on you as you’d suckle on your fingers, cleaning up with an exaggerated moan, looking towards Wanda as you’d pop your hand out of your mouth, your words almost dreamy, “Mmm, so good, Wan..” You’d giggle as Wanda’s face would alight in blush, although the clink of metal and fabric drove you away from your teasing.

Natasha’s hands would be rushed as she’d pull her pants and harness down, eyes heavy with a lust that made you shudder, “Switch with me, Wands-” She’d grit, thrusting the strap in her general direction before settling calloused palms on your still quivering thighs, her gaze boring into yours, “It’s my turn for her mouth.” 

Wanda’s smirk was immediate, sending you another sly wink, “Gladly.” 

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

Unbeknownst to the three of you, the cameras had never stopped rolling. That film would never be seen by the public, kept hidden once you left the building. Not to say it couldn't be enjoyed by you three, though.

Natasha and Wanda took you out to coffee afterwards as the brunette had promised. They explained their prior agreement to ‘test the waters’ with you, Wanda working with Natasha on a plan to woo you both in and out of character. The date went well, although with much less lingering glances and more almost-fucking in the back of Wanda’s car afterwards. It was there that the public and paparazzi learned of your relationship, although their camera flash thankfully stopped any romance before it got good. You weren’t on a porn set, after all- and Wanda kept your half-nude form hidden while Natasha cursed out the press. All in a day’s work. 

Unfortunately, the day’s work began anew the next day. Filming the romance scene was no difficult measure now, but Natasha’s grin and Wanda’s wandering hands blurred the lines of professionalism. The film crew couldn’t care less, a few of them- such as Kate, a script supervisor- mentioned how they knew it would happen eventually (and won a bet with Peter, who said it’d take until the award show for you three to get together). 

However, once you three escaped into Natasha’s office for some ‘paperwork’ as she’d called it, it didn’t matter. They were yours, and that was enough.  ~~~

[biancasaidstfu]

These people are BUSY. They are WORKING. Don’t know what everyone is going on about in terms of vacation. They just finished ten months of a Bridgerton. Ten MONTHS! And Luke shot a movie in there!

When they aren’t in front of a camera, there is auditioning, rehearsal time, memorizing your lines, traveling to locations, doing character research, filming promotion, doing print interviews, attending industry events, maintaining their socials, going to clothes fittings, meeting with your management, PR, agent, legal team, financial team, taking meetings for prospective jobs, photo shoots, networking, going to the gym, spending time with friends, family, SO, etc.

It’s a LOT.

And film shoots are 12-16-18-20 hour days (used to date a director, I know). Nic and Luke were always napping on set - Nic fell asleep in her boobs ffs - and they were picked up at 4am to head to set. Sure they have flexibility that others may not have but they’re hardly slacking. Maybe Luke buys his coffee and goes back to bed some days but he’s also shooting scenes at 2am. Nic is auditioning in between interviews and taking singing lessons.

Even the nonsense about Luke “always being on vacation”—how many trips was that? Five, ten? Even if each trip was a week, that’s 10 weeks. Big deal. That’s still 10 months of long days and late nights and attending events in the evening.

I think people who are employees who work 9-5 don’t get it. I work in a longs-hours, stressful, but flexible-hours industry (self-employed, 1099, like actors) and it is common for my peers to take a week off every 2mos (work 7wks, take the 8th off) because the work is intense. So in theory, 6 vacations a year.

But there are always trade offs: make good money, get a pedicure or drink margaritas at 11am on a Tuesday if you want, and book a vacation whenever if you can manage your clients and your workload. But there is no steady guaranteed paycheck, you don’t get off at 5pm, you don’t get weekends or evenings off, you don’t get holidays off necessarily, you take work calls into the evening, and it’s high stress.

The vacations might look glamorous but it’s to prevent burnout and the rest of the time is spent hustling.

In Nic and Luke’s case— and it’s not a small thing—they have the added pressure of being in a fishbowl constantly with cameras in their faces and being interrupted by strangers whenever they leave their house to do anything, go to dinner, see a show, etc. Time off affords them a tiny slice of privacy and sanity which must be a huge relief. Can’t imagine their mental health, actually, with the internet stalking them 24/7 and screaming their hate at them all day everyday, and the industry demanding they be beautiful and perfect and fit and morally upright and sex symbols and “nice” and non-controversial every time they’re seen in public lest their fortunes and follower counts fall.

Actors are hustlers. When they get to be Luke and Nic’s level of recognition and fame, they employ big teams of people to keep their momentum going and to make them look good while they’re doing it. That’s expensive and those people’s livelihoods are depending on them. That’s big pressure to produce.

People really shouldn’t begrudge them their time off.

I’d bet good money most people wouldn’t trade their privacy and decent work hours for the life Nic and Luke lead now. I’m sure the perks are nice but it comes with pressures they couldn’t have fathomed when they were first starting out.

Fame and fortune seems great but you’re only as good as your last gig (hence, this fandom’s constant harsh conversation around “being lazy, always on vacation, unemployed, slacking, following your boyfriend around, no momentum, missed opportunities,” etc). So that means you’re hustling all the time, and that means you’re tired, and that means you could use a vacation.

Maybe we could put the “always on vacation” thing to bed and get back to the part where we watched these two go from babies to global celebrities, continuing to book really cool new stuff. The Lovers Guide and GOAT? They’re doing GREAT! And as fans, we’re actually pretty lucky to have so much to look forward to.

Okay, sorry for the rant, Bianca, just wanted to throw out a different perspective. Our favorites are not lazy! It’s cool if they’re on summer vacation! 🏖️🍹🌺

*the image came from X

💯💯💯

Love this ❤️

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。this feeling inside of me— | gojo satoru

wc: 1.5k

summary: you make gojo realize that this twisty-pop!-y feeling in his stomach might just be jealousy. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, mild jealousy, mentions of some of the students, lots of stifled laughs and held back grins!, mostly fluff really, gojo just doesn’t understand what he’s feeling! 

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (this one), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (the next part), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 03. so this is what it means to be in love + (extended scene) too good to be mine <-you are here -> 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace?

Gojo’s been… hovering lately.

He hangs around you a lot more than usual, following your footsteps around your apartment as if he didn’t just spend the night and stay in bed with you all morning. 

You’d think that’d stop at work, but nope. 

For someone who hates sitting still, Gojo’s spending an awful lot of time doing nothing while watching you rifle through folders and documents you’re meant to type away. He sits by the chair in front of his desk, feet propped up and fingers tapping on the wooden surface enough to push you just to the point of going a little crazy. 

Tap.

You could have sworn you’ve read this line already. 

Tap.

This paragraph feels entirely too familiar at this point. 

Tap—

“Satoru,” you sigh, smile half-annoyed-half-guilty as you switch your attention to the man in front of you, “do you have extra work to finish today?” 

You’re trying to ask kindly, after all, Gojo rarely chooses to sit by the paperwork he’s been assigned to do (even though he doesn’t really do any of it because it’s mostly left to you). 

He stops tapping, moving to rest his cheek on one hand as he flashes you a grin so lovesick you think it’s infectious—the corners of your lips are curling up too. 

“Just working on spending more time with you.” 

Of course he says something like this; the most powerful man in jujutsu society transformed into the ever-charming sweet-talker that being your lover brings. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckle—the look on your face a reflection of his. As annoyed as you are that he’s distracting you, you’re endeared. 

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.” 

Today is his day-off after all. 

He hums, eyes set on you with cerulean sincerity, “It’s boring without you, though.” 

Strands of white fall to kiss his eyelashes and you reach forward to brush them off—his hair is getting longer now, you note. No doubt he’s going to ask you to accompany him for a haircut soon. 

His nose scrunches under the space your fingers hover over and you draw them back, “Clingy.”

—which he’s always been, but even moreso lately. You don’t know where all of it is coming from, how it’s even possible for him to be clingier than normal, but the past weeks have definitely shown you that he is more than capable. 

Gojo loves grocery runs, but only when he’s able to wander around the breakfast and candy section while you go through the long list of essentials and ingredients that need stocking up on. 

Not last week though. 

Instead of beelining straight towards his usual spot, he stayed right where you were, pushing the cart whenever you needed him to and reaching up on the top shelf for things you’d normally have to ask some other kind sir to get to. He stays close to you, body draping over yours as you line up for the checkout queue—long limbs, long torso, long everything engulfing you.

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru, but the days after that find him following you everywhere—picking you up after pottery with Megumi (as if you can’t make it back home alone), insisting on doing a taste test on cooking lessons with Inumaki, and even joining you on that afternoon yoga class you reserved for (initially) just you and Yuuji. 

You wonder what’s causing this, why he’s acting this way lately.

“Well, I have to be or else Yuuji might really steal you away from me.” he jokes, elbows propped on the table as he rests his chin on clasped hands. 

You know that he isn’t actually threatened by Yuuji—just that he wants more attention from you, some that you give to the pink-haired boy too eagerly and so easily. 

Still, it’s weird whatever he’s feeling right now, a bundle of unrest bubbling in his stomach these days. He isn’t familiar with it, doesn’t really know what to call it, just that he knows when it hits—like knots waiting to pop at any minute.  

You stand up from your seat to make your way to him, glancing at the clock across the room; you suppose there’s no point trying to squeeze in any more work for the last 20 minutes before you’re set to clock out. 

Gojo pats his thigh, as if beckoning you to sit; he manspreads like crazy but you think it makes sense for moments when he wants to hold you like this. 

Once you position yourself on his lap, he snakes an arm around your waist as you sling yours around the back of his neck, landing a soft peck at the tip of his nose. The hand resting on your hip rubs gently. 

“Is that comment still bothering you?” you ask, scratching the short buzzed hair of his undercut. 

You catch his eyes then, sky blue with a troubled sea.

Now that he thinks about it, it probably did start with the videos. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of many accolades: the strongest, a lone child prodigy, the best teacher (self-proclaimed); at some point he was also the world’s saving grace, and you’d think after that he’d decide to lay low for a bit, have a change of pace—but no.

The man you love has also, apparently, become a social media heartthrob after garnering attention for vlogging your dates. For the memories, he had said, but of course, it’s never just that when he’s as pretty–if not prettier–than the models you see on magazines and billboard posters. The video goes viral and suddenly you’re made very aware of just how coveted he is across all generations. 

He feels the first pop! in his stomach when he finds the comment under a 10-minute video of your day out in the park. He blacked out, he’s sure, but some loser said something about how you were so hot and completely out of his league.

As if he doesn’t know that already, but it’s how confident user ManInATux69 typed that you should just leave Gojo and be with him instead. That one stung a bit; maybe even got to his head, and it’s ridiculous because it really is just some faceless person on the internet. 

But maybe that’s really how this feeling started. 

“Of course not,” he pouts, eyes avoiding yours as he looks to the side, brows furrowed.

You stifle a giggle as you wait, biting the insides of your cheek as you stare at him. A mental countdown until—

“Maybe a bit.” he mumbles after a few blinks, pout deepening as he turns to you. He always comes around to tell you the truth, without fail. 

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru. Your Satoru.

“You wanna tell me how you’re feeling exactly?” 

If there’s one word Gojo will use to describe you, it will always be lovely. You have always been so gentle, so kind, never pushing, always asking lightly. 

You’ve sat through all his non-answers, so he thinks it’s just right, fair, that he gladly offers up his heart to you, now nestled into the palm of your hands as he lays all these feelings down, bare, intended just for you. 

He takes your free hand and places it right at his center, the space between his chest and abdomen. It’s warm as his hand dwarfs yours, forming it into a fist and twisting it into his skin. 

“Feels like a knot first,” he begins, before jerking your hand slightly as if to emulate a pop!, “then it pops.” 

And you think, that for all he sees and knows, it’s ironic that he can describe a feeling so vividly yet not know what it’s called—what it could possibly mean or be. 

“Do you think you’re jealous, Satoru?” you ask, smiling, fighting back a giggle (again), tone teasing. 

Hm, he thinks, is that what this is? 

Jealousy? 

He stares at you, lips parted slightly as you watch it register to him slowly. 

“Would explain why you’ve been hovering,” you chuckle, stroking small circles with your thumb. 

“I have not been hovering.” he snaps out of it, almost offended. 

You give him a look, eyebrow raised and mouth set in a smirk as if to say: really?

He relents, taking your hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Maybe a little.” 

Kisses are dotted along your knuckles, his eyes closed as if to ground him. You’ve known Gojo for so long that you can tell when he’s still figuring out how to say whatever it is he wants to—and your heart warms at the fact that this side to him is one he only entrusts to you. 

“There’s no competition, you know,” you whisper, the sky opening back to you, “I love you.” 

Your words are weighted, meant for him to hold and keep in the parts of him that doubt what he means to you. And it might sound a bit silly, to be this affected over a comment from some nobody, but you don’t want to leave any room for uncertainty—for your inaction to once again feed into his insecurity. 

He hums, soft vibrations flowing through his lips still pressed against your hand. Red is starting to bloom across his cheeks to his nose, and he mumbles, “Just want to be sure I’m good to you.”

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the second part will be a bit darker, more serious, but will discuss more of where the feelings stem from in the first place! 

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!! 

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[sugussugar]

Satoru headcannons - ahh he definitely bends down and lowers his head for you to headpat him or put is ear closer so he can hear you better.

🫠🫠

AAWWW HIM DOING THIS W/ A READER WHO'S SHORTER THAN HIM (which, lets face it, is basically everyone because that man is A FUCKING GIANT) (this first bit can be read as him w a reader who's the same height/taller though, dw<3 #inclusiveorwhateva)

him asking for head pats would be so cute except he doesn't actually say anything, he just randomly comes up to you all crouched, waiting for YOU to give him the head pats first because he's fully convinced you guys are telepathic when it comes to each other. (but that's a story for another time)

i can imagine how awkward the first time would be: let me set the scene for you.

you're both home, it's a chill weekend and you're on the couch reading a book or swiping through videos on your phone, ect., and he just gets on his knees in front of you and leans the top of his head towards you.

obviously, you don't know what he's doing, but even when you giggle out a little: “Satoru, what on earth are you doing?”, he does not speak nor falter.

he holds that stance like he's being paid, you couldn't pry him out of it even if YOU were the strongest.

naturally, you start trying to guess what in the world he's doing since this is more than likely not the first time he's done something weird and expected you to figure it out.

you try kissing the top of his head, and that earns a happy hum, but he still neglects to move. you place your hand on his head and you can just tell you're getting warmer. (← “see, telepathic!?” - satoru, probably.) then you try patting and BOOM he's deadass purring like a cat while tilting his head up to meet your hand when you lift it.

and after that? it's just a habit. he doesn't say anything when he wants a head pat, he just leans the top of his head towards you and lets you do the rest.

and then him leaning down to hear you better??? (this part is targeted at readers shorter than satoru, sorry my tall bbys!!)

first time he does it is DEFINITELY during an argument.

it's not a serious argument, thankfully, just something rather silly like him eating your food or forgetting to do the dishes.

but silly or not, you're going off at him. you're in the middle of a string of insults when he leans down and puts his to his ear and goes: “what's that? can't hear you from all the way down there.”, he sleeps on the couch that night.

the second time, it's subconscious.

you two are standing in line at a cafe of some sort, talking about whatever when he suddenly leans down to hear you better.

the funny part is that neither of you notice. the cafe was rather busy and loud, so it made sense for him to lean closer.

after that, it's a back and forth. sometimes, it's sweet because it shows he's attentively listening and doesn't wanna miss a single word leaving that oh-so-beautiful mouth of yours. (←his words, not mine.)

but other times, he does it just to piss you off. he learnt his lesson about doing it during fights, and he does not wanna be sleeping on the small, uncomfortable couch when he could be sleeping beside his gorgeous spouse, but he loves doing it just to rile you up from time to time.

i hope i did your headcanons justice, lmk if this wasn't what you had in mind and I'll happily rewrite it for you <33 this was a very cute headcanon and i might have to turn it into a real fic....

[vanilladollette]

hii can you make a doc or a short fic where everyone is a yandere for reader, but reader is a student council president which makes them a little hard to spend time with reader together. also the reason why yeonjin and the others bullies dong-eun is bc they knows that reader will always come to the gym to help dong-run and thats one of a way that they could get reader's attention

All I Want Is You

Pairing: Yandere Bullies x Student Council Fem Reader

Summary: Desperate for your attention, Yeon-jin and her friends turned to tormenting Dong-eun, finding twisted satisfaction in the fleeting moments when your anger and concern finally focused on them, even if only briefly.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: Yandere behavior, bullying.

Author's note: The point of view switches between reader's pov and the bullies. I'm not sure if it will be easy to tell.

When you're involved in something as demanding as Student Council, you quickly realize how much of your time and energy it consumes. It is the one thing often requires you to prioritize meetings, events, and responsibilities over your personal life. You can’t just show up and expect things to run smoothly. Behind every successful school event, every well-organized fundraiser, and every decision made for the student body, there are countless hours of planning, discussions, problem-solving, and sometimes even conflict resolution.

Despite how time-consuming it is, you can’t deny that you enjoy being a part of it. There’s something fulfilling about knowing you’re involved in shaping the student experience, that your voice has influence, and that the work you’re doing is making a difference—even if it's behind the scenes. You get to be the bridge between students and faculty, the organizer of spirit weeks, the one helping to coordinate dances, sports events, and school-wide initiatives. It’s exciting, energizing, and—at times—completely overwhelming.

Your days start early and end late. Between balancing your academic workload and your responsibilities on the council, you barely have time to catch your breath. Lunch breaks turn into planning sessions, and free periods are often filled with committee meetings or catching up on emails. Weekends, once reserved for rest or hanging out with friends, are now used for setting up events, designing posters, or running errands for upcoming activities. There are moments when it feels like you’re running on autopilot, just trying to get through everything on your to-do list.

But even in those exhausting moments, there’s a sense of pride that comes with being part of something bigger than yourself. You learn how to lead, how to listen, how to work with people who see things differently than you do. You discover strengths you didn’t know you had—like staying calm under pressure, speaking confidently in front of a crowd, or handling last-minute changes with a cool head. The growth is constant, and the lessons you learn often extend far beyond the school walls.

Still, the pressure can be intense. There are times when you feel like you’re missing out—on spontaneous plans with friends, on quiet evenings at home, on simple things like taking a nap or binge-watching your favorite show. There’s always something demanding your attention, and time for yourself becomes rare and precious.

But at the end of the day, you remind yourself why you joined in the first place. Because you care. Because you wanted to be involved. Because you believed you could make a difference—and in many ways, you already have. And even though the work is never-ending and the pace rarely slows down, there’s a kind of joy that comes with the chaos. A sense of purpose. And for now, that’s enough to keep you going.

Student Council.

That was the only thing standing between you and them, the single obligation that kept your time stretched thin and your schedule packed. While they lingered in the hallway waiting for lunch to start, or strolled through campus carefree after classes ended, you were buried in meeting minutes, event planning, and chasing down teachers for approvals. Student council wasn’t just an after-school activity—it was practically your whole life.

And they noticed. How could they not? You were always there but never really with them. A smile in passing, a wave across the courtyard, a quick apology for missing another hangout. They said they understood, but sometimes you caught the flicker of disappointment in their eyes.

They never joined student council. Why would they?. It demanded too much of your time, and they didn’t want to lose themselves in it the way you had. They didn’t have the patience for long debates or the interest in school functions. They wanted to spend time with you, not become another reason you were too busy.

Still, sometimes they wondered. If being a part of it meant being closer to you, should they try? Could they survive the early morning meetings and late-night prep just to steal a few more hours at your side?

But they never asked. And you never offered.

So you remained on separate paths—yours paved with duty and theirs with longing. The space between you filled with unspoken feelings and missed chances, all because of student council.

And yet, despite it all, they always waited—just in case you had five minutes to spare.

Despite it sounding easier said than done, it was not easy to grab your attention when so many other people demanded it too. You were always surrounded—by classmates needing help with assignments, teachers asking for updates on school events, and council members scrambling for decisions only you could make. Your name echoed constantly in the hallways, followed by a request, a question, or a plea. You were everywhere, yet never still long enough for anyone to truly reach you.

And yet, somehow, you always seemed to have time for Moon Dong-eun.

It didn’t matter what you were doing—reviewing budgets, setting up decorations, or speaking with the principal. The moment she appeared, your attention shifted as if the world itself paused to make room for her. The subtle softening of your expression when she spoke, the way you leaned in just slightly closer, how you always managed to smile despite your exhaustion—it didn’t go unnoticed.

They saw it all.

They saw how you’d brush off exhaustion for her. How your patience stretched longer, your tone turned gentler. You didn’t treat her like just another person pulling at your time. She wasn’t another obligation. She was something else—something different. And that hurt more than they cared to admit.

Because they had been trying. Trying to catch your eye, to be part of your day in more than passing moments. They offered to help, stayed late to support you, found excuses to linger after meetings. But none of it seemed to matter. Your gaze always wandered past them, searching for someone else—her.

They told themselves it was jealousy. That it was childish to want your attention when you were clearly busy. They weren’t entitled to your time. They knew that.

But it still stung every time you dropped everything to walk beside Dong-eun, every time your phone lit up with her name and you answered before the first ring finished. You said you were just friends. You said she needed help. You said it was nothing.

But it was something.

To everyone else, it was obvious. To them, it was undeniable.

And they started to wonder if they had been foolish from the beginning. Thinking they could be someone special to you when someone else already was. Thinking their quiet presence would ever mean as much as her whispered words.

Still, they kept showing up. Kept watching from the sidelines. Kept hoping, somehow, that one day you’d look at them the way you looked at her.

But with every passing moment, it felt more like a losing game.

Because no matter what you were doing, no matter how chaotic your world became, you always seemed to have time for Moon Dong-eun.

However, it was not a total loss when they figured out that bullying Dong-eun meant grabbing your attention. It may not have been the most ideal or moral way to do it, but for them, it worked. For the first time, you actually looked their way. You didn’t just pass by or smile politely—you reacted. Maybe you were angry, maybe you were disappointed, but you noticed. And for them, that was everything. They had lived in your shadow for so long, desperate for even a flicker of your gaze, and suddenly, through something cruel and twisted, they found a way to keep you looking.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t justified. But it was effective.

They didn’t care that it hurt Dong-eun—she was simply the means to an end. What mattered was the attention they finally earned. Because no matter how many times they tried to impress you, be like you, or win your affection, it never lasted. But this? This got a reaction. This kept you engaged. Even if you scolded them, even if you were disgusted by them, it was still the longest stretch of time you had ever focused on them. And to someone starved for your approval, that was worth everything.

You always stayed later than the other students at school because of your responsibilities with the student council. On average, you were at school one or two hours after the final bell rang—just one of the many things that came with the role. It wasn't something you minded much; the quiet halls and empty classrooms gave you a sense of calm. Fortunately, today’s meeting had been brief, and you were heading out just an hour later.

As you made your way through the hallway, the silence was interrupted by faint but frantic yelling. It was coming from the direction of the gym. That was odd—the gym was supposed to be locked after school hours. No sports clubs were active today, and any scheduled practices had ended well before your meeting.

Curious and a little concerned, you approached the gym doors. The cries for help grew louder as you got closer. Your heart sank.

You pushed open the door.

Inside, your eyes immediately landed on the familiar faces of Yeon-jin and her clique. Surrounding them was Dong-eun, cornered, bruised, and clearly terrified. It wasn’t hard to piece together what was going on.

You knew exactly where this was headed.

Yeon-jin and her friends had a reputation. They were the kind of girls who tormented others for sport, and they got away with it. Their parents were powerful—wealthy, well-connected, untouchable. It was unfair, infuriating even, how often their behavior was overlooked, excused, or swept under the rug.

But now, you had seen it with your own eyes. And this time, they couldn't talk their way out of it. Not with you here. Not with someone who actually gave a damn.

You took a step forward, your voice steady.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Your voice echoed sharply against the gym’s high ceilings, slicing through the cruel laughter. Dong-eun flinched at the sound, pressing her back harder against the wall, as if trying to disappear. Yeon-jin turned to you slowly, her expression shifting from surprise to something far more familiar—calculated confidence.

“Oh,” she said with a smirk, flipping her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. “Didn’t see you there.”

“I bet you didn’t.” You took a step closer, your eyes flicking to Dong-eun briefly—checking for serious injuries, making sure she was still standing. She looked shaken, scared, but not broken. Not yet. Not while you were here.

Yeon-jin crossed her arms. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” you said, raising a brow. “Because it looks a lot like six people cornering a defenseless girl in a locked gym after school. Do enlighten me if I’m wrong.”

“We were just playing around. It was a joke.” Jae-Joon laughed.

“A joke?” you repeated, your voice cold now. “Then why was she screaming for help?”

You walked past them and went straight to Dong-eun. She stiffened as you approached, clearly unsure of your intentions. You crouched down slowly, gently, keeping your hands where she could see them.

“Dong-eun,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated, her lips parting but no words coming out. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. You didn’t press her for an answer. Instead, you stood up and turned back to Yeon-jin and her entourage, your expression steely.

You left the gym with Dong-eun by your side, your hand gently resting on her back to guide her forward. Neither of you looked back.

Yeon-jin and the others stood frozen in the gym, watching as you walked away with Dong-eun. The door closed behind you with a quiet click, but the silence that followed was deafening. No more laughter. No more taunts. Just the sting of realization and the weight of something unfamiliar—powerlessness.

They hated it. Hated that in the end, it was always Dong-eun who got your attention. No matter what they did, no matter how loudly they laughed or how cruelly they played their games, it was her you looked at with concern. Her you reached for. Her you protected.

But even as that bitterness settled in their chests, they couldn’t deny the fleeting satisfaction they felt—because for one moment, even if it was brief, you looked at them. You spoke directly to them. You saw them. Maybe it wasn’t the admiration they wanted. Maybe it came with anger, disappointment, even disgust. But it was something.

And that something was worth more than they’d ever admit out loud.

So they watched you go, silent and unmoving, clinging to the hope that maybe next time—next confrontation, next outburst, next scene—they’d manage to capture more than just a glance. Maybe next time, it wouldn’t be Dong-eun you rushed to help. Maybe next time, it would be them who had your full attention.

Because underneath the cruelty, the privilege, and the pride, there was something deeper—desperation. A hunger not just for power or control, but for validation. For acknowledgment. For you.

And if that meant tormenting someone like Dong-eun, if it meant pushing boundaries and crossing lines, then so be it.

Because for one single minute, you looked at them.

And that minute was everything.

[sukibenders]

Glinda mentions to Elphaba how Fiyero can't stop thinking about that moment in Dillamond's class, or that he's having thoughts in general and how it worries her because it's not something she's used to from him (which is him thinking about actual things), in contrast to Elphaba, who doesn't seem all that bothered and, even more so interested in the manner when Fiyero brings up how he can't stop thinking about when they rescued the lion cub. I don't know about everyone else but for me, even with this scene probably being added for lighthearted value, I also see it as another piece in the puzzle cementing how Fiyero's and Glinda's actions will, eventually, either pull them closer or further away from Elphaba. I lowkey don't like it when people act surprised or confused as to why Glinda was spelled or get annoyed that Fiyero is in her place but I, personally, don't think she would have helped in that moment, specifically in the movie.

Prior to the train scene, Glinda is shown to, not only, be completely rude and spoiled (as shown with her literally fainting over not getting her way), when in class, she publicly points out Dillamond's inability to pronounce her name correctly even though it's an obvious struggle, parading in front of the class how easier it was for her other teachers to do it, then being dismissive during the rest of the lesson when learning the importance of history and why to learn from it (correct me if I'm wrong, as it has been a minute since I've seen the movie). All that already tells me that she doesn't really care for the animals' cause, let alone enough to follow Elphaba and Fiyero into the woods after stealing the lion cub and I think, subconsciously, Elphaba knew that. In fact, I can only see Glinda trying to sway them to leave the cub and how what their new professor wanted to teach probably wasn't all that bad (not saying that she would want the cub to be harmed, just that she would try to rationalize what's going as we've seen her do before). This is the same woman who, after learning that the Wizard was a fraud and responsible for the missing and harmed animals, still tried to justify his actions and berated Elphaba for not "acting accordingly" to the news, but yet we still think she should have been there to save the lion cub? That she would have helped those animals alongside Fiyero and Elphaba? I think it could allude to how Glinda could/will be used to help further push propaganda for the Wizard, especially given how it benefits her socially, as figures of propaganda often don't think too hard, or enough to critique the system around them not because they aren't smart enough too (for the most part), but more so because they understand how their world works and understand the consequences that follow when stepping out of line.

You don't have to like Fiyeraba or even find Fiyero interesting, but to purposely ignore what the movie is presenting you is such a cop-out. Fiyero enters the film being a sort of anti-establishment-like character, caring little if he gets kicked out of Shiz for breaking the rules, or just hardly caring in general (something Elphaba calls him out for), and so on. Why wouldn't he be down to rescue the lion? Even if it was to just feed his rebellious streak, he still would have gone, but when he and Elphaba meet, he's on a talking horse and they are conversing like lifelong friends. That might add another layer to the pair saving the lion. Even if he wasn't on the same level as Elphaba at that moment, the train scene shows that it had a profound impact on him that he couldn't shake. I think, had he been presented with the choice of joining Elphaba or staying, he would have gone, not only for her but also because he now knows that the Wizard is a fraud and most definitely wouldn't stand for what he [Oz] is doing. This is what sets him apart from Glinda which, isn't necessarily me hating on her but just stating facts. Glinda isn't/won't be willing to sacrifice her position and what it brings her, until it's too late (which is the tragedy of her character and her relationship with Elphaba), while Fiyero risks everything, even to some extent his own body (Scarecrow) and, in the end, gets to stand with Elphaba.

[millenianthemums]

Chapter 6 of Mabel’s Guide to the Power of Friendship is up!!

Writing this one took me a while, and then the art also took a while… everything took a while. i always enjoy writing this once i get to it, though! hope you enjoy this one too.

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It was hard for Mabel to really relax, knowing that Bill was lurking just below the floorboards. But by the time the sun was low and her family was gathered around the dinner table, she’d mostly put it out of her mind. It was hard to be miserable with them around.

“You think Soos will bring more empanadas when he’s here tomorrow?” Dipper asked, picking at the strangely opalescent casserole on his plate.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were insinuating something about my cooking,” Ford said wryly.

“Whaaat? No! No, don’t be– that’s ridiculous,” Dipper said. “This is great! I mean, it’s a million times better than last time, this one didn’t even come to life and attack us–”

“Don’t jinx it,” Stan said.

“Hey, c’mon, guys,” Mabel piped up. “It’s the thought that counts, right? It’s really sweet that he tried. Besides, even Grunkle Ford can’t be perfect at everything.”

Ford chuckled. “Thank you, Mabel. As far as backhanded compliments go, that’s quite nice.”

“It’s true!” she said. “So what if you’re not a chef? You invent, like, six magical contraptions a week!”

“That’s a wild exaggeration,” Ford said with a grin. “It’s been at least a month since the last one. Although Fiddleford and I have made some real progress on our current project…”

“New project?” Dipper perked up. “What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know if the details will interest you that much–”

“Shaaare!” Mabel demanded. Dipper immediately joined in, both of them pumping their fists and shouting “Share! Share! Share!” until Ford laughed and gave in. They all knew he didn’t really need that much encouragement, but it was fun anyway.

“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you.” Ford waved his hands to set the scene, the way he always did when he started talking about science stuff. “So, we all know that unicorn tears have remarkable healing properties, right? But we also know that unicorns aren’t generous creatures, and trying to obtain some tears by force often creates more injuries than they could ever heal.”

Stan snorted. “And how many tries did it take for that lesson to set in?”

“Not the topic, Stanley. Anyway, our goal was to synthetically recreate the healing properties of the tears, eliminating the need to seek out the real thing. This has been in the works for a long time; in fact, our biggest breakthroughs came from studying the sample Mabel and her friends obtained last year…”

Dipper extended a fist to Mabel, and she proudly bumped it.

“...And I must say, we’ve had some very promising results with the latest prototypes! There have been some hiccups here and there– we really should have fireproofed the lab sooner– but I think in the next few weeks, we might even end up with something that could surpass the healing properties of unicorn tears!”

“Nice!” Mabel held out a fist to Ford. “Take that, you overrated horses!”

Ford laughed, accepting the fist bump. Stan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Here’s hoping you get it workin’ before we set out again. It’d make things way less stressful on the boat. Heck, the coast guard medics might even have time to forget our names!”

“Wait, you’re setting out again?” Dipper asked. “When?”

“End of the summer, same as you kids!” Stan said proudly. “First thing in September, we’re headed right back out there.”

Ford nodded. “We still have a lot more to investigate. I expect we’ll be very busy once Fall comes around, which is why I’m under strict orders to ‘take it easy’ while we’re here. Otherwise, the elixir would probably be finished by now–” Stan crossed his arms, and Ford quickly added “--but I completely understand the point of it. Rest is important, kids.”

“Darn right,” Stan grunted. “Far as I’m concerned, we’re both on vacation for the summer.”

Dipper tapped his fork on his chin. “So you won’t be studying Gravity Falls for a while?”

“C’mon, brobro,” Mabel chided. “Grunkle Ford’s willingly taking a break for once, let’s not remind him of all the extra stuff he could be doing!”

“That’s not what I meant!” Dipper protested. “I’m just saying…”

“It’s a fair question,” Ford said. “There certainly are plenty of mysteries left unsolved around here. But I think Stanley and I have broadened our focus a bit too much to give special attention to Gravity Falls anymore. Just our brief stay in the Arctic Circle alone has raised so many fascinating questions, and we still have so many more places to investigate… there’s just not enough time to solve all the world’s mysteries, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, relax, Poindexter,” Stan cut in, shoving Ford’s shoulder. “We’re not the only ones working on this stuff. Something tells me Gravity Falls’ll be in good hands, even without us.” He gave Dipper a meaningful wink. Mabel couldn’t help but smile at the way her brother’s face lit up.

“Hey, guys?” Dipper asked, leaning back in his chair and trying to seem subtle. “Can we talk after dinner? I was hoping to get some feedback on this project I’m working on…”

Mabel’s smile faded. “Is it about that dumb thesis contest?” She turned to the Grunkles and pointed accusingly at Dipper. “He won’t let me help with it! He wouldn’t shut up about how cool it would be to win and get a big smarty-pants paper published, and now that he’s allowed to start working on it he won’t even tell me what it’s gonna be about! I could have done like fifty illustrations by now if—”

“I told you, there’s nothing to share yet!” Dipper protested. “I’ve… kinda been putting it off. I’ve still got a week until the topic proposal’s due…”

“Then what do you need Stan and Ford’s ‘feedback’ on?”

Dipper tugged at his shirt collar. “Uh… it’s…”

“I could help,” she said, voice a little louder than she’d wanted. “Even if it’s something I’m bad at, I could help make it look cool. If you just told me a little bit about it…”

Dipper sighed. “Look, Mabel, I promise I’ll share it with you soon, okay? I just… I want it to be a surprise.”

Mabel looked at him doubtfully over the rim of her water glass. She wanted to keep prying, but it was clear she was just making him uncomfortable. He didn’t want her help, he just didn’t know how to say it. She could tell.

“Okay,” she said, trying not to sound hurt. It was fine, really. She had high-speed bike riding; Dipper was allowed to have things just for himself too. It was normal for twins to grow apart. She drained the rest of her glass and stared down at the tablecloth.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. Then Stan spoke up. “Speaking of surprises. Hey Sixer, remember that thing we ran into off the coast of Greenland in March?”

Ford laughed. “How could I possibly forget? Now, kids, I don’t know about you, but nothing in my paleontology education gave me the impression that wooly mammoths were aquatic…”

Soon Mabel was too wrapped up in seafaring stories to be sad about anything.

——-

Bill must have fallen asleep at some point. He’d been lying there, in the basement, in the dark, with the Pines’ infernal voices ringing above him, but then something had happened. The voices changed. And suddenly he wasn’t in a basement anymore. He was lying on an exam table, and his arms were strapped down, and his eye wouldn’t close, and the air was thick with antiseptic. And there were voices all around him, moving around him, but he knew he couldn’t look, he just had to keep his eye focused on the stars overhead, just don’t look, just don’t look at them, just pretend they’re not there, pretend you’re among the stars and nothing’s happening, nothing hurts. So he didn’t look away, not even when the quiet voices he could hear through the pain changed again, became painfully familiar, he still didn’t look, even when they started screaming, even when their cries and pleading were drowned out by the sounds of flames, even when the heat waves twisted the air and the crunching, sizzling, tearing sounds and the smell of burning meat drowned out all his other senses he still didn’t look, he didn’t look down, he wouldn’t–

And then he was back in the basement. It was dark and still. The only sound was his own ragged breathing.

He sat up and scrubbed at his face with the blanket he’d been wrapped in. Dreams. He hadn’t been ready to deal with dreams. Other people’s dreams were a riot. Not his own.

He’d been distracted too quickly to dwell on the last one. He’d foolishly hoped that would be the last one for a while. But no, of course not. This world couldn’t allow him even a moment of peace. Every sleep was going to be like this.

In the dark, he staggered to the small bathroom in the back of the room. He ran the cold water in the sink and rinsed his mouth until he forgot the taste of the smoke. It was so vivid. So convincing. Even though none of it had made any sense, it felt real.

He stared numbly at the mirror. Their voices. He’d remembered them, of course. Despite all the worlds that had sprouted and withered between then and now, despite everything he’d tried, he’d never been able to stop remembering them. But he never thought he’d have to hear those voices again.

Someone knocked at the door.

His first thought was “thank god”. He’d been desperately hoping for anything else to think about. His second thought, as he heard the door unlock, was “that could be anybody”. So he stood just at the edge of the room and prepared to run for cover, until a small, high-pitched voice said “It’s me.”

Bill relaxed a little. Not a lot, but more than zero. He scrubbed his face dry and straightened his bowtie before she entered, trying to look as stoic as possible. She didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as she rushed in and slumped against the door to shut it. Both her hands were busy carrying an overloaded paper plate.

Trying her best to not let it fold under the weight of the food piled onto it, she glanced around for a surface to place it on. The curved lid of the wooden chest was considered, then quickly rejected when the plate started sliding. She winced before resorting to setting it down on the floor beside the beanbag. Finally, she retrieved a packet of plastic utensils from a takeout place and laid it beside the plate, trying to make it look presentable.

“We need to get a table or something in here,” she muttered as Bill drew closer to inspect the offering.

“YEAH, SOME APPLIANCES WOULD BE NICE TOO,” he joked. “I’M THINKIN’ A STUDIO APARTMENT KIND OF SETUP. WASHER AND DRYER OVER THERE, THAT CORNER’S THE KITCHEN… FULL-SIZE JACUZZI ON THAT SIDE, OBVIOUSLY…”

“I have six dollars,” Mabel piped up.

Bill laughed before he could stop himself. Encouraged, she went on: “I mean, there’s an empty fish tank and a car battery in the garage. We could make a hole in the side and stick a blowdryer in there for a jet. That’d be fine, right?”

He laughed again. “I LIKE WHERE YOUR HEAD’S AT, KID. IF WE SHUT OFF THE SPRINKLERS, WE COULD SET UP A FIRE PIT IN THE KITCHEN CORNER!”

“Perfect plan!” Mabel laughed along with him, but then seemed to think better of it. “But okay, hold on, we can start with the home renovations later. For now, you should eat.” She pointed to the plate. “It’s just some leftovers from tonight. Figured taking more snacks would look suspicious. But if it, uh… disagrees with you… then just let me know tomorrow.”

That wasn’t a glowing review. Looking dubiously at the alleged “food” on the plate, he didn’t see much reason to doubt it. Still, he tried to look grateful as he picked up a plastic fork. “WILL DO,” he said, trying not to look down.

“I’ll come back down tomorrow, before the others wake up,” she said, crossing back over to the door. “Including Grunkle Ford… ugh, that’s gonna suck. But once I’m back, we’ll figure out a plan, okay?”

Bill glanced around the room. “I THOUGHT THIS WAS THE PLAN,” he said.

“C’mon, you can’t just stay in one tiny dark room all summer! This isn’t Guacamole or something.”

Bill snorted. “GUANTANAMO?”

“Whatever,” she said, flushing. “The point is we need to get you outside once in a while. You have scales, things with scales need sunlight or they get sick. And what’s the point of all this work if you get sick and die??”

She had a point there. Bill shifted uncomfortably, realizing he wasn’t totally sure if the sun thing would apply to him or not. “YEAH, FAIR ENOUGH. KEEP FORGETTING THIS…” he gestured to the body, “…THING NEEDS ‘VITAMINS’ AND SUCHLIKE.”

“Relatable, honestly. But there’s a bunch more stuff to plan out, too! We need to be able to contact each other in emergencies. And, like, a secret knock so you know when it’s me, and a code to communicate…” as she spoke, her hands started flapping with excitement. “Oh my gosh, it’s like one of those spy games Dipper likes. We could make a guidebook with all this stuff! Like a, what, codex? For the code? We could make our own code! You can handle that part— I know that’s your thing, it’s literally your name… I get to do all the art, though. It can have a scrapbook vibe— I gotta find my craft scissors with the zig-zags—”

“KID.” Bill cut her off. “I KNOW IT’S IN YOUR NATURE NOT TO TAKE STUFF SERIOUSLY. IT’S A GOOD TRAIT! MAKES LIFE A LOT MORE BEARABLE. BUT THIS ISN’T SOME SILLY SUMMER CRAFT PROJECT. THIS IS LIFE OR DEATH, GOT IT? CAN WE TRY TO ACT LIKE IT’S IMPORTANT?”

She looked hurt. “Silly things are still important,” she muttered. “We could hide it in here. And even if someone finds it, it could be any goofy old thing I made! Dipper showed me how to do that invisible ink thing; I could act like the empty space is just unfinished parts! I dunno, I just… I thought it’d make this whole thing a little more fun.”

Bill squinted at her as she stared at the floor, arms crossed tight over her chest. Then he rolled his eye. Maybe he was being a choosing beggar here. This was Mabel Pines; of course she’d want to make some stupid game out of this. And the whole plan was to humor her. If this was what it took to keep her invested, he should probably just play along.

“OKAY, FINE. I’M IN,” he sighed. “WE CAN MAKE A BOOK OR WHATEVER.”

She lit up again. “Really?? Yes! Awesome! It’ll be so fun, I promise.” She paused and glanced at the dark window. “But we can start that later. I gotta go get at least a tiny bit of sleep first.”

Bill shrugged. “SURE. CAN’T KEEP THIS BODY ALIVE IF YOURS GIVES OUT.”

“Thanks for the concern,” she snorted. “And see you in the morning.” She gave a quick wave before shutting the door behind her.

Watching the door, he heard the heavy “clunk” of the lock clicking shut, then rapid footsteps bounding up the staircase. He sighed and pinched his forehead. That much youthful energy couldn’t be sustainable. She probably wouldn’t live past 20.

As he waited for the various noises and occupants of the house to settle, he wolfed down the food as fast as he could. The kid was right to be apologetic, but if he ate quickly, he didn’t taste it much. It was just fuel anyway.

When the plate was finally empty, he dropped it back to the floor and picked up the plastic fork. He rinsed it in the sink as well as he could, wiped it dry with the paper napkin that came with the set, then bent one of the tines away from the others. He leaned one side against the crack in the door, listening intently to the silence from above. There wasn’t a whisper of movement.

He stuck the tine of the fork into the lock.

It was more stubborn than your typical household lock, but Bill had bested much worse with much less. It only took a little finagling before he heard the “clunk” he was listening for. Slowly, cautiously, he eased the door open. The hallway was dark and empty. He stashed his impromptu lockpick in his hat, locked the door behind him, and crept up into the house.

—-

The place was as quiet and dark as he’d hoped for. He’d been right to judge by the footsteps above him that they’d all gone to bed. And thankfully, even without his usual glow, the stars outside were bright enough to see by. He crept along with his back against the wall, testing each floorboard before he stepped, scanning his surroundings.

The decor was about the same as he remembered, with a few notable changes. A lot of the ceiling and walls had been replaced; probably necessary after they turned it into a big stupid robot last year. And it seemed like someone else might have moved in. There were some new decorations that weren't anything close to the “style” he’d come to expect from the place. Lace doilies hung from the tops of chairs and sofas like dusty cobwebs, and handmade blankets and wall hangings were scattered all around. Shooting Star was crafty, sure, but these didn’t look like her handiwork. The colors were way too easy on the eye, and there wasn’t a crumb of glitter to be seen. If they were her doing, they were a big step down in quality.

But if they weren’t, it meant an extra person to deal with. Better keep his eye out.

He turned a corner and a massive shape blotted out the hallway ahead. He scrambled back, clenching his teeth tight beneath his eyelids to stop a yell from escaping.

Then his eye adjusted, and he had to stifle an irritated growl. It was just that stupid pig. He’d forgotten how huge it was now, and it looked a lot less pathetic from a low angle. It was sitting in the middle of the floor, directly in his path, staring down at him. Its eyes glittered in the moonlight like two tiny black teeth.

Bill glared up at it defiantly. Just let it try and make a move. He might not have magic, but he still had claws and teeth. A ripped throat wasn’t as flashy as immolation, but it was still perfectly fatal.

The pig returned his stare with no discernable expression. A few silent seconds crept by.

Then the pig gave a grumbly snort and laid its head on the ground. It flopped onto one side and closed its eyes with an indifferent sigh.

Bill hurried on, telling himself to thank his lucky stars instead of feeling indignant. Still, his ego stung a little. Not even livestock saw him as a threat anymore.

To his relief, he had no more surprise encounters as he cased the second floor. The layout of the rooms was about the same as before, which meant the sounds of walking from above his little home base would still be a reliable method of tracking the inhabitants. He steered well clear of all the bedrooms and kept his back to the wall, and the floorboards beneath him kept silent. He was out of practice with walking, sure, but nobody who grew up causing problems ever forgets how to sneak through a hallway.

Once he’d made mental notes of all the storage spaces that might have supplies he could use, he headed for the portal. On the way through the gift shop he snagged a small notepad and pen from behind the desk. Scanning over the portal wreckage, he made a list of the missing components and tools he’d need. In code, obviously; secret codes were literally his name, after all.

Once the darkness outside started to lift away, he cut his work short and headed back. He tore the used page from the notebook and placed it and the pen back where he’d found them, exchanging them for a single paperclip that he stashed in his hat with the paper. That was all he felt comfortable taking for now. It was much too early to start gathering supplies. Anything left out of place would definitely make the kid suspicious. For now, he’d just plan. Make sure everything went as smoothly as it possibly could. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get all the power tools and steel he’d need down to the basement without being noticed, but there was no point freaking out about it now. He’d figure out logistics later. He could pull this off. He was going to pull this off. He had no other choice.

By the time the first pink rays of light had breached the horizon, he was back in the cell. The paperclip made a perfectly serviceable lockpick to latch the door behind him. Like nothing ever happened.

He curled up in his nest of blankets, trying to hold his eye open. Hoping to ward off the dreams a little longer. But eventually his exhaustion won the battle. His eye slid shut.

Maybe the next dream would at least be over quick.

—-

Bill’s wish came true. As soon as he jolted awake, he regretted making it. It felt like he’d been yanked out of a tar pit by his eyelashes, but his brain stayed behind. His head, chest and eye socket all felt like they were stuffed with wet cotton, and his bones were shaking with this sudden painful chill. His thoughts were so slow and muffled that it took a second for him to even realize that someone was staring him right in the face. He lurched away and fell backwards off the beanbag.

Mabel poked her head over the beanbag and beamed down at where he lay on the floor in a tangle of blankets. “Morning!” she said in a bright half-whisper. “How’d you sleep?”

Bill glared up at her with silent disdain. After a moment, she seemed to take that as an answer. “Yeah, me too. Had a lot of stress dreams. Anyway, time to figure some stuff out.”

She disappeared from view for a moment, then reappeared at his side with a fuzzy pink notebook and a chunky pink pen with a glittery pom-pom topper. She leafed through the book for a minute, then looked up at Bill. “You ok?”

“I’M DYING,” Bill croaked. It was barely hyperbole. That freezing, sinking pain just kept getting worse. Every second he kept his eye open, it felt like gravity increased tenfold.

Mabel hissed through her teeth. “Hold on a second.” She vanished from view again, then popped back in with a mason jar full of what looked like the fluid from inside a neon pink glowstick. She propped him upright and shoved it into his hands. “Drink this.”

Bill ought to have been at least a little suspicious of a drink presented so vaguely. But a billion years of drinking cocktails made from substances meant to power quantum reactions, combined with the weight of sheer exhaustion muffling all his thoughts, meant that he barely hesitated before lifting the jar to his eyelids and taking a gulp.

A second later, his eye shot wide open. “WHOA!” he shouted, blinking rapidly.

“Ooh, I might’ve put too many pop rocks in that batch,” Mabel said. She grabbed the jar and shook it, sending frozen fruit shapes and plastic dinosaurs clattering around in a glittery whirlpool. “Mixing it usually helps. Dipper keeps telling me to warn people before I give them this stuff—”

Bill grabbed the jar back. He took an approving glance at the crazy-looking drink— now that his brain was working, he could fully appreciate the vibe— and then knocked back another mouthful. A rush of energy buzzed through his brain, setting his neurons alight like christmas lights hooked up to a nuclear reactor. The dangerously sugary concoction stung the inside of his mouth like acid, but this was a fun kind of pain. “OH, THIS IS PHENOMENAL.”

Mabel’s face lit up. “You like it??”

“DO I?!” One more swig and the jar was empty, and Bill was actually bouncing in place a little. “I FEEL LIKE A WHOLE NEW TRIANGLE! WHAT IS THAT?!”

“It’s Mabel Juice!” she beamed. “My own personal secret recipe! It’s so secret, not even I know what the secret is! Seriously, I hardly ever write the ingredients down.”

Bill laughed. “WELL, COLOR ME IMPRESSED, KID! I HAVEN’T HAD A DRINK THAT GOOD SINCE THAT BATTERY ACID DAQUIRI I MIXED BACK IN THE ‘30s. AND THIS ONE DIDN’T EVEN DISSOLVE MY STOMACH!”

Mabel’s smile dropped for a second, then returned. “I’ll take that as a compliment!” she said proudly. “I’ll bring more down later. I’ve got a million different brews you can try! The others don’t drink much of it, they always complain about how there’s ‘so much sugar’ and it ‘burns their mouths’ or whatever…”

“HEY, THEIR LOSS! I’LL TAKE IT OFF YOUR HANDS! EXTRA BURNING ON THE SIDE, IF YOU’VE GOT IT,” Bill offered. He had to hand it to the kid; she made pouring on the charm pretty easy. In a better world, he would’ve hired her as a barista in the Fearamid.

Mabel grinned, but then her face froze. From somewhere upstairs, the familiar sound of heavy, clomping footsteps rang through the ceiling.

Bill froze in place too, his eye locked on the ceiling. His teeth clenched tight behind his eye socket as he tried to repress his anger. Like a favorite song after you set it as your morning alarm, that sound made his blood boil on contact.

“Grunkle Ford’s up,” Mabel whispered. Bill glanced over to see her watching the ceiling too. “I thought he’d at least sleep ‘til five…”

“RISKY GAMBLE THERE,” Bill muttered. “FORD DOESN’T HAVE A SLEEP SCHEDULE, HE JUST WORKS ‘TIL HE KEELS OVER.”

“He’s working on it,” Mabel said defensively. Maybe Bill hadn’t kept all the derision out of his voice. He kept his mouth shut, just to be safe.

“Okay. Alright. This is fine.” The kid was clearly reassuring herself more than him. “He shouldn’t hear us down here. Nobody heard you screaming your head off the other day, they shouldn’t hear us just talking… we should be fine for now. As long as he doesn’t wander down here and happen to just randomly get close to this room. Or wander upstairs to his office and pass our bedroom and happen to look in and notice I’m not there. So as long as he stays on the exact floor he’s on now, we’ll be okay…”

“KID, RELAX. YOU SOUND LIKE PINETREE,” Bill laughed. “WITH HOW LOUD THOSE STEPS ARE, WE’LL HAVE A TON OF WARNING IF HE HEADS FOR ANY STAIRS. JUST CUT TO THE CHASE SO YOU DIDN’T WAKE ME UP FOR NOTHING.”

She shot another worried glance at the ceiling, then nodded. “Okay. Sure. The chase… hold on.” She grabbed her notepad and pen again, then started rooting around for something else in the backpack she’d brought. “The Chase, part one. Secret messages. Ooh, that’s good.” She opened the book and labeled the first page with that title. Bill bit his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that huge pink bubble letters weren’t the best choice for subtlety.

“Now,” she said, throwing the notebook down like a frazzled detective presenting her notes. “I would’ve loved to, like, build a two-way radio out of soda cans, or find a way to send smoke signals through the A/C system or something. But I think we should wait on that ‘til later. Right now, simplicity’s the name of the game.” With a victorious flourish, she revealed the thing she’d fished out of the bag. It took a second for Bill to parse what the battered old thing even was. A cell phone. An ancient, blocky brick of a flip-screen cell phone.

“YEESH!” he exclaimed as she shoved it into his hands. “WHAT ANCIENT BURIAL GROUND DIDJA DIG THIS THING OUT OF? IT’S OLD ENOUGH TO BE YOUR DAD!”

Mabel snorted. “Give me a break! It was the best one I could find in the closet where Grunkle Stan keeps all his burner phones.”

“WELL, I’D HATE TO SEE THE COMPETITION!” Bill remarked. “WHAT WAS THE WORST ONE, A CLAY TABLET? A BONE CARVED FLUTE TO CALL THE NEANDERTHAL TRIBE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN?”

Mabel hid a giggle behind the turtleneck of her sweater. All according to plan. Jokes were a great way of lowering a mark’s defenses, even if they didn’t land. And despite her best efforts, Shooting Star was a good audience.

He held down the power button and marvelled as the dusty, scuffed screen actually lit up. “WHAAAT! LOOK AT THIS LOGO! THIS COMPANY WENT UNDER IN 2002! THE CEO BURNED DOWN THE OFFICE TO HIDE TAX FRAUD AND MELTED HIS EYELIDS OFF!”

Mabel clapped her hands over her ears. “Ugh!! Why would you tell me that?”

“BECAUSE IT’S HILARIOUS! THE GUY WAS A TOTAL LOSER ANYWAY, HE WAS TOO UPTIGHT TO TAKE MY DEAL AND COULDN’T EVEN HANDLE A WEEK OF NIGHT TERRORS BEFORE HE CRACKED—”

“Anyway!” She cut him off. “This was the only phone I found in the closet that could send texts. We need to be able to keep in touch, so you can let me know if you’re hurt or need more supplies, and I can warn you if people upstairs can hear you practicing your evil laugh or something.”

“WHA— HEY! WHO EVEN— NOBODY NEEDS TO PRACTICE THEIR LAUGH, THAT’S JUST STUPID.” Bill hoped he didn’t sound too defensive. There was no way she actually knew about that, right?

She just rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. “Point is, that phone is yours. Nobody’ll recognize that number. My number’s in there already, you can text me in morse code if you need something.”

Bill looked up from the phone screen to squint at her. “MORSE? C’MON, KID.”

“What’s wrong with morse?”

“THAT’S THE MOST BASIC CODE IN EXISTENCE! YOU REALLY THINK ANYBODY IN THIS HOUSE WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE MORSE WHEN THEY SAW IT?” he said. “YOU THINK THEY’LL SEE YOU ANSWERING TEXTS IN MORSE FROM SOME RANDOM NUMBER AND HAVE ANY OTHER THOUGHT BESIDES ‘SHE’S HIDING SOMETHING’?”

Mabel sighed. “Okay, fine, Mr. Code Snob. What should we use?”

“WE SHOULDN’T ‘USE’ ANYTHING. WE JUST KEEP THINGS VAGUE AND SIMPLE,” he said. “ANYTHING THAT EVEN LOOKS LIKE IT MIGHT BE CODE WILL JUST GET PEOPLE’S ATTENTION. BESIDES, IN A HOUSE FULL OF CON ARTISTS AND MYSTERY DORKS, I DOUBT THERE’S ANY CODE WE COULD USE ON THIS THING THAT NONE OF THEM WILL RECOGNIZE. THESE TEXTS NEED TO BE AS BORING AND UN-MYSTERIOUS AS THEY CAN POSSIBLY BE. SO BORING THAT NOT EVEN PINETREE IN HIS SNOOPIEST MOOD WOULD GLANCE AT ‘EM TWICE.”

Mabel pursed her lips. “Spam!” she said after a minute. “Dipper and I get spam texts from random numbers all the time. We can make up a system where I know what you’re saying based on what you’re trying to sell me. Like a scam alphabet!”

Bill’s eye crinkled with his version of a grin. “NOW YOU’RE TALKING!”

Mabel grabbed her pen and started rattling off scams to list in her notebook. Stan had clearly taught her well, and between the both of them they soon had a massive list to work from. On the opposite page, they listed phrases to match with each scam. “NEED FOOD”, “NEED SUPPLIES”, “INJURY”, “FIRE”, “RACCOON GOT IN”, and so on. As soon as they had a workable “alphabet”, the kid insisted they start deciding on secret knocks. They’d just started to argue about whether “shave-and-a-haircut” was too uncreative, when suddenly Mabel stopped short and held out a hand. Before Bill could ask what was up, he realized what she’d heard. A voice from upstairs. A voice that was much too prepubescent to be Ford’s.

“Dipper’s up,” Mabel hissed. “Why is Dipper up? He never gets up this early on his own… Did he notice I was gone? Is he looking for me?? How am I gonna get back up without—”

“GEEZ, RELAX,” Bill said. “LOOK, THE STAIRCASE TO THE ATTIC IS RIGHT ACROSS FROM THIS ONE. JUST WAIT UNTIL HE’S IN THE KITCHEN…” he pointed to that corner of the house, from where Ford’s voice was now ringing through the ceiling, “AND YOU CAN SNEAK BACK UP WITHOUT BUMPING INTO HIM. JUST DON’T LET HIM SEE YOU LEAVING THE BASEMENT, AND WE’LL BE FINE.”

“I don’t like how much you know about our house.”

Bill pointed to his eye. “REMEMBER HOW HALF THE DECOR IN HERE USED TO BE MY EYES?”

“Yeah, duh. Doesn’t mean it’s not creepy.” She shuddered, and Bill tried not to laugh. At least the memory of his powers still inspired fear… but he didn’t want her knowing how happy that made him.

Mabel gathered up her stuff and headed for the door. “I gotta go before he notices I’m not sleeping. Soon as I get a chance, I’ll sneak back down and we’ll sort out the other stuff on my checklist.”

“FAIR ENOUGH. BE SEEING YOU, KID.” He couldn’t resist putting a little extra emphasis on that word, pointing to his eye again with a smug, half-lidded smile. Shooting Star was his ally for now, sure. But she shouldn’t forget where things really stood. He was the one who was really in control here.

“And I’ll use the We Will Rock You knock.”

“UGH, COME ON!” Bill protested. “I’M TELLING YOU, SHAVE-AND-A-HAIRCUT IS THE GO-TO FOR A REASON, IT’S PRACTICAL—“

“See ya later!” She winked and vanished through the door. The lock clicked heavily into place.

Bill glared daggers at the door until the sound of footsteps had faded away. Then he took off his hat and rifled through the lining, taking a reassuring glance at his folded-up notes. And the paper clip fastening them in place. That dumb kid put way too much trust in that lock. Did she really not realize the danger she’d let into her house? Did she really not know what she was dealing with?

His eye was drawn in by a soft gleam from deep within the hat. He brushed some fabric aside and stared at the fragment of his dimension. It caught the dim light in the room and threw it back much brighter, twisted into colors that didn’t exist anymore. It hurt to look at it with this new eye. He let his gaze rest on it longer than he should have.

Then he tore his eye away and shoved the hat back on. No, she definitely didn’t know. The fact he was still here— still alive— was proof enough of that.

[districtunrest]

ONGOMGOMGOMG. (share thoughts. any n all. you know i need to know. PLEASE!)

HAHA sorry. anyway:

I didn’t really like it and I’m sad about it. ☹️ even though there were some interesting ideas and cool new characters, I was taken out of the story too much to fully enjoy them. it read to me like the laziest (most rushed? least edited?) yet most forced storytelling of the series, which sucks bc it’s supposedly the REAL backstory of my favorite character. but I just couldn’t shake my doubt while reading that this was what we and Katniss were missing all along. too many details (that I memorized by heart as a tween and have made everyone’s problem since) didn't match up, even with the card-stacking*. so I just don't believe this was always the intended ‘real’ story when it’s so hidden from the trilogy... imo, SC went back to it with a mission statement in mind after recent current events (and, more tellingly, after Ballad) and did her thing. which is fine, that's her right - it's just, when this whole book seems more like a writing workshop thought experiment than the intended backstory, I will treat it as such. bc as it stands, all the callbacks & connections & Everlark parallels in the world cannot replace Katniss & Peeta watching the highlight tape of his Games, Haymitch telling them what he did was “almost but not quite” as bad as them with the berries, Katniss finally understanding who he is in that moment, and Haymitch later admitting the loss of his loved ones were because of "that stunt [he] pulled with the forcefield" (which is. simply not true anymore with all of his stunts in and out of the arena). like say no more, that’s good enough for me! it’s what I prefer and what I find more compelling than what’s revealed/subverted in Sunrise. and tbh that discrepancy makes Sunrise unfaithful, at least in my eyes, for all it relies on references to the rest of the series. 

now, obviously I had mixed feelings about this prequel in the first place, and my concerns/reservations mounted with each excerpt, only to be confirmed now... but I did try, okay!?? haha I’d told you and several others privately that I really wanted to like this book and I was willing to set aside my gripes if it was good - but it had to actually be good! instead, the book was exactly what I was afraid it was going to be *and* suffered a drop in quality. I found the narration underwhelming, dumbed down and repetitive, and not evocative of Haymitch's voice. even things I thought there was NO WAY would actually happen and I was just being paranoid - but then they did, lmao. like, it was a letdown for me personally *and* it didn’t even do it well enough where I could at least respect it and oblige, lol

overall, it was just too off for me. by answering and explaining so much, it ended up taking away a lot of the trilogy's charm and intrigue - and did so in a way that left a bad taste in my mouth. it made me view Ballad in a more negative light, too, tbh. so I think going forward I’ll just consider it a weird spinoff that is secondary to the main/trilogy canon. 🤷🏻‍♀️

(some more Haybitching under the cut)

tbh, what guts me the most is what SC chose to do with Haymitch’s voice & character, where she watered him down to what he needed to be for this lesson & this plot. it’s frustrating that the dangerous, cunning, arrogant boy that Katniss sees in the highlight reel and can easily recognize in adult Haymitch is all an act. the character we thought we knew is not present here, sacrificed to make yet another point about propaganda, and that’s a crying shame. and his deterioration in the final chapters is so underwhelming (as are the death scenes 🫣) - I've read that same story countless times but told better by people who love the character as is and weren't on a time crunch for a movie deal, I guess.

Sunrise!Haymitch skews shockingly immature and moralistic and hates the idea of being a sarcastic, selfish “rascal." but since when are we calling surviving and fighting to get home in an unthinkable situation selfish? that’s now assumed in Sunrise’s logic, where instead having a ginormous alliance against the Careers with no exit plan (big ‘WHAT IF ALL THE TRIBUTES BANDED TOGETHER AND DIDN’T FIGHT?’ energy) is much smarter and nobler than going it alone and heading in one direction to get to the edge for no reason other than bc nobody had tried it before and trilogy!Haymitch, we know, is an out-of-box thinker & strategist. I know he & Ambert were operating under the notion that they were going to lose no matter what and had their own plans (which. hmm) but it was just so oddly accepted by the Newcomers, too, who had no such threat from Snow. they were so willing to be selfless martyrs and band together when they all know at the end of the day there can only be one survivor - which was heartening in a way, sure, but it almost seemed trite? and again, needlessly moralistic in an established world like Panem, where these things happen every year...? not even self-righteous (Katniss' words but with Haymitch's backing!) Peeta 'not a piece in their games' Mellark thought so narrowly. Idk. I might have to mull that one over more. but anyway, then Haymitch trying to rescue Maysilee is turned into a mini redemption arc in post, when all it was in the first place was a glimpse into his protective & caring nature underneath all the bravado, which was surely part of Katniss’ deepening understanding of him. but Sunrise wasn’t interested in exploring that, either, or even honoring it. okay

and I can’t get over how SC had to kind of retcon the final pages of Mockingjay to fit Haymitch’s epilogue into it, which didn’t help how it already rang so hollow for me, I hate to say. it’s not even done well, containing the most rushed, wrap-up-everything-before-the-deadline writing I’ve ever seen from SC (and it STILL doesn’t read like Haymitch’s voice to me :/). some things can just be; they don’t need some big, loaded, tragic explanation. Haymitch can glibly call Katniss ‘sweetheart’ once, bc she’s been sullen & hostile to him and he is in fact sarcastic (the horror!), only for it to go on to become an actual term of endearment by the end - like, that’s lovely in and of itself. why weigh it down further? who asked for that? I know I didn’t. 

most insignificantly & pettily of all: geese do mate for life - as in monogamously, meaning they stay together until one of them dies. then, they mourn and find another mate. just putting that out there, lmao

*how tf was Haymitch able to kiss his token and set up a bomb and throw it over the edge and put his token back when we know he was convulsing from shock by the end? to where Silka was able to start staunching her wound as she waited for him to die? if him going into shock was taken from footage anytime after, the arena would've been quaking/on fire around him?? Idk fam. it just feels off.

[wutheringmights]

After I finished reading The Epic of Gilgamesh today, I entered a fugue state where I sat down and read the entirety of Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce.

On the record, I have had a lifelong love and adoration for Pierce's Tortall books. I first read the Song of the Lioness quartet when I was 11, and they rewrote my brain. I love them so much. I reread them and the other Tortall books on a semi-frequent schedule.

It's been a while since I reread any of the Alanna books, if only because my sister took our shared copies when she moved out. I've been meaning to buy my own set for a long while now but haven't been able to justify the purchase. The other week, I just so happened to find the first two volumes at my local indie bookstore. I bought them immediately, as well as ordered the third and fourth book. (And discovered that the store owner knows me by name-- when I went to pick up my order, she saw me and said, Hi Frankie! I got your books over here.) (I may be spending too much money there.)

So I have been in a bit of an emotional rut these past few weeks. Work sucks. Life stinks. The temptation to run off to Tortall and curl up in the fantasy story that captivated me as a kid has never been stronger.

Ergo, I ran off to read the first book as soon as I could.

If you're looking for any critique of this book, series, or Tortall in general, I will never give it. Sure, it's problematic and dated, and in many ways imperfect, but someone else can list out all of its issues. They're all perfect to me.

Anyway, the book. I should say something about this book in particular.

One thing I appreciate about Pierce's writing is how she handles school settings in fantasy. Learning and training is so mundane. All of her heroines have to work hard and put in extra hours of study in order to improve, much less keep up with their peers. It's so normal that it circles around to being weirdly refreshing.

Also, there is still no other fantasy author who handles period talk and birth control the way Pierce does. We make fun of the trope of fantasy birth control nowadays, but I rarely see it presented as it is here: as a part of normal puberty lessons and given long before sex is in the girl's radar. And even today with the glut of YA fantasy stories out there, I still have yet to see menstruation be portrayed as frequently or as bluntly as Pierce writes it.

There was a period of time publishers really tried to push the Tortall books as straight YA, which doesn't work for that reason alone. You gotta market them to middle schoolers. They're the ones just starting puberty talks, and getting scenes like this is so good for their brains.

Moving on: I fucking love these characters. Alanna was an icon of brash, temperamental heroines that have shaped my taste to this day. I love how even in the first book, Jon is kinda shitty. I adore George Cooper. Talk about a taste maker the way this man sets a standard.

I just can't be coherent when it comes to any Tortall books. I have no thoughts. Head empty. I am going to binge the rest of this series as quickly as I can before my library book comes in. Then normal book content will resume.

Before I go, I need to talk about the book covers.

Growing up, my sister and I had these covers:

Which, god. I love them. The black is striking. The art is incredible. Alanna looks so good. They were the perfect pocket-size too. I was going to buy the same edition for my copies, but instead I got the 40th anniversary reprints:

Not bad at all! These books have had some seriously bad covers, and these look great! Very anime, which will appeal to the 11 year olds who need to have their socks rocked by this series.

But, man. I really miss those black covers. One day I will splurge and buy a second set of them just so that I can stare at the art.

[jestersprivilegee]

High and Dry | ch. 8

t. jefferson x reader

Wc: I think 2.9k?

Lotta holiday talk for these next few chapters. Yes I know it’s not thanksgiving or Christmas sue me (also sorry to those who don’t celebrate!! I couldn’t think of anything else cus there’s specific scenes that need it to be holiday, but just wait y’all I got a plan)

Happy friYAY (depending where you live)

Avoiding Thomas had become a game, and you were determined to win it.

For five-and-a-half weeks, you had successfully dodged your counterpart at every turn. If he was walking down the hallway when you needed to, you’d find a different route. If he was making copies, there’s too much paper being wasted anyway! Wherever he was sitting in a meeting, you’d find the furthest possible spot away from him.

The only exception was lesson planning. And even then you kept it short. Half the time you’d just create your shit on a shared google slide and let him figure it out (which he wasn’t super happy about, but he wanted this space so he can’t complain). Your conversations were kept strictly work-related; anytime you felt it steering towards social or personal life, you’d redirect it back to the task at hand. He didn’t call you out on it, but it clearly got to him from the way he’d huff and sigh anytime he’d ask about your day only to be met with one word responses.

Somehow, you managed to do this all the way until thanksgiving break. Or at least until the Friday right before break.

You couldn’t avoid him too much longer at the staff thanksgiving/potluck/party. It wasn’t like you were planning on staying a while anyway, work-related gatherings like that always got boring from the criminal lack of booze.

“You’ve made it to the break without quitting. I’m proud of you, I wouldn’t have made it this far working alongside Jefferson!” Hamilton smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while you walked to the workroom, where the ‘party’ was being held.

“It hasn’t been easy,” you sighed, “but I haven’t spoken to him that much these past few weeks, so it’s been bearable. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t quit in the first week.”

After getting called into Washington’s office and feeling like shit for being rude to Thomas, you gave him plenty of space, just as he requested. The only thing eating you alive was the fact that you never apologized. It added to the shame, the humiliation you suffered. So you avoided him all together, since looking him in the eye was a particularly difficult task.

“Regardless, I’m glad you stayed. And I’m also glad you brought those crappy sugar cookies,” he said.

“You either love ‘em or you hate ‘em,” you hummed, opening the door to the workroom and letting him step inside first.

Everyone who you expected to be there was there. Your large friend group in one corner since the Schuyler sisters were the newest addition (Alex had started dating Eliza a couple weeks after they hooked up at the bar. She turned out to be one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met, and you quickly became close friends), Thomas’s friend group in another. Other staff members were littered throughout the spacious room, people you wouldn’t talk to other than polite hellos.

You set the cookies on the counter with the rest of the desserts. There was enough food to feed a small village, ranging from various cultures and carefully crafted dishes to the Walmart-produced cookies you brought. It made you a little insecure to bring something so little, but they were pumpkin pie flavored. Practically calling your name in the grocery store, begging you to purchase them.

Thanksgiving had never been a big deal. It’s not like you celebrate it with family, anyway; your mom is in a mental hospital for fucks sake. And with no other living family to celebrate it with, you never got the chance to truly enjoy it. It was just another holiday. Another meaningless break from the strenuous school year. The same goes for Christmas, which winter break is only two weeks after fall break. Not that you're complaining. A week off, then two weeks later, another two weeks off? That’s something you can get behind.

You scanned the food options, looking for one thing in particular. Mac ‘n cheese.

More specifically: Thomas’s mac ‘n cheese.

If it was as good as you remember (aka, his mother’s recipe), you would be devouring as much as possible. Any time you’d go over to his house as a kid, you’d beg for his mom to make the dish. It was that good. She never did tell you the recipe despite your years of asking, but maybe, just maybe, Thomas used it. And maybe he would tell you. If you play your cards right, but the cards you got right now ain’t looking so great considering the poor relationship with him.

“Do you have any plans for the break, Y/n?” Eliza appeared next to you, an exhausted smile on her. Must’ve been a rough day.

“Binge watch Netflix and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s,” you joked, which earned you a pity laugh.

Alexander joined his girlfriend's side, snaking an arm around her waist.

“You’re not visiting family?” She asked, the smile she wore turning to one of concern.

How awkward. They didn’t know about your mother. To be fair, you never told them, so how could they know?

“Probably not,” you answered after a beat passed, “I don’t have any family. None in New York, at least. My mother is down in Virginia, and I have yet to call her.”

“So you’re spending it alone?” Eliza’s eyes filled with concern, sadness, and empathy.

You shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. My mother has never been big into holidays, so I didn’t grow up celebrating them. It carried with me to adulthood, I guess.”

“I’m the same way,” Alex empathized. “I'm an orphan, so I’ve never had a family to celebrate with. Closest I’ve ever gotten are these work parties,” he chuckled dryly.

“Alexander, that’s so sad!” Eliza turned to him, a pout on her red lips. ”You’re coming home with me and my sisters for dinner. Y/n, would you like to join us, too? We have plenty of seats at the table, and you’re always welcome,” she offered.

“Oh, thank you, but I’m okay. Really,” you sheepishly declined. “I’m going to talk to my mom and maybe go down to visit her. I appreciate the offer, thank you, Eliza.”

“Of course,” she smiled, “if you ever change your mind, though…”

You shared a laugh, and shook your head. Alexander looked thrilled to hear Eliza would be dragging him to her family dinner, as he wouldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. They got their portions of food and snacks, finding a spot at the table after promising to save you a seat.

With a tiny sigh, you glanced in Thomas’s direction. His eyes met yours, because of course he would already be watching you. Instead of looking away like you did, he excused himself from James and Aaron, strolling over to you, hands in his pockets.

“Hey.”

The smell of his cologne hit you, warm and comforting and forest-y. “Hi,” you replied. He took his stance next to you, leaning against the counter. “Something you need?”

“Do I have to need somethin’ in order to speak to you?” He asked, his gaze almost challenging. Being met with silence, he continued speaking. “I just wanted to talk to you, see what your plans are for the break.”

“Why do you wanna know?” Your eyes narrowed. The flicker of annoyance in his jaw did not slip past like he hoped it would.

“I’m tryin’ to be nice here, Y/n, create some small talk.” He frowned. You’ve had this conversation many times before, and it was evident that both of you were tired of it.

Sighing and swallowing your pride, you shifted to face him fully. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what my plans are yet.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Never thought I’d hear you admit I’m right about somethin’.” He teased, folding his arms over his chest. That burgundy sweater looked particularly good when he wore it.

“Don’t get used to it,” you scoffed. “Do you have plans you’re dying to tell me about or something?”

He gave an awkward shrug, the confidence he previously had faltering. “Nothing noteworthy. Just visitin’ family for dinner.”

“Oh yeah, I do remember you telling me about that. You’re not thrilled ‘cause it’s overwhelming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, some other factors, too. They’ve been on my ass lately about my career and relationship choices, so it’s tough showin’ up still as an English teacher and still single,” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized, “that sounds frustrating. Not being supported by family members.”

A low hum rumbled from his chest, and he wiped his hands on his sweater. “Yeah, well, they’ll get used to it. These are the decisions I made and I’m happy with the direction my life has gone, whether they support it or not.”

At least he had a family whose opinions mattered.

“I like your attitude,” you paused, “Y’know, I was thinking earlier about the mac and cheese your momma used to make. Used to be my favorite part about going to your house as a kid.” A nostalgic smile spread on your lips, a warm fuzziness in your chest. Thomas shared the same experience. You continued, “do you, by any chance, have that recipe?”

“‘M sorry, can’t tell you that, darlin’. Family secret,” he winked. “Although I did bring some. Sure, it’s not nearly as good as mommas, but it’s pretty damn similar. All these years of makin’ it and I think this is the closest I’ve gotten.”

He pushed himself off the counter, motioning you to follow him to the dish he prepared. It was already halfway eaten when he uncovered it, and holy shit it looked delicious. Memories of sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by a loving family consisting of only sisters flooded your brain. His older sisters, Jane and Mary, would always sit together, gossiping away from the rest of the group. The smell of fresh baked sourdough and sweet potatoes would waft in the air, and an apple pie would be sitting in the oven.

Last time you saw his momma, she was pregnant with a boy. Unfortunately, your friendship ended before you got to enter that chapter of Thomas’s life with him. Such a shame. You would’ve loved to be apart of that babies life as much as you were involved in Thomas’s.

“I have been craving this ever since middle school.” Your eyes lit up in excitement and you snatched a plate. “Jefferson, consider this the only compliment you’ll hear from me, but you are amazing.”

He beamed with pride, wearing a giddy, toothy grin from your praise. “Been waitin’ to hear that all year. First you admit I’m right, then you finally acknowledge I’m amazin’. Two in one day. Make it three?”

“As if,” you huffed, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. “When I said jefferson, I meant your momma for creating this delicacy.”

“Funny, ‘m pretty sure you said ‘you are amazing,’ if my ears don’t deceive me.” He smirked, earning a sharp glare from you.

“Your ears doth deceive,” you grumbled, shoving some pasta in your mouth. Damn. It was fucking phenomal.

He bit his lower lip, anticipating your reaction with big, hopeful eyes. “So? Just like mommas?”

“Mhm, just like mommas,” you nodded, covering your mouth since it’s rude to talk with your mouth full. His parents are where you learned that mannerism from, actually. “You sure you can’t give me the recipe? I won’t tell anyone, I pinky promise.”

His proud grin grew wider as he shook his head. “No can do. You’re not technically part of the family, and momma gave me strict instructions to keep it within our family. She’d have my head if I gave it away.”

Thomas knew that his parents considered you to be family. He did have a teensy little lie going that misled them into thinking he wasn’t single, but he’d die before admitting that to you. Regardless of his complex relationship status, his parents had always loved you like you were their own, and that love never faded. Even after all these years.

“Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.” Your eyes narrowed, as if you were plotting to steal the fucking Krabby Patty secret formula.

“Hah, good luck doin’ that,” he snorted.

It seemed like the moment you had something else to say, your phone rang. With a disappointed sigh, you pulled it out, about to silence it but the caller ID prevented you from doing so.

It was your mom.

“Shit, I gotta take this,” you muttered, “save me some pasta please.” You handed him the paper plate, rushing out before he could utter another word.

Thomas’s eyes followed your form until it disappeared from behind the door. A small frown tugged at his lips. He had seen who was calling. He knew the history with your mom despite being private about it recently. Sure, you’d mention her here and there, maybe call her from time to time, but you never said anything deep. And he couldn’t just outright ask. You weren’t at that stage of closeness yet, there was still some lingering anger from… well, everything. There always seemed to be some sort of tension hidden beneath the surface, like something hadn’t been fully let go, or something wasn't being acknowledged. It was discouraging, to say the least.

When you said your plans weren’t decided, he wanted so badly to invite you to spend thanksgiving with him and his family. There were a few instances when you did during childhood. He’d have your mom over as well, and it would be like a small extra addition to his already oversized bloodline. But it was comfortable. They enjoyed having you as much as you enjoyed being there. And then it stopped.

He shook his head, unfreezing so he could scoop a hefty portion of macaroni onto the half-eaten plate. Then, he followed after you, finding the hallway empty. You must’ve gone to your classroom.

—

“I-I don’t know if I can make it, Mom, I’m swarmed with work right now.”

You paced around the cluttered room, the palms of your hands growing sweaty. She had asked you to come down to Virginia to visit, but truthfully? You still weren’t ready. As much as you practiced and talked through your feelings with Suzanne, the years of therapy didn’t seem to do much for this moment.

Of course, you felt like a horrible trash can of a human being for continuously putting off visiting her. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved to have her child come down at least for the holidays. Even if said child was still recovering from the trauma of having her as a mother.

“Of course,” she mumbled, disappointment and sadness evident in her tone. “It’s alright, honey. I’d just love to see your face again, to hold my child.”

Guilt tore you apart inside out. Grimacing, you spoke, “I’m sorry, Momma. I promise I’ll come home for Christmas.”

She was silent on her end for a moment. There was a faint beeping noise coming from somewhere in her ward. “…You promise? You won’t give me another excuse when the time comes?”

God, the excuses you cultivated every time to procrastinate seeing her piled up. It was predictable. “I promise I won’t give you an excuse. I’ll be true to my word this time, I swear. It’s only another month, which I know may seem like a long time, but it’ll go by faster than you realize.”

“Okay, baby, I trust you. Will you call me over your break? Let me know you’re okay and we can talk?”

“I will. How is your medicine working for you?”

“It’s good, it’s good. I’ve been takin’ it consistently now, and I really have noticed a difference,” she expressed.

You smiled in relief, and for another thirteen minutes, she spoke about how recovery was going well, and how she’s changed. Even listening to her speak, you could hear how much more energized she was. She was taking control over her life.

After hanging up, you leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. A hand came up to run over your features. It took a lot of fuel to converse with her. She was a curveball; you never knew if she would lecture you the whole time, cry, or tell you how much she loves and misses you. Perhaps that’s why you’ve always put off visiting her.

Three soft knocks sounded on the door, and a short moment after, Thomas walked in. He held the plate piled with macaroni and other foods he knew were your favorite, as well as a sheepish smile.

“Hey. Figured I’d bring you somethin’ since I’ll be headed out soon.” He handed the plate to you, where you set it down on the desk.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

A comfortable silence followed. Thomas was deep in thought; you could see the conflict etched between his eyebrows, the concern tightened in his jaw. He wiped his hands on his sweater again. The words he truly wanted to come out caught in his throat, and instead he stuttered backwards.

“Uhm, I should go. Have a great break, Y/n,” he stammered.

You watched him step backwards, pausing before softly speaking. “Have fun with your family, Thomas.”

With that, he awkwardly nodded and disappeared. You glanced down at the plate filled with all your preferred foods, even one of the pumpkin-pie flavored cookies you brought resting on top of an actual slice of pumpkin pie. Your favorite kind.

[madamscream]

Many people think that the sloth is the slowest moving mammal on the planet. It’s actually me. Anyways, here's that list of erotic fanfiction I promised @trashy-corvian way too long ago. It's not complete but I've somehow become sort of busy and I figure I can always do a part two!

Since we’re talking about my favourites, there’s going to be a lot of Barbatos, monster-fucking, and dominant!reader. I Know What I Am About.

Will offer the pairing(s), a blurb, and information on reader gender if that’s relevant. As for kinks, please check the tags in any fic before reading, I literally have no way of accounting for everyone’s tastes and I enjoy some odd things. 

If a fic covers most of the cast but excludes some, I’ll list that instead of a pairing. None of the links have anything sexual with Luke, but I’ll still list him in the exclusions if I’m listing exclusions.

Lessons in Demonic Anatomy by Sexxica (tumblr)

MC has no gender, their genitals are not mentioned. Luke, Raphael, Mephistopheles, and Thirteen aren’t in the fic, but everyone else is.

One of my favourite, if not my very favourite smut fic because… I like reading about people jacking off, and this is basically a list of my favourite characters doing that. They are all amply aware they’re being watched, it’s all consensual. A+, have kinda wanted to write my own fic along a similar premise since reading it.

—

wear your independence like a crown by Koumine (thesecretsavant) on Ao3

Lucifer x MC

Written in second-person, the reader has a vagina, gender-neutral though Sir is the chosen title for MC.

I’m pretty eh on Lucifer, but people write some really tasty smut for him. A friend sent me this one, and they were correct to do so. By and large, it’s a collection of explicit scenes between the two that take place over time. It’s well written and the author has at very least done a lot of research into BDSM relationships if they don’t partake in them personally, which is always nice to see in a BDSM fic.

—

Mammon's First and Mammon’s Second by Avatar_Saiki

Mammon x MC

Gender neutral MC, no genitals mentioned for them.

Set shortly after the taming of Cerberus in Nightbringer. Mammon gets a blowjob. Genuinely really good characterization of the brothers and the MC is fun. The blowjob is nice, but I like the conversation between Asmodeus and Mammon ABOUT the blowjob best, because it’s honestly pretty cute imho.

Warm Inside and Out by HiddenOnyx

Gender neutral MC, implied to have a vagina in some of them. Luke, Raphael, Thirteen, and Mephisto are not included.

It occurs to me I’m sort of handing out a very public kink list. Anyways, this is a series of drabbles about cockwarming with the cast.

Kinktober: Obey Me Edition by InvertedPhantasmagoria (tumblr)

Possibly varied on the pronoun/genital situation, honestly not sure. Everyone but Luke, Raph, Mephisto, and Thirteen.

I will not lie, I haven’t read every entry because I just don’t like some of the kinks. The ones I do like are very good though! To no one’s surprise, chapter 31 is my favourite. They’re good at capturing desperation, which is something I enjoy GREATLY.

How do you like your tea? by wubzee

SolomonxBarbatos

I’m a sucker for aphrodisiac fics. Barb + Golden Hellfire Newt Syrup + Solomon’s a bastard. I’d say this is pretty non-con. It’s been a while since I read it properly, but skimming through… it’s pretty non-con.

carpe dick-em by wubzee

LuciferxSolomon (though I don’t think that ever happens actually)

Okay… so… to be fair… when I initially asked someone for the link to the Lucifer erectile dysfunction fic they mentioned, I was not actually aware of the clown fetish aspect. I like clowns just fine, but I am not personally horny about them. Despite the fact that there is next to nothing in this fic I would ever seek out, I did end up really enjoying it. And I’ve just noticed wubzee is on here twice so maybe I should read the rest of their stuff.

Arvandus writes really good Barbatos fanfiction. Also other things too, just… I have a particular area of interest.  As far as smut…

Of Love and Pacts the smut is great, of course, but I read this and my brain has not stopped riffing on the concept since. Making a pact mid-intercourse? Fucking amazing, no notes. Other things also, but it’d be kinda wild to put spoilers in my fic rec…

The Divine is fun because the first half of the fic is a date, deals with mortality, and made me cry like a baby. Then the second half hit me with some of the best-written smut anyone’s ever put to paper. Amazing. I wish all fics were like this… or maybe I just wish someone would pay Arv millions of dollars to write fics about Barb as a full time job.

Really can’t go wrong with earthliving, aka another-lost-mc

If I had to pick favourites… 

Angels at the Door tops the list. Something about characters listening to someone fuck the person they’re into and jacking off to it the next room over is entirely too lovely.

For Your Ears Only I don’t have any specific praises for this one, the whole thing is very nice.

Put A Spell On You I may or may not rotate the bit about Barbatos excusing himself around in my head More Days Than Not 

Got Milk? probably isn’t a favourite out of all their works for me personally but it did spark a very long series of daydreams and thus Must Be Mentioned

Human by getosubaru

Barb x MC, no pronouns but MC has a vagina

I asked a friend for their favourite fics and they happened to drop this one in my lap that I’ve been looking for for AGES. It’s pretty vanilla compared to a lot of the other stuff but it kicked down the door and made a home in my brain.

Various things by frenchfry_writes

Special shout out. They no longer write for the fandom, but they wrote good fic for a lot of very niche kinks that I like a lot and several that will make me tap out of a fic instantly. Often wrote AMAB or trans male reader. I’m not really warning for specific kinks in this list, but piss and vomit are a lot for many people (me included and I’m actively into omorashi) so like… they write for various watersports and emeto. Be aware of that. 

---

Special note: There’s one I skimmed my entire Ao3 history trying to find to no avail, to my severe distress. It’s largely about learning through experiencing how courtship works in the Devildom… Mammon leaves MC the heart of a big bird on their bed, then kills a guy for them. Levi kills a BUNCH of guys for them and they do the nasty while one of the corpses is floating in his floor-to-ceiling aquarium. If anyone knows where I can find that one again, I’d really like to have it back, it had some interesting world building :c I really hope it wasn't deleted.

EDIT: cosmicstarlatte comin' in clutch "the levi fic (you can then click the author for the others): https://archiveofourown.org/works/38520418"

[dekusheroacademia]

I love how much of the Togachako chapters and ending of Ochako in MHA mimic the first ever yuri manga published.

I have been on a shojo kick and tried to read all manga that kickstarted GL and BL, and especially the Year 24 group authors (go read Moto Hagio... her work is wild). Among the Year 24, the author Yamagishi Ryouko who wrote the first yuri manga: "Shiroi Heya no Futari".

This post will have full spoilers for this manga!

The manga follows the story of Resine, a very sweet girl who is also very naive, and her new roommate Simone, who is a rebel, often laughs and can be kind of mean. Simone is much more open with her feelings, she loves freely as well and she soon falls in love with Resine and declares her love openly.

Resine tries to forget about Simone by dating Rounaud but he is not what she really wants.

Resine is not ready to accepts Simone's love - not because she does not love her back, but because she is afraid of the rumors around them, basically of society's reaction. She decides to leave the school.

Later she finds out Simone has been killed and she laments that she was at fault for it - because Simone was killed after goading a man, telling this man that she was in love with someone else when he tried to flirt with her. Simone is stabbed to death and dies because of blood loss, smiling and thinking of Resine:

The end of the manga sees Resine reading a poem Simone wrote about her and for her, and she decides to love Simone for the rest of her life and never love again, always mourning Simone.

The ending sets the scene with Resine alone on a cliff/in the forest, crying about Simone while Rounaud (the man Resine tried to fall in love with to avoid being queer) runs towards her to console her.

This is just like Deku reaching for Ochako while Ochako is mourning. We can see Resine and Ochako both curling over each other's in pain, to cry about Toga-Simone.

Their regret is also similiar, it is not only pain but guilt. Both Resine and Ochako think their loved one died because of them.

I thought the similarities were quite a lot. Maybe it is by chance, maybe it is just because of how influencial the first yuri was in determining the standards of many subsequient GL work, but it is still interesting.

Resine and Ochako are both positive girls, naive girls experiencing love for the first time. Both try to fall in love/fall in love with a boy (Deku, in the case of MHA) which is the socially acceptable choice for them, the choice that society would not mock or shame.

Both characters are put in contrast with another (Simone and Toga) who is open with her feelings. She is not afraid of acting freely, she wants to be free and she keeps her freedom even if that leads her to her death. The "teaching" experience is the same for both Simone and Ochako: live freely, declare what you love without shame.

Many expected that this meant Ochako would declare her feelings towards Deku, and instead Horikoshi uses this lesson to allow Ochako to mourn for Toga and to feel pain.

In both manga, Ochako and Resine end up living for Toga and Simone. Resine declares that she will always love and mourn Simone, while we see Ochako dedicating her life to never allow someone to be abandoned by society like Toga was:

[pain-is-too-tired]

I still feel robbed we never saw a reaction to Michael's death/fall from Clarisse.

Like, one scene. One small scene. Heck, we could've even just gotten a reaction from Chris. He was already talking to Percy in that one scene, that would've been perfect scene for at least him to find out.

I think it would've been interesting if they continue that arc somewhat into HOO. Like have Michael come up as well in some form. Have mentions of why Will is pushing pass what happen to be diplomatic with Clarisse, the rest of his cabin still can't get along with the Ares cabin. Show them and others being bitter over stuff!! Show post war tension at camp!!! We are being thrown into camp from a fresh set of eyes. Tlh trio don't know all that happened, and honestly the idea of there being more conflict than just Drew's feelings towards Silena being shown would've been so interesting.

Like the fact they just destroy the chariot, tell us that the Apollo cabin officially had it then, and then did nothing else to tell us how that went? Just insane to me. It makes that whole arc feel unfinished.

Will is one the first few campers outside of who picked Leo up that he really gets to meet. And with learning about Charles,I think would've been interesting if he some how learned about Michael in a way. Maybe he brings up the chariot being crashed and those in his cabin who were vets from titan war kinda grimace or something. Maybe show tension during the campfire with an argument breaking out and Will having to jump in to stop in it. Show the Apollo cabin still grieving. Heck, maybe the mention of another war likely about to start have the fact that the Apollo cabin took such a big hit last time be a worry because there's less available and well trained medics now. Someone, either Will or someone else at one point being like "If we have to fight a serious battle again, we're gonna be at a disadvantage. We're too far down on archers and healers"

Cause that's a realistic thing to mention when you're talking about having to go to war back to back after such a devastating blow. Sure, they got new campers in waves for the other cabins. But we know from ToA that Apollo cabin *didn't*. Unless another cabin is able to provide some form of support as healers as well(which could be likely, we also don't know what all minor gods have kids at camp-) they are down to three healers. Two of which likely don't have that much experience. Kayla and Austin were like 11-12 in tlo based off timing. And their specialized abilities are more focused on archery and music,and with them taking up Music and Archery lessons they probably are gonna be learning medical stuff slower. Obviously they probably learned a bit right after the war, but it still not gonna make them as skilled as Will who's a lot more specialized in healing. And their archery might be needed in a fight which can leave to lot more issues.

Just- there's a lot of post war stuff they could've explored. Even in tlo they don't really address it. We aren't even told what Michael's shroud looks like, we don't get to see Apollo cabin having to burn all those shrouds- heck- actually wait

Percy and Will burning Michael's shroud together like how Clarisse helped Aphrodite cabin. 😭 I've talked about this before, but Percy was literally screaming/yelling when he couldn't find Michael. He was gonna call blackjack again to try and find him. If Annabeth wasn't on worse condition he likely would've searched every inch. I also feel he at least paid more attention in small ways to the Apollo cabin. Iirc the only time he mentions a burial shroud that's set up, he focuses on an Apollo one. Idk. Just think idea of him doing his best to pay respects to Michael, having the room post war to actually stop and grieve, just be interesting.

Idk. I'm rambling gdgd just many thoughts. So many cool stuff and characters that got dropped.

[nerdishpursuits]

My partner pointed out that the show might simply be trying to tell a story, loosely, conveniently and selectively anchored in 1958. For all we know, its aim was never to impart lessons. For all we know, any conclusions rest with the audience, subject to personal interpretation and bias: a desire for a certain outcome or scene, a need for justice to prevail in a fictional world (since life itself is terribly unjust), a hunger for the heroine to triumph over the villain etc.

If what the audience desires isn’t accomplished in some way? We are left with a storyline that ''teaches'' victims to keep silent, to not seek justice (for it cannot be obtained through legal means), to not seek retribution (for it will benefit the abuser and further punish the victims), to swallow one's anguish and rage and bottle it up (if not, dire consequences await). It would also teach that a woman's partner wouldn't understand her either, calling her 'unrecognizable' (when she is the one who knows her best) and setting herself apart, tacitly claiming moral superiority rooted in disappointment (when this was never about who’s the better person, because they both are)

This episode I am on the fence about what they've done with Fina. The fact that she cannot see nor understand Marta's anguish, her ire and helplessness? That she doesn’t try to put herself in her shoes? The fact that, to our knowledge, she has not once asked Marta how she's handling everything, if she's alright? (and I'm not saying that she won’t do all of that and more, in the nearby future, that they won’t sit down and have a heart to heart where they finally lay all their cards on the table) However, concerning this moment in time? I’m shaking my head.

This is a partnership. I understand that Fina has been through hell and has almost made it back, that she's usually a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of a person, impulsive to a fault, wise and rational in the aftermath. However, Marta has been through hell as well, only hasn't quite made it back. She’s shown Fina the way out but Marta herself? She’s stuck in the dark, all alone and desolate. I also think there's more nuance to this than Fina being disappointed because Marta 'promised' (I’m sorry but Fina didn’t exactly make an impassioned speech to Marta about the reasons she wanted her to not seek justice. And an impassioned speech? That’s something Marta would have heeded, the way she always has. To some, Fina’s rather abrupt demands might be enough? To me? Because I said so doesn’t fly. Neither does the callous this isn’t about you, it’s about me when it’s clearly something that impacts them both) Furthermore: Fina’s “I look at you and at times I don’t recognize you”? In my opinion? By far the most inconsistent and incongruous line ever written for this pairing.

Marta’s greatest fear is being like her family. It’s what keeps her up at night, what torments her. Fina knows this and yet she says something like that. For all she knows, her comment could be taken as painting Marta with the same brush as her family: like she can’t see Marta a secas anymore but only Marta de la Reina. Hopefully not? But if I were Marta? (I’m more dramatic than her and these long-winded posts are proof of that) This would feel like you’ve stabbed me. As for Fina’s “at times”? Which times exactly? The times Fina said that an irate Marta is a Marta you don’t want to cross paths with? To me, this entire scene comes across as either :

1. A nonsensical (no one knows Marta the way Fina does and the show has continuously emphasised that Marta wears no masks with Fina)

2. Fina being forlorn that Marta didn’t share things beforehand, which doesn’t align with their MO as a couple who shares everything - which I agree with (however, Marta not sharing makes sense given she’s been wanting to give Fina room to breathe and heal and Fina herself suffering from PTSD; and let’s not forget, for all they’ve shown us, Fina never shared her entire truth with Marta either: only that it was Santiago and that she froze up in fear, unable to defend herself; no mentions of feeling filthy, no mentions of fearing Marta would not look at her the same way)

Marta has been needing an outlet, a way to vent her frustration and powerlessness against a corrupt and unjust system that punishes the victims and rewards the abusers. No one has offered a shoulder. No one has cared to listen, to really listen. No one has ever tried to understand where she’s coming from. They're all just finger-pointing and claiming moral high-ground, comparing her with her murderous brother or telling her that, if not careful, she's in danger of becoming an awful person. I find it mind-boggling, to the extreme.

At this point, I honestly need for Marta to suffer an injury. I'd like to see how Fina reacts to that. How wholesome and perfectly innocent her response would be. Would she feel the overwhelming need to punish whoever hurt the woman she loves, would she feel unbridled wrath, violent in her desire to punish, to protect? Or would she simply tell Marta to forgive and forget, to turn the other cheek? After all? The meek shall inherit.

To me it seems that as of late, there’s no room for Marta: for her feelings, for her decisions, for her desire. In the beginning, they made room for it - she could be herself with Fina. However, this episode, Fina doesn't feel like a safe space for Marta. It feels like she's casting judgement and I find it rather odd, given their trajectory (and yes, even with Fina having being assaulted, this is a nonsensical - Fina herself feared being judged and found lacking by Marta, yearned for her understanding and love: and she received both, in spades. I hope she affords Marta the same, for she deserves no less. I’m trusting we’ll see that in future episodes. If not, we can also blame it on the screenwriters not devoting more time to their healing)

Personally, I’m not a fan of Marta being villainized left and right as much as I’m not a fan of Fina as the final arbiter of truth to whom Marta must bow. This isn’t a who’s better than who situation and it never was. It’s about communicating and finding solutions together, creating a safe space for each other and growing together as both individuals and as a couple.

That being said: it feels the intent is to go scorched-earth on Marta: to isolate her, to punish her, to set up the scene for the next big curveball. And they're achieving it. Should Fina turn her back on Marta now? She'll have lost her North and it will break her. The consequence? It'll be a coin-toss as to how she'll react and how self-destructive she will become. I may be wrong, I often am, but they could be setting up the stage for them to grow apart for a while (not that they haven't already, in some ways)

I also can't believe Santiago manages to waltz into Marta's office, having the audacity to call her a degenerate. Truly, the only way out of this hellish roundabout is his death. There's no other option. Damián paying him off didn't work, Marta paying Eladio to roughen him up didn't work. Nothing seems to work when attempting to banish this vermin. Extermination remains the only way.

At least we're getting really satisfying scenes between Marta & Damián (though I hate Damián’s message to Marta that she’s to blame for not having chosen to stay put) and Marta & Tasio. I never thought I'd see these characters bonding the way they do, and it's heartwarming to watch.

Remains to be seen if the tune ends up being punishing Marta instead of punishing a rapist. Or simply showing how misogynistic society was and continues to be. How there’s no mountain Marta cannot climb at work but when it comes to the personal, and whom she loves the most, it’s a different kind of beast and one she’s not faced before (ergo, she’s out of her element, filled with rage and helplessness, disoriented in the face of discrimination and sexual abuse - her MO has always been controlled, reserved and strategic, the very opposite of this turn of events which has flung her out of orbit, burning the candle at both ends)

Of course, there might be no tune at all: just writers out to create drama, without a care in the world, without a thought to be spared. Just writers being messy, the way life tends to be, while their audience hopes it’s so much more. We might be giving them too much credit: credit for thinking things through, credit for considering the impact of their creative choices, credit for wanting to tackle social issues with respect, empathy and a desire to effect positive change. It could be all of that. It could be none of that.