#to drag me into their shit to varying degrees for a long time

[lhazaar]

sometimes i feel like i have a lot of online drama and then i remember i've been on this site since 2011 and never had a callout post written about me that wasn't done as part of a bit so i must be doing SOMETHING right

[urhoneycombwitch]

breathe in the air

eddie x reader x steve. part i

foreword: this is part one/set up for a fic I’ve been chewin’ on. cw is for both parts and will get updated- no actual smut in this first one but please heed the tags anyway. +18 mdni as always. (@somnambulic-thing you inspired me to write from Eddie’s pov! 💖)

cw: smoking (weed and nicotine), R’s hair is mentioned but unspecified texture/length, also wears Eddie’s shirt, R has breasts + V,  Eddie and Reader are both varying degrees of stoned while performing sex acts (please be safe IRL and don’t read if that makes you uncomfy!!), pt. ii will have: voyeurism (Eddie and R fool around and Steve watches), blow jobs, masturbation, both the boys being Down Bad™️

wc: 2.5k (part i)

_____

The sun has sunk low over Forest Hills, Eddie’s room cast in deep blue where the golden path of his bedside lamp doesn’t touch.

He’s lighting up a post-sex cigarette, one of the best things this shitty world has to offer, in his opinion- second only to feeling your warm body against his; writhing and wriggling with pleasure, neck craned to let him lick the sloping sweat from your skin- or times like now, when you’re calm and satiated, nude under the comfort of sheets and the weight of your head on his chest.

Casting a hand out to shuffle blindly through the bedside table, Eddie wraps his other arm around the sleepy length of you, pulling you tighter to himself; your response a wordless, happy little noise. His hand deep in the drawer catches on a stray cigarette, then around the hard plastic of a spare lighter. With a sigh of contentment, he kisses the top of your head before bringing the filter to his lips.

Sparks catch under his thumb, cherry of the cig burning red- like some sort of sleeper agent responding to the click, you sit up with a jolt, stealing the mess of sheets upwards, exposing Eddie’s lower half to the cool air.

Eddie swears, startled- thinking you were almost asleep, he’d been nearly careless with the open flame- tossing the lighter aside, he reaches towards your back that now faces him. “Jesus, babe. Give a guy some warning before you snap to attention like a damn general.”

Thumb pressed to the notches of your spine, palm wide around your lower back, Eddie can feel the quiet giggle that shakes through your ribs.

 “Sorry,” you whisper once you’re finished, still staring at the far wall like you're trying not to break a spell. Your arms are crossed, sheets bunching around your chest- “Had a thought.”

“Must’ve been a good one,” Eddie muses, thumb following the line of your spine down, like he’s petting an oversized cat.

In true feline fashion your back arches into his touch, encouraging his palm to sweep up again, to your shoulder blade this time as you murmur, “I wanna go swimming.”

“Okay.” Eddie’s immediately agreeable, taking a long drag from the cig, letting smoke fill out the hollows around his lungs. “We’ll go to Lover’s Lake tomorrow. Heard it’s gonna be a hot one.”

Hawkins is having a record heat wave for the second summer in a row- as if all the damn underground monster shit and horrific earthquakes of last year weren’t enough already: global warming to top it all off. The sun has been merciless these last few weeks, peaking midday, nothing for it but to lie in a heated daze on the kitchen tiles of whoever’s house is the least amount of bitch to get to.

Not that Eddie’s complaining about you being half-naked most of the time. He thinks this is the year you might actually kill him, now that he can touch you, call you his- every curve of upper calf in those short shorts, every soft slip of stomach peeking out from cropped tops- he’s got enough spank bank material to last until his deathbed. (Which he’s decidedly allowed to joke about, since, ya know, the whole almost-dying thing last spring.)

Eddie moves on haptic memory to set aside his cigarette, searching pinky-out for the lip of the ashtray (ceramic, with a poorly-drawn Snoopy, the ears far too big- you’d laughed until you cried over it at the thrift store; he was fifty cents poorer that day but rich and dizzy off your glee). 

“No, not the lake. And I wanna go swimming now.” There’s a hint of petulance in your voice, walking the thin line of childish whine that only appears these days after you’ve smoked, tongue and desires loosened and lax with the help of the finest hash stash in Hawkins. 

There’s a smile threatening to split Eddie’s face in two. He’s been working at that hard-won wall of your solitude for ages now, showing rather than telling you it’s okay to ask for things, that you’re safe to make requests and hell, even demands, from him. Eddie’s not sure what he wouldn’t do for you, at this point- hasn’t found that line yet. Probably doesn’t exist.

A monster of my own design, he thinks, fondly, sweeping the hair from your neck so he can see the outline of cheek and jawbone, reflective with lamplit glow. “Baby, there’s nowhere to swim right now- it’s dark and that’s not real safe. Tomorrow I’ll make us some sandwiches- we can drive out to the lake, you can get stoned and I’ll play lifeguard.”

It’s probably too much to hope you’ve swallowed this bitter pill of compromise in silence, but based on the lack of response, it’s certainly possible. Eddie presses his thumb into the muscle where your neck meets shoulder, massage a silent apology for saying no when you’d been so good to ask. 

Crickets chirp in chorus outside, sound dampened by the glass window- he needs to open it soon, get the hot air out and night breeze flowing (though he is loath to replace the heady smell of sex wrapped like a cozy blanket around his room).

He feels you shuffle under his hand, eyes popping open to watch- you’ve tucked your chin over the dip in your shoulder, looking down the slope of your own nose at him, an expression on your face that makes Eddie’s stomach flip (with nerves, fear, excitement, hard to pinpoint exactly).

Your voice is quiet but steady when you speak, Eddie’s massaging fingers freezing to a halt when you say, “I know a place, open right now, with a lit-up pool. And a lifeguard.”

A thin tendril of smoke from the ashtray floats into Eddie’s vision as he stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment. Then he sits up, crushing the cherry into Snoopy’s wavered outline (sorry, pal) before brushing arms with you, patient and stern with a headshake to match- “No way, sweetheart.”

“Why-y?” That petulance is back, Eddie’s heart kicking up in response; it’s your turn to give the physical affection, winding your arms in a closed loop around his neck, forehead bumping against his jaw as he works it back and forth. 

His stitched-tight resolve quickly unspools as the wet plush of your lips track a path across his throat; he clears it before squeezing at your side again, one last argument to try and stick like cooked spaghetti to a wall. “You’re high.”

You snort, puff of breath sending goosebumps across his skin, rapidly cooling from lack of your affection- “Yeah, and you’re not. So you can drive us there, and then smoke again with me before we go in, and Stevie boy will keep us safe in that nice, heated, well-lit pool of his.”

Even as you speak, Eddie’s shaking his head, but it’s more in disbelief of his own weakness (namely: you). He slips a hand to your cheek, pulling back to take you in- mischief shimmering like twin stars in your eyes as you lock onto his gaze, lips parting pliant when his thumb swipes at your bottom lip. 

“You gonna behave yourself?”

It’s less of a question and more of a check-in, the meaning behind the words an undulating variable, a riddle with a thousand different answers.

The one you do give is complimented by a wicked grin, punctuated with a quick kiss (awfully chaste, considering your bare front pressed against his), your mirthful delight at having won both unsettling and tantalizing.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

With a sudden push to his chest, Eddie goes down easy for you, hair spreading riotous across the pillow as you move with shocking fluidity to throw a leg over his hip. Your hands meet in the middle of his chest, just under the rippling ink of a crow in flight, settling your weight comfortably on his stomach. 

Eddie’s sure you can feel his pulse, jack-rabbit fast, as you dip to kiss beneath his jaw. His hands automatically settle on your hips, grip tightening with each loving kiss you scatter over his collarbones, his sternum.

He’s half-hard under the sheets by the time your lips find the hitch of his ribs, stuttering and expanding to meet your mouth- can’t be faulted, really, not when your bare chest gleams in the low light, the top of your head imploring for the warmth of his wide palm to rest. 

Just when Eddie thinks he’s in the clear, that the call of your needs (evident in the slickness pooling just under his navel where your naked cunt rests) will drive the call of your wants to distraction, you sit up again, using your planted hands as leverage to swing completely off and away.

The coldness of your absence is cruel and unusual punishment. Eddie groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, deciding right then that he won’t be above begging tonight- when you suddenly reappear with a clean beach towel in either arm, pulled from the bowels of his closet.

There’s youthful, honest enthusiasm to your movements- something that’s catching, apparently, ‘cuz Eddie’s tipping himself out of bed with a resigned sigh, pulling boxers over his flagging dick and answering your spree of questions about these new evening plans.

“Sure, bring a water bottle. No, babe, we don’t need sunscreen- it’s night. Yeah, I’ll bring more weed. How ‘bout you bring me that old shoulder bag and we can bring some stuff with us.”

As you work on digging through the mess of a combined closet to find something suitable for swimming, Eddie folds the two towels that you’d found along with a baggie of joints into the bag. You’re humming under your breath while getting dressed, and Eddie’s staring at all the leftover space- what does one pack for a nighttime high swim with one’s girlfriend and the guy you’ve both sort-of mentioned threesoming with?

He tosses in a well-loved edition of your favorite book of poems, figuring the Harrington abode will have plenty of snacks. Food for the mind, he thinks, then snorts at his own joke. 

“C’mon, snorty.” You beckon from the doorway, an old t-shirt of his just swishing past the dark strip of your bikini bottoms, van keys held aloft. 

At the front door, there’s a brief argument about coats (you think you’ll be fine without, Eddie disagrees vehemently) which Eddie wins, wrangling your arms into the sleeves of his oil-stained work jacket before locking the front door behind you both.

Eddie smiles, a secret, pure thrill watching you tiptoe gingerly across the gravel on bare feet (too stubborn to actually wear the sandals that hang from either hand). His coat is bunched up around your ears while your legs poke out like some sort of winterized bird with bare legs. 

There’s a bright pang of love that suddenly hits hits sideways, a dizzying urge to sink on denim knees to the ground, sharp rocks be damned, just to kiss the tender spot behind your knees, to feel the hill of your calf under his tongue…

Your giggle breaks his reverie, impatient and pointed jiggling of the locked passenger handle clunking out into the quiet park. “Quit staring, weirdo. You coming?”

Hope so, Eddie thinks, spinning the key ring in looping arcs around his pointer finger. He bypasses the porch steps completely, boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Your cheery mood is sustained during the short car ride as you chatter animatedly about some coworker drama that you forgot to catch him up on, Eddie’s hand drawn like a magnet to your upper thigh while he drives. 

But by the time he’s pulling the van next to Harrington’s beemer, your eagerness has waned, speech drifting off into silence once he’s parked. 

“Hey.” His voice draws you back to him, a bit, your eyes too wide and roving for his liking, coat sleeves clenched around opposing fists as you hang onto his words. “Sweetheart. We don’t have to go inside. Can go anywhere- diner for some food, back home, the damn trash heap for all I care. Just want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” you counter, earnest but chest still punching a fast rhythm. “I feel safe. I just… you think he’s even awake?”

There’s a yellow glow coming from one of the second-floor windows. Your fingers twist harshly around fabric in the dark, breath loud. 

Eddie nods, then kills the engine and grabs behind his seat for the Ziploc of pre-rolls, an offering held to you between two ringed fingers. “Want a bit of Green Courage before going in?”

The van windows are soon fuzzily obscured with a haze of smoke, sprinklers for the pristine lawn nearby hissing to an automated start at the turn of 11 PM. The weed coaxes your earlier state of relax to the forefront, this time with an added layer of giggles, which Eddie finds desperately cute. 

He’s sure he’s high now, too, ‘cuz he’s unintentionally focusing really hard on your lips as you speak, and you’re letting him, corner of your mouth quirking when you ask, “Gonna take me inside, Munson?”

“Uh huh.” An automatic response, just so he can keep staring- when you pop the handle of your door open Eddie reaches, faltering before landing on your face, cupping the tilt of your cheek- “Meant it. Earlier. Just say the word. Take you anywhere.”

Weed fragments his speech but you melt with understanding, leaning into his hand, your lashes sweeping sweetly at the bridge of his thumb as you whisper, “Okay.”

You’re out the door and he’s left scrambling in the wake, hauling the strap of the packed bag over one shoulder and snapping up your forgotten shoes from the footwell. He locks the doors (nevermind that this is a nice neighborhood, can’t trust rich people farther than he can throw ‘em and Eddie has always been better at running over shotput on field days) and hikes it across the grass to where you stand, a beacon of beauty under the porch light.

“Ready?” he asks.

Your bare foot- flecked with wet grass- trails up the back of your opposing leg, veins at the whites of your eyes spidering pink with anticipation (and the fresh joint) as you turn to smile at him. “Yeah. Bring it on.”

“Your wish, my command,” Eddie says, winking, knuckles pulled into a fist to rap at the front door of one Steve Harrington. 

___

[END: PART ONE]

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #8 – The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham James

This has been on my tbr for long enough that I entirely forget what originally put it there – the only thing I actually knew going in was that the author was ‘the My Heart is a Chainsaw guy’ (I have not read My Heart is a Chainsaw yet either). Given the genre, that was honestly probably ideal. As was the fact that a blizzard hit a couple days after I started it and I’ve been reading it looking out on a frozen snowscape – it’s very much a winter sort of story.

The story’s told in five parts of wildly varying lengths, each with it’s own endearingly cheesy b-horror movie title and each following a different protagonist. The first four each follow one of a friend group who, as a bunch of fuckup teenagers, trespassed on hunting grounds that were really supposed to be reserved for elders and shot a bunch of elk they had no right to – including a pregnant young cow who was for one reason or another special. Ten years later, the Elk-Headed Woman drags herself back into the world, and begins getting her vengeance for the death of her and her child on each of them (and everyone they care about) in turn.

I have a longstanding opinion that a full-length novel is just too long to sustain a real horror story – by 300 pages things have fairly reliably collapse into urban fantasy or action or farce. The breakup into different parts solves this very well – they’re all very much connected and interwoven, but each feels like its own distinct narrative unit with its own tension and rising action.

And this is very much a horror story in the classic, just barely short of shlocky sense. A trespass against vague but understood sacred laws that leads to horrific and bloody retribution against everyone involved is as close to archtypal horror as you can possibly get, after all. The last section is even focused on a Final Girl! Specifically, it’s a subgenre that I can’t really name but feels very familiar to me – and one I’ve always been a huge fan of, anyway. It’s somewhere downstream of The Count of Monte Cristo, a story where the agent of supernatural doom spends the majority of the story consciously working in the background, manipulating events and exacerbating the protagonist/victim’s flaws to lead them to a contrived but tragic end? Think the netflix Fall of the House of Usher, but like about the exact opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum.

Class is very much something the book cares about. All four protagonists grew up poor on a reservation with little in the way of wealth or opportunity, and by the time they’d turned eighteen all four of them were the kind of young asshole who made life just a little bit worse for everyone around them dealing with the same shit. Ten years latter the three of them who’ve survived that long have gotten over themselves and matured in their own way (and to their own degree), but none of them are exactly flush with cash or living lives of bourgeois respectability (though Lewis comes close). The precarity and only tenuous connections to the society around them just make them better prey for what’s hunting them, of course – in every case, death comes after the (either metaphorical or very viscerally literal) destruction of the few close ties they have, and the only one to survive is also the only one who could really expect people to come rushing to their rescue.

Speaking of close ties the protagonists have – the book’s conception of gender is fascinatingly weird, or at least fascinating in the sense that I’m not at all sure how intentional it is. Of the four main victims, one dies alone at eighteen, and the other three who survive the next ten years are all pretty much explicitly saved (or at least improved and uplifted) by a relationship with a woman who, if not flawless, is basically strictly his moral and practical better. Even the most consistent fuckup of the group has a redeeming feature of being willing to do just about anything for his daughter (despite having lost the chance to really be a big part of her life several times over). With one exception, these women all then die, messily, entirely and explicitly to fuck with and ruin the lives of their men. It’s like someone read Women in Refrigerators and went ‘well there’s an idea...’. It’s blatant enough that I feel like it’s got to be making a deliberate point, but (unless it’s just genre emulation) what the point is does escape me slightly.

Also on the note of stuff I’m quite sure is going over my head at least a bit – basketball! It’s a pretty vital thread running through the entire book, to the point that one of the big set pieces of the final act is literally a basketball game with the monster. Which, like, I watched enough bad anime as a small child to find contrived game-playing under unclear mythic rules with things that really want to kill you instinctively endearing, but I can’t really do anything with this except just point at it.

So as the title might imply, this is a novel that’s concerned with race – all but I believe exactly one character is either is either Blackfeet or Crow, more than half the book takes place on a reservation, and a chunk of the rest is spent having to deal with racist assholes of varying severity. Now, I admit that I have at this point a probably overly cynical view of books that end up on breathless ‘socially conscious horror’ or ‘s/ff from diverse creators you NEED to read’ lists online, but I was still rather pleasantly by how matter-of-factly this was handled? I suppose the best way to put it is that culture, upbringing and racialization deeply inform everyone’s characters, but it never feels like the book is preoccupied with providing some assumed naive and impressionable audience any Important Lessons or provide Good Representation to valourize or emulate? Which is probably just a sign I need to raise and re calibrate my expectations, but.

The monster doesn’t exactly work as, like, a coherent character in terms of her skills and abilities, but as a monster the Elk-Headed Woman is great. But then I love contrived fucked up tragedies and am a longstanding partisan of Spooky Deer Horror, so I suppose I would say that.

So yeah, fun read!

[assortedvillainvault]

Malefecent had fallen to Dr.facilier charming nature.He also finds Malefecent Attractive and suggests they go on a date to know each other little better.

Oooh this one took a bit of thinking! I don't think they'd become a full on pair, but a little fling wouldn't hurt...

Maleficent x Dr. Facilier: A Risky Venture

- It wasn't unusual for new villains to get a crush on Maleficent. Like – yes hello, water is wet, the Mouse won’t shut up, and the Mistress Of All Evil is the most attractive thing on legs, what else is new?

- It was, however, MUCH rarer for a newcomer to actually approach the elder villainess and make a move.

- To date only ten of the 127 Disney villains had ever tried, to varying degrees of success.

- Dr Facilier wasn’t one to simply sidle up and try his luck. At least not without a game plan and some research.

- Simply asking around got him some sly smirks, a huffy eye roll from Hades and the sort of glazed-over look from Jafar that spoke of things he’d really rather not hear about. Ursula cackled enough through her drink that he put her in the same ‘don’t ask’ camp as Jafar. Queen Grimhilde didn’t even deign to respond, and the Horned King simply glared and mimed breaking his neck for asking.

- The other five that had ever tried were apparently smote into craters for the audacity. He cast a look over the singed walls and decided to let those lie.

- He slid into a seat at an empty table, feeling Shadow pool around his feet under the long cloth. Idly, he let his cards flick and tumble through his fingers, deftly shuffling and reshuffling.

- The Loa were off the table. A. Because a date definitely counted as ‘something for himself’. B. Because he could hardly trust them when dealing with something so open ended as a crush. And c. Because he knew she would perceive him as lesser for depending on their help.

- He’d always had good eyes. Able to see what most others couldn’t. And while he would never claim to see through every disguise...from day one he’d been able to see the way fire and scales stretched and twisted under her skin – the way the lights in the room dimmed and flickered under her smile, how her cloak was full of raven feathers and vicious thorns. He could see the way her presence lanced through a crowd like a silent lightning strike – all ozone and anticipation under the thin blanket of night.

- When Hades had leaned over and clicked his jaw shut with a smirk, slyly asking “First time?” it’d taken all he had not to slip into the shadows – donning his signature charm like a shield.

- He blinked down at his hands, frowning at the faces of cards he’d laid down by habit. The devil, the seven of swords, the tower…

- A perfect talon clicks onto the tower. His heart thuds into his mouth as he looks up (and up and UP, hell she’s tall-) at the amused, elegant smile of one Mistress of All Evil.

- Hahaha shit.

- At a loss, he flings himself into his tried and tested talent: talking.

- “Evening, ma’am.” He tips his hat and tried desperately not to overthink the amused upturn of her lips, finding it to be much the same expression as a cat playing with mice. “To what do I owe the pleasure, stopping by little ol’ me?” Should he try and kiss her hand?? It was right there, he should probably look into how to regrow fingers just in case- “Is there...” he swallows. “Anything I can, help you with?”

- She chuckles, and he feels it run though his bones as if he were stood right next to a brass band’s drummers. Shadow has a vice grip on his ankles under the table and he tries so hard not to remember being dragged to his grave, tries not to kick his one remaining friend as Maleficent’s yellow eyes bore into his violet ones and he swears he might know how Hook feels – sized up by a reptile willing and eager to swallow him whole-

- “Plenty, little doctor.” She smiles, slow and sharp. He swallows thickly, fighting not to grin. “if you feel...up to the challenge?”

- He feels his lips drag up into an ill advised grin. “Yes ma’am~”

[black-star-kunzite]

TOTK had a whole ancient reanimated corpse of a dead ruler and a clan who was all about that jerky god and did jack shit with it.

At least give me a horror aspect with his corpse jumpin me if I stay in the darkness of the depths too long somethin or dragging me somewhere (and soft locking me lmao) Them Hands were great and stressful but I really hoped they’d lean more into the unsettling aspect of a deadman walking instead of putting him in a fucking crockpot for the entirety of the game

Have him stalk the halls of Hyrule castle like a restless spectre instead of that weak ass fake Zelda shit like I’m fine with him puppeteering Zelda’s visage but shit got old quick. I wanna see that dead old bastard. Have the yiga be affected by gloom in a drastically different way than others (how? I don’t know but if there’s a clan that basically worships Ganon like he’s god then of course they’d pull some fuck shit with his goop to varying degrees of success or just peep the horror)

I also kinda wish we had a segment where we try to escape the depths at the beginning (at the same time the game not revealing it in its entirety by keeping it isolated to like a mini labyrinthian cave where we run from malice hands or tendrils or whatever Old Man™️ be shittin out or running from Ganondorf himself until we reach a point where we’re saved by that gay old goat man idk

[kindheart525]

Warning: Extremely Fatphobic Language

~~~~~~~~~~Several interviewers huddled around the table where the young actress sat, waiting in anticipation for what she would have to say. Their pens and notepads were poised and ready to collect answers, but the varying degrees of concern on their faces made clear that this was not going to be happy publicity.

“I can’t believe it.”

Triple Threat uttered, gripping her coffee tensely between her hooves.

“I got kicked off the show.”

A heavy, tense silence followed as she sat in deep contemplation. “I can’t believe it” was only the tip of the iceberg, she was shocked to her core but somehow at the same time not surprised at all. 

“It really was a surprise to many.”

The interviewers seemed less jaded by experience.

“It must have been for you too. Why do you think it happened?”

These ponies were friends, connections she had made through Bridleway Gossip and other interviews she had done. It was more than a purely professional relationship, hence the casual diner setting, but even they maintained some journalistic formalities for this.

“I know why it happened.”

TT gritted her teeth in barely-concealed rage.

“I knew it when I got the call and then when they announced my replacement the very next day. Like they had her loaded up all along. A thin actress.“

“A thin actress? Can you say more about that, this body issue?”

“No matter how talented she may be, even if she does deserve the role, I guarantee there’s nothing she has that I don’t.”

She wasn’t going to drag others down in her frustration, but she wasn’t going to sugarcoat herself anymore either.

“The only difference is size! And the fact that I actually pointed out that shit.”

For Triple Threat, this was hardly a formal interview at all, and not just because she knew these ponies. Unlike before, she didn’t feel like she had to express gratitude or keep a job. That hardly crossed her mind at all, she was pissed and needed to tell somepony, anypony who would listen to her. Anyone who would take her seriously.

“Here’s the post where they announced the new actress. Didn’t even mention me, okay? But listen to this!”

She showed them the new phone she bought for publicity, which now felt like a block of poison in her magical grasp from the vitriol that greeted her inside.

“‘Maybe this was for the best,’”

She started to read in a mockingly posh tone.

“‘Foals look up to Bridleway stars. They might think being unhealthy is okay.’”

“Unhealthy!?”

These comments were no less shocking to Triple Threat than when she first read them, freshly hurting from the loss of her job. But now what was once tears was turned into rage.

She pressed her lips together and made herself read on.

“‘I feel sorry for her, but I go to the show to see beautiful ponies.’”

The ponies around her cringed at this insult, but she just laughed bitterly.

“You think that’s bad?”

“‘Seeing Triple Threat in a dress that tight made me throw up in my MOUTH!’”

“And all these comments are real, Ms. Threat? Things that audience members have actually said?”

“YES!”

She yelled out indignantly.

“‘It’s good she was kicked out, maybe when she’s on vocal rest her mouth'll be closed long enough to lose some weight!���

The unicorn’s coffee spewed all over the place in the grip, hot like the burning rage she felt inside. 

“They want us to FUCKING ROT!”

Ears pinned back and nostrils flaring in rage, she stomped on the table so hard that everypony in the room jumped in their seat. 

“They’d rather we DIE of starvation! They don’t care about my talent, or my feelings, or anything! Me or anyone else who DARES to live life while fat! If you get lucky enough to ‘make it’ you’re glue to them as soon as you even THINK of acknowledging there’s a problem! Like they did me!”

The interviewers were writing down everything Triple Threat said, everypony else was staring at her. She was making a scene.

Good. 

“This shit isn’t okay! This shit KILLS ponies like it almost killed me!”

It hurt her to think of all the ponies before her, all the ponies coming up after her, experiencing the same hatred for their fat bodies. This stuff destroyed dreams, lives even. And it hadn’t gotten any better as far as she could see.

“We don’t deserve this shit! We’re not fucking disposable!”

How much would it take for Equestria to wake up and do something? How much would it take to be accepted?

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Op-Ed Next: Old School Marm

Background from Reddit

The fatphobic comments are heavily based on actual social media comments that @glitterfleshgum and I have observed

[redflagromance]

Superdim Sunday: Chapter 2

If pressed, she would agree that it was a little crazy to drop everything to drive two hours in the hopes of ruining Hammer's night. She felt vaguely embarrassed by herself throughout the drive, fingers wrapped a little too tightly around the steering wheel.

At least no one knew what she was doing. Her masked activities were clandestine. She could do embarrassing shit and not have it bite her in the ass.

"I don't have to do this." Ji-Min tested out the thought. "I could go home and just let him run wild until he gets picked up by the cops or a local suit."

…Nope, bad idea. Ji-Min sneered. The steering wheel creaked under her grip. The thought was extremely displeasing.

She couldn't let someone else handle him. That was her role and no one else got to do it. She was going to find out whatever half-baked plan he had pulled out of the garbage can of his mind, and she was going to thwart him.

That was what she'd been doing for months now. The newspapers would say that she was a rogue vigilante, with varying degrees of approval. They said that she was Hammer's mysterious nemesis, a shadow that only emerged when he was free to drag him to justice.

The truth of it was that Ji-Min was a massive hater and she couldn't stand to let Hammer have anything.

She stopped at a gas station in a bad mood and got an offensively large cup of tea from a faded machine. It tasted shit. She tossed it out the window and got bottled water at the next stop. The drive really wasn't that long, except that she was too keyed up to turn up music and enjoy it.

The closer to confrontation she got, the more wound up Ji-Min felt. The tension eventually got so high that she parked the car and did some furious calisthenics. She glared at anyone who looked at her, defensive about what she knew was weird behavior. It was necessary.

Ji-Min had spent a lot of time in the gym since her powers came in. If she didn't blow off steam, she'd find herself breaking things by accident.

Before she started driving again, she checked Hammer's social media. Ji-Min leaned on the side of her car and smacked on gum while she scrolled.

"heY r U ready to GOooooo," he had sent to Sunspot.

She'd sent back a thumbs up and a sparkly moon emoji. "Go to bed. You have a big day tomorrow, boss."

"😔 😩 😩 Y don't u love me anymore and be nice o me?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not your one true love 🔨 💕"

"haha 😂 🔥 😘  2 bad!!!"

God, what poor fuckhead was Hammer's 'one true love?' Ji-Min pulled a face and closed the app. Her stomach turned at the thought.

She pushed the disturbing bits away and focused on the eventual crime. If Sunspot was telling him to rest up, then Ji-Min should probably just get a hotel and wait for him to make his move. She sent her sister a text canceling their workout tomorrow morning. Ari sent back a thumbs up and a crying face.

Then she looked up a hotel in the area and checked the price. Feeling spiteful, she logged into Hammer's bank account and sent a $500 transfer to her Swiss bank account. He wouldn't notice. He never did. He might not even know his password. He only ever used his card.

She took a moment to scroll through his recent transactions. Fifty at a gas station, 126 dollars to a pizza place, 7 in ice cream, and a Paypal transfer for 7000 dollars. The note said "clothes."

Her phone chimed. A gray alert came up with some graph and a title about the stock market.

"Oh, fuck," Ji-Min sighed. She opened the app and then went to the settings. She ignored the landing page and its copy of the current stock market happenings. On muscle memory, she opened up the hidden login and typed in the 14 digit code.

The real message showed up.

Warning from Sir Tiger Explosion, it read. Bank robbery this evening in NYC at ….

The tension flooded out of her system. "Again?" Ji-Min snorted. She closed the app and opened up the hater group chat.

Harmes had beat her to it. As she opened it, " 💰 Always love to see someone push the boundaries!!" landed.

Ji-Min cracked a smile. "Innovate. Expand. Boldly go."

"Live laugh love the consistency," said an anon with a pirate hat icon. "Maybe it'll work this time."

"Unlikely," said Harmes. They followed it up with a couple photos of newspaper articles with headlines like "Local Man Attempts to Rob Bank."

Ouch. That wasn't even from the special crimes section. Ji-Min put a crying reaction on the image. Lurkers added crying and laughter reactions as she watched, probably for the same reason.

"Remember when he used the back of his atm withdrawal slip for the ransom note?" Ji-Min typed up. She felt a mean little smile steal across her face.

That got laugh reactions all around.

Feeling better, she shoved her phone back in her pocket and got back in the car. She cranked up the music for the last leg of the drive and arrived at the hotel in a good mood.

She swiped to pay with her Swiss account, and gave a cash tip to the receptionist. She didn't have much to bring in- a gym bag with her change of clothes and kit, as well as the bare basics like a toothbrush and hair supplies. She took her time getting ready by putting her hair up and stacking it with the pins that would support her mask later. When she was done, Ji-Min shrugged on her coat and went for a walk.

She spent an hour casing the city before she decided what to do with her time. Ji-Min got a table at a French restaurant for dinner and ate filet mignon and rabbit. She kicked back in a private corner with a glass of red wine and watched the people eat and walk outside. They were all so distant to her.

She'd never really felt like she was part of the crowd. And now…

Ji-Min finished her glass and left her card carelessly on the table while she went to the ladies room. She saw a server bob their head and hurry over to run the card.

In the bathroom, she checked her hair was staying in place and took a moment to stretch, limbering up her fingers and wrists.

She passed an older woman on her way out. Ji-Min could feel the stare. She didn't deign to look back.

With a yawn, Ji-Min collected her card and slipped it back into her bag. She scribbled a $40 tip onto the receipt and left as much in cash.

It was fully dark out by the time she left. Haunting sirens called out in the distance of the night, tattle tailing on some kind of trouble. She was feeling like trouble herself, personally.

'I'm not ready to go back to the hotel just yet,' Ji-Min decided. She felt the pleasant buzz of anticipation, a thrill down the back of her spine.  Ji-Min slipped her ear buds in and put on something with a thumping baseline beat. She idly used her phone to search the area as she prowled around the streets. The night air was crisp and the air was so fogged with pollution that she couldn't see a single star. It felt exactly like the kind of night for her to be unleashed.

She wasn't too far away from an interesting target.

The Versace store was closed at this hour, and the lights she could see were off. Ji-Min paused outside with her hands in her pockets, looking up. She turned off the music and slipped her headphones into the case.

She could tell that people were still inside. They were probably counting out money and doing inventory. Ja-Min popped in a breath mint and cocked her head at the building, tracking the faint impressions of body heat where workers were moving inside.

It was easier when there were fewer people around. It took her a few minutes to determine how many people were inside and what floors they were on. She casually walked around to the side of the building. She pulled the mask out of her bag and started attaching it, pulling the pins out of her one by one to attach the ribbons to her hair. When she was finished, Ja-Min pulled gloves out of her pocket and slid them on. As she slipped into the shadows, there was no one and no camera to watch her scale the wall.

She settled on a fourth floor window far from any of the lingering employees.

The subtle, cat-burglar type strategy would be to cut a hole in the glass and silently remove it. Hammer would break it with his fist and crash in– but he'd set up a drone first to record it, of course.

Ji-Min took off her gloves so that she could wedge her nails into the frame and pop it clean off. There was an ugly scrape, but the operation was overall very quiet. Ji-Min hummed with concentration and rotated the frame at an angle to maneuver it into the room. She stepped inside and leaned the window against the wall. Then she blinked in the darkness until her eyes adjusted.

She caught her reflection in a mirror while she put her gloves back on. It was hard to tell with her dark eyes, but her pupils were blown out to nearly subsume her whole iris. That was new. The night vision was one of her favorite powers.

When her gloves were back on, she took out a spray bottle and wiped down everywhere she could conceivably have touched on the frame. Then she finally took a look around.

There were cameras.

If the lights had been on, that would have been some small concern. As it was, Ji-Min casually flipped one off and prowled down the deserted department floor. She'd ended up in the home goods section. She dismissed it entirely and crept silently down the stilled escalator.

There was something so poignantly beautiful about the store deserted, dark, and cold.

This was the closest thing to religion that she ever felt.

The first thing she picked up was a thick bangle. It had the brand name emblazoned on it. "This is fugly," Ji-Min said, lips pulling up into a smile. She clapped it onto her wrist. "I don't even want it." She checked the price and let out an incredulous little giggle. "Incredible." She ran a gloved finger down the display and picked up a ring. "Gaudy." She paused. "This has potential, though."

Ji-Min worshiped in a daze as she slipped rings, bangles, earrings, and hair accessories into her bag. She was faintly tempted by shoes and a red dress, but even in her haze she knew better than to take anything that indicated personal information like her size. She could go to another store and buy what she wanted later.

She ended up with an eclectic mix stuffing her purse to the brim. Some of it she would sell, and some she would wear.

She barely remembered leaving. It was as easy as entering had been. She tucked the mask away and made her way back to her bed for the night.

The hotel room was larger than she needed. She turned the bathwater on and asked room service for a pot of tea. When it arrived, she sat it on the edge of the tub and went through her skin care routine. When she finally slipped into the water, she was perfectly relaxed.

After a while, she thought to snake her arm out to grab her phone and check on Hammer again. He'd changed his profile photo since the afternoon. This one was shirtless. Ji-Min let out an annoyed sigh, but her heart wasn't really in it this time. He'd let on more of the details for his plan since she'd last checked.

"The Planetarium?" Her skeptical voice echoed in the steamy air. "Is this going to be like the thing he did with that Aquarium?"

Just like that, her blood pressure was back up.

[staringdownabarrel]

So I've recently reread Magician by Raymond E. Feist. For a long time, when I was a teenager, I thought this book was basically the best thing since sliced bread. Between the time I first got it and the time I was 21 or so, I must have read it at least half a dozen times, but then stopped obsessively rereading it every year or two.

Now that I've returned to it at 29 (30 next month), I can see a lot of the problems with it more clearly. There's women in the story, but they never really get to do a whole lot, and there's never a point where they have any real agency in the story. It's a pretty bog standard representation of women for an epic fantasy from the early '80s, and there isn't a whole lot of pretense about that.

Obviously it's been years since I've read anything else Feist has written, but I sorta remember this always being a problem for him. It's definitely less of an issue in later books, but early on it always felt like the women were mostly there to be the love interest, or occasionally the token badass woman, but rarely the main character. The follow-on issue from this is that Feist was always the absolute worst at writing romance (partially because it was between Main Guy and Cardboard Cutout of a Woman Who's There).

The other big problem is that Magician feels like a very generic fantasy world. A lot of this is just because it's very heavily based on the D&D campaign he and his friends had been playing at the time, and I think he probably mostly just wanted it to be a celebration of that more than anything else. Plus, at least back then, there wasn't really the same demand that every new fantasy series be this hugely groundbreaking thing that plays with genre expectations the same way there is now.

Still, y'know, it is a little disappointing that the book basically amounts to a hero's arc with a major war in the background; especially given that (at least with my beaten up paperback edition of the author's preferred edition) it's around 680 pages long. Whatever else I might want to say about the guy, it's very evident that Raymond E. Feist can tap away at his keyboard well enough when he wants to.

The other side of this is that a lot of the magic it held over me when I was a teenager is still there. Some of this is because I know what comes in later books, and I know that while a lot of the problems I've just outlined will always be problems to varying degrees, a lot of them get smoothed over.

The other part of it is that I genuinely think this is a good representation of what it's trying to be. Yes, in a lot of ways, it's a very bog standard epic fantasy narrative with a lot of the issues you'd expect from one like it in the early '80s, but it's a good impression of it.

I also feel like, even though it's 681 pages long, it's also not overly prone to purple prose. Everything gets wrapped up at the end. There's still some stuff there that's sequel hook material (and it does get used as sequel hook material), but all of the major points get wrapped up satisfactorily.

Plus, you sorta know that in any other book series, the war itself would drag on for two or three books. In some other writer's hands, it'd probably end up going "...and here's a detailed description of every little thing that ever happened at a battle near the river outside of Elvandar, and then another battle further down the river near Crydee, and then some other battles near Yabon and Tyr-Sog" for three books.

As is, I think it does a good job at keeping to the really important battles, but otherwise focusing in on the (mostly male) characters and their development. It's very basic development because of how much there is to cover, but at least it's there some of the time, and at least it gets the focus. I think this was the better route to take because, at least for me, there's only so much focus you can put on each individual battle of a fictional war before it just ends up feeling like just the same shit over and over with a different lineup of allies and enemies each time.

Plus, conceptually, I just really like Pug as a concept. Having a guy who becomes versed in two very different schools of magic is an interesting concept to me, even if I feel like they never get into the nitty-gritty of it enough in this book. I also liked Thomas' increasing fusion with Ashen-Shugar as the later part of the book progressed.

Anyway, chances are I'll end up doing a full reread of everything Raymond E. Feist ever wrote at some point, so help me god. I don't know if that's necessarily a good idea because it'll probably take up most of the next year or so, but still, I will do it and you will hear about it.

[fuck-customers]

Can customers PLEASE stop pointing out my name? Context, i'm trans and I've gotten my name legally changed but I'm still on a waiting list for hormones and I cant find my chest because it's so god damn hot where I live and my shift is too long, it wouldnt be safe to wear for that amount of time. Anyway I have at least three people point out the masculine name on my nametag, which is like unmistakably a guy name (as is intended to be) with varying degrees of politeness. Sometimes a nicer old man will go, "huh! [Name]? Never met a woman named that before, I like it." And I know he means well but I'm just seething. And then other times someone goes, "odd. I dont think of [Name] as a women's name." Yes, because it isnt. But I dont say that, because I live in the bible belt and I'm not trying to start shit. But today, a lady actually made a face at me and said "I'm so sorry your parents named you that. If I were you, I'd change it."

Ma'am, I already did. This is what I chose.

I'm not even upset when customers call me ma'am- I'm feminine looking, we're in the south. I GET OVER IT. My coworkers are mostly chill about my pronouns but they mess up sometimes too- They correct themselves, I'm feminine looking, I GET OVER IT. But people really dont need to bring the name business up, like you can keep your thoughts about my name to yourself. It's the only Avenue through which I'm truly myself right now, it just hurts when people drag it.

For a bit of positivity- I did have a girl about a month and a half ago who say the nametag and the Dyed Hair and put two and two together and said "can I call you sir?" And I said yes, and she said "cool, have a nice day sir." That's like the only time that happened on my shift, but it was still really cool.

[redrobbingabank]

The Kids are Not Alright

Tommy was in his house when the sirens started. He’d been visiting Shroud. It was a good day. Now, cold, indescribable terror is flooding through him as he sits on the floor, head pressed between his knees. Rocking back and forth, Tommy drags in breath after breath and never registers the oxygen. 

Dream escaped. Dream escaped. Holy fucking shit, Dream escaped.

Sam had promised. He’d promised that wouldn’t happen. Pandora’s Vault was the most secure place on the server, the only place Dream couldn’t get out of. He’d been so sure of it that he’d been willing to let Tommy rot inside to protect its integrity.

He should have known it wasn’t true. 

He needed to get up. He couldn’t get up. He needed to run. He could hardly breathe. He had to get Tubbo and Ranboo out. He didn’t know where they were. The sirens were still screaming, screaming, screaming.

There were tears on his cheeks. “No, no no no no no no no,” Tommy murmured, finally bringing himself to look up at Shroud. The spider was unaffected, watching him from the ceiling. He focused on Shroud, and slowly, slowly, his breathing evened. 

He had to get Tubbo. Dream was probably looking for him oh god Dream was probably already looking for him breathe breathe breathe, he had to get Tubbo and Ranboo and Wilbur thought Dream was good run far, far away.

He shoved himself to his feet, turned on his heel, and ran at full tilt for the tunnel to Snowchester. They had to get away this time. They had to. He couldn’t survive it again.

Las Nevadas was quiet, for a casino town. Tubbo served plenty of burgers, for sure, but today it was empty except for the inhabitants, eating lunch alone despite knowing each other for months. It looked a bit stupid to him, everyone sitting alone at a table with nothing to occupy them but their food, silence reigning.

The exception was Fundy. He sat at the bar, holding a drink Tubbo wasn’t entirely sure he was old enough to serve and ignoring his burger. 

“So you’ve been here for like… what, three weeks?” he asked Tubbo. There were massive bags under his eyes. Tubbo didn’t think he’d ever seen his old colleague look so bad. Well, he guessed they were colleagues again.

“Yeah.” Tubbo shrugged and stole a fry. Quackity wasn’t there to yell at him. “You?”

“Few months.” Fundy sounded like he had to drag every word out of his mouth, slumping to prop his head up with a hand. “I don’t even know how he found me. I was living pretty far away.”

Tubbo nodded silently. He glanced over at the table in the corner, where Purpled was definitely eavesdropping. He was too tense, his head turned a little too far to be normal for someone minding their own business. 

The doors slammed open so hard the glass cracked. Tubbo whipped around, half expecting DreamXD himself to enter, but it was only Quackity. 

Maybe not only. Tubbo’s friend’s face was wild, a maniacal smile fixed on his mouth that reminded Tubbo of that day on the mountain with Dream. He took half a step back. Fundy, who’d flinched at the noise, was eyeing the counter like he had half a mind to jump over it to hide.

“Everyone’s in here, right?” Quackity looked around, doing a quick headcount. “Great.” A scarily gleeful laugh bubbled up. “Team meeting, everyone! Gather round, everyone!”

Fundy, Foolish, and Slime all complied pretty quickly, with varying degrees of bounciness. Purpled and Tubbo took a few moments longer, giving Quackity wary glances before slowly moving towards the center table. Tubbo pulled off his apron and left it on the counter. His hand itched to hold his sword.

Hair had come out of Quackity’s beanie, now resting only halfway on his head. He ran a hand through it, looking around at them all. “So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed––” His voice rang out, echoing off the diner’s walls “––But Dream’s escaped.”

He kept talking, but Tubbo didn’t hear, frozen and listening. His ears were always ringing, ever since the festival. It was an ever-present reminder of the explosions. But as he focused, letting himself hear all of it, the sounds separated. 

There was the ringing that was always there, electric and loud. Then there was the quieter, more distant, more urgent ring of the Vault’s sirens.

Ranboo. Tommy. Michael. Snowchester. 

Quackity must have been too absorbed in his rant, because he didn’t stop Tubbo as he walked, trancelike, out of the diner. The sun hit him hard. He blinked in the direction of the burger van. Empty. Ranboo usually visited Michael around this time. Snowchester it was, then.

It wasn’t hard to leave Las Nevadas behind. Tubbo had never gotten anything from it past a paycheck. It felt empty, a cooperation where L’Manberg had been a family. 

His family wasn’t here. Tubbo needed to make sure they were safe

There was dust on Ranboo’s armor. It was always like that after a mining trip. He’d have to clean it soon, but at the moment he was too tired, and it was time to visit Michael. 

The snow in the Arctic Commune reflected sunlight directly into his eyes as he stepped outside, but Ranboo was used to it. He was not used to the people who greeted him. Techno and Phil stood on the bridge between their houses. Techno and Phil. It had been months since Techno left, and the worry that had been accumulating broke away like a chunk of ice. Ranboo dropped the grass block he’d been messing with.

“Techno!” he called, running through the snow to reach them. His legs sank down to the shins in the drifts.

Techno turned around at the decidedly clumsy approach. He looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, but when he saw Ranboo, he grinned. “Hello,” he called back. 

Ranboo dashed up the steps and stopped in front of him. “Where were you, man?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

Phil and Techno exchanged a look. “I’ve been gathering intel,” Techno said finally. “I’m gonna tell everyone about it, but we need to get Niki here so everyone can hear.”

“Oh. Alright.” Ranboo started to move back in the direction of the portal. “I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of in the SMP, so, uh…” he glanced at Phil, who knew where he was really going, and finger-gunned in the portal’s direction. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Cool. Oh, wait, Ranboo!” Techno said quickly.

“Yeah.”

“Just, uh. You’ve got problems with Dream, right?” 

Instantly, Ranboo’s skin started crawling. He dragged his thoughts away from the panic room, from Mellohi, from the voice that wasn’t Dream, and the visit Sam said he made. He nodded slightly. “Yeah?”

“Right. Uh, I’m gonna need you to trust me here, dude. When you get to the SMP, someone might tell you Dream’s out of the prison.” Phil looked sharply at him. Ranboo stopped breathing, and Techno held up his hands quickly. “Woah, woah, calm down, it’s fine. He’s not actually out. They just think he is, I promise. I saw him in there myself, okay?”

Did the world feel like it was collapsing in on itself? Yes. But did Ranboo trust Techno to tell him the truth? Yes. 

Ranboo backed down the stairs and picked up a grass block from beneath the snow. He held it close to his chest. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, Ranboo.” Techno looked him dead in the eye. “Dream is still in the prison.”

“Then I trust you.” Ranboo turned towards Snowchester. “I really have to go now, though.” He had to find Tubbo and Tommy and make sure they were safe. He had to tell them it wasn’t real. “See you.”

Nerves battled with determination as Ranboo started the trek through the snow, then decided it would take too long and pulled out his ender pearls. Techno would explain, but until then, he’d probably stay away from the prison. He didn’t know what the sirens would do if he heard them.

[princessofgayskull]

Hi sunflower, what's your thoughts on T Swift's Betty being a catradora song???

Me, taking a break from spop to focus on my mental health and setting better boundaries:

Me, reading this ask:

This ask woke me up from like a deep, sleeping beauty type slumber, not joking. I don’t get asked to talk about Taylor Swift often, despite being a fan of hers since I was nine years old (I’m 22 now *wink*) and we are about to find out why. But I pride myself on taking any fiction piece of media I interact with and connecting it somehow to Taylor Swift. I can do so to varying degrees of success (usually depends on the ships and romance of the world) but there are so many songs of Taylor’s that have just fit Catradora so well for me, both in and out of canon. 

Some of my favorite examples: out of the woods (AND IT KEPT ME UP AT NIGHT WHEN NOELLE SAID THIS WAS HER TAYLOR SWIFT SONG FOR CATRADORA LIKE GAH CASUAL TS LISTENERS WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND) bad blood, lwymd, don’t blame, dancing with our hands tied, the archer, breathe, you’re not sorry, the way I loved you, forever & always, should’ve said no, safe & sound- I could go on.

But I won’t because I wanna stay on topic and talk about betty. Now I have a number of songs from the folklore/evermore series that are for me catradora songs (we’ll get to that in a minute) but this one is… challenging. Because I could be like “yes, because [insert casual reason here]” or “no, because [insert casual reason here]” but I can’t because Taylor feeds her children well and there’s several aspects of this song I feel like should be considered.

This biggest one to be considered, for me, is the love triangle aspect. Folklore features at length the betty/james/Augustine love triangle, each of them having one main song on the album from their POV. Betty's is cardigan, augustine’s is august, and james’ is betty. (also I’m going to throw out the gender component for a second; I know taylor says that Betty is about a guy’s apology and I totally vibe with her reasons why she wanted to write a song about a boy apologizing BECAUSE HOW GREAT WOULD THAT BE?) The love triangle makes the application of Catradora iffy at best. Because it’s like, who would be who? I am going to go out on a limb and assume that you’re seeing Catra as James? I think that personality wise, Adora as Betty and Catra as James is not a stone’s throw away from fitting actually really well. Adora’s canon journey is one of coming to realize “I know what I want and I know that it’s okay to want it” and a big part of Catra’s arc is her being like “Well shit… there goes my plans. Kind of feeling like a dumbass rn” especially in s4/s5. 

(That s4/s5 distinction is important; I’ll show why in a second) 

But for me, there’s no augustine. Or one that’s obvious anyway. I never imagined that either Catra or Adora dated or even had any inclinations with anyone else during the five season run- that’s just my personal opinion, people are completely welcome to feel free to disagree. I don’t think Catra acted even out of distraction with Scorpia or DT, and I think Adora was so focused on being She Ra that when she wasn’t thinking about failing/abandoning Catra when she alloted time to do so, she was thinking about the crushing weight of her responsibilities. So you know, not that much time to get back out there. So I rule out what causes James to apologize in the first place- cheating.

Side note about James cheating- I’m pretty sure Taylor confirmed this, in the long pond studio sessions doc, when she’s telling Jack Antonoff (MY BOY JACK) and Aaron Dessner ( GRAMMY AWARD WINNING KING) that James “was a fool!” And James did sleep with Augustine as confirmed in august, but cardigan makes it seem like he was definitely dating Betty before the summer. Maybe Taylor took inspiration from friends and they “were on break.” I also believe that the kiss in the Heart is the first kiss, that Catra and Adora were never ‘together’ together before Adora found the sword and defected (again, that’s just an opinion, but Adora just looks so wonderfully gobsmacked), so…

We can rule out cheating, and I think we can accomplish this and still reserve the essential meaning of the song of “I did something wrong, I see that now, I apologize for doing it, and I still love you” by widening the lens of what the “did something wrong” was (or “did something bad” you know *wink*). In that wider lens really you could fit either Catra or Adora into the song, but I’m still going to assume Catra is the James in this scenario based on how much of her redemption arc is formed around her refusal to say sorry and then eventually doing so. Of course there is no standing your porchlight but rather standing while wrestling a bunch of murderous clones…. Hmm….

But there are some stupid friends! I wholeheartedly believe Catra is James because of the dissing of Betty’s friends. That’s what Catra does to Bow, Glimmer and the rebellion et al., for most of the show and by the end of s4 she has no friends for Adora to even mock (terrible and cruel of me, I know, but it’s true). Also I know people are like “he called her friends stupid and then expected betty to take him back?” but I scream sing the line “WILL YOU KISS ME ON THE PORCH IN FRONT OF ALL YOUR STUPID FRIENDS?” every time. It brings me serotonin. 

Along those lines we can ask “Who’s Inez?” in this situation. When I think gossip no one from the show really comes to mind, well, expect for Double Trouble. But Double Trouble doesn’t ever speak to Adora about Catra. This happens vice-versa, and in Betty, James reveals that Inez told Betty he cheated on her. 

I want to say something controversial… Glimmer comes to mind when I think “who’s the Inez?” And this is based off of two things: 1) Inez’s closeness to Betty, and 2) Inez drags James out to dry, rightfully so. And when I think of that I think of Glimmer screaming “Do one good thing in your life!” directly in Catra’s face. James gives Inez a bad wrap in Betty. Not cool James. 

Of course there’s the pivotal, “would you tell me to go fuck myself?/ or lead me to the garden?” To me this a fun way of showing there’s vulnerability to what James is doing, so automatically I’m led to is the scene where Catra asks Adora to stay, or each time in s5 when Catra risks, basically an identity crisis to let Adora in how she really feels, but there’s always the potential that Adora could spurn her by not returning her feelings or rejecting her outright. 

I think the best argument that can be made for “is betty a catradora song” can really be encapsulated by the lyric(s): “the worst thing that I ever did is what I did to you” and “the only thing I wanna do is make it up to you.” That is what about the song SCREAMS Catra to me. And yeah, it could be argued that Adora hurt Catra pretty brutally (Shadow Weaver makes that point EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO) that she messed up by abandoning Catra- but Adora feels guilt for... literally breathing. Adora is the quintessential embodiment of “pick your battles, no that’s too many battles, put some back,” but Catra picked one battle first and foremost (yes, she had a few others but this was the one) and that was Adora. Everything that motivated her was surrounded around a narrative of surpassing Adora for a multitude of reasons, and because of that she pretty much hurts Adora every chance she gets after Promise. Adora is really Catra’s first casualty, it makes sense that she has to be her first apology. And I think that after being vibed checked back to back by DT and Glimmer and realizing “oh hey fuck, I’m still in love with her” and then almost dying just to not die because Adora saves her, I think much of Catra’s motivation shifts to “how to do I get Adora to want to stay?” 

That’s my logic for how Betty could be a catradora song in canon. Now not all of my Taylor associations are with canon catradora, many of them do belong to uws catradora, because it’s a lot easier to apply the more modern details of Taylor’s songs to a modern au. The song Breathe is big that way. (it’s in Upper West Side, it’s the song Adora listens to and cries to after that first ride, I just never mentioned that it was taylor because my conditioned reaction to bringing up taylor is to have my head bit off with someone’s semi incorrect and slightly sexist opinion that I never, ever ask for) And this ask got me thinking about what it would look like if I applied not Catradora to Betty, but Betty to Catradora. What would it look like if Catra skateboarded and wore black lipstick, Adora wore a cardigan and they had homeroom together until Catra really messed up? What would it look like if they were seventeen when they admitted their feelings for each other instead of 21? What would it look like if they spent a summer fighting but dreaming of each other? What would their love story look like if Catra and Adora were in that town where Taylor envisioned this “same event that affected three people in different ways?”

I think it’d look something like this. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31141973/chapters/76952048

what do you guys think?

quick but INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT thank you to @gimme-tea-bitch for helping me with this, being my beta, and listening to me talk about folklore/evermore.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers: Part 5 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.7k

tw: NSFW. (It's finally happening.)

masterlist

Suguru stares at the screen in disbelief.

"I don't know what else to say," you breathe, eyes wide. "I think that we should go to the Grand Council or my parents and--"

"It's a hoax," he frowns, shaking his head. "None of this makes any sense. And I've seen fabricated shit like this before."

"But the timestamps!" you retort, pointing at the metadata.

"Those can be fabricated by using an old machine. You can't trust anything these days unless it comes from the Archives."

"But--"

"I think you need to delete these and forget about it. This is someone's sick idea of a joke, y/n." Suguru stands, scowling at the computer one last time before turning away. "I'll figure out who did this. Don't worry. Just delete that shit and don't mention it to anyone." Suguru stalks out of the room and you look at the files, dragging them to the trash before turning your computer off and trying to put it out of your mind.

_____________________________________________________________

You're back at the club with your friends, sitting among new faces and old ones just the same. But the nagging feeling that something isn't right is dragging across the pit of your stomach like a rake. When you glance at Suguru, he's laughing with his other Leviathan friends, but barely touching his only drink.

He must be unnerved by it, too, you think, and rub your forehead before watching Yuji try his best dance moves on Nobara, which fails miserably, of course. Yuki sits to your left, also watching the show with varying degrees of amusement before looking over at you.

"Why the long face, Ms. Successful? Is this too boring for you?" You consider telling her what's really bothering you, turning to her in the dim lighting and pressing your lips together. Her face changes and you know your secret can't be kept for long.

"What would you do if someone played a really bad prank on you?"

"What, did Suguru piss on your curtains?"

"Huh?" You look at her in shock, and she shrugs.

"Alright, maybe that's just a Toji thing. My bad." She sips her drink thoughtfully. "What kind of prank are you talking about?"

"Someone..." You hesitate, but decide to keep going anyways. "Someone put files on my computer to make it seem like my parents were involved with something called Project Kudzu and Project Redroot." Yuki frowns deeply, blinking rapidly.

"Y/n, I've never heard of those things before." You sigh, shaking your head. "Did they have any real proof?"

"Yeah, some audio files, two videos, and a bunch of TS-CO labeled documents that--" A hand lands on your shoulder, and you look up to see Suguru standing above you.

"That pre-game was wild, wasn't it?" Pre-game? "Sorry, Yuki. Y/n here had a whole bottle of red wine and played some weird game before coming. She's been going on about it to me for hours... projects and stuff." Yuki laughs, waving him off.

"It's okay! I was a little confused, too, but I get it. Girl," she turns to you, shaking her head. "You should probably go home and get some rest. If I had known you were drunk already I would've--"

"I'm not drunk," you reply, looking back and forth between Suguru and Yuki. "I swear, I'm not--"

"Let me get you home, party girl," Suguru mumbles, pulling you up from your seated position and gripping your hand tightly as he drags you along with him. "It's been a long day."

"But I'm not--" The look Suguru gives you is deadly, and you shut your lips as he takes you to the car you both came in, opening your door silently. You slide into the seat and he shuts the door with force, climbing into the driver's seat, but not starting the car. He grips the steering wheel and clenches his jaw, finally muttering,

"Didn't I tell you not to say anything to anyone?"

"Suguru, this has been bothering me for days! I don't know what to do!"

"I'm trying to find out who would break into your room and do this to you. Can you let me work?" he asks tersely. "For once in your life, can you let someone look out for you?" His black eyes are blazing in the dim light of the parking lot, and your bottom lip quivers.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he exhales, starting the car. "I just... I just need you to let me figure this out. Someone isn't playing nice in our own organization and if it comes at the expense of my partner, I'm not having it. Lay low for me for a while, got it?" Suguru places his hand on your thigh and you nod, feeling your heart pick up an uneven rhythm. Your mouth goes dry at his lingering touch, but before you can think about it any further, he removes his hand and pulls out of the parking lot to take both of you back to the base.

When you get back to your barracks, you pause in the living room, looking over at your Leviathan as he removes his leather jacket and deposits it on the couch, sighing. You slowly approach him from behind and touch his back, which makes him flinch a little.

"I don't know why you continue to put up with my antics," you murmur and he huffs a breath out, shaking his head. "But thank you for saving my ass... and for looking out for me." Suguru turns to you, his lips quirking up a bit.

"Little Ms. Successful is thanking me for my service? Are you drunk?" Your cheeks heat up at the nickname and you roll your eyes, about to turn away from him when he catches your wrist. "Don't do that," he breathes, bringing you in close so your chests are touching. Your breathing hitches and he raises his knuckles, grazing them over your cheek. You close your eyes at the contact, and he slides his fingers down to your chin, tilting it up and humming softly.

"Open your eyes," Geto whispers, and you do so, trying your best not to seem too flustered. He leans down, brushing his lips across yours for permission, and your close your eyes again, letting him kiss you. When his lips separate from yours, he touches your nose with his, and you raise up on your tiptoes to feel his lips on yours again. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he wonders as you pull away. You nod your head, and he laughs softly.

"I do want to keep kissing you, yes," you reply, and he wraps a hand around your waist, lifting you off your feet and wrapping your legs around him.

"Nothing good comes of that," he warns, but you scoff.

"I'd beg to differ."

And that's how you find yourself on his neatly made bed, legs pushed up to your chest as Suguru greedily laps at your cunt like a starving man. "Su..." you moan, and he grunts in response. "That feels so good."

"I bet it does," the Leviathan replies, raising his brow at you salaciously before flicking your clit with his tongue. Your toes curl painfully as he dips a finger into you, then raises it up to your lips, tugging your mouth open so you can taste yourself. You suck on the digit with pleasure, humming when he pulls it back out and finger fucks you while sucking on your clit.

You buck under his grip, but he raises off of you, denying you an orgasm so soon. Geto kisses you deeply, swiping his tongue across yours so you can taste yourself again, then sits up, motioning for you to do the same.

"You want to do this?"

"Yeah." Suguru pulls his long hair up with an elastic and removes his pants, climbing back onto the bed and sitting against the headboard. He pulls you into his lap and raises you up, allowing you to grasp his hard length before sliding onto it carefully.

"Easy, easy..." he hisses, and you slow down, taking him inch by inch. You place your arms around his neck and rock back and forth, closing your eyes when you feel all of him nestled inside of you. Suguru groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head forward onto your shoulder. "Hold on, I'm gonna lay on my back." You allow him to slide forward, and he pushes you down onto his chest with a broad hand before pumping into you methodically.

"Oh, god..." you moan, and Suguru exhales shakily. "Su, you feel amazing."

"Say it a little louder so our neighbors can hear you," he jokes, but you clench around him and his laughter is cut short. "Fuck!" The man beneath you smacks your ass, and you yelp in response. "Keep doing that and this will be over faster than you can spell your own name."

"Then fuck me and quit being a smart ass," you gripe. Suguru shrugs and mutters,

"You asked for it." before slamming his hips into your ruthlessly. You cry out at the sensations his pace brings, and he grips your wrist as you lift off of him, holding your left hand against his chest. "Stay right here, princess. I'm not letting you go for shit." Your mouth seems to maintain its "O" shape the entire time he's fucking you senseless, and you can't say a word, eyes crossing and making you see double of your partner.

"Oh, god," you finally shudder, and Suguru lets go of your hand to lean you back down, mouth latching on one of your breasts.

"Cum for me," Geto challenges you before going back to sucking on your nipples relentlessly. You feel something inside of you break - almost like a busted dam releasing a flood of sensations and emotions that you've held at bay since you arrived here. "Oh, you're doing so good," Suguru grunts, holding you as you tremble fiercely while his hips stutter. "Just let it all go."

And for some reason, tears - actual tears - come out of your eyes as if this sexual release also broke your heart in two.

"Did I hurt you?" Suguru asks, swiping at your tears with a worried expression.

"No," you reassure him, shaking your head fiercely. "Not at all."

"Hmmm..." He rests your head against his chest as his breathing slows, hands stroking your back and hair with care. "You've had a hard couple of days. Just rest, alright? I'll be here when you wake up." So, you fall asleep, trusting your partner who's never betrayed you before.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut@r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23@rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on

[nuklearis-sutotok]

The epic @tanyakross tagged me to share 4 characters who represent my personality. Thank you! I want to comment on these just a bit because of something I was thinking about posting later. I won't drag it out. These ARE in order. Some mean more than others.

You can read my drabble or accept a tag.

@drum-cu-naluci @psyberconquest @traceamountsoftimetravel @roses0fmay and whoever would like to.

1. Data - Star Trek

Data has meant a lot to me over the years. Honestly far more than I could begin to say or explain. Growing up in the 90's there wasn't much representation or understanding of people like me, especially for girls, and growing up kinda secluded, even less so. I was like my father. Like my uncle. Like my gran. Like my step-grandfather. What did that mean? I didn't know, only that it wasn't "normal." They were scary smart it seemed, all of them, remembered all the things, but so different from other people. It is still a very new thing today and filled with a lot of confusion and misconceptions in every corner. To see someone on TV, even as an android, without standard social skills or "standard" emotional processing, yet still a walking fact box was something very special and has been a part of my life with a varying degree of importance for as long as I remember. I've taken a lot of cues here, it's true, but also a lot of personal views. "Do you know everything?" I hear from the disgruntled. No, sorry for info dumping, I research random things, I know nothing for certain beyond a lot of trivia.

2. Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I wasn't quite a teen yet when my father talked me into reading Sherlock Holmes, his favourite piece of anything, really. My first story was The Hound of the Baskervilles, which I think is probably common for most young readers when it comes to Holmes. I was in shock and awe. For the first time I read something that I could relate to. Something I felt. Ironically I glommed onto Holmes for the same reasons I think Data did, and indeed probably my father. Here was someone who thought like me, who processed the world the way I did. I eagerly devoured everything Sir Doyle wrote. Here was someone, alongside Data, that sometimes experienced the same kind of treatment and bewilderment, the same kind of misunderstandings and miscommunication. The same wildly incorrect assumptions. Someone who made decidedly unnatural mental leaps and commented only at the tail end of the thought process leaving the room in question marks. Someone downright weird. It was Holmes that got me into writing, it was Holmes that really coloured my life, and it was Holmes that helped to make me so damn persistent... And also taught me I need to explain myself, which I often forget to do. (I selected Basil because he was first onscreen Holmes.)

3. Death - SPN

I didn't start watching SPN until lockdown... @drum-cu-naluci talked me into it along with a few coworkers. I am older than I look, I feel much older, I often experience most drama and events like a tired outsider observing the world like a play, as though I am looking at everything through a window. This is partly a sensory error and partly I just... Really don't care about some things... Many things I do not grasp the significance of. I usually attach no importance to social drama or the like. I don't usually process it beyond a logical point. (Don't bring that shit in here.) Some of it annoys me enough to post randomly, yes this is true. The bigger things still reach me but I may still come off as detached. People are all too eager to insert feelings, ideas, meanings, and motivations where I have none. It's hard to explain and I think I am giving the wrong idea, but I am not sure how else to put it. It's not intentional, usually.

4.

[m3kuroshirt]

House of Assassins Part Four

links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Word count: 1944

warnings: none

The kitchen was warm and inviting, especially so cold and late (early?). Ichigo seated himself at the table, and Grimmjow busied himself with the kettle. As he waited, Ichigo could feel tiredness seeping into his bones, but he knew that if he went home all he would do was stare up at the darkened ceiling, a restlessness running rampant in his mind.

Finally, Grimmjow sat himself down with two mugs of tea. He slid one to Ichigo, and took a sip from the other. “So,” he started. Ichigo bit the inside of his lip as he wrapped both hands around the warm mug. “What’s on your mind? The stuff you can talk about, anyway.” His voice was gruff and tired, but there was no impatience in it. Ichigo took a sip of his tea. It burned the tongue a little, and washed a path of heat all the way down to his gut.

“…I…does it sound stupid if I say ‘I don’t know’?” he mumbled, running his thumb over the smooth ceramic of the mug. Grimmjow shrugged. He ran a hand through his bright blue hair.

“I don’t think so.”

Ichigo gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” He sighed and leaned on the table with his elbows. “I guess…I’m just conflicted. The guy I was talking to…he’s an old family friend. Or rather, an ex-family-friend. But I’m going to be helping him out for a bit. Just…have some mixed emotions about it, I guess,” Ichigo admitted. He took another sip of tea.

“Fair enough. You seem pretty close to your family, it would be weird to work with someone they don’t like,” Grimmjow replied. Ichigo shrugged.

“I guess. We all have varying degrees of…dislike…for him. Rukia doesn’t really mind him, but then her brother works closely with him. And Orihime couldn’t hold a grudge against anyone, even if they tried to kill her.” Ichigo stretched his arms over his head. Grimmjow frowned.

“Hold on…wouldn’t Rukia’s brother also be your brother?” he asked, head tilted to the side and an adorable confused frown on his face.

“Hmm? No. He adopted her. So like, he married her older sister, right? But Rukia and her sister were separated in the foster system early on and never reunited. So Rukia grew up with us instead. But apparently her sister was trying to find her. She married Byakuya and died before she could find Rukia, but Byakuya kept looking. And when he found her, he offered her to be a part of his family. She only agreed as long as he let her stay with us, though.” Ichigo yawned as he finished talking. He rubbed his temples and drank the rest of his tea. “We’re pretty mis-matched for a family.”

“Gotcha.” Grimmjow finished his tea as well, then picked up the mugs to refill them. “So, what did that guy do then? Is that something you can talk about?”

Ichigo stretched his neck from side to side, and definitely snuck a glance at Grimmjow’s backside. He only answered when the other man set both their mugs back on the table. “I…guess, a little. Basically, he tried to get me to work for him. Without really disclosing all the details of the job or how dangerous it was. Kisuke was pissed when he found out.” He rolled his shoulders. “Really, I was fifteen and stupid and eager to make a buck. I took a job, because I figured Kisuke was overreacting, I figured I was fine. Shunsui didn’t do much for teaching me, he figured I should be able to do most of it because I was learning with Kisuke, and I was too naïve to actually realize that I didn’t know everything. I ended up in a coma in the hospital for four months.”

“Fuck. That’s awful,” Grimmjow murmured as Ichigo paused to drink some more. Ichigo nodded.

“Yeah…I wasn’t there when Kisuke confronted him, of course, but I heard he almost killed him.” He ran a hand through his orange hair and scratched his scalp a little. “And that pretty much ended all our contact with Shunsui up until recently.”

Grimmjow leveled him with a look. “And you think it’s a good idea now to do work for him? What changed?”

Ichigo sighed. “It’s not so much that it’s a ‘good idea’, as it is necessary. I’m older now, I’ve got the skillset and the proper teaching. And I’m the only one he can ask to help. It’s not so much for him as it is for Aunty Retsu, anyway.” Ichigo made sure to use her casual name rather than ‘Unohana’. Grimmjow seemed like a nice guy, but he could never be certain what would come up in conversations others had, and he really, really didn’t need his target getting any wind of the job.

“She his wife?”

Ichigo was in the middle of drinking his tea when Grimmjow dropped that question. He coughed and spluttered a laugh. “Oh fuck no!” he gasped, setting his mug on the table. “I mean, she’d keep him in fucking line if she was, but no…no, ew, that would…ugh. No. She’s another friend of Kisuke’s.”

“Hm.” Grimmjow sipped his tea again. Ichigo propped his face up with his palm, leaning more onto the table. He kept his eyes glued to the amber liquid in his cup, since Grimmjow’s piercing gaze felt as though the other man could see every secret if he kept looking in his eyes. “This job is dangerous then?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo didn’t dare lie about that part. Besides, it’s not like his was the only job in the world with risks.

“…be safe, then…” The words were quiet, barely there. But Ichigo heard them. He looked up and met the other’s serious stare.

Ichigo smirked. “Aw, worried about me?”

“Of course I am, idiot. You’re the first friend I’ve made here. Actually, first one I’ve made in years,” Grimmjow muttered into his cup as he turned his face away. He took a long sip, cheeks burning pink.

Friend. The word tugged at Ichigo’s heart, unleashing a barrel of mixed emotions. On the one hand, a warm feeling, recognition that Grimmjow thought of him as more than just ‘a neighbour’, the comfort of having someone he could go to and hang out with outside the little family he’d found himself. On the other, a brief but sharp sting, the worry that this might be all there ever is, that maybe ‘friend’ is all that Grimmjow would ever be willing to associate with him. Ichigo shoved those worries down. I should be grateful he thinks of me as a friend. Especially when I’m keeping so many secrets from him, and he knows I am. He closed his eyes and let the warm scent of the tea seep into his body, surrounding him and bringing him comfort. “Friends, huh?” he murmured. “Friends are good.” It was more to convince himself than anything, but Grimmjow overheard.

“Yeah. I mean, I guess? Like I said, haven’t had many,” he replied in a nonchalant voice. Ichigo gave a non-committal hum.

“They are. Especially nice when it’s someone outside your family, someone you can talk to,” he replied, opening his eyes. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, though, and he had to blink a few times before his eyes would focus on the man in front of him.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “You’re looking pretty played out…are you sure you’re good to go home?”

“Hmm? It’s right next door,” Ichigo mumbled, moving to stand. He managed to get upright, but then swayed and stumbled back onto the chair. “Oh damn. More tired’n’I thought.” Grimmjow’s expression morphed from amusement to concern.

“Shit. Don’t try and walk home, ok? You can crash here on the couch if you want, alright?” He stood up and helped Ichigo stand again. “I’ll help you there. Come on.” Ichigo steadied himself on Grimmjow as they walked into the living room. The couch looked incredibly inviting and soft.

Laying on the couch was like sinking into a deep dark warmth. He thought he heard a distant yelp and someone saying ‘wait let go’, but that had to be someone else’s problem. He was tired, too tired to do much of anything let alone help. The inky darkness surrounded him, caressed him, and enveloped him in a gentle warmth and firm embrace. Ichigo gladly let it carry him off to sleep.

***

Grimmjow helped Ichigo to the couch. It wasn’t overly big, and didn’t really look all that comfortable, compared to a bed, but it would do. He eased his friend onto the cushions, then made to move away. But the arms that had been using him as a stabilizer tightened around him and dragged him down. Grimmjow yelped.

“Wait! Let go!” he hissed, but Ichigo didn’t seem to hear him. Grimmjow hesitated to be any louder, lest he wake Nel. Not that she would be angry. But he would never live down the teasing if she saw him like this with their neighbour, especially since she knew all about his crush. His only hope was to extract himself carefully…

…he hadn’t counted on Ichigo being quite so strong. Like, he knew the other man could lift his fair share, had seen him carry things most people would need a partner to handle, but overpowering Grimmjow and trapping him in a hug? In his sleep, of all things? Grimmjow grumbled under his breath as all his attempts to wriggle away were thwarted by a completely oblivious, sleeping, handsome idiot. With all his efforts proving futile, Grimmjow gave in and opted to simply lie there, held firmly on top of Ichigo. He couldn’t see the other man’s face, as his own face was turned to the back of the couch, head resting on Ichigo’s chest, listening to his rhythmic breathing and the gentle thumping of his heart. Their legs were entangled, and Grimmjow tried not to dwell too much on that fact, his face burning. He clenched and unclenched his hands before softly, hesitantly, moving them upward, behind Ichigo, wrapping around his torso slightly.

Why did I call him a ‘friend’? This isn’t how friends react, Grimmjow thought to himself. He was wide awake, and with no reprieve in sight, his mind decided to wander down what had become now an all-too-familiar path over the past couple of months. Dammit. Why can’t I just make the words come out right?

Ichigo’s arms tightened around him briefly, then relaxed slightly, but not enough to let Grimmjow actually worm his way out. Are you even sure he likes you, though? The thought crept into his mind unbidden, for what had to be the millionth time that week. Are you sure Jinta wasn’t lying? Are you sure anyone at all would like you?

Grimmjow grit his teeth and unconsciously tightened his grip on the other man. He only realized how tense he was when he heard a sleepy “…’s tight,” mumbled above him. He relaxed instantly, fear catching in his heart, convinced Ichigo would wake up that instant, throw him off of him, call him a freak, and storm out of the house. He waited for his inevitable fate…one…two…three…

…and nothing happened. There was a soft sigh, and Ichigo’s breathing resumed its steady rate. He hadn’t been fully awake, then. Grimmjow couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. He sighed and resigned himself to being stuck there for now. He might as well try and get some rest if he was going to have to face the rude awakening of the morning. So he closed his eyes and drifted off.

[artisqueer]

RetroBangBoy AU - The Hangover (ao3)

Notes: 

hang·o·ver /ˈhaNGˌōvər/ noun 1. a thing that has survived from the past. Example: "a hangover from the fifties" 2. a severe headache or other after-effects caused by an excessive intake of alcohol or drugs

Characters: OT7

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol.

Jungkook wakes up parched, hungry, and with a pounding in his head. He pushes the covers off his face and down his chest. His long fluffy hair standing from the static of the sheets. He stretches out his arms above his head, dragging out a groggy yawn. It feels like he’s just woken up from a century-long nap. He looks up past his hands outstretched in the air. The posters above his bed are the same. He looks down, past his bare feet at the bottom of the bed. His drum set, books, and gadgets are all in their place too.

Huh…what year is it?

A heavy thump on the other side of the wall startles him out of bed. The crash is immediately followed by a low moan. Jungkook dashes out to the hall where Yoongi is already standing at the entrance of the bedroom next door. His eldest roommate chuckles behind a mug of coffee, head tilted 90 degrees to the side. Jungkook peers inside the room to see the source of the ruckus, his round head naturally tilts to the side as well. They both stand in the doorway, observing their housemate, Namjoon.

On the floor, upside down, legs folded over his shoulders.

“Where are we?” he asks as he looks up at them from between his thighs.

Yoongi shuffles back to the kitchen, holding his head in pain. “It looks like we’re not in Jeju anymore…” His voice is raspy and deep.

***

Jungkook’s round eyes bounce back and forth across their house, looking for clues to explain their current predicament. His head is throbbing with pain too. He suddenly remembers his thirst and runs to the kitchen for water.

Once Namjoon has restored himself to a perpendicular position, he joins them in the kitchen too.

“Why does my head hurt? Did we get shit-faced last night?” Jungkook groans into the kitchen counter.

“I can’t remember,” Yoongi grimaces between gulps of coffee.

“Is it a week-day? We have never gone out on a school night… I would never go out on a school night!” Namjoon folds his thick arms across his chest and blinks. “I’m so hungry.”

Jungkook turns away from the sink and his eyes pop at the sight. A whole ass meal, complaining about the lack of a meal...in the kitchen of all places. pls.

“Me too. We better go out for food. There’s nothing to eat here.” Yoongi says with very little energy.

“How can that be? I always stock up on groceries!” Namjoon frantically checks the cabinets and cupboards, finding them all bare.

“What the hell did we do?” The two eldest housemates look at one another, dumbfounded. Jungkook leans into the kitchen wall, aggressively chewing on his thumb. He's nervous, eyes big and wide. He opens his mouth to speak when the phone rings.

Ring ring ring.

Namjoon answers it, rather desperately. “Hello?”

“Good, you’re home.” The voice on the other end breathes out a sigh of relief. “It’s me. Taehyung. Emergency meeting. Your place. Now!”

***

“So, we’re all blacked out from yesterday. We have the worst hangover of our lives. And Bighead and Jin are missing…” Jungkook repeats as he paces back and forth the living room.

Hoseok enters the breakfast nook and sets down an extra-large pan of sunny side eggs and sausage. He steps back before the starved men wipe it clean.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re all so hungry today,” Hoseok scorns them as a smile grows on his lips. He’s thrilled that he finally gets to cook for them. Jin normally does all the cooking.

“You’re not going to eat?” Jimin asks him from behind a mouth full of food.

“I just don’t feel hungry,” Hoseok shrugs. He wipes his hands on his apron. “I brought us enough groceries to last through the week, so eat well.” Oddly, Hoseok has more energy than everyone in the room put together.

Taehyung speaks from the head of the table. “Guys, we’re not all blacked out—which is why I called everyone here..."

They look up at him from their plates, still eating like the food will be taken away if they stop.

"I remember everything.”

Jungkook interrupts. “Wait. Has anyone checked the date?!” He wiggles out of his chair and nearly trips running to the front porch, where the Sunday paper should be.

Having just eaten to the brim, Yoongi yawns and casually turns on the TV set, out of habit. The display does something completely new. Huh, TVs don't have color? Jimin and Hoseok are most mesmerized by this, moving to sit at the foot of the screen as a Coca-Cola commercial plays:

It's more than taste,

Bigger than a name,

As big as your best times,

As good as your best friends,

As real as the way you feel…

Jungkook runs back with the newspaper all spread out into disarray like his long dark hair. “Um…guys?”

There’s a long pause in the room.

“We’re not in the fifties anymore…”

What—

Their wide eyes look from him to the television and back. There’s only one thing that could mean coming from Jungkook…and it’s not good.

“We, uh, must’ve jumped twenty-seven years into the future,” he scratches the back of his round head. “It’s...1985.”

Taehyung clears his throat. “You guys will need to sit down for this. I can explain.”

***

They gather in the living room. Namjoon and Yoongi take up the couch, Jungkook sits on the floor between them, and Hoseok and Jimin share the love seat.

Taehyung’s knack for taking pictures and love for journalism make him a natural storyteller. His fine hands sway in the air as he talks. “You all have varying degrees of memory loss. For some very strange reason, I can remember everything that’s happened to us in the last 48 hours.”

Tae recounts their field trip and the events leading up to the portal inside the Manjjanggul Lava tube. How Jin wanted to hide the portal from the lab, Heaven Inc., but Jungkook wanted to destroy it. How Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, and Yoongi stormed the cave clearing as Jungkook was opening the portal gate. How Namjoon and Jin fought each other as the cave collapsed. And most importantly, how they were all unexpectedly pulled into the warp after Jungkook. All, except Jin and their beloved Bighead.

Their memories start coming back to them, piece by piece. Oddly, it’s as though only Taehyung could trigger their recollections.

“I don’t understand.” Namjoon finds his glasses and puts them on. Suddenly, he looks more like a professor than a biker. Big-tiddied mathematician. “Why is Taehyung the only one who remembers what happened?”

Taehyung thinks for a moment before an unusual blush forms at his cheeks. “Probably ‘cause I appreciate art. So, I remembered.”

“Uhm, ok. And why doesn’t Hoseok have hangover symptoms like the rest of us?” Yoongi crosses his arms, which seemingly grew thicker in the micro-span of the jump.

Hoseok vibrates from his place next to Jimin. His bright smile radiating through the room. “Ooh, I know I know. ‘Cause I’m your hope! Everyone was totally beat, but I could give you my energy. Like sunshine to a dying plant or light at the end of a dark tunnel or a—”

“—mOtH tO a FlAmE,” the rest mock. Apparently, no one forgot Hoseok’s notorious house party pick-up lines. They all laugh.

Could this be? Do some of the jocks have certain abilities now? What about the bikers?

“We have another problem: where is Sweetcheeks, and Seokjin?” Taehyung seems frustrated.

“And another problem: why did we all get warped with Jungkook in the first place?” Jimin pouts. “What about our families, and my—”

“—Cat! Your cat! Cats have nine lives. For three they play, for three they stray and for the last three, they stay. Why...did I just say that? It feels so familiar, so stran—” Yoongi stops talking out loud, resorting to mumbling to himself instead. He quickly grabs the paper from Jungkook and begins searching it for something.

The others continue to talk over each other, flooded with their worries and bits of things they’re starting to remember. The upcoming homecoming game, the unattended house parties, mourning parents, exams, etc.

“Quiet!” Namjoon’s clear and booming voice silences the room.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook fiddles with his tattooed fingers. “I-I don’t know why I dragged you all here with me. That’s what I have to figure out. I will figure it out. I promise. I’m worried too. If Bighead and Jin didn’t get warped here with us, maybe they, they ended up in a different d—” they sit in silence, thinking the worst.

“No no, that can’t be,” Namjoon reassures. “Given everyone’s memory lapse and their expert recklessness, they may have just wandered off.”

“We have to go back,” Jungkook says. “We have to go back to 1958.”

“How? We’re stuck here,” Yoongi deadpans, his nose still in the paper.

“Actually,” Jimin recalls, “on my way over here I stopped by the coffee shop…and um…well my boss didn’t recognize me at all. He didn’t even know my name.” Jimin’s worries grow. It’s unlike Jimin to walk down the street without a single greeting. He is—was—very popular.

“It's starting to make sense...” Jungkook says under his breath.

“What does, Jungkook.” Namjoon’s jaw does the thing.

“People don’t recognize us in this place because,” he pauses, “because we’re not from here. I don’t mean this town, I mean, this dimension.”

Namjoon presses a finger to his lips, thinking.

“We should pick new names and find temporary jobs. To blend in. We can't go back to school, we don't have identification. We need the money anyway,” Yoongi advises, “to support ourselves while Jungkook figures out a way back.” Yoongi seems to have become incredibly wiser after the jump. He peels the paper apart, pen in hand, circling jobs from the employment section. He looks up from the paper again. “How did I know to say that?”

“Whoa, are you like, a genius now?” Jimin sasses, as much to tease him as to distract from the impending doom that is being stuck in the future.

“No.” Yoongi scoffs, withholding a severe blush. “It’s like I’ve read all the books at the library, and lived nine lives since we left 1958. I just, know things.”

Namjoon nods in agreement. “It’s the best plan we’ve got. If twenty-seven years have passed since our “disappearance”, then our sudden re-emergence could bring unwanted attention, or worse…”

“Could someone still be looking for us after all years?” Jimin asks Tae. Hoseok instantly understands and wraps him in a comforting embrace.

“We need to sort this out as quietly as possible. Let’s keep low profiles until we figure out a way to get back to 1958. I don’t want us to get tangled in loose ends.” Namjoon sighs somberly. Being the leader of the biker gang has made him a suitable leader for whatever mish-mosh-of-a-gang this is now. “We’re in a different dimension and we don’t entirely know what that means. It could be dangerous, but as long as we stick together we will be okay. My priority is to keep us all safe.”

At this declaration, all eyes sparkle. Especially, Jungkook’s.

“I got us here, Joon. You can trust me to find us a way home,” Jungkook gets up from the floor, making for the door.

“Stop!” Jimin interrupts. “We can’t go out dressed like this.”

They look down at their clothes. They are still in their 50s outfits.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Yoongi puts down the paper and pouts.

Hoseok pounces off the sofa, “YES! New clothes…get up get up! We’re off to the mall!” He tosses his apron aside and leads them out the front door. Namjoon and Yoongi groan, dragging their feet toward the back of the group.

Jungkook smiles ear to ear. Maybe the world is not quite right, but everything he truly wants is right here with him.

[skellebonez]

I just finished reading the messages from Discord and I couldn't resist. Macaque and Pigsy with 8 and 26 (you know what this is about)

I had to write this ASAP so I wouldn't forget or be unable to find exactly what this was about again for reference because this is about something from 3 days ago (and if I hadn’t bumped this it wouldn’t have been written for like 4-5 more days because of my queue)! What's the context here? It's a surprise if you don't know, just read the fill and you will understand why it needed written. Shout out to @animemoonprincess because you know why (and also because a chunk of the dialogue came from you).

I know of your reputation all too well./You don’t hate me.

"You cannot be serious," Macaque muttered under his breath. "You truly cannot be serious. This cannot be a thing that is happening to me at this very moment... I am an immortal being, I almost defeated the Monkey King, I almost defeated your kid, I-!”

“I know of your reputation all too well,” Pigsy brushed off with a scowl as he looked at the two items in his hands to, once again, decide which one was of higher quality and therefore more worthy of a purchase. “Believe me, I didn’t jump into this without knowing what I was getting into, bub.”

Macaque, Six Eared Macaque, was standing in a department store of some kind with his arms bogged down with baskets of all the stuff he had mistakenly allowed himself to look at and react to.

He would ask how, exactly, he had allowed himself to get to this point... But quite frankly he had absolutely no idea. One day he had come back after his, admittedly, crushing defeat at the hands of the Monkie Kid himself and before he knew it he had somehow assimilated into their little group to the point that MK had used his True Sight on him by accident and discovered his little secret.

His Six Eared title was not just a title. It was literal. And his six ears changed colors depending on how he felt and Macaque had never learned how to control that.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out exactly what each of the colors meant. And eventually MK, much more conniving than Macaque had ever given him credit for before, had made a chart. It was basic, of course, red meant he was angry (or really passionate) and blue meant he was happy and grey meant he was sad and so on and so forth. Even figured out what the number of ears sharing the same color meant.

And despite Macaque's best efforts to hide how he was actually starting to feel about the group (more positive emotions than he would ever admit before the day he died again) MK would just look at him sometimes and announce it. Macaque would have been angry if he hadn't, you know... tried to kill the kid. He supposed that the occasional "oh yeah, he looks pissed but he's actually at 2 purple (relaxed) and 2 blue (happy) and 2 pink (love) so I think loved that soup Pigsy" was well deserved.

Eventually he just dropped the glamor hiding his ears (one of many, including the one hiding his damaged eye) and then things spiraled out of control because MK had, at least, never announced when he was feeling genuinely bad unless he had to.

Now everyone could see when his ears went black and grey (upset and sad in varying degrees) at the sight of Monkey King's visage on TV or the taste of something that he had memories of that he could no longer reach. They saw when some would turn yellow (fear) hearing MK yelp in pain (and the fact that happened now, fear for the kid's safety, boggled his mind). They saw the green of jealousy more than once when he watched MK and Monkey King interact. He made sure to leave before that happened again.

That very morning before he and Wukong had attempted to talk. It hadn't... gone well. He had attempted to hide his mood, put the glamor back up, but MK had done what he had only done a handful of times before. He'd gone to Pigsy and told him his (what they had deemed) color rating. 2 red, 3 black, 1 grey. And that sounded about right to him. He wasn't really angry, just... upset. He wanted to be left alone.

Pigsy had followed him to his dojo with hot soup and an air mattress and somehow... somehow that helped. He didn't know why it did, but it helped.

And then he was awoken this morning to Pigsy shaking him awake and dragging him to this store and he was buying literally everything Mac made the mistake of looking at and liking and it was actually kind of endearing but also worrying.

Speaking of which, Pigsy was holding up a little plush doll. Not all that dissimilar to the one MK had. "Do you want this?"

"What? No," Macaque snapped, raising his eyebrows at the suggestion. Yes it was cute, but-

"Hm, I see," Pigsy said vaguely, tossing it on the pile of random stuff in Macaque's arms.

"Wh- stop wasting your money!" Macaque tried to argue, pulling the plush doll out of the pile of useless trinkets he didn't need to toss it back to the pig demon.

Pigsy growled, shoving the plushie into Macaque's arms. "I'm not wasting it if its making you happy am I?"

"H-HAPPY?" Macaque asked, and if anyone said anything he would deny the squeak that came with his word. "I-You-I am starting to hate you!"

“You don’t hate me,” Pigsy retorted casually, as easily as if he had added a dash more spice to his soup broth after a quick taste.

And Macaque had to pause and admit to himself after a moment of self reflection, and looking at his literal reflection in a nearby window (2 purple, 2 blue, 2 pink)... no. He didn’t hate Pigsy.

Huh.

----------

"Kid help, your boss is crazy," Macaque attempted to announce when he "broke into" MK's apartment through the front door, arms still bogged down with all the stuff the chef had purchased for him. He needed somewhere to store his stuff while he fixed up his old dojo. "He-"

"I see Pigsy has adopted you too."

"He's wHAT?"

----------

Macaque had tossed all the clothes and plush toys and trinkets at MK, who made no secret that he was very offended by this, before rushing down to the closed noodle shop where he had left him.

"Pigsy you can't adopt me, I'm older than you and I don't legally exist!" He yelled, grabbing the pig demon by the shoulders and looking at him very seriously.

Pigsy just smirked back at him. "Wanna bet I can't? I have Wukong's lawyer on speed dial."

Well shit.