#was real and read it live on tv - then the another was like 'uh that's fake'

[sakuhina]

the prime minister of portugal might get arrested hello

[vasquez-rocks]

i know most ppl haven’t seen it yet but wanted to write something abt how annoyed some of the critical discourse abt I Saw the TV Glow is making me. MAJOR SPOILERS below the break, be warned!!

so idk i’ve seen so many reviews of the film positing that it’s about the dangers of obsessive fandom and overidentification with fictional characters, esp vis a vis real life self-actualization/coming out. (like, essentially every review has some of this in it, from what i’ve seen.) and, like: i don’t think that’s wrong, but i also think it’s massively underselling what schoenbrun is doing here. the metaphor of the show’s bleed-over is so smart because works in both directions at once.

like, in one direction: when maddy asks owen to come into the show by burying himself alive, you can read it as her asking him to abandon his real-life responsibilities, and the material facts of his real life body, in favor of a fantasy life where everything is already fixed. she’s inviting him to skip over the hard, messy work of transitioning and to sink even deeper into the analgesic obsessions he uses to numb his dysphoria. in this interpretation, it’s, like, the equivalent of overprioritizing “transition goals” instead of actually medically/legally/socially transitioning if that’s what you want, living forever in the ideal instead of taking difficult steps to change the material. (also, uh, if you don’t think she’s literally correct about the nature of reality, she is in fact asking him to kill himself. there’s that.)

BUT! it also works the other way. when maddy tells owen that the show is real, that their lives are just the buried dreams of dying girls in another life, she terrifies him by confronting him with something he’s always known about himself: he was supposed to be a girl. what she proposes is radical, dangerous, seemingly unhinged, and based on a childish fixation: all the things scared closeted trans people worry transition is, basically. on a more figurative level, too, the feeling she’s telling owen is real – that his real life is just a dream within a dream, that his home is not his home, that he belongs somewhere else, that he is supposed to be SOMEONE else – is something so, so, so many closeted trans people have felt before, myself so much included. when he sobs in the shower, yelling “this isn’t my home!” at his dad, i felt a sense of identification stronger than i’ve almost ever gotten from art before. when maddy finally calls him isabel, it’s the gentlest thing i can imagine.

in this read – which i do love, while thinking the other one is simultaneously true – it’s less “come sink deeper into delusion with me instead of dealing with your own life” and more “it’s going to be terrifying, but that childish dream of being a girl you once held wasn’t childish, and it can be real if you’re courageous enough.” he says he runs away from the football field because he thinks maddy’s not mentally well; it takes very little analysis of subtext to figure out he’s running away because he’s afraid of how much he wants what she’s offering. and, of course, the idea of the visible world being an illusion laid atop the world in which one is one’s truest self is a classic trope of trans cinema going all the way back to the matrix. (also: while i’m pretty death-of-the-author-pilled in most media analysis, it kinda seems like schoenbrun themself has interpreted the film in this way, as they’ve spoken at length in interviews about how, to them, transition felt like asking to be buried alive.)

all of which is to say: i think the film IS commenting on fandom, obsession, overidentification, and the ease with which queer people can sink into art as a way to dissociate from real life. but i think it makes the film so much more cynical and so much less tender to treat it as the ONLY read of the film’s relationship with the pink opaque. art, especially the sort of slow, metaphor-laden art schoenbrun makes, is best when it is complex and productively contradictory. the pink opaque is a problem, and an escape, and a fantasy, and it’s real, and one day isabel is going to wake up.

[love-belle]

paper rings !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she would say yes, even with paper rings.

or

for when you're certain that they're your person. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au irl // lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - one of the cutest things i have ever written, loved this request!! i hope you like it, i love you, thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

"hey, baby."

"hey," lewis mumbled, not sparing y/n a single glance as he continued to watch a random episode of modern family.

"how was your night?" y/n continued to make conversation with him, removing her high heels and discarding her handbag. she walked towards where he was at and kissed the top of his head before petting roscoe a few times. "sorry, there was traffic and then i had to drop aaliyah at her boyfriend's place cause she got too drunk to drive."

"'s okay," was all lewis said, making y/n frown as she turned back to look at him. he was still watching the tv, his head thrown back against the back of the couch with roscoe next to him.

"uh — i'll be right back, i need to change," y/n spoke, her confusion only growing as her fiancé gave no reply, not even a slight hum as an indication that he had heard her.

moving towards their bedroom, y/n could feel herself grow more confused, thinking of all of the possible reasons as to why lewis would be so short and distant with her.

maybe he was just having a bad day? maybe he was just tired? was he sick? did i do something? another rumour of me hooking up with my best friend? he found out i broke his favourite vase?

her mind swarming with plausible to way-too-ridiculous reasons, she didn't even notice her changing her own clothes until she was left staring at the heap that was her dress by her feet. picking it up and throwing it on the bed, she made her way towards the living room, hoping that maybe she just imagined it. that it was just ber overthinking mind that over analysed a situation.

"hey," y/n spoke again, walking around to the couch to the front of it. sensing that she wanted to sit here, roscoe stood up and moved a bit, just enough so that y/n could scoot in and then laid back, this time on her. "hey," lewis replied, his eyes flickering to her before he focused again on the show in front of him.

okay so, maybe she didn't imagine it.

"what are we watching?" y/n questioned, scratching behind roscoe's ears, desperate to make a conversation with him, seeing him for the first time since this afternoon.

"modern family," lewis sighed exasperated and as much as y/n hated to admit it, it made her feel like he didn't want her there at the moment. sure, he may have had his reasons but it didn't feel exactly good, noticing that her fiancé didn't wanna be around her at the moment.

as long as she's been with lewis, almost seven years, they've always communicated with each other. from the smallest of things like when y/n told lewis that she hated his choice of carpet for their living room to the biggest and the most important stuff like when lewis talked to y/n about wanting to wait until after they were married to have kids.

and the best thing about this was the other always understood. lewis understood that yeah, bright pink did clash with the warm and pastel tones of their home and y/n did understand that waiting until they were fully settled down was the best option.

and now, watching him not talk to her when there was obviously something bothering him was a bit confusing but still, she knew it was best to give him some space.

"uh — i'll be in the bedroom," y/n spoke, her voice just barely above a whisper and she knew he heard her because of the way his face changed and the way he turned to look at her with the slightest bit of confusion showing in his eyes. "it's been a long night and i just really want to sleep."

"okay," lewis whispered back and gave her a small smile, the most reaction she'd been able to get out of him since she came home.

"good night," y/n stood up, kissing roscoe's on the head before she turned toward lewis, who was watching his with an unreasonable look on his face. "good night, baby, i love you."

she barely heard an 'i love you' back before she was walking away from the couch and towards their bedroom. closing the door behind her, she picked up her dress from the bed and placed it on the chair by the dressing table, making a mental note to take it to the dry cleaners. after looking at herself one more time in the mirror and removing whatever was left of her makeup, she was in bed, covers drawn up to her chest.

y/n didn't know how long she laid there for, moving in and out of sleep. her mind was still stuck on lewis like a broken record, wondering what had happened while she was out. in the midst of her analysis, she didn't hear the footsteps approach the door until the person was right in front of it and the handle twisted and y/n quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep just so he wouldn't question her about what she was doing.

the door opened and closed and the soft patter of footsteps could be heard.

there was silence for a full minute before lewis got in next to her, the sheet rustling. for the first five minutes, he stayed on his own side and y/n had to resist the urge to pull him closer to her, finding it hard to sleep when he was not holding her. then, he turned towards her and y/n had a feeling he was starting at her, finding it harder and harder to not let her expression change. she could feel movement next to her and ruled it out as lewis getting comfortable until a hand moved to lay across her abdomen and pulled her closer.

she heard lewis inhale deeply, his head moving to lay in the crook of her neck. she could feel his warm breath on the exposed part of her collarbone, feeling the goosebumps rise on her skin. she shifted against him, her hand moving to hold him closer.

they stayed like that for what felt like mere minutes, their breathing the only sound in the room along with the ticking of the clock with each passing second. y/n figured lewis fell asleep, with how even his breathing was and she was about to move to get a bit more comfortable when he spoke.

"i'm sorry," his voice was quiet in the room, his thumb tracing circles on her stomach where her tank top had risen up slightly. "for ignoring you, kind of and being distant. i know you don't like it."

"it's okay, lew. i just want you to be able to talk to me, whenever you feel like," y/n assured him, kissing the top of his head.

"it's a stupid thing, really," lewis chuckled half heartedly, his body vibrating against hers. "don't even worry about it."

"i always worry about it when it comes to you, you know that," y/n reminded him, making him look at her. "and it's not stupid if it bothers you. what is it, love?"

"it's just that — " lewis stopped before he could continue, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "you weren't wearing your engagement ring, when you were out with your friends and then that post you posted on your instagram, people took notice of that and they were all like 'why isn't she wearing her ring' and 'did they break up' and there were some hate comments too. i reported them, by the way. and then, i don't know, i just kinda got into too much overthinking and just made myself upset over nothing and i ignored you and you went back when it was so clear you just wanted to talk to me and i feel — "

he was interrupted by a kiss.

y/n kissed in the middle of his rambling, pulling him closer with the front of his t-shirt while one of her hands rested on his cheek. a surprised noise left lewis' mouth before he melted into the kiss, tilting his head so that he could deepen the kiss.

y/n pulled away, making lewis chase her lips once again and she gave him another soft kiss before pulling back fully and looking at him with a soft smile.

"do you not like the ring?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth, making y/n furrow her eyebrows.

"what?"

"do you not like the ring?" lewis repeated himself, sitting up slightly. "because if so, i can get you another one and this time you can come with me. i chose that one all by myself and i wasn't even really sure about it being 'you' because your style literally changes every week and i can totally understand if you don't like it like — that's totally valid and i'm sure — "

"oh, my god," y/n sat up straight, folding legs under her as she looked at her fiancé. "you think i don't like the ring?"

"... yeah."

"lewis," y/n dragged out the 's', standing up from the bed and rapidly moving towards her dresser, opening a small box and pulling out her ring, her engagement ring. "this the most beautiful ring i have ever seen in my life."

and it was, really. it had intricate patterns throughout the band, with a giant diamond sitting in the middle with several diamonds surrounding it. and what made it even more special was the fact that lewis had his initials, along with hers engraved on the inside of the ring. that's what made y/n fall in love with it.

"really?" lewis asked hopefully from the bed, watching her make her towards his side of the bed. she sat down next to him and took his hand in hers, the ring still clutched in her free hand.

"but that ring is not the reason i said yes, you know that, right? like, you could ask me to marry you with a ring made out of tissue paper and foil and i would still end up saying yes," y/n whispered, leaning in closer and placing a soft kiss on his lips before she gave him the ring and put out her hand for him to slide it on. "as long as it's you asking me that damn question."

lewis chuckled, sliding on the ring onto her ring finger and kissing it. he looked at her, the smile being so genuine that it shone in his eyes and y/n could see him being in love and she knew she was no different from him.

"marry me, will you?" lewis asked again, in the empty room with no one, no shining lights, no crowd standing there applauding, no extravagant arrangement of flowers, just them, a total contrast to when he had first asked the question. even though the answer was already yes, he couldn't help but ask. just so he could hear it one more time.

"only because you asked so nicely," y/n teased him, making lewis chuckle before he leaned in, closing the gap between them.

no shining lights, no crowd standing there applauding, no extravagant arrangement of flowers, just them.

yet, somehow, this managed to be even more special than that one.

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

y/n wasn't there when lewis woke up, just a post it note, along with a small box on her side of the bed saying that she was called to her office a bit early and wouldn't be home until late afternoon.

lewis smiled as he looked at the numerous hearts drawn on the note. he kept the note aside, mentally noting that he would have to add it to his collection of notes he had received from y/n throughout the course of their relationship. he took the box and opened it, his face scrunched up in confusion before he smiled, a laugh leaving him as he took out the contents of the box.

it was a paper ring.

the most simple thing yet he knew he would choose this over a million something diamond ring. a small heart on the top with the ridges along the band, it was perfect.

there was another note attached to it, just one simple line and it had lewis smiling for the rest of the day

'i like shiny things but i'd marry u with paper rings ♡'

yeah, he made the right choice marrying her.

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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yourusername i like shiny things but i'd marry you with paper rings 💌

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[ckret2]

Chapter 22 of human Bill's still putting up with being the Mystery Shack's prisoner (title tbd), featuring: Dipper's having nightmares about his spirit floating out of his body, just like the Bipper incident. (He's very sure they're only nightmares.) And Bill, kind and generous muse that he is, would love to help, and definitely isn't offering for secret evil reasons. After all, how could a dream demon benefit from telling his enemies how to control their dreams?

Even though Dipper already knew, intellectually, that dreaming about Bill didn't mean Bill was in his dreams, getting immediate physical proof was a relief. Any time he had another nightmare, all he had to do was get out of bed, go find Bill—sleeping, drinking, reading, meditating, watching TV, staring out a window—and see for himself that there was no way Bill could have been in his head.

So tonight, when he "woke" into another Bipper nightmare, his first instinct was to go gripe at Bill about it.

He'd floated through the bedroom door and hovered halfway down the stairs before he remembered that since he was currently having the Bipper Nightmare, dreaming that he was floating ghostlike outside his body, it meant he wasn't actually awake and he couldn't gripe at the real Bill; but then he decided maybe he'd feel better if he ranted at dream Bill anyway.

The TV glowed from the living room. At this time of night, it could be Abuelita or Bill. Dipper's spectral socked feet settled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward the sofa—and froze.

Sitting on the sofa, legs curled feet-on-thighs in lotus position, was Bill—and he was surrounded by a brilliant light, yellow-golden against the dream fog gray. Like the halo of sunlight around an eclipse, or like a radioactive mass close enough to melt your eyes, or like an explosion rushing closer. The light danced around Bill like solar flares. Dipper had to squint his eyes against the light.

"Whoa," Dipper said.

The light dimmed to a faint yellow aura as Bill turned toward him. Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin, except that he was already out of his skin. Bill said, "'Whoa' what?"

No one ever saw Dipper during his Bipper nightmares. (But then, he supposed, it made sense if he dreamed that Bill could see him, didn't it? Since he'd been the only one able to see Dipper after he stole his body.) Dipper gestured vaguely at Bill. "You're, uh. Glowing."

"Aw, flattering." Bill laughed. "You look like a zombie trying to figure out if he wants to return to the land of the living. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Ha ha," Dipper said flatly.

"What, another nightmare? Are you here to tell me how your subconscious is my responsibility again?"

"Shut up." Imaginary dream Bill was just as annoying as the real one; but Dipper decided he'd feel pretty dumb for yelling at "Bill" for invading Dipper's dream while Dipper was still dreaming. (Maybe Dipper's subconscious mind was using the form of a snarky Bill to tell Dipper that he needed to seize control of his dreams rather than blame somebody else for them? That Bill might have caused Dipper's recurring nightmares, but only Dipper could do the work to end them? Huh. He'd look into that when he woke up.)

His gaze drifted to the television, which was displaying a man hunched over a bizarrely-angled desk in a black-and-white movie. (He could somehow tell it was black and white, even though colors were already muted and grayish during his Bipper nightmares.) It was like seeing a dream within a dream. "What are you watching?"

"The Counterfeit of Dr. Calligraphy," Bill said. "A hypnotist sends letters to a sleepwalker that have subliminal messages concealed in the handwriting. He brainwashes the sleepwalker into making fake money in his sleep. It's a comedy."

It didn't look very comedic. Dipper wondered how he'd dreamed this plot up. Anxiety about waking up from one dream into another dream, combined with memories of counterfeiting money last summer?

He leaned against the doorframe and watched the movie long enough to confirm it was not, in fact, a comedy, but rather some kind of gloomy noir-ish silent film; then sighed in boredom. His subconscious couldn't even imagine up a fun movie. "I'm going back to my body," he muttered, pushing off the ground and hovering back up the stairs.

Bill, eyes half-lidded, didn't look up from the screen as he sleepily muttered, "Mmkay."

It took a long moment before he said, "You're going to your what?" He leaned out of the living room and looked up the stairs; but Dipper was long gone.

Maybe he'd misheard "bed." He settled back in front of the TV; but he wasn't paying attention to the movie now.

####

"You look exhausted," Mabel said, ruffling Dipper's messy hair with both hands. "Did you stay up late reading again?"

"No," Dipper groaned. "I just slept badly. I had another Bipper nightmare. I dreamed about Bill making fun of me and watching a boring movie."

"Aw, Dipper. I'm sorry," Mabel said sympathetically. She fixed her headband for the day in the bedroom mirror and pulled on her shoes. "I dreamed about a car race where all the drivers are kittens!"

"Oh yeah?"

"It was really intense! Two of the cars crashed," Mabel said. "Everyone was okay though. The drivers were saved by a firetruck with Dalmatian puppy firefighters!"

When they made it down to the kitchen, Bill was already there, sipping burned coffee with his eyes closed. "Hey, twerps." He peeled one eye open a slit just long enough to figure out which set of twerp footsteps belonged to Mabel, and held his coffee mug in her direction. "Top me off?"

"You got it!" Mabel retrieved her pitcher of Mabel Juice from the fridge, refilled Bill's coffee with it, and poured herself a cup.

"What's today's flavor?"

"Blue!"

"That's exactly what I need." Bill took a deep drink, spat a small plastic horse on the table, and sipped more carefully.

"You look exhausted, too." Mabel poured herself a bowl of cereal and milk. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"I don't have nightmares; nightmares have me," Bill said.

Dipper, the person whose nightmares had Bill, scowled and leaned against the stove to wait for Bill to leave so he could get breakfast.

"But no—I was up late watching a German expressionist cinema marathon," Bill went on. "They don't make 'em like that anymore. Which is good, because I prefer my movies with colors and music; but there's nothing quite like watching five movies in a row about going insane in the middle of the night on twenty-four hours without sleep. Second most likely experience to make you see phantom spiders crawl across you skin." He cracked open an eye again and tried to steal Mabel's cereal. She smacked his hand with her spoon and stole it back.

He dragged himself out of his chair to get some proper food. "Get the fridge?" Mabel opened the door for him. As he rummaged around for something appealing, he glanced back over his shoulder at Dipper. "You missed the punchline, by the way."

Dipper started. "The what?"

"On Dr. Calligraphy," Bill said. "You went back to bed before the ending. The sleepwalker's counterfeits are so good that nobody believes the investigator from the treasury when he says they're fakes. He gets hauled to the looney bin—and then realizes the handwriting in all the letters from his boss is the same as the hypnotist's." Bill laughed. "I told you it was a comedy, didn't I?" He dumped some bagels, squirt cheese, and pickled jalapeños on the kitchen counter, then glanced at Dipper again. "What's with that look? Don't you get it?" He sighed and rolled his open eye. "Okay, so the joke is that both the main character and the audience will never know if he was set up, driven insane, or always insane—"

"I didn't go 'back to bed'," Dipper said, stomach twisting. "I—never got out of bed. I didn't watch a movie last night."

"You didn't," Bill said skeptically. And then, studying Dipper's face, repeated, "You didn't?"

Mabel was staring between Dipper and Bill. To Dipper, she said, "Was... that the boring movie in your dream?"

Dipper didn't reply. He didn't want to say anything with Bill listening—not when he didn't know what Bill knew. Or what Bill might have done. Maybe I just heard the movie from upstairs, Dipper thought—and might have believed, if not for the fact that it was a silent film.

Bill was silent for a long moment—longer than Dipper felt safe with. Like a cat sizing up its prey. "Well, how about that," Bill said. His smile was not reassuring. "Looks like Dr. Calligraphy isn't the only one with a sleepwalker on his hands."

####

"Do I sleepwalk?" Dipper demanded.

Bartholomew stared at him in perfect silence. "You can't tell," he said, "on account of the fact that I can't move; but I just did a confused double-take in my head."

"Do I sleepwalk!" Dipper repeated. "I was—I think I was sleepwalking last night—? If I wasn't sleepwalking, then that means Bill was—was in my head somehow, and I don't know how or what he was doing in there—so either he was in my head or I was somehow downstairs, or—I don't know, maybe I was out of my head—but I really need to know which it was, and Mabel was asleep last night so you're the only one who would know—"

"Dipper," Mabel said, shutting the door behind them. "Hold on. If Bill was doing something in your head, why would he just tell you about it at breakfast by spoiling the end of the movie?"

"I don't know!" Dipper said. "To terrify me? To let me know what he can do?"

"But if we know he can do it, that means we can stop him from doing it," Mabel said. "It doesn't make sense—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bartholomew said. "I wasn't up here last night. I was watching a picture show marathon through the living room vent."

Mabel laughed. "You call them picture shows. You're so old."

"'Move-y' sounds stupid and I'm willing to die on this hill."

"Was I there?" Dipper asked. "Did I come downstairs last night?"

"Yeah, during Dr. Calligraphy," Bartholomew said. "I could hear you talking to Bill. You said he was glowing. Which stood out to me as kind of weird, since he's always glowing." 

Dipper heaved a sigh of relief. "Okay. Great. So I was sleepwalking. That's..." He paused, gave Bartholomew a funny look, and said, "Let's... let's unpack the thing about Bill glowing later."

"Suit yourself."

He looked at Mabel. "I was having a Bipper dream. Do you think I always sleepwalk during those dreams? Maybe that's why they're always about me wandering around at night?"

"Maybe?" Mabel shivered. "Augh, does that mean whenever you dreamed about trying to come to me for help, you were actually just standing over my bed watching me sleep?"

Dipper dragged his hands down his face. "Mabel. Sometimes I visited the neighbors' houses."

"Dipper!" Mabel laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. "Have you been walking around in the street in your pajamas?"

"Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe sometimes I'm sleepwalking but sometimes I stay in bed. Last night I really wanted to go yell at Bill, maybe that... got me on my feet?" He dropped onto his bed, chin in his hands.

Mabel sat on her bed with her cereal, and handed over a banana she'd grabbed for Dipper. "We can start locking the bedroom door," she said. "So if you do start sleepwalking, at least you can't get out."

"What if I unlock it in my sleep?"

"Maybe Grunkle Ford could teach me the anti-door curse he put on Bill! And I could cast it on you at night so you can't get out of the room?"

Dipper shook his head. "That's not a long-term solution. What about when we go home? Or what if I need to go to the bathroom?" He gestured emphatically with his banana as he spoke. "I realized something last night, Mabel: I'm sick of these nightmares and I'm sick of just putting up with them. They were bad enough when they were just in my head, but now they have to affect me in real life, too? No! I'm just—not gonna have them anymore."

"Yeah!" Mabel cheered. "I like that attitude! I'm with you. I'm sick of being freaked out by my dreams, too. Do you know how hard it is to rescue kittens from a car crash when you've got to stop and ask yourself if this is a Mabeland thing?"

Dipper hesitated. "Um... probably pretty hard?"

"We'll do it together. We'll both stop having nightmares." She paused. "How?"

"I... don't know yet." Dipper sighed. "Our therapist's given me a few tools to cope with nightmares, but they haven't stopped them. I'm thinking our best bet is magic."

They looked at Bartholomew.

"Sorry," he said. "Outside my wheelhouse. I specialize in creepy dolls and necromancy."

"There's gotta be something in this town," Dipper said. "Maybe dream catchers? Do dream catchers actually work?"

"What about that spell to enter other people's dreams?" Mabel asked. "We could take turns entering each other's dreams to help fight each other's nightmares! That would totally work, right?"

"Except then we'd have to take turns not getting any sleep."

There was a knock on the attic door. Mabel called "Yeah?" and hopped to her feet to open it.

Bill was leaning with his elbow against the doorframe, cheek in his hand, one ankle hooked over the other, grinning broadly. "Couldn't help but overhear that you're having some dream troubles! Here, my card!" He handed Mabel a paper towel on which he'd poorly painted his triangle self with coffee grounds and signed his name in an alien language. "Bill Cipher, professional dream demon—at your service."

Dipper said, "We hung up a 'no solicitors' sign."

"I saw it and I ignored it."

"Bill," Mabel groaned. "Get out of here!" She tried to block him with her arms. 

He dodged around her to enter the room with a laugh like this was some playground game, and then immediately tripped over a cardboard box. He recovered his balance by grappling with Mabel's bag of mini golf clubs and drew one out to use as a cane so smoothly it almost looked like he'd planned it that way. "Hey, hold on—I'm here to help!"

"Right," Dipper scoffed. "Like when you wanted to help me unlock that laptop."

"Or when you offered to help me extend summer."

"Or when you were going to 'help' our dimension 'party'?"

Bill said, "I did extend your summer and I did throw a party."

Dipper asked, "And the laptop?"

"No excuse for that! I was just lying to you, kid." Bill laughed.

"Yeah, no," Mabel said, "we don't want your help. No offense, but your help is super evil. Get out of our room."

"No." Bill plopped down in the middle of the floor, arms and legs crossed, mini golf club lain across his knees, smirking defiantly up at Mabel. "Not until you hear me out."

"No! Go. Scoot. Get out." Mabel attempted to shove him toward the door.

"Try it! I weigh more than both of you combined! Physics is on my side! I'm master of this room."

Mabel only succeeded in knocking him onto his side. Bill prodded her back with the handle of the club and said, "Seriously, just listen to me and then I'll go. I'm more or less the reason you're having nightmares in the first place, aren't I? C'mon! How can I make it up to you if you won't even hear me out?"

Mabel paused in her onslaught. "You wanna make it up to us?" Dipper rolled his eyes.

"Sure, why not? Do you think I wanted to traumatize a couple of kids? You just happened to stumble in the way of a force beyond human comprehension! Hey, I stuck you in a paradise bubble, does that scream 'deliberate attempt at psychological torture' to you?"

"You were going to kill me," Dipper said.

"You even left his suicide letter," Mabel said.

"Which was wrong of me," Bill said patiently, with an air that made it sound like he was the one who had to explain this to them, "but I can't undo that unless you want to give me that time tape you're hoarding. On the other hand, I can do something about the nightmares. Just hear me out."

Dipper had been climbing to the end of his bed to try to get past Bill and escape for adult reinforcements, but stopped to stand on the mattress and glare down at Bill. "And then once we've heard you out, you won't leave until we've accepted your offer—"

"There is no offer," Bill said. "I'm giving you information. No 'deals,' no favors, no magic, nothing. Just information. It's your business what you do with it. If you want to throw it away, I've already done my part!"

Dipper hesitated. "I don't trust you."

"You don't have to trust me. Go verify everything I tell you with someone else. Heck, you can even go ask Stanford about it, he'll back up everything I'm about to say."

The fact that Bill was suggesting he talk to Ford threw Dipper off. He glanced at Mabel to see what she thought.

Bill took the momentary silence as a victory. Smugly, he said, "Lucid dreaming."

Dipper blinked in surprise. "Hey, I know what that is. It's when you're dreaming and know you're dreaming, right?"

"You obviously don't know any more about it than that, or else you wouldn't be having nightmares." Now that Mabel wasn't attacking him and Dipper was actually listening, Bill perched on a crate and crossed an ankle over the other knee, getting comfortable. "Knowing you're asleep is step one of lucid dreaming. The next step is controlling your dreams. If you've fully mastered the techniques of lucid dreaming, you'll essentially be a god inside your own sleeping mind."

"Like we did in Grunkle Stan's head!" Mabel said. "When we beat you with kittens."

"And eye lasers," Dipper added.

"And stomach lasers!"

"And 80s music."

"And hamster balls—"

The corners of Bill's mouth twitched a little further down with each sentence. He forced a smile back on. "Right! Haha! You kids." There was friendly good cheer in his voice and wrath in his eyes. "Exactly like that. Except you weren't asleep at the time. That wasn't lucid dreaming, that was imagining. It's a lot easier to do inside of someone else's dreams. You've got to learn an entirely new set of techniques if you want to do it in your own."

Dipper dropped down to sit on his bed again. "Like what kind of techniques? Does it involve meditating, or...?"

Bill laughed. "And here I thought you didn't trust anything I had to say! What, do you want me to teach you how to do it now?"

"No."

"Didn't think so!" Bill grabbed a sparkly pen off Mabel's bedside stand and a scrap of notepaper off their table. "I'll give you some names of authors. Human authors. Experts on the psychology and spirituality of dreams. And if you don't want to trust these authors because I recommended them, fine, just find their books in the library and anything sorted on the same shelves will teach you the same techniques. But master lucid dreaming, and your dreams will be your playground. No more nightmares."

Bill offered the paper to Mabel, but his smirk was aimed at Dipper. "Just like I promised: no magic. Nothing that could invite the big scary dream demon into your precious little heads. All I'm telling you is where to learn your own species's skills. If you don't believe me, go ask for yourself."

####

Sitting back in the guest room's desk chair, Ford frowned at the list of authors Mabel had handed him and stroked his chin thoughtfully. The kids sat on Ford's bed and waited for him to render judgment on the Latest Bill Nonsense.

"That look doesn't look like a good look," Mabel said. "Is Bill up to something bad?"

"On the contrary, I can't think of any way that your learning how to lucid dream could benefit Bill," Ford said. "In fact, if anything, it would be actively detrimental to him. That's what has me so puzzled."

Dipper asked, "What do you mean, actively detrimental?"

"Lucid dreaming is the first line of defense against Bill's mental tricks," Ford said. "By itself, it isn't enough to drive Bill from a dreamer's head; but instantly telling the difference between dreams and reality takes the power out of most of his simplest psychic illusions." He nodded toward Dipper. "For instance, knowing you were dreaming might have saved you entirely from Bill taking over your body."

Dipper blinked. "Wait. What do you mean?"

Ford stared at him. "The computer," he said. "When Bill waited for you to nod off and used a dream to make you think the computer was going to self-destruct."

"He did what?"

"Dipper, Fiddleford never installed a self-destruct sequence on that computer," Ford said. "I... thought you figured that out?"

Dipper stared at Ford. He slid to the floor, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. Mabel leaned forward to pat his head.

Ford did not let himself grin at Dipper's reaction. Dipper had been through a traumatic experience, and finding out there was something else he personally could have done to avoid it all had to be devastating, and therefore—therefore—his dramatic reaction was not funny.

Ford cleared his throat and politely avoided calling attention to Dipper. "And—actively controlling your own dreams won't prevent Bill from controlling them as well; but it arms you with the same weapons he has—just like when you drove him out of Stanley's head. Plus, if there's anything in your dream you can't control, you can be surer that it's Bill's influence rather than a product of your own subconscious. Which... is what makes it so strange that Bill would suggest you look into lucid dreaming. I'm not sure what to make of that."

"Maybe he just told us to be nice?" Mabel asked. "Maybe he really is trying to fix some of his mistakes."

Dipper raised a brow. "Do you really believe that?"

Mabel briefly looked thoughtful; then cracked up laughing. "Okay, I tried! But nope, not for one second!"

Ford chuckled. "Attagirl." He propped his chin in his hand as he thought. "There's a chance that Bill might not be up to anything actively nefarious. I strongly suspect he can't invade others' dreams in his current form—and if that's true, it might not make any difference to him if you know how to defend yourself against attacks he can't even use. And the only thing he's told you is to go look up lucid dreaming—a technique invented by humans, for humans. He might be trying to ingratiate himself with us by offering up cheap information he suspects you could have found on your own."

Mabel said, "So he told us to be nice, for selfish reasons."

"I think that's the most likely explanation. He likes to offer little scraps of wisdom to his 'students'—and then hold them over your head later." Ford hated the possibility that Bill was trying to adopt his niece and nephew as his newest "students"—Mabel especially—but dancing around the uncomfortable possibility rather than pointing it out would just leave them more vulnerable to his tricks.

"That sounds like him," Mabel sighed. "Like the free birthday cake thing."

Ford tried to remember whether he'd mentioned how he'd gotten his cake when they'd been in Portland. "He told you about that, did he?"

"Yeah. While feeling bad for himself about not getting to go to your birthday party."

"Ha."

Dipper said, "So... you don't think there's any risk in learning how to lucid dream? Except that Bill might start bragging about how good he was to suggest it?"

Ford glanced again over the list of authors Bill had given Mabel. "Well... I don't immediately recognize any of these names; but I can double-check to make sure none of them are affiliated with Bill's known protégés or worshipers. But with that risk aside, I'm sure learning about lucid dreaming would be good for you."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air, startling Ford and Dipper. "Time for Mabeland Two, Electric Boogaloo: Democracy Edition! Founded by the people, for the people, with one hundred percent less psychic police states and zero triangle dictators! All the disco coconuts and yarn castles you already know and love, but this time with open borders and free speech!" She ran from the guest room, opened a door, slammed a door; opened the door again, and yelled, "Grunkle Fooord, can you give us a ride to the library!"

Dipper grimaced and looked at Ford. "Uh... Should we be worried about that?"

Ford considered that with pursed lips, then stood and grabbed his keys. "If she starts napping excessively, let me know so we can stage an intervention."

####

Mabel trudged into the living room, lay face down on the carpet between Bill and the TV, and said, "I hate you."

"Sure," Bill said agreeably.

"I mean it. I really hate you." And she said it with such vitriol, such vehemence, that Bill was absolutely positive she didn't hate him at all and would probably never be able to hate him again.

"All right, I'll play," Bill said. "What did I do this time?"

Mabel held a thick, dusty book over her head. It was titled Sleeping Awake: A Meditation and Study Guide for the Initiate Oneironaut. "You gave me homework over the summer."

"Oh, is that it? That's the limit, is it? That's the worst thing I could possibly do to you."

"Yes," Mabel said to the carpet. "It's completely unforgivable." She paused. She lifted her head. "Um. You... do know we're joking, right? The joke is that we're pretending homework is worse than all the other stuff you did, when it definitely isn't? I'm stiiill not exactly sure what your moral compass looks like."

Bill said, "Relax, kid." Bill did not say that he understood that they were joking. "Here, lemme see how painful this is." He plucked the book from Mabel's hand, flipped through a few pages, and grimaced. "Oh wow. Oh, wow, this is drier than the Atacama. This isn't a 'meditation,' it's a textbook. Do they really spend a whole chapter talking about Frederik van Eeden? Gag me with a spoon." He flipped to the index, muttering, "Does this thing even go into milam, or are they completely reinventing the wheel?"

Mabel propped her chin in her hands. "Is it that bad?"

"Well, at first glance, it's not promising." He flipped toward the middle to skim some of the recommended exercises. "Pfff. I think the closest it'll get you to lucid dreaming is boring you to sleep."

Mabel groaned. "Dipper and I checked out like a dozen books on dreams and that was the least boring-looking one."

Bill shut the book and studied the cover. It showed a lush fantasy world with rainbows and colorful planets in the sky. "You know what they say about judging a book by its cover?"

"I know, I know." Mabel rolled over and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "I guess I'll try reading one of the other books." She let out a sigh. And then, deciding she hadn't expressed herself properly, she let out an even louder, deeper sigh.

Bill laughed, then considered the cover of Sleeping Awake again. "Ahh, what the heck," he muttered, "what else am I gonna do with myself today?" He waved the book at Mabel. "Hey. What if I read through some of them for you? Let you know which ones are a waste of time and which ones might be helpful?"

Mabel considered that. "Seriously? It's a lot of books and they all look boring."

"Sure, why not? If it's too boring to stand, I'll quit. But oneironautics is one of my specialities, I'll probably find the contents more interesting than you would. And, anyway—" Bill glanced away from Mabel self-consciously, voice dropping a tad, "anyway, I recommended lucid dreaming to fix a problem I caused, didn't I? I get why you kids won't let me teach you how to lucid dream—but it's not fair if I throw a couple names at you, make you do all the hard work, and pat myself on the back for helping out. The least I can do is endure a little boredom."

"Aw, Bill..." Mabel offered him a warm smile.

Bill looked at the ceiling. "Don't look at me like that, jeez. You're a sap, you know that?"

"You're the sap! You're like a tree: all bark on the outside and sap on the inside."

"I'll kill you if you ever say that again."

"I'll be right back!" Mabel sprinted upstairs; and a minute later, trudged back down, carrying a double armload of books. "Here." She dumped them in Bill's lap. A couple spilled on the floor.

"Whoa!" Bill scrambled to catch the escapees, and dropped another one. "Is this all of them?"

"All except the one Dipper's reading. The Encyclopedia of Dreams or something."

"That sounds like a waste of time. There's about as much overlap between dream interpretation and lucid dreaming as there is between astrology and astronomy. But hey, toss it my way when he's done with it. I wanna see what it says about dreams with pyramids and all-seeing eyes."

"Your ego's so big."

"Big as a universe, kid!" He started stacking the books beside him on the sofa, setting aside a promising-looking one that mentioned "Tibetan Dream Yoga" in the subtitle.

"I'll let him know. Thanks for the help, Bill!" Her afternoon now freed up, Mabel went upstairs to call Candy and Grenda and see what they were up to.

Bill listened as her footsteps ascended. He waited to hear the attic bedroom door shut.

And only then did he allow himself a small triumphant giggle.

He adored that girl. She was so trusting. He'd never have gotten his hands on this kind of educational material without her help. Finding her the most short-attention-span-friendly book was the least he could do as thanks; maybe he'd go the extra mile, leave bookmarks on the most useful chapters. Let her know just how good he could be to the people who did what he told them to.

He turned off the TV, cracked open the first book, and settled in to re-teach himself how to control dreams with a human mind.

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd really appreciate a comment!)

[loousir]

[Vampire] The Two of Us

Vampire Male x Hunter Male Reader

Abel - Part 2

Notes/Warnings: The book Abel is reading is not real, In the universe all my stories are based in basically all the theories about monsters exist so some Vampires can blush and some can't blush it just varies vamp to vamp, kisses and cuddling

Part 1

If you like my work, please consider reblogging!

The night came and went. You woke up with a jolt upon hearing movement in your house. You grabbed a blade you kept nearby, ready to defend your home only to see Abel. You had forgotten that he appeared on your doorsteps the night before. "Bastard, I told you to rest." You said, calming down a bit. Abel rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "Sorry, that room is just boring. You don't have any books in there." He said, holding one from your collection. You sighed and got up, walking over to him. "How about you go lay back down and I'll get you books to read." You said, ushering him back into the room. He kept the one he had grabbed and quietly made his way back. You picked out a few you figured would keep him busy for a while, not really remembering what they were about. "Here." You said, tossing them onto the bed. He jumped and looked up to you, a weirdly innocent look in his eyes. "Since I'm awake, I'm going out. Don't leave. I'll be back." Abel nodded as you grabbed clothes to get dressed and do your shopping early, picking up a few extra things for Abel as was promised.

Once you were ready, you headed out. Your trip was kept short and you only grabbed what was needed. Not all Vampires were bad and most had integrated into society nicely, stores offering blood substitutes or donated blood. Though you kept it on the down low that you were purchasing things as most knew you were a hunter. The trip back was quick and uneventful. Upon reentering the house, you saw that Abel had moved back to the living room but was laying down on the couch, relaxing and reading.

You sighed and he turned back to look at you, apparently not having heard you come back. "Oh uh... Wel-welcome back." He said, shyly looking away from your frame. "Please stop moving around, I know your a vampire and heal quicker but fuck dude." You said with another sigh, taking the things you bought to the kitchen. "Um, did you grab th-" "Yes, just stay there. I'll bring you one." You cut him off, already knowing what he would ask. Once you put your things up, you put the rest of the blood bags in the fridge, taking him one. "Here." You handed it to him. He smiled and thanked you, quickly opening and drinking it. You watched as the red liquid practically disappeared. "Gods..." He said, panting softly once he pulled the empty bag from his mouth. "Thank you, I can't tell you how hungry I was." He said softly, holding on to the empty plastic like it was something dear to him.

"Yeeah ah... Sure." You said, taking the bag from him to throw away. "You good for now?" You asked him, coming back in from the kitchen. "Yes. Also, I didn't know you were into these kinds of books." He said, showing off one called *The Demon King's Soul*. Your eyes widened slightly when you realized what he was reading. "Its almost relatable. I'm just not a demon king." He said, laughing softly as he kept reading. "Yeah well... It's hard being isolated from everyone just because of the position you were born into." You said softly, joining him on the couch and turning on the TV. "Are you not going to read?" He ask, surprised by the fact you chose TV over books. "I've read all of them. Need some new ones." You said, flicking through channels, trying to find something you liked. Once you landed on a survivor style show, you stopped.

"Do you ever get lonely?" Abel asked suddenly, looking over to you with a solem expression. You furrowed your brows and looked over to him as well. "I mean... Sometimes." You said, turning to focus back on the TV. Abel nods and goes back to reading, not saying anything about it again. That question sort of stuck with you. You'd never been asked if you were lonely until then and it never really crossed your mind. You looked over to Abel who was entranced by the book. He had a slim yet muscular frame with long, brown hair from what you could assume was years of not cutting it. He wore the loose clothing you gave him, bandages visible on some parts and the one over his face not seeming to bug him at all. "Do you ever got lonely?" You asked, reversing the question back at Abel.

Abel looks up to you, a slightly surprised expression. "Well yeah... Of course I do..." He pauses for a moment and looks away. "All the time." He said softly, locking his eyes on to the book he had in his hands. You tilt your head, looking over his expression. It looked like he was about to cry which had you confused. You scooted a bit closer to him, not good with comforting others. "We could be lonely together..?" You said, slightly questioning. He looks up to you again and inches closer on his own this time. Abel, being the more confident of you two, rests his head on your shoulder. "I'd like that..." He whispered, closing the book before closing his eyes for a moment.

You weren't sure what it was but, you felt like you could trust him. After being trained like mad, engraving into your head that he was the biggest threat to humans as you know it, you would think that when he first showed up you would have killed him instantly. But, there was something about him that just seemed, different, and you couldn't help but put a little bit of trust into him. You hesitantly wrapped an arm around him and he almost naturally snuggled closer to you. Both of you stayed quiet, you watching the TV as Abel took in your warmth. After some time of silence Abel spoke up. "How long do you think I can stay with you?" He asked, looking up to you through his thick lashes. You shrugged but didn't look back down to him. "How ever long until they forget or til I can get you somewhere safe." You said, hand resting on his stomach, pulling him a little closer than before.

Abel looked up to you with an expression you couldn't quite read. Before you knew it, he caught your lips in a kiss. You didn't kiss back at first, not really expecting it. When he pulled away, you could only stare at him as he also stared back. "What was that for?" You asked, leaning down a bit to be eye level with him. Abel suddenly got nervous and pulled away but you kept him close, still having your arm wrapped around him. "S-sorry I uh- I just... I dont know..." He couldn't really seem to find the words he wanted and kept stuttering. You watched his expression for a moment before giving him a gentle kiss. "Listen. I dont really date people I don't know so let's just take it slow ok?" You said softly, a very small smile crossing your lips. Abel's cheeks were a bright red as he covered his face with his hands.

You smiled a little more, moving the arm around his waist to pull his head back against you. "You're awful cute for a alleged mass murder." You teased, chuckling when he playfully hit your leg, whining about bringing it up. "Like I said though. Let's get to know each other first before we go any farther than this." You said softly, hand migrating back down to rub his side gently. Abel nodded and just stayed quiet, eyes glued to the TV as the two of you cuddled on the couch.

[hypaalicious]

Unpopular opinion: YA isn’t meant for adults.

Not saying adults can’t read YA; adults can read whatever tf they want. But it’s a huge mistake of mainstream publishing to allow YA to absolutely crowd out swathes of other subgenres to the point where articles such as this one get written in full seriousness.

Awhile back, there were teens on Tiktok lamenting that they can’t find media for them anymore. There were a bunch of condescending people happily shitting on them saying things like, “Uh, YA exists? These teen-centered TV shows exist?? Why are y’all lying lololol so dumb” instead of actually listening to these kids explain what they mean. Cause wow, it don’t bother y’all that despite all this hyper visible allegedly teen-centered media NONE of it is hitting for them? Y’all don’t stop to ask yourself why that is?

It’s because YA has become a fill-in for mid-range and adult fiction over the years. I can’t tell you how many synopses I’ve read that have sounded boss asf but then they make the MC fifteen years old and I’m immediately like

And I wanna be clear, this wouldn’t be a problem if YA hadn’t oversaturated the literary field. On top of that, I do not see real teenhood reflected in these characters. They come off more like they’re written by middle aged adults projecting what they think teens are like through the lens of how they wish their own long-gone teen years went. So yeah, no wonder kids don’t feel connected to the media that’s labeled for them. Too many adult consumers are crowding that space tryna live vicariously through teen media, and since it’s adults that have the money more often than not, publishers cater YA to them rather than teens. That’s not okay, y’all.

Also, there is no reason whatsoever for some of these characters to be teens except to fit into a very narrow category set by publishers who just want a wide market to sell to. Example: when I was looking up comp titles for my manuscript, I came across a fantasy book centering a Black female character at a college discovering her hidden magical powers and a mystery hidden away at the college and was like “oh shit, this sounds dope!”

… then I read a snippet and for WHATEVER REASON, they made the MC sixteen. Sixteen years old, but going to college as an exception.

It was just so obviously done as a way to slate the book under the YA label but narratively it made NO SENSE. Just make your character 18 or older if they gonna be in college! Oh, that’s right, you can’t because YA rendered the New Adult genre obsolete so if you can’t make your characters 14-17 then it’s not likely publishers will work with you. 🫠

Another problem I have with the whole “YA is for adults too!” thing is the fact that this does not serve adult literacy levels. Mind you, they’re already abysmal in the US in particular. But it doesn’t help when the only thing adults are encouraged to consume for fun are books written at a 5th-6th grade reading level. They ain’t reading anything adult anymore, either in prose or depth of content. And why would they when publishers are only making an effort to market YA as the 10-in-one shampoo type option to everyone who ages out of kidlit?

Different categories for different age groups exist for a reason, and the erosion & blending of these categories hurts the literary field a lot. We need to go back to the days where you could find age appropriate media for every stage of your life and actually connect with it.

[thatztyv]

Pretty Girl

Description:

- I don’t know🤷🏾‍♀️.. Urban hopped on Ki’Asia’s IG Live

Word Count:

- 877

Ki'Asia Moore

(kie- a-she-uh  more)

kiasia

Liked by urbanwyatt and 36,729 others

kiasia friend? bitch I said you bad

View all 750 comments

sarah56 Druski said it best

simp4brent be my girlfriend😩

urbanwyatt 😍😍 ♡

bankroll3k so pretty🥹

kelseiqueen 😩😍 ♡

.☆.

"Wassup y'all", I said as I set my phone up on my vanity.

tinytee hey Asia🙂

simp4brent Hey Asia boo

yolodolo yuurrr

"How was y'all day?", I asked as I combed through my hair.

freek3 Good

2litlaii Amazing, what about you?

kiyaforpres It was ok

greatdain Great

"Lai why was your day so amazing?", I chuckled as I stopped to read the comments.

"Kiya, I hope you have a better day tomorrow. Keep your head up boo, I love you", I said before combing my hair again.

2litlaii Cause I got to see my man 🤭

kiyaforpres thank you 😊

youngin23 you're so sweet 🥹

"Girl you and this man of yours", I said playfully rolling my eyes. "I'm a lover girl with no lover.. I hope y'all happy though."

delulu4you Girl same

seedy.me Man what

danitrips Everyday all you hear from me is "lord...it's me again"

"Dani that be me twenty four seven", I chuckled. "Anyways y'all like my hair. I did it myself."

bigbossvette It's cute😍

wantedho Come do mine 🧍🏾‍♀️

hypemantee4 Ok volume come through

herbsnish You would look so good in a blonde wig

"I'm scared to try blonde cause what if I look crazy", I said as I looked in the mirror and started to put my hair in two braids.

bigbossvette If you try blonde I'll do it with you

yougin23 We need a wig install tutorial cause it's giving scalp 😛

urbanwyatt your voice is perfect ⭐️

"Bet cousin I'll order em tomorrow... that's actually my next video, then imma stop posting for another six months", I chuckled as I started on the last braid.

I scanned over the comments before smiling.

urbanwyatt can I take you on a date?

"Depends on where you taking me sir", I said as I tied a scarf on my head.

simp4you I knew I wasn't tripping what Urban doing over here

danitrips Not Urban asking somebody on a date

sammydee URBAN ?!?

"On a side note, what y'all had or having for dinner? ", I said as I put my bonnet on.

danitrips Tea cause what you and Urban got going that you ain't telling us bout ☕️🫖

sammydee Tacos

wally.t Shrimp scampi 🍤

urbanwyatt is requesting to join live.

Accept or Decline

"Dani we ain't got nothing going", I said as I pressed accept to Urban's request.

"Hey pretty girl", Urban said once it connected. "Wassup live."

"Hi Urban", I said and smiled a little.

kentuckyboys URBAN JOINED THE LIVE, two of my worlds are colliding 😱

youngin23 Yuurrrr

2litlaii I know this finna be good.. just might chromecast my phone to the tv

bigbossvette 👀

"I'm nosey, where you at?", I asked as I arched a brow at him.

"On the tour bus", he said as he propped his phone up.

"Mm", I hummed as I leaned closer to my phone. "What town you in?"

"Frankfort."

"Oh you in my city. I would've had you pull up if I would have known earlier."

"I still can, it's never too late", he said before rubbing his beard.

"I'm ready for bed now. It's definitely too late boo."

simp4you 👀

kelseiqueen I'm just enjoying the show rn 🍿

"You know you got some sexy lips."

He smirked before licking his lips.

kentuckyboys Don't steal my man 😖

harlowslut Urban where is Jackman

2sexy.dee them lips real sexy 😩

"You know I could- nevermind", he started but cut himself off.

"No say what you were about to say", I said with a slight smile.

"It's too many people watching. I can't say all that", he chuckled.

"I understand."

simp4brent Fuck all that, say it Urban 😖

sarah56 nooo we wanna know

lostinthewind Don't leave us hanging like that

We got quiet, just looking at each other.

2litlaii Not y'all eye fucking in front of us

bigbossvette I feel like I'm interrupting 😭

kelseiqueen On this day, Ki'Asia and Urban fell in love 😩

"Anyways where you taking me to eat at?"

"McDonalds", he said nonchalantly.

"Blocked", I said reaching for my phone.

"I'm playing, I'm playing", he said laughing as he grabbed his phone.

bigbossvette 🤣🤣

simp4you McDonald's is OUTRAGEOUS 😭

freek3 ngl I would've kicked him off and blocked him so fast 😭😭😭

2litlaii Screaming 🤣

"Urban, you gone fool around and get blocked", I said as I picked my phone up.

"Ki'Asia you would never block me."

"Yes I would. You wanna see?"

"Don't block me", he chuckled. "I'll take you anywhere you wanna go."

wantedho ooh- girl I'd be cutting up, you heard how he just said your name effortlessly 😩

herbsnish don't play with her Urban

lanixworld Y'all!! What if they been going together this whole time and we just clueless 😱

"Nah Lani this is me and Urban first ever interaction outside of liking each others post", I chuckled. "No secret relationship."

"It could be though."

"Mmm."

freek3 So back to what I saying...This could be us but you playing !😩

kelseiqueen 👀

"Y'all I'm finna end this. I want to have a private conversation with Mr Urban", I said with a slight smirk.

"Private conversation? Mmm this might be interesting", he hummed.

herbsnish Urban don't fumble the bag bro 😐

jackharlow 👀

bigbossvette You better text me Asia I wanna know what y'all talk about

kelseiqueen You better update us bookie

kentuckyboys where tf Jack come from

"Bye y'all", I said before ending the live.

[thislovintime]

The Monkees promoting Head in the Bay Area, 1968. Photo 2 courtesy of Oakland Tribune.

“If we were considering animals, David Jones would probably be a cocker spaniel; Micky Dolenz a poodle; Mike Nesmith a dachshund and Peter Tork an afghan… not a monkey among them. But, following an interview with the pre-teen dream makers, we are considering ‘The Monkees,’ who were live and reasonably sane in the Bay Area last week to plug their new movie, ‘Head,’ which opened Wednesday in the Eastbay. After chatting for an hour, individual personalities emerged… David Jones is… uh, well… a cocker spaniel; Micky Dolenz, a poodle…. There is just no way to describe the four musician-actors who have probably absorbed more sarcasm from critics, more distrust from the public and endured a faster-paced schedule than any other rock group on Planet Earth. There is something unreal about the four of them together — in an ‘in person’ interview in a posh hotel suite with promotion agents in the background. Their friendliness, cleanliness and politeness are real but their togetherness falls apart trying to come together. By now, anyone who reads even one of the world’s live languages knows they were brought together for the first time to star in a TV series by the same name. A marketable item made up of ex-jockey and musical-comedy (‘Oliver’) star David Jones; Grown up TV ‘Circus Boy’ wonder Micky Dolenz; country-western-folk singer from Texas, Mike Nesmith, and Greenwich Village vintage guitarist Peter Tork. The four speak to each other as acquaintances and one gets the impression of a working-hours-or-sessions relationship only. They appear to be a little too polite to each other, to aware of each other for comfort. Peter defers to Micky’s talent as a director. ‘You know, like we were doing one TV show with Micky directing,’ Peter imitates Micky’s muggings. ‘He takes the script, flips it open and says, “Let’s see here now… we shoot starting with page seven… here boys,” he calls over the camera crew and in bright sunlight shoots in four hours with no rehearsal what it normally takes 12 hours to shoot.’ Micky grins, bows politely with a ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ […] ‘We did some shows that we really liked,’ Peter said. ‘But there were so many formula shows where Micky played crazy villains, David always got the girl… we just couldn’t take another season of it.’ ‘In addition to the “7 to 7” hours at the studio,’ David said, ‘we’d have to get a song out for the show, plan concerts, rehearse for and record albums. Some nights I’d work until 3 a.m. then have to be back at the studio for makeup at 6 a.m. the same day.’ Still, their critical success came with their Marx-Brothers-ish approach to comedy, that aspect of their careers which has been the most time-consuming. ‘The Monkees’ don’t see it that way. Mike plots their future in music with visuals as an accompaniment rather than the focus. ‘Music was always the major thing even in our series,’ he said. Most reviews and public response do not agree with this. Past the pre-and-early-teens, people can more or less take or leave the ‘Monkees’ sound and it was considered little more than background to innovative comedy on their show.” - article by Peggy King, Oakland Tribune, December 7, 1968

[wynnyfryd]

83.  “First, you tell them how you feel, and then you make sure they know you’re not going anywhere.” 🥹🥹

hot damn, that got longer than expected! lol. posted it on ao3 for anyone who would rather read it there, or you can read the full fic here below the cut

The door’s not even locked when Eddie steps into the foyer of Steve’s house that afternoon. The place is a fucking mess — muddy footprints in the hallway and a coffee table littered with cigarette butts and crushed beer cans and bowls with crusty, dried-down tomato sauce along the rim. Eddie can see a fly buzzing lazily over one of them, touching down to walk on a stiff piece of old spaghetti noodle like a tightrope, and where the hell is Steve?

Eddie listens for him in the living room. Does a little circle, follows the sound of…

Oh, Jesus Christ. Is that The Smiths?

Morrissey softly wails haven’t had a dream in a long time, and Eddie tracks the sound down the hallway toward Steve’s dad’s office like a detective in a gritty noir film, chasing bloodied handprints to the inevitable scene of a crime.

And what a pathetic fucking crime scene it is.

Harrington’s lying like a corpse on the carpet, arms limp at his sides, palms up, dead-eyed stare at the ceiling and tear tracks running into his temples. Bottle of whiskey propped in a loose fist. Precarious, threatening to tip at any moment and spill all over his dirty shirt.

“Lord knows it would be the first time,” Steve croaks at the ceiling in a ruined off-tune rasp, his lips barely moving as he mumbles along. Jesus Christ. Jesus Tapdancing Christ. This is above Eddie’s paygrade, and he ain’t even getting paid.

Eddie clears his throat, raps his knuckles gently against the doorframe. “Uh. Harrington? You alive in here, man?” he asks stupidly, because, like, what the hell do you even say to a grown man lying on the carpet crying to The Smiths?

“Uh huh,” comes Steve’s weak reply. He doesn’t even look at him. Doesn’t take his sightless gaze off the ceiling beams of his dad’s weird all-dark-wood-everything office.

The record runs out, and then there’s nothing but the soft hiss of static, the vinyl waiting to be flipped, but Steve doesn’t move to fix it, just keeps mumbling the last line of the song to himself like he’s actually fucking lost it for real this time, let his poor booze-soaked brain crack like an egg and leak runny yolk all over the rug.

Eddie steps into the room. One cautious foot forward, then decides fuck caution and marches over to the weepy remains of a fallen King; plants one foot on either side of Steve’s hips, careful not to step on the guy’s arms by mistake.

He looks down his nose at Harrington, towering over him, arms crossed in what he hopes is a stern, intimidating posture that demands attention.

Clearly, it doesn’t.

Steve still won’t look at him, not directly, though his lips tick up a fraction on one side and he lifts his head off the floor just enough to steal another sip from his bottle before he lies back down. Dribbles whiskey down his chin, doesn’t bother to wipe it off.

And Eddie just—

Eddie just falls to his knees right where he’s standing, sinks his body down nice and easy until he’s straddling Steve’s lap, until his palms come to rest on Steve’s warm chest, until they slide up to cup his jaw and lift his head and force him to fucking look.

Steve looks. Smiles for real this time, even as his eyes droop down and he looks so sad. “Hi,” he says, the word cracking on his tongue.

Eddie kind of wants to cry. He rubs his thumb across Steve’s chin, over the edge of his jaw and down his throat, tracing the path of the liquor spill. Wishing he could clean it with his mouth instead.

“Hi,” Eddie answers with a shake of his head. Snap the fuck out of it. His friend is having some sort of crisis of heart and mind and musical taste; it’s just really not the time to go falling apart over the shape of a boy’s Adam’s apple or the smooth glide of skin across wet skin, so he swallows the weird lump in his throat and forces a smile. “Whatcha doing down here?”

“Mm.” Steve’s eyes drift closed, and he flips his hands over, spreads his fingers and digs them into the carpet with a soft sigh like he’s petting a cat. “Floor time.”

“I see that.” Eddie taps his cheek — gently, just enough to keep him here. “Hey. Hey, open your eyes for me, Harrington, come on.”

“Nuh uh,” Steve pouts.

“Steve,” and Steve’s eyes fly open, doll-like, wide and sincere and rimmed with pretty wet lashes.

Eddie’s thumb is on Steve’s chin again, dry now, but Steve lifts his head and sucks the tip of it into his mouth.

“Okay, let’s get you up,” Eddie says before he can do something stupid like push his thumb further in, feel the warm wet heat envelope his— Nope. Not even going there.

He hauls Steve off the floor, the motion accompanied by a series of jumbled groans that might be protest and might be a plastered twenty year old’s last words. Steve’s dead weight in Eddie’s arms, lifeless, heavy limbs, and Eddie doesn’t let himself think about how he was dead weight in Steve’s arms just a couple months ago. Doesn’t let the memory of that black watery void flood his mind as he scoops Steve off the floor and deposits him on a couch, curls him up fetal style, brushes his hair out of his eyes and tosses a spare throw blanket over him and tells him to go to sleep.

Steve starts snoring almost immediately, so Eddie makes himself at home, goes about making dinner and setting the place to rights while Steve sleeps it off. Which should be weird, maybe, wandering around the Harrington McMansion unsupervised, but he’s had a key to the house “for emergencies” since the graduation party back in May, and Steve likes having Eddie around.

He told him as much, one time when they were sharing a joint on the top of Steve’s roof. Climbed a ladder in the backyard to sit up above the garage, and Steve looked over at him with those big, pretty eyes and exhaled smoke and said, “‘S just nice. Having someone cook for me for once.”

Then he went back to looking at the stars like nothing happened, so.

So.

Eddie flutters around the house like an overeager maid while dinner cooks. He soaks dishes in the sink and mops the foyer floor, plucks soiled socks out of the couch cushions and sweeps crushed popcorn or some shit from the grout in the kitchen tiles. He’s just putting the finishing touches on the chicken alfredo he whipped up when Steve comes stumbling into the kitchen, one eye closed, shirt rucked up, scratching at a patch of scarred skin beside his happy trail.

Got no fucking business making a hangover look like that.

“Oh, good, you didn’t die,” Eddie says, ignoring himself.

Steve groans, winces like the words have knives in them, like the sound is slicing his head clean in half. “Nrrgh. What time is it?”

“Time for some aspirin and a joint for you, I’d wager.”

“Har har. No, really, I can’t—” Steve scrubs his eye with one hand, gestures at the clock with the other. “My eye’s doing the thing again, I can’t read it.”

Ah, right. Steve's bad eye. The left one, the one that goes all wonky and shuts off on him sometimes when he drinks too much or sleeps too long or not enough, or when his migraines just feel like being especially petty with him that day.

Eddie hands him a bowl of pasta. “It’s just after eight.”

“Thanks.”

They eat in silence at the kitchen island, nothing but squelching noodle noises and the metallic scrape of forks and a big, painful gulp when Steve swallows the aspirin Eddie handed him. Eddie’s not sure if Steve meant thanks for the food or the water or the pills or the cleaning or the not letting him throw up and die on his dad’s floor, but he accepts it. The gratitude. Hungover and half-assed though it may be.

“So…” Eddie drawls when they’ve slurped their bowls clean.

He’s trying to figure out how to ask, how to get to the part where he says hey, why did Wheeler call me to say that Sinclair called him to say that Dustin’s been crying all week because you won’t talk to him and now he thinks you fucking hate him? Why did the little twerps send me on a rescue mission? Why’d I find you half-drowned on the floor?

Only he doesn’t really know how to say it. How to make it more succinct. He’s having a hard enough time keeping track of who said what when and what it all has to do with Harrington giving his favorite kid the cold shoulder all week until said kid broke down in tears, and he’s thinking that maybe he should just give up; drop the subject, crack a joke, ask why the fuck do you own a Smiths record in the first place? Who are you, huh? Jonathan’s sadder, lamer cousin?

As always, Steve beats him to it. Cuts to the chase, tone flat and eyes dead in a way that unnerves Eddie when he says, unprompted, “Dustin called me bullshit.”

And maybe it’s not really fair to be unnerved, because Steve’s the one who’s actually seen the light leave someone's eyes. Eddie’s eyes, glazing over while he bled out on the ground and that just- that just—

“Bullshit?” Eddie asks to shake the thought. There’s something important about the word, a significance to the way the syllables pour from Steve’s mouth, like he’s trying not to regurgitate them right into his dinner bowl. “What, uh- what does-?”

Steve stares at his fork. Twirls it around, stabs it at nothing, and then his eyes are welling up and he's pinching the end of his nose and Eddie's scooting closer, tugging his wrist away from his face because he hates when Steve refuses to let himself cry.

"None of that now, come on," he admonishes gently. “What does bullshit mean?”

Steve looks at him then, tears clinging to his lash line, desperately grasping the quarry cliff’s edge. “It’s what— what Nancy called me. What she said to me, the night she- when she…”

...Oh, fuck.

Oh, goddamnit, Henderson. What the fuck, little man? What the actual fuck?

Eddie sucks his teeth. “And Dustin knows that?”

“Yeah.”

Yeah, Steve says, the way a grieving mother says it when she identifies a body. Jesus Christ.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says aloud, “That’s just— that’s… You’re not, you know.” He gives Steve's wrist a little shake, because it’s suddenly imperative that he knows this. He has to know this. “You know that, right?”

Steve lets out a noise that would be a laugh if this were the slightest bit funny. “Sure.”

“Steve, I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Please look at me,” he begs, because his eyes keep darting away, wandering off toward the dark corners of the room like he wants nothing more than to go curl up in one of them and hide. Eddie grips his jaw. “I mean it.”

Steve kisses him. Messy and sloppy and not on the mouth, just a wet drag of lips along the curve of his jaw as Steve falls forward and buries his face in Eddie’s neck, shoulders shaking. He’s getting Eddie’s shirt all wet, and Eddie couldn’t give a shit, just wraps his arms tight around Steve and lets him shake. “Come on,” Eddie says. “This is a couch activity.”

He doesn’t let go as they make their way to the living room, just hugs Steve from behind and waddles behind him in big awkward steps that make Steve laugh through his tears. Plops down sideways on the couch with Steve still wrapped up in his arms, with Steve’s back against his chest. With Steve between his open legs.

Eddie kisses the crown of his head. “You’re okay.” You’re perfect. I like you so much. He turns the TV on low for the background noise. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Steve wipes his face and fumbles through a toned-down retelling of events, clearly trying not to make himself cry again, and Eddie scratches circles into Steve’s back with blunt nails as he speaks.

It goes like this: Dustin was pushing him about something like he always does, and Steve was acting like an obstinate bitch about it like he always does, and somewhere along the way they both forgot the part where they're supposed to back off and apologize when either one goes too far, so the argument just built and built and built until Dustin hit the nuke button. Went for the jugular, game over, boom!

“I just left him on the sidewalk,” Steve sniffs miserably. “I told him to get out of my car, and I just left him to walk all the way across town. God, I’m such a shit.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am! Who fucking does that? It was getting dark out. He could have gotten hurt.”

He's not wrong, and the news anchor drones on in the tense moment that follows. They both know too well all the ways this town can hurt a kid when the sun goes down.

But they don't need to worry about that. Not this time, at least. Eddie presses his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades, squeezes him tighter for a second. “I drove him home that night."

“You did?” Steve whips around, twisting his spine to try and look at Eddie.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs a little laugh, turning him back around. “Spotted him while I was driving home, gave him a ride in the van, sent Claudia all my love, et cetera. Safe and sound.”

Steve’s shoulders relax, but he brings a hand to his mouth. Chews the skin around his thumbnail. “Did he seem… Did he seem okay?”

“Hmm. Seemed pissed. Wouldn’t talk to me, but I didn’t really pry. Figured it was standard Party drama.”

“Was he really crying when Mike called you today?”

“That’s the word on the street, yeah. You haven’t talked to him in a week, man; he’s probably losing his goddamn mind. Little dude’s obsessed with you, Steve.”

Steve hangs his head and groans. “Shit. I know. I know, I just… I mean, how do I even, like… I mean, yeah, I’m still, like, kinda hurt, or whatever, but surely Dustin knows I wouldn’t just ditch him. He’s my brother.”

“I know that. Pretty sure he does, too, just, uh. Y'know. He might need to hear you say it.”

“What would I even say now? ‘Fuck you, bud, I love you’ doesn’t really feel like it’s gonna fix anything.”

Eddie snickers into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turns around again, pouting with his arms crossed. Looks way too cute for Eddie to be sitting this close to him right now, Jesus. “Well, what would you recommend then, asshole?”

Eddie laughs again, biting down on a grin as he reaches a hand up and pokes Steve right in his furrowed little brow. “It’s easy, Stevie boy. First, you tell them how you feel, and then you make sure they know you’re not going anywhere.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so pretty much exactly what I just said?”

“Is ‘fuck you’ a feeling you’re having?”

“Toward you right now?” Steve smirks, “Yeah, kinda.”

“Oh, well fuck you, too, then!” Eddie laughs. He leans in and puts his lips right to the shell of Steve’s ear, drops his voice, lets it rumble low and smooth. “Bit of advice, sweetheart?”

Steve shivers. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be mean to me when you’re in tickling range,” and then it’s on; Eddie pins Steve between his thighs and tickles him for dear life, fingers digging into his scarred sides while Steve thrashes and hollers and squeals, begging, “Okay, okay, I yield!”

“Damn right, you do,” Eddie grins, drops a quick, triumphant peck on a scattering of moles. They should talk about this. The kissing. They haven’t yet, so they should.

But fuck it. Eddie doesn’t want to, and Steve’s got enough talking to do. “So you’ll talk to Dustin?”

Steve sighs and settles into Eddie’s hold. “Yeah, I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Another quick kiss, this one right above his ear. “Good boy.”

---

send me prompts!

[anarchyrpbook]

FALLOUT (TV SERIES, 2024): Episode Seven Feel free to edit the sentences, places, pronouns, etc, as you need. NSFW TW: Mentions of violence

“Thank you, darling.”

“Well, hell, I probably still got some of your lead in me somewhere.”

“But today, I’m just looking for information.”

“I’ll tell you anything, as long as you leave us in peace.”

“We haven’t heard from him since.”

“There’s always some new little faction, ain’t there?”

“Brand-new team of believers with their own dumbass ideas about how they gonna save the world.”

“What did you do? What is that envelope?”

“But my problem is, by the time I got this letter off your [relation], it was a little bit hard to read.” *holds up bloodied letter with a hole in it.* 

“For some reason, I just can’t make out their location. Now, you give me that location, and I’ll be on my way.”

“I didn’t want to spend my life digging through dirt, I want to build something, and we have the chance -”

“Tell him what he wants to know! Or else he’ll kill us all!”

“Now, please, leave us.”

“What is it about [location], that we all came to this place?”

“But it is just a dream, it’s not real.”

“This is about all the horseshit I can take.”

“I have my principles, [name], that’s all.”

“How do you know them?”

“My research company was acquired by her division.”

“Hypocrisy is like violence in your movies; if you only let bad guys use it, the bad guys win.”

“A good bad guy doesn’t see themselves as the bad guy.”

“It’s a listening device.”

“You want me to spy on them?”

“Good luck with that revolution.”

“I’m not a [foul description/title]. That’s just a dirty word they use to describe people who aren’t insane.”

“We let you into our home. Tended to your wounds, gave you food and water.”

“You’re experimenting on them… It’s sick.”

“What is this?”

“At this point, it would be irrational of me not to acknowledge that these may be my last words.”

“Sorry, I uh, haven’t seen that footage in a long time.”

“I had no idea the original [vault dwellers] here were so… so weird.”

“Your ignorance cannot excuse your cruelty.”

“You have infected our home with violence and now you must pay the price.”

“Are you done?”

“I’m gunna fucking die.”

“If you were a person, you wouldn’t have any friends, you realize that?”

“Okay, I got to reevaluate here.”

“Oh, you want this too, huh? Everybody wants this. Guess what? It’s mine.”

“You think everything’s for you. It’s pretty selfish, actually, you know that?”

“You’re a loose cannon, all right? This is a very important mission, and I can’t have you jeopardizing it.” 

“You can breathe in there, right?”

“It doesn’t matter where you come from or what you believe, you deserve safety… Unless you threaten that peace.”

“It’s almost there.”

“Need to get that sharpened, please.”

“You’re just… Letting me go?”

“That’s, uh, very nice of you guys.”

“I know that I’m not really in the position to be asking favors…”

“I can help people with this. You, for example, I want to help you.”

“I was supposed to marry a stranger, from another [vault]. It didn’t turn out so good.”

“I don’t have the best luck when it comes to strangers.”

“But, [name], I can honestly say, you’re the best stranger I’ve ever met.”

“There’s something I should tell you.”

“He was threatening me, so instead of helping him, I watched him die.”

“So all that stuff you were saying, you know, uhm, about me being a good person…”

“I just threw acid in an innocent man’s face.”

“Do you want to come live with me in my [vault]?”

“Don’t kill me, I’m a doctor, I can help you!”

“Before we start, there’s the small matter of my fee.”

“Remember, wherever you end up, that’s where you belong.”

“Ugh, more death, I wish it would end.”

“What did I tell you, [name], words have meaning.”

“So, you’re just gonna forget about everything we’ve seen?”

“I feel like this is a good moment for a fresh start.”

“You’re a coward, you know that, [name]?”

“We all are, that’s why we live in a [vault].”

“I’ve got three hot cocoas on deck, two marshmallow, one plain.”

“I’m sorry, [name], but you ain’t them.”

“Yeah, uh, my ride should be getting here any minute.”

“People just, uh, can’t be nice.”

“God, I suck without a scope.”

“Why am I not dead?”

“Well, I’m not just gonna leave it there.”

“[Name], I think you might be a ghoul.”

“They’ll kill me if they find out.”

“They’re never going to stop looking for it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“And now we say goodbye to all those that are leaving us for [Vault 32].”

“Uh, excuse me, I don’t live there. I, uh, live here.”

“Sorry, sorry, that was weird. Sorry.”

“Are you compromised?”

“Mission not going as planned.”

[pippuns]

Youve made me curious, what's Tai Sui about? What's the appeal 👀👀

LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT THE APPEAL ANON!!

tai sui is an absolutely fantastically written steampunk xianxia novel that acts as a deconstruction of the xianxia genre!! if you like detailed world building, questions about the cost of immortality, what makes a god, and identity, themes about environmentalism, class, autonomy, the power of names, and just incredible levels of emotional damage (broken up by the funniest and most annoying (/affectionate) protagonist around), tai sui is for you!!

which is to say. this novel was engineered to make me specifically absolutely lose it LOL

i kept on trying to make this post both coherent and not long and i have given up. here is a bunch of words of me yelling about how much i love tai sui below the page break.

TAI SUI IS SO!!! MY BRAIN!!! ITS BEING REWRITTEN!!!

there is literally no one in the main cast i dont like. they're all so funny in their own ways and so likeable!! I genuinely have such a difficult time picking my favorite character in tai sui because they're all so interesting and well-written, and i love seeing them interact with each other

part of this absolutely has to do the protagonist, xi ping, who is just the funniest man around. he's also the most annoying and i want to see him crushed like a bug (/affectionate). he's really good at bouncing off of other characters, and i love seeing him drag other folks into Problems and Situations and just being a general force of chaos and mayhem in the world

it's also really good that he's so funny and lighthearted because tai sui has some really tragic moments!! it gets fucking sad!! i've cried multiple times and i don't usually cry at media!! i only just finished book three!!

tai sui is also really good at writing women!! i love tai sui women so much. i don't really have much more to say about this but like. gender and wlw win <3

another thing tai sui does that i like a lot is zoom out to focus on the ways the events of the novel are affecting ur average day folks. when i say ''tai sui is about class and environmental issues'' i mean they don't just like, say it in the narration and then not elaborate on it. we explicitly see how people are being affected by the way the world is governed and the hardships they are forced to live through. it's not really left to your imagination.

but something i also really really like is that while priest does show the hardship that characterizes the lives of the people, they also show the ways in which people struggle to live on regardless.

tai sui is about tragedy in a lot of ways, but it's not a tragedy they take lying down, and it's not like people don't find their own moments of happiness in spite of the hard lives they live. which is really important to me!! its something i genuinely appreciate from the narration so much!! yes, life is hard. yes, things are difficult. and yes, people find a way to continue on regardless!!!!

PUNCHES A WALL. IM SO EMOTIONAL ABOUT TAI SUI.

ALSO THE NARRATION IS SO GORGEOUS??? LIKE HELLO??? IM LITERALLY OBSESSED WITH THE PROSE. EATS IT WHOLE LIKE IM A BURMESE PYTHON. or uh. like im going out to a gyro place with my friends and i get so focused on eating the food that i don't notice that i'm eating the sandwich paper wrap until a fair amount of it is chowed down haha :')

i also mentioned this a little on my side twitter but the way tai sui is formatted is also really fun to me. like. it feels like a tv show with the way the scenes change and the cliff hangers the chapters end on sometimes. which is why it really doesn't feel like its 900k words. you just keep going and then BOOM ur done with a book. the real reason im doodling my way through this novel is to force myself to go slow. bc otherwise i would have finished it in a week (there is something wrong with me).

anyways please read tai sui

[stevesjockstrap]

explicit | Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | one shot | vampire!eddie - cw: blood

“No, Harrington, listen. You can’t tell the kids, or the girls, or- fucking anyone alright? But I need to tell someone, I feel like I’m going fucking crazy, man.”

“Okay, jeez. It can’t be that bad, just- come sit down.”

Eddie paced around his living room in the apartment they gave them after the trailer was taken for evidence. He was running his hands through his hair so it was all fluffy and Steve tried not to think about tangling his own hands in it.

“See? You’re getting freaked out, already. I can tell. That’s- um. It’s one of the things that’s happening, that’s changed.”

Steve gulped and felt his eyes go wide. “No man, I’m, uh, fine-“

“Steve… I can hear your heart beating like crazy. And that’s not the only thing… uh, well it might be easier to show you?”

“Sh-show… me?”

Eddie motioned him back towards the hallway and he gulped again, raising himself off the couch trying to slow down his heart that Eddie was saying he could … hear from across the room?

It helped that Eddie turned into the bathroom instead of going down the hall to his bedroom. But when he turned on the light and pointed to the mirror, Steve yelped. He was standing there next to him in the bathroom, but Eddie’s reflection was… wrong. It was faint and fuzzy, like Eddie moved right before his picture was taken. But then as he stood there staring at the mirror speechless, Eddie waved his hands around and the reflection got even fuzzier, like the mirror couldn't track his movement in real time.

“When, uh… did this start?”

“I noticed it a couple days ago. And the… hearing things too well. Smelling things.”

“Smelling things?” Steve turned around to focus on the real Eddie, the reflection was making his head hurt.

Eddie looked upset, like he hadn’t meant to say that part. “Just, well, listen don’t judge me okay?” When Steve shook his head he continued, “I can smell everything, dead things on the road or what all of the people in the apartments around us are cooking? But food smells disgusting now.” He sighed and dropped his shoulders, “I can smell that you worked with Keith today.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit, man,” he breathed. He leaned against the sink and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not really like, the weirdness expert. You sure you don’t want to talk to Dustin?”

“No, I don’t want to freak anyone out,” Eddie sighed.

“Thanks for picking me, I really appreciate it.” He said dryly. He started to walk out of the bathroom, wondering why they were still hanging out in there after his show and tell.

They made it back out to the living room before Eddie exclaimed, “I need to figure this out before I hurt someone.”

Steve stopped. Eddie looked at him seriously. “Do you… want to hurt people?”

“Not entirely… but…” Eddie bit his lip and Steve could see that they were red and split, like he’d been chewing on them a lot. Thankfully Eddie seemed to read his staring as concern and not the spark of want, the deep desire to slide his own lips against his raw ones. “That’s another reason I wanted you to know. If something happens, if I do something, you can fight me. You’d protect the others.”

“Eddie-“

“No Steve, I’m serious. I feel- I don’t know how much longer I can deal with it.”

Steve had no idea what that meant. “You’re not making sense, man. Just say it. It can’t be that bad.”

Eddie chuckled dryly. “Alright but remember you asked.” He sighed and threw himself on the couch. “I think I need… blood.”

Steve sat down on the floor right where he was standing. “W-what?”

“I think the bats, or all the blood they had to give me in the fucking secret government lab, did something bad. I think I’m changing into something… I don’t even want to say it. But, everything’s getting worse, and I’m worried I’m going to snap soon. It’s like I’m starving but food isn’t what I want, it’s like eating sawdust. I think I’m losing it, Steve.” He looked at him with big teary eyes and Steve was kneeling in front of him before he could think.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll figure this out. What you showed me, it was real, okay? You’re not losing it, something is going on and we can fix it. Or, maybe I can… help?” Eddie’s eyes widened even further and he started shaking his head. “It’s better than letting you starve. What if you get, like, sick or something without it?”

“This was not what I was asking for when I told you. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Eds, this is definitely not my level of expertise, alright? But it makes sense that you’d need to get some,” he took a deep breath, “blood. Before you’re desperate and more likely to hurt someone. And it’ll buy us time to figure something out.” He stopped to try to decide if he was now desperate to help or if he was desperate to have Eddie drink his blood. Would he want to bite him? He hoped he wanted to. Eddie was looking at him strangely and he hoped he wasn’t developing the power of mind reading.

“You’re sure? You know I can hear your pulse going crazy, right? Maybe you should get that checked out. You know, it was one of the first things I picked up on, your heart beat? It’s very fast, a lot of the time.”

A nervous laugh punched out of him. “Uhhh huh, yeah, I’ll have to look into that,” his voice came out high and awkward and he tried to fix his face as Eddie continued to stare at him. He was fucked. There was no way this was going to work out for him.

“Steve, are you okay?” Eddie pressed his hand against his forehead like he was checking for a fever. Eddie’s hand was cool against his face, which he was sure was flushed and sweaty. He brought his other hand up to cup his neck.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he sighed, his eyes wanting to close as he unconsciously pressed into the hands on his face.

“You smell really good,” Eddie breathed, he had moved closer to him and Steve forced himself not to close the distance and taste those red bitten lips. “Like backyard raspberries in the summer. Juicy and sweet.” He moved his hand off his forehead to cradle the other side of his neck, sliding forward on the couch so Steve was trapped between his legs. He leaned in even closer, taking a big breath like he was tasting the air.

“Please,” he gasped out, not even knowing what he was asking for.

“I can hear your blood pumping through your body,” he whispered, still so close but not close enough. Suddenly, he pulled back and was looking at him seriously. “You need to tell me right now if you don’t want this, Steve.”

Steve looked up at him, shaking his head, grabbing at his thighs. “Want it, bite me, kiss me, anything,” he panted. Eddie’s lips slid against his and he let out an embarrassing noise. Sharp teeth found his bottom lip and he felt like he was going to pass out. He pulled back and Eddie’s face dropped. “No, it’s- can I see? Show me.”

Eddie was confused for a second then opened his mouth. Steve groaned and reached for him. With a crooked toothy smile he leaned back in, Steve holding his jaw as he stared at his fangs. The three teeth on each side of his normal front teeth were long and sharp. Steve pressed the pad of his thumb up into the point of his long canine tooth, unprepared for Eddie’s reaction. He whined and grabbed his wrist, licking around his thumb for the small amount of blood. After another moment of sucking Steve’s thumb, he let go of him completely but reached down, manhandling him up to straddle his lap.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped. He was hard as a rock and now he could feel Eddie was in a similar state. Eddie was mouthing down his neck.

“Blood first,” Eddie growled. Steve made himself stay as still as possible, wanting to grind his hips or push his neck into his mouth. Finally Eddie seemed to settle on a spot and he opened his mouth to scream as the initial burst of pain washed over him. But then it settled into a warm pressure, and he could feel Eddie’s tongue sliding across the bite where his neck met his shoulder. It was sending sparks of pleasure through his entire body. He writhed against him uncontrollably, and Eddie grabbed his hips, holding him still. After what simultaneously felt like seconds and hours, Eddie pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were both panting and Eddie still had a hard grip on his hips. Steve zeroed in on a smear of blood on his upper lip and couldn’t pull his attention away from it.

As their lips made contact, Eddie pulled his hips forward, rubbing their hard lengths against each other. Steve knew he wasn’t going to last long, and as this might be his only chance, he slid both hands into Eddie’s hair. As he tugged on the soft strands he licked into Eddie’s mouth, chasing the copper taste and reveling in the noises Eddie was making. Steve caught the rhythm and flexed his hips hard against him. Eddie groaned deep in his chest and Steve’s hips stuttered.

“Fuck, Eds, I’m gunna come,” he warned.

“Go ahead, baby, I got you,” Eddie said, still controlling his hips, and quickly reclaimed his mouth. Steve whined into the kiss and ground his hips down. Eddie’s hands released his hips to instead grab his ass to shove him forward and back.

Steve had to break the kiss to gasp out, “Holy shit,” as he came hard. He panted into his shoulder, Eddie kissing down the side of his neck making him shudder as he came down.

“Can’t believe you let me bite you and make you come in your pants,” he chuckled in his ear. “Maybe you’re just as much of a freak as me.” He looked up at him with a wide grin, taking away any sting from his comment.

“Well freaks like us have to stick together.”

“Hmm… speaking of sticking together, can I clean you up?” He lolled his tongue out and Steve gaped at him. His face closed off again, “Too much? It just smells so good. I don’t-“

“No, that’s not- you can, I just- holy shit, Eddie,” he stumbled out.

Eddie’s eyes darkened and his grin grew filthy, “I don’t think ‘holy’ is the correct word for whatever I am, Stevie.”

[chaoticjoke]

@alootus ▿Padmé▿ said:

❝ Question if you will be able to look at yourself in the mirror once this is over. ❞ / go with the verse / setting most to your liking okay !

The corners of his marred mouth go upwards as he looks down to meet her gaze. It takes him a second to read her expression. Concern, disgust, fear are written all over that pretty face of hers. So human. So pure.

Mirror, mirror on the wallllll...

He is thriving on chaos that's quickly unfolding around him. The product of his master plan is finally coming to fruition. It does bring a smile to his face -- seeing Gotham in flames, literally, watching the city collapse from the multiple explosions he's planted all over. The cacophony of screams and cries of terrified and injured people mixed with the useless blaring of the police sirens is like music to his ears -- a macabre symphony of anarchy and disorder.

Who's the funniest of them all?

He can't help but chuckle at her statement. It genuinely amuses him that she's still trying to sway his moral compass back to good, searching so desperately for any trace of humanity and remorse. A complete waste of time.

'Will he be able to look. at himself. in the mirror?' Really? Reeeeaaaaallllyyyy?

Not a very effective way to scold him considering he's someone who films his most gruesome tortures and crimes on camera and then sends the videos to GCPD and GCN on a daily basis only to enjoy his face while switching from one TV channel to another in prime time. Perhaps she should ask herself instead.

"Real question is.... if you're gonna be able to live with yourself once this is over, Princessssss."

Joker tilts his head slightly to the side and winks at her. They're on the roof of a building, Downtown Gotham City, and she's trapped with him. "You know, it's funny." His chest still rumbles from the giggles. "You were uh, the catalyst that started this." He gestures his hand theatrically to point at the mayhem they're both witnessing from their VIP place. "So, in a way..." he nods several times, lowering his voice, black-ringed orbs darken. "It's alllll your fault."

[mika-ayumi]

COMFORT HOUSE CHAPTER ONE

She awoke to sound of shuffling. She peered through her blanket fort as she froze with fear. A being with what looked like 4 eyes none of its face. It slightly was visible due to the light of the alarm clock. Unlucky for her the thing saw her. It growled ripping the blanket off the bunk bed.

It's voice gravely and creepy dripping with awful intention. Not speaking only growling.

Her breathing was heavy as she tried to run for the door and she grabbed. It's hand the size of her whole waist. She screamed for her parents but nothing came out. She kicked and punched but the creature didn't move only tightening almost like it was trying to pop her like a balloon. Tears streaming down her cheeks crying out to no one. Until with one swift slice the creature fell in two letting her drop though she didn't hit the ground. She looked up to see something she couldn't believe "Hey..you ok?" Asked a familiar voice she only heard in her TV. A turtle stood holding her with blue mask with his brothers. Quickly going human at the site her fearful eyes. "I'm..dreaming..I'm.." the girl hiccupped barely being able to speak. "nope not a dream!" The younger brother smiled with a bright orange hoodie and overalls covered in patches. His fluffy hair framing his freckled covered face. The girl quickly lost consciousness. Later waking up in a house she didn't know. With voices she recognized but they shouldn't be real. She slowly sat up with the whole room looked at her. "My queen she's awoken!" "Gundham we've talked about this-" "Not the time for your unwarranted agurements." Another boy. One with bright yellow jacket and black jacket "Hey..are you alright?" "This isnt.." "This is fully real my queen." "gundham." "Don now isn't the time" she sat there wide eyed with everyone she found comfort in the people wanted to in arms off when she was upset or sad. Squeal of a pig could be heard. The girl turned her head "Waddles...?" The pig jumped into her lap. "My lady!" The pigs owner jumped on the couch hugging the girl "Mabel! Careful!!" The Tall blonde boy said with worry

"Am..i..dead..?"

"Ok we are going .further."

"No..you are alive"

" Should I get the mug? Feel like I should get the mug. I'm getting the mug."

"So..uh... astral projection.."

"How did we get there?"

The purple one with short hair brought her a mug. "read this my lady" "..I live off sarcasm and coffee"

The small girl giggled

"I made him that. WAIT I NEED TO MAKE YOU ONE!"

"So My lady. You aren't dreaming you couldn't read in a dream. You are alive. You can breathe and you aren't Astral projecting because" he grabbed her hand "I can infact touch you. You are also on the couch."

She looked around "..right..so uh.." she pet the pig in her lap which was nuzzling into her lower stomach "where..I am?"

"Your comfort house!" The girl.- Mabel said Happily

"..ok that kinda uh explains all..of you..being here....sorta..sorry I'm..kinda processing? I guess"

"your fine my lady" Mirio assured

"Why are you calling me my lady?...I'm..I don't know just me"

The girl pushed up her glasses and shrugged

"your the head of the house! We are your comfort characters! So you kinda run the house!" Tanjiro explained leaning over the couch with a bright smile

"Oh!" The girl whispered. Nodding content.

"IVE GOTTA GET THAT MUG"

'MABEL WAIT SHES IN NO STATE TO PAINT-"

The girl chuckled

Tack who had been in the back picked her up "Whoa!"

He walked up the stairs grabbing some sort of keys and unlocking a door at the middle pushing it open

"This looks..nice. I like the smell ...it smells like my mom's perfume."

Tack walked over to a picture hug on the wall of the girl and her mother. He gently but firmly grabbed her hand putting on the picture. Causing it to glow

"Is..this uh.." she looked at the glowing light "How I go home..?" Tack nodded. She went through falling onto her floor. Looking at the clock it was 5:38. "Jesus..how long was i gone for.." the growling came back. She looked up with horror. How the fuck wasn't it dead. She screamed sound actually coming out. A shining light pierced the room a Kusari-fundo wrapping the monster causing to fade.

"MY LADY!" Mikey hugged her "I heard you scream in the room..he did hurt you?" "..mentally or.. physical?" She tried to joked.

"Let's go.. physical?" "No..he didn't touch me." "Good" he got up and headed up to the rise poster which hung in her room

"Wait Mikey" he turned "Yeah?" "How do I..visit..again..?" "uhh. I'm gonna be honest I don't know. This has never happened before. I overheard Mike saying he was gonna get in contact with Ms.Miku!"

"Like Hatsune Miku?" She asked "Mhm! Posters are kinda portals! It how I got here!" He smiled. "Till next time!" And he jumped into the portal.

The girl looked around her "..how the fuck did my parents not hear that scream. Wait fans-"

[exanimateisacomic]

Levi sat in the living room, hugging a pillow and watching something on tv.

His mind wasn’t focused on the screen, all he could see was his actions from that night. The feeling of crushing another persons skull, the fouls sent of demon blood and Reuben.

He tensed, his grip tightening on the pillow. Reuben was there, he was almost assaulted and was knocked unconscious. Levi thought he was dead and couldn’t have that in his mind, he tried to focus on the show but all he kept seeing was his unmoving body in that terrible place.

“H-hey Levi?” A voice said. This snapped Levi out of his dark train of thought and glanced over. It was Reuben. He didn’t have his usual look of indifference but instead one of concern.

He was dressed in a large sweater and wore jogging pants. His hair was messy and slick, like he just stepped out of the shower. The sent of body wash confirmed that.

Levi just stared at him. His body trembling and a tear running down his face. He just waved at him.

Reuben nodded “I heard from my folks that you-you saved me?” He spoke in a soft voice

Levi slowly nodded. He tried to speak again but all that came out was “y- uh-eh-“ he looked away in shame and curled up on the couch.

Reuben stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “Dad said you were not speaking, I just figured he meant like in a willing sense.”

Levi shrugged and looked down at the floor, Reuben walked further in and sat on the opposite side of the near catatonic demon.

“Look, I know I’ve given you a hard time and have caused you unnecessary pain. But what you did for me that night, I’m thankful for. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Levi uncurled and looked at the young demon. “Ah- uh-“ he shut his mouth and reached for his pad and pen. He scribbled for a second and held up his pad to Reuben

“You are welcome. I am glad you are safe too.” Was scrawled on the pad.

Levi tried to give a smile but his composure faltered and he just curled up again, dropping the pad in the process. He sobbed a little bit and buried his face in his sleeve.

“Why are you so upset? I’m safe now!” Reuben stated

Levi reached down for the pad, tore a page and wrote some more, he flipped it so Reuben could read.

“I am upset because I killed the man that attacked you in a brutal way.”

The pad fell once more, and Levi curled up again.

Reuben looked confused “wait, I thought you killed people before, why was this any different?”

Levi didn’t move, he looked down at the pad, unwilling to write. luckily Luis stepped in

“It’s because it was the demon in Seth that did the killing before.”

Reuben turns to his dad “what?”

He explained “I’m not sure how but when the demon takes possession of Seth, Levi is able to take control from the demon. But he struggles, hence the odd infliction when he talks.”

Reuben looked back at Levi, now seeing that his horns and bare nostrils aren’t his real face but that of Seth’s inner demon. The only thing that was truly Levi was his eyes. “Oh, so the demon is in the body now but it’s Levi behind the wheel?”

Luis nodded “yep. And when Levi did what he did, that was all him. The first time taking a life.”

Levi shielded himself with his arms, trying to block out their conversation “s-st-“ he clammed up and just shook his head.

Luis realized his mistake. “Sorry, sorry. I should’ve known better.” He walked over and patted Levi’s back “we’ve got some leftovers in the fridge I can heat up, would you want that?”

Levi lowered his arms and looked up at Luis with his big teary green eyes. He stared for a minute. “Ye-y-“ he tried to talk but the words were still getting caught in his throat. He just nodded after closing his mouth.

Luis nodded back “okay then, Reuben?” He turned to his son “would you like some too?”

Reuben hesitated but shrugged his shoulders “sure, doc said I needed to eat a little more.”

Luis smiled and turns back to Levi “so you want to stay here or come with me to the kitchen?”

Levi finally sat up in his seat and was nodding

“I figured. It’s not fun being alone.” He led the way, Levi shuffling behind him as they made their way to the kitchen.

[purrincess-chat]

Fashion Faux Paw CH5

Only one chapter left! Tensions are rising in this chapter. Thanks as always to my beta @avrilmaria for putting up with me. The last chapter will be posted on Monday with my second artist’s work, so please be ready to show her some love! I hope you all enjoy~

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

“Girl, wake up!”

Marinette rolled over with a groan, blinking up at Alya kneeling next to her on the bed. Her best friend’s shoulders heaved with each pant, sweat glistening on her forehead.

“What’s going on?” Marinette checked her phone for akuma alerts, but other than a slew of missed calls and texts from Alya, her phone was quiet. “It’s 7 AM on a Saturday. Why are you here?”

“Your blog is on TV!”

Marinette pulled her blanket back over her head, the siren call of sleep weighing her eyelids after a long night of sewing.

“Can we talk about it later?” She yawned.

“M.” Alya yanked the blanket down again and quirked a brow at her.

The gears in Marinette’s brain turned slowly, each word grinding until they broke through the fog. Her blog was on TV? Her blog was on TV?! She shot up, following Alya down the stairs to the living room where she turned on the morning news.

“Almost as viral as a superhero herself, this young collége student’s fashion blog is feline the love. This isn’t the first time Marinette Dupain-Cheng has made headlines, having designed the cover of rockstar Jagged Stone’s most recent album as well as a derby hat featured in world-renowned fashion designer Gabriel Agreste’s fashion show earlier this year. It seems the young stylist is packing yet another celebrity endorsement under her belt, this time in the form of one of Paris’s own superheroes,” the news anchor said. “Dupain-Cheng began uploading photos of Chat Noir to her fashion blog last week, garnering thousands of likes and comments overnight, but the real catalyst driving her success are the recent outfits and accessories inspired by the cat king himself. Fans of the hero are going rabid asking where they can purchase the merch in question. Marinette Dupain-Cheng might only be fourteen, but she’s stitching her name at the top of everyone’s watch list. What else does this trail-blazing teen have in the works? We’ll just have to wait and see what she does next.”

“Girl!” Alya yanked Marinette’s arm with a squeal. “I knew this Chat Noir merch would be big for you!”

Marinette’s phone rang in her hands, a number she didn’t recognize flashing on the screen. Tilting her head to the side, she answered it apprehensively.

“Hello?”

“Is this Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” A woman asked.

“Uh, yeah? Who is this?” Marinette shrugged when Alya quirked a brow.

“My name is Alize Lemieux, the event coordinator for tomorrow’s fashion expo, and we would love for you to display your designs. It would be a great opportunity for you to network with real people in the business,” the woman said.

“For… For real?” Marinette blinked.

“Of course. We have a lot of promising upcoming designers featuring their work, and everyone is talking about you,” Mme. Lemieux said.

Marinette glanced at Alya who took the phone and said, “We’ll be there.”

“Excellent! I look forward to seeing your designs in person, Marinette.” She hung up, leaving Marinette standing stunned in the middle of her living room.

“Girl, this is huge! Real live people in the industry have their eye on you. This is your chance to show them what you’re made of!” Alya shook her shoulders.

Marinette’s lips curled into a smile, an elated squeal bubbling up from her chest. “Will you help me with my display?” She took Alya’s hands.

“Duh, I’m part of your team,” Alya said. “I’ve got your back. Let’s go see what you have.”

The moment she’d been dreaming of since getting her first sewing machine as a child was finally happening! People were taking her seriously as a designer, and she was going to show her work to real industry professionals. Soon she’d be flying all over the world opening boutiques for her brand. She’d fly back to Paris in her private jet, and Adrien would see how amazing and successful she was. He’d be so impressed that she’d finally get the opportunity to ask him to the movies! She owed Chat Noir a thousand croissants for his help.

“-is she okay?”

“I think her head’s stuck in the clouds. She’s been like this for hours.”

Marinette blinked out of her daydream to see Alya and Chat Noir giving her curious looks.

“Chat Noir, when did you get here?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Like five minutes ago, girl.” Alya shook her head, zipping a pink dress into a garment bag. “You’ve been zoned out since you got that phone call earlier. You even almost packed your lunch into a box for the display.”

Marinette gave a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. It’s still sinking in.”

“Alya told me you’re going to show off your work at the fashion expo tomorrow. That’s incredible news, Marinette,” Chat Noir said.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Really, thank you.” She stretched up to hug his neck.

“Tell you what, why don’t I come down tomorrow and model a few things for you live? It’s sure to impress some people, and as the official superhero spokesperson for your brand, I feel obligated to promote you as much as I can,” he said.

“That would be amazing! I’ll pack the mask and ears.”

“Great, then I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Chat Noir gave a two finger salute and took his leave through her skylight.

Marinette patted her cheeks and took a deep breath. Alya was right, she needed to get her head out of the clouds and focus on impressing everyone tomorrow.

“Should we pack any of your Chat Noir stuff?” Alya asked.

Marinette pursed her lips, examining the pile of cat sweaters and skirts, and shook her head. “Nah, I want to show off my regular stuff. The Chat Noir designs are more of a side project, and I want them to take me seriously.”

Alya shrugged and hung another garment bag on the rack. They finished packing everything for the display, and Alya called her sister to bring over clothes for a sleepover. The following morning, with the help of Marinette’s parents, they brought all of the items for her display down to the venue to set up.

Nervous butterflies fluttered in Marinette’s stomach, but she swallowed them down as they arranged her display. She could totally do this. Everyone was going to love her work, and pretty soon she and Adrien would be flying off into the sunset in her private jet and-

“What’s all this?” A tall woman in a fitted green blazer examined a pink dress on a mannequin with a peculiar look.

Marinette recognized her voice from the day before.

“You must be Mme. Lemieux. I’m Marinette, you invited me yesterday on the phone.” She offered a hand for her to shake, but Mme. Lemieux’s eyes were fixed on the items in Marinette’s display.

“It seems there was a bit of a miscommunication,” she said. “When I invited you to present your work, I just assumed you’d bring your Chat Noir pieces to display.”

“Oh…” Marinette deflated. “Well, the cat stuff isn’t what I primarily design. I do a variety of things as you can see, I’ve got-”

“Yes, yes, but no one wants to see variety. We want to see what you’re known for,” Mme. Lemieux said.

“What I’m known for?” Marinette recoiled.

Mme. Lemieux gestured to her display with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The event starts in a little over an hour. Can you swap all of these bland designs out for the Chat Noir line?”

Bland?! Marinette’s jaw clenched, the hammering of her heart burning her chest. As much as she wanted to scream and defend her work, Marinette didn’t want to ruin her chances, so she swallowed her pride.

“Sure,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing your true work.” Mme. Lemieux offered her a smile and disappeared up the aisle.

“Ugh!” Marinette growled when she was out of earshot. “Seriously? They invited me here to show off my stupid cat merch?”

“What’s the big deal, girl? You wanted to show off your work, and you did design all of the Chat Noir stuff.” Alya shrugged.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be known as Chat Noir’s personal stylist! This was supposed to be my moment.” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest.

“And it still will be.” Alya paced over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s just run home and grab your Chat Noir stuff and get it set up before the event starts, okay? There will be plenty of time in the future to show everyone your other stuff, but right now you’re riding the Chat Noir express.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance for me to hop off at the next station?” When Alya gave her a look, she let out a huff. “Fine. We’ll go get the Chat Noir stuff.”

They managed to make the swap in time, but as people flocked to her display, Marinette felt no sense of pride as she fielded questions about what Chat Noir was like (annoying) or what his favorite color was (who cares?). No one was even looking at her designs, and to add insult to injury, her live model was running late. When he finally dropped in from the ceiling, everyone abandoned her to gawk over him.

“Chat Noir!”

“Is Ladybug with you?”

“Are you single?

“Will you sign my face?”

“Whoa!” Chat Noir held up cautioning hands. “One at a time, girls. This cat needs to talk to his purrsonal stylist.”

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, grinding her teeth together. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

“Sorry, I got a little caught up, but my incredible physique is all yours for the rest of the afternoon.” He flexed a bicep, sending his fangirls into a tizzy of excited shrieks and squeals.

“Great.” Marinette grabbed the nearest articles of clothing from the rack — a green cat jacket and a black kitten skirt — and thrust them at him. “Go put these on.”

“Uhh…” His mask furrowed.

Alya stepped in and linked her arm through his. “I’ve got you. Chat Noir will be back shortly, ladies.”

“Yay.” Marinette rolled her eyes.

She retreated back to her display while Chat Noir’s fans crowded around to await his return. When he reemerged in a green and black biker jacket, pawprint shirt, and dark jeans, his fans went wild.

“Whoa, whoa, back up! One at a time.” Alya forced herself between Chat Noir and dozens of grabby hands. “Single-file, everyone will get a turn to take pictures with Chat Noir.”

Marinette watched them all bounce up to him twirling their hair and batting their eyelashes, asking him what his favorite TV show was or if he and Ladybug were together. They commented on how cute he looked, giggling in delight when he’d flip his hair or strike a pose. Not a single one of them complimented her craftsmanship or even cared about the tiny cat-shaped buttons she’d molded by hand. No one cared about her designs, not even on her blog — they only cared about him. And Marinette had enough.

Squeezing through the throng of teen girls, Marinette tapped his shoulder. “Chat Noir, I need to talk to you.”

“Sorry, but you’ll have to wait your turn like everyone else,” he said, smiling for another picture.

“I don’t think I will.” Marinette yanked his collar to face her.

“Oh, sorry, Marinette. I didn’t realize it was you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your display is really popular right now, and I’m kind of busy, can we talk later?”

Marinette bit a sharp retort on her tongue, opting instead to say, “No. We’re gonna talk right now.” She took his wrist and dragged him away from the crowd.

“Hey? Where are you taking him? It was almost my turn!” One girl whined.

“Chat Noir is going to model another outfit for you, he needs to change. It’ll just take a minute,” Marinette called, shoving him behind the curtain of her booth.

He looked her up and down apprehensively when she pulled the curtain shut and cocked a hip.

“Uh, are you gonna stand back here while I change or-”

“You’re not changing, dummy!” Marinette snapped, rolling her eyes.

Chat Noir shrank, lips puckering into the perfect pout that she wanted to slap off his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Marinette took a deep breath, forcing her shoulders to relax. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s just… Today isn’t really going how I thought it would. I was hoping to show off my original designs, but then the event coordinator told me no one wanted to see my real designs. This is all just a lot, and it’s really frustrating.”

“Marinette, you’re worrying about nothing. You made this outfit with your own two hands. It is your original work, and everyone is looking at it!” Chat Noir said.

“No, everyone is looking at you.” Marinette jabbed his chest with her finger.

“I mean, can you blame them? I am incredibly handsome.” He flashed her a smug grin, but she wasn’t in the mood.

“Kittycat? What’s taking so long? I was hoping to get a picture with you.” One of his fangirls poked her head behind the curtain as if to prove Marinette’s point.

“I’ll be out in just a sec!” he called. “I gotta go, but don’t worry. I have this in the bag for you.”

“Oh, do you? How generous,” Marinette said, not bothering to mask the bite in her voice.

“Whoa, hey, I’m just trying to help you out.” He held up defensive hands.

“Help me out or boost your own ego?”

“Here, kitty-kitty!” His fans called.

“Me-ouch! You’ve got a temper to match Ladybug’s. It’s not my fault I’m so popular!” Chat Noir huffed. He pulled back the curtain and waved to his adoring fans.  

Marinette’s nails dug into her palms, cheeks burning hot. Her annoyance bubbled into her throat, poisoning her tongue with red-hot rage.

“You are the most selfish, self-absorbed, egotistical boy I’ve ever met!” she shouted. “You were supposed to be doing me a favor, but all you’ve done is inflate your own big head! I’m tired of making designs with your stupid face on them!”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened, the shock of her words sending a hush over the room, but just as quickly as the words left her lips, Chat Noir’s fangirls turned on her.

“Ugh, she’s just jealous.”

“Yeah, no one would ever look at her ugly designs without you, kitty.”

“She should be thanking you!”

One girl pushed over a mannequin in protest, another ripped a page of unused designs from Marinette’s sketchbook off the wall and crumpled it up. Two girls flipped the table of shirts for sale while another set ripped a sweater in half.

“Whoa, whoa, girls!” Chat Noir attempted to catch another mannequin as it fell. “Marinette worked really hard on all of these, so please just-”

“No, go ahead!” Marinette urged. “Make sure you rip every last stitch!”

“Marinette!” Chat spun on her, eyebrows knitting together.

She pursed her lips when his eyes watered and shook her head. “Just transform and go home. I’m done.”

She turned and stalked off, leaving his rabid fangirls to do their worst. Kicking open the door to the women’s restroom, she locked herself in the nearest stall and rubbed her temples. She should have listened to Alya from the beginning and been more patient. Then her blog wouldn’t be filled with Chat Noir’s stupid fangirls. At least when it was just her friends, the comments came from people who actually cared about her work. Getting attention quickly came with more drawbacks than she anticipated. Why did she ever agree to let Chat Noir model for her? She should have known she’d get buried under his fame.

“M?” Alya knocked on the stall door.

“I’m not coming out.”

“Okay, then let me in,” Alya said.

Marinette pursed her lips and unlocked the door, letting Alya slip into the stall with her before locking it again. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.

Alya looked her up and down, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, girl. You tried to tell me earlier that the Chat Noir stuff bothered you, but I didn’t listen. I guess I just didn’t want you to miss an opportunity to get your name out there, but I never considered that this wasn’t the attention you wanted.”

“It’s just so annoying! This was supposed to be my chance to shine, but as far as they all care, he could be modeling a potato sack. No one’s even looking at my designs, and truthfully, I don’t want to look at them anymore either! I never wanted to be Chat Noir’s official brand ambassador.” Hot tears stung her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in streaks.

“Then we’ll start over and put out something you’re proud of next time, okay?” Alya placed her hands on Marinette’s shoulders. “You don’t have to work with him anymore, but I think you owe Chat Noir an apology. When I took him to change into the first outfit, he said he was really happy for you. I know he can be kind of full of himself, but he just wanted to help. I don’t think he ever wanted to upset you.”

Marinette swallowed the lump in her throat and shifted her weight. Alya was right. Chat Noir was a lot of things, but the last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt someone. Even if his theatrics got on her nerves at times, he was a good friend. A good friend that just wanted to help…

“Ugh!” Marinette buried her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him. He probably hates me.”

“He was pretty hurt, but… I think he realized how out of hand things had gotten. We both ran off to look for you. You should go try to find him. I’ll go do damage control at your display,” Alya said.

Marinette wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled. “Thanks, Alya.”

“What are best friends for?” She winked, pulling Marinette in for a tight hug. “Go make things right. I’ve got your back.”

Marinette unlocked the stall and retreated from the bathroom. Alya split off toward the showroom, while Marinette started up the hall. When she rounded the corner, she collided with a soft shirt, stumbling back. Gentle hands caught her as she scrambled to find her footing, and Marinette found herself looking up into woeful green eyes bordered by a black mask.

“Hey!” She blinked.

“Hey…” He steadied her, then let his hands fall back to his sides.

She bit her lip. He shifted his weight, and silence stretched between them as neither one knew quite what to say.

“I’m sorry!” They finally blurted at the same time.

Chat Noir rubbed the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have blown you off when you told me you were upset. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Marinette said. “You were trying to help, and I lost my cool. I guess I was just jealous that everyone cared about you more than me.”

“You had every right to be mad. Today was supposed to be a big opportunity for you, and I let all the attention go to my head. I didn’t mean to steal your thunder. Will you forgive me?” He hung his head like a scolded kitten.

“Only if you forgive me. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and said such hurtful things,” she said. “Are we cool?”

He nodded, a smile breaking over his lips. He pulled her in for a tight hug, but just as her shoulders relaxed, Chat Noir flipped her to the ground, narrowly dodging a cat-shaped throwing star.