#also guys from middle class/upper middle class homes are the ones I have the *worst* experiences with like

[snail-is-wired]

They make fun of girls with low self esteem (read: fat, poor, etc.) for dating guys who are considered shitty and low class but have you considered pretty, "nice" boys are also shitty and look at me like I'm garbage

[sashaforthewin]

[on Ao3] Rated M, sex mention, Steddie

ATM Boy

The song started as a joke. Eddie wrote it to see Steve's reaction. 

It had a catchy tune and the lyrics began as a love song of sorts. Steve sat on the couch in Gareth's garage tapping his foot along to the heavy beat and smiling at Eddie as he sang. Until he got to the chorus, of course. 

"He's my ATM boy, my ATM boooooooyyyyy"

Steve rolled his eyes, assuming this was some dumb jab at his being rich. He was upper middle class, at best.

"I can tell he loves me / I can tell he's true / cause when we're in bed there's a thing that he lets me doooOOO!"

Steve was already frowning as soon as Eddie mentioned them in bed but Eddie kept singing, holding eye contact the whole time.

"He let's me go ass to mouth, ass to-"

"EDDIE! EDWARD J MUNSON, ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

The song cut off as various members of the band, Eddie most of all, lost their collective shit at Steve's reaction, laughing at his outburst.

Steve strode over to where Eddie was cackling into the mic, hands on hips, and when Eddie didn't stop, Steve just smacked the mic to the floor.

"Hey, that's expensive!"

"Then you better make sure not to sing about our sex life with the rest of your band present after you buy a replacement, huh?"

Everyone except Eddie agreed that Eddie had sort of deserved it and should replace the mic. Steve forgave him fairly quickly, though, since it was just some harmless joking among friends that would laugh it off. 

That was, until the gig. 

Corroded Coffin got booked to open for the metal band Devastator that were out of Indy. They had three times the fan base of Corroded Coffin, so probably upwards of twenty people were at the show. Sure, those people were also local musicians that were friends of the main band, but a fan is a fan, shut up.

Since the gig was at a shitty dive bar in the city, the kids couldn't come; but Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle decided to come along, as well as Murray, for some reason. Nancy had flat out said she didn't want to have to ride all that way to stand in a smoky bar and hear music she hated, so nobody tried to talk her into it.

Steve was up front in one of Eddie's home-made Corroded Coffin tee shirts. He was still wearing his light wash jeans and a pair of bright orange earplugs, though, so he didn't entirely fit in, but he wasn't as out of place as he thought he would be. There was a guy in a yellow disco suit in the crowd, after all. 

The gang were having a great time. Murray along with yellow disco suit dude were both at the center of the moshpit, slamming and being slammed, Jonathan and Argyle stood around Steve, helping block the worst of the crowd while Steve's hearing was muffled and he wasn't paying attention to anything but his boyfriend, and Robin was alternating hanging with Steve and going to hang against the wall where it was safest. 

Eddie and the boys seemed so happy and were doing great, aside from a few minor difficulties. One of Eddie's strings broke during their second song, but the guitarist from Devastator was quick to loan Eddie his own guitar for the rest of the set. 

The  rest of the Corroded Coffin set was going smoothly after the guitar swap. The crowd was really into the music, and Eddie looked like a natural up there. He introduced the band members and thanked the audience and Devastator for having them, and then announced that this next song would be their last. 

As the opening notes rang out, Eddie risked a glance at Steve and cringed. He was furious and Eddie would definitely be sleeping on the couch tonight. 

But the thing was, the song ATM Boy really was very catchy. It was daring, it was sexual, it was devious and queer, but above all, it was a bit of an earworm. The audience went nuts for it, they were screaming when the chorus hit and by the final chorus, a bunch of people were singing along. It went over better than they ever even thought it would. 

Which made it all the worse that Steve continued to stare at Eddie as if he had been betrayed in the worst possible way. He just stood there. Eddie had to force himself to concentrate on the crowd, not on Steve. As soon as the set was done, Corroded Coffin grabbed their shit and made way for Devastator while the party surrounded Steve and tried to pretend they hadn't just heard a very intimate fact about their friend, discussing the crowd energy and how good the boys had done and literally anything that wasn't the elephant in the room. Steve did not participate in the conversation at all, he was quietly seething. 

He refused to talk to or be touched by Eddie the entire rest of the night, making sure to put his arm around Robin so that only their party would know he was the so-called ATM boy. The ride home was awkward and a bit tense, but the fight was saved until they were at home, alone in Steve's house. Steve pulled off his Corroded Coffin shirt and threw it at Eddie's face before storming off up the stairs. 

"Baby, I'm sorry! Baby, come on, it was funny!"

"You asshole, you just told all our friends and Murray that I let you… that I… it was a one time thing! Do not think I am ever letting you do that again after you did this!"

"Yeah, that's fair. But baby, it's just shock value! And it's a surprisingly catchy tune, I don't know why it came out that way but it did! I swear I wrote it to make you laugh, but the guys all wanted to play it at the show. I voted not to but was overruled! Come on, please forgive me. Baby? Please? Baby?"

"Ugh... Fine, okay, fine. I forgive you for humiliating me in front of our friends. At least the kids weren't there and only about thirty people heard it. I guess. And now it's over and I won't see most of those people ever again. So, I guess, yeah, it's kinda funny."

"You know I love you and I respect you so much. I'd let you go ATM on me as an apology."

Steve just huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, but he allowed Eddie to kiss him and wrap him in a hug. He was just glad this was the end of it.

Months went by and Steve had nearly forgotten about the whole thing. 

Until Eddie and the Coffin boys recorded their first demo. It wasn't anything professional, it was recorded in a large truckstop bathroom with decent acoustics and it was recorded with a portable cassette recorder, but it was recorded nonetheless. 

They had made a bunch of copies, sent them off to a few radio stations, and sold a bunch to indie record stores, handed them out to friends and sold them at their weekly gig. In the second week, a few new people showed up specifically to buy their tape because they had heard their friend's copy.

Eddie was so excited for the growing buzz that he wasn't thinking when he popped the tape into Steve's stereo to celebrate. He had been very careful to only play Steve Side B, never Side A, up until now. 

As soon as ATM Boy came on, Steve slammed on the brakes so hard Eddie nearly broke his face on the dashboard. When he saw Steve's expression, Eddie thought maybe breaking his face would've been preferable. 

Eddie slept on the couch for a week after that, but Steve eventually forgave him. 

Steve had nearly gone back to a completely normal life free of mortifying embarrassment, having convinced himself only subculture dwelling weirdos had heard the song.

But then a local radio station played ATM Boy. Not just once, they put it into their evening rotation. And then another station farther away picked it up. And then another. And then things spiraled from there. 

The only saving grace was that the radio had censored it. The lyrics were now "he lets me go ah- - t'mouth" though Steve suspected people probably still got the gist of it from the rest of the song. 

Corroded Coffin got signed to a record label and they recorded their first album in an actual studio. On the studio release, it was decided for the lyrics to become "he lets me go A T M" even though "to mouth" did not strictly speaking need censoring, it flowed better. 

ATM Boy, meanwhile, was starting to spread. It reached the billboard Top 100 list and started climbing. The band started touring for real, not just road trips to Indy and Chicago. They started selling out mid-sized venues and meeting other bands and forming friendships with fellow creatives. 

Eddie was finally the rock star he had dreamed of. 

And Steve was struggling to be supportive while also wishing he was invisible and unknown to anyone. He was living in constant fear of being found out. Not just because he wasn’t publicly out, but because Steve did not want to be known as the ATM boy and he felt even being seen in Eddie’s presence would damn him. 

At first he refused to tour with Eddie and the band, but after not seeing his boyfriend for months, Steve was both lonely and worried Eddie would cheat or leave him for someone else. It took Eddie a while to notice how badly Steve was handling everything but once he did, he hired Steve as his hairdresser so that he would be able to drag Steve around and have an on-the-books excuse for his constant presence. He groveled and doted on Steve and tried everything in his power to atone for the embarrassment, paranoia, and distress he had caused the man he loved.

There were many rocky years but they managed to stay together through it all. Caring for Steve and focusing on him was actually what helped Eddie avoid the pitfalls of fame that so many bands fell victim to. Who has time to do drugs when they have so many beautiful moles to kiss and a gorgeous toned back to massage?

And on a talk show, nearly forty years after the song ATM Boy was written, Eddie Munson told the audience about his wonderful husband and about the real ATM boy.

“It wasn't my husband, just some other guy I slept with.” 

Unfortunately, two minutes later in the interview he off-handedly mentioned Steve is the only guy he's ever slept with or dated.

[frazzledsoul]

I've got a long meta in my drafts no one will like about Literati class issues and why Rory is inclined to think the worst of Jess when she's actually dating him, but I'm just going to get to the point. Rory was immensely privileged to be raised by a teenage mom invested in her welfare who worked herself up to middle-class life, as well as wealthy grandparents who were there to provide the things that Lorelai could not give her by herself. Jess did not grow up with those advantages. Stars Hollow judges him harshly for being a troublemaker and not being the socially compliant middle class kid who is satisfied with social life in that tiny town, but all of that is heavily influenced by class snobbery.

He's a working class kid from the big city who grew up poor and is being haphazardly raised by his uncle who is also working class. Jess doesn't live by their social standards: he skips class, causes trouble around town, would rather work than go to school, has sex with his casual girlfriend, and wants to get away as soon as possible. They judge him for not viewing their way of life as superior to his and Rory judges him for that, too. She's physically and intellectually attracted to him and has lost interest in Dean, but she's not willing to give up the advantages she has of being the socially compliant "good girl" and doesn't do so willingly until Dean jumps ship. Even then, half the time she is either ashamed of him, inclined to think the worst of him, and views his responsibilities as inferior to her social life and almost dumps him when he doesn't plan adequately for dates. She did view him (at least subconsciously) as inferior to her because of where he came from and for his lack of ambition but most of all because he did not want that middle-class life, either. He didn't like Stars Hollow and Stars Hollow didn't like him. He didn't want that life for himself. Luke may have failed at easing his transition into the next phase of his life, but he did need to leave there and figure out where he needed to be on his own.

There's more one can say about Rory's selfishness in season 4, when she rejects Jess in the hopes of clinging to Dean and getting that small town middle class status back and believing Lindsey is a minor inconvenience to be disposed of, only to use her upper-class advantages to run away from the situation and rejecting Dean for that life once she's actually free to date him again. That's not the point here: the point is that Jess deserved a life where he could be accepted and loved and respected without having his class status weaponized against him, and he could only find that life if he wanted to be there and wouldn't resort to his troublemaking antics out of boredom. He could not have that life in Stars Hollow, and Rory was part of the reason why. Eventually he needed to be free of her judgment, too.

Could these two work it out in a hypothetical future where these issues don't trip it up? Maybe. Jess comes to Rory's rescue twice after he's grown up and found a home for herself and she's still spiraling because upper-class life hasn't satisfied her, either. However, she ultimately rejects Jess again for life with Logan and she hasn't quite escaped the appeal of it a decade later, even though she isn't willing to commit to it full time by actually marrying (or by the AYITL era, even dating) him. She also weaponized Logan's wealth against him in arguments more than once in the OS, too, so this is a tactic she resorts to when she's unhappy. In AYITL, all three guys have settled into lives they're more or less content with and Rory still doesn't know what the fuck she wants. Same old story, I guess. She no longer judges Jess, so maybe there is hope.

[cosmic--dandelion]

So I have a fairly unique take on Kakyoin's backstory in my own writing. I wrote his parents as straight up toxic, psychologically and sometimes physically abusive, and neglectful. My version of Kakyoin ran away from home years before he met Jotaro, spent some time in a mental institution, and instead of being stalked and kidnapped, deliverately sought Dio out on his own.

Quite a departure from the more commonly accepted "Kakyoin has nice, normal parents who just didn't understand him" interpretation, huh? So why did I write this (other than the fact that I graviate toward angsty backstories) and how does it fit what we know about Kakyoin?

Kakyoin's most obvious feature is his intelligence. All of his friends, who are (mostly) brainy guys themselves, acknowledge that he's the best, most reliable strategist in the group, and a good portion of his dislogue is info-dumping. As expected of an honor student, he's very prim and proper to contrast Jotaro's delinquent image. Yet he's also weird, socially awkward, brutally honest, and emotionally distant. I've heard him described as having no setting in between "uncomfortably polite" and "rude bastard", and damn if that doesn't fit him like glove. In battle, he's probably the scariest, most ruthless crusader and is perfectly capable of straight-up beating the shit out of his closest friends, even if he's also capable of bring the bigger person and forgiving them. Friendship and bonds are everything to him. He's caring and empathetic but has balls of steel and takes exactly zero shit from anyone. He's quite familiar with other cultures' customs and traditions, implying he's an experienced traveler. Kakyoin is very independent and has skills, knowledge, and confidence you wouldn't expect a normal kid his age to have.

I wrote a little about Kakyoin's backstory in the second fanfiction I ever wrote, "Facets" and then in great detail in "In Water". If you haven't yet, please go check them out! They are, in my opinion, quite a bit more interesting that just hearing me talk about them. Now onto spoilers, for both the manga and my own work.

So this is Kakyoin's canonical backstory. All of it. The anime isn't canon, the fighting games aren't canon, the Josuke and Hol Horse spin-off isn't canon. Only this is, plus that 19 page backstory Araki wrote for him thirty years ago that will never see the light of day.

This is it. There's a blurb on his character profile that mentions that his parents are alive, they think he ran away, and they're either "shocked " or "very worried" depending on the translation. Then he dies, and in typical Araki fashion, Kakyoin is never seen or referenced again.

The sheer amount of angst Kakyoin had over no one being able to see his stand, even compared to other born stand users, makes me think there's more to it.

In my version of his backstory, Kakyoin's parents are poor. His dad is a rather unimpressive, unambiguous office worker who's made several bad business decision, escalating tensions between him and his wife. She hails from an upper middle class background and is generally a bit snobbish and image-conscious. Kakyoin's birth just adds fuel to the flames. In addition to being another mouth to feed, he has inexplicably bright red hair and violet eyes. (In my version of the jjba-verse, born stand users just have weird hair and eye colors sometimes.) The husband decides that this means his wife cheated on him with a red-headed foreigner.

Kakyoin is a problem child. He's exceptionally bright and imaginative in a school system (remember, it's 1970s Japan) that doesn't know how to handle gifted children, and he's non-neurotypical with a troubled home life to boot. That conversation with his teacher probably happens around this time. He self isolates, but he's not causing trouble on purpose, and the other kids are intimidated, but not hateful. Yet.

Then his parents have a their worst fight yet, and Kakyoin loses control of Hierophant due to stress and almost kills his father. The man is traumatized (as you would be if you were possessed by an invisible tentacle monster only you son can see and control) and abandons his own family. The mother knows Kakyoin did *something*, but she doesn't know what. Her resentment deepens, and they continue to drift apart.

Kakyoin's relationship with his mother reaches its nadir, and now he *is* getting ostracized. He's angry at the world and starting to lash out. By age 10, Kakyoin has started seeing counselors. He is misdiagnosed as having a whole host of scary-sounding mental disorders and is forced to take powerful mood stabilizers and antipsychotics every day. After all, he spends all his time playing with someone they can't see and drawing a weird green thing that looks like a cthulhuloid abomination. The mother reaches her breaking point and surrenders him to a combination group home/"special school". This experience defined him probably more than any other event in his life before this point. It's incredibly violating and humiliating, and Kakyoin develops a complex about always having to be seen as the smartest guy in the room.

At around age 14, he runs away, desperate to find more people like him. On his travels, he hears rumors about a mysterious, beautiful man in Egypt with strange powers. The entire "family vacation" to Egypt was a lie he made up on the spot because he didn't want to admit that HE sought Dio out, not the other way around, and that he's a runaway with a checkered past.

So what about his parents? My version of Kakyoin doesn't hate them and would have at least tried to bridge the gap between them if they'd both hasn't so thoroughly cut him out of their lives. He feels guilty on some level for not being a good enough son, and he wants to believe that they still love him on some level. Hence the "I'm sorry for making you worry" line.

Are they worried? Probably. They're shitty parents, not monsters.

(The "mom has dad and dad has mom" line? The former Mrs. Kakyoin had a revolving line of boyfriends and lovers, so Kakyoin started to think of 'dad' as a temporary position in her life rather than a singular person. Growing up in a dysfunctional family with no socialization with peers who had normal ones, he has a warped view of how families are.)

So what about Dio?

This one's pretty easy. In my version, Dio acted like a friend at first, lulling Kakyoin into a false sense of security. He was a little intimidated, but not full on terrified. Dio didn't want to risk destroying Kakyoin's brain, finding it quite useful, so he basically tried to groom him so the fleshbud wouldn't be needed. Then once Dio realized that Kakyoin was going to be harder to control than his other minions, he implanted the fleshbud. Dio being Dio, he decided to scare the shit out of the poor kid, savoring his pain and horror and sense of betrayal.

I think I would probably feel differently giving Kakyoin this amount of baggage if I ever wrote anything canon-compliant. I also didn't add it to make him more of a wobbie or break him so Jotaro could fix him with the power of yaoi.

It means something to me that (my version of) Kakyoin went through all this shit and healed from it and went on to lead a long, happy, successful life.

[popculturebuffet]

The Jeffersons: The First Store MLK Day Special (Comissioned by WeirdKev27)

Happy Martin Luther King Day! IT's time for a special review courtsey of WeirdKev27 for a very special man. Activist, preacher, hero, there's really not much I can say about the man that hasn't been said and it's a deep shame I haven't done something for his day on this blog, but thanks to Kev i'm rectifying that with this review of the Jeffersons "The First Store" which despite the title.. deeply ties into the last, and most tragic, day of the man's life and it's effect on people in the moment.

This isn't my first visit that deluxe apartment in the sky, as last year I covered "Sorry, Wrong Meeting", where George and friends dealt with the Klan. When that happened the series wasn't avaliable on streaming but that has changed and i'm curious to check out more now I can, and did. And while "Lionel the Playboy" wasn't perfect, it was a solid episode that gave me a better idea of what the show is on a normal day: dealing with issues of class, race and our heroes change of fourtune. But when it went it's hardest, it did, and this episode proved it as towards the end of season 6, we go back a bit to when opinanted drycleaner magnate George opened his first store, the hurdles he jumped through.. and how said events just so happened to concide with one of the worst days in history: Martin Luther King JR's assination. JOin me under the cut for one hell of an episode.

We open in that deluxe apartment in the sky, where George and Wheezy are going through a scrapbook, and after some sex banter get into a flashback.

It's 1968 and Wheezie is home from work and trying to get the tv to work. I like that they put in the effort ot make a whole new set, or at least redress another for the Jeffersons old apartment in harlem. It shows just how far they've come and instantlly sells this is before George hit it rich or even upper middle class. George has the idea that will get him that deluxe apartment eventually though: Handy Dandy Cleaners.. eventually Jefferson Cleaners but for now he shoots down the name as not working, though he'd later sell the Handy Dandy name to an interprising young detective living with a small dog a few decades later for a line of notebooks.

What I really like is this ep shows that while George can be bigoted, an assshole and short sighted at the best of times… he does have a head for buisness. It's likely not the first time, this was near the end of 6 seasons, but it shows that for all his failings he's really good at what he does even just starting out: His idea is to get a minority buisness loan, and doing a dry cleaners is because he's had about a decade working under someone else, so he knows how to do everything and figures he can have Wheezie work with him. Granted she's not remotely happy about working without a salary and shuts down that nonsense, but Wheezie is a maid, has been around his buisness and is a smart fast learner who can also talk george out of his stupider impulses, so it shows George had this thought out soundly. Sure this is a risky proposition as Wheezie points out.. but it's better than working under some white asshole the rest of his life. If there's a shot to be his own man and make his own fortune, he's going to take it and for all the bad I can say about george, and that's baked into the series… he's a hard worker and one of the few who manages to make his american dream actually manifest. IT's one of the things Norman Leer excels at: he can make a character an asshole.. but still has the sense to give him layers.

It also shows he has to jump through hoops of the racisim of the time. The guy he has come visit for the loan.. is one of the most punchable men i've seen in a sitcom. Inetionally so of course, but the way he casually says things like how he's suprised george only has one kid or his house is suprisingly nice just oozes with casual racisim the man knows he can get away with. He also calls Dr. King, who the jeffersons have a portrait of, a communist, though it shows George's character that while he's willing to let other shit slide to get this loan, as he knows he has to play a system stacked against him till he can overcome it, he notably sidesteps shit talking dr king. There are some levels he won't sink to.

The loan is threatned though when LIonel comes in having been at a police protest, having become radicallized as things seem to be getting worse. It's also sad that a FLASHBACK to 1968 from a late 70's sitcom.. has someone protesting the police and getting brutalized, and barely anything has changed since. It was likely the point then.. and sadly is the point now: Progress can be achingly slow and often seems like it isn't moving forward at all. Thankfully Lionel ducks to the kitchen and George is able to get it, but it's clear Lionel is getting more and more disenchanted, and openly mocks his father's dream. The system isn't built to help black people, somethign I say as a white person.. and that's 100% true. It's not, it still isn't, but I also see george's point: that to stop fighting and to stop trying to make that system better to fight within it , to stop dreaming would be terrible. You have to keep struggling if you want to make change even if ti seems like none happens.

George takes Wheezie to see the shop, and while he talks her into working there and into his dream, a fixer uper in harlem but still something grand… a brick goes through the window and when the guyw ho did it is questioned he proclaims "Brother king is dead man! They killed him!". Dr. King's assasination has just happened.

Sherman Hemsley gives one hell of a performance as a response, full of dispair, anger, and pain as he throws a chair through the window and lets out one hell of a "God Damn!". It shows just how hopless it had to feel, and given HImsley's age it's doubtless he felt similar pain and grief in the moment. Just a swarm of rage anger and pain.

The next day isn't any easier: The TV Finally gives out, and tensions in the Jeffersons house are sky high. Things don't get easier as Wheezie tries to call in only for her boss to not care what just happened

And George rightly chews the woman out.. and wrongly quits for wheezie. While he's right she shoudln't work for an ass like that, he's wrong to get her out of a job, especially since while he has the place he sold their car without asking for it… which granted for George is par for the course but still.

The interview for the loan goes equally poorly: Standard Racist Asshole rejects the location, as theres' been crime ignoring .. you know… that one of the biggest figures in history just got assainated and the people are rightly angry. And when he has the fucking gall to call them animals.. george predictably throws him out on his ass, rejects the loan despite badly needing it and only dosen't pummel the guy because he can't legally do it. It shows more of George's character: that even with how hard it'll be, how many mountains he has to climb in addition to the 40 or 50 a black man in the late 60's early 70's trying to make a go in buisness would already be scalling barehanded…. he can't take money from someone who disrepsects his race, his people and what happened. He'll find his own way and as time bears out.. he does. It'll be harder but he's used to it.

Still George is close to the breaking point and when Lionel plans to go a looting, fed up with everything, George encourages him, tired of playing it "Their way". How Wheezie snaps him out of it is also brilliant as she plans to just casually throw their king portrait away, and mockingly saying Dr. King would enroucage them to "Get theirs". It makes George realize what he was doinga nd while still mad, it get shim to help her stop lionel. Lionel's response.. is heartbreaking as it is right: it feels like things haven't changed. ANd as I said… this is a world where the same kind of police response to protests is still going on, where as i've seen far too often on john oliver, the deck is stacked against people of color even after all we've done… where it can feel like nothing's changed. But things had then and have now… and that giving into your anger.. wont' solve it. It's channeling that anger, finding something worth fighting for that helps. And even then.. the future is uncertain, as the jeffersons can only watch as they hear King's climb every mountain speech and cry.

This episode is excellent. If you have amazon prime check it out. It's a must see and I hope, if I can get it into my schedule to see more jeffersons after this. Truly powerful television. Thanks for reading.

[bronzewool]

Finally watching season 4 of Stranger Things and I am so happy to see my kids again.

Steve and Robin have the best dynamic and I love how supportive they are of each other. Steve "always the goddamn babysitter" is so precious to me guys, you have no idea

Eddie is such a wonderful addition to the cast. He's so over the top and you get why the kids want to hang out with him. Making him the inciting incident of the season was such a good idea.

The romance is still the worst aspect of the show but it's downplayed here. Mike isn't nearly as insufferable, but it feels like his character peaked in season one and now he's just there to simp over El. She is still the best character and still struggling to belong after losing her powers, losing her father figure and moving away from Mike.

Nancy and Jonathan drifting apart is sad but inevitable. Nancy is still gun-hoe on her reporter career and Jonathan has other priorities at home. Their argument in season 3 was so well written. Nancy has to deal with constant sexism in the workplace but she still has privileges as someone from a upper-middle class family that Jonathan lacks growing up in poverty. She can afford to do all these crazy stunts to find that big scoop, but Jonathan needed that job, but Nancy "keeping her head down" was never gonna help her in the long run. Their relationship was going to shatter from that lack of mutual understanding but where Nancy is still a solid character, Jonathan is now doing weed (I hope that changes quickly).

Also spoilers.

I don't know how to feel about the reveal Hopper is still alive. I felt like he was starting to overstay his welcome, but as the sheriff and one of the secret keepers, he had access to information and reasons to be in places that the kid characters simply didn't. But the guy was beginning to get on my nerves so I was kinda glad it looked like they killed him off last season (Watching a cop constantly manhandle a guy who spoke zero English was getting uncomfortable).

Him adopting El made sense but it felt like an excuse to keep him relevant (what happened to the aunt? She knows El exists and was happy to take her in. We even established the lights flickering was the mum so is she stuck in the upside down like Will was in in the first season? How is she still alive and why is no one concerned about saving her???).

Anyway onto episode four!

[briamichellewrites]

7

To help herself feel better, Brie spent the afternoon at Saks Fifth Avenue with Mike and Chester. They watched as she easily spent over a thousand dollars on clothes, shoes, and a very expensive handbag. That was money they didn’t even have. Chester had grown up lower middle class, so he didn’t have the luxury she did. They were both thankful she didn’t flaunt her wealth online or in person. She told them that was a great way to get their stuff stolen.

That was very true. Still, they wondered what it would be like to be that wealthy. She had first-generation wealth since her parents worked hard for their money. Though she was an heiress, her family was considered new money. The guys had fun going to the men’s department to look at the clothes and sneakers.

Jon was waiting with his band to see what they bought. When they found them at the studio after a couple of hours of shopping, they said hello to them before introducing themselves. What did they buy? The guys just got some new clothes. She showed them what she had bought. Cowboy boots? Yeah, they were very comfortable! She joked they didn’t have a pair in Chester’s size, so he was bummed out about that. Mike replied that if he started wearing cowboy boots, he would pretend he didn’t know him.

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I would probably bust my ankle wearing them anyway.”

Was he clumsy? No, just very unlucky. In his thirty-four years of life, he had multiple injuries. He and Mike listed them off. One of the worst was being bitten by a recluse spider in 2001 while on tour in Boston. Where did it bite him? His arm. It swelled up and he got a fever, so he had to go to the hospital. He also injured his back and lost all feeling in his body after getting a viral infection.

He also broke his wrist and his ankle, two separate times. They should wrap him in bubble wrap. No, he would still find a way to injure himself. How many tattoos did he have? He had lost count. They were on his hands, arms, legs, and across his shoulder blades. He also had one on his lower back of his band’s name and a huge sleeve on his upper back. Back in Phoenix, where he was from, he and some of his friends opened up a tattoo shop.

Mike didn’t have any tattoos because he didn’t find going through pain enjoyable. Their bandmate, Phoenix also had tattoos. His name was Phoenix. That was his nickname because he had red hair. Did Brie have any tattoos? No, not yet though she was tempted. She also wanted to get a dermal piercing. What was that? She explained the process. Ouch! She wanted to get it on the back of her neck.

“Dermals are great because if I decide in twenty years I don’t want it anymore, I can go to a piercer and have it taken out. Whereas if I get a tattoo I regret, later on, it’s a bigger process.”

“What would Bruce think”, Jon asked jokingly.

“He would have a heart attack.”

“Do country stars have piercings?”

“This one does or will.”

After a while, they left them to their work. Where were they going? They were going to do adult stuff like pay taxes and bills. Really? Hell no. They said goodbye to them. They all agreed she had interesting friends. Chester had the same amount of energy as she did. Mike was mostly quiet and observant. Jon liked him, even from the limited interaction they just had with him.

brielikethecheese: Amis. Je adore ces gars.

Brie wrote a song with help from Chester and Mike. It was not country as it had an alternative rock sound. With Mike’s at-home studio equipment, they recorded the song. He then worked on producing it. When he was done, he played it back to them. It sounded awesome! He emailed it to Brad, so he could listen to it when he had the chance. They then proposed their idea. Well, Chester’s idea. Mike didn’t want anything to do with it unless she gave her full consent.

They both told her she could say no and they would respect that. It would also be kept confidential between them whether she consented or not. What was it? Did she want to have a threesome? Mike was already embarrassed as he covered his face with his hands before laughing. She thought about it for a moment before agreeing. They wanted to make one hundred percent sure she wanted to and she wasn’t just saying yes because she was afraid of making them upset.

She wanted to, one hundred percent. The only thing she would not do was oral. They respected that boundary. They went up to his bedroom with Mike putting his arm around her shoulders. It was his fantasy but he was too scared to say anything. That was why he wanted him to say it. Chester asked if she was protected. Yeah, she had a birth control implant, so she couldn’t get pregnant. Good.

After figuring out who was going to make love to her first, Chester kissed her deeply. They took off each other’s clothes before he laid her down. As he was making love to her, Mike also took off his clothes before trying to find a place where he fit in. Chester was very good at being with a woman. He knew what to do to her body. Finally, he got into a position where he could slide into him. Oh, yeah. He felt great as he moved in and out of him.

The house filled up with their sounds. They were thankful that nobody could hear them. When they finished, they pulled out before Chester turned around and kissed his best friend. He then let his lips go to his neck and down his body. Brie watched them while she caught her breath.

They continued taking turns with each other until they were exhausted. It was awkward but it was also the best experience they ever had. The guys went to the bathroom to get dressed, rinse out their mouths and clean up. Chester was dressed first, so he went back out to her. She wasn’t going to kiss him if his mouth was still gross. He laughed before assuring her it was clean.

He kissed her softly. They would have to hook up, just the two of them. She wanted to experiment sexually and she was happy she was finally able to. What was she interested in doing? Anything that didn’t involve pain. He grinned and then told her he could teach her a lot! His wife wasn’t open to experimenting. Yeah, he was cheating but it didn’t matter because she was cheating on him with different men all the time. He was no longer in love with her and was only with her because of the kids.

She spent his money on stuff like clothes, shoes, and plastic surgery. He was nothing but a bank account to her. If he didn’t have his son, he would have left a long time ago. But he didn’t want his kids raised in a broken family because his parents divorced when he was younger.

He had already divorced his first wife, Sam in 2005. Everyone warned him about Talinda but he didn’t listen. Mike came out and also assured her his mouth was clean before kissing her. They were satisfied, though they could see them doing it again sometime, especially since they all enjoyed it. Together, they all went back downstairs.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

[tacticianpigeon]

YES

See in my own little AU (that Im just dubbing White Pointer for now), cybertronians have ✨species✨or moreso races I guess. You have the Flyers and the Grounders.

————headcanon splurge sorry lol ————

Flyers consist of cybertronians born with wings and are split up into two subspecies, aerials (propeller havers, choppers, etc etc) and seekers (strictly jets only). Seekers are the only Flyers that have retractable claws and a wicked bite force, and they’re actually born with the colors they have, no paint jobs here.

Grounders would be split up into more subspecies, Rigs (optimus/orion, sentinel, ultra magnus, yk what Im saying), Tanks (megatron/D-16, tarn, fortress maximus, alpha trion) and Racers (hot rod, ratchet, bumblebee, cliffjumper, arcee, elita, your average cybertronian)

Rigs were a more privileged type of cybertronian before the war, think middle and upper class. They like seekers were born with their colors. What separates them from tanks and racers is their size and their fins on their heads (the things optimus has the little pointy thingies yk). They dwarf racers in size but are shorter than tanks. Rigs usually transform into—rigs. trucks. yk

Tanks were not as privileged as Rigs, far from it. Because of their naturally hefty and strong nature, they were strictly to work mines (hence why Dee’s a miner, he’s young but you best believe he’s tough). Also they have claws, too, but cant retract like a seeker’s and are shorter, tee hee. Tanks often have muter and duller colors—usually just one color throughout. This is because they were never allowed to have bright and lavish color choices. A tank with more than two shades of color was one that must have been very wealthy. Alpha Trion was very fortunate to be brought up in a wealthier tank family and actually climbed the latter to primedom, he was one of the few who actually deserved it and wasn’t given it out of privilege (unlike sentinel he’s a total rich prick in my AU)

Racers are seen in every class, low middle and high. Out of prejudice, the elites actually allow the lower class racers to have bright and flashy colors like their middle and upper class brethren to spite the tanks and to remind them their place in the economy. Racers are speedy little guys and are the shortest of the grounders (excluding minicons ofc). Racers are usually the grounders that can have many different abilities (blurr’s speed, rodimus’ flames, bumblebee’s ability to yap your ear off /j)

anyway back to seekers, so (heavily) before the war and somewhat during, seekers were seen and used as trophies for elite citizens and families. Their wings, intricate colors and patterns made them desireable as decoration and arm candy (the femmes got the worst of this injustice, you can only imagine). It was common, albeit enforced, misconception that seekers were lesser than grounders and that they were more feral—hence the retractable claws and powerful bite—therefore less “cybertronian”. They would “brainwash” seekers into believing they needed grounders or they wouldn’t be happy.

D-16, after his revolution, recognized this injustice (half genuinely empathizing, half seeing the military upper hand of having flying death machines as soldiers) and decided to play on their suffering to recruit their entire race against the elites, to join the decepticon cause. He orchestrated the fall of Vos, blamed it on the autobots, telling the seekers that the autobots destroyed their home in order to oppress them. They bought it and 98% of the seekers joined the cons (hence why you see thousands upon thousands of decepticon seekers and like—zero autobot seekers). D-16, now megatron, pulled off the scheme with Starscream, one of the rare privileged seekers who wasn’t treated as a trophy. Starscream showed him all the critical places in Vos to hit in exchange for power, Megs happily obliged (he wasn’t traitorous during this time so they were chill).

But yeah that’s my little reason why there’s tons of seekers on the decepticon’s side. Oppressed species/race “liberated” by the to-be dictator, joining his cause in a desperate attempt at autonomy and as vengeance against the autobots (who they believed sided with the elites who brainwashed them and made them less than)

sorry for the rant lol

SKWARP

[maletfsstories]

The International ("Soju 🇰🇷")

Requested By linxiaopei

"Newcastle"

-"You are here" Said Matt’s boss in a drunken tone as Matt walked towards the table his boss and some coworkers were seated in.

-"Jesus Christ how much have you guys drunk already" Said Matt as he sat down and observed a mountain of empty shots and beer mugs.

 

-"Not enough and you haven’t had any yet" One of Matt’s coworkers said as he continued drinking from his mug.

-"If you guys forgot I'm the one driving all of you home so I can't drink" Said Matt rather tired as he wanted to be at home instead of in a bar filled with drunk and obnoxious people.

-"Just buy yourself one and bring us another round of beers" Said Matt's boss as he passed him a coupon for a free drink.

 

Matt begrudgingly got up from his seat and walked towards a small area where a female bartender was passing a few drinks to a waiter.

-"Hello Sir how may I help you?" Asked the bartender as she pushed a menu in front of Matt.

Matt turned around and counted the number of people that were seated around his boss.

 

-"Could you give me four pints of beer please?" Said Matt as he looked back towards the bartender.

-"Sure" Said the bartender as she rapidly started to fill four large glass mugs with beer.

-"You seem a little stressed sir, are you alright?" Said the bartender once she noticed Matt's blatantly obvious impatient demeanor.

 

-"Sorry, the thing is that I shouldn't be here at all" Said Matt with a little bit of anger in his voice.

-"Same here, today is my first day on the job and I already want to call it quits" Said the bartender as she placed the first mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Why haven't you?" Asked Matt

-“Even though I don't like large crowds and this bar is the worst I at least get more than the minimum wage” Said the bartender as she placed the second mug of beer in front of Matt.

 

-"So are you going to continue working here for the rest of your life?" Asked Matt

-"Not at all, I'm working here to pay for my studies, unlike the rest of my family I prefer to work for my stuff” said the bartender as she placed the third mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Your family is rich?" asked Matt with little intrigue in his voice.

 

-"Yup, they are a bunch of snobbish idiots, my father doesn't work because he inherited a lot of money from our estate and my brother is an influencer who wins a lot of money by posting revealing images of his gym routines on his Instagram" Said the bartender as she stopped filling the last mug of beer and turned back to face Matt directly.

-“Wow, I can't imagine you see your family very often" Said Matt

-“No I don’t, my father lives in our family estate which I don’t normally visit and my brother is currently traveling around the world with his group of roided meatheads”. Said the bartender as she rolled her eyes.

 

-"It must be a fun life, kind of wish mine was like that" Said Matt with a little bit of melancholy in his voice

-"It does seem desirable but I frankly believe in working hard for one’s stuff" Said the bartender with a smile on her face.

-"What are you studying?" Asked Matt as he made himself comfortable in a small seat placed in front of the bartender's workstation.

 

-'' I'm studying accounting at Newcastle University" Said the bartender.

-"Well I'm an accountant ..." Said Matt with a small amount of surprise in his voice.

-"Really? How is the job? I mean I love the classes I'm seeing but I don't know anything about how to apply them in a real-life scenario" Said the bartender with a glee in her eyes.

 

-"Well I've been an accountant for the last five years and believe me when I say that the scenarios in class are way easier than the ones I've experienced in the job, it's hard and complicated but I still kind of like what I do" Said Matt in an attempt to reassure the bartender's career choice.

-"Why are you taking so much!"

Matt turned around and saw his drunk boss moving slowly towards him.

 

-"Sorry I was just speaking to the bartender," Said Matt as his boss leaned on the bar, meanwhile the bartender immediately completed filling the last mug of beer and placed it in front of Matt.

Matt's boss looked at the four beers and immediately frowned -"Where the hell is yours?" He asked.

-"Sir I can't drink I'm driving you and everyone else home" said Matt in an attempt to stop his boss's insistence.

-"Nonsense, just drink a small bit, that's all I'm asking from you" Matt's boss said as he moved closer towards him.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender as she grabbed the smallest glass size possible, while she was doing that Matt looked at the menu that had been placed earlier in front of him.

In the meantime, Matt's boss rapidly drank his beer and walked away toward his table with the other three that were left.

-"Is this good?" Asked the Bartender as she showed Matt the small glass, Matt immediately looked up and nodded.

-"Do you have something that is similar to vodka but isn't that powerful?" Asked Matt as his boss approached him again.

-"Well, we do have Soju, it's from South Korea and it's in a way an exact match to Vodka, the only difference is that it's mildly less alcoholic, will that do?" Asked the bartender.

-"Please give me one in the small glass you showed me earlier" Said Matt as his boss was now standing next to him.

-"What did you order?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"I ordered some vodka" Lied Matt.

-"Wow Matt, I thought you didn't want to get drunk tonight" Said Matt's boss as he laughed like a clown.

In the meantime, the Bartender had poured Matt's drink from a small green bottle with Korean lettering onto a small transparent glass.

-"I hope you enjoy it sir" Said the Bartender as she placed the drink in front of Matt.

-"Here goes nothing" Though Matt as he swallowed every drop of Soju in an instant, because of this he immediately felt a burning sensation in his throat, luckily it wasn't as bad as the one produced by drinking vodka.

Matt then gave the empty glass to the Bartender and looked at his boss. -"Are you happy now?" Asked Matt with a little sarcasm in his voice.

-"Where is the fun in only one?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"You can't be serious, do you want me to get arrested" Said Matt in a raised tone of voice as he was tired of being pushed around by his middle age child of a boss.

-"Don't you dare to speak to me that way, I'm your boss, if you don't drink another shot I'll fucking fire you" Said Matt's boss in an aggressive tone.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender who had a sad expression on her face while still having the green bottle of soju between her hands.

-"Another one please," said Matt as he finally relented to his boss's order.

The bartender immediately grabbed the empty glass and filled it with the crystalline liquid -"Here you are sir" said the bartender as she passed the drink to Matt.

As Matt grabbed the glass and drank its contents he wished he could end it all, to have a new life where he didn't have a boss or any type of responsibilities.

Once Matt placed the empty glass in front of him the bar where he was in seemed to disappear and was rapidly replaced by the interior of a luxury hotel room.

-"What the hell" Said Matt in a worried tone as he was about to get up from the bed he had suddenly materialized in, before Matt could completely get out of the bed a strange pain made his stop.

This pain was due to Matt's five feet nine stature increasing to six feet three, while that was happening Matt's slim build changed into a more muscular one. His flat chest developed a pair of juicy and muscled pecs, down below in Matt's stomach a few small tires of fat were rapidly removed out of existed which left him with a flat surface that was rapidly replaced by the growth of a six-pack.

Meanwhile, in Matt's skinny arms his biceps, triceps, and forearms grew as new muscle mass filled them, a few veins also appeared here and there, as that was happening Matt's back also became incredibly shredded.

While all the changes to Matt's upper body were occurring all the healthy patches of hair that covered the majority of his body disappeared leaving him completely waxed.

As the majority of Matt's upper body had gone through a certain amount of changes the next area to change was his lower body.

At first in Matt's pelvic area his equipment grew larger and larger. This made him immediately aroused as a moan escaped from his mouth, this moan however was very masculine and in a way, it sounded like that of a huge beast.

When Matt's dick reached the ten-inch mark his ass became the next target of the changes, it grew until what was left was a perfect round and bouncy bubble, then Matt's thighs and calves grew larger leaving him with a pair of powerful legs.

Because of the new growth in muscles around Matt's body, his clothes became extremely strained, as Matt suddenly moved his clothes finally gave in, they broke into small pieces which immediately disappeared, the larger pieces which were still attached to his body also disappeared leaving him completely naked.

A few seconds after Matt's clothes had disappeared a pair of black underwear and black swimming shorts now covered his private area while still leaving his upper body completely exposed.

-"Shit" Said Matt out loud as he noticed his new body and the weird clothing that had replaced his shirt and dress pants.

While Matt continued looking he felt a weird sensation as his face lots its Caucasian features which were replaced by more Eastern Asian ones

Matt's lips inflated only a small bit, his nose became fair and straight, his eyes became slightly slanted and his pupils became dark in coloration, the last thing to change was Matt's hair, it became coal black and his previously office neutral haircut was replaced by a more trendy one.

With the changes now complete Matt got up from the bed he was laying in and grabbed an ultra-modern Samsung phone that was placed on a sleeping table next to the bed.

Matt unlocked the phone with his new face and immediately opened the camera, he was obviously shocked and amazed at the beautiful young Asian face that was looking back at him.

-"너무 이상해" (This is so weird) Said Matt in fluent Korean with his new deep voice, the Adonis looking back at him through the camera shared nothing in common with his old nerdy self, the only thing that was the same was the pair of black glasses he was still wearing.

After exploring his new face with the camera for a little more Matt finally decided to look at Instagram for any info about his new self, Matt opened the personal profile which had the name "Gan Sangwook" displayed next to a picture of Matt's new self flexing with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

Matt after looking at the name and picture also noticed that the new him had a following of almost a million people and that his account was verified meaning that he was relatively famous and well known.

Matt then proceeded to scroll down, as he did he saw dozens of images of the new him working out in gyms surrounded by similarly muscled men, there were also some pictures of him in different locations from around the world and a few pictures were modeling and sponsor type posts.

As Matt continued looking at the pictures a new personality and identity became more dominant in his head, during the process of Matt's old life and memories being eliminated the door of his hotel room opened with a loud bang.

With the door now wide open a group of five heavily muscled Korean men entered the room, Matt remembered seeing some of these men in the Instagram profile but now he somehow recognized all of them and felt a deep personal connection with them.

-"이봐, 여기서 뭐해? 늦었 어. 해변에 가야 해" (Hey dude what are you doing here, it's late. We should be on the beach) Said the bigger of them as the others around him cheered with their deep dumb sounding voices.

-"해변 친구들을 위해 준비된 것 외에 제 인스 타 그램을보고 있었어요" (I was looking at my Instagram, other than that I'm ready for the beach dudes) Said Matt as he started flexing his muscles, the men he now recognized as his gym crew also started flexing their muscles.

-"그럼 가자!" (Then let's go!) Said another one of the muscled men as Matt got up from the bed and walked with the men through the large hallways of the most luxurious resort in Jeju Island.

After a short elevator ride, Matt or Gan Sangwook walked with his friends toward the private beach owned by the resort.

-"수영하러 가기 전에 여러분 사진을 제 인스 타 그램에 올려도 될까요?" (Dudes before we go swimming can I post a picture of all of you to my Instagram?) Asked Gan as he and his crew were a few feet away from the sea.

All of the men said yes and Gan got into position, once he took a few hundred pictures he posted the one he thought looked the best with the caption "해변 준비 😎💪🏻" (Ready for the beach)

After Gan took the picture he continued walking toward the sea, as he did the last vestiges of his old identity of a thirty-year-old British accountant were eliminated what was left was in its place was Gan Sangwook, a young and muscled South Korean jock whose only worry in the world was to keep his body in shape and his one million Instagram followers happy.

[pcvensies]

*.• Si vis amari.

0. prologue.

* dad!satoru x mom!nanamioc x son!megumi ( kinda adopted??? kinda just taken??? ) slowburn, angst!, long fic, found family trope, fluff, funny, idk pls keep reading :(

* word count: 1300.

* in which 18 year old gojo satoru is left in charge of 6 year old fushiguro megumi, with the help of 17 year old nanami suki (oc).

{ HEY SO UH this fic is very self indulgent but i hope it finds some found family bitches like me who needed it. because damn i did, so i wrote it. ik it’s not a reader fic IM SORRY OKAY, i know those are more liked but give suki a chance we truly are all suki. PLEASE DONT LET IT FLOP IT IS A PROJECT V DEAR TO ME. this is a small intro to see if u guys like it or nah. love u <3 }

next part

It was a terrible idea, really. Out of all the terrible ideas Gojo Satoru had had - and there had been plenty of them - this one was definitely the worst of them all. But we are meant to respect the dead’s wishes, right? And a favour asked by a now dead man, even if not much, meant something to him.

Also, he was dying to see the look on the Nanami twins’ faces, especially Kento’s.

The way to their apartment was silent, and awfully awkward, as any try he had made to keep a conversation with that hedgehog of a child had been ignored by the boy. Such a little asshole.

“Can you at least smile a little?”.

Silence.

“Maybe don’t, Nanamin doesn’t either. He may be more receptive to those of his kind…”.

Silence.

Satoru had no patience to deal with any of this anyway, and the small six year old by his side possessed an incredible ability to get on his nerves, even without saying a single word. Can he even speak? Geez, Fushiguro, he thought to himself, crossing his arms over his chest as the elevator started going up.

The small card which read “Nanami” wasn’t far from the elevator, and Gojo’s only thought was how annoying it must be to hear the engine going all day. But they had refused, and had been allowed somehow, to live in the school, so they had brought that upon themselves.

Kento was doing the dishes when the bell rang, and he sighed, shaking the soap from his hands.

His sister, Suki, was in the shower, and she had left him to clean everything from dinner, as always. Don’t get it wrong, she was as responsible as a seventeen year old living by herself in the city could be, but there was something about the dishes that just “grossed her out”.

“BELL RINGING!”, he heard her yell from the shower, and rolled his eyes.

Like he was deaf, or something. However, it made him suspicious that anyone would ring at their door after dinner time, and he gave it a moment of hesitation before walking to the entrance.

“Oh, Nanamiiiinnn, c’mon… I know you’re home. It’s not like you do anything with your life outside of the classes anyway, you can’t trick me!”.

Kento almost turned around in that exact moment, knowing damn well that nothing that had to do with Gojo at that time of the day could be good, but he was a well educated boy. So against his own wishes, he opened the door.

“It’s nine thirty, Gojo”, was his greeting, as he looked at the white haired boy in front of him.

Satoru waved his hand in front of him, like taking importance from it, and looked around the place, eyes searching for the other twin. In the worst scenario, Kento would try to call the police on him. But if Susu was around, she’d be able to talk him out of it.

“Gojo, I’m serious”.

“Are you ever not, dear Nanami?”, the man replied fast, followed with a sigh, “Isn’t Suki home? She could be of use right now, honestly”.

Satoru had to be very fast to get his foot between the door and the wall, or Kento would’ve locked him out for that comment.

The white haired boy apologised with a chuckle, and his eyes finally found the pink streak of hair, almost drowned by a sea of blonde, that covered Suki’s head.

She was tiny, he had realised, much shorter than himself and her twin, the big red sweatshirt she was wearing making her even smaller. Her honey-ish eyes found Gojo’s sight, and the boy sent her a grin.

“Sue, you have finally decided to bless us with your prese-“.

“What have you done this time, Gojo?”, was all he got from her, as she tied her hair and walked to the door, now standing next to her brother, “Need somewhere to hide from Yaga?”.

Kento sighed once again, ready for the bickering battle that was set to start between the two, but to his surprise, Satoru kept quiet about the remark.

He rubbed the back of his neck, almost hesitating to say whatever he wanted to say, and the Nanami’s frowned at his behaviour.

“Alright I think it’ll be easier if I show you”, he finally spoke, and took a long step to the left.

Behind him, a little boy stood. His black hair was a mess, almost covering his eyes, and he was wearing no more than a t-shirt to cover his upper body from the night’s cold.

He looked up at Kento, a serious expression on his face, and then at Suki. He didn’t say a word, and simply looked back down.

Gojo laughed nervously at the silence, watching Kento’s horrified expression contrasting with his twin sister’s curious one.

“It’ll all make sense if you let me-“.

Slam.

Before he could even finish, the door was closed in his face, and both him and the kid gasped at the yelling that came from behind.

“I’m going to call Yaga”.

“Ken stop! Don’t you think that if he could have brought him to Yaga, he wouldn’t have already?! You didn’t even let him explain himself!”.

“Because there’s no good explanation to Gojo Satoru appearing at our house, in the night, with a child! What explanation do you need?!”.

It was a little funny, honestly, to hear Kento lose his temper. Yelling and yelling about how even opening the door had been a bad idea. He should’ve seen it coming, one of Gojo’s terrible ideas.

A sneeze silenced the argument, and Gojo looked down at the kid, who cleaned his nose with the end of Satoru’s sweatshirt.

“Hey, don’t-“.

Again, he was interrupted by the door, this time as it opened, to reveal just the Nanami girl. She sighed deeply, and crouched down in front of the child, giving him a small smile.

“Are you cold, sweetheart?”, she asked softly, hands covered in the sleeves of her clothes, as she rubbed the boy’s naked arms.

The kid nodded hesitantly, looking up at the boy, and Satoru shrugged, walking in as Suki got up and signaled them to.

The girl closed the door behind them, and walked through the dark corridor, coming back a few minutes later with a small Hello Kitty jumper. It was made of white wool, with a small patch of the cat’s face in the middle of the chest.

The boy put it on without looking much at it, covering his cold arms and body with it, and Suki gave Gojo an annoyed look, like lecturing him with her eyes.

They had met a few years ago, when Satoru was a second year and they got accepted in the school. Kento and him were nothing alike, and quite a strange pair, but Suki was much more extroverted and easy going, always replying to Gojo’s remarks with even smarter ones.

They had all grown into each other, as much as the Nanami boy wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“It’s itchy”.

Suki stopped sending angry glares to Satoru to look down at the kid, who kept his sight on his shoes as he scratched his neck. The girl ruffled his hair, chuckling.

“I think what you meant to say there is ‘thank you, Nanami-san’. It’s the only one I have that is your size, kid”, she spoke, and her eyes opened wide as she heard the kid’s stomach growl, “Are you hungry?”.

The kid didn’t reply, he simply nodded his head slowly, and the girl looked up at Satoru again.

“Care to explain, Gojo?”.

n/a. leave some feedback guys i havent written in so long and i am: scared. I AM BEGGING U I NEED EXTERNAL APPROVAL.

— lulu.

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

The Leverage/Stargate fic I’ll probably never write

I have an idea for a Leverage/Stargate crossover fic but no drive to actually write it. So I’m going to lay down the plot summary of the story that exists in my head. If anyone wants to take some or all of this idea and flesh it out into a full story, you’re welcome to it.

AU!Eliot Spencer went to work for Stargate Command early on in its existence and has been there ever since. He's extremely good at his job but in a ruthless way that has everyone at best wary of him and at worst terrified. He's the guy you send on the most dangerous missions, but he's also the guy you send when you want something awful doing without any questions asked.

The Goa'uld have put a bomb in a child and killing the child is the only way to stop it going off and killing thousands? Eliot Spencer is your guy. The megadeathray gun is surrounded by slaves as human shields? Eliot Spencer is the guy who will blow it up while everyone else is busy arguing about whether there's a better way. Need someone to headshot a Goa'uld and not care about the innocent host? He's the guy who will pull the lever on your trolley problem while everyone else is still arguing the ethical ramifications.

They keep him around because he is really good at his job but also because everything he does is technically for the greater good and you can see the logic in shooting the guy with the alien virus before he can spread it and cause a plague but still, you'd think the guy would show a little remorse about shooting an innocent person in the head. So he doesn't really have friends in the SGC just reluctant allies, but he's doing good and saving the world in his own, violent way.

But then one of the science teams discover something that's giving off the same sort of energy readings as the quantum mirror and Eliot is there to act as bodyguard/escort to the scientists. They bring the shiny, aliens toys back through the Gate but then something gets activated by accident, zapping Eliot, and then suddenly canon!Eliot is there in the base, with an apron and a wooden spoon because he was in the middle of cooking dinner.

Naturally, he's immediately on the offensive because he's apparently been kidnapped and these people are all in military uniform, so he starts fighting and takes down six marines with a wooden spoon but then AU!Eliot is there fighting him and they're evenly matched. Neither can get an upper hand and they only stop when someone shoots them both with a zat while they're locked in combat and knocks them out.

Eliot wakes up heavily restrained and they try to explain that they think he's been pulled from a parallel universe and of course Eliot doesn't believe a word of it because it sounds like something from one of Hardison's weird TV shows, and the guy who looked like him was clearly a trick. He's scared that the other Eliot is part of some plot to get to his team and so of course he's not going to give them any sort of cooperation. Everyone else is scared of him because they know how scary their Eliot Spencer is and they don't want to get on the wrong side of him, but they need to get one of the techs to try and undo what was done, so they get one of the team to bring in the alien gizmo - and it's Hardison.

The Hardison of this world was still a computer genius and got recruited to get alien and human tech to work together. He doesn't really know Eliot because the techs tend to spend most of their time with other techs generally, but also that guy's scary. He really doesn't want to be in the same room as two of them, glaring at each other, because if their Eliot Spencer is the good version, he really doesn't want to know what the evil mirror universe Eliot Spencer is like. But he drew the short straw so he's got to come in and try to get some tech they barely understand to zap this guy back to where he came from.

Canon!Eliot recognises Hardison at once but thinks that he's here as part of a con as a rescue mission, so he pretends to have no idea who he is, but plays along. When Hardison starts explaining about parallel universes and alternate timelines and quantum mirrors, Eliot listens and pretends he might start to believe this technobabble and asks questions like he's starting to be convinced. The first test to send Eliot back to his universe doesn't work but he agrees to cooperate if Hardison keeps working to send him home, because he needs to get out of these restraints anyway if Hardison's rescue plan is to have any chance of succeeding. And the other people who are around standing guard or watching the events unfold are surprised that Eliot would believe Hardison over an alternate universe version of himself.

"Of course I don't trust me. I know me!"

But AU!Eliot knows him too and thinks that he's been convinced too easily and that this is a trick. He knows he would never be so quick to believe a total stranger and thinks that Eliot is just lying to get out of the restraints and then he'll start fighting everyone again, probably taking that tech as a hostage.

But while all this is going on, people are referring to Hardison by his real name and talking to him like he's been here for years, and canon!Eliot starts getting weirded out because Hardison would never use his real name in a con and he has a very distinctive tell when he's playing a part and he's not showing that tell now.

AU!Eliot wouldn't just announce that he doesn't think this guy is telling the truth so he beckons whatever senior officer is present over to the far corner so that they can talk quietly but he can still keep an eye on canon!Eliot and warns him about what he thinks the guy is planning. Meanwhile, Hardison is still running tests on canon!Eliot with the alien tech and now no one is close enough to overhear, so Eliot lets his hair hang in front of his face to shield his mouth from the security cameras and whispers, "Is Parker okay?"

Hardison just goes, "Who's Parker?" in a voice loud enough that everyone in the room can hear it.

"Damn it, Hardison!"

The senior office asks Hardison what happened and he repeats back exactly what Eliot said to him. That's what convinces Eliot that this is real because he knows that Hardison would never do anything to expose Parker and he wouldn't blurt something like that out in the middle of a con after all the years they've been doing this.

"You're not my Hardison, are you?"

"Your Hardison?!"

And Eliot tries to then convince them that he now believes them, even though they're more suspicious than ever because he was pretending to believe them before. Eliot just looks at Hardison and says, "I swear on your Nana's chicken, chilli caserole recipe that I won't hurt you if you let me out of these restraints."

Everyone else is really confused but Hardison is astonished because Nana's chicken chilli caserole recipe is sacred. It's a family secret, but she will only give the recipe to family members she deems worthy, meaning that only one of her foster kids has ever been told it and Hardison (who consists off gummy frogs and orange soda in every universe) has never so much glimpsed the page it's written on. It's a meal that is served on the specialest of special occasions and Nana would guard that recipe with her life.

"You know Nana's recipe?"

"I proved myself worthy at your engagement party. She gave me the recipe for the wedding."

"I'm married in your universe?!"

"Not legally." Because three-way unions aren't legal and besides, the guy they had officiate their wedding dropped out of priest school to become an insurance agent con artist, so it's not exactly official, but that's never stopped them. Hardison is still confused but thinks that maybe it wasn't legal because of gay marriage rules and this means he had an unofficial commitment ceremony to Eliot Spencer. He has to sit down while he processes this.

After some discussion, they let Eliot out of the restraints and he spends a little bit of time in the SGC while Hardison works on the tech. He talks to the alternate version of himself and suggests he take a cooking class and tells him he should get to know Hardison better because, "Once you get past the annoying surface part that makes you want to murder him, he's one of the smartest, bravest, and best people you could ever hope to meet, and half the irritating stuff he does is just to make you smile."

"And the other half?"

"He's just being irritating," but Eliot says this with a soft, caring smile that AU!Eliot hasn't seen in his reflection in a very long time and that makes him think it's worth giving it a shot.

And Eliot talks to Hardison too, telling him that he has absolute trust in his ability to work out all this alien tech stuff and get him home safely because he has people there who need him because he doesn't trust Hardison to feed himself any with more nutritional value than gummy frogs without him there to take care of him. And he convinces Hardison to take a chance on this universe's Eliot because if anyone can get past his defences, it's him. Or Parker, but she doesn't seem to be around in this universe.

And that seems like the perfect moment for Parker to appear out of a vent because she wanted to give herself a challenge breaking into a facility with more security than any museum and she's been listening in on all of this stuff as it unfolds.

So this universe's Hardison and Eliot convince the SGC guards not to shoot Parker because she has a really useful skillset, and canon!Eliot wishes them luck as he gets sent bak to his own world, where his Parker and Hardison are in the middle of tearing the criminal underworld into a million pieces to find out what happened to him.

[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications: intro to business

synopsis: it’s crazy how things can slip the mind, just like how you posted about wanting boyfriend applications but granted, you were drunk. It seemed like Akaashi had the upper hand; until a certain classmate intrudes your mind. 

series: now accepting boyfriend applications

previous: literature

next up: biology

series taglist: @kyomihann @chesley-cant-deal @bluearmufs @your-consulting-fangirl @itsmeaudrieee @winunk @aegiseterna @katelyns-stuff @mochipk @3rachachoo @kyuudere @sixthself @merakiulous-k​ @notsostraightweeb  

*bold means I wasn’t able to tag you*

general taglist: @graykageyama @tsumue @thesorebae @micasaessakusa @alouphen @waitforitillwritemywayout @chibichab @trifliz

“I’m almost positive that guy wasn’t your boyfriend.” Kuroo would know, he probably isn’t going to tell you that he’s familiar with Akaashi due to a mutual friend. Instead, he lifts his chin, “ex-boyfriend.” He corrects himself.

You bite the insides of your mouth, “No he was not.”

You’re back to an internal groan, now you were stuck with the next boyfriend candidate and it’s starting to feel like you’re speed dating.

“Business is all about—” It’s ten minutes into class and your professor enjoys beginning class with an inspirational quote which then smoothly leads into lecture. Only, today, it seems as though he’s taking forever to get to the point of the quote.

Like always, Kuroo remains fixated on the lecture. He was the type to never take notes, though his notebook was out, and his pen is twirling in his hand, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him write anything down. Yet he was somehow managing a ninety-eight percent in the class, what an intelligent prick.

“You good?” He’s mouthing to you and you’ve realized that you had been staring.

You nod in an attempt that he doesn’t catch how embarrassed you actually were to have been caught looking at him. Kuroo turns back to the lecture and now you’re staring down at your phone that is reaching sixty percent. You shamelessly pull up the pdf he had sent you.

“Are you reading my letter of intent?”

You lock your phone so fast; it almost falls on the floor. You’re only lucky that it falls off the desk and Kuroo’s reflexes quickly catch the cell. The action makes both of your desks squeak against the floor and everyone’s heads turn. Both you and Kuroo mutter apologies as he hands you back your phone.

“Cat got your tongue?” He’s stupidly smirking, and you’re tempted to kick him, “Did you read it?”

“No.” You say in a hushed voice, turning your eyes to the board trying to pay attention for once.

He, also, turns to look at the board. Chin resting on his palm, “What a shame.”

For the rest of the class period, he remains silent. He’s fixated on the professor’s lecture, but your mind is racing. Your leg is bouncing rapidly, fingers tapping against the desk, you’re itching to touch your phone but scared it’ll make Kuroo pull another move to talk to you.

The lecture drags, you want to go back to sleep, and you’re suddenly realizing that you’ve skipped breakfast and lunch. Your stomach growls, to you it sounds like a dinosaur’s roar but no one else in the room seems to have heard it. Once more it growls, making you lean your head on the desk with a heavy sigh. You were starving, suddenly aware that you’ve left your wallet at home, and you’ve neglected to add your card to your cell phone so now you’re contemplating skipping your biology lab or starving for the rest of the day.

Your head is laid on its side, giving you perfect view of Kuroo’s side profile. His bed hair looks soft and you’ve got to admit that his jawline is exquisite. He smirks, eyes looking at you from the side. You’d feel embarrassed but you’re hungrier even to the point of being angry.

The lecture drags on and at this point you think you might die from the way your stomach is crying.

“Are you hungry?” Kuroo asks after the fifth time your stomach as growled.

“Is it that obvious?”

Kuroo laughs lowly, “You sound like a car that won’t start.”

You take full offence, “Shut up.”

He was always like this, playful and poking jabs at you. He loved to banter with you and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t like it. Talking with him was like talking to a childhood friend, it’s easy going and free spirited. Even when the two of you were studying for the first business exam, tucked in a hidden space on the second floor of the library; the studying was abandoned when he kept showing you funny scenes from an anime, resulting in you watching the anime on his tiny cell phone screen despite the both of you clearly having your laptops out.

Kuroo leans close to you, “Want to get out of here?”

“Right now?” You whisper, “We still have forty-five minutes left.”

Kuroo is shutting his notebook, “I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Bet.”

You’re trying to hide your laughter as you and Kuroo slowly pack up to leave. Now the only thing was to try and leave without making the biggest scene. You’ve successfully stood, only drawing small attention as you’re headed for the door. Kuroo seems to struggle, as he picks up his bag, it knocks against the empty desk next to him, drawing full attention to himself and you. It’s deadly silent, you’re frozen at the door and Kuroo is rushing to you.

“Go!” Kuroo pushes you out of the class.

“That was so embarrassing!” The laughter coming from you makes you run out of breath, “How are we supposed to go back to class on Tuesday?”

“Why were you just standing at the door!” Kuroo is yelling yet laughing at the same time.

You slap his arm, “You’re the one who decided to announce that we were leaving in the middle of the lecture. God, the professor probably hates us now.”

You’ve reached the small café in the business department, it doesn’t have a lot of options, mostly cold sandwiches and packaged snacks. The café drinks are way too expensive and even the water bottle is pricey; way to go education.

“Get whatever you like, I’m paying.” His words are smooth and for a second you believe him.

His body turns away from you, pretending as though he’s looking at the drink menu, you can clearly see that he’s checking his wallet. His shoulders visibly deflate and while you fake trying to pick something from the prepackaged area, you watch as he checks his account balance on his cell phone. His head seems to fall back irritatingly. It’s cute, he was trying so hard, but the world was being too cruel on him.

“Kuroo?” You call him. He’s slowly turning, hoping that he doesn’t have to take back his words. You wave him over to show the cheapest sandwich possible, “Want to split it with me?”

“You could get something better?” Kuroo tries looking at the other options, “What about a coffee?”

He was too sweet. You’re smiling, “Nah. I drank a lot last night so I don’t think coffee will sit well in my stomach and I’ve been meaning to go on a diet so if you take half my sandwich, it’ll be like I’m starting early.”

He’s still adamant on wanting to buy you something more expensive, “You could literally get this sub, it’s more filling and what do you mean diet, you’re literally perfect right now.”

A heavy blush appears on your cheeks, you slap his shoulder, pushing him by his back, “Just share a sandwich with me idiot.”

“But the sub.”

You’re kicking him in the ass, “Mention the sub one more time Kuroo, I swear to god I’ll leave you high and dry right now.”

You settle on seats by the window, you’re opening the packaged sandwich and in an attempt to stay cheap, Kuroo secretly stole cups while you distracted the cashier and he was grabbing water from the fountain.

“So.” Kuroo starts, “You haven’t read my application yet?”

You almost choke on your dry sandwich, “Must we talk about that now.”

Kuroo raises a finger, “You know what, I’ll just read it to you now.”

He was dead serious, pulling out his phone to bring up his pdf form. He was the absolute worst, yet it’s absolutely hilarious the way he fixes his clothing as if preparing for an interview.

“I’ll start with my letter of intent.”

You’re already giggling, trying to hide behind your sandwich.

“I am writing this to inform you of my interest for the position of Boyfriend. I have been highly interested in this position ever since you asked me for a pencil and then returned it back to me a week later, not realizing that you had given me a different pencil. I knew I liked you because of how cute you looked apologizing for not returning the pencil earlier.”

You never thought you could smile so wide before until this moment. Kuroo mimics your smile, looking back down to his phone.

“I don’t have a lot to offer but I can say with confidence that I can beat you at Mario Kart. I’ve been practicing and honing my skills for this moment; I heard that boyfriends need to be good at Mario Kart and if I am accepted for this position, please don’t fall for my best friend because he is better than me at Mario Kart.”

You snort, laughter emitting from your lips. You were on the verge of tears at how funny this application was.

“Lastly, we have similar taste in anime so obviously the 2d world also ships us.”

You hum at the last sentence, “Obviously.” You roll your eyes.

He sets his cell phone down, he’s finished his sandwich by now, practically inhaled it and he watches you eat your last bite. It’s a comfortable silence, really, maybe you were so caught up in the friendship that you had never gotten to think about him in a relationship sense.

“If you think about it.” He’s staring, “This is basically our first date.”

You choke on your water, coughing loudly and he finds your reaction funny. He’s patting your back and you feel so bad that you’re basically spitting on him.

“Kuroo.” You begin.

“Ah.” He knows where this is going. He waves a hand around, “You don’t have to give me an answer. Just.” He pauses, “Just consider me in the future.”

“Is that y/n I see?”

Your expression falters the moment you hear the voice of your biology lab partner, “Atsumu? What are you doing here? Did you get lost?”

Atsumu chuckles, a hand over his heart at your jab, “So hurtful. My brother’s taking some business classes, I had to drop something off for him.” Atsumu makes eye contact with Kuroo, “Hope I’m not interrupting something.”

That was a lie, you can tell. His cheeky grin says that he was absolutely hoping that he was interrupting something. Kuroo seems to not mind, at least from what you can tell. But in his mind, it’s the same as when he had seen Akaashi; a competitor. Especially when you’re trying to shrug Atsumu’s arm off your shoulder, Atsumu pinched your cheek causing a tick to grow on your forehead.

“Kuroo Tetsuro.” He puts a hand out.

Atsumu smirks, gripping the male’s hand, “Miya Atsumu.”

There’s a strong way that they grip each other, their faces are smiling, but their grip is testing the other.

“Well.” Atsumu has a hand on the back of your seat, “We have biology in about fifteen minutes, we should probably head over there.” Atsumu grins to Kuroo, “We’re partners, I was hoping you could show me again how to use the microliter pipettes.”

“Again?” You eye him.

Atsumu has his hands in the air defensively, “It’s just so confusing. The lab manual doesn’t describe it well.” You miss the way he smirks from behind you, “And besides, I learn better with hands on education.”

Kuroo returns the smirk, “Your hand must hurt having to grow up teaching yourself.”

The sharp inhale of laughter you take when you’re drinking causes the water to come out your nose. You’re laughing, coughing, and your nose is burning. Kuroo is handing you napkins and Atsumu’s jaw clenches.

“I’m sorry.” You put a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, “but that was really funny.” You pat his cheek when he pouts, “Let’s go, I’ll show you how to use the pipette before lab starts.” You turn to Kuroo, “I’ll see you later.”

Kuroo gives you a smile, “I’ll message you.”

Atsumu frowns, even as he walks away with you, he looks over his shoulder, chin lifted, attempting to display dominance even until the last moment.

[bangtae-sohotddaeng]

we’ll be counting stars | k.th. | 4

(^ gif cred: ON THE VOYAGE | pinterest)

pairing: idol!Taehyung x publisher!Reader

rating: nc-17 (for language and themes)

summary: You’d sworn off love and relationships forever. You were here to do your job - work with the biggest boyband of the world. Not forge friendships and...and whatever it was that you and Taehyung were building up with these sneaky glances. It was, to be very fair, your Chief Editor’s fault that you’d landed in this mess. Maybe you should quit your job? Maybe you should quit life -

Oh, he was staring again, and did he freaking lick his lips?

warnings: swearing (reader’s got a potty mouth) + this is set like 5 years in the future + reader has emotional issues, she's a relationship phobe + mentions of weed

genre: so much ANGST ugh + fluff + comedy + some crack

words: 4.6 k

note: hey, y'all. i know i've been awol and i'm really sorry about it, but, well - first i went back to uni for a while and got busy with my classes and my boyfriend. but this lasted for, like, barely three weeks, and then i came back home and got covid. yep, i finally got unlucky. my parents got it, too, after me, and the three of us had been home quarantined and getting treated for the past month or so. we're in better health now, though, so i'm getting back into writing. here's hoping i pick up speed super quick! 💜

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series masterlist

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

Your first week of heading this project with all its roadblocks and exhaustion, as it turned out, had merely been a taste of what was to come.

Your Wednesday at work began on a positive note, though. 

Towards the middle of the day, your phone rang, making both you and Jungkook jump. 

Cursing, you pursed your lips at Jungkook apologetically, and fished the device out. He nodded at you with a chuckle. 

Looking at your phone screen, you realised this was a call you'd been waiting for.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m calling to inform you that we’re done.”

Your eyebrows immediately hiked up your forehead. “Wow, really? That’s great news!”

“Yeah, the cleaners will be in tomorrow morning. You can move in by tomorrow evening.”

You actually grinned. “That’s such fantastic news! Thank you so much, Mister Lin. I’ll initiate your payment later, today.”

“Anytime, ma’am. Thank you.”

You disconnected the call with a happy sigh. Jungkook squinted at you. “That sounded like a fun conversation.”

You nodded, smiling. “Our team is moving into an apartment, tomorrow.”

“Wow! You’ve been in the hotel for what, ten days now? Must feel nice!” Jungkook’s eyes sparkled.

You nodded with a sigh, shutting your eyes in relief. “Oh, yes. We’d made reservations at the hotel for fifteen days. We had to move into the apartments within this week. This feels so amazing. I’ll finally be able to prepare my own food.”

Jungkook giggled at that, scrunching his nose up. “Where’s the apartment? Hope it isn't too far.”

“Oh, no, it’s a few blocks away from here. Which is why we had to book a hotel in the first place. We needed two four-bedroom apartments on the same floor, in this specific radius, in three days.” You paused to laugh when Jungkook’s jaw dropped with a gasp. “It was a very hard find. But our agent was sharp, he did a great job.” You clapped your hands together. “I cannot wait to check out of the damn hotel.” 

Jungkook nodded in understanding. “Hotels are hard. It could be a seven star luxurious penthouse, but you’d still wanna run away from it after a while.” 

He seemed to be speaking from his personal experience, but running away from a seven star luxurious penthouse? You couldn’t relate. You hated your hotel because the curtains weren’t dark enough and the mattress was stiff and you couldn’t afford getting any of them changed. You also hated having to order Chinese every single day, but you also knew you’d be emptying your bank account if you got anything else.

None of this would trouble someone living in a seven star’s penthouse. But you didn’t want to make Jungkook uncomfortable by stating any of this when he was just trying to be a bit compassionate and empathetic.

“Food doesn’t bother me that much, though,” Jungkook continued after a thoughtful pause. “We’re usually either on diets or order takeout. I personally hate the mattresses.”

“Oh yes,” you sighed deeply, the kink in your upper back in absolute agreement. “I’m not really a fan of sleeping anywhere other than my mattress back at home, but hotel beds are the worst of it.”

Jungkook chuckled, nodding. “I completely understand. You remember that story I told you about lugging my beddings over to our dorm when we first moved into one?”

You nodded with a laugh. “Oh, yes. The rest of the boys were getting new mattresses, and you were busy dragging your mattress from your parents’ house. It may sound hilarious, but it’s actually very relatable.”

Jungkook looked a bit bashful as he nodded. “You know, when we first started preparing for our first tour, I had a half a mind to take it with me.”

You barked out a loud laugh at that, the mental image of Jungkook dragging a seven by four piece of bedding around and stuffing it into trailers. He laughed, too.

“Yeah, it was funny and really stupid. Half the time we didn’t even get to sleep in the bed we had taken with us, but whenever we did, I was nodding off the second my head hit the pillow.” Jungkook’s eyes sparkled as he went down the memory lane. “That one was nothing in comparison to the tours we go on now, but it was our first ever experience so it was still pretty difficult adjusting, Tour schedule is a different level of hectic, you know? You don’t have time to eat, you don’t have time to sleep. Just rehearsals and fittings and sound checks. I would fall asleep in makeup chairs,” he confessed with a chuckle, shaking his head fondly, “and when noona would wake me up, I would recall how I wanted to bring my mattress here. Such naivete.”

You smiled, nodding along. You hadn’t yet gotten to the tour discussion yet, as it was planned out for the third month of your blueprint, so all of this was brand new to you. But, at this moment you didn’t want to bring up plans and blueprints. Jungkook was compassionately being candid with you. You were becoming friends, beyond your professional boundaries.

Sighing, you decided to impart something personal, too. “When I moved to the States and got into this company, I rented the apartment with an old friend who was already living there. And it wasn’t my first time living in a house away from my parents. I’d been a university student, lived in dorms then rented apartments, both solo and shared.” Jungkook looked at you pensively, nodding with a little furrow in his eyebrows. “But when I got to this apartment, got all this brilliant furniture set up, all new and fresh, I couldn’t sleep. I missed my home.” Jungkook’s eyes softened, lips pressing down into an understanding smile. “Not the dorm, not the studio I’d been renting—I missed my childhood bed.” You exhaled, recalling all your sleepless nights. “There's this connection you build with the place you call home. I’m sure you must have started to feel this way about your dorms as time went on.”

Jungkook softly smiled, nodding as he looked into space. “Very correct. Tour life made me realise this exact fact.”

You both sat in a few minutes’ quiet, basking in the nostalgic atmosphere you’d built around you.

Then Jungkook grinned at you. “Now you’ll get to experience real Seoul life.”

You laughed. “Oh, yes. And I honestly can’t wait for it. The local markets, the grocery stores, everything. Everything here is very unlike home.”

“I’m sure you’ll love it!” Jungkook exclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows smugly.

You went back to work soon after, with Jungkook tossing in questions about your move and suggestions about what all you should do in the city, every now and then.

It was a good, productive, joyous day. You were hardly even tired when you got back to your hotel to spend your last night on that stiff ass mattress.

Thursday had started off pretty much the same, except for you guys taking a slightly early departure to spare some extra time to set your new place up after your belongings were moved.

By late night, you were all settled in two, pleasant, well-furnished, well ventilated four-bedroom apartments, next to each other. Your housemates consisted of Sana and Simon. Needless to say, you weren’t a fan. But you needed a room to build the office in and you preferred it to be under the same roof as your bedroom because you tended to work odd hours when you couldn’t sleep. Simon and Sana volunteered to share the apartment with the office and you, so you didn't exactly have room for complaint.

From getting the apartment cleaned one last time to accept you all, to ensuring none of you had left anything significant behind in your hotel rooms—you didn’t trust the hotel staff enough to not misuse it if they found anything related to BTS in one of your rooms—you had been the one that took care of it all. It was kinda on you, because you didn’t trust anyone from your team to do the latter responsibly. So, quite naturally, you were dead on your feet by the time you got into your soft as a cloud beddings at nearly 3 o’clock in the morning. Sleep pulled you in the seconds you rugged your covers up.

You were very dead on your feet when you got to the BTS dorm, five hours after you’d gotten into bed. You hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in your system for more than a few weeks, now, but man did you have a hangover.

So it goes without saying that when you bumped into someone on your way to Jungkook’s studio, your eyes were half shut. You wouldn’t have thought much of it and might have slinked away with a mumbled apology, if not for the familiar voice than greeted you.

“Good morning. Looks like you had a rough night?”

You blinked, miles away from sleep within a second when your eyes met a familiar pair of brown ones. Taehyung was dressed in the routine BTS loungewear that consisted of a pastel t-shirt that was one too many sizes bigger on him and dark sweatpants that covered his feet. His hair was the usual black and curly, mostly pulled away from his forehead with a few tendrils dangling over his brows.

Your interaction with him had been meagre throughout this week, only consisting of respectful nods of greetings and waves of goodbyes. You’d meant to ask him how Simon was doing and how he felt about his ideas being taken now, after you’d had a talk with Simon about it. But you didn’t know what you would do if he said he was hating how things were and wanted you to do something about it. So you had kept your mouth shut and watched from the sidelines as you tried to gauge Taehyung’s inner feelings by his facial expressions. 

He was an extremely closed off guy, never really letting his face show what he was truly feeling. But sometimes you would catch him looking into space as if he was zoning out of his conversation with Simon. Now, he could very well be thinking deeply about something Simon said—you really couldn’t be sure with the guy. But it had you worried, nevertheless.

God. Why did Simon have to pick out Taehyung’s name?

By the time you realised you’d been staring at him for too long, he had realized it too. “Anything wrong with my… hair?” he innocently questioned, threading his fingers through the front of it.

“No!” you yelped, making him flinch. “I mean, no, it’s not that. I, um. We were moving into our apartments last night and it got kinda late. My brain’s processing things a bit slow, today.”

Taehyung chuckled at that, nodding with his teeth on display. “It’s okay. Congratulations on the move. Hotels suck.”

You sighed. “Tell me about it.”

Awkward silence hung over the two of you as you looked at the floor, at your feet, at his feet, tried to discern if his pants were very dark gray or blue, cleared your throat, scratched your ear, met his shifty eyes again— 

“How…how is working with Jungkook?”

His question caught you off-guard. You looked at him in surprise. “Uh…it’s, um. It’s good. Very comfortable, very productive. It’s great, actually.”

Taehyung nodded, pursing his lips as he looked down again. “Simon has been a better listener this week. Did you talk to him?”

A weight was lifted off your shoulders on hearing that. You grinned at him with all your teeth. “Really? That is really good to know. Comforting, even. I did talk to him, yes.”

Taehyung looked into your eyes as his lips spread into a slow, soft smile. “Thank you so much for doing this for me. I thought you would think I was stupid for demanding so much, but…” He shrugged his shoulder, one corner of his lips ticking farther up his cheek. “You made it work. I feel so much better now.”

You exhaled, willing your heart to not beat so fast. It was your job to ensure they were all comfortable, this was part of what you were getting paid for. But somehow, the way Taehyung seemed to have taken it so personally made you not wanna mention the fact in the moment.

Also, he didn’t know how this wouldn’t last. You’d been giving Simon tips to handle himself professionally around Taehyung, literally every single day. It kept the wheel running, but it was tiring both of you out, immensely. Simon was out of his element and you were getting slowly overwhelmed and under-rest due to the amount of responsibilities piling on for you. You were determined to talk this out with your boss, this Sunday, and find a way out before you broke.

Right now, though, you gave Taehyung a bashful smile. “I wanted you to be comfortable and feel good about working on this project, Tae. I am constantly working out plans to better it.”

Taehyung looked at you with so many emotions swimming in his eyes, that the intensity of it almost made you wanna look away. But you didn’t. Instead, you tried to decode what any of it could mean. 

This time the silence between you two was not awkward in the least. It was charged—heavy with this unknown tautness between your mind and heart and this indecipherable look in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Tae?”

The trance was broken by Jin, startling both of you.

He walked into the halfway from behind Taehyung, peering around him with a frown. His eyes widened when he saw you. You immediately bowed, always extremely cautious about being respectful around BTS’ oldest member. “Good morning, Jin-ssi.”

He chuckled at your address, insisting that you didn’t have to bow every single time. “Just the respectful good morning is fine. Did you just get here?”

You nodded, subtly glancing at Taehyung whose eyes were slightly rounded and still stuck on you. Why was he acting like you two were caught by Jin? You’d just been greeting each other and catching up!

Right?

Right.

“Ah! There comes Riya!” Jin suddenly announced the arrival of his partner on your team, cutely waving at someone behind you.

Your teammate Riya walked into the hallway after you, having walked here on her own insistence. “Good morning, Jin-ssi. Taehyung-ssi. Boss.”

You smiled at her, nodding in acknowledgement of the respect she paid. “Where’s Simon?” you questioned.

“Just here!” the man himself responded, rushing in after Riya. 

You met Taehyung’s eyes, and he nodded with a meaningful look and a small smile on his lips. Your heart felt light.

The unexpectedly happy and positive start you’d gotten in the morning lasted with you the whole day, making your time with Jungkook a lot fun, and fulfilling in terms of work, too.

When Sunday came in and you received your boss’ call, her first question was about how well you were settled in the apartments, followed by how you’d handled things with Simon. You had done a decent job on the former, but the latter was gradually turning out to be a pain in your ass. You told your boss as much.

“Drag it out for another week, and then design a change of gameplan. If he really isn’t doing a good enough job by himself, it’s better if he works with someone else. This whole charade will tire both of you out. And V would be facing issues, too, if Simon’s heart isn’t into it.” Your boss had looked at you solemnly through the computer screen.

“Simon’s heart’s a bit too much into it, boss, that’s the whole issue.” You had derisively chuckled at your joke, but her words had left you thinking into the late hours of the night.

Taehyung had definitely been facing issues, you’d heard it from the man himself. And the respite he thought he’d gotten this week was momentary, because neither you nor Simon could honestly keep up with it for too long. And it was very unfair to Taehyung. This book was supposed to showcase a part of all the boys. A biography was the culmination of one’s whole life—something very personal, precious and endearing. The process of its creation should have been a similar experience for the boys, too.

You really would have to assign someone else to Taehyung.

On Monday morning, you knocked at Simon’s door at seven.

“Just this week, and then you switch,” you told him.

“Really? Oh, my God, thank you so much!” Simon cried out.

“Please accommodate him the best you can.” You sighed. “I’m too tired to give you notes everyday. Will you be able to manage?”

“I’ll accommodate him the best I can, just as you said.”

You hadn’t taken his word for it, but it seemed like the knowledge of his misery ending soon had done Simon well. He did a fair job of maintaining his professional composure, and on Tuesday, when you went in to grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen, you saw the two of them laughing about something, too. Taehyung had politely greeted you, exchanging more than a nod for the first time in more than ten days—minus that one altercation in the hallway, of course—and then immediately went back into the discussion.

He seemed to be really into it.

It made you feel a lot better. 

On Friday, you and Jungkook went for a walk by the pool in the late afternoon with a cup of ice cream in your hands. He brought up Taehyung, asking how the elder was doing.

“You told me he was having some trouble with his partner?” Jungook asked, biting into a huge glob of chocolate ice-cream like a maniac and braving the brainfreeze with a straight face.

You grimaced at the sight. Then exhaled, plopping a spoonful from your own ice cream into your mouth. “He’s doing a lot better, now. It might not last, though”

Jungkook, instead of quizzing your ominous statement, nodded in understanding. “Does it have something to do with what I told you about hyung’s personality?”

You sighed. “Pretty much. We might have to change his partner.”

Jungkook paused at that. “Is there a possibility that…” He trailed off, confused, doe eyes looking at you.

You couldn’t lie to him. You shrugged. “Everything’s on the plate.”

On Sunday evening, you decided to gather the team for the call with your boss. Sending them a quick message once you all got home, you hopped into the bathroom for a long, relaxing showe. 

When you came back, you stepped into your office to the welcome sight of your team occupying bean bags and chairs and spread across the entire surface area of the place.

Collectively, you all brought up Taehyung’s partner with the Editor-in-Chief.

“Why don’t you do it, Y/N?” your boss questioned you after the rest of them had briefed her with their progress so far and detailed out their future plans with their assigned boys.

You sighed. “I have been doing just as great as the rest of them, boss. It wouldn’t be ideal for me to stop working with Jungkook after we’ve been making such great progress.”

Your boss took her glasses off, the highlight on her nose glistening as her movement caught light. She shook her and then sighed. “One of you is going to have to make a sacrifice.”

Simon, rightfully, flinched with a guilty face.

“So either you talk one of your team members into doing it, or you do it yourself. You’ve got one whole week to discuss it. Tell me what you decide, next Sunday.”

You kept tossing and turning in your bed. You’d either have to force one of your team members. Or you’d have to disappoint Jungkook. Your prospects really weren't looking good. 

You would like to believe you and Jungkook had become friends in these three weeks. It is impossible to remain a stone-faced stranger with someone literally relaying the story of his entire life to you. And besides that, too, Jungkook was a very likeable guy. He was a curious soul with a myriad of interests. Taking notes on literally every topic would always branch out into an enthusiastic conversation between the two of you. 

Sighing as you recalled how the two of you had shared your roller-skating experience with each other just today, you shut your eyes and decided to finally go to sleep.

On Monday morning, your team members were gathered in your new office to begin with the scripting process of the biography. As you got down to comparing notes and checking off boxes, each one of you resolutely ignored the gigantic elephant in the room—that fact that one of you would not be working with the same person when this week was up.

Strangely, this forcible change of partners was weighing down on all of you not just because of how much more labour it would cost, but on an emotional level, too. Which was a very unfamiliar concept, at least to you. You never got attached to clients, knowing it would only cause hindrances when you had to criticize their work—which was why they were talking to you in the first place. You had been somewhat lucky too, in a way, because it wasn't easy for you to get attached to people.

But Jungkook turned out to be just a really easy person to get along with. You really had become friends.

This, you suddenly realised, would also mean that Jungkook would make friends with another partner just as easily.

“Guys, remember—it’s not just their story that we’re writing, it’s ours too!” you announced to your team, clapping your hands to raise their spirits as the six of them worked on their computers. “They’re the narrators, sure, but we are the writers. Use your words wherever you find fit, do not hesitate to trim, omit or add. This is what we were hired to do.” 

At noon, you all ordered takeout and took a break.

“We’re all really on schedule, boss,” Riya, Jin’s partner, spoke up from her spot across the room from you. Her rounded eyes narrowed suddenly, and she winced. “Well… except Simon, but we kinda already expected that.”

Simon, seated on a bean bag to your immediate right, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’ve been really shitty at your job, Si,” Areum, Jimin’s partner, commented, looking at Simon through her round framed glasses, her face displaying disappointment.

“He really has,” you added. “But it cannot go on like this. You’ll have to be really professional with your partner, this time round, Simon. You’ve really done a lot of damage with Taehyung. Boss won’t just pull you off the project if something like this happens again, she’ll fire you.”

Simon visibly gulped, nodding with his wide eyes fixated on you.

“So, who’s gonna take his place?” Nathan, Yoongi’s partner, butted in, prompting Sana to stop stretching. “Have you decided yet?” he asked you.

You exhaled. “Why not ask dear Simon who he wants to work with? The last time he kept protesting about the assigned choice, and I didn't listen. Maybe he’d have done better if the selection of his partner was voluntarily done by him.”

All eyes turned to Simon. He cleared his throat, looking beyond nervous. “Please don’t put me in this spot. One of you will have to let go of a month’s worth of hard work for me, as it is.”

You looked around the room. “Any one of you willing to switch?”

Five pairs of eyes turned to look at you incredulously. “No one’s gonna willingly give their research up for you, Simon,” Charlotte, the only redhead on your team and Hoseok’s partner, spoke with a roll of her eyes. “None of us.”

“Simon,” You sighed. “Choose.”

And then Simon squeezed his eyes shut and fisted both his hands to whisper, “Jungkook…maybe?”

Of fucking course.

Later that night, you had calmed yourself down enough to tell yourself that everything was gonna be okay. You could be a darn hardass professional when you needed to be. In fact, being humble and empathetic was usually what posed a challenge to you. You would very smoothly transition into working with Taehyung, you were sure of it.

You belatedly thought about how much change these past three weeks had already brought about in your nature. You were starting to show a lot more compassion than you’d thought yourself capable of. That kind of came in this job’s description, because biographies made people vulnerable, and vulnerable interviews required compassion. 

You had to unlearn some of the things you’d picked up over the span of your adult life to save yourself from hurt, and also the guilt that came with hurting others. Jungkook also helped, in a way. His openness and just the overall cheerful vibe that his nature eluded made you want to be more of a friend to him than a writing guide or an interviewer.

You wondered how Taehyung would be. 

There was something undeniably intense and mysterious about him. Now, you weren’t naive enough to want to “unravel” the guy’s mysteries, but you sure were irked and curious. Maybe he was one of those kinds of artists that literally lived in their art.

Back when you didn’t work in this company with this hectic schedule and had enough spare time on your hands to write, you used to pride yourself to be one of these kinds of artists, too. You lived in your stories, kept building characters up wherever you went, whatever you did. You wondered if it was something similar with Taehyung for music. 

You would find out, eventually. There was no point pondering it so much.

Sighing, you turned off your side lamp and decided to retire for the night.

Your writing week was gliding past smoothly. It was just Wednesday, and you all, ahead of the schedule, were at the verge of finishing up your writing parts.

“Are we super efficient or did we sign up for a longer duration of time than needed for this whole project?” Sana questioned, typing away on her laptop.

You snorted. “Or maybe, we didn’t design the blueprint with as much uniformity as we’re required to.”

“You don’t always have to critique everything, boss,” Charlotte, Hoseok’s partner chimed in, flipping her long mane of auburn hair off her shoulder as she shot you a look. 

You glared right back at her. “Uh, actually, I do. That’s kind of my job here.”

You’d been harsher than was needed, making the whole room go quiet. Only the clicking of keyboards echoed around you all for a while.

“Where’s Simon?” Nathan, Yoongi’s partner, asked after some time.

You sighed. “In his room, finishing up his writing work there. He doesn’t feel comfortable sitting between all of us because, and I quote, y’all give off really judgy vibes that fuck with my concentration.”

“That might actually be true,” Areum, Jimin’s partner, mumbled in Korean under her breath.

“Did you mail Manager Woo about the switch yet, boss?” Nathan asked you as you got up to get a refill of your coffee.

You exhaled. “Nope, I'm stalling,” you confidently confessed, leaving the office to make a trip to the kitchen. On your way back, you knocked at Simon’s door before peeking in. “You doing okay?” you asked him flatly.

Simon gave you a nod, not moving his gaze from the laptop screen. You rolled your eyes and came back to the office.

“Should one of us do it? If it won’t look too unprofessional?” Sana asked.

You wrinkled your nose. “It would look grossly unprofessional, Sana.” You pursed your lips as you sat behind your laptop again. “Fine, I’ll do it right now.”

You took a sip from your coffee, and opened your email. This was final, now — no coming back.

You were officially gonna start working with Kim Taehyung.

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

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series masterlist

Tags: @tangledsparkles​ @hoefortaeshands​ @getmemyfries

[sohotthateveryonedied]

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary: 

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark? 

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

[petalsmooth]

Consider I liked (past tense) Bughead once upon a time and have no issue with couples who are white in entertainment if chemistry is good and story is there.

Why then aside from the origin of Barchie and lack of chemistry are they repugnant?

Because they are built entirely on antiquated sterotypes. They bring out the worst in each other.

On one side you have the dimwitted jock of “respectable” legacy family. He thinks because he doesn’t expects the woman to cook for him all day (although clearly does want them too) that he is a good guy. The trouble is he still expects the woman to defer to his needs be it living in that town or when he wants sex and he doesn’t feel he has to be as responsive to theirs. If he strays the woman  should accept this as his right. He considers Riverdale HIS birthright to defend...or not. He considers it HIS place to define how minorities/people from wrong side of tracks/poor upwardly move up the ranks of power/privilege and must do so with his blessing (HE named the council). He manipulates them to do the work for him (serpents with the petitions). Toni put up token resistance but still did it. He resents anyone steps out of what he views as their position (Jughead dating Betty) ultimately sabotaging it.

Betty, blond haired white Betty, former cheerleader, Yale attendee, also middle class legacy family has her own ingrained prejudices about the wrong side of town...about Serpents...about Jughead. Even in the best of time’s she would casually let her other upper middle class friend mock him/slight him. The possibility of Jughead not going to college set off a crisis for Betty because apparently dating Jughead was only acceptable if he was going to live up to his side of the bargain and become respectable for her set. No college means running back to someone who is at least of same station (even if he is on verge of being a drop out himself). But he has a RESPECTABLE family.

The only other person we know of she chose was also obviously of “respectable” station and yet another white jock. Still true even if a serial killer.

She is content with being Archie’s 1950′s sterotyped wife at home even if he has a showpiece on the side he escorts around town as long as she ends up with the ring in the end to legitimize her position in the town.

They  both carry themselves with an air of superiority because of their birthrights and interlopers are supposed to service what they want. If you get in their way they try to brush you off or even convince you to leave (Betty trying to shove Veronica out of town at the party).

THere is nothing likeable about them as a couple. Nothing. 

[rigmarolling]

Top 5 Things That Will Kill You In the Victorian Era

If you’ve ever spent more than two seconds with me, you know that I live and breathe the fog-choked air of Victorian London. All day. Every day of my life. 

See, in many ways, the Victorians were the first version of us--overwhelmed by rapidly-changing technology (and its awful effect on the climate); dealing with incredible wealth gaps; grappling with rising crime and faster travel and out-of-control media and the whole, “God is dead, oh no” thing. 

Also, everything was trying to kill you.

Like, literally almost everything.

From your clothes to your doctor to your canned food, here are the top five things that will kill you in the Victorian era.

5. Other Victorians

If the rise of penny dreadfuls (cheap magazines stuffed with horror stories for us morbidly-inclined goth types) was any indication, Victorians loved them some true crime. 

And there was no shortage of subject matter to choose from: depending on where you ventured in London, at least, you could be subject to anything from pickpocketing to mugging to violent assault and, of course, murder. 

There were a few reasons for this:

For one thing, the population in London alone increased by millions in the 19th century, and approximately no one was prepared for that. So, to accommodate the rapidly-booming population, the wealthy folks in charge reached out and lovingly ensured the masses of the disenfranchised poor were taken care of by redistributing resources and education and access to opportunities that improved lives on a both a personal and social level.

Lol, no, I’m totally kidding; they shoved them into slums and tenement buildings and pretended they didn’t exist.

So of course, there was a rise in crime, because if you have five kids and you can’t find gainful employment and your family will starve if you don’t steal that basket of food over there, or that purse that lady left sitting over THERE, what are you going to do? You’re going to steal the food and the purse to survive, Jean Valjean, I understand, I do.

Except the powers that be did NOT understand, and instead routinely espoused the idea that if people were poor, it was because they were morally bankrupt, or inherently bad, somehow, and the “criminal classes,” as they came to be known by the growing Victorian middle and upper-middle classes, were simply considered genetically bad to the bone and therefore undeserving of assistance.

Basically:

So ANYWAY.

Crime was on the rise and there were multiple efforts to stop it with varying degrees of success, but big city usually = big crime, especially when there’s a massive gap between the one percent-ers and THE REST OF US, WASHINGTON.

Ahem.

All that crime? The booming news industry loved it. The press ate it up and then spit it back out in salacious headlines that never even bothered with journalistic objectivity, like this gem:

I mean. Full disclosure: I, too, agree that cutting off a woman’s head, arms, and legs and then burning them is “awful, inhuman, & barbarous” but just...maybe...maybe tone it down? Just a bit?

No? Okay.

See, here’s the thing: crime sells. It always has. And papers went nuts with full illustrated spreads about the latest brutal murders so you could sit in your parlor and get anxiety poops thinking about how the butcher down the street looked at you funny the other day and oh, God, you’re probably next, oh God.

The most famous murderer of the era, was, of course, Jack the Ripper, which was just the orchestral climax of a hideously corrupted society that had bubbled into naught but a festering carbuncle, an ulcer upon the very soul of man, trussed up as a city of industry, but which is merely Salome, dancing with the Lamb’s head upon a platter and sending us all tumbling into a fiery pit.

....Ahem, again.

Some popular ways your fellow Victorians could kill you included: dueling (with swords but usually with revolvers), stabbing, garroting, and, probably the most popular method of the era, poisoning.

Speaking of which...

4. Anything dyed that hip shade of green

In 1775, a guy named Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a new shade of green, cleverly called Scheele’s green, and it instantly became a hit. Pretty soon, manufacturers and tailors were dyeing everything this color. 

Look at it. Bright, airy. Calls to mind a fresh, spring meadow. (What’s that, you ask? Well, before the Industrial Revolution belched out black smoke onto absolutely everything, there were these things called plants and grass and they were all over the place and you could frolic through them and it was very nice for your serotonin levels.)

I mean, listen, this isn’t really my color because anything vaguely yellow-ish makes my already yellow-ish skin look especially jaundiced, but it’s a lovely shade:

Besides using it to create beautiful dresses and tasteful waistcoats, they used it inside book covers:

And it was a super popular wallpaper color:

They had green candles and green cups and green kitchenwares and green paint.

But while Carl Wilhelm Scheele didn’t exactly murder anyone (even though he has three names like every serial killer ever), he sort of, accidentally, indirectly, kinda...did.

Because that springy dye contained every Victorian black widow’s favorite method to dispose of a troublesome husband: arsenic.

Scheele, of course, had no idea--no one did--so I’m fully exonerating him here, but the poison nonetheless started to take its toll.

Reports began to surface of kids getting sicker and sicker and then dying in their green wallpapered rooms; of fashionable ladies rocking those green dresses at balls and then ALSO getting sicker and sicker and breaking out in horrible sores before dying. 

They even used this stuff to dye food green, so of course, anybody who tucked into Victorian green eggs and ham also, you know. Died.

And if they DIDN’T die, they got cancer, because if arsenic doesn’t kill you, it will give you cancer. And then kill you.

Eventually, as science advanced and went, “HEYO, there’s literal poison in this stuff,” consumers were like, “Well, shoot, this summer’s hottest beach shade just killed an entire boarding school,” and Scheele’s green finally fell out of favor.

It was, however, used as a pesticide up through the 1930s, so...way to use the...leftovers? I guess?

3. Your canned food

Hey, now that we’re on the topic of deadly chemicals being where they absolutely should not be, let’s talk about canned food. 

In the Victorian era, it was the new Hot Thing (next to arsenic green). You mean I can can my food now? Like? Forever? Oh, only for a few months. Okay, cool. Still cool. 

Above: Road trip snax.

Food preservation methods had existed long before canned meats and veggies and soups, but canned everything really started to gain traction around the middle of the 19th century, and people were stoked. Remember, the population exploded; people needed new methods of obtaining cheap food that didn’t spoil immediately. So: cans to the rescue! 

Recycling hadn’t really been invented, though, so today, archaeologists constantly find giant Victorian trash pits filled with empty cans.

You know what also hadn’t been invented? Consumer health and safety boards.

So guess what was in the tin cans themselves? 

No, no, don’t worry, it wasn’t arsenic.

It was lead.

Which, in case you weren’t aware, is also very, very bad for you.

So bad, in fact, that today, scientists are pretty sure lead-lined tins of canned food were partially responsible for the deaths on the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an ultimately futile trip to discover the Northwest Passage lead by Sir John Franklin in 1845. Every single man on board the two ships stranded in the Arctic died, and in the 1980s, when scientists discovered perfectly mummified bodies (GRAPHIC, if you don’t like that sort of thing, but awesome if you do) of some of the sailors, one of the mummies contained insane amounts of lead. They later tested the cans found scattered across the wreck site and whoops, they also contained insane amounts of lead.

Above: Some of the tin cans from the Franklin Expedition, which contained items like salted beef, vegetables, tea, lethal amounts of lead, and Chicken of the Sea.

Granted, other factors contributed to the Franklin deaths, like, you know, being stranded in the Arctic and starving to death, and also tuberculosis, but lead-lined canned food certainly didn’t help things along.

2. Your doctor

Here’s my advice if you’re in the Victorian era and you’re starting to feel sick: do not get sick. Just don’t. Because then that means you’ll have to go to the doctor. Which probably means you will die.

Hospitals in the 19th century were deadly. Often even more deadly than just staying at home, according to Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, author of The Butchering Art. Nobody knew how to treat anything, really, because medical understanding of biology was in its infancy and antibiotics didn’t exist yet, so you were absolutely, definitely going to get some kind of infection the second you stepped foot in a Victorian hospital.

Above: The surgery, where nobody has any idea what they are doing, ever.

Doctors weren’t trying to kill you on purpose--they just didn’t know any better. And it super duper didn’t help that common treatments for everything from the common cold to tuberculosis included taking mercury (which kills you) and blood-letting, (which can also kill you) the tools for which are shown below:

Those might look like fun doodads for your astronomy class at Hogwarts, but they’re actually vials and a really, really sharp needle that pricks you until you bleed out a critically dangerous amount of blood into those vials. 

The (ancient) school of thought behind blood-letting was that draining patients of “bad” blood would rebalance their “humours” and get rid of the icky thing that was making them sick. We might laugh at it now, but if you don’t know any better, logically, it makes sense.

Medically, oh my God, it’s the worst.

So if Doc didn’t bleed you to death, he might try surgery--done without anesthesia or antibiotics (until good old Dr. Lister came along--read The Butchering Art!), and then ship you and your amputated stump leg off to the hospital ward where, instead of healing, you’d get wheeled through hallways stained with every bodily fluid imaginable into rooms filled with people coughing up every bodily fluid imaginable, some of which would get into your leg stump, infect it, and then kill you dead.

“But what about medicine?” you ask. “Can’t I just take medicine?”

Sure! Just be aware that it definitely contains morphine and probably contains cocaine, or mercury, or arsenic, or sulfur, or pulverized bits of ancient Egyptian mummies (I am not kidding. True, the latter had started to fall out of favor in the 19th century, but, like. Stop).

Above: Hard drugs, but just for you.

You think I’m joking?

Above: PARTY TIME.

Sometimes, a doctor would just advise that you move to a “more temperate climate” like Rome or Spain if you were feeling chronically ill, which might help you get a tan and COULD help if you had sucky lungs, but eventually, you’d just die anyway, because what you really needed was a strong antibiotic or antiviral medication and the closest you were gonna get was Mrs. Hopplebopple’s Temperance Tonic, which was probably filled with ground up baby bones and just so much heroin.

And don’t even get me started on Victorian surgical tools:

Open wide.

1. Water

There are three rules in this life: don’t watch any Adam Sandler movies except for maybe Anger Management, don’t eat the yellow snow, and do not, ever, for any reason, ever drink water in Victorian England.

That’s because it was about as clean as a Victorian hospital. 

Meaning it wasn’t. At all.

Victorian water--of the Thames variety--contained:

Cholera, one of the deadliest killers of the era and bad water’s favorite roommate.

Poop, human and otherwise, because a functioning sewer system? I don’t know her. (At least, not until the 1860s.)

Pee, human and otherwise, because nothing says, “Jolly Old England” like an open trench of piss rolling through the city.

Dead things, like animals, fish (which are animals, so why am I listing them as a separate thing?), and, occasionally, humans.

Chemicals, which spewed forth from the great factories in billowing, bubbling, belching rivers of sludge. (Ha! Omg, yes, I was an English major!)

The Thames was so filthy that Londoners called it “Monster Soup.”

Above: Same.

In 1855, scientist Michael Faraday (who was also kind of hot; tell me I’m wrong), wrote a letter to the Times about the disgusting state of the river:

"Near the bridges the feculence rolled up in clouds so dense that they were visible at the surface, even in water of this kind. ... The smell was very bad, and common to the whole of the water; it was the same as that which now comes up from the gully-holes in the streets; the whole river was for the time a real sewer."

Tl;dr: “It smelled like ass.”

In fact, it got so bad, so putrid, so horrifically clogged with every disgusting thing your mind and your butthole can possibly conjure up, that it lead to one of my favorite things to read about in the world: The Great Stink of 1858.

Yes, that’s the real name. I did not make that up. History is incredible.

Above: Summer vacation, 1858.

The summer of 1858 was miserably hot in London. And the Thames was miserably clogged with poop, and pee, and chemicals, and dead things, and, uh oh, cholera. During July and August that year, the smell wafting from the river was so offensive that Parliament was actually adjourned because everybody kept throwing up. Cholera devastated the city. The water was killing London.

Faced with either the prospect of living with a city-wide vomit-and-diarrhea smell for the rest of forever OR finally cleaning things up, the government actually did something right and chose the latter. They contracted civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to overhaul the city’s sewer, to which Bazalgette, pinching his nose, responded, “FINALLY.” 

Above: Joesph Bazalgette, savior of the London sewers and purveyor of a truly beautiful mustache.

Bazalgette proceeded to build the London sewer system still in use today. His efforts greatly reduced the number of cholera deaths, cleared the Thames of its Cronenberg-esque muck, and ensured that poop goes where it’s supposed to: way the hell out of HERE and way the hell under THERE.

Water sanitation still had a long way to go, though, which meant you either had to boil your water to kill the bacteria in it, or you could just drink alcohol instead, which was the safer option but which would also leave you very dehydrated and also, if imbibed excessively, would leave you very dead.

So really, you were doomed in some way no matter what you did, and if that isn’t the moral of the entire Victorian story, then I don’t know what is.