#because they're just teenagers and they really don't give a shit about these titles and responsibilities

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Also I love how half of the Bad Kids are All-Powerful, Semi-Immortal teenage girls and the other half are Just Some Guy™. Truly the dynamic of all time.

But I also love how these ridiculously ultra powerful girls (AKA the Immortal All-Seeing Elven Oracle, Saint Applebees Creator and Destroyer of Deities and the Spirit of Rebellion, Arch-Devil of Hell, Wizard's Paramore, Fig Faeth) do not give a single flying fuck about their magical responsibilities and duties.

You want the Elven Oracle to actually live with the Elves and foretell the future? Bitch, she doesn't have time for that, she has straight A's, anxiety and she's going to be late for her part-time job if you don't leave her alone with this oracle stuff.

You want Saint Applebees, Creator and Cleric of Cassandra to... pray? Grow her religion? Talk to her God? Mmmmmm.... No. Sorry, but she's a teenaged lesbian with ADHD and trauma. She doesn't have time for, I don't know, that, she's got her own thing going on. Like her breakup, and working out, oh, and did you hear about her campaign for class president??

And you know that the Spirit of Rebellion won't be found living in or, really, doing anything remotely close to ruling over, her domain. She's not even going to pretend to be interested in her duties as Arch-Devil, just like she wouldn't be caught dead actually showing up to class. The only duties Fig actually takes seriously is that of a ✨Wizard's Paramore✨

[gay-jesus-probably]

I like the general fandom trend to just take the plot of Hyrule Warriors as a loose guideline at best and just use the whole concept as a good excuse to get blorbos to interact across timelines, BUT I'm very disappointed that everyone is missing the comedic potential of a very specific squad of characters:

Young Link (aka Mask), who walks out of the nightmare of Majora's Mask and immediately gets portal kidnapped into a temporal war, takes one look at the whole mess and decides that you could not fucking pay him to admit to being the resident expert on Time Shenanigans. He introduces himself with the title of Hero of Termina, and definitely doesn't have any other ones, that would be crazy. Hero of Time? Never heard of him.

Tetra, who is a kickass pirate captain with zero patience for people trying to shove her into the Designated Princess role, and realizes immediately that Oh Fuck, this Hyrule has a lot of Ideas about how the Hero and the Princess are supposed to properly play their parts, the second they realize she's technically a Zelda they're gonna shove her in a goddamn dress and damsel her again, that's not happening. So she's definitely just a really cool pirate captain, nothing else going on here at all, definitely not the heir of the Hylian royal family in her time, that'd be crazy.

Ravio, who is literally just a palette swapped Link, meaning that the second his hood comes off, things are gonna get Awkward. There's no way in hell he's dealing with all that Hero baggage, that's Link work, so that giant bunny hood/mask is practically superglued to his head, and he's not taking it off for love or money.

Spirit Tracks Zelda, who is just in the Phantom Armour the whole time, and passing herself off as just a friendly ghost posessing a suit of armour to help the Hero of Spirits. Of course she isn't Princess Zelda, that's ridiculous, if she were a Zelda then people would start getting really weird about her technically being dead, and boy does that ever sound like a whole Thing she doesn't want to deal with, so she can't possibly be Zelda, she's just a nice ghost knight. Also, her teenage grandma is here, and that's kinda weird, so it's easier to just not admit to being royalty and avoid that awkward conversation.

Finally there's Sheik, who is not the Princess Zelda of the era straight up abandoning her war torn country for months at a time so she can risk her life in extreme cosplay for no clear reason, but is instead the actual Sheik from Ocarina of Time, who just beat Ganondorf like a month ago and is still trying to process what the fuck to do now. Also, he's been pretending to be a boy since he was ten, and is realizing there's a pretty good chance that he isn't pretending anymore, so that's a whole other can of worms. But for the last seven years of his life, being Princess Zelda meant certain death, so he's not really inclined to introduce himself like when in a new and stressful situation (not to mention he might actually just not be a girl named Zelda anymore), so he automatically introduces himself as just Sheik the spooky ninja man, and fuck he's in too deep to back out now, looks like he's committing to the bit. If you think you sense the Triforce of Wisdom on him, no you don't.

Cue shenanigans as the five of them attempt to hide that they're all actually kind of A Big Deal. The group motto is "Nobody says shit", which is usually delivered as a frantic hiss whenever someone slips up. Just the reunion between Sheik and Mask alone would be absolutely buckwild given how they parted, and how they're both frantically pretending to Not be involved with each other. For added hilarity and/or drama, Sheik gives his semi-bullshit cover story of having just been a friend of the Hero of Time, then runs into said Hero of Time and they both have to desperately pretend not to know each other, because if anyone picks up on the mountain of baggage between them then Mask is busted, and he won't hesitate to drag Sheik down with him out of sheer spite. Not to mention the weird balance of Sheik being used to this Link being a teenager that's actually a small child, and now has to adjust to Link who is a small child that's actually a teenager.

Also, i really feel like we're all missing out on the comedy potential of Ganondorf recognizing Young Link on sight and the two of them immediately launching into a grudge match with some extremely personal and specific insults on both sides. Meanwhile literally everybody else is just standing there watching, trying to process the fact that out of every single person that's been pulled out of time, Ganondorf only has personal beef with a literal nine year old.

I just feel like we're all really sleeping on the potential for Shenanigans here. The whole thing is an absurd mess, why not have some fun with it?

[thesoftboiledegg]

"Auto Erotic Assimilation" from season two is one of my least favorite episodes because it takes one of the queerest concepts in the series and makes it aggressively heterosexual. Aside from a blink-and-you'll-miss-it scene with one male alien and a joke about Rick possibly contracting STDs from coal miners, most of the episode is a straight male power fantasy.

"Look at all the hot women with big boobs throwing themselves at Rick! He's the man! Unity's avatar is another alien lady with big boobs! Don't worry, folks--even if Rick talks to a man, he's really talking to HER! Don't you wish you were him, straight male viewer? Sexy alien orgies everywhere!"

The episode does have poignant moments and famously culminates with Rick's suicide attempt after reading Unity's final message, but a third of the plot is just a goofy teenage boy's fantasy. I watch it when I rewatch the entire series, but that's the only time I expose myself to that one.

When I saw screenshots from this episode that featured Unity, I thought "Oh God, not this again." Just let it stay in season two!

Admittedly, "Air Force Wong" handled Unity with more maturity. If this episode aired in season two or three, a bunch of sexy women probably would've mobbed Rick as soon as he stepped foot in Virginia. Here, the writers focused solely on the characters' relationships--not just Rick and Unity but Rick, President Curtis and Dr. Wong and their web of interactions.

I liked how Rick referred to Unity as "them," although he starts using "she" pronouns when she disconnects from the hivemind. This highlights one of my issues from the original episode: Unity is a hivemind, but she's also a hot, sexy alien babe who controls everybody, which are two opposing concepts. This seems like a backdoor way to make Rick's interactions Certified Hetero (which is probably what it was, to be honest.)

I also thought the resolution was unsatisfying. Unity's note at the end of "Auto Erotic Assimilation" makes it clear that she and Rick just make each other worse, but "Air Force Wong" implies that they should have stayed in touch. I was hoping Rick would get closure by ending it for good, but it seems like they're maintaining their distant but toxic connection.

I did like how the end of "Air Force Wong" parallels "Auto Erotic Assimilation." Rick heads back to the garage to drink, but instead of attempting suicide again, he decides to visit the president and put aside some of their differences. Like Dr. Wong says: it's a slow process, but he's changing!

Aside from that, I loved this episode. President Curtis was hilarious ("Civil war, baby!" is already one of my favorite season seven lines), and he's as petty as ever. In fact, he's so petty that he was willing to enslave the entire Earth just for a 100% approval rating. He makes Rick look calm and responsible!

As usual, Dr. Wong was the voice of reason. She could've been just a crowd-pleasing cameo, but she guided Rick through his interactions and helped him remain stable in the face of emotional turmoil. While she flirted with the president, she didn't lose herself in some unprofessional whirlwind romance.

After watching "Pickle Rick" in 2017, who would have thought that Rick would not only willingly see Dr. Wong every week but try to punch the president to protect her honor? I wondered if he had a crush on her, but nothing he said implied romantic feelings, so I think he just feels protective over her because he distrusts the president.

Likewise, we're getting glimpses of how Rick treats his family: apologizing to Summer, sticking up for Morty when President Curtis insults him (I half-expected Rick to ruin that by giving Morty shit, but he didn't.) Morty sticking up for himself was nice, although man, the writers are underusing him. I think the president had more lines in "Air Force Wong" than Morty's had in these entire three episodes. And Morty's name is in the title!

Otherwise, setting up Prime's return was great. We're probably going to have a slow drip as season seven builds to their next confrontation. It seems like most of the trailer scenes are from the first four episodes and maybe "Wet Kuat Amortican Summer," so who knows what's in store for the other five.

And I mean--the Unity scenes weren't bad. Most of my issues are holdovers from 2015, which the writers can't change now. I'd prefer not to revisit it again, though. That's like taking another trip to Gazorpazorp.

Then again, later seasons have been correcting earlier issues (Summer saying "Sorry, Rick, but your opinion means very little to me" is one of my favorites), so revisiting "Raising Gazorpazorp" with a feminist lens could be another middle finger to the dudebros who are crying for Roiland's return and howling as Ian Cardoni outpaces him.

[fellfirst-fellharder-fight]

Round 1: Fight 9

Kokoro Aichi | Heartful Punch/Undine Wells | Alchemical Water (Sleepless Domain) vs Napat "Pat" Jindapat/Parakul "Pran" Siridechawat (Bad Buddy)

Propaganda under the cut!

Kokoro Aichi | Heartful Punch/Undine Wells | Alchemical Water:

So my Girl Kokoro has a lot of pride, she hates being seen as weak bc of her daddy and mommy issues and because of that hates it when people call her by her real name and tends to prefer to just go by HP in honor of her magical girl title, but within like TWO days of knowing Undine and hearing her call her HP she was just like '...you can call me Kokoro' and then Undine does just that all of HP's friends go absolutely bananas quoting it as 'the forbidden name' and then react even more dramatically when Kokoro just sort of rolls with it. Girl's had it bad since this waterbender pretty girl first tidal waved into her life Meanwhile Undine, whom as a magical girl struggles to kill monsters on her own since her powers are more 'support class' as it is, she's not super strong on her own, kills a HUGE monster in basically one shot when Kokoro is threatened to nearly get swallowed by it, turning her water into essentially a jet cutter. she often has dreams about Kokoro, though only realized she had feelings for her during that noted save, she's ALWAYS worried that just by being around her she's putting a target on her back (bc she's the main character so the bad guys are gunning for her) she seems really chill most of the time bc she's just a really reserved girl but like this girl can and will commit murder to keep her pink gf safe and like- they're canonically super gay end of chapter 15 they kiss for the first time it's great

Napat "Pat" Jindapat/Parakul "Pran" Siridechawat:

Prans been in love with Pat since they were kids, Pat didn't realise that he loved Pran until they met again in Uni and then fights more to keep their relationship because Pran is scared to get sent away again

Childhood enemies to lovers (except Pran was in love with Pat since at least highschool. Probably a lot longer), seperated and then met again at uni. Pat comes to a crashing realisation in like 2 days that he is in LOVE with Pran, confesses to him that same day, and never looks back. Though Pran is hesitant (external pressures keeping them apart like family rivalry, university shenanigans, and already being a secret friendship), Pat pursues him into danger and remains steadfast in his love until Pran is comfortable. He is consistently showing up and proving to Pran that while Pran has been in love for years, Pat's emotions are no less deep, and will always lose to keep Pran happy.

look Pran was out here having his gay angsty awakening as a teenager realizing that he was in love the boy he was supposed to hate because of the rivalry between their family and starts repressing shit meanwhile Pat is living the himbo life and still unaware that his bestie is a lesbian and in love with his sister. it's not until they get to college where Pran is so resigned to his feelings that he doesn't expect anything to happen and then Pat attempts to confess his feelings to his lesbian bestie to which she responds "are you sure about that?" and he suddenly has an epiphany that he's in love with Pran and goes full on "if i don't have this man on me in five minutes i stg"

[bi-bard]

There's So Much I Wanna Tell You, But I Don't Know If It'll Fit - Joel Miller Imagine [The Last of Us]

Title: There's So Much I Wanna Tell You, But I Don't Know If It'll Fit

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller X Reader

Word Count: 1,177 words

Warning(s): none that I know of

Summary: [Inspired by "Sunday Crossword" by J. Maya] Joel and (Y/n) attempt to maintain a boundary between them. However, their feelings grow regardless of what they want and they're left questioning if that boundary was set out of respect or out of fear.

Author's Note: I'm working on the next part of this OC, but I wanted to write something simple and cute.

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

There was a period of time when I was convinced that I was happier before I met Joel.

It felt like there was a lot less stress then.

It wasn't that Joel didn't treat me well. He did. Very well. But that on its own was a problem.

Joel and I had been going on casual dates for a while. Coffee or lunch together, we'd meet for a movie or a drink, we'd go for walks together. It was all very... safe.

Joel never stayed the night at my house. I had never even been to his. We never used any kind of label for what we were. We were seeing each other, we were exclusive, but calling ourselves seemed careless. In all honesty, it felt like I was in high school all over again.

I always understood Joel's hesitance. He had a daughter. I had never heard a dad talk so much about how proud they were of their kid. He saw her as nothing less than the sun. I could just see it. Bringing anyone new into his life had to be done with caution because they would become a part of her life too. I respected that.

But that didn't change my growing feelings for him. I couldn't count the number of times that I had to physically bite my tongue to keep myself from saying that I loved him.

It was awful.

The dynamic that I had with Joel was something that I had imagined having. Sweet and loving and funny. It was almost perfect.

And yet, I couldn't say the one thing that I wanted to say most.

I didn't think that I ever would get that chance.

Until we went to the movies one night.

I had mentioned to Joel that there was a horror movie coming out that I had wanted to go see. He offered to go with me one weekend while Sarah was over at a friend's house.

"'28 Days Later,'" Joel read off the ticket as we waited at concessions. "Never heard of it."

"It's set in London after some kind of illness has set in and turned the people into monsters driven by pure rage," I explained.

"I see... social commentary?"

"Shut up," I replied, chuckling at him. "You'll like it. I think. If you don't... I'll pay for dinner next time."

"You've got yourself a deal," he grinned at me. I nodded.

There was a moment before I spoke up again, "Thank you for this, by the way."

"You've got nothing to thank me for," he muttered before leaning over to kiss the side of my head. I felt myself bite my tongue as he leaned back. It was an instinct now.

Despite all of the hesitation, moments like these were the best.

Or they usually were.

When Joel leaned back, I saw him look past me and his face dropped. I furrowed my eyebrows and turned around, looking for someone who was looking at us.

"Joel," I said once I didn't see anyone. "What's going on?"

"My daughter's here," he replied.

"Really," I asked.

He nodded.

"You said that she was at a friend's house."

"Because I thought she was," he explained. "I didn't know they had plans to come see a movie."

I chuckled.

"What?"

"You're acting like a teenager getting caught by their parents," I shrugged. "I'm not sneaking into your room so we can make out. We're two adults on a date."

"I just... I wanted to plan this better."

"I know," I nodded. "But the universe doesn't really give a shit what you plan."

"Yeah... you're right."

A new voice joined the conversation, "Dad?"

"Here we go," he muttered before looking at his daughter. "Hey... what are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same question," she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm here to see a movie," he said. "With a friend."

I waved. "I'm (Y/n)."

Sarah looked back and forth between us for a few moments. "Are you guys on a date?"

I tried to hide the shocked laugh that wanted to escape me. I looked over at Joel, who didn't look away from her.

"Yeah... we are," Joel admitted. "We have been for a little while now."

"I knew it!" she pointed at him. "I knew you didn't have that many friends to be meeting that often."

"Hey!" he replied.

"Anyway," she turned to me. "It's nice to meet you. I have to get back to my friends."

I nodded. "Have fun. It was nice meeting you too."

I turned back to Joel, who was very clearly tense. Again, he looked like a teenager getting caught by his parents.

"Hey," I touched his arm. "That went about as well as could be expected."

"Yeah, yeah... you're right."

"I often am."

"Alright," he mumbled. "Come on. Line's moving."

I just chuckled to myself before continuing to walk forward.

We stayed pretty much silent until we got into the theater. We were early, mostly because of my insistence. We found our spots, waiting for the rest to fill up and for the film to start.

I felt my mind starting to wander. The thing that Joel was most worried about was his daughter. But now, I've met her. We seemed to be fine with each other, even though it had only been a few moments. So... that should be at least somewhat resolved. Right?

I didn't need to hesitate anymore, right?

"You alright?"

I looked over at Joel when he spoke up.

"You're not already scared enough to leave, are you?"

"Shut up," I nudged him. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"I just... I need to say something and I don't know how you're gonna respond to it," I said. "It's... It's nothing bad. I don't think so, at least."

"Then I probably won't think so either," he replied. "Come on... tell me."

I took a deep breath before speaking up. "Joel... I love you."

There was a long pause. One where we were just looking at each other and not a single word was spoken. I felt a sense of dread in my stomach. I wanted to go hide in a hole somewhere. I had overstepped. I had been so careful and I still fucked it up. And now I was gonna lose the best thing that I had ever had.

I was ready to push myself out of my seat and leave him there. "I'm sorry-"

"Hey," Joel grabbed my hand. "I... I love you."

"Really?"

"Yeah... I just... I didn't want to rush you into something."

"Oh," I muttered. "That's why I didn't say anything."

"A pair of geniuses here, aren't we," he chuckled, relaxing a bit more into his seat.

"Yeah, guess so.

I leaned over and hesitantly rested my head on his shoulder. I only truly relaxed when I heard a quiet hum come from Joel as he did so.

I grinned to myself.

And just like that, the best thing I had ever had became even better.

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

Author's Note: For just a dash of additional heartbreak, the U.S release of 28 Days Later was in June of 2003, so this all happened and then Joel and (Y/n) got like three months together before the world went to shit.

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[star-going-supernova]

I'm not sure if he's out of the picture in that way, but Cassie definitely implies that he he's gone missing for whatever reason. This is just from what I remember, so i may be wrong though 😂.

Vanessa has always struck me as the type of person to adopt as an older sibling but usually people adopt as parents so that's where my head was at with that, but i definitely agree that she just doesn't exactly vibe with the title of mom. She's more along the lines of cool older sister who has definitely committed to drinking at least 5 cups of coffee every day.

But she always gives off that vibe anyway.

On a different note, ghost kids au!

Ness has at one point had to stop people, usually teenagers, from breaking into the Plex to use a Ouija board. She usually scares the shit out of them by making noises in the tunnels so that they echo and has perfected a very terrifying shriek that she uses when she really has had it with them.

The ducklings think it's hilarious and dayshift always ends up hearing about the Plex being haunted by the end of the week. Nobody stays if they aren't the nightshift because they're terrified of the idea of what happens after dark. Also because Ness is intimidating and the last person to try ended up dipping because the ducklings got grumpy.

Vanessa leaning into the hauntings and shrieking at trespassers to scare them off is amazing! Of course the ducklings think it's hilarious, maybe they even give her tips and stuff, lol.

I also really like the general idea that if you don't leave after someone pretends to haunt you, then you get for-real haunted by actual ghosts, askjdhkflsd

[kentwells]

who am i to ask for more, more, more

i haven't written fic in at least four years (maybe five which is batshit time is really a bitch) but i was so desperate for more fic abt these losers that i had to write some. title is from "waiting room” by phoebe bridgers!

i love the careers because they are obviously lethal and terrifying and brainwashed and insane. but also the scenes in the movie where they're running up to the water & laughing at the other tributes? they were raised without childhoods but they are also your average teenage bullies and it's so interesting to me. that is like. what i was getting at here. they did not realize being kids was a choice.  also huge thanks to @clatoera​ for talking endless stuff abt domesticity & ambition with regards to cato & clove!! and giving me some inspiration for the scene by the lake thank you so much for reading <3

AO3 link | fic under the cut off

When the 12M announces his love for the 12F, Clove rolls her eyes. It is, however, interesting enough for her to look at the screen instead of staring off into space. His cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes like a child’s. The district stylists might have forced Clove to look like a child, with a puffy orange dress and even puffier hair, but at least she doesn’t speak like one. The Capitol seems to think it something interesting, judging by the way the audience gasps. 

Cato lets out a harsh laugh, the same way he does whenever someone drops a weapon. Clove meets his eyes, and they share their 800th moment of knowing that no one else takes this half as seriously as they do. 

“This is a problem,” Brutus says.

“In what world?” Clove asks, rolling her eyes. Kids get crushes every day. She doesn’t know how many girls she’s ‘accidentally’ let a knife get too close to because they wouldn’t shut up about Cato in the dormitory. Even she has them. But she’s capable of ignoring it. Her heart can flutter all it wants to when Cato grabs her wrist, she’s still going to pull her shit together and wrench it out of his grip. Peeta, who only showed his strength after Katniss told him to and is willing to blush in front of all of Panem, is not going to be capable of that.

“It’s an angle?” Cato guesses. She can tell that he’s trying not to continue laughing, nervous to upset his mentor the night before the games.

Clove smirks. “A terrible one,” she says. “That’s basically saying you don’t give a shit about winning, who would sponsor that?”

“No one,” Lyme says. “But they’d sponsor the girl who kicked your asses in front of the Gamemakers and has a compelling enough personality for someone to love”. 

“Luckily, neither Cato or Clove are really going for lovable”, their escort laughs, though her eyes are still on the screen. 

Lyme’s eyes glint at her in the cold, detached way Clove has practiced in the mirror. “Long day tomorrow. Time for bed, I think.”

Clove takes the longest, hottest shower she’s had in years. Once her skin is burning and raw, she puts on a loose pair of pants and an impossibly soft blue shirt. When she gets out of the bathroom, Cato is on her bed, sprawled out like a puppy searching for attention. 

“Can you not get my pillows wet?” Clove climbs in next to him. Unlike the Center beds, these can actually fit both of them. Cato says nothing, just staring up at the ceiling, so Clove continues. “You don't even have to do any work to dry off here.”

“Who gives a shit, you have 20.” He tucks an arm around her waist, and she wraps a leg over his in practiced comfort. She doesn’t even give him shit for still being wet. It seems like a waste of breath right now. “12M’s an annoying little shit,” Cato says as she leans her head on his shoulder. 

Clove grunts. She agrees, of course. Her mind is still thick with Lyme’s suggestion that the 12M’s idiocy will reel in the sponsors. And every time she closes her eyes, she sees the spinning 11 superimposed over the 12F’s face, like a target she’s trying to hit.

“He’s not special for liking a girl.”

“I thought you were annoying, but you’re a fucking saint compared to him,” Clove snorts. He pinches her side.

“C’mon, Clover, that’s the lowest bar in Panem.”

“Give him some credit, it’s hard to be more annoying than you.” Clove grins at him, but it quickly turns to scorn. “He’s an idiot,” she says. “He wasn’t winning anyway, but his chances went from one percent to zero when he decided to commit to that act.”

Cato kisses the crown of her head. “He wasn’t winning anyway, let him have a last few moments of fun.”

For a second, Clove thinks Cato’s going to slide his hand up her shirt and go for his own last few moments of fun. Instead, he gently nudges her head off of his shoulder, shifts to one side and presses his head deeper into the pillow. “See you tomorrow,” Clove whispers.

 ࿏

 Cato is loyal to District 2 and to the Capitol. He didn’t need to be told twice, his eyes lit up when he first saw someone win the Hunger Games and they haven’t darkened since. These thoughts drum through his head on careful repeat, so loud that he couldn’t think something else if he wanted to. He eats on auto-pilot, creating a meal as close to what the Centre would give him as possible. Azalea, his jittery, pink-haired stylist sits across from him, eating nothing.

“Clove is about five minutes behind you,” she titters. 

Cato doesn’t respond. Clove is back in District 2, watching the stream with the rest of the Center kids. Azalea retrieved him from the 2F’s room this morning.

At this point, there is nothing for Cato to do. No one for him to spar, no one to beat. He settles for keeping his mind as blank as possible so that he doesn’t tire himself out. It’s a relief when he rises into the arena, to see the other tributes and the Cornucopia.

He waits a second after the cannon, having been warned one too many times about the possibility of dying from overeagerness. It’s satisfying to watch the tributes on either side of him peel away, clearly desperate to get as far away from him as possible. He has a good foot on the girl to his right, so he goes after her first. She doesn’t see him coming when he tackles her to the ground.  

Once he’s heard enough cracking from her bones and she’s coughing up blood, he pushes himself up and glances around for weapons. He sees a few swords and spears decorating the Cornucopia walls. A few feet before he reaches them, he sees a pack of knives, the kind Clove could strap around her waist. 

“Clove!” He shouts. The breath leaves his body when he spots her in hand to hand combat with one of the older girls. The second she glances up, he tosses the knives her way. Clove’s eyes light up the second she sees them. The older girl, who’s taller than Clove but made of nothing but bone, looks hopeful when Clove darts around her, and begins to make a run for it.

When one of the knives hits her calf, she falls, and Clove flashes Cato an absolutely lethal smile before kicking her over and slitting her throat. “I’ve got the 12F!” She shouts, breaking into a run across the edge of the clearing, and Cato turns to pick a sword. 

He just about blacks out for the rest of it. Kids die. He kills them. Someone makes a very half-hearted attempt to kill him and he snaps their neck. He had expected it to be more difficult, but everyone who ran towards the Cornucopia was hoping for a quick death instead of trying to avoid it.

“Let’s tally,” Clove says, cleaning one of her knives on her jacket. She’s lectured him about 800 times on proper knife care, and this does not qualify, but a good quality cleaning kit is probably too much to ask for. 

“Can we take a lap?” Glimmer asks, hands on her hips. “Some of them might have grabbed supplies, and there were definitely a few bodies with weapons sticking out of them.” She clears her throat. “And not to state the obvious, but why are you here?” She turns to 12M, who is inexplicably standing near them. 

Clove will give him credit for looking impressively unlike a deer in headlights and starting to speak for himself, but Cato beats him to it. “He’s leading us to his district partner.”

So he must not love her. Clove is taken aback by that – not because she believes in the purity of outer district crushes, but because she would have at least hoped he had a reason to sound like such an idiot on national television. “Does she believe all of the love bullshit?” she asks.

12M shrugs, and Clove can’t really be bothered to press. “Let’s do Glimmer’s idea and make sure we get everything before the hovercrafts come around.” Glimmer beams at her, and Clove turns toward the fallen tributes. She holds the knives she finds in her hand so that she can figure out how to clean them, and stalks around the clearing.

“I think you got blood on your jacket,” 12M says. He’s putting on a layer of bravado, but Clove sees right through it to the nerves. 

“Wait, was there blood around here lately?” Clove asks, her eyes wide and her voice saccharine sweet. “I must not have noticed!” She flashes him a grin that’s all teeth and turns back to the Cornucopia. They’re all covered in it – Cato’s hair is basically red, though given his height that’s probably from being flashy more so than real necessity.

“I’m Peeta,” he says, absentmindedly. From the slightly apprehensive way he looks at the bodies at their feet, he wouldn’t have lasted two years in the Center. Clove curses herself for not having slightly better aim, because if 12F was dead, she could just knife him and be done with it. 

“Clove.”

Once everything is collected and reasonably organized, the sun is starting to set. They agree not to set a fire before they need to, settling instead for the food that will go bad soon. Clove eats her apple and watches Glimmer and Cato from across the circle. She’s directly opposite them, so if anyone questions her, she can say she’s just staring into space. 

It's not like someone would, anyways. Marvel and Marina seem to have figured out that they aren't going to win, and even if 12M is still stupid enough to think that he has a chance, Clove could have him dead before he finished his sentence. Glimmer curls into Cato’s side under the pretense of warming herself up and attracting sponsors. Clove starts to feel a flicker of something detached. She wants more than anything to make a joke about how their matching hair makes them look like siblings, but that would ruin any chance of horny Capitolites sending them shit. 

She can save it until after the pack breaks. 

Glimmer adjusts herself so that her head is lying in Cato’s lap, and her body is curled on the ground. Clove catches Cato’s eye, and they both try not to laugh. Clove will give her some credit though — her head and vital organs are protected, and her back is to the Cornucopia. Glimmer may be annoying, but at least her survival instincts are decent. 

“Think it’s dark enough to hunt?” Marvel asks.

Instinctively, Clove’s hands go to her vest to run her fingers over her knives. “Hold on, I want to see who’s dead.”

As if on cue, the first bars of the Anthem appear. “Cato, tally?” He grins at her. “How the fuck did you get blood in your teeth?” she mocks, and his grin only widens. It's not really the arrogant smirk he’s been giving cameras for a week, much more the one he gives her after he bashes her with a pillow or plays a prank on his little sister.

Clove and Cato each have three, Glimmer and Marvel managed two apiece, and no one’s sure who got the last one. 

Countless trainers had warned her with sharp words, how dangerous it was to go into the Arena with a friend. Clove had worried about it, because she hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring the trainers, but everything was fine once they were in the Arena. She’s spent most of the last twelve years fighting with and against Cato. This is routine.

 ࿏

 Clove knows well enough to step away from Cato when he’s this angry. Her biggest reaction is to tilt her head to get a better look at the mangled way 3M’s neck holds his head and body together. It’s not that she’s scared – if she was really concerned, she could easily snap a knife somewhere fatal, especially with his reflexes slowed by emotion – more so that he’ll burn himself out soon enough. No one, not even Cato, can hold enough anger to throw a long-ass tantrum.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clove sees Marvel slowly backing away, three packs of supplies strapped to his body and spear in hand.

“Is the alliance over?” Clove calls out. He turns, slightly scared, to look at her. She grins, imagining how easy it would be to kill him right now for trying to sneak off. 

“I should think so,” Marvel says. “You should run from this bullshit while you can.”

Clove doesn’t even have to think in order to give him the coldest glare she can. “I don’t need to,” she says, her eyes immediately snapping back to Cato. Clove pulls herself up to a ledge of the Cornucopia and watches him rage.

She’s right, per usual. He kicks a pile of ashen supplies and lands on his back, and stays there, silently staring at the sky for a little while. He’s breathing hard enough for her to see his chest rise and fall. Clove jumps off the Cornucopia and walks towards him, eventually standing by his side and blocking the sun from his eyes.

“The Career alliance is over,” she says, offering him a hand. He uses it to pull himself up, and cards a hand through his hair. It’s too short for that, hair buzzed regulation short last week before the Reaping, but he does it anyways. “Not like any of them were much use,” Clove continues.

“Sticking together?” Cato asks. His voice is confident, but his eyes search hers. She’s half a step ahead in strategy most of the time, and smart enough to know he’s the biggest threat against her, all too comfortable ducking her knives and exploiting the few weak points she has.

He imagines them in the final two, the way they’ve talked about since they were eight, and how one of them will kill the other in a way that’s interesting enough to create an iconic story, but not too painful for the others. He thinks that he’ll kill Clove as quickly as possible and hack it to pieces until the hovercraft arrives. Clove’s eyes glint, something half steel and half something else. “Obviously.”

 ࿏

 “Tributes,” Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms through the woods around them, and Clove skids to a stop. “For the 74th annual Hunger Games, I am pleased to announce a rule change.” Clove turns to look at Cato. The Centre has stuffed her mind with hundreds of ways to play, but the only Capitol-created rule she can think of is ‘kill as many people as you can’. He looks just as confused as she feels, glancing around like Claudius Templesmith is hiding in one of the trees. “Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive.”

“Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive,” he repeats. His voice is even, as if they were too stupid to understand the first time, but it turns to wicked as he says “May the odds be ever in your favor” and his voice disappears as quickly as it came.

Clove is paralyzed, unsure of what comes next. Cato acts first, hoisting her up and knotting a hand in her hair. His hand sliding beneath her hair tie like he needs to be as close to her as possible. He’s probably mashing blood into her scalp, but there’s plenty of that there anyways. Her arms are around his neck, probably the first time they’ve ever been there without her making a move to cut off his air supply. Cato’s breathing is so heavy against her chest that she can feel herself shift with it. “Hi,” Clove mutters, because it’s all she can really think to do. 

Cato spins her around once before setting her down, but his arms stay on her waist. She leaves her arms on his shoulders, grip loose and easy. He looks at her with a new type of intensity, almost hopeful. “We’re winning this shit,” Clove tells him, without a single doubt in her mind.

He picks her up and swings her around again, and she would scream if he didn’t do this every time he was bored. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Fuck the girl on fire, this is fucking fire, burning every obstacle in her path and making her future crystal clear.

Cato drops his pack and sits down, and Clove tumbles down next to him. Every bone in her body feels looser, itching for a fight but positive she’ll – they’ll – win it. She crosses her ankles over his, not bothering with any pretenses. They can both go home. No sense in making sure everyone knows how fast she could kill him. 

“I’m serious, Cato,” she says. She knows she sounds like a kid, but she can’t help it. If she had an ounce less of self respect, she would be jumping like a rabbit. “Serious. We can take anyone.” She glances around for where a camera might be, but decides to keep looking at Cato. “I’ve got long range, you’ve got hand-to-hand.”

“Perfect team,” Cato says, smug and satisfied and not with half as much cruelty as he normally says that. 

 ࿏

 They haven’t killed another tribute in two days, and the only thing on Cato’s mind is that he could have been doing this the whole time. He could have had two more weeks of throwing Clove into the lake without her worried that he was about to kill her. She never screams at home when he picks her up, too focused on getting him to drop her, but here, she laughs and shrieks like a kid from an outer district, playing up the childish thing sponsors seem to be in the mood for this year. She catches his eye when he takes his shirt off to clean up, and he is no longer a weapon that so happens to have this physical form but a fucking idiot that would trip on his own sword because she smirked at him.

“You know you like it, c’mon.”

“Like what, the fact that you won’t smell like rotting corpses and dirt for the next half hour?” He throws his shirt at her and splashes through the lake. She stays on the bench, carefully inspecting her knives, sharpening each one and tucking them neatly into the jacket she’s laid across her lap.

“Cato, I swear to Snow, if you come near me soaking wet, I will kill you,” she snaps, not even looking up from her knives. He laughs and wraps his arms around her shoulders anyways, laughing harder when she doesn’t squirm at the chill. He’s been doing this for years, trying to get a rise out of her because she hates how clammy wet skin feels. Normally, she’d have shoved him off hard enough to bruise by now, but she keeps her eyes trained on her knives and lets Cato touch her.

The metal screech of her knives against a rock keeps going. So does the sound of the water. Cato pulls his shirt back on from where it was on the ground and sits behind Clove, pulling her to his chest. She settles her head on his shoulder and holds a knife up to the sun to inspect it.

“If we win the same games, do we share a house and shit?” Clove asks. 

“Do you want to be roommates?” Cato asks, twirling the ends of her hair. It’s braided today. 

Clove snorts and tucks the knife into her jacket, apparently finding it satisfactory. Instead of reaching for the next knife, she slouches down and holds onto his wrists where they wrap around her shoulders. “I think that if you live alone, you’ll eat nothing but protein shakes.”

“Oh, and you can cook?”

“Yes I goddamn can,” Clove says, indignant, turning to face him. “I’m great at cooking.” That’s not out of the realm of possibility. He hasn’t seen her eat anything not given to them by the Center in years, but she’s good with knives and the smartest person Cato knows. “Will you cook for me when we win?”

“If,” Clove rams a sharp elbow into his ribs. 

Really, even if they were given two houses, Clove knows how quickly one would fall into disuse. The only reason they both actively use their own rooms are because their dorms are tiny, and at this point as stuffed to the brim with extra weapons and strategy books as Center regulations will allow. Most nights though, they crawl into the same bed after covering each other in cheap healing salve and trying to shake off the bruises, locking themselves to each other because the beds aren’t really big enough for two people. She knows that leaving the Arena together would sort of cement their melding into each other, making sure everyone who discusses them says it as catoandclove. 

She had promised herself that it would all end in Remake. They fixed her nose, which was well past crooked from the three times he had broken it. His skin is mostly clear of her tidy, elegant scars, only a few left for dramatic effect. And she had meant it, really, but now she’s thinking about how much of their goddamn stipend they’ll have to spend accommodating his ridiculous appetite and how she can win a fight over the thermostat.

“We need to get someone else soon.”

Cato exhales something long and heavy “Fuck yes. I think we should search out 12 and get it the fuck over with.”

“I’ll get 12F,” she says. She can sense his annoyance at that. “C’mon, I’ll make it entertaining. No one wants to see me methodically slice open someone who already can barely walk.”

“As long as it’s a good show,” he sighs. It will be. Clove imagines pinning her down, carving up her face so that no one wants to see her corpse. At this point in the Games, there are no slow deaths, not when it could be her last chance to slice someone open. Clove wants so much blood on her skin that she has to spend an hour in the lake to get it all off.

“Fucking obviously, who do you think I am?” Clove teases. She twists, albeit a little awkwardly, so that she’s properly facing him instead of pressed to his chest. The smile he gives her is lazy and content.

She slides a hand across his hip, searching automatically for the long, thin scar that should wrap around it. She finds nothing but smooth skin and a scrape, probably from a tree or some shit. She memorizes it, holding onto these new details. 12F and 12M, dying far apart and without the other knowing. An entryway littered with shoes and warm sweaters and a freshly polished rack of weapons in the Victor’s Village.

Cato leans in and kisses her, tugging her to lie on top of him. She’s about to lean back and curse him out for this, but the strategy seems to be working out alright for 12. And if she were in the Center watching this on a screen, she would be laughing with everyone else about how these kids are virgins who barely know each other. This easy affection, hidden among violent plans and strategies, is sure beneath her hands for the first time. 

(She’ll make 12F’s death especially brutal, and remind everyone that they should not fucking think about making fun of her.)

 ࿏

 5F would be hell to track if her hair weren’t bright red. He keeps seeing flashes of it in the distance, egging him onwards. Four more. He’ll take 5F, Clove will get 12F. If 12M doesn’t die on his own, he still won’t be able to put up any sort of fight. 11M will be a solid, respectable final fight, bigger than Cato but not nearly as skilled of a fighter, and Clove will back him up with her knives. It’s so close he can taste it, can’t stop thinking about sharing a bed instead of a shitty sleeping bag.

The first time he hears a Clove’s strangled, high pitched scream yell “CATO!”, he doesn’t slow down. He’s never heard Clove sound anywhere near that scared, not when the air is being choked out of her lungs or the night before a ranking exam. This is a Capitol trick, some sort of trap that he’s meant to fall into.

When he hears it again, every ounce of logic and training goes out the window, and he sprints towards her.

He doesn’t spot her at first, and there’s a wink of relief that she’s somewhere out of sight, ready to hurl knives at everyone but him, but then he sees a flash of red and brown against the grass.

Clove. The bubbled ponytail she tied and untied whenever she didn’t have enough to do with her hands. He is on his knees and she is next to him, a full on fucking dent in her head, lying on the ground, eyes still awake but no longer full of fire. He’s screaming, but he truly does not give a shit if someone hears. He’s easy enough to track down anyways.

And how the fuck could this have happened. How could a fucking nobody from 11 do this to her, careless and cruel, when she was the first person his age to figure out how to escape his chokeholds. 

“Clove, you��re going to get through this,” he tells her, and he does almost believe it. She’s broken endless bones without so much as crying. She likes doing things for dramatic effect – she’s doing this for sponsors, for attention, to create an iconic games moment that will be shown forever after they win. 

He maneuvers her so that her head is in his lap and tries not to think about how this feels like Clove’s dead weight, like lead weighing him down instead of the feather light Clove who fights back like a tiny speed demon. The last time she felt like this was in her dorm room, long after they had stopped pretending to analyze their earlier training stats, and Clove, flushed and catching her breath, fell asleep half on top of him. 

Clove’s always had a reputation for being cold. It annoyed the fuck out of Cato when they were younger, the way it was near impossible to get a rise out of her, but he likes it now. It’s most of why they were sent in together, the way he runs hot and impulsive and she stands a few steps above everyone else. This is different though, it’s not so much that her mind is whirring like crazy behind a thick shell, moreso that everything has gone hazy for Clove. Clove, who can muster a terrifying glare even while freshly concussed. 

On the ground, most of Clove’s energy is going to distinguishing one word from the next. The words Cato is saying are familiar – “I’ll slice him open for this, just how you like it. I’ll smash her head in, break enough bones that she’s unrecognizable. Remember – fuck, I still don’t know his name, actually – remember that kid that tried, yeah, I’ll recreate that, except now I can actually fucking finish the job.” She knows his threats, but his voice isn’t the hard monotone or reckless yelling she’s used to. It’s cracking like it hasn’t done since they were thirteen. She’s heard his voice wracked with emotion before, but never like this, equal parts warm and desperate. His hands cradle her cheeks, oscillating between desperately grabbing her like he can keep her alive with his touch and holding her face so gently that she thinks she might be imagining it. 

For a moment, she wonders if the cameras are still on them. She’s not sure where the line is – what violence the Capitol citizens find hot or funny or impressive, and what violence they find disgusting. Clove doesn’t find any of this disgusting. She knows Cato would do everything he’s promising if there were enough bodies in the arena for the amount of threats he’s making. He might use all of them anyways, to keep a promise to her or work out any extra anger.

He’s thought about this more than enough times since they were kids, the way he’ll eventually stand next to her dead body. This is a nightmare, the kind where he’s holding his breath and waiting to jolt awake in the Center, because she’s actually slipping away and he doubts she could so much as laugh at him right now and someone else did this to her and he wasn’t fucking there in time.

Cato doesn’t quite know what he’s saying anymore, but Clove does. It’s a babble more than anything, and she would bet that it’s because of his own emotion instead of her inability to distinguish words. He tells her that he loves the smirk she gives when she hits every bullseye in the training room and the way her face twists as she pulls her hair into a braid for training. He loves how she never slows down from an injury and the way she makes fun of him as she sews shitty stitches into his skin. He’ll do anything to try and make up for this, the way she lies on the ground, eyes glazing more and more with every minute.

She knows what he’s building to. And she already knows it, has for a while, really, but didn’t let herself think it until Claudius Templesmith told her she could. The two of them have endless, endless advantages over the 12’s, but at least those dickheads got to say whatever they wanted.

She can’t quite make words anymore. She can’t quite do anything. But despite the way she shakes violently beneath her, his knee is solid on the small of her back, and for once it’s not a trap. 

[randomprojectsbeforeidie]

The Angry Playlist - Part 1

I've been listening to some recommendations of "songs to listen when you're angry". Thought I'd share my impressions of them with you.

Ps.: this is PERSONAL OPINION, I'm not a professional. Just sharing random thoughts that I, a filthy amateur about music, had while listening to some songs.

1. "People = Shit", by Slipknot

This is an edgy (derogatorry) song. Like, it sound almost childish in its fury, like it's hurling insults at everything and everywhere. Well, not surprising, given the title.

I also do not enjoy the excessive use of gutural vocals. I like them as an accent, but not through the whole song; kinda makes them lose their appeal to me.

But I do like the instrumental part on this one.

It feels like a really angry song, but the anger is unfocused; there's a lot of angry words and phrases, but no connection between them.

Maybe it doesn't resonate with me because I don't feel much of this nihilistic teen rage. Nor did I ever feel it much.

Song: 6/10. Not bad.

Rage level: 6/10. Edgy nihilistic teenager. You don't know real rage yet.

2. "Killing in the Name", by Rage Against the Machine

Now, this one I like. Now you're speaking my language: focused rage directed at a system.

Funny how it's bold and some people still don't get it?

I love this vibe of a "religious imaginary" around the police's white supremacy. I mean, "Those who die (...) the chosen whites".

And the title... "killing in the name of..." who? They can't tell 'cause they don't know or 'cause they're not allowed? Cool shit.

Also, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me" is the closest the gringos have ever gotten to "Disparada", by Jair Rodrigues, which is god tier.

Song: 9/10

Rage level: 8.5/10

3. "So What", by Metallica

This was quite a fun song... until it turned to pedophilia and bestiality. I mean, it's cheeky, it has a nice guitar, sounds angry... and then it turns into something real close to a "funk proibidão" right there. Not cool.

Song: 4/10. Could be cool; you ruined it, though.

Rage level: 8/10. Cheeky, spiteful rage.

4. "Solway Firth", by Slipknot

I like how it starts all dark and then explodes in gutural vocals. Bothers me less than "People = Shit", but it's still too much gutural for me.

I like how it's also more focused in its rage. There's a sense of betrayal, something almost of a PTSD, that runs through it. I also like how the instrumental gives some pauses instead of going hard all the time.

Also, "And take great care to not take care of you" is stellar lyrics.

Song: 8/10

Rage level: 9/10.

5. "Nero Forte", by Slipknot

As you can see, I've been recommended a lot of Slipknot songs. Which makes sense for an angry playlist. Unfortunately, I'm quickly finding out that I do not vibe with them a lot.

This is chaotic teenage angst again. Less focused. I think I prefer songs with a build up, instead of the ones that go hard all the time.

But I do like the more "melodic" instrumentals in some parts.

Also, family rage, yeah, cool.

Song: 6/10

Rage level: 7/10.

[cephalog0d]

For the WIP game, may I ask what "It's Not About the Pizza" is about (clearly not pizza!)

It does involve pizza! Sort of! The title is definitely a reference to the Farscape episode Crackers Don't Matter, because that episode is amazing and I love it. (This one was also inspired by a dream I had, and the pizza thing was one of the lines of dialogue I remembered when I woke up.)

It's really mostly just an excuse to write Dramatic Batbros. XD With the aid of some Gotham Typical psychotropic substances! Because as much as I like writing fun silly Batkids sometimes you gotta go for some drama. (And writing Dick and Jason reverting to bratty teenagers with each other is my addiction. XD They're idiots.)

Pizza is actually a plot element, though! It's set on the anniversary of Jason's death, which is relevant but not really the focus, and starts with Dick and Tim going over some planning stuff for their job for the evening while Steph and Jason bullshit about where in Gotham has the best pizza. (The best pizza is a place that's definitely some kind of criminal front, so like...ethical dilemma.) Dick keeps giving Jason weird looks that he (incorrectly) interprets as mistrust or annoyance that he's there.

CUT TO things going off the rails, as they are wont to do in Batfic, and some Mysterious Gas getting released. Everyone gets a little, but Dick gets a LOT and while it's not as bad as some other Gotham specials like fear gas or Joker toxin it's definitely got some sedative effects (severe disorientation and loss of coordination, maybe hallucinations, they're not quite sure.)

GIANT SNIPPET under the cut because it's one of the parts I have written and it's part of the pizza thing. XD

“Right, well, I think we’ve had enough of each other for one evening,” Jason said, turning to leave. He was more than happy to let the kids deal with whatever sort of nightmare Mystery Drugged Nightwing was going to be. Unfortunately, Dick apparently had other ideas. In a frankly surprising display of coordination, given how heavily he had been leaning on Tim and Steph not ten seconds prior, he lunged forward and all but tackled Jason from behind, wrapping his arms around him like a fucking vice. Jason hastily shifted his footing to avoid eating shit face first into the pavement at the impact, and then had to shift again to compensate for the entire grown adult acrobat hanging off of him. He made a token effort to either wriggle free (hopeless) or pry Dick’s arms loose (also hopeless), but only succeeded in shifting enough that Dick’s arms were at least wrapped more around his shoulders than around his neck. He was calling it a win. It was a tight enough hold that he would have been worried about actual bruises if he wasn’t wearing his body armor. (It might still be a concern, Jesus Christ, it was like being attacked by a fucking python.) “The fuck is your problem?” he snapped. There was a long, static pause while Dick’s drugged out brain either processed the question or tried to come up with an answer. (Or both. Or maybe he just hadn’t heard at all. He had his face pressed against the back of Jason’s neck, and Jason wasn’t sure if he was imagining how uneven his breathing was or not.) “You have a favorite pizza,” Dick finally said, absolutely nonsensically. Jason waited a second to see if there was more, but that was apparently the full explanation on offer. “The fuck does that have to do with anything?” “You didn’t before,” Dick mumbled. Jason made another futile attempt to free himself. “Yeah, hard to be picky when you’re fucking starving,” he snapped back. “No,” Dick said emphatically, with more clarity than anything else he had said since he got dosed. “No? No what?” Jason demanded. That outburst had apparently exhausted whatever supply of lucidity Dick had left, though. He mumbled something entirely unintelligible against Jason’s neck, still refusing to even slightly loosen his crushing hold. “A little help here?” Jason said flatly, trying to shift and turn his head enough to glare at the younger kids. Tim had his solving-a-puzzle frown on but didn’t actually move to do anything; Steph just shrugged. Wonderful.

Tim and Steph absolutely abandon Jason to deal with drugged-out Nightwing because they're the worst (and because something else comes up that needs Bat intervention and Jason's clearly not going anywhere at the moment, but if you ask Jason it's the first thing). The real fun part, for me, is getting to write a whole big sobered up conversation full of Jason being prickly and willfully misinterpreting things to agree with his own assumptions and Dick being Way Too Hungover For This. XD And the pizza comes up again! (Possibly literally including a frustrated "It's not about the fucking pizza!")

Anyway, that's that! It's not really a plotty thing, mostly just me indulging writing these two dumbasses being dumbasses and just effortlessly antagonizing each other even when they're not really trying to. XD Siblings, amirite?

[justmybookthots]

Hush, Hush

The reason I read this? Because a booktuber I was following shared an hour-long video of her reacting to the entire series and I was like: hey! I read part of the first book as a teen! And since I just recently reread City of Bones (see review), why not continue my streak of rereading trashy YA relics? It's the archaeologist in me speaking, I swear. And also the masochist!

Now, after finishing this book, I have come to announce in my review that I am really, really burnt-out. 😂 It's… a lot of teenage angst. I'm only done with the first book and this madwoman pushed herself and read ALL FOUR BOOKS:

The sheer IRONY of her video title given that I read it because I saw her video, LOL.

So I don't even know how to begin this review. First of all, I definitely found City of Bones more enjoyable than this. Does it mean City of Bones is a better book? Eh. I think CoB had more things in the plot to distract me (finding the Cup, lots of magical adventure) from the main leads, but this book circles a lot around Patch and Nora. 

And boy were both of them the weirdest people to exist. 

I want to say they're a product of their time, and in a way they are, but I've also seen other books in this time that aren't this bad. Regardless, you can really see how aged the book is from this interaction here:

All the mean-girl Marcie did call Nora was "geek" and "freak" but Nora? Not just did she slut-shame Marcie, she called her an anorexic pig. This is our heroine, guys. This is who we're supposed to root for. It's genuinely hilarious how the masses collectively ignored how problematic this was in 2009.

In any case: Nora spends most of her days swooning over Patch while simultaneously telling herself how dangerous he is. I get the "dangerous" part, but the swooning? What? HOW? Other than him looking (I guess?) physically attractive, there is NOTHING about him to swoon about. He is so creepy, I swear if he said half the things he did to me IRL, I'd call the cops and file a restraining order. LIKE, I'M NOT KIDDING. THIS MAN HAS ZERO GAME. ZERO. When asked by the biology teacher what he looks for in a mate (I know. The question was already, um, hella weird), Patch says things like: 

"Intelligent. Attractive. Vulnerable."

Vulnerable?? VULNERABLE. This is Creeper 101. Also during his first meeting with Nora, out of nowhere, he goes:

"Do you sleep naked?" he asked.

There's a thousand more examples of him saying the weirdest, creepiest shit, but it'd be tomorrow by the time I list them out. My point is: if this is him trying to flirt, it's giving police sirens. And Nora's reaction, instead of running from him, is to dwell on how conflicted she is about her attraction (??) and fear towards him. At some point, she's stalking his workplace to interview his coworkers if he's a felon or has a criminal record and I KID YOU NOT, her last question ending this is: Does he have a girlfriend?

And I don't even want to talk about her best "friend", Vee. I use quotation marks because this isn't really a friend but bless the author, she seems to believe Vee is remotely some kind of friend to Nora. When Elliot (some dude in the story) assaults Nora, this is what Vee says:

Guys, Elliot is going to feel so horrible tomorrow after assaulting Nora. 🙁 Vee is SO right, we need to worry about the pain he's in instead of taking the matter of assault seriously.  Because fuck your best "friend" since Elliot is more important, am I right?

To make matters worse, Elliot was assaulting Nora to try to coerce her to go on a camping trip with him and Vee. So get this: Vee, despite hearing about the assault, STILL tries to persuade Nora to go on the camping trip because it'd be fun! In the end, Vee going for the camping trip causes Nora to have to rescue her (since Elliot is obviously a deviant), and Nora practically endangers her life to save Vee's sorry ass. Me, I'm not so kind. I'd munch popcorn and sip wine and have a jolly good time picturing Vee getting murdered. Cheers!

Anyway. Negative points aside, I didn't see the Jules twist coming, and I kinda did like that. The downside, however, is that everyone is an idiot, especially Nora. For example, the new therapist Miss Greene was clearly shady from the start—she'd say the sketchiest nonsense, and Nora would just be vaguely suspicious before taking it all in stride. It's WILD. Her behaviour for 80% of this book makes zero fucking sense. The only thing I can commend her for is that she's proactively trying to solve an investigation for most of the book... even if she's going the worst possible way at it.

And also when Patch says at the end of the book that he's fallen for Nora and no longer plans to sacrifice her? I was like, WHEN? When did you fall for her? Most of your interactions were just you saying creepy stuff and her thinking about how hot and dangerous you were. When did the falling-in-love happen, exactly?

I AM SO CONFUSED.

I don't really have more to say about this book other than I am really, really hoping we (as readers or writers) have collectively moved on from this madness in 2023. In any case, will I continue this series? I don't know. I do like trashy reality TV, but too much of it and I might get a stroke. Reading City of Bones and then this almost back to back has taken me out. (And yet… there is a distant INANE part of me that's whispering: Time to go back and reread every trashy YA series circa 2010.)

- 16 Nov 2023

[fabbyf1]

what’s a song that make you insta-cry?  for bonus points, as comfortable: is there a particular connection that causes it or is it Just That Sad?

Oh god, anon. You're asking the real questions.

I cannot possibly give you just one, I have way too many. (I have a whole playlist for it actually. Appropriately titled: "WINDOWS DOWN CRYIN M8".)

My music taste is very... vast. When I say I listen to all types of music, I'm not kidding. But I won't stand for any slander. I like what I like; you can like what you like, amirightladiezzz?

DISCLAIMER: I cry about literally everything...? I could cry just thinking about a minor inconvenience. I will burst into tears for absolutely no reason. So, take all of this with a grain of salt.

Spotify links and reasons for my tears under the cut!

Falls On Me by Fuel. This song has haunted me since I was a pre-teen. There's just something about it. It's raw, it's real, and his voice makes me cry.

If It Means A Lot To You by ADTR. It was never a phase, mom. I will never grow out of my emo phase. If you've ever heard this song, you've probably cried too. (And if you haven't heard this song... please listen to it.)

Waiting For The End by Linkin Park. LP will forever be one of my favorite bands. I grew up with them, raged with them, and cried with them. They gave me a place to channel my Nobody Understands Me™ teenager vibes and a place to channel my Oh Fuck What Am I. Doing With My Life™ adult vibes. They're a touchy subject for me now because I will never be emotionally over losing the lead singer Chester, but they will always be god-tier to me.

Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch. Another band that has been with me for a looooooongg time. This song, in particular, holds a lot of deep meaning to me. I found myself in a really bad place in 2021 and listened to this song a lot while I was crawling my way out of it. It still makes me cry, but in a good way now. (I'm much better now, besties. Please don't ever be afraid to ask for help. I wish I had asked for help!)

Jet Black Heart by 5 Seconds of Summer. 5SOS is another band that is just... so fucking special to me. I have seen them live more than any other band (an embarrassing number of times) I have met them, I have a 5SOS tattoo, I have traveled long distances for them. Their music gave me a reason to keep going when nothing else did it for me. I could honestly make this post just 5SOS songs... but that's for another day.

When I Look At You by Miley Cyrus. lmfao fight me. I don't have a deep meaning behind it. It's just a good fucking song. Baby Miley is so personal to me.

Fly Over States by Jason Aldean. fuck, my American is showing, innit mates? LOOK. LISTEN TO ME. THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THIS FUCKING SONG THAT MAKES ME SOOOOOOBBBBB. I have no feelings whatsoever toward the big flyover states in the US. I've never lived in them, I don't think about them often, and they definitely don't make me cry. BUT THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE? GOD, IT'S SO GOOD. (please still respect me.)

All Too Well (10 Minute Version) by Taylor Swift. Do I need to say anything about this? We're all on the same page, right?

Nutshell (Live) cover by Staind. This is another song that I have grown up crying to and will always seek out when I'm at my lowest lows. It's just... devastating. The original is amazing, but I prefer this cover.

I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes) by The 1975. God, fuck me all the way UP, Matty Healy Daddy.

I could literally go on for hours... I'll stop here.

[captain-kit-adventuress]

When I first heard Do They Know It's Christmas, I thought it was a parody of the typical white English response to hearing about tragedies in other countries. Literally. It was so awful I could not imagine anyone having done that in earnest. I thought the song was calling people out, because that's exactly what posh, moneyed white English people would say, like: "Oh, of course it's horrid about the famine, the poor darlings, but they really could do with smiling a bit more, don't you think? Don't they know it's Christmas?"

I wasn't even a teenager yet. A clueless, sheltered-as-fuck, Midwestern pre-teen.

So I picked that one but honestly I would have picked all of them if I could, they're all awful in their horrible ways. Christmas albums are notorious for being shitty and existing solely to make money, and these songs pretty much all fit that theme. I do defend Baby, It's Cold Outside from discourse, but I still think it's awful because I'm so sick of hearing it everywhere--the discourse is basically the icing on a shit cake. It's done, guys, you don't need to keep recording it. No one's bringing anything new to the table with that one. Put your sticks away, the horse is beyond dead.

Special mention to the Bublé Baby It's Cold Outside for being what corporate bro Christmas hell sounds like, not least of which is because it's basically a tuneful three minutes of screaming NO HOMO BRO.

I give Bruce a pass because he's fuckin' BRUCE, guys, but I hate live recordings in general, and that one in specific, so I get it; if he'd done it in the studio it might have had a chance of being awesome.

We Need A Little Christmas is the worst kind of earworm, and should have been included. It's already in my head just from reading the title and it's not even American Thanksgiving yet, so I guess thanks for that, @marzipanandminutiae.

The pollmaker should have added Sleigh Ride and Grownup Christmas List, too.

And that is my Essay On The Above Christmas Songs: They're All Terrible.

[ridestomars]

THE PERFECT GIRL – E. MUNSON

𖥻 summary: in which eddie makes a mixtape for you. 𖥻 pairing: eddie munson x alt!reader. 𖥻 warnings: this is part of my alt!reader concept, but can be read as a standalone. poor grammar possibly. not proofread.

💭 liv's thoughts: a big thanks to @saintlessmunson for reading my first draft <333 i only function on sudden urges and this is another one of them. just a compilation of songs that were important to the development of your relationship w eddie. it was supposed to have 5 songs, but i wrote about 3 bc i'm lazy <3 really hope you enjoy it! the fic's playlist.

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

IS THERE SOMETHING I SHOULD KNOW? do you feel the same 'cause you don't let it show

Eddie almost regretted stepping foot inside the old record shop that day, especially when the music coming from the speakers was so loud that it could be heard from across the street; the annoying sound of Simon Le Bon's voice piercing through his ears as he miserably made his way inside. Walking with his head low to keep people from staring at him, he went straight to the Weird Al Yankovic section, trying to get this over with already. 

His fingers expertly went through the selection of records, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to find whatever record Dustin didn't have because he simply didn't know what it was. It would've been so much easier if he could just gift the boy the new D&D book, or some great figures – but what could he possibly give to a kid who already has everything? His favorite artist's new album, of course. And that's what he intended to do if only he knew what his latest record was called. 

"I always took you for a Judas Priest type of weird. Didn't know you were taking a step further," a familiar voice said, getting closer. He slowly looked to his side, realizing that you were walking towards him, in your full gothic attire; a cute lacy dress, with fishnets and heavy boots, all in black, of course. Eddie wasn't really in the mood to bicker, but for you, he could make an exception. 

"It's not for me, Dracula," he muttered, still very focused on going through the endless records in front of him – half of them were just copies of the same title, which made more sense than Weird Al making so many records. "I'm buying this for Henderson. The small kid, curly hair, always with a cap". 

He absentmindedly explained, going through the kid's most striking features. 

"Yeah, I know who he is. And he already bought Polka Party last week". 

"I'm sorry?" he turned to you, a big confused frown on his face. 

"Polka Party," you repeated slowly, even though he still didn't understand what you said, "you know… his latest record? That's what you're looking for, right? Henderson already bought it."

"Shit," Eddie lamented, wincing slightly. "That's what I was going to buy him". 

"That's too bad. Maybe you should try Tiny Tim, then", you suggested and saw that Eddie contemplated the idea, before rejecting it vehemently. "Well, then I have something that he might like". 

"Yeah? And what is it?" he asked as he let go of the records, turning his body around completely to face you. 

"It's called Licensed to Ill by the Beastie Boys. It just came in, so I highly doubt that he'd have it already", you explained as you guided Eddie to the newest releases shelves. "It has everything a teenage boy would like, I guess. Beer, girls, idiotic screaming…"

"Seems cool enough. What are they? A rock band?"

"They're rappers", you said and that didn't ring any bells for the metalhead. "Oh my God, don't you watch MTV at all?" 

"Only the Heavy Metal Half-Hour. Don't really like any of the VJs", he shrugged. "Why do you sound so surprised? I mean, Duran Duran has been playing and I don't see you complaining. Aren't they out of fashion already?"

"Well, Marie's the one picking the music today, so if I say something I'd probably get fired", you put your hands up, showing that you are defenseless. "But don't you think you're a bit too close-minded?"

"Because I don't know the Beast Boys?"

"Beastie Boys", you correct him as you hand him the record. A jet is crashing into the side of a mountain on the cover, which definitely caught his attention. As he analyzed the album, you smiled lightly, finding the way his brown eyes scanned the cover to be very cute. "But it's like you live in your own little metal world… doesn't it get boring sometimes?"

"With Ozzy Osbourne? Never." he offered you a sly smile as his eyes shoot up to look at your face. 

"You know, some people wouldn't even consider Ozzy to be metal," you teased him slightly and he loudly gasps, absolutely offended by your affirmation. 

"Don't you ever say that again!"

"Oh, but I will! And I can even argue that you, Edward Munson, aren't metal at all." 

"And why is that?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Because you just said that I am a close-minded metalhead, sweetheart". 

"You know exactly what I mean! C'mon, half of the bands you like are hard rock, and I am including Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath on that list".

"Sure, Vlady." he rolls his eyes at you, walking to the nearest listening booth, with you on his tail. Eddie was already taking the vinyl out of its sleeve before asking you, "Any suggestions?"

"Rhymin' and Stealin', or No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn. They're the most metal of them". 

"Nah, no metal. 'Cause now that I am a fully open-minded person, thanks to you, I think I'll go with…" he taunted you for your fruitless try to start one of your bickerings.  "Hold It Now, Hit It". 

"Great pick", you encouraged him, even though you knew he wasn't going to like it. 

CRAZY TRAIN. i'm living with something that just ain't fair.

"Haven't you had enough of following me around, weirdo?"

"Nope. In fact, I would like to follow you some more", he answered as he keeps trailing behind you, putting up Madonna's True Blue cardboard cut-out next to the album shelves. "Killer jeans, by the way". 

"Gross," even though you tried to seem annoyed by his statement, the smile on your face betrayed you. Thank God he couldn't see it. "But I'm afraid you won't have much time to appreciate it, since I'll be leaving in… five minutes".

You said after checking your wrist clock, then helping him to stabilize the life-size Madonna on the floor. Then, you took a few steps back to appreciate the result of your teamwork.

"What? I thought you worked until five!" he exclaimed as he let go of the cardboard. The abrupt motion almost took it down, but you swiftly put it back to its original place. "Sorry".

"Stalker much?" you playfully ask, making his cheeks blush lightly. When you were finally done with the Madonna cardboard, you walked to the store's counter, leaning down to get your backpack. As you started to organize your things, you explained, "I worked overtime yesterday, so Marie is covering for me today". 

You felt his gaze follow you intensely, watching how your hands moved as you grabbed your own cassettes, your coat, and a few fanzines and stuffed them back into your bag. To be quite frank, you were actually enjoying having his attention on you, seeing the things you liked – maybe he could get to know a bit more about you by seeing your Echo and The Bunnymen tape. 

"Do you- um…" when he sees you sling your backpack on one of your shoulders, he begins to muster up the courage to ask, but as he senses your eyes on him, his voice falters a bit, "do you want a ride?"

"Is your van clean?" you asked as you start to walk towards the exit, Eddie following you closely. "I don't really feel like sitting on another pack of Doritos today".

"Fuck off", it's hard to miss the humor in his voice, "And I did. It's as good as new". 

"Alright, then. Lead the way", you say as you open the store's door. Now, you were the one following him, trying to keep up with his long, quick steps. You almost miss the van, only stopping because of Eddie's sudden stop. "Why is it blue?" 

"I painted it. Got tired of red". 

"Nice. Why don't you paint it black next time? You know, to fit your aesthetic". 

"Noted," he acknowledges your suggestion, walking up to the passenger door and opening it for you. "M'lady". 

"Thank you, good lord." you graciously answer, getting inside the (thankfully clean) van. It only takes Eddie a couple of moments to sit in the driver's seat, and he founds you curiously eyeing the whole vehicle. 

"Found any Doritos yet?"

"No, but I found this" you pick up a little zip bag that was carelessly laid on the van's floor, next to your feet. "Do you just leave this stuff all over the place? You should be more careful, you know? I heard Hopper is after your ass". 

"Jesus H. Christ!" his eyes were wide as pies as he sees the marijuana bag you held, taking it in a rush. He almost drops it as he hurriedly stuffs it in his jacket pocket. "How d'you know that?"

"It's impossible not to. Everyone loves to talk about the resident freak's latest ​​shenanigans." you smile playfully at him again, finding out that he was already staring at you, with an amused look on his face. "And when you work at a place that the whole town visits, you end up knowing lots of stuff".

"Yeah? Like what?" he starts the van, maneuvering out of its parking spot. 

"Well…" you think about it for a while, trying to remember the hottest piece of gossip you know. "Heather Maxwell was almost arrested for, one, driving while drunk and two, for having sex with Stuart Mills on her parents' car at the side of the road. Hopper was less than pleased". 

"Stuart? As in-"

"Her best friend's boyfriend, yes!" you excitedly interrupt him, and he audibly gasps as he hears the missing piece of information. 

"I always knew Heather was up to no good," Eddie commented. "I mean, wasn't she the one who spiked our middle school punch without telling anyone?"

"Yeah," you laughed, "thank God Mrs. O'Donnell confiscated it."

"Oh, but it tasted so good!" 

"You drank it?" you ask and watch him enthusiastically nod, and your eyes widen slightly, "That explains why you were dancing to the Bay City Rollers, then".

"That wasn't because I was drunk! I actually really like them".

"Shut up!"

"I'm serious!" he confirms, laughing. You lean towards him as he makes an accentuated curve, brushing shoulders lightly. "You know, bye, bye, baby, baby goodbye!" 

You laugh harder as he sings the band's song completely out of tune, and the resounding sound of your laughter quickly infected him and you both entered a long fit of giggles. After it died down, though, it wasn't as awkward as you thought it would be; comfortably sharing the silence until you motioned to the radio, and picking up on that, Eddie asked, "d'you wanna turn on the radio? I have no idea of which tape is in, though". 

"It'll be a surprise, then. I bet it's Motorhead".

"And I bet it's Dio".

"Let's see!" you pressed the on button and the beginnings of Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train filled up the whole van. Eddie's sound system always impressed you with how powerful the music reverberated through the small space. "Fuck, not even close".

"Yeah, but it's still great!" he observed, looking at you quickly, "Crazy, but that's how it goes". 

"Millions of people living as foes," you started to sing along with him, earning another glance from him, only a surprised one this time. That was enough for you to turn the music louder. 

"You know this one?"

"Hell yeah, dude! It's, like, one of his only good songs".

"No, it's not!"

"It's not a good song, you mean?" you tried to trick him, but of course, he wouldn't fall for it.

"It's one of his greatest, Y/N!" he observes, thumbs tapping against the steering wheel accompanying the beat of the song. "You know, for someone who works at a music store, you should really start appreciating Ozzy more."

"Sure, Munson." you rolled his eyes. "I've listened to preachers".

"I've listened to fools", he stepped even harder on the gas, making the van speed along the street, making dust and leaves go up in the air, trailing along. Everything about this moment made you smile; from the wind that blew right at your face to the sounds Eddie made to emulate the song's guitar.

"I've watched all the dropouts who make their own rules", you pretended to hold a microphone, and then offered it to him, letting him sing the next line into your hand. And he did it with the biggest and brightest smile on his face, dimples deepening as he mouthed the words. He looked so pretty like this, all smiles, doe eyes, and hair flowing wildly. 

To the people who watched the van speed through Hawkins' streets, you seemed like two maniacs. The laughter, screams, and out-of-tune-singing were enough for everyone to look at you as the freaks they considered you to be, not that you cared for that right now, especially when you're by Eddie's side. 

You cried out loud as you spotted your house at the end of the street. 

"Oh no! Can you go around the block? Just until the song ends, please?" you ask him, pleading almost. You were having too much fun to be interrupted now. 

"If I could, I'd drive around the whole state for you, sweetheart. But is the highway enough for you?" he asked, slowing the van down to look at you. As you nod at him, in an almost desperate manner, he laughs loudly. "Rewind the song, then!" 

Crazy, but that's how it goes…

PERFECT GIRL. i think i'm falling, i think i'm falling in…

"Hey, Y/N! Your freak is here!" Marie announces as the plops her head inside the employee's room, which made you roll your eyes in a way that you thought they wouldn't go back to their place. Your body didn't care too much about Marie's unnecessary nickname, since it was too preoccupied with reacting to the fact that Eddie was here. Your palms were suddenly sweaty and butterflies were all over the place; you doubted you could even take two steps before starting to smile like a maniac. 

"Don't call him that," you scolded her as you passed by, going directly to the store's counter. Your eyes scanned the place quickly, not taking long to spot the untamed mane of the one and only Eddie Munson, who was going through the alternative section – something that has become surprisingly normal these past few weeks. "Eds!" 

"Hey, Vlady!" he cheerily greeted you, skipping his way to the counter. "Nice earrings. Are those bats?"

"Yeah. Made them myself". 

"Could you make one for me, maybe?" Eddie put his hair behind his right ear, showing you the small silver hoop he usually wore. "I feel like it's time for a change".

"Sure thing", you offered him a sweet smile and made a (very highlighted, sparkly, shiny) mental note to make the best earring you could ever create for him. "Had fun at the alternative section?"

"Yup! In fact, I was meaning to ask you: have you listened to the new The Cure album yet?"

"No, but my friends said they liked it, so I'm excited".

"You should be. It's actually great".

"What!? You've already listened to it?" 

"Fuck yeah", he replied like it was obvious, and continued, with a taunting smile, "Now who's the one that isn't up with the news?"

"Hey! I just didn't have the time, ok? College is kicking my butt." you explained while you gathered the cassettes that were laid out on the counter. As soon as your hand touched the first one, you saw Eddie's pale hand also collecting a few – always so eager to help. "It was just a surprise, you know? You got to hear my favorite band's new album before me". 

"I'm just keeping up with the times, sweetheart. Oh, how'd you say it?" he took a while to remember the exact term you had used a while back, "Yeah, I'm opening up my horizons". 

"You're such a weirdo", you rolled your eyes before handing him a Frank Sinatra tape, a identical copy to the ones he was organizing. 

"Thanks" he muttered, "Like the gloves, by the way. Very metal… or should I say, totally goth?"

"Shut up" you giggled and moved out of the counter, on your way to put the tapes in their usual place. You heard Eddie's boots thumping loudly against the floor, meaning that he was following you. 

"You know, I came here to give you something".

"What?" you suddenly turn around, in surprise, and drop a few tapes when you crash right into his chest. And before you can lean down to catch them, he has already collected all of them and is standing up slowly, in a way that makes you hold your breath; his hair actually brushes against the hem of your skirt, lifting it up slightly, and you're pretty sure you felt his knuckles graze lightly against your knee. And then, he's standing close… dangerously so. You can actually feel his warm breath against your face, the small puffs of air hitting you as he talks... and you don't pay attention to a single word he said. "I-I'm sorry?"

"I said it's a gift," even though you were pretty sure Eddie would find the whole situation amusing and make fun of you for being so strange, he isn't. And he seems to be just as affected as you are, with burning red cheeks. "You know, a thing that one person gives to another as a token of their appreciation?" 

"I know what a gift is, dumbass. I just don't understand why you would give me something". 

"I just explained it to you, Dracula. A token of my appreciation." he smiles softly at you, his dimples showing. You did your best to actually organize the cassettes instead of just throwing them everywhere, but that didn't matter right now, not when Eddie was searching his pockets looking for something; your gift. Then, he handed you a small tape, very similar to the ones you were just holding. "It has one of The Cure's new songs in it… it really reminded me of you. So it would be nice if you listened to it." 

"Sure", you couldn't fight the big smile that appeared on your face, feeling your face heat up as your fingertips brushed against his hand as you took the cassette. "I'll listen to it today, and then I'll call you and tell you what I think, yeah?"

"Perfect". 

+++

As soon as you stepped foot in your bedroom, you didn't wait another second before plopping the tape into your boombox and anxiously fast-forwarding it until you stumbled upon Robert Smith's sped-up voice. You felt bad for not paying attention to the little details Eddie put into it, like the adhesive tape he glued and the name of the mixtape, but you just couldn't wait – couldn't even waste time listening to the other tracks, really, too set upon hearing the new song. Acting like that, it may seem that you've never had a mixtape made for you before, but it was quite de contrary: your friends made you tapes all the time, but this... this was different. This was Eddie's tape. And that was reason enough to keep you giggling like a schoolgirl, almost kicking your feet in the air in your state of giddiness. Laying down on your bed, you hugged one of your pillows bringing it to your chin, a perfect tool to use to muffle your lovesick laughter as you finally heard the little unknown do-do-do's. 

The fuzziness you felt in your whole body distracted you from actually paying attention to the music, because you were too busy still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Eddie Munson – The Eddie Munson – listened to a whole The Cure album for you; heard this specific song and thought of you; and spent time making this mixtape for you. All because of you. You had to take a few breaths to bring your mind back to the song, or else you'd spend the whole night rewinding the poor tape. 

You held your breath as Robert Smith sang 'you're such a strange girl, I'd like to turn you upside-down', and your eyebrows involuntarily shot up. A familiar heat crept up your neck and took hold of your cheeks while a smile kept dancing on your lips. Once again, your pillow came into action, muffling a fit of giggles as it hid your flushed cheeks from the cold air of your bedroom. 

It was unnecessary to wait too long for your next hysterics to come through because as soon as you heard 'you're such a strange girl, the way you look like you do. You're such a strange girl, I want to be with you', you were absolutely gone; laughing excitedly as your eyes widened and your own body didn't know whether to feel extremely lovesick or surprised. But you couldn't just sit and wait for it to decide, so almost unconsciously, you reached for the phone and dialed the number you had already memorized.

"You reached the Munsons! It's Eddie".

"Hi." that's all you could say before giggling again.

"Hey, Vlad. I take it that you've already listened to the tape?" 

"'m still listening".

"Cool," he commented, starting to become a bit uneasy. "A-and what did you think?"

"Well, I think that Robert Smith is a genius." you paused a bit, just for the dramatics, and heard Eddie's heavy breath on the other side of the line. "And that you and I should go on a date sometime". 

"Y-yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking", you could practically hear his smile and that made you laugh once more. "Benny's Burger?"

"Perfect. You're free on Friday?"

"For you? Always". 

"Great. I'll see you at seven then." 

"It's a date".

"It's a date", you confirmed, biting your lower lip, trying to keep your smile from getting any wider. 

I think I'm falling… I think I'm falling in… I think I'm falling in love with you. 

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED!

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[thebigsl33p]

You Are Sick and You're Married, and You Might Be Dying. (Part two)

Part one.

Really I wanted to title this after Andromeda by Weyes Blood, "Treat me right, I'm still a good man's daughter. Let me In If I break and be quiet if I shatter." But it's easier if it has the same title as the one before. Maybe I'll do another one with that title. TW: angst, death, cancer, realistic Chemo (as close as I could get it anyways), Morpheus. No happy ending.

Things had been hard.

Y/N had been given two choices, Chemotherapy or to just…leave it. To let the Cancer exist and spread to her lymph nodes, slowly kill her. She thought about it, she really did. It would be easier, peaceful and on her own terms. Joanna assured her that whatever she chose she would be by her side, and Y/N had no doubt. So when she chose Chemo, Joanna did everything in her power to make sure she was comfortable.

It was the least she could do with the guilt she was carrying. She knew Y/N wasn't going to make it, a demon's curse is a demon's curse. And she felt awful. But she didn't want her girl to hate her, so she didn't bring it up.

The Doctors had told them about what to watch out for. How Y/N would be sensitive to the cold, it could cause pins and needles or make her throat feel like it was closing up so they should always have gloves, a scarf and a bottle of warm water after a Chemo session.

They had also told the couple about how food might taste different for Y/N and may even have a different texture. And how she could be sick or feel nauseous. And should anything feel off at all she was to call 111. They would give her the best advice, tell her whether she should to to the hospital or not.

The Chemo was spread across every other week.

Y/N was sitting in a chair in the Chemo section of the hospital she was in, wearing one of Joanna's shirts and a cardigan. She had a pick in her arm and a bag of chemicals hanging over her head. Her girlfriend was sitting in a chair next to her, and they were chatting about shit TV when her phone went.

Y/N saw her go to decline it, "Joanna, you're allowed to accept phone calls, y'know? I know you don't think of it this way, but you do actually have a job, that you are allowed to attend." She reminded her.

"Fine." Joanna accepted the call and sat there for a while, just humming in agreement before hanging up, "They want me for an exorcism this evening. Someone high class."

"Royal?" Y/N laughed.

"Probably. But I can cancel if you don't want me going. Like seriously, they can pull someone else in. The only reason I took it was because they're paying a lot." She explained.

"Joanna it's fine. I'll probably be tired when I get back home, so I'll just sleep while you're gone sweetheart. Don't fret."

***

Joanna had been to this church many times.

Outside, was the local crazy, Hettie, who Joanna loved to bits. She always had a bit of mystic or occult gossip. The woman was two hundred and eight after all.

And this time, it was about The Sandman, something that Joanna was sure was nothing more than a fairy story.

"He's back.." Hettie slurred.

Joanna laughed, "Who's back Hettie?" 

"Why Morpheus of course."

"Morpheus?" "The king of nightmares. The sandman."

"The sandman's nothing but a fairytale hettie." Joanna laughed.

"Mark my words girl, The Sandman's back, and he wants his sand." Hettie looked over Joanna's shoulder and started giggling.

Joanna turned around, to see what Hettie was having a look at and there on the steps of the church she was about to go into was a man, who she would describe as goth. He looked a bit like an emo teenage boy…but with more style.

"Who are you?" Joanna's eyebrows raised at the man and he began to speak something about dreams and nightmares and sand, but she stopped him, "Look, that's nice and all but I have an exorcism to do and a girlfriend to get back too." She pushed past him.

Joanna would've been eternally grateful for that night.

The night she partnered up with The Sandman to get his bag of sand from an ex-girlfriend of hers who had destroyed herself with it. He had made sure she died peacefully and happily.

And that was when Joanna had an idea.

As they were leaving her ex's house, Joanna turned to Morpheus, "I'm going to ask you a favour." She said, "I don't care what the price is I just…need this. My girlfriend Y/N has cancer. She doesn't know it yet, but…the chemo's not gonna make a change. She's dying and it's my fault. What you did to Rachel in there, could you do that for her? Or maybe put a word in with Death when the time comes? Make sure she's comfortable?"

"Yes." He answered, his eyes showing pity for her, "One day I'll call on you."

In that moment he was the patron saint of Lovers. Forget valentine.

***

The Chemo was doing very little. If anything it was making it worse. Months later, Y/N had shaved her hair and had lost weight. She looked pale and tired.

The doctor's didn't see much point in continuing with the sessions. Instead they gave Y/N some meds and sent her home under the care of her girlfriend.

The moment they got home, Joanna put Y/N into bed before going to make some food.

Just as she was about to leave the bedroom, Y/N called her back, "Joanna. Please, sit with me."

"…Okay." Joanna turned around and took her side of the bed, "What's up?"

"I know." She said, "I know I had no chance of living…" She admitted, "The night you called me…worried. I thought if I did the Chemo it might make both of us feel better, might let me live a little longer. When I go-"

"Y/N, no." Joanna took her hand.

"When I go, I don't want you to feel bad. Alright?"

"Alright. I'm sorry."

"I know, it's okay. I know you only tried to do what was best."

Y/N barely lasted the rest of the week. She was fading away, finding it harder and harder to wake up, sleeping more, eating less.

And then, one warm summer evening, she was awake again. Joanna could hear her mumbling to herself from the kitchen, chatting away. And just as she went to check on her, there was a knock at the door.

Joanna sighed and went to open it and there on the other side was The Sandman. And she knew what that meant, and she knew who Y/N was talking too.

Together, the Exorcist and The Endless walked into their bedroom to see Y/N sitting up in bed and a black woman sitting on the end of it, her legs crossed like a child.

"I didn't think there was much point in hiding." She shrugged, "You've already met my brother." She turned to Y/N, "You've got a real amazing one here, I wish I could let you keep her a little longer."

"Joanna, come sit with me." Y/N smiled as Joanna took a seat on her side of the bed, "Are you okay?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Joanna was beginning to sniffle.

"You know that's not how we work." She laughed before wiping her Love's eyes, "Don't cry Sweetheart. It's not worth it." Her eyes flicked up, "I take it you're Dream? Your sister told me you'd be coming."

"Yes. I'm here to make sure your happy when you go. It's the least I could do for Joanna." he sighed.

"Well, I think I'm ready." She smiled at her girlfriend, "In the end, was it a Royal?"

"Yeah." Joanna smiled through the overflow of tears.

"I love you." She kissed her cheek.

"I love you too."

And then Morpheus was gone, Death was gone and so was Y/N. And with all three of them they took Joanna's will to live.

The world would never shine as bright again as it did when she was besides Y/N.

Her wonderful, beautiful Y/N.

[olderthannetfic]

"But what really stands out to me here is how universal you imagine your experience of self hatred and misery is. That isn't my life. It isn't the life of the queer people I hang out with. This is a you problem and one you need to discuss with a queer-friendly therapist."

----

I don't understand this. Literally nobody else acts like this is the case outside of the internet. I'm not accusing you of lying. The world is a big and diverse place and I'm sure your experiences are different, but this is not the case in most realities. This whole cherry-picked group of people coming here to say otherwise feels like gaslighting. (I know I am misusing the word. That's not actually what it is.) I'm saying that's what it feels like.

You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but have ever gone to a therapist for yourself? Is it really going to make a difference to hear affirmations about your identity or your self-esteem or whatever from someone that you're paying to hear those things from? Because anyone could go to a therapist from just about any agenda, be it LGBT+, or Christian, or sex positive or whatever, and they'll craft whatever you say to fit the narrative they specialize in.

I mean, if the therapist is fundamentalist enough, they'd probably just give you sedatives to kill your sex drive altogether. You can spend the rest of your life doing that, thinking that it's good advice because someone with a professional title told you so. Any kind of person can earn the credentials to give a prescription. How are you supposed to trust that a therapist is anchored in the proper reality?

I know I'm getting heated and I will back off. But holy shit, this is not as simple or as universal as tumblr makes it out to be.

--

I believe you that you're being genuine. It's just fascinating to me.

I've known a lot of queer people in my life. I've had the privilege of growing up in a relatively queer-friendly city, but I wouldn't say it was great for teenagers because nowhere was in the 90s. My gay neighbors across the street (I have multiple sets of gay neighbors) commented that they aren't very demonstrative in public even now because while people are mostly friendly, a lifetime of dealing with bullshit lingers and makes them cautious.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Escapade, the oldest extant slash con, which is full of old queer people. Tonight, I met up with friends offline, many of them queer. Family holidays generally consist of all my queer cousins and like one straight one.

The responses you got here, though they're from some randos and people I know only via tumblr, match what my many offline queer friends would tell you.

This doesn't feel cherry-picked to me: it just feels normal.

We like being queer. We don't love all of the shit people have given us, but we would not change our true selves just for an easier time.

Yes, I have gone to therapy, once voluntarily and once involuntarily as a small child. The latter was extremely annoying, but the former was helpful. I've never been to therapy over my sexuality. I've never felt bad about my sexuality, not my orientation and not my many odd kinks. (It was definitely helpful to have access to the internet and manifestos on why various things are fine though. I wouldn't say I just magically accepted myself with no outside influence. It just wasn't influence from a therapist.)

Many types of therapist exist, and they aren't all just there to make you feel good or tell you what you want to hear. If this has been your experience of therapy, you've gotten some duds.

Like I said, you should go to a queer-friendly therapist, which one finds by looking for recs from other queer people. This is a whole Thing: people often share tips online about which therapists can properly handle their identity, whether they're queer or poly or into BDSM or whatever else.

The stuff you said about bisexuality is bog standard biphobia. We've all heard it a million times. I'm more concerned with how self-hating you sound. That may be the norm a lot of places, but it doesn't need to be your reality.

I'm not speaking from tumblr. I'm speaking from having been out as bisexual since 1995, publicly and offline.

Your attitude does not sound healthy or normal for any of the queer communities I've participated in. That's not an insult. That's a genuine "Whoa? Holy shit! WHAT?" reaction to all the things you said.

[smartass-hoot]

hi hi i will NEVER be normal about iruclarazz and here's why (with images because they have the most wholesome and loving relationship and they’re the lovey-est dovey-est friends to lovers OT3 to ever exist)

Anyways I'm gonna keep the rest of it under the cut + images and canon evidence because these guys are just too perfect of a relationship and it's gonna be a LONG post so grab some popcorn and strap in!!!

Okay so lemme introduce them first:

Iruma: he's the MC, and he's the softest, kindest, most hardworking dude to ever exist. He also can't say no to people at all, and is a complete pushover. He's had a really rough life, but that only made him kinder to his friends and complete strangers, and he's just the sweetest goodest cinnamon roll okay??

Azz-azz (asmodeus): he's The Honor Student, child prodigy, talented, beautiful, and mister perfect who never lets his walls down. He can be cold to people he doesn't know, but lately after finding iruma and clara he's opened up and he's just any other obsessed teenager to exist

Clara: agent. of. chaos. She has tons of energy and always loves having fun with her friends, not caring much about rules. Not the smartest, but she's very empathetic and observant, and sometimes takes on the role of the 'big sister' when her boys need her

Okay so basic dynamics:

two smols x one tol

two sunshines x one frosty

wholesome and healthy relationships built on trust and love

one collective braincell in their joint account

the fact that pink green blue is the polysexual pride flag colours

clara and azz both bonding over their love for iruma and learning to love each other too

anyways, moving onto the more poetic/story reasons why i love them,,,

what really drives me about this ship is how lonely all of them were before meeting each other.

Like,,, iruma had to fend for himself his whole life due to absent parents, and he never really had anyone he could rely on, or someone who cared for him as much as he cared about them. Azz was a child prodigy and that put up a lot of walls around him, which he never bothered to take down, and he became so used to being alone that he said it was 'comfortable' for him. Clara… well people used her a lot for her magic and cast her aside as soon as they didn't need her anymore, and they repeatedly made sure she knew how she was only as worthy as she was useful.

That all changed when they met each other.

Iruma found people who genuinely cared for him, and people with whom he's learning how to set boundaries (he's trying, okay?), and for the first time in his entire life, he made friends. Azz learned to let go of being the perfect person, and because of clara and iruma, he found something to be obsessed about, and something worth doing dumb, emotional stuff for!!! And clara found people who want to be friends with her because of who she is, and people who never undermine her worth but instead reinforce it with love and banter <3

Anyways, moving onto canon material because this shit speaks for itself I don't even need to say anything

THEY CALL EACH OTHER SOULMATES!! AND THE LOVE TRIO!!! And iruma doesn't want to give the soulmate title to anyone else!!! SO THEY'RE SPECIAL TO EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

Like,,, whenever one person is troubled, the other two go out of their way to cheer that person up! There's no possessiveness (beyond the normal bantering competition lmao I love clara and azz and how much those two adore iruma) and they don't feel insecure if two members spend some time together individually! Like,,, yess!! The trust! The respect! The sheer fckn love they have for each other!!!

AND THE THING IS!!! They love each other and care for each other a LOT but they still have boundaries! They're still their own person!! And most importantly, they have faith that their soulmate is strong and capable enough to handle their problems (but that doesn't mean they won't step in immediately if the someone needs help or is in danger)

Although,,, they can and will throw hands to keep each other safe and gods ksjdfnksfnskjd I'm just so soft for OT3s that protect each other while still respecting each other LIKE THEY HAVE THAT BALANCE!! THE HEALTHY BALANCE!!!

SEE??? I LEGIT SCREAMED IN THESE SCENES BC THEY GOT EACH OTHERS' BACKS

And as serious as they can become, they're still goofballs who love each other and I love that about them

They're on the same page most of the time (they have one braincell and it goes on vacation everytime they're together lmao),, and whenever things get rough they always think about each other!!! ksjdnfkdnfkjsndfkjs

ALSO!!!

They inspire each other to train harder and grow stronger!!! they sometimes get worried and go to the other person to check on them but as soon as they see their soulmates giving it their all, they end up being motivated to aim even higher!!!

this is the foundations of how every power couple is built and no you can't change my mind

Gods I could go on and on about them but have some of their soft, affectionate, and wholesome moments as a final touch!!!

(the fact that sleeping is when you're most vulnerable and these three feel comfortable enough to nap with each other,,, like please i'm going to fucking cry)

so yeah. i love them and they're literally one of the best relationships i've ever seen in media. so please vote for them!! they deserve all the love and affection <3

Friends to Lovers Tournament: Round 1, Side A, Match 9

propaganda under the cut!

Iruclarazz:

LISTEN THEY ARE THE OT3 TO BEAT ALL OTHER OT3's LIKE THEY HOLD SO MUCH POWER!!!

1. THEY ARE SO FUCKING FLUFFY AND COLOURFUL AND PURE AND ADORABLE AND—*chokes on emotions* anyways they're literally the most wholesome and supportive of all ships like i can't even begin to summarize how much they care for each other

2. THEY CANONLY CALL EACH OTHER SOULMATES and even if clara and azz don't understand what a soulmate is (they're demons) they're just happy to be close to iruma. 

3. whenever one of them is upset or bothered, the other two form a team and they go ALL OUT to lift the third person's mood!!! they try to solve the problem but if that's not possible, they just stay with that person and try to make them feel better so that they can face their problem with a better mood and more strength

4. they're ALWAYS together. and none of them are bothered by it!! and instead of being toxic about the need to stay close, they establish boundaries! like they have their own secrets they can't tell the others and that's totally fine! no pressure at all in their squad

5. listen these three help each other become better people!! like they bring out the best in each other and it's the most wholesome, encouraging, healthy, lovey dovey ship ever!!! like clara becomes more responsible despite her need for chaos bc she wants to make sure azz and iruma can depend on her! azz stops putting up walls and allows people to approach him because he wants to get involved in the other two's lives! and iruma learns how to set boundaries with these two where he could never say no to anyone!! like if that isn't the most awesome and perfect relationship idk what is!!!

6. one tol and two smols that's all.

THERE IS JUST SO MUCH MORE IN CANON THAT SHOWS HOW AWESOME THESE TRIO ARE AS AN OT3 BUT YEAH IT'S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL POLY SHIP I'VE EVER SEEN IN MANGA!!!

Sunnflower:

ok listen their relationship is extremely important to the plot of the game so they get a lot of focus and a lot of the stuff they say abt each other is like????? bro thats kinda fruity ngl??????? theres like. a lot of stuff i could say about them. like a lot. too much actually

so instead ill just, idk summarize their relationship and then give some fun facts abt them

Sunny and Basil are best friends! They're shown to be very close to each other, closer than they are to the rest of their friends. They rely on each other to listen when they need to vent, and like to read books together! Before the events of the game, Sunny and Basil become involved in an incident that basically tears their friend group apart. Basil keeps the secret of their involvement from everyone because he cares too much about Sunny to let him get in trouble. They then don't talk for four years, and spend the entire time pining for each other!

Basil hopes for four years that Sunny will finally come back to him, meanwhile Sunny has retreated into a perfect dreamworld he uses to cope. All of his friends are there, and everyone is happy, and the dreamworld is full of things Basil loves. The most common food item is tofu(Basil's favorite food),  there's an entire race of plant creatures that adore tofu(Basil likes to garden + his favorite food), his garden in the dreamworld is huge and has lots of flowers that represent each of his friends! Also, an important NPC says this abt Sunny and Basil's relationship: "He is special to you. A string of fate ties you together." A string of fate you say? Hmmm, I wonder why they phrased it like that...

Also, when Sunny and Basil finally do start talking again, Basil says stuff like this: "W...Wait... P-Please, SUNNY... Don't leave me... Not again..." "After all this time... you've finally come back for me. But... tomorrow... you're going away. H-HOW COULD YOU DO THAT!?!? That's mean, SUNNY. That's so mean!" Yeah... he's not doing too well...

But don't worry! After a year or two of therapy I'm sure these two can have a happy, healthy relationship!

Obviously I have a lot more to say abt them but it's all literary analysis and context clues and stuff, I just wanted to point out the more obvious stuff!