#but the pixies have a blast anyways

[cubbihue]

Timmy would love to listen to girly pop songs, he would have loved chapel roan

Sometimes items slip out the human's conscious. Objects that, if pointed out, a person immediately remembers existing. But until that moment? Up until they remember, the object is lost. Sometimes these objects wash up on the shores of Pixies' Corp. The Pixies call these foreign objects: Found Things.

Most of the time its massive socks, or a giant clear lid for some tupperware. Other times, they find rarities such as human phones! Pixies enjoy scrapping Found Things, and ditching work to play with Found Things.

Although Jorgen usually ends up sending the items back down to Earth.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[miramelindamusings]

@prudensvulpes requested Sora with Dylan Hollis' energy where he has his own cooking channel! Thank you so much for your patience! And this was alot of fun to do! I used Dylan Hollis' "Fake Apple Pie" tiktok (shortened to certain moments and some moved around for comedic effect!). I hope you like it and thank you again :)!

And here's a bonus sketch because I couldn't resist drawing Sora's face lighting up the same way Dylan Hollis' does when a recipe is actually good!:

[belphiesgirlfriend]

Obey me! Brothers music taste headcanons

——————————————————————————

more like ramblings than headcanons tbh but i had this stuck in my head and needed to get it out, also feel free to send requests for diff headcanons!

Cw’s: none!

Little bit satirical (i over exaggerate sometimes cuz it’s funny) but pretty in character overall i thinkk

——————————————————————————

Lucifer:

• You know this motherfucker listens to classical music and classical music only cuz he’s boring

• Okay but jokes aside i see him listening to like 30’s 40’s 50’s music especially the love songs.

• Like straight up fallout 4 soundtrack music, he’d listen to it while doing paperwork or unwinding

• He’d definitely be really prideful (no duh) about his taste in music, he’d feel all fancy and refined when he tells people

• Type of dude to be like “modern music simply can’t compare to the classics…” shut up grandpa we get it u know bach’s zodiac sign, penis size, and mothers maiden name

• Wants to be different so bad, he’d strictly listen to music from his vintage record player or some shit cause it’s the “most authentic” way to listen, fr acts like a manic pixie dream girl (he’d hit me upside the head if he heard me say that sorry luci🫶)

——————————————————————————

Mammon:

• r&b and spanish music

•but i feel like he’d like 2000s party music from all the clubbing and casinos

• def a weekend listener and like 90’s rap

• but also like i wouldn’t be surprised if he listened to some 90s rock too

• he’d listen 2 sublime or nirvana or local h (i’m projecting on the last one)

• but anyways he’d be a #1 rihanna fan he’d blast her music in his room but then deny liking her💀make it make sense!!

• also he knows her best album is loud CAUSE HE HAS TASTE!!

• also tyler the creator i get the vibe he’d love him

• kali uchis fan too

•ALSO i feel like he had a phase where he listened to juice wrld and was like “these cheating lying females….” after he got his heart broken by a witch YOU CANG TELL ME IM WRONG😭😭 it’s okay though cause he’s embarrassed by it now

• oh childish gambino too duh forgot about him

ALSO LET ME MENTION DINERO IS LITERALLY HIS SONG ITS ACTUALLY HIS

——————————————————————————

Levi:

• this one’s gonna be real fucking short IM SORRYYY

• he listens to anime openings and game soundtracks

• also vocaloid

• that’s literally all i can think of dude

• he’d be like “i don’t have time for normie music…”

• his room is literally that old caramelldansen meme from 2019/2020

——————————————————————————

Satan:

• this one was harder for me to pinpoint

• first instinct would be classical music but it’s canon he likes ska music too so 🤷‍♀️

• i really do feel like he’d listen to all types of music, like a true jack of all traits, if he likes it he likes it so his playlist is allllll over the place

• for some reason i get a vibe he’d really like 80s music in particular though

• the song that pops into my head is who can it be now? by men at work idk why

• maybe even older music i feel like he’d like sam cooke

• OH both him and belphie would like mazzy star and fiona apple idk why but they would

——————————————————————————

Asmo:

• okay crucify me for this one but…mitski I JUSG FEEL LIKE HE WOULD

• but i also see him loving lady gaga a lot cuz he has taste

•omg he’d listen to old katy perry too

•but yea also probably lil nas x he’d have a celeb crush on him

• oh tyler the creator too with his gay ass, him and mammon both love him, they def have done a duet to see u again

• he’d be a barb probably defend nicki too😭

• and as much as it pains me to say it, he’d fucking listen to ayesha erotica and be like “this is so good!!!”, hed post a devilgram story with one of her songs and then get cancelled on twitter

• “I made a severe and continuous lapse of judgement…” and then did the same thing a week later

——————————————————————————

Beel:

• type of guy when you ask him what music he listens to he goes “idk i don’t really listen to music”

• he legitimately looks up “hype playlist” on youtube to work out and that’s the extent of it

• really can’t see him being a big music guy

• if u invited him to a concert or something he’d go though for food

•he’d give you a piggy back ride so u can see better

• tbh if u were to put on music he would not care much no matter how good/bad it is

• you could walk in on him working out and literally listening 2 cbat or some shit

• HE LITERALLY IS CBAT GUY😭 he’d be like “i always use this song when i’m working out..

——————————————————————————

Belphie:

• emo fucker

• i feel like he’d like emo/ 90s rock ( but more “rockish” than mammons 90’s rock)

• but he’d also love any more relaxing music with softer vocals

• he’d be a deftones fan I KNOW GHATS FUCKING BASIC AND UR ROLLING UR EYES BUT LISTEN

• they have the combination of 90s rock but also more soothing calming vocals, theyd literally b perfect

• and for that reason his favorite albums r koi no yokan and saturday night wrist, also their self titled,

• would call mammon a poser for his music taste “nirvana isn’t even *real* rock idiot🙄”

• but nah, also like i said in satans fiona apple and mazzy star fan

• he’d suck so bad though he’d go on twitter and be like, “if you like deftones ur a poser” (while being their number 1 fan, fucking brat) then turn off his phone and take a nap for the funny

[mybrokenveins3000]

Freshers - College!Ross Macdonald

A/N: HII!! This is my first time writing anything on Tumblr, let alone the 1975 related. I hope you guys like it. Ignore how my grammar is all over the place, quotation marks and commas confuse me.

I move to university in about two weeks, I doubt anything like this will happen, but a girl can dream. Anyways, enjoy! Also, this is dedicated to @hypersonic04 <3

word count: 1.6k

♫ My Funny Girl - Harry Teardrop // Eighteen - Pale Waves

It's almost been a month since you moved to the city for university. Tonight, you're at a coursemate's flat for Pres. Trashy guilty-pleasure pop blasts through the speakers and you're busy avoiding people, drinking by the window. You watch the condensation trail behind a departing aeroplane over the cityscape. You're thinking about where you are now, the kind of people you brush shoulders with, and how easy it is to feel so desperately alone out here.

Despite the air of maturity and the swill of liquor in your mouth, it always shocked you how laughably predictable university boys can be - especially those on your Film course. It's been a month and you're already bored by the typical film bro spiel of "why Tarantino is the best director of all time" and how "there's something manic pixie dream girl about you".

Speaking of, you feel a tall, masculine shadow cast over you interrupting your intense thinking. Cue the "what's your favourite film" question, you think to yourself.

"What's your favourite film?"

Right, here we go again.

"Depends. Who's asking?" you laugh to yourself, still watching that blinking plane.

"Um, me." Now that felt more like a question.

"And, who are you?" You whip around and see a tall boy in a black hoodie. Who is this? He's cute... is your immediate response to the stranger.

You playfully prod at him with your empty solo cup, "Youuu are not on my course."

He laughs gently, casting his eyes to the floor. Despite his shy cadence, there's an effortlessness and confidence about him that is rare to find among these overgrown teenagers. "No, I'm not. I do History."

You squint and he senses your confusion about his presence at a Film student function.

"I came with him", he gestures over to the couch. The scantily clad, mop-headed, binge-drinking, serial flirt, Matty Healy, lounges across your girl friends' legs. You scowl. You and Matty have argued in and out of every seminar you've ever shared. It surprised you that someone like the boy in front of you was here with him.

"He actually told me to ask that question"

"Hm?"

"Your favourite film? He said it's a good conversation starter but I'm beginning to think," he makes a note of your comically disappointed expression, "that he is very, very wrong"

He smiles at you. You can't help but smile back at him. The image of him preparing to talk you flashes in your mind. You smile harder.

"Roman Holiday", he leans over to hear you better over the drowning sound of pop, exposing his neck and the chain dangling around it. "My favourite film is Roman Holiday"

"Never heard of it--"

"YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF ROMAN HOLIDAY?!?!" He certainly didn't need to lean in to hear that. He laughs at the inner film nerd in you coming out.

In that moment, he could see it. You and his best friend having passive-aggressive discussions during seminars. It's stupid to admit the twinge of jealousy he felt at the idea. I mean, you had only just met. Maybe it's the alcohol or Teenage Dream on the speaker, maybe he wants to see that enthusiasm and hear you talk about films forever and ever.

"Maybe we could watch it sometime."

It doesn't help that you blush easily. You can see yourself now, a vision in bright red.

"Does that line work for every girl?"

"I don't know, I haven't used it before," he smiles and rakes a hand through his hair. Fuck.

Wait, let's not get ahead of ourselves. "Who are you again?" you ask before you can glow any brighter.

"I'm Ross."

You reply with your name and extend your free hand to shake his.

The speakers go quiet over this exchange. A drunken voice exclaims "RIGHT, LET'S GO!" followed by peals of laughter and excitement.

You look at each other, hand in hand, knowing that you just started something good. Something good that you don't want to infect with even louder music, sweaty bodies and strobe lights - not now at least. If only Pres could last forever. You let go of his hand.

People flood out of the flat, but a girl friend of yours whose flat this is hangs back when she sees the pair of you not moving.

"Hey, could we stay here actually?" you tell her.

Having hosted so many film parties and Pres, she knows you're usually the first out of the door. She knows that you never do this or feel this, especially not for boys you've only met. But there's something about him and this squeezing in your heart. You don't want him to leave you.

She smiles, turning the speakers back on, the volume set to low. It's Boom Clap by Charli XCX. You wouldn't know this 'til much later, but she thinks you two make a good couple. "You don't need a key to leave and the door locks by itself, so feel free to stay."

Before she disappears out the door, Ross exclaims "Take care of Matty!!"

"No promises!!" she shouts back.

---

Saturday bleeds into Sunday. You're sitting on the floor with a boy you just met. He does History, you do Film. The Bluetooth speaker died in the middle of Colors by Halsey, but you both were too engrossed in conversation to realise it.

The October wind picked up, tossing the plastic cups across the room, but he was too busy looking at you, how the air danced and played with your hair. Neither of you could figure out how to close the window, you were both guests here after all. When he noticed you shivering, his black hoodie immediately came off. He blushed as you put it on, how the sleeves extended past your hands. It was hard for you not to hug yourself and take in his smell of petrichor and aftershave in its entirety. It was hard for him not to hug you.

By this point, you could name all his favourite teachers from secondary school and why the 1900s was his favourite century. He could list your top 10 films in order and the details about your hometown that you love. He recounts what it was like growing up in Wilmslow with Matty. You never knew Wilmslow ever existed, you never knew anyone's words could soften you to Matty.

As he speaks, you notice the distant whir of passing cars, the wind, the hum of the light bulb, and how this is all so tragically and desperately transient.

"What's wrong?" he asks as if he has known you a long time. He has made a note of how expressive you are, how whatever you're thinking or feeling is easy to detect just by looking at your face. You wouldn't know it, but he decides right then and there that he wants to recognise every micro-expression your face could make.

"I like talking to you," you admit, almost sadly.

"I like talking to you, too."

You glance out the window. "But you do know what they say about the people you meet in the first semester," they don't stay.

"Yeah, yeah, I do know, but" he delicately places his hand on your knee, "you're someone people want to keep."

Silence. There's an unspoken force about the two of you. It encourages you to submit to the endearing teenage stupidity and rash decision-making.

"You're someone I want to keep," he says finally. Whilst your eyes, tipsy and excited, have been jumping from surface to surface, his has been fixed on you the entire night.

A thump from the front door interrupts the moment followed by crashing and inelegant, drunken moaning.

"Ohmygod you guys are STILL HERE?!?!" screams that coursemate of yours, popping her head through the door. "MATTY, THEY'RE STILL HERE!"

A tiny "ᶠᵁᶜᴷ" can be heard from another room. You and Ross laugh to yourselves, not surprised by the scene unraveling before you two.

"You know I love you guys but do you mind fucking off?"

Ross is already stood up and helps you onto your feet. You could get used to this. You plant a chaste kiss on her sweaty forehead followed by "You know I love you. Use protection."

"Have fun, mate!" Ross yells down the corridor as you make your way to the door.

"ᶠᵁᶜᴷ ʸᴼᵁ"

---

You strike yourself as more tipsy than you realise as you wiggle the door handle and cry, "OHMYGOD, IT DOES LOCK ON ITS OWN!!"

And he's looking at you, smiling that same warm smile, as you get excited over a door. You're still wearing his hoodie.

You notice him staring, "what?"

"Nothing"

"You look like you want to say something?" He takes in a breath and shrugs. "If you wanna say something, just say it," you laugh.

To that, he lifts up your chin with his finger and kisses you.

As soon as he backs away, you toss your arms around his neck and inelegantly smash your face onto his. You can feel him smiling as you kiss. His arms pull you closer at the waist, hands underneath his hoodie.

"I've been waiting to do that all night," he whispers as you pull away. The streetlights and skyscrapers blink through the windows of the dimly lit corridor. Only this time in the face of the city, you don't feel alone anymore.

"Are you busy today?" he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. You're still slung around his neck. It's all stupidly endearingly familiar, but also so new. You kiss through the conversation.

"No, no, not busy... do need to do my laundry though."

"Good, so do I." You silently agree to do it together.

You take his hand in yours and walk down the stairs.

"I'm someone you wanna keep, huh?"

"You're someone I wanna keep."

[lolotheparagon]

Every MLP G3 Special In a Nutshell

A Charming Birthday: A bunch of ponies construct a 50 ft tall friendship bracelet for the village hermit's birthday cos she've never been surprised before. I think that would surprise anyone tbh.

Dancing in the Clouds: Two ponies ride a rollercoaster, immediately get inspired to do a dance routine and then GOD APPEARS to summon butterflies to make the ponies fly. Cos why dance in a routine when you can cheat?

Friends are Never Far Away: This is the first time I've seen in a kids cartoon where the main characters meet indigenous people with the offering of friendship and not colonisation and seizing their land. Funny how MLP G4 completely spat on that idea.

The Princess Promenade: A pony becomes princess because she was given a flower by a stinky old lizard...oh and she also has to organise a flower parade as well because a pixie couldnt do it....Nah, being a princess is boring, let's make everyone princesses!

A Very Minty Christmas: Minty's OCD caused her to break a magic candy cane and thinks she's ruined Christmas for everyone so she goes on a perilous journey to fix things when all her friends want is her to be home. Awww.

The Runaway Rainbow: A unicorn filly who's a part of The Rainbow Justice League is teleported to Ponyville, spends a day rolling around in mud and eating cake and then says im tired i wanna go home. Oh and this filly is apparently a vital element of nature because without her making rainbows, THE COLOURS OF THE WORLD ARE FADING THIS IS A SIGN OF THE END TIMES

The Ladybug Jamboree: Pinkie has a brain blast that makes all her band members play successfully for the first time...moments before they go on stage

Greetings from Unicornia: Rainbow Dash and Rarity fuck around in a castle for a few minutes

Come Back Lily Lightly: A unicorn is scared of being judged because her horn lights up when she giggles... I have no idea what kind of metaphor this is supposed to be.

Two for the Sky: A lesbian couple desperately want to fly. They get their wish but they quickly hate it cos they cant sleep together with those giant wings in the way.

Positively Pink: The ponies pink-ify the entire town for Pinkie Pie's birthday but realise they just wasted a whole day because her birthday's not until tomorrow.

Pinkie's Special Day: Oh so this is what they did for her birthday: they gave her a clipshow! Wow, that's cheap. That's like the giftcard equivalent of birthday surprises.

Rainbow Dash's Special Day: OH GOD DASH WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU WHY DO YOU SOUND SO WRONG?!

Star Song and the Magic Dance Shoes: Starsong and Pinkie try to do a dance routine without their shoes but realise its they cant dance without them. THE SHOES ARE A CRUCIAL ELEMENT IN DANCING WHERE'S THE SPARKLY PINK SHOES?!

Pinkie Pie's Party: Pinkie Pie has an anxiety attack during a trip about party and then goes to speedrun prepare for a party. Then her friends decide to make a party out of preparing for a party. Yknow Ponyville can make even paying taxes sound like a party.

Rainbow Dash's Party: Dash hosts a hat fashion show for all her friends where she likes everyones hats so much, she lets them all win. Even though one clearly should’ve won. I mean come on, Starsong’s has functioning piano notes on it. Do you know how much wiring goes into that? No, in fact Toola Roola's should win, its got the best motif and why arent easel-style berets a thing yet? Im way too into this. Lets carry on.

Cheerilee's Party: The ponies have a sleepover where they refuse to go to sleep. Hey, why dont we let Crane tell the scary stories. That'll help them stay awake.

Scootaloo's Party: Scootaloo hosts a sports day party for her friends and they decide to give her the trophy. Awww.

Starsong's Party: A pony gets stage fright about singing on stage but her friends encourage her to try anyway at a concert and whilst the pony is singing off stage, the curtains go up, revealing her talented voice to the world. And then G4 remade this plot into someone's nervous breakdown.

Toola-Roola's Party: Toola Roola spends a whole day waiting for her friends' painted plates to finish drying cos she doesnt know what a kiln is. Then she gets them mixed around cos the namecards are lost when its clearly obvious which is which. What a disaster horse.

Sweetie Belle's Party: The ponies put their own ideas for a cake into one batter, end up making something that even Buddy the Elf would have a heart attack and then Sweetie Belle suggests making them into a cake with separate layers….that’s still gonna taste like shit.

Twinkle Wish Adventure: A dragon steals a star Pokemon from the ponies because she thinks its a toy and by her logic, will help her get more friends. And then the ponies sing about how great their friendship is. Girls, she stole your property. Punch her.

Waiting for the Winter Wishes Festival: This is literally just a deleted scene from Twinkle Wish adventure. If you want to see Scootaloo fumble around doing a holiday tiktok dance, here it is.

Sweetie Belle's Gumball House Surprise: The core 7 ponies spend 5 minutes searching for Sweetie Belle in her house via scavenger hunt only to find she's just in the backyard. The little gremlin.

Pinkie Pie's Ferris Wheel Adventure: Pinkie creates/manages an entire theme park by herself just for her friends to visit. Pinkie, where did you get the money to create this theme park? Are you a rich kid? Do you have a trust fund?

So Many Different Ways To Play: Baby Scootaloo is just pure chaotic gremlin mode and drives her sister and her friend ragged. This is the content I want to see.

Over Two Rainbows: The baby ponies find out baby Sweetie Belle has god-like powers but just wants to have a dress up party. AND APPARENTLY BABIES ARE MADE WHEN TWO RAINBOWS FUCK

The World's Biggest Tea Party Live: It's weird to see me watch this without 3 ex-bronies screeching at the screen for how 'cringeworthy' it is and then go completely off the rails to talk about Tumblr memes and have nipple fights.

....Oh yeah, the plot of the show is that Pinkie and Minty have a miscommunication boo-boo and now their tea party's fucked cos they aint got a teapot. Then they ask the audience to summon a giant teapot with the Tea-necronomicon. There was much rejoicing

[greenerteacups]

I mean... I kinda do blame Hagrid a bit? Like I love him but.... there's no way his classes would be approved for the children's health and safety. Not that Hogwarts itself would be in general, but Hagrid's COMC classes were definitely questionable, even for wizarding standards... so yeah, as much as Buckbeak didn't deserve to die, Hagrid also shouldn't have introduced such a dangerous animal to a group of third years without proper safety measures in place. My father, too, would be hearing about it if I was in that class! 😆

Yeah, I feel you, but there's also genre to contend with. The level of appropriate/acceptable danger in the wizarding world is already noticeably higher than it is in ours, so I debate whether or not to apply my own expectations for child safety and welfare to a class that's essentially about studying dangerous magical creatures. Like, students at Hogwarts suffer worse injuries than Draco's all the time — the mandrake scream could stun kids for hours, Lockhart's detentions involved a ton of pixie bites, flying lessons in general, QUIDDITCH, dueling club, blast-ended skrewts, Moody practicing Unforgivables on children (also potentially a breach of the rules but we never see consequences for it), et cetera, et cetera. At a certain point, we have to say that while all of this would be wildly inappropriate for a real children's school, the magical world is just built diff. We can't say that Hagrid is uniquely irresponsible without also indicting most of the other teachers for at one point or another doing something that could put students in harm's way. Which is part of what makes Malfoy's targeting of Hagrid so mean-spirited.

There's also the fact that Hagrid explicitly laid out a safety protocol for how to approach the hippogriffs, which Draco knowingly and willfully broke. The hippogriffs didn't respond well to Neville, either, but Neville backed off when he was told to, so he didn't get injured. Meanwhile, Draco ignores Hagrid's advice and tries to touch a wild and dangerous animal when he's been told not to. It's like a teacher at the petting zoo saying "don't put your hand in the goats enclosure" and then a kid shoving his hand in anyway, and then being surprisedpikachu.jpg when he gets bitten. So while I agree it's Hagrid's job not to let his students get hurt, I think the problem is more that Hagrid (having not worked as an educator) doesn't realize how dumb and/or stubborn children can be, and how "don't touch this thing, it will hurt you badly if you do" scans to some kids as "touchy touchy!"

But like, that's an argument for why Hagrid isn't qualified for the job in general. He's giving these kids creatures well above grade-level because he can handle them, and he has no idea how to rate a thirteen-year-old's abilities against his own (he didn't finish Hogwarts himself). So there's a problem of his inability to judge what would be an appropriate level of danger to expose a thirteen-year-old to, knowing, as teachers must know, that there's a chance kids won't follow the protocols you set down and may end up hurting themselves in the attempt. Which is a fair criticism to make of a first-term teacher who isn't paying a lot of attention to standardized curricula. And like, we know that Lucius Malfoy isn't doing this out of concern for the wellbeing of the student population of Hogwarts, or even out of concern for the wellbeing of his son, who the text suggests is milking his injury for clout well after it heals; he's doing this as a vengeful, petty power play to get his son's least favorite teacher kicked out of school, and Draco is doing it because he was embarrassed in front of his peers. So while Hagrid probably bears some of the blame for Malfoy's injury, his punishment for the whole thing reeks of fish.

[edwinspaynes]

Other than Star Wars, what movies or shows do you think Simon and Izzy like to watch together?

Oh, FUCK YEAH. SIZZY ASK HOURS.

They both give off the vibe of adoring geeky nonsense, so I think they'd be all over a personal favourite of mine: Scott Pilgrim vs The World. Simon would absolutely love the special effects of the evil exes turning to coins, and Izzy would criticise everything that the characters are doing wrong in action scenes. Also you cannot convince me that Simon has not called Isabelle "his Ramona Flowers" and been met with an "I'm not your pixie dream manic girl," which Simon just loses it at because it's totally out of order since she just discovered the concept. Much like the book that is also a face.

In any case, another saga that I think they would enjoy is Lord of the Rings. I've never seen it, but I think it would be a movie that they like because of its classic nerd value.

I personally and selfishly want them to be Good Omens junkies and ship the Ineffable Husbands. I think Thomas and Alastair would likely be Good Omens fans if they lived in the present day, so I only hope that Isabelle will follow in her husband's tradition. I think that for a con Simon dresses up as an eerily accurate Aziraphale and Isabelle dresses as a Sexy! Female! Crowley, and they have a blast.

Another show that I definitely think Simon made Isabelle watch is Firefly, which got her interested in Joss's other work. When she learned about Buffy, it was absolutely something she HAD to see. They end up watching the entire show together. Isabelle strongly relates to Buffy in a myriad of ways, and Simon finds it so funny and cute.

They also definitely watch anime together, and sometimes they do so with Clary and Jace (since Clary and Simon are both anime nerds). My stupid little obsessed brain likes to think Simon appreciates the Classics and adores Urusei Yatsura, and Isabelle adores Lum and VITRIOLICALLY hates Ataru at first (but he grows on her). I think she'd adore Benten, while Simon would argue that Ran is the "hotter space babe". And Isabelle would be like, "Ran will kill you." And Simon will be like, "Oyuki is no better. You'll freeze." Which is true.

But anyway, they definitely have also seen every Ghibli film. Simon's favorite is Howl's Moving Castle, and Isabelle likes it but prefers Spirited Away because of all the monsters. It's like, an AU Downworld.

[mybrainisalibrary]

Finally got some time so here's a stream of consciousness drabble about Granny Relda prior to the start of the series:

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

Life is good.

Not perfect, no of course not, but good. You're happily married to a good man, with 2 boys that have suddenly become young men. You live in a town filled with magic and myths come to life. And it's a beautiful day, a sunny day, when your world is shattered.

Your boy, your youngest, he does something for his brother without considering the consequences. It's not the first time he's gotten into trouble, but it's the most dangerous because a monster is after him.

Before you can process what's happening your husband is rushing off to save him, without a plan, and by the time you get there your husband is horribly wounded and your sons are desperately trying to help him. He's rushed to the hospital and the boys raid the Hall of Wonders while you sit with him because there's nothing that can cure this injury from a jabberwocky, no potions or creams or magic wands, and your husband is dead by the next morning.

The funeral is a blur, and you know that for every Everafter that comes to pay their respects there is another celebrating the death of a Grimm, but you hold it together. And then - your sons leave, and you're alone in a house that was filled only days ago. You're homesick for Germany in a way you haven't been in decades, just to see some of the family you haven't seen in years, and you grab your coat and head to get the Ruby slippers and then it hits you - you can't leave.

The last place you want to be is here with the memories and suffocating silence but you can't leave. You have to stay to keep up the barrier, to prevent any number of violent Everafters from terrorizing the world.

And for the first time fear creeps in. You are the only Grimm left in town and many are restless - what is there to stop any assassination plots against you? So when Mr. Canis visits later that day, you offer him a room in the house.

Things get better, slowly. You get weekly calls from Hank. Jake has sent a letter so you know he's not dead too. (You knew anyway, you've been asking Mirror to check on both of your boys every day, every hour on particularly bad days.) There are Everafters who need help and mysteries to solve.

You are overjoyed when Hank returns to you with Veronica in tow. Veronica is a natural, she fits right in, and you feel you've finally turned the page on a dark chapter.

But there's danger, there always is in your line of work, and when a newly-pregnant Veronica gets too close to a magic blast from a rogue witch, Hank panics.

You try to reason with him, Veronica does too, but he's insistent on leaving. Their bags are packed that night, they're gone the next day, and you are alone again.

Of course there's still Mr. Canis and Snow and so many for company. But Jake is still traveling the world and you have a newborn granddaughter that you have yet to meet. (Veronica swears she'll talk Hank into a visit soon, she just need a few months to convince him.)

Perhaps it's that unfulfilled grandmotherly instinct that prompts you to reach out to the lost fairy boy in the woods. You've heard about him and you've had to chase off his pixies. He may be hundreds of years old, but he's still a little boy who could use a warm meal every now and then.

You're pleased to realize a few years in than you have a satisfying routine. Every day is a new adventure in Ferryport landing. You long to meet your granddaughters (Hank and Veronica have had another girl) but you check up on them through Mirror and you get letters from Veronica every few weeks.

You've just wrapped up a case on a dreary, drizzling morning, when it dawns on you that you're due for a letter from Veronica. You've been so busy you haven't checked on the kids in a few days. It's a Saturday and you expect to find them together, but you stare in confusion then concern as you see your granddaughters sitting in a police station. You check on their parents and nothing makes sense. Mirror has difficulty locating them, says there's powerful magic trying to block him, and when you finally see them they are asleep – still as death, but just sleeping.

You spend weeks, then a month, then a year, then longer, looking for answers and fighting red tape. The girls are alone, shuffled from place to place, and you are doing everything you can to get custody, but it seems hopeless. How can the courts turn over custody to a woman who will not (cannot) leave the tiny town where she lives hours away? You call in dozens of favors and several magical objects and finally, finally they send a caseworker to meet with you and you convince her to let the girls stay with you.

And then you have your granddaughters, you are so happy to meet them –

And their parents are still missing

[sixhundredwinionsinatrenchcoat]

Greek Fire (Ethabaster)

Not an AU. Al saves Ethan from the explosion of the Andromeda and they get to know each other better. TW for mentions of violence, alcohol, abuse, homophobia, and conversion therapy.

Ethan stared in shock at the ticking detonation timer on Charles Beckendorf's watch. He gulped. He'd messed up. The son of Hephaestus had tricked them. He'd already planted the bomb. Kronos was going to be furious with him- that was, if he even survived the imminent explosion. He was dead either way.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1. The sudden explosion blasted Ethan backward, knocking him off his feet. He could feel the wave of heat washing toward him, and he closed his eye tight, ready to die. When asked about the moment later on, he would have said his life flashed before his eyes, but that wasn't at all what happened, and it was stupid and cliche anyway. However, he did think briefly about the house of death. He imagined waking up in the Underworld and standing before the judges. Where would they choose to send him?  He personally saw himself as an Asphodel kind of person- average, unexceptional, a balance of good and evil that didn't really slot into either group. He certainly wouldn't call himself a hero, but he didn't think he'd done anything worthy of eternal punishment either.

Then, just as he was certain he was dead, he felt someone grab him by the waist, and the heat of the blast was gone. He guessed Thanatos had come to take him, but when he dared to open his eye and look up, it was Alabaster. The son of Hecate's body was pulsing with glowing green runes, and he seemed to have conjured a thick forcefield around himself and Ethan, protecting them both from the explosion.

"Al-" was all he had to say before they plummeted into the ocean.

***

Ethan pulled himself and Alabaster up onto the warm sand of the beach, coughing up salt water. Unfortunately, Al's forcefield had shattered the second they hit the water, and being underwater and drained of energy, he'd been unable to reconstruct it, so Ethan had had to swim to shore carrying the son of Hecate.

"Help," he coughed, scanning around for a lifeguard. His eyepatch had somehow come off in the ocean, and he was glad that the eyelid where his missing eye used to be was scarred and swollen shut, because he didn't want to get salt water in his empty eye socket. Anyway, he wasn't even sure where they were. He sighed and rolled his companion onto his back. "Al, wake up," he croaked. The son of Hecate was out cold, and his lips were tinged slightly blue. Ethan groaned. "Oh, please do not need CPR."

That was when a young female lifeguard jogged over. She was around Ethan's age, seventeen or eighteen, with tanned skin and pixie-cut caramel hair.

"What's wrong?" she asked, kneeling down in the sand beside her.

"It's my... brother," Ethan said. He wasn't quite sure where that had come from. The idea of Al as his brother felt outrageous. They looked nothing alike, for one. Not to mention Ethan had thought before that he might possibly like the son of Hecate as something more than a friend. Not that he hadn't also wished before he had the same godly parent. Not in a weird way, it was just that he sometimes envied the kind of relationship Al and his other siblings, had with Hecate. He'd only met Nemesis, his own mother, once, and that interaction had ended with her taking his left eye. After that, he felt like she hadn't given him a second thought.

"You don't look like brothers," the lifeguard said, articulating just a tiny piece of Ethan's whole inner monologue. He hated that he did that, but he blamed it on his anxiety.

"We're both adopted," Ethan lied, curling his lip a little. He'd never liked lying, and when he was younger, he couldn't have done it to save his life. That was what had landed him in macho wilderness surviving training camp after his dad found out he liked guys. He sighed. There were things he missed about Seattle, but his shitty dad wasn't one of them.

"Oookay," the girl nodded, scrutinizing the two boys. "Are you here with your parents?" Ethan shook his head.

"No, they're shopping in town. Can you help him?" She nodded.

"I suppose I could try CPR."

For some reason, Ethan couldn't watch, but the lifeguard was a miracle worker. In a few minutes, Al was up and his coloration had returned to normal. The lifeguard offered to find someone to take them to their parents, but Ethan insisted that they were fine, they just needed directions to the nearest town.

The nearest town happened to be Chesapeake, Virginia. Luckily, along with a few soggy drachma he figured he'd use to IM Kronos later to find out the rendezvous point for the remnant of the army, Ethan had a little bit of mortal money on them that he was able to use to hail a taxi into Chesapeake, where they found a small cafe to sit and talk.

"Thanks for saving me," Ethan said as they sat in a booth, looking over the cafe's menu. "I owe you one."

"Nah, it's fine," Al said, waving his hand dismissively.

"No, I mean it. I'm going to pay you back for this. I'm a son of the goddess of balance. I have to."

"All right, if you insist," Al chuckled. Ethan sighed and looked around the cafe. Chesapeake was an affluent community, so a lot of rich people were coming into the cafe, and he didn't like the looks they were giving him. He reached up and touched the side of his face. He'd been wearing it regularly for so long that he hadn't realized how self-conscious he felt without his eyepatch. "Hey, are you okay?" Al asked, seemingly picking up on his discomfort. Ethan bit his lip.

"Fine. I'm just a little awkward, not having my eyepatch."

"Oh, okay." Al slipped a stack of somehow completely-dry notecards and a green Sharpie out of his jeans pocket. He placed one of the cards on the tables and made a quick sketch on it. Then he tapped the card with two fingers and a black felt eyepatch just like Ethan's old one- the one he'd been wearing since he was thirteen years old- appeared out of thin air. "Here." He handed it to him. Ethan gaped.

"Should you have done that? Aren't you still super drained from that forcefield spell?" Al shrugged.

"Mistforms are easy magic. And I was doing a favor for a friend. Now take the damn patch, Pirate." Ethan sighed and put it on.

"What did I say about calling me that?"

"Aww, but it's so funny!"

"Not when you're on the receiving end."

"Fiiine," Al said. "What if you come up with a nickname for me?"

"It's no fun if you're in on it!" Ethan chuckled and put down the menu. "I think I'm gonna go order. I'm getting a plain black coffee, you?"

"Earl Grey tea for me," Al said.

"Got it," Ethan said. He walked up to the counter and ordered. A few minutes later, he came back with their drinks.

"Ooh, they have fancy cups," Al said, taking his. Ethan nodded and sat down.

"Hey, by the way, we've been working together for about a year now, and I'd say we're friends, but we really don't know all that much about each other. Where are you from?" Alabaster hesitated.

"London," he said quietly, stirring his tea.

"Really?" Ethan asked in vague disbelief. "I would never have thought you were British."

"Yeah..." Al said, a hint of an English accent showing through on this word. "I didn't want to stand out when I came to camp, so I made myself unlearn my accent."

"That sucks," Ethan said. "What made you leave home?" Al held up a hand.

"Woah, Mister. First you have to tell me where you're from." Ethan grinned.

"Touché. Well, I'm from Seattle, but my dad emigrated from Japan. I would always spend summers with my grandparents in Kyoto. That is, until they both passed away when I was ten."

"I'm sorry," Al said. "Did you like them?"

"Yeah," Ethan said. "My dad, not so much." Al bit his lip.

"That's something we have in common. My dad is why I left home." Ethan nodded.

"Tell me about him. That is, if it's not too sensitive of a topic." Al nodded.

"It's not. I mean it's not great, but I'm alright talking about him if that's what you mean. Anyway, my dad came from a Wiccan family, he was a practicing witch. That's what drew Hecate to him. Only, as he got older, he started losing belief. He became a businessman. He still practiced, but it wasn't as big a part of his life." Ethan nodded

"And?" Al sighed, like he was gearing up to tell a big secret.

"I was born a girl," he said. "My dad thought he had three daughters. Two of them were with his long term girlfriend. I was the odd one out. I came out when I was pretty young- I mean, I always knew I was a guy and all- and I don't think he quite knew what to make of it. He wasn't unaccepting by any means. In fact, he was probably the opposite. He immediately started using my name and pronouns, but because I was the only boy, he started putting all this pressure on me to be his perfect son. And when I didn't live up to his expectations, he got upset."

"Lucky," Ethan said. "I mean, not that last part, but at least he accepted you for being trans. You should here what my dad did when he found out I might be gay."

"Tell me more about him." Al folded his hands. He was completely talking in his natural accent now, and Ethan hated how attractive he found that.

"Okay, let's see," he said. "Well, he was a lawyer. Justice and all- I guess that's why Nemesis liked him. Well, as much as she can like anyone. She just kind of showed up with me one day, so I gather my dad didn't really even want me in the first place. When I was really young, he got married, so I grew up with a stepmother. I didn't hate her, but we weren't particularly close. She was just kind of there, honestly."

"That's the same way I always felt about my dad's girlfriend," Al said. "But to her credit, she was always nice to me." Ethan nodded.

"Anyway, everything went to Hades when I was about six. My dad's law firm went broke and he started drinking. He became verbally abusive towards me, but he was worse towards Keiko. I may not have loved her, but I felt really bad for her."

"Yikes," Al said. "You said something about your dad finding out you like guys?"

"Um, yeah," Ethan said, taking a sip of his coffee. "Funny story, as a kid I was an awful liar. When I was about ten, I think, I was starting to come to terms with the fact that I was pretty sure I liked boys, and I was writing about it in the little diary I kept one day when my dad came up to me and asked what I was writing about. Long story, he made me do a lot of tough manual work and survival training as basically his version of conversion therapy. He thought doing manly stuff would turn me straight."

"Yikes," Alabaster said, his green eyes wide. "What was the final straw?"

"You first," Ethan said. Al sighed.

"Due to some learning difficulties and stuff, I didn't do the best in school, which meant my perfectionist dad was always on my back about my report cards and shit. The last straw was when I was in sixth grade. We'd moved to Maine a couple years ago, so I was going to an American school. I got an F in maths, and my dad went crazy, threatened to kick me out. I was so done, I high-tailed it out of there on my own. Eventually my mom sent a satyr my way and I ended up at that camp. Your turn."

"Right," Ethan said. "Well, one time when I was eleven, my dad and Keiko, his wife, got into a really big fight. He beat her so hard she died. I tried to get in between them and he got me so bad I ended up in the hospital. At that point... well, even though I've only met Nemesis once, she used to speak in my head about injustice and retribution even before I knew I was a demigod. She told me I had to make my father pay." He gritted his teeth and drew in a sharp breath.

"You killed him," Al correctly deduced. Ethan sighed.

"Yeah. It wasn't easy, but I agree with Nemesis that it had to be done. Justice needed to be served. But I promised myself I'd never do something like that again, unless I was absolutely sure the person deserved it."

"Damn," Al said, whistling. "Did you get caught?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he said. "They decided to keep me in a juvenile detention facility until they got me a trial. That's where my satyr found me."

"Wow," Al said. "Okay, you win for craziest backstory." Ethan smiled.

"I wasn't aware it was a competition."

The two of them just sat there a while longer, laughing and talking until they had finished their drinks.

"Okay," Al said. "We should probably find out the rendezvous point and go there. But this was nice."

"Yeah," Ethan said. "It was."

[mari-writes]

🎵🖤

“Dude, how many opening acts does Kenma have?!”

Kuroo sighs, so loudly that Bokuto has no trouble hearing it over the din of the club. He pushes a pint of beer in Bokuto’s direction, across the wooden bar. It’s obviously a peace offering.

“Chill out, he should be up after this one,” Kuroo says. “I told you he’s performing at ten. It’s not even 8:30.”

Bokuto pouts into his drink. He knows he’s being childish, but he’s just not really into the deejay scene. He doesn’t see the appeal, even though he knows it is a talent. 

Kenma has definitely earned his popularity. What he does isn’t as easy as it looks; Bokuto knows this and likes supporting his friend. And Kenma IS his friend—not only his best friend’s boyfriend.

Still, he prefers other types of entertainment. Like outdoor festivals. Rock concerts. Live sports.

Dark, claustrophobic clubs blasting electronic dance mixes just isn’t his thing.

He watches, bored, as the stage crew sets up for the next artist. There have been two others so far, each a bit more popular than the next. Kenma of course is saved for last. 

Kuroo pokes him in the side, hopping off his stool and hoisting his fancy DSLR camera up on one shoulder. “Let’s go, I need to get a good spot in the photo pit.”

Bokuto groans. “I can see the stage fine from here.”

Kuroo scoffs. “Like hell am I leaving you alone to get wasted tonight. Anyway, you agreed to take some videos for Kenma’s Instagram, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, for Kenma,” Bokuto says, following Kuroo as they weave through the crowd. “Not his opening acts.”

“But the next guy is Kenma’s close friend,” Kuroo explains. “They’ve been deejaying together since college. We should show him support, too.”

Bokuto sighs, defeated. “Fine.”

So far the pit has only a handful of other photographers. A few security guards are stationed there, and one of them checks Kuroo and Bokuto’s passes before granting them access.

Kuroo, who knows Kenma’s setup well, settles in just left of center. Bokuto watches as he leans down to fiddle with his camera’s controls, before turning around to take stock of the crowd behind them.

The club is filling up more now, people pushing and shoving, trying to get closer to the stage. The multicolored lights illuminate eager and excited faces, talking amongst themselves, laughing and drinking.

Bokuto can’t help but notice that there are a lot of hot people here.

There’s a cute patron standing just behind him, with glitter in their short pixie haircut and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. A young man, just a few space away, is leaning onto the barrier, his mesh shirt displaying an excess of soft-looking skin.

He then notices a beautiful woman, dressed in a tight black dress, studded choker and fingerless leather gloves, looking right at him. When they lock gazes, she smirks and sends him a wink.

Bokuto looks away, blushing. He can’t afford to get too distracted. Not tonight. He’s here for Kenma, after all.

Eventually, the lights go down, and the crowd hollers as the next performer makes his way on stage. Bokuto glances up briefly. From his spot in the very front, he can only see the person’s legs, dressed in tight black jeans and a beat-up pair of running shoes.

Bokuto scrambles to get his phone ready to record, wincing when he notices his battery is not even at 50%. He should probably only record a couple videos of this guy and save the rest for Kenma.

The set begins, and Bokuto freezes as the sounds swirl through the small club—a familiar wall of static and bleep-bloops. He realizes that he knows the song. He remembers his sister playing this album in high school.

He looks up to see the deejay bent forward, only a mop of black, slightly curly hair visible over his setup. The song continues.

Bokuto is intrigued. This guy is starting his set with a Radiohead song! He likes that band. Even their electronic stuff is pretty cool.

He leans in, listening carefully as the deejay distort’s the singer’s voice, letting the song crest, gaining momentum before crashing into a different track with a faster beat. 

“So cool,” Bokuto breathes, raising his phone up to start recording his first video.

His jaw drops.

Through the camera is a vision. An angel. The most beautiful human being Bokuto has ever set his eyes on. 

The young man is quite tall, perhaps close to Bokuto’s own height. He’s dressed simply in a white t-shirt that’s slightly baggy in the front. A small, silver hoop earring hangs from his right ear.

His face is both soft and sharp at the same time. A strong set of brows, with a cute button nose. High, honed cheekbones and bowed lips. A visage of contradictions that somehow work together seamlessly to create the ideal face. (Well, ideal for Bokuto, at least.)

Bokuto watches, enthralled, as the man’s long, slender fingers dance over the controls with incredible dexterity. 

The deejay glances up suddenly, gifting the audience a view of his stunning, gunmetal blue eyes. “Oh gods,” Bokuto mutters, fumbling and nearly dropping his phone. His hands are suddenly very sweaty.

“Dude, are you okay?” Kuroo hisses into his ear. Bokuto nods vigorously, not taking his eyes off the performer. He’s taken to watching him half through the camera, half with his own eyes. He definitely prefers the latter.

He’s good. Definitely not at Kenma’s level, but still very talented. Even Bokuto, a newcomer to the scene, can see it. The man knows what he’s doing.

At one point, the deejay takes a brief break, reaching over to grab something on the side of his keyboard as he address the crowd through a mic. “Good evening everyone,” he says, voice soft like velvet. Bokuto feels like he might fall over. “My name is Akaashi.”

The audience cheers and Bokuto watches intently as “Akaashi” (ugh, what a beautiful name, it’s perfect) unwraps a lollipop. 

“I want to thank my friend, Kodzuken, for letting me open for him tonight.” Another cheer, louder this time. One side of Akaashi’s mouth twitches upward slightly in amusement. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

Swiftly, he pops the sucker into his mouth, hunching over again to start his next medley of songs.

Bokuto is mesmerized. He can’t seem to look away. The only thing that finally distracts him is how warm his phone is getting. He’s been recording almost the entire time, unable to resist capturing every moment.

And now his phone is on its last 15% of charge.

“Shit,” Bokuto mutters, quickly turning off and pocketing the device. He needs to save at least some battery for Kenma. He glances nervously at Kuroo, who is also taking a break from shooting, bobbing his head to the music.

A sudden change in the track, from a fast-tempo beat to a sample of swirling classical strings, compels Bokuto’s attention back to Akaashi.

Who is looking directly at him.

The break in the song had allowed Akaashi to take his eyes off his setup for a moment, and without a camera phone in front of him, Bokuto is in his direct line of sight. He’s the closest person to the stage, so of course the performer would see him, even with the harsh stage lights in his eyes. 

One of Akaashi’s perfect brows lifts. He blinks. Bokuto forces himself not to look away, despite the fact he is shaking from the eye contact. 

And then, very slowly, Akaashi reaches to pull the lollipop out of his mouth.

Heat erupts from low in Bokuto’s stomach as he watches the candy slide from between the man’s lips. It paints his mouth a cherry red color, wet and shiny and slightly parted. His tongue darts out to lick at the sugar.

“Oh gods,” Bokuto says again, and swallows harshly. Time seems to slow down as they continue to stare at each other. Bokuto can barely hear the music or the crowd anymore. It’s just them.

When Akaashi finally looks away, Bokuto releases a breath he hadn’t realize he’d been holding. He tries to calm down and enjoy the rest of the set—he’s playing other songs Bokuto knows, including a remix of Queen and more Radiohead—but he’s finding it difficult to concentrate on the music.

Akaashi’s last moments on stage are impressive. The way he controls his decks, body relaxed and laser-focused, effortlessly weaving through songs and building to an explosive finale. It’s hypnotic.

The applause is deafening as Akaashi takes his leave. He’s definitely won over a big chunk of the crowd, even as an opening act. Bokuto joins in, clapping a bit too aggressively to not draw the attention of his companion.

“Impressed?” Kuroo nudges him in the ribs. Bokuto shrugs, trying to act casual as he strains his neck to watch Akaashi walk offstage. He also tries to convince himself he isn’t disappointed that the man hadn’t looked back one last time. 

Luckily, Bokuto is able to successfully distract himself during Kenma’s set, recording clips with the remaining of his phone’s battery. 

The crowd is eating out of the palm of Kenma’s hand from the moment he steps onto the stage. His friend is incredible.

Kenma’s set is long and ends without an encore. Bokuto claps, hoots and hollers along with the crowd as the man bows and waves goodbye.

“C’mon, Ken’s gonna meet us in his dressing room.” Kuroo leads the way back out of the photo pit and across the club, flashing his ID to a bouncer, who nods them both through to backstage.

“So, um, does Akaashi usually stay for Kenma’s set?” Bokuto tries to ask as nonchalant as possible, but Kuroo is obviously not fooled. His eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Yeah, almost always. Why?”

“No reason!” Bokuto swallows, nervous at the prospect of seeing Akaashi again. Will he be nice? What should he say to him? How can he compliment him without sounding like a weirdo?

“You hot for him or something?”

Bokuto chokes on nothing. Kuroo is smirking at him now, and Bokuto curses his friend’s innate (and very annoying) ability to read him so easily.

“Shut up!”

“You’re not denying it…”

Bokuto groans as they approach the dressing room. “Seriously, Kuroo, don’t say anything!”

Kuroo snorts, reaching out to rap his knuckles on the door. “Fine. But you should definitely go for it.”

“R-really?” Bokuto is curious. “Wait, do you know if he’s…”

Suddenly the door swings open. Kenma stands there, looking thoroughly exhausted, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead. “Hey,” he says. His haggard face melts into fondness at the sight of his boyfriend.

Kuroo rushes forward, lifting Kenma and spinning him around the room, ignoring the man’s weak protests. Bokuto stumbles in, closing the door behind them.

“You were amazing,” Kuroo praises, leaning down to kiss Kenma on his forehead, both cheeks and finally, full on the lips. Kenma’s hands slink around the taller man’s neck.

“Must you do this every time? I’m eating over here.”

And there he is.

Akaashi is perched on a table in the back of the room. His long legs hang over the side, swinging lazily. He’s changed clothes—he now wears an oversized t-shirt with a strange idiom written on front that Bokuto doesn’t understand, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose.

He’s hunched over eating a huge onigri. Bokuto notices some runaway rice on his chin and his right cheek.

“Akaashi-kun!” Kurroo waves. “Great set. You definitely got some new fans tonight.” He glances at Bokuto, smirking. Bokuto shoots him a scowl. 

Akaashi nods. “Thank you for taking the photos,” he says, slightly muffled since his cheeks are still full of food. “Can you email me a folder of them tomorrow?”

“Definitely. You know, my friend Bokuto here took some videos. He could send you those, too.”

Bokuto, who had remained tucked into the corner of the small dressing room, freezes as Akaashi finally notices him. Their eyes meet for the second time that night. A full-body shiver runs up Bokuto’s spine.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi bows his head slightly as he continues to devour his food.

Bokuto relaxes. This Akaashi is such a contrast from the ethereal, sexy being he’d seen performing on stage. Now he just seems like a very cute human man with questionable fashion choices and messy eating habits. 

No longer intimidated, Bokuto grins and steps closer. “Nice to meet you, ‘kaashi! Your set was amazing! Seriously, I’m not even into electronic music much but I was super impressed!”

Akaashi blinks. “Oh, um.” He looks back down at the remaining bit of onigri. “Th-thank you. Again. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Bokuto feels his smile widen. He shuffles out of the way again as Kenma and Kuroo start to pack up for the night, chatting away about some changes in Kenma’s set and the next few tour dates.

Akaashi finishes his snack and pulls out yet another lollipop from his jeans pocket. Bokuto tries to ignore how his body immediately reacts at the sight; his memories flood back to the slow, sensual way the other man had licked at the candy earlier that night.

“Y-you sure like lollipops,” Bokuto croaks, quietly enough so only they hear.

Akaashi shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, it’s mainly a coping mechanism.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to quit smoking.”

“Ah,” Bokuto nods. He remembers his father going through a similar process.

“Would you like one, Bokuto-san?”

“Oh!” Bokuto shifts nervously in place. “Sure, I guess?”

In one fluid movement, Akaashi hops off the counter, turning to dig around inside a small backpack. Bokuto’s eyes soak in the back of the man’s slender neck, how his hair curls around it. He wonders how soft it is. His fingers twitch.

“Here.” Akaashi saunters over, candy outstretched in offering.

As space between them disappears, and as Akaashi stops less than a meter away, a strange sensation overtakes Bokuto. His body warms, as if a ray of sunshine is slowly washing over him. And when Akaashi finally passes him the lollipop, their fingers brush, and Bokuto feels something akin to an electric current.

He sees Akaashi’s eyes darken considerably behind his lenses . They stare each other, not saying anything, some strange sensation swirling between them.

Who is Bokuto kidding? It’s not “strange.” He knows exactly what this feeling is. 

Mutual attraction. Immediate, undeniable mutual attraction.

When had this last happened to him? Bokuto can’t remember. He doesn’t recall being this into someone so quickly. And from the heavy lidded look Akaashi is sending up through his long lashes, it seems like Bokuto is not alone.

“Yo! Are you guys even listening to me?”

Bokuto flinches, and so does Akaashi—their bubble of sexual tension pops and they both step back to look at Kuroo, who’s grinning deviously.

“H-huh?” Bokuto stammers. Kenma passes by, rolling his eyes. 

“Ken and I are going out for drinks,” Kuroo says. “We’re inviting you guys along.”

“Oh.” Bokuto clears his throat. “Um, sure! That sounds fun! How about it, ‘kaashi?”

Akaashi, whose cheeks are dusted a delightful shade of pink, nods. He glances at Bokuto, a shy smile shifting his features slightly. 

“I’d love to.”

//

Thanks for reading! 🥰 This fic was inspired by this amazing art by Yuki on Twitter! If you enjoyed, please comment and reblog! You can also support me on ko-fi (linked on profile). Cheers! —Mari 💕

[eddie-brii]

I realized I hadn't done ANYTHING with Clarice and now I will remedy that. @tatjana-fantasy I hope you enjoy!

Clarice had always been different, she liked her pixie cut more than the braids her mother tried to get her to have in her hair. She always wore baggy clothes and hung out at the skater parks, showing up the guys that thought they were the kings of skateboarding. On the flip side she had amazing grades, something she did to try and alleviate the disappointed looks her parents gave her. She finally had a breakdown at her graduation party with family, it didn't matter she graduated with honors, it only mattered that she wore a dress.

"Why can't you accept that I'm not a fuckin' princess!? I don't want to wear the God damn bows and frills! Why can't you love me the way I am!?"

She ran when her father started to yell back, ran as fast as she could, they couldn't make her fucking stay anymore anyways. Before she'd even got two blocks away, a familiar car stopped, the person calling out to her. She realizes it was her Aunt, the one her parents never seemed too keen to bring her around. She took one look at Clarice and her eyes softened with understanding.

"Come on, let's go for a drive kiddo."

Clarice found herself at a lab with her Aunt, giving her niece a coat and free range of the place as she explained some of the more advanced equipment that Clarice's high school didn't have. After the full tour had been given, Clarice simply asked why.

"Because you're brilliant, hon. If your parents can't see that, it's their problem, not your. I know a thing or two about that fight, how it hurts because they're the people that are supposed to love you no matter what. You know what though? Fuck'em, do things to make you happy, not them. Find your happy place, because at the end of the day that's what it is, yours."

She moved in with her within the month, Clarice taking an internship at the same lab. With her credentials she was quickly hired on and her education paid for.

Years later she was working in a computer lab late while music blasted. She still had her nose ring from a teen and pixie cut.

"He was a skater boy, she said see you later boy! He wasn't good enough for her!"

"How the hell do you not have massive hearing loss at this point?" A blonde questioned when the music paused.

Eric never questioned her intelligence, never made her feel beneath him because she was different and for that she respected the hell out of him. She just hoped he could get his head away from his computers and stop fucking up his marriage by letting Rachel go.

[ladycharles]

The Wind Won't Blow You Back, track 7 on Manic Pixie Dream World story behind the song w/ influence tracks

This is one of the oldest songs on the album with parts of the arrangement dating back to 2012.

I have always been fascinated by outsider artists and had a friend in school who made some incredible music that was very bedroomy and DIY. They started dating someone who seemed cool at first but clearly had some deep insecurities that they projected on this guy. Slowly they together alienated everyone in their circle, coming up with flimsy excuses to call out and put others on blast.

We had a falling out that was quite bitter and since then it seems like this person fell off the face of the earth. Their last release is now 9 years old.

The song is about that experience, and missing both the person and their music and resenting that they abandoned such a promising career.

Musically, this track has a more progressive rock influenced structure, as well as being influenced by Klo Pelgag and her more proggy tunes. The guitar solo is influenced by Robert Fripp and Adrian Belew in particular Fripp's solos on Brian Eno's St. Elmos Fire.

Here's a couple of structural or style influences:

It's one of my favourite solos I have recorded even though I have a bit of a complicated relationship with guitar and am not nearly on the level of those kings (Fripp and Belew).

Iajhi Hampden provided drums and did an outstanding job, not only perfectly matching the intensity but also playing in such a way that the rhythmic imperfections in my guitar playing become part of the push and pull of the groove. It's really amazing to hear one's music come to life with a killer drummer and Iajhi is really one of the greats.

As a final link, here's an earlier song I wrote about the same former friendship. Hope you enjoy the writeup, I know it's more niche and personal but I prefer doing this to making tiktoks/reels when I am not feeling them.

[mcklene]

The evening of the Vigil, hours into the night after a series of disastrous decisions.... @siriusrefuge​

The wind had been knocked out of her since the swirl of their beings had pushed through space, landing harsh with just moments before the thumping of branches was to begin. Even with the burn of firewhiskey in her belly, she’d landed them so particularly to the base of the tree that she was still quite proud on top of the rage that pumped blood loud enough to hear in her own head. Her auror eyes clicked on and saw that they were indeed  n o t followed.

She braced herself wand in hand, ready to either jump, roll, or blast should the Whomping Willow’s sentient limbs come thrashing for her. But that didn’t happen. It was still for the first time since...since so many hours ago in the frigid January air. What time was it? Much later than she could imagine, but time was not of the essence - not anymore anyway. Adrenaline, alcohol, and adolescence collided once again that evening for Marlene and Sirius. But in that moment her anger had dissipated and she rolled over herself to the comfort of their black hair, just a slightly lighter sheen than the dark around the pair.

“Your place or mine?” A little grin broke over her lips, finding her breath was shaky still. It didn’t matter since Marlene was sure that most people would refer to either of their living conditions as a pixie sty.  Odd to think that it was hearing the slight tremble in her own voice that perhaps she had been afraid, but it was the best she could do after the havoc that...was admittedly her own fault. Sour guilt filled her mouth as she grasped lightly for where she assumed Sirius’ hand would have been. “We’ll get the bike tomorrow, I promise I’ll go myself I will”

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

I am not a cis woman but I am AFAB and didn’t know my gender existed till I was like 22. (I knew something was different but had no words for it anyway.)

When I was 8-9 I got a pixie haircut because I hated caring for long hair and once when I went swimming at a boys and girls club, 3-4 older girls (maybe 13-14 years old?) wouldn’t let me into the locker room to put on my swimsuit. They were literally gate keeping the door and trying to force me into the boys locker room instead.

The only reason they relented was because I embarrassed them or something by yelling loudly enough that it drew the attention of the other kids and the adult employees that “I’m a girl and I have a vagina and I don’t belong in the boys room. Get out of my way.”

An adult came over to see what the issue was and before I could even explain the girls were like “it’s fine” and scurried into the locker room.

I told the adult anyway and was like “but clearly I’ve convinced them so I guess it’s fine now.”

Those girls avoided me like the plague the rest of the time we were all there, but definitely watched me the whole time I was in the locker room and idk if it was to get confirmation I had a vagina (gross) or to make sure I didn’t do something fucked up (fucked up), but they didn’t approach me again. It definitely made me feel weird but I just put on my bathing suit and went out to the pool with all my usual confidence.

Had a blast swimming.

Still think about those baby terfs to this day.

So yeah. People shouldn’t be harassing kids.

[mywifeleftme]

94: Witches Valley // Extreme Return to the Source

Extreme Return to the Source Witches Valley 1990, Auto da fé

Per the hype sheet French distributor Plus Au Sud sent out with review copies of Extreme Return to the Source, this is Witches Valley’s deal (typos retained for verisimilitude):

“WITCHES VALLEY started end of 86 when five young people originating from Louisiane, fed by american pioneer culture and the spirit of the sixtees (mods, garage punk, bad taste or experimental cinema).

With its original line-up (a singer, a guitar player, a choir member and bass girl player, an organ girl player and a drummer), the band succeeds in making a symbiosis between country, hardcore, surf, noisy, and psyche.

On stage WITCHES VALLEY turns its shows into real tribal performances with such of stage as truss of straws and hanged stooges while experimental movies are screened. The five get out of control in a quasi erotic corporal ritual.”

The release then lists a bunch of bands they played with (notably Nomeansno, Vandals, and Lords of the New Church, compares the band to Sonic Youth and the Butthole Surfers, and notes that they “sing about spatial conquest, ancestral stories, river and mountains, murders, Mother Nature… with frenzy.”

So that, in its effusive indie press release-y way, prepares you pretty well for what you can expect from this psychotic French cowpunk (cowcore?) record.

The ‘90s were full of trash culture-obsessed what-the-fuck bands, but Witches Valley were on the bleeding edge when you consider this dropped within a year of Nomeansno’s Wrong, the same year as Primus’ debut, and a year prior to Mr. Bungle’s. At times they sound like each of those bands, or like Yakko from Animaniacs put together a punk band, or even like Deerhoof (when the “bass girl player” is singing anyway), but they also very much have their own style.

Actually, you know what, this review is turning into a comparison fest, so let me just lean into it a minute and get it out of my system:

B-52’s Nomeansno Butthole Surfers Pixies Devo Los Campesinos! (?!) Primus Mr. Bungle Deerhoof Thought Industry Frank Zappa Meat Puppets Bad Brains The Refreshments (King of the Hill theme only) Dead Milkmen Red Hot Chili Peppers Beastie Boys The Gun Club Dirty Milk X Jane’s Addiction Quintron Dead Kennedys

Okay, I feel better! Helluva mood board. So like I said, despite being reminiscent of so many bands, they don’t sound derivative of them per se—all those resonances have more to do with the band changing the channel so fucking often that every song zips through like nine different genres in two to three minutes. They sweeten their bulldozing riffs and hyperactive tempo changes with vintage organ lines, psychobilly drumming, and rubber-faced cartoon vocals. If you’re not immediately put off by the sheer zaniness of it all, your best choice is to simply grab onto the rope and let their speedboat haul you through the interdimensional gator swamp they occupy. It took me some time to warm up to it--any newer LP in my collection while I take on a project that forces me to grind through records at a cracky pace is in for tough sledding, but Witches Valley won me over! The surfy “Idiot James” is an absolute blast, and I would happily mosh myself into a lather if given the chance to catch “The Ride On” at my local DIY.

I really feel like this one is a lost gem for people on this particular weirdo rock tip, and it’s a pretty cheap pickup based on current Discogs prices. I’m glad its spectacularly dumb back cover gave me pause at the shop, and happy to share it with my follower(s).

94/365

[glitterdustcyclops]

speaking of "bunch of queer misfits find family and belonging with one another" i was re-reading one of my many (many many) WIPS last night and i have poured both my heart and soul and literal years of faffing about with this particular story, and going back to it last night i surprisingly didn't hate most of it

it's about a girl named Cat, perpetual ADHD/Anxiety Ridden Disaster Machine, and how she just-friends her way into falling head-over-heels in love with the cool, mysterious Punk Baker she literally runs into, Quinn

they're both ridiculous and i love them with all my heart

anyway, here's the first chapter, in an effort to put more of my writing on tumblr

I always thought the moment my entire life changed would be more significant. That there would be some kind of ominous portent or some sign from the Universe. Even just some suitably dramatic background music at the very least. You’d think Fate would have the decency to give a girl a head’s up.

But no.

It started like any other morning. Running late, sleep deprived, and in desperate need of caffeine. That was my excuse. I mean, I was barely a functioning human being at 9 in the morning, how could I have been expected to do something ridiculous like pay attention to my surroundings? To notice the black-and-white person-shape strolling out of the propped-open door of Haven—my absolute favorite coffee dispensary—at the same time I was barreling in, my headphones firmly on and blasting Queen.

I swear, time actually slowed down as we collided. She practically skidded to a stop, her mouth dropping open on a gasp I couldn’t hear while I probably squakwed like a damn parrot, a gloriously dramatic cascade of hot latte raining down on us both while the empy paper cup thudded to the concrete.

“The fuck—” I yanked down my headphones, so very ready to take this already shitty morning out on someone else when—

Oh fuck, she’s cute.

Of course that’s what my brain decided to notice first. She was taller than me, especially in her stompy black punk boots, and her hair was almost silvery-white, her eyes like unfairly blue. She had a cute sort of pixie-ish face, tan skin and a silver eyebrow ring glinting at the corner of her neatly manicured black brows.

And she stood in the doorway with her very crisp, very tight white v-neck absolutely ruined by a giant coffee stain running right down the middle.

“Oh jesus I’m so sorry!” I basically shouted at her, like a completely normal functioning person would, flapping a hand awkwardly at her torso. “Your shirt!”

Oh yeah, good plan self. Let’s just go ahead and draw attention to the fact that we were staring resolutely at her chest, where the thin material of her shirt had gone very transparent, clinging to her skin and letting the pale blue lacy material of her bra peek through.

“Hmm?” She glanced down as I averted my eyes in just the smoothest way. “Ah, well, I guess we’re even then.”

I looked down at myself. My favorite faded blue Doctor Who shirt was a bit sticky, but since I was the one who had knocked myself into her, I’d mostly managed to get my arm, a light sprinkle on the thighs of my jeans.

And of course I found the soft little chuckle she gave me then utterly adorable too. There was just this smoky hint of an accent in her slightly-raspy voice and it sent a weird tingle down my spine. Because I was fucking hopeless.

“No no no, my bad, sorry! I wasn’t looking, God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey, relax. It’s just coffee.” She gave me a very casual shrug of her bony shoulder, and there was a wry sort of quirk to the corners of her lips.

“Here, uh, l-let me, uh, let me buy you a new one? To make up for it?”

“You don’t have to.”

“N-no, no I don’t mind, please. Shit I am so so sorry I wasn’t paying attention, I never pay attention, I can’t believe—” Great. Now I was spiraling.

“Really dude, it’s fine,” she said, sounding, well, at least not annoyed with me. Not yet. “I’m Quinn by the way.”

“Oh uh, uh Cat. I’m Cat.” I waved at myself like a complete moron.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cat.” There was another quirk of her lips that edged more towards a smirk, a glimmer of something slightly wicked in her blue eyes. I kind of liked it.

“You…too?”

“Leat’s go inside, yeah? Get cleaned up at least.”

So I followed her into the café, just barely managing to stop myself from compulsively apologizing again as I did. The interior of Haven Coffee was mostly quiet, somehwere in that weird bubble after the morning rush but before the lunch one. Always one of my favorite times here. There was this dreamy sort of quality that settled over the floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves and the stark black-and-white check tile floor. The sound of some vintage record drifted across the empty interior, the large stone hearth in the corner and the matching set of forest green velvet armchairs arranged invitingly in front of it, a cozy little nook blessedly unoccoupied, like it was waiting for me.

Haven lived up to its name, a safe little pocket dimension of warmth and old books and records and really damn good coffee. And it just so happened to be the employer of my two very best friends in the whole wide world who were also my roommates, Ginger and Greg.

“Oh, g’morning Kit Kat!” Ginger said brightly, only half paying attention as she rearranged something on the counter, before she finally looked up and then saw the strangest thing she’d probably ever seen me do (which was saying a lot, really): walk into Haven with a stranger, both of us lightly doused with coffee.

At least Greg wasn’t out here this morning so I didn’t have to deal with him judging all of my life choices with a single look the way Ginger so very obviously was.

“Oh jeez, what happened.”

Audrey “Ginger” Parker had been assigned into my life by the whims of the Greendale University Student Housing Department, and I was ever thankful for it. She was basically if a pumpkin spice latte was a person, with her wild Merida mane of ginger curls and a constellation of freckles dusted liberally across her skin like cinnamon sprinkles. She could be obnoxious and pushy sometimes but she was also a total goofball and one of the least judgemental people I’d ever met. Which was a good thing for her, surrounded as she was by a bunch of dramatic artsy queers.

She was my token Straight Best Friend, and I loved her dearly. Usually.

Right now, standing next to a hot punk rock chick I’d practically assaulted and Ginger staring at me all wide-eyed and concerned I was questioning a lot of things.

“Oh, just a small accident,” Quinn was explaining with that stupid edge of a smirk to her mouth. Why is that attractive?

“Oh no! I’ll get someone to clean that up, and I can get you another vanilla latte of course,” Ginj replied, all warm smiles and Customer Service Voice.

“Yes please, and whatever she wants.”

Ginger glanced between the two of us with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged back in my customary twitchy manner—and hey, wasn’t I supposed to be buying her coffee? But of course, I wasn’t nearly socially adept enough to say anything about it, consumed as I was with wishing that my too too solid flesh would melt right through the polished tile floor.

“Alright!” Ginger said in an almost gratingly perky voice. “One large vanilla latte and one Kitty-Cat special, comin’ right up! That’ll be $4.35 please.”

I shambled over to the other side of the counter to wait for our drinks while Quinn finished paying, Ginger and her making casual small talk in that way I could never quite grasp. Instead I grabbed a handful of napkins and started dabbing ineffectively at my jeans. It was an excuse to look down at my feet and not make eye contact with anyone else, and I took those where I could get hem.

“Come here often?” Quinn asked me with slightly more than a hint of a smirk as she came over to join me, grabbing her own handful of napkins and making a valiant attempt to blot the stain from her shirt.

“Uh, somethin’ like that. I, er, Ginj is my roommate. We live thataways.” I gestured randomly with my other hand without looking up, deeply aware that it probably made me come off as even more of a twitchy weirdo but utterly unable to stop myself.

“Convenient.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

And just like that our feeble attempt at conversation bled out and died on the checkerboard floor below us. I was about to start praying for a god to smite me out of pity when Ginj finally finished our drinks, handing over the cups with a cheeky little wink as I glared daggers back at her.

She was so getting a bunch of trash shoved into her bed later.

“So, stay and chat?” Quinn indicated the cozy little nook with the fireplace and chairs in the corner—my spot, my favorite spot, and how the fuck did she know that anyway—and for a brief second the fantasy flashed before my eyes. The two of us, sitting there together, talking and laughing, getting to know each other.

But of course this was me we were talking about so it would mostly be like: awkward silence while avoiding eye contact and then eventually slinking away, trying to apologize for my general failure at existing without having to actually say anything.

And more importantly, after seeing what a stunning conversationalist I was for like the two minutes it took to order our drinks why would anyone I didn’t already live with voluntarily subject themselves to more of me. It just didn’t add up.

And oh fuck, she was still standing there looking at me expectantly and I hadn’t replied. Because of course this was my life, God, why didn’t I say anything? Say something you idiot, oh God this is it, this was somehow the most awkward situation I had ever been in, pack it up boys we’ve done it—and then suddenly I remembered I had an out, and I’d never been so grateful to already be late for a 9 AM opening shift in my entire life.

“C-cant, sorry! I uh, late for work. Butthanksforthecoffeebye!”

And with that eloquent little display I turned and swiftly walked out the door, another flappy wave to Ginj as I went. Once I was safely deposited onto the concrete outside I fucking ran for it, straight booking it out of there like I was being actively chased by dinosaurs.

Briefly I contemplated Forest Gumping my way past all of my problems and not stopping until I ended up on a different coast. But I quickly got winded—it wasn’t like I was renowned for my athleticism or anything—and I needed to pay my rent. Ginj would find me somehow, if I skipped town, and then she would be forced to kill me. And I couldn’t do that to my best friend.

I slowed down to somewhat of an amble, trying very hard not to barrel into any more cute tattooed hipsters as I did. Suddenly I realized I was still holding my drink (the Kit Kat Special is basically hot chocolate with a double shot of espresso doused liberally in caramel sauce and then topped with a mound of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, because I liked to consume my coffee like a five year old would) and it made me feel weirdly guilty so I quickly tossed the whole thing in a nearby trash can as I walked down the street to my job.

The Dragon’s Keep happened to both be my absolute favorite retail establishment and also my employer. Situated rather conveniently a four buildings down from Haven, it specialized in board games and board game accessories; a local institution for nearly a decade.

You know when you find a place and it just feels like you’re coming home? Like you walk in and something about it, something in the air just makes you feel like you belong there? That was the Keep for me. Greg—who’d been my very bestest friend since the 7th grade and still somehow decided to live with me anyway—and I had wandered in one day when we were Freshmen in college. He’d heard about it from a guy in one of his English classes; apparently if we were interested in tabletop RPGS it was the best place to go, and we were, so one weekend we made the trek together and then we basically never left.

Eventually Paulie—Chief Nerd and intrepid proprietor of The Dragon’s Keep—decided that if I was gonna be there all the time anyway he might as well pay me for it, so now I got to sell board games and such for a living. It was a pretty sweet gig even on its worst days. My dysfunctional little nerd family away from home, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I wrenched open the door to the familiar chimes tinkling away above my head and the sounds of a Warhammer model painting tutorial playing on the TV, mixed with the dulcet tones of a raging nerd debate going on right in the middle of the store. Ah, home.

Paulie stood behind the register with his bushy braided Viking beard and his way-too-muscular-for-a-middle-aged-nerd-arms, covered in tattoos and crossed across his broad expanse of chest, all stoically imposing even in cargo shorts and a Star Wars t-shirt. Meanwhile Steven was over by the roleplaying bookshelves half-heartedly dusting, and the two of them were shouting about what sounded like the merits of various Barbarian builds. Because of course they were.

“You’re late,” Paulie interrupted Steven’s rant with his normal booming voice; he sounded angry, but the trick was that Paulie always sounded angry. I knew him far too well to believe it. He had that ever-present twinkle in his blue-gray eyes, so I couldn’t really be in trouble.

And anyway, if he was going to fire me for my appalling lack of time management skills he would’ve done it a long long time ago.

“Guys I’m gonna die alone,” I said instead as I trudged insde to lean against the opposite side of the counter across from Paulie.

“Uh-oh.” He shot Steve a look.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, just ran into this super cute girl at Haven. Literally.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” I took a twisted sort of pleasure in confessing my crimes, like I could purge the embarrassment from my stomach by talking about it. “I knocked her coffee into her, fucking latte raining down from the heavens on us both, and then I perved on her chest, and then she bought me coffee while I forgot how human conversation works, and then I finally ran outta there like my hair was on fire.”

“Oh no, Cat,” Steven repeated in a delightful mixture of horror and amusement, and I could practiaclly hear Paulie’s wince.

“It was literally the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone in the history of forever and I want to actually die!”

“Yeesh kid.” That was Paulie’s attempt at sympathy. But at least he tried.

I just moaned in misery, burrying my head into my arms crossed on the counter while Paulie offered me a half-hearted shoulder pat.

“We have got to get you like a wingman or something dude,” Steven said.

“It wouldn’t help,” I muttered at the counter. I was definitely gettling like, face prints all over the glass. Someone was gonna have to wipe that down later. “I’m utterly hopeless, a 100% Certified Lesbian Disaster doomed to die alone in an apartment with like, eighty cats. I’m gonna be that lady. No one will find my body for weeks because all the stupid cats will have eaten me.”

“Morbid Cat!” Paulie gave me a horrified laugh.

“But you gotta admit,” Steve replied, “pretty ironic.”

I couldn’t see his face but I just knew he was giving me one of his stupid little goofy grins he liked to use when he knew he’d made a particularly horrible joke, because Steven was a bad person and I hated him.

“Oh shut up!” I pretended to snap at him in offence.

“Hey, you know what’ll really take your mind off of your romantic failures kiddo?” Paulie asked then, his voice entirely too cheery for the present situation.

“What boss?” I replied reluctantly, looking up and resting my chin on my hand.

“Selling board games of course!” He laughed his stupid bellowing Viking laugh and I rolled my eyes.

“Ugh. Can’t I take a personal day on account a’ all my trauma?”

“Nope, there’s orders to be filled in the back! Go, go.”

And then I was unceremoniously ushered away to the back office, whining the entire short trip around the counter and through the doorway there. I couldn’t help but smile just a bit, once I was out of sight. Paulie tried to project this air of a Gruff No-Nonsense Army Guy, but he was totally just a big ol’ softie under all those layers of nerdy t-shirt and muscle. He cared, about everyone, deeply, and he always had, had cared about me right from the first day I started working here.

The other boys did too; Steven, Walt, Ryan, even Jake, our newest minion. I kind of loved them, even if I would never admit that fact, even on pain of death. Working at The Keep was like working with a bunch of annoying older brothers. Comforting in its familiarity, that way.

I think, as far as first jobs went, I had gotten pretty lucky. It had its days, as all jobs did, but if I had to sell my soul to the institution of Capitalism I was glad to do it in a place that let me wear jeans and curse while I gently bullied a group of hopeless straight boys.

The rest of my workday passed as they often did. There were stretches of tedious nonsense (receiving and logging new inventory should’ve been listed in the Geneva Conventions as literal war crime, as far as I was concerned) mixed with moments of goofy nonsense and nerdy conversations and amusing interactions with our deeply weird customer base, all of it orchestrated to the background noise of board game demos and other related YouTube content playing on our video feed. Sure, it wasn’t exactly life-changing work, but I got to introduce a cute young couple to a few of my favorite two-player games and one of our regulars brought us cupcakes, and that’s a good day in my books.

I got home aorund 5-ish to Greg cooking dinner and Ginj drawing on her iPad at the kitchen table, anime playing on the TV. Whatever Greg was making smelled deliciously garlicky and my stomach rumbled in response. God I loved that he cooked. I mean, the fact that his favorite hobby was looking up fancy recipes from the internet and then trying to make them wasn’t neccessarily the entire basis of our friendship—I had known and loved him far too long for that—but it was definitely a perk.

Greg was, at this point, basically my Platonic Life Partner. We’d been friends since we were literal children, 12 years old, and somehow, despite all rational expectations, he hadn’t managed to get sick of me yet. At this point he wouldn’t be able to get rid of me even if he tried. I wouldn’t let him.

But I did love him, truly. He’d been there for some of the absolute worst moments of my life, and I’d been there for him in return. We had the sacred Lesbian-Gay Boy bond, and when his parents got a little Weird after he came out officially, it was my mom who became his support system. He fought with my brothers as if they were his own, and he had become an honorary member of the Stern clan in his own right.

You wouldn’t think he was the kind of guy who would be my ride-or-die bestie just by looking at him. Greg was kind of an enigma, a walking mess of contradictions. He was all Captain American Corn-Fed American Boy Realness on the outside, sandy blonde hair and blue eyes and a chin that could cut glass, but if you’d talked to him longer than five seconds you would realize that at the end of the day, he was just a really confident, unapologetically gay weirdo, obsessed with Lord of the Rings and deeply obscure anime as much as he was with football and classic rock.

But in a way, I loved him all the more for it.

“Hey Cat,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders, that merry little twinkle in his eyes as he flexed his chopping skills on an eggplant.

“Hello Housewife,” I replied with a mad giggle, stealing a slice of carrot from his chopping board and ducking out of range when he tried to elbow me back.

Ginj laughed at us and my heart felt so full, all of a sudden. That warm glowy-homey feeling that I got sometimes at moments like this, struck with the reminder that somehow, against all odds, I had found a place to belong. There was a long stretch of time there where I wasn’t even sure I was gonna make it out alive, that it nearly knocked me over to realize that I had. Where would I be in the world without these two, honestly?

At that point I’d practically forgotten all about The Coffee Girl Incident. There was too much good stuff going on. Everything in that moment was safe and right and good, and I was starting to believe it always would be, which was a rather novel experience to my still clincially-depressed and anxiety-riddled ass.

Until Ginger had to go and ruin it by making a stupid joke about coffee at dinner.

So I pulled her hair and she hit me and Greg threatened to send us to our rooms without dessert. Just a normal weekday dinner, really. And then I was far too busy eating a delicious home-cooked meal with two of my favorite people on Earth to care about silly stuff like spilled lattes and pretty blue-eyed girls.

I mean, I would probably be obsessing about the whole embarrasing incident for the rest of my life, especially when I was trying to sleep, but for now I focused on better things. I wouldn’t let it bother me. And such was the magic of Greg’s cooking, that just for a moment, I almost believed it too.

But of course, Fate wasn’t done with me just yet.