#did minimal editing on this one lads

[queers-gambit]

What Goes Around, Comes Around

prompt: ( requested ) Billy's known for his temper and being obsessed with his pretty little girlfriend - which gets her severely injured by his past transgressions.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!cheerleader!reader reader and Billy are both 18+, seniors in high school

word count: 6.7k+

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

note: you're a liar if you didn't immediately start singing Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around... Comes Around".

warnings: remember there are different responses to trauma! some people shut down, stop talking; others jabber and chatter nervously. reader is the latter. we got angst, we got literal hurt and comfort, established relationship. term "going postal" is used, cursing, technically underage drinking, not edited, author mildly gave up at the end. triggering content: depictions of physical violence, depictions of injury and blood, depiction of abuse, violent plots, Billy's girl gets physically assaulted (but it's minimally detailed).

DO NOT read if this content can potentially trigger you. you are NOT missing anything, you will miss NOTHING by skipping this, but i do try to keep the details as neutral as possible. again, prioritize yourself, mental health, and emotional state - this ain't worth the read if it's gonna upset you, i promise. author loves you all

"That's fucking her, I swear to God."

"You sure?"

"100%. That's Billy's little bitch he's obsessed with."

The three guys smirked at one another, eyeing you across the living room as you giggled and drank with a few friends in adorable, fashion forward outfits. Someone started a game of beer pong, you on the sidelines to cheer, giving them a full-show of your form.

"She's hot," Jake mused. "I can see why he keeps her so close."

"Nah, not tonight," Lawrence frowned, "heard they got in some huge fight at school. Like, she walked home and he sped off in his car."

"Hm, heard he's ridiculously protective of her... She must've really pissed him off," the third boy, Steven, nodded. "So, he's not here tonight?"

"Doubt it," Jake nodded.

"Go find out," Steven advised. "There, the basketball bros - one of them would know. Or a cheerleader," he eyed the crowd. "Chrissy's over there, Brittany's beside her - they'd be the best bet in my mind."

"We seriously considering this?" Lawrence asked with a small, nervous chuckle. "I mean, it's kinda crazy, isn't it? We're gonna send Billy Hargrove a message by roughing up his girl? There's not some better way?"

"I'd love to hear it," Steven scoffed. "Billy's too comfortable at the top of the school, broke my fucking nose and deviated Jake's septum. Didn't he fuck your sister the first week he was here, Lawrence?"

"I mean - "

"Broke her fucking heart, didn't he?" Jake tacked on.

"Well, yeah," Lawrence sighed, shrugging.

"You tell me, dude, was that shit fair?"

"No," Lawrence looked down.

"So, yeah, I know, it's bad to hit a lady - but what about my boot? Huh?" Steven smirked, nodding. "Go find out what you can. Last thing we need is Billy walkin' in the party, right?"

Jake nodded with enthusiasm, leaving Lawrence behind. He hesistated but then did as Steven asked; asking the present basketball team members if Billy gave indication he was coming. The cheerleaders assured he wouldn't dare show up when you were there after a very public fight, and if he did, it would be to cause another scene.

So, after reporting back to Steven, a plan was formed. Lawrence didn't seem fully on board, but in an effort to save his own skin, he went along with what Jake and Steven were plotting - even if that meant roughing up a woman. Something his mama and grandmama vehemently taught him not to do...

Something churned in his stomach when he heard how the two lads were nearly foaming at the mouth to get their revenge. So, he casually went to grab another drink - pausing where a few of your friends were. "Oi," he whispered, earning their attention.

"Hey, Law," Chrissy smiled.

"Hey, Chris," he sniffled, glancing around. "Listen, uh, you seen Billy 'round?"

"No? Why?"

"Hmm, just, uh... Heard his girl was all upset, thought maybe her drinking all that much was a bad idea without him around."

"Oh," Chrissy blinked, looking up at her boyfriend, Jason, as he approached the group with two drinks in hand. "I didn't think about it like that, Law."

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

"No, nothing, Lawrence just pointed out how shitty it is to drink without someone watching your back," she pouted.

He nodded, "You lose your friends, man?"

"No, just tryna look out," Lawrence shrugged. "Few girls here drinking a lot, not a lot of defenses 'round them."

Jason frowned, "That's kinda their man's job, isn't it?"

"What if their man isn't here?"

"I'm gonna be right back," Chrissy smiled, parting ways with her girlfriend in tow - and when Law looked, they were using the kitchen telephone. He prayed they were phoning the Hargrove residence.

Lawrence sighed in slight relief and nodded to Jason; the white boy just nodding back silently and letting the other athlete pass him by to head back for Jake and Steven. He grabbed an unopened beer on his way to maintain appearances.

"Hey, we got it," Jake smirked at the third boy, "she just went outside, we should move now."

"Huh?" Law mumbled.

"C'mon," Steven growled, pushing off the mantle and stalking for the backdoors to follow your retreating form.

"Wait, what're we doing?" Law asked, trying to keep up with the drunken, elongated strides of the two dickheads he called 'friends'. "Hey! Guys, c'mon - what's going on?"

"Just - shut up, pussy boy, let's go, fuckin' keep up," Steven sneered, shoving the glass door out of his way and nearly cracking it.

Outside, the in-ground pool was alight with multicolored lights. There were teenagers littered all around the pool deck; some lounging and some standing, all drinking. There was a kegstand in play, ping pong table hosting another game of Beer Pong, and the thick stench of cigarette smoke in the air.

"She's over there," Jake pointed, their sights turning to see you leaning over to huff on your cigarette while Tammy May Flipsen lit the end of it. Your smile was genuine as you thanked her, just stepping two feet away to gaze up at the stars - a perfect time to strike.

The alcohol in everyone's system made them slow, vulnerable, and downright stupid; leaving Steven and Jake the opportunity to seize either of your arms and literally rush you around the corner of the house without anyone intervening.

Once in the remote side yard, the sickening plan commenced.

Lawrence could barely approach, managing to watch with tears in his eyes as the noises of the party masked the noises of pain you emitted; two nearly full-grown men took out their anger towards your boyfriend on you. You cried, begged for reprieve, sounded so confused and broken that it shattered Lawrence's heart - briefly thinking what if someone did this to his sister...

That made him spring into action. "Hey! No! No, this ain't right! Get off her!" Lawrence barked, shoving the two away from your body on the ground. "That's enough - back off - fuck is wrong with you!?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" Steven demanded.

"Bitch has it coming!"

"What? You fuckin' her, too? Got you pussy whipped like Billy Boy?"

"Just fuck off, beating on a girl!" Lawrence snapped, but it was a huge mistake. Jake and Steven shared a single look before launching at the third boy, beating him as they had you - but much harder. He swore he earned a concussion, their heels stomping his neck, collarbones, wrists, ribs, ankles; exactly the same as they did to you.

"Tryna defend her now!?" Jake heaved, giving a swift kick to Lawrence's kidney. "Huh? You're so scared of Billy but you're gonna mess with his girl?" He laughed. "She must have a magic cunt or something!"

"You're so fucking pathetic, you have to beat up a girl!?" Law shot right back, earning a swift kick to the jaw from the lad that used to play soccer (or American fútbol). "Huh? Two on one? Such big men, aren't yah?" He sneered again, spitting blood to the side.

"Leave it," Steven halted Jake when he charged again, "they're both pretty fucked."

"Well, that dumbass should learn a lesson 'bout interfering!"

"Law's learned - he has, bro, and if he wants, he can learn again," Steven spat on Lawrence's form, Jake doing the same to you - both eventually stalking away like bored toddlers walking away from broken toys.

Slowly, Lawrence grunted as he pulled himself up to sit against the side of the house. "Fuck's sake," he whispered, wiping his eyes and wincing when he felt the sore skin - trailing a finger up, wincing again when he discovered split skin above his eyebrow. "Ohhhh, fuuuuck," Law drawled when you slowly peaked up from your fetal position on the ground. "Hey, hey, you all right? Stupid question," he hissed in pain when he moved to try and assist you.

You cried out when his grip laid on you, but powered through to let him help you sit against the house, too. "Holy shit," you whispered, blood dribbling from your mouth; teeth feeling loose, a headache already assaulting you, and cuts stinging in the bitter night.

"I'm so sorry."

"N-No, you - it would've been so much worse if you hadn't..." You trailed off, sniffling, "You didn't have t'jump in, you got hurt 'cause of me."

"You got hurt 'cause of Billy," Lawrence frowned.

"Huh?"

"That's why they're so pissed off," Lawrence explained, spitting more blood to the side; his jeans stained with mud, blood, and grass. "Billy got their asses few weeks ago, they're still pissed... I heard them," he deflected smoothly, "talkin' about teaching Billy a lesson through you. Didn't feel right, but I should've stopped them so much sooner. I-I'm sorry I didn't do more, Y/N."

"You did more than anyone else," you whimpered, drawing your knees into your chest to lock your arms around them. "I don't even know them, they go to our school?"

"We're all in AP History with Snyder."

You paused to nod absently, not even bothering to try and recall any interactions you might've had with Steven and Jake. Instead, you eyed your savior, mumbling, "You're Lawrence, right?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

"Your sister's... Cara? Sarah? No, no," you paused to think, his frown deepening as you seemed so nice and authentic. "Your sister's name is Natalie, right?"

"Yeah," he half-smiled. "You know her?"

"She's a sweetheart, has those cute glasses? Yeah, I like her; she just joined cheer, right?"

"Yeah, that's her."

You eyed him for a moment, ignoring the blood dripping off you both from the beat down; then whispered with a sniffle, "Is that why you helped? 'Cause your sister's on the cheer squad, too?"

"No," he replied instantly, sounding quiet (like you), "I'd like to believe if I saw something I know is wrong... I'd be the type of person to step in, try to stop it."

"You did tonight."

"I should've done more a lot sooner."

"You could've been really hurt, Law."

"Like you?"

"I'm just - look, two guys? Beatin' on me? Yeah," you scoffed, wiping blood from your split lip, "like I ever stood a chance. But you didn't have t'do all that, they wanted Billy, found me instead. You could've walked away, but instead, you jumped in, and you could've been really hurt. That wouldn't help anyone."

"I'm still sorry..."

You sniffled, but before you could respond, you heard footsteps thundering over the lawn; a voice shouting your name in frantic, panicked little outbursts. Looking up, you caught sight of a black leather jacket and unruly blonde curls, frowning deeper. "Oh, fuck," you whispered, withdrawing into yourself, "oh, no, no, not now. Not now, Goddamnit. Think I can make a run for it to the street before he sees me?" You asked Law quietly, nearly hissing your whisper.

"Ain't that Billy?" Law asked, finger pointed.

"He can't see me," you rushed in a panic, eyes wide and tears welling. "Lawrence, he can't!"

"Why?"

"He'll go on a fucking rampage, Lawrence! Ever heard going postal? Yeah, Bee gives that shit new meaning."

"They'd deserve whatever Billy wants t'do," Law frowned, tensing up when Billy had turned, caught sight of you two, and made an angry beeline for you in the grass. "U-Uh, Billy's approaching," he warned you as your boyfriend arrived, trying to pull back to give privacy, but wincing in pain that made him stop.

"The fuck is going - ? Oh, my fuckin' God," Billy trailed off, then whispered when he saw you huddled on the ground; your dress in tatters. Your head was bowed, knees drawn in, refusing to meet his eyes; making your leather-clad boyfriend lower himself to a knee. "Baby? Hey, look at me, sweet girl, lemme see... C'mon, baby, please, look at me."

You only sniffled.

"It was Jake and Steven," Lawrence told Billy, trying to find his feet; falling over and just giving up.

"Hell happened to you, man?"

Lawrence frowned, looking nervous, but your voice answered, "He saved me, Bee. Jumped in, took some of the beating."

Billy looked between you and Lawrence, but focused on you - seeing the injuries to your face and chest in full light. "Oh, my God," he breathed, looking you over in shock. Those pink, pillowy lips you adored licking and sucking on were parted in shock.

You half-smiled, "Think you pissed a few of the wrong guys off."

"Jesus Christ, sweet girl. What happened? Tell me, please, before I start making assumptions," he demanded, reaching for your cheek - making you recoil hard enough that your head banged on the house supporting your exhausted body. "Hey, hey," he whispered, looking physically wounded by your action, "'s just me, baby, it's just me, it's Bee, I'm not gonna hurt you. C'mon, sweetheart, lemme help you."

You sniffled, letting him reach for you again and caress your cheek so he could direct your head left and right; giving him a full view of your injuries that continued to weep. He stiffened as he took note of a new cut or bruise upon every new sweep of his eyes, his anger skyrocketing with every passing moment.

"It hurts," you whimpered. "Apparently, you beat the shit outta those guys weeks ago - guess they were waiting for an opening to strike back."

"You don't deserve this," he growled angrily. "Fuck - look at you! Goddamnit, I'm so sorry, princess, this is my fault. All my fucking fault, shit," he hissed, looking close to tears, "I put you here, I'm so sorry, baby."

"Got Lawrence his ass beat, too," you pouted.

"Sorry about this, man," Billy instantly offered the other boy, who was practically slumped over in the grass. He still managed to give a thumbs up. "But, uh, thank you for stepping in. You know, not a whole lotta people would."

"Nah, it was the right thing to do," Law frowned, waving him off.

"You said Jake and Steven did this?"

"Mhm," Law nodded. "Jake Chastain and Steven Barton."

"Yeah, I know 'em," Billy shook his head, "and I'll fuckin' kill 'em - "

"Can we get cleaned up first? Before we go murdering high school jocks?" You pouted in pain.

"Hey, man. You got a friend here or something? Someone to help us?" Billy asked Lawrence, still caressing your face with his thumb sweeping the apple of your cheek.

"My sister's 'round, yeah..."

"Want me to grab her?" Billy offered awkwardly.

"I'd actually appreciate it," Law whispered. "Gotta get home, yeah?"

"Yeah, man. Stay here, I'll grab her," Billy agreed. "What's her name?"

"Natalie, she's a cheerleader. Um... Y-You dated her beginning of the year?"

"I remember," he sighed, standing to his feet. He told you earnestly, almost sweetly, "I'll be fast."

But the thing is, you knew Billy all too well by now. "Wait, no," you gasped, trying to stand, "Bee, don't!" It was too late, he was already gone by the time you and Lawrence stumbled out from hiding; just in time to watch Billy point Natalie towards where you and her brother were. Then, he turned and surged up to an unsuspecting Jake and Steven; launching an all-out brawl against the two.

Neither of them stood a chance when Billy was THIS angry. Nobody did. In fact, if Jason, Tommy H., and two other guys hadn't pulled him back, surely, there'd be a lot more than a couple of broken bones. However, when Billy told the other basketball players in a spit-flying rage that these two cowards had attacked his girlfriend (a few turning back to get a look at you), it launched a new, mutual anger. Chrissy and a few other cheerleaders wanted to step in when the "fight" (more like attack) started again, but when they saw you, Lawrence, and Natalie, nobody said a single word. Nobody interfered. Nobody interrupted, and luckily, nobody else joined in...

Before Jake and Steven could lose their lives or sustain serious injury that would result in any arrests, Billy was pulled back by Lawrence - of all people. "Hey, hey," the beaten boy barked, "hey, man, chill - chill! These guys deserve it, yeah, I fucking know, but look, hey!" He grabbed Billy's shoulders to prevent him from turning back for the fray. "Hey! Your girl needs you, man. She needs you more than these bozos. C'mon, you can't go to jail over this shit, right? Right? How mad you gonna be if you get bagged 'cause of these jackasses?"

This seemed to force Billy back to reality and out of his homicidal rage. A few dudes who played football stepped in to hoist the unconscious jocks over their shoulders just to leave them on the curb a couple houses down the street.

Billy raced back to you.

Chrissy and Natalie were helping wipe blood from your skin and hair; clothes damaged, ripped, stained, beyond repair, and another cheerleader was holding a bag of frozen peas to your head as you leaned on her stomach. He slid his jacket from his shoulders, easing you off the girl's belly to leave it around your trembling form and then taking the girl's spot, supporting your body as you were tended to.

Eventually, Chrissy sighed, "I think that's the best we're gonna get you, honey. You want us to come over in the mornings? Help you get dressed and do your make-up?"

"No offense, but I don't think that's necessary... It's not like what happened is a secret," Natalie whispered, looking you over.

"Make-up might irritate the injuries," the other girl offered softly. "But it might cover some of those bruises, I just would avoid the cuts."

"I'm okay, girls, but thank you," you assured softly. "Bee's here t'help."

"Yeah, taking you straight to the hospital," he decided stiffly from behind you.

"What?"

"Think I'm not gonna get you checked out after this? Two men attacked you, I gotta make sure ain't shit's seriously wrong, baby. Don't fight me on this, please."

Billy's mind was warped with memories of sitting in ER's and other clinics with his mother nursing a broken wrist or damaged eye socket. His father's anger had always been a temperamental switch, something Billy felt he always had to outdo. Being in the hospital with you felt too similar, another bolt of rage zinging through his blood; hating the idea that you were the victim, and like his mother, he wasn't able to protect you.

Unlike his mother, this situation was directly his fault. He didn't even remember why he beat the shit outta Steven and Jake all those weeks ago, but whatever the reason, it cost him now. Cost you both.

The party continued inside the house, but Billy walked around the side yard, down to the front, then towards the street full of parked cars with you secure in his arms. After getting you settled safely in the passenger seat of his Camaro, Billy rightened and shut the door; seeing Lawrence and Natalie approaching their own car, the bag of peas now held to his jaw and cheek.

His sister was under his arm, helping him hobble. Billy gulped, realizing Lawrence was beat to hell, too, and if he hadn't jumped in, Lord only knew what state you'd be in now. When the two men caught one another's eye, Billy offered a nod of respect and thanks; the other lad returning it as if to say he was welcome. Billy raced for the driver's door, sliding in, and without turning any music on, drove off towards the hospital.

You were grumpy to be there, but one look at you had the medical staff moving at a quickened pace to help you; offering speedy aid. You were cleaned and cared for; questions regarding the level of assault making you nervous, but you answered honestly that two classmates had jumped you at a party. This meant the police were called; tears in your eyes and down your cheeks when you had to tell Chief Hopper (a close family friend) exactly what happened.

Billy provided their assailant’s full names and promised they wouldn't be in the best shape when (slash if) the two were found.

After hearing your story and writing the names down from Billy, Hopper sighed in empathy, "Kid... Don't admit t'anything."

"I'm not, I'm just making a casual note," Billy countered. "You know, people don't take too kindly to people hittin' a woman. Less so when she's drunk, alone, and they fuckin' stomp on her - "

"All right," Hopper tried to halt his built up anger. "Let's just take a breath here - "

"Uh, Chief?" His deputy interrupted. "Them boys? Uh, a... Jake Chastain and Steven Barton? They were just wheeled in from an ambulance."

"Interesting," Hopper noted, sparing Billy a small look. "From where?"

"A neighbor called them in, said there's a party few houses from her on Hawthorne."

Jim Hopper sighed and turned to you and Billy with his hands on his hips. His face was passively angry. "Sound familiar?" He asked, tongue sweeping over his teeth.

"Yes," you answered for you both, "that's where it happened, Chief."

His eyes softened when he looked back at you. "All right," he nodded, looking to his partner. "Go stand by their room, keep an eye - I'll be there in a second, but the victims made a positive ID. Doc's will treat 'em and we'll book 'em." When left alone, Hopper took a suspicious look around the hospital floor before sliding the curtains shut around your bed; moving to your other side, removing his hat, and kneeling. "Listen, kid," he whispered, taking your hand softly, "I got a daughter at home, too, and if anyone - and I mean, anyone - laid a hand on her the way you were tonight, I'd burn this town to the fucking ground."

Billy snorted in amusement, "Know the feeling."

Hopper nodded, "So believe me when I say, I need to know, off the record, what really happened tonight. Your father will need to know that I am doing everything to help - but I need to know the truth."

"I don't know what to tell you, Hopper," you frowned, matching his quiet tone, "I've told you what I know. I was a few drinks in, stepped outside t'smoke, and that's when they grabbed me, took me t'the side yard, and started wailing on me. I dropped, they kept goin', that's when this other boy stepped in. He got beat up pretty good, too, but he helped get them away. Billy showed up, we came here - "

"I hit them," Billy interrupted, making you squeak lightly. Hopper just laid his other hand over yours so he cocooned it; glancing around the under skirts of the curtains to make sure you remained alone.

Then he asked, "When?"

"After I made sure Y/N was okay," Billy explained, petting a hand over the back of your head; never looking away from Hopper. "I found her friend's sister, made sure someone knew where they were, and then I hit them... And I didn't stop hitting them."

"Kid - "

"Some teammates pulled me off, don't worry - it could've been so much worse. But when the others found out what they did to my girl?" He hissed quietly, "They took matters into their own hands by themselves, sir. My girl was attacked, I couldn't let that just slide, Chief, I hope you understand."

Hopper sighed, "Well, I can't condone the violence, but since it was a group effort, be a helluva lot more paperwork bringing you in versus those two who started it."

Billy nodded absently, your free hand laying over Hopper's to stack. "Did you call my dad?" You asked nervously.

"Not yet," he frowned. "I gotta check on the suspects, but I can after."

"Could you not? For me, please?" You sniffled. "He'll just worry and would get all pissy 'cause his trip has to be cut - "

"He's not home?" Hopper asked in earnest confusion with knitted brows.

Your head shook, "Chicago for the week."

"He left eight days ago," Billy snipped.

"Bee," you reprimanded sharply.

"Hey," Hopper squeezed your hand, "it's okay, you're over 18, I don't have to call him. But El and I are gonna drop by later with dinners and to check on you, her little friend, too, probably. You know, the, uh... The little red head?"

"Max?" You asked.

"Yeah, her. Nice girl."

"She's Billy's step-sister," you snickered, wincing when your broken ribs protested.

"You should rest," Hopper bid, "and thank you for being honest," he stood to his feet while nodding at Billy. "Tell you what, I won't report you starting the fight - technically... It'll be reported as a randomized group effort after they were caught assaulting Y/N."

Billy nodded, too shocked for words as Hopper patted your hand, placed his hat on, and exited the little curtained room. "Wow," your boyfriend breathed. "Since when are you friends with the Chief of Police?"

"He and my dad go way back," you eased.

"All cops like him?"

"Fuck no, you know that." After a beat, you reached for his hand to lace your fingers with him, "Hey," you bid, "I-I'm really sorry."

"Baby, just - don't even start - "

"No, for earlier, for our fight," you interrupted, "and for feeling petty enough to go to the party alone when I know you don't like that... For drinking, not being more aware like you taught me. I didn't use the buddy-system when I went t'smoke, it was a major fuck-up, I know, but I'm just sorry. I feel like I've disappointed you or something - "

"No, hey, sweet girl," he rushed, sitting on the edge of the gurney to stare at you directly, "don't you ever feel that way - you didn't do nothing wrong. Hear me? You didn't put yourself in this position, you didn't deserve what happened, you didn't - no, just," he sighed deeply, "you didn't do any of this, sweetheart. Okay? If anything... If anything, this is my fucking fault and I'm the one who is so sorry."

Your head shook, but Billy continued,

"They did this to you because of me." Tears filled those sweet baby blues. "Because I don't have a hold of my temper - I fucked them up, so, they fucked you up. This is my fault, I'm so sorry. But look, hey, I'll fix this, okay? I swear to God - I'm gonna fix this."

"The cops got 'em, we don't have t'do anything else," you mumbled. "You don't have to do anything else, Billy."

"Maybe not, but I can't let this go - look at you," a single tear dripped. "Fucking look at you, my sweet girl. In the fucking hospital 'cause of me - I can't - this ain't right. I gotta make it right."

You couldn't answer because a technician was arriving to take you for a CT, MRI, and X-Ray - all of those scans that would tell them what was going on internally. Hopper was seen outside the two boy's rooms - Billy following your bed closely as you where wheeled away. Every scan or test he could remain close for, he was; stepping back when needed, but being sucked right back to your side when able.

By the end of the night, you were released into Billy's care because all patients with head injuries had to have some kind of chaperone, and a few floors up, Steven and Jake were being handcuffed to their hospital beds by Hopper.

"Real lucky I wasn't there when you hit her," Jim Hopper seethed quietly, tightening the cuff on Jake to an uncomfortable grip. "Your parents would need money for your funerals - not bail," he offered one single more glare before leaving the next shift of deputies on duty. He sped all the way home and held Eleven in a suffocating hug.

Turns out, you sustained decent injuries from that night.

A (cleanly) broken ankle. Six different broken ribs. Split lip that required two stitches. Stitched earlobes from where piercings were ripped out. Severely bruised collarbones, bordering on broken. One blackened eye. Along with other generic bruises and cuts, more seemingly discovered as the days drug by slowly.

Billy was ready to mow down anyone in his way at any point, but his only ability to get through the school day was that he saw you everyday afterward. He dropped whatever sport and / or club that held his interest, collecting coursework you missed, then driving Max and "Jane" Hopper to your place. He would've lashed out if this was any other situation, but because you asked him to behave and bring you the materials you needed, he did. He played nice.

The two assailants, Steven and Jake, had been arrested by Jim Hopper. They apparently had a rough ride to the station, but that wasn't here or there. What they did to you was far worse that nobody batted a single lash when the two were brought in the station for booking, looking freshly beat up and bloodied. A judge also rejected their bail.

Billy brought you whatever work you missed during your recovery at home, most teachers shocked to see him so diligent in showing up and making the collections. He didn't understand whatever the teachers told him about the work, but you did - and it was fascinating to him, watching you work or study. He usually sat by your window to smoke, but on the occasion, you asked for a toke and wouldn't care about where the smoke blew. So, as weeks passed, he stopped specifically going over to your window; just leaving it open for ventilation so he could remain at your side.

Anything you needed, he got. He did. He gave you. Guilt was one helluva motivator and Billy was chalked-full; so, he did the only thing he knew he could, being acts of service.

You were laid up, it made sense. He could bring you into the shower, get naked himself and help you bathe. He could carry you downstairs, cook for you, help out around the house by keeping it clean because he knew it stressed you out. He would collect the mail, water plants, do dishes, just turned into a househusband that made your stomach and cheeks feel all warm and fuzzy. Never did you think Billy had the ability to be domestic, but here he was, in your great-grandmother's kitchen, wearing a stained apron while trying to bake cookies while you worked on a physics project.

"Hey, Bee?"

"What's wrong?" He asked instantly, setting the hot tray to the stove.

"No, hey, calm down," you smiled with a small laugh. "I was just wondering... You know, like... What's gotten into you?"

"Huh?"

"You know what I mean," you huffed, setting your pencil down. "You literally haven't let me out of your sight except when you're at school."

He shrugged, "You need help."

"You don't ask if I do."

"I don't need to ask when I can just see it."

"Billy."

He sighed and begrudgingly scraped cookies off the hot tray to rest on the cooling sheets. "Your dad asked me to stay close," he offered.

"Bullshit."

"No, really," Billy insisted. "He's in and out with work, so, he asked me to stick around, just in case."

"Okay, fine, but it's more than that. Billy, tell me the truth, baby, please. It's not a bad thing, I'm just curious what's really going on."

"I'm just... I'm just nervous, you know?"

Your head cocked, "Why's that?"

"Look what happened to you," he chuckled ruefully. "All fucked up, can't even go t'school until your ribs are healed - all 'cause of me. 'Cause I fucked up and went too far - "

"William," you snapped, making his wide, shocked eyes meet yours. "I'm not gonna listen to this anymore. Okay? I know you're sorry, you tell me everyday, andI know you're feeling guilty, but this isn't your fault, you're not the one who put hands on me - "

You flinched when he lobbed the cookie tray into the sink, causing a ruckus, his voice yelling over the noise, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"William!"

"I'm trying to protect you!" He yelled, tears swelling when he whipped around to face you. "I-I don't know what else to do! Look, okay, say what you fucking want, but the truth is, those two assholes came at you 'cause of me. Okay? 'Cause I had to be myself and beat the shit outta them 3 months ago, they never forgave - they didn't forget. I put you in this situation, that now? Now, yeah!" He laughed without humor. "Yeah! I'm fucking nervous leaving you alone! Fuck knows what could happen to you, and who's to say there aren't more people out there just waiting for this kinda opportunity! Baby!" He rushed for you at the kitchen table, your mouth sewn shut in shock as he found his knees in front of you and took both your hands in his. "Baby, listen to me. You're the only thing - no, I'm serious!" He insisted when you looked ready to protest this sentiment you've heard before. "You're the only thing I fucking care about, that I want to protect, and they all know it - I don't exactly hide it. I love you so fucking much, they'd do this again - they'd fucking hurt you to get to me and that idea just..." He sighed, looking lost.

You pulled a hand free to instantly caress his cheek, turning his attention upward until his eyes met yours. "Billy," you whispered, "baby, nobody's after us. This was just a freak accident, this was a fluke, okay? You're worried anyone else is gonna come at me, at us, but I know nobody else is that fucking stupid. They wouldn't test you, and Jake and Steven took advantage of an already bad situation. Okay? We had a fight - which was pretty public. So, people knew we were at odds, and when I showed up at that party alone, started drinking, it was their perfect opportunity to strike."

"You can't say that, we don't know if anyone else is gonna test us," he sniffled. "I've made a lot of mistakes... Pissed a lot of people off. One of them might've grown a pair."

"Okay," you relented, "then I guess we're gonna have to stick together, you know... So you can keep me safe, right?"

He chuckled dryly, "I'm trying, princess."

"Well, we can work out a better way - one that doesn't run you into the fucking ground, Billy, Jesus," you searched his face. "Are you sleeping? At all?"

"'Course I am - "

"Don't lie to me."

He sighed, deflating a little, "I sleep... Only when I stay here."

"Billy, you stay only a couple nights a week when Daddy's home."

"I know."

"So, you basically only sleep when Daddy's out of town and you stay here?" You squeaked, watching him nod; pouting and feeling your own guilt brew. "Baby... Look, can we just agree that this isn't either of our faults? Right? Yeah? If I'm not allowed to think this was my fault, you aren't either."

"I was the one they wanted t'hurt," he shook his head. "They did this 'cause of me, sweetheart, how can you be so - so - fuck! So fucking understanding a-and forgiving?"

"Because I love you," you answered like it was common knowledge, even giving a small giggle.

"That doesn't... But that doesn't even - "

"What? Mean anything? Bee, it means everything," you smiled at him. "I love you, so, when you make mistakes, I forgive you - even though there's nothing you've done. I mean," you winced slightly, "sure, maybe we could reduce the kids you bully or beat up, you know, limit the enemies we might make. And this is something that can be redeemed, can't it?"

He stared at you from the floor, slowly deflating, "Can it? I've fucked up so much, doll, I don't think I deserve whatever forgiveness you wanna give me."

"You can't keep beating yourself up," you snipped. "Hey? Hear me? Look, it happened - it fucking sucked, but it happened and it's fucking over. We both need one another to help move on, okay? So, I need you back, Bee, I need my man back because we need to get through this together. You don't get to sulk in your guilt, I don't get to stew in my regret, we need to help each other out of this."

Billy sniffled, "How? How do we move on when you've still got stitches in your lip?"

"They'll dissolve in a few days," you shrugged meekly. "We move on together, okay? Maybe you pick up basketball again, try to distract yourself. Billy, we need some normalcy again, right? You know?"

"Doll, being away from you makes me feel like my lungs are gonna pop," he shook his head. "I'm afraid something might happen if I'm not there, it's fucking scary after finding you in your own blood."

"Then I'll be at every practice," you eased. "You can drive me to and from school, then you know where I am - you'll know I'm safe."

Billy stared at you a moment, fully dropping to the floor as his energy finally drained. He ran a hand through his hair, rustling the curls, admitting in a soft voice, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not feel so guilty, how to move forward."

"There's no playbook," you agreed. "Guess it means we gotta figure it out ourselves, but again, we do it together. C'mere," you sighed, lowering yourself to the floor with your booted ankle held out.

"No, don't - "

"Fuck off, I'm not totally unable to do shit," you grunted, adjusting yourself and reaching for him. "Come here, please, I wanna hold you! Been cuddling me this whole time, lemme be the big spoon, please."

"Just told me to fuck off, sweetheart, kinda sending some mixed signals, aren't'cha?" He chuckled, turning so his back was to your chest; leaning so you supported him in his slump. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he muttered, holding the arm around his collarbones. "I really - if I knew this was gonna happen, I'd never of fought them."

"I know, and I forgive you," you whispered in his ear. "But we can't keep doing this back and forth, okay? I forgive you, Billy, no more apologies."

He sighed, "Yeah... All right..."

"Steven and Jake are arrested, we won't have t'see them again. Hopper will make sure of that," you smirked against the shell of his ear. "And the doctors said I should be good to return to school next week, but I'm out of cheer and everything."

He groaned, "Just something else I've fucked up for you."

"Oh, please, I love the time off," you teased. "Gives me all the time I need to watch my man on the court, huh?" He half-chuckled at your words. "You know I'm ahead in all my classes now, too? Teaching myself at home is far superior than the teacher's bitching at us for eight hours."

"You're gonna love college, baby," he chuckled, the two of you lulling into a comfortable silence. You held him tightly, nuzzled into his neck; both sitting in your emotions, trying to navigate a way out.

"We good?" You whispered.

"We're good," Billy agreed, just as soft. "No more apologies... Try to have less guilt. But you're gonna let me stay close, right?"

"I want you clinging to me so hard, I can't fucking breathe," you smirked. "And if Daddy really asked you to stick around, then you're welcome to stay here longer, even if he's here... Where I can have you close to me," you whispered, licking the skin under his ear. He stiffened.

"No - you better not," he squirmed when you licked again, adding a little teeth in a scrape.

"Billy," you pouted. "It's been weeks!"

"You're still hurt," he argued, turning on the floor to look at you. "I'm not gonna be responsible for breaking another of your ribs 'cause we were horny."

"I'm doing so much better, though!"

"Tell you what," he smirked. "Next business trip of your dad's, I'll fuck you all weekend - wherever you want, however you want."

"He has one in two weeks."

"Mhm, and you have a check up before he leaves."

You eyed him for a moment, "When did you become responsible?"

"I've always been."

"No, this is new. You're remembering dates and my doctor appointments and my dad's work schedule."

"Maybe I just like taking care of you," he whispered against your lips with a growing smirk. After pecking you lips, he quipped, "So, shut up and let me."

"Yes, sir."

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[hamstermastersamster]

So I feel like The Callisto Protocol may have been reviewed a bit harshly, but after finishing it tonight, I also feel like it's just . . . a super mid, lacklustre game somehow. I had some fun with it, and visually it was nice in that generic AAA way, and some of the jump scares got me, but it was lacking something. It left me feeling like I caught a tantalising whiff of my beloved sci-fi horror, and then the waiter lifted the lid off the plate and it was a tiny salad >:[

I think its cardinal sins are:

Too much gore and horror and viscera and dead bodies in your face right from the get-go, and then it's everywhere all the time so it loses its impact. The whole game feels aesthetically gross (affectionate) but you get desensitised to it basically as soon as you're in the prison

Tedious combat, because really only the melee is effective or enjoyable and once you master how many times to dodge for each enemy, it becomes repetitive no matter how many mobs they throw at you at once (they mostly wait in line to hit you, very polite mutated freaks these lads are)

Shitty guns that aren't visually, audibly or otherwise satisfying to use in any way, and are about as effective as a pea shooter on most enemies. Even when fully upgraded the 'explosive' rounds just look like a little flurry of pathetic sparks - and speaking of . . .

Shitty upgrades that did not stimulate or excite me or feel like they had any major impact on anything

Found myself absolutely starving for a map. While I respect its decision to keep to a really minimal interface without objective markers, map etc. and acknowledge that this can be a valid Game Design Choice, this doesn't really work if you're also going to do that irritating thing where you cut players off from going back if they accidentally go the 'right' way too early. And this happens without points-of-no-return being clearly marked - like a door will just lock behind you without warning or good reason, and that's it :\ Plus I'm just biased towards metroidvania-esque map exploration and progression in my survival horror, what can I say xP

On top of previous point, randomised loot ughhhh . . . and limited inventory space with poorly-spaced vending machines to sell your sellable crap. If you can get 2-3 vends in 5 minutes and then go an hour without one, leaving you to constantly have to optimise the value of your inventory and leave shit behind, it's . . . it's just bad game design, man. And it makes exploring worthless and unrewarding when you know you can't pick anything else up anyway! This is different in map-heavy games because you can plan return trips and stuff, but it's not really possible in TCP.

You can manual save but this actually does nothing but bank your last auto checkpoint, meaning AFTER a checkpoint you could go into the vending machine, sell and upgrade lots of stuff to your liking, wander off and die, and reload and . . . have to do all the inventory shit again. Guess who this happened to, multiple times!

But, y'know, if you like survival horror and sci-fi horror, I'd still give it a shot. It has atmosphere and a decent enough plot, even if it doesn't really do anything original or outstanding.

EDIT: Oh but DO NOT PLAY IF EPILECTIC, there's a lot of strobe and flickering lighting in some areas.

[frost-felon]

Thunderclap, Part 2 got me in a grip, for better and worse. Remembered to use a Read More this time.

So, my issues with the character animation on Sukuna? Part 2 delivered¹, though almost in the other extreme, lmao. He's such a prick, and Yuji paid the price via a simplistic frame during one of his most defining character moments. I did actually like much of how they adapted Yuji's breakdown and decision to soldier on, though it felt comparatively rushed to the manga, even accounting for the differences of animation versus the art of manga. EDIT: Having re-read that chapter, they definitely fucked over Yuji. His breakdown is given significantly more pause and elaboration on what he's actually thinking of ("I wonder why I have to be executed." juxtaposed with the answer: Yuji's life isn't worth more than the suffering Sukuna causes, even to Yuji himself.) in the manga, whereas the anime portrays it as if ALL OF THAT happened in like, two minutes in JJK time. Disappointing, as I really thought MAPPA would give that scene the weight it deserves. It's not nearly as much of a sucker-punch low in that episode, at least to me.

Uraume still got cucked, lmao, getting hit with the blur for half of their minimal screentime in this episode. Not as off-putting as last episode's, so I'm hoping to see more attention to Uraume later. EDIT: Having re-read that chapter, Uraume loses the depth-ambiguity in the manga scene.

Mahoraga fight was adapted extensively, which while hardly surprising, oozed a feeling of, "We gotta hype up Mahoraga for later." One thing I really liked was the additional civilian kills, for fleshing out the anime's depiction of Shibuya's liveliness (and then the wasteland it partially becomes); one thing I took issue with were the civilian kills via Sukuna's Domain. Unless my brightness wasn't up high enough, we didn't get to see Dismantle in a way that sticks/is informative and impactful, like how the manga handled it.

I liked how the abominable twink's death was handled. Haruta's characterization seemed notably different from the way he was portrayed in the manga, though. Rough for all eight of his fans.

I felt iffy on the explanations in this episode--some of the vital information seemed to be skipped, not just adapted visually (that is, shown with clever framing/animation-direction instead of narrated). This seemed to come at expense of showing off Sukuna's insight, though the bastard still made a good showing throughout his time in this arc.

Praying that Yuji gets great character-animation for the rest of these episodes. I doubt MAPPA will pass up the absolute state of this lad in the end-chapters of Shibuya Incident, but I need to see how he's handled before that. The way they handled him in this episode has weakened the doubt.

That one still of Yuji that they used twice reminded me of holding-shot issues in the Maki VS. Mai fight and I think part of the defensive against Hanabi in S1. It's just not a compelling enough frame to stay on for so long, especially compared to how the manga showed changes in Yuji's expressions in each panel. It definitely didn't deserve to be used twice, though the part showing his fingers rising to grip his head was nice. Actually groaned when they held on it again. I'm aware that budget/time-constraints likely played into why the scene was adapted this way.

Also, EVIL to use "SPECIALZ" there, though I guess that gives us a better idea of what the OP was meant to point to. I still see it as an overall summation of the "Everybody knows that shit's fucked!"vibe of Shibuya Incident. I can't remember what exactly I said when it cut to the ED, but that was a remarkably evil choice, too, to keep it fully-intact.

Also, heyyyyy, Nanami! You look...like you really need to see Ieri. Bet we're gonna have fun with him in the next episode.

¹Rereading the chapters had made me once again appreciate the differences in how manga Sukuna and anime Sukuna are depicted. I miss the bit where Sukuna gets surprise-decked, though the "oh shit" expression he had later in the anime was fun.

Bonus: Tags that didn't age well.

I don't have a whole lot of thoughts on Episode 16/Thunderclap, but man, the changes to how the scenes where Sukuna takes enjoyment in playing with the lives of the 'weak' and the reunion with Uraume suck the wind out of my sails. I have some problems with how MAPPA has adapted the Premature Burial -> Shibuya Incident chapters (Mechamaru/Kokichi, my guy, what did they do to you--), but I was really hoping to see the emotions present adapted in a way that was faithful to the intent of the panels, even if it wasn't the same. And it's like...the expressions were kept, but they were shadowed, zoomed-out, or both. That strikes me as such a loss, since Sukuna is shown to be outright giddy when he's wrecking shit in Yuji's body. Sure, he made fun of Yuji when the latter was made hopeless witness to Junpei's demise, but he hasn't shown emotions like this since Yuji tried to kick Sukuna's ass after calling Sukuna's bluff in Chapter 10/Episode...5 or 6, can't remember. Hell, you could probably argue that even then, he wasn't filled with as much glee. Mirth, perhaps, but this is different.

Sukuna genuinely seems to be elated at having control during Shibuya, even though he knows it will be short-lived. It's not hard to see why--he's Yuji's prisoner most of the time. Whether he admits it or not, he's bound to Yuji's whims, with his only levels of control being: he can refuse to give his power to Yuji, and he's got the Binding Vow that Yuji can't remember. That's it. Don't get me wrong, Sukuna holds a lot of power and control over Yuji, but Yuji ultimately decides if Sukuna gets to feel the breeze on any given day. And in most cases, understandably, he chooses to not give Sukuna that freedom.

So Sukuna getting some time to do whatever without Yuji's interference? You can bet that he's high on life.

And when Sukuna sees Uraume, he appears actually excited. Uraume is, likewise, rather pleased that Sukuna is around. They're doing this at each other in the manga:

Is it so wrong, MAPPA, to want to preserve what crumbs of characterization we can get for either of these two? I know that MAPPA probably won't fuck with a certain Uraume scene later, but damn, I miss the touches on character animation.

Anyways, Yuji will suffer regardless, as Gege intended.

[arcanelaurels]

I just read your "kravitz and taako meet at a (college?) party and taako's super drunk" fic and loved it. Did you ever/could you ever write a follow up to that scene?

✨Like My Work? Buy Me a Coffee!✨

Part 1

“Hmmmm…”

Taako absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair that hung below him as he dangled upside down halfway off of his bed.

“Hmmmmmm…”

He shook out his hair and sat up, imagining that he probably looked quite glamorous as his hair fell forward to frame his face. He ruffled it a couple times for good measure (despite the fact that no one could see him), then tapped his phone against his chin a couple times. He unlocked it to look at his contacts page. For a few moments, his thumb hovered over the screen in hesitation.

“Ughhh!” He groaned and fell back so he was hanging upside down again. 

It had been three days since he’d gotten sloppily drunk at a party and thrown himself at that (extremely sexy) classmate of his. Three days since Magnus had thoroughly embarrassed him even more than he’d embarrassed himself. Three days since Kravitz had given him his number.

I hope you’ll text me sometime. When you’re sober, that is.

Taako was most definitely sober now. And tomorrow he had his class with Kravitz. It would be a bit awkward to see him in person again without texting him. 

But he just couldn’t fucking do it.

What was he supposed to say? Hey, it’s me. Cha’boy. You know, the guy who basically assaulted you while drunk? Sooo…you wanna go out sometime?

As if.

He groaned again - loudly - and sat back up. He’d spent the past three hours trying to figure out how to text Kravitz. Three hours. That’s more time than he spent on anything other than cooking, primping, or studying (though he wouldn’t admit that last one to anyone but his sister). Three hours of fruitless brainstorming. He absentmindedly ruffled his hair and flipped it a couple times as he glanced around his room, searching for ideas.

His eyes landed on where Kravitz’s jacket was hanging off the back of his chair. Taako grinned as an idea formed in his head.

Kravitz was beginning to regret giving Taako his number.

Three days and zero texts. Either Taako wasn’t as into him as it seemed, or he was too embarrassed about his behavior that night to contact him. But he didn’t really seem like the kind of guy to let embarrassment get in his way. 

He nervously fidgeted with his pencil, rapidly tapping it against his textbook. He’d been trying to study the entire weekend but was too distracted. Why did he give Taako his number? Why didn’t he ask for Taako’s number instead?

No, that wouldn’t have worked. He never would’ve gotten up the nerve to text him. But at least then he would’ve known that the lack of communication was his own fault. This was just agony. 

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone vibrating with a notification. He grabbed it - a bit too eagerly - and saw that he’d gotten a text from an unknown number. Oh gods. Kravitz took a breath before opening the text.

He spluttered a bit when he saw what Taako had sent him. It was a photo - nothing racy, but quite the glamour shot - of Taako wearing the jacket that Kravitz had loaned him. He was biting his lip and had one hand running through his hair in a suggestive pose. Underneath the picture, two more messages appeared.

Unknown Number: i think ill be keeping this bad boy for myselfUnknown Number: looks pretty good on me dontcha think?

Kravitz needed a few moments to process. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? As he tried to gather his thoughts, he took the time to add Taako’s number to his contacts. After a few more moments, he came up with what he hoped was a sufficient reply. Gods, he hated flirting over text.

     Me: I think you’d look better out of it

It only took a couple moments for Taako to reply, but it was quite possibly the longest few moments of Kravitz’s existence.

Taako: ooo spicy boyTaako: at least buy me dinner first     Me: Is that all it takes?

Kravitz grimaced with immediate regret as he waited for a response.

Taako: listenTaako: you already saw me at that partyTaako: i think any semblance of integrity is already out the window my dude

Kravitz chuckled - nervously - and tapped his fingers on the table as he tried to gather up the courage to send another message.

Taako sat in his bed as he waited for Kravitz’s next text. He pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging the jacket tighter around himself . It was just because it was a really comfy jacket. And he wanted to make sure it smelled like him when he gave it back to Kravitz. It definitely had nothing to do with the crush he had on that guy.

Krav Boy: So do you want to go to dinner, then?

Taako chewed on his lip. He supposed it was his fault for making that dinner joke, but he didn’t know how to tell Kravitz that he didn’t really like any of the restaurants nearby. 

           Me:  ehhh dinners too basicKrav Boy: Do you have better ideas for a second date?           Me: SECOND date????Krav Boy: Yeah, the party was our first date           Me: you got a pretty fuckin wild idea of what constitutes a date my dudeKrav Boy: How so?Krav Boy: We danced, we had a nice conversation, and I dropped you off at your place           Me: i think you mean           Me: i threw myself at you           Me: i overshared about my dumb problems           Me: my “”””friend”””” exposed me           Me: and then you nagged me to drink waterKrav Boy: Forgive me. I won’t refer to it as a date, then

Taako sighed. Who the fuck texted so formally? He was going to have to work with him on that if they ever got past a second date.

Well, depending on what classified as a date.

           Me: you hear about that new place that opened up on campus?Krav Boy: You’ll have to be a bit more specific than thatKrav Boy: I don’t really keep up with campus activities

Taako rolled his eyes. Hopeless.

           Me: its one of those wine and pottery placesKrav Boy: Oh, I’ve never been to one of those. What’s it called?           Me: the chug n squeeze

There were a few moments of silence where there wasn’t even any indication that Kravitz was typing out a response. Taako was starting to wonder what was going on when his phone rang. 

“Hullo?” He asked, sitting up straight.

“The Chug N Squeeze?!” Kravitz’s voice came out in an undignified wheeze of laughter.

Taako couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of his laugh. “Yeah, my dude.”

“I thought you were pulling my leg but I looked it up and it’s real.”

“Duh, I wouldn’t lie to you.” Taako twirled his hair around one finger. “Why’d you call me?”

“I, uh, I’m not a big fan of texting,” Kravitz said. “And I’m not too good at it.”

Yeah, no kidding. “Ah.”

“So would you like to go to the Chug N Squeeze with me this Friday?”

Ugh. Friday was so far away. But dates on weekdays were never fun. And besides, he’d get to see Kravitz in class before then. “Hell yeah, homie.”

There was a pause where Taako could practically feel Kravitz grin. “It’s a date.”

“Sounds good. Oh,” Taako hesitated, taking a millisecond to have an inner debate about what he wanted to say next. “Make sure to save me a seat tomorrow, kay? You always get to class way before me.”

“O-Oh. Yeah- Yes!” Kravitz stuttered. “I will.”

Couldn’t text or talk, it seemed. Taako smiled to himself. “Alright, see ya then.”

“See you.”

Taako hung up just as Lup burst into his room.

“Hey if I took a skeleton an- What the fuck are you wearing?!” She stopped dead in her tracks with an outright offended look on her face.

Taako felt his face grow hot as he grasped for a response. Kravitz’s jacket was very nice, but it was nowhere near Taako’s style.

“Uhhhh stole it from a guy,” He responded, trying his best to sound nonchalant about it.

She crossed her arms, very clearly not believing it. “And what possessed you to steal that jacket?”

Taako smacked his lips and opened his mouth to answer. “Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…” He trailed off, blinking repeatedly as he failed his Deception roll. “Don’t know.”

Her ears perked up as if she’d just realized something. “Did someone give it to you?” She asked, a devious grin on her face.

“No.”

“Liar!” She took a running leap for his bed, landing forcefully enough to make Taako grab the mattress in an attempt to avoid being flung off his own bed. She pulled her legs under herself to sit cross-legged and clasped her hands together, resting her chin on them to give Taako her undivided attention. “Tell me his name!”

Taako wished with every inch of his soul that he could stop his cheeks from burning. “No. fuck you.”

“Taakooooooooo,” Her ears drooped and she pouted. “Pleeeeeeeaaaaasssse!”

“Get out of my room.”

“I’m not leaving till you tell meeeeeeee.”

Taako scowled at his sister, who stared right back with an indignant look. With each passing second, he could feel his willpower being worn down. Fuck.

“Fine! Gods, you win!” He threw his hands in the air and refused to meet Lup’s triumphant gaze. “Asshole. His name’s Kravitz.”

Lup frowned in thought and Taako grimaced as he waited for her to figure out where she’d heard that name before.

Her eyes suddenly widened in realization. “Is that the guy you said you would give-”

“SHUT UP!”

She leaned forward and excitedly drummed on Taako’s knees. “You got a date with that guy?! How? I thought he was, like, way out of your league!”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Taako’s embarrassment was pushed to the side as he sat up to argue with his sister. “Second of all, I won him over with my charms.”

“So you made out with him while drunk?”

“No!” He said indignantly, crossing his arms.

Lup laughed. “Then what’d you do?”

“I…” Taako trailed off, knowing full well that he did not want to recount the events of that night to his sister. “I mean I did. Sorta. He wouldn’t let me.”

“Ooo, a gentleman?” She sat up straight and put on a posh accent. “This fellow sounds like quite the catch. How does he plan to court you, my dear brother?”

“Gods, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“I love you too!”

[skiyoosmi]

post-break up heartaches

⤷ verse 2. in the dreams that we once shared

⤷ miya osamu, bokuto koutarou

⤷ verse 1 | verse 3

⤷ play. sorrow by sleeping at last, wrong direction by hailee steinfield

commissions: open

⇢ OSAMU stays still in his seat, melancholic eyes contrasting your bright ones while you twirl around in the middle of the ballroom. he admits, your dream wedding gown fit your figure perfectly as it flowed so gracefully the more you moved. but no beauty can compare to the happiness on your face as you danced with his previous volleyball teammate; the latter having a small smile on his face, not even having a single care about the funny looks you've been getting from your distant relatives. despite the minimal expression he adorns, to someone who has known him for a long time, it's clear as day just how ecstatic suna rintaro was to declare you as his wife, just as you were to call him your husband.

that could've been us, his mind screams all throughout the time he's been in the wedding ceremony, that could've been him dancing with you. he remembers little by little— how those smiles and laughters used to be solely for him whenever you try out his new recipes, from tasty to funny, how he used to be the one suddenly dragged to dance with you, how you used to dream of being married to him. him and only him.

but time was a cruel thing. he should've known better than to keep you waiting for more than so many years with nothing but empty and broken promises. i'll be done soon, yn, you know how much this means to me, this is my dream we're talking about here. stop being selfish please— he recalls himself telling you. he fails to see the disappointment and hurt that cross your eyes, fails to protect the already fragile relationship as you say your goodbye's to him a few more arguments and weeks later— i'm sorry for holding you back, samu. make sure to reach your dreams, okay?

i'm sorry. no matter how many times he says it, your fate was already done with him. you only needed him and he couldn't even give you that.

"hey there, stranger. wanna dance for a bit?"

he looks up, blinded by your brightness that almost seemed as if it mocked his sappy mood but he nods nevertheless, taking your hands as you pull him to the dance floor. in his peripheral view, he sees suna give him a wholehearted smile.

"you should stop frowning. it doesn't suit your face you know? what did you do to my lively samu?" you huff after a few minutes of nothing but silence and awkwardness while you swayed side to side with him, pouting when he shrugs, "you're such a gloomy ass! are you still in love with me or something?"

you swear it was supposed to be a joke, something to lighten the air between you two. but how were you supposed to laugh when he replied to you in the way you least expected?

"yeah, actually, i still am."

silence engulfed the two of you as you tried to overcome your shock. and for all the years he has been with you, it was painfully obvious that the answer he hopes for will not come. not now, not ever.

"samu... it's been—"

"i know. almost 8 years, is it? i know but i can't help it, yn. how could i when you're literally all i see everywhere i look?"

you fail to give him back a reply and (un)fortunately, he feels a tap on his shoulder and immediately, he knew it was time. he lets go of your waist and turns around, heart ready to get drowned by the bitter wine he's planning to drink all throughout the night, accompanied by the tears he won't be able to let out until he comes back to his hotel room.

"congratulations on your wedding, yn."

he ignores the hollowness inside him brought about by the unfinished conversation and goes back to his seat and repeats it like a mantra: not all fairytales get their happy ending.

and much to his dismay, his was one of those that don't.

⇢ BOKUTO was a star, luminous and blinding yet always longing to be part of the galaxy that held the awe of many other people. he was a child with dreams that wander all over the world and with confidence, he wants hear it, see that same world cheer for him.

he was an enormous star but his dreams were even bigger— and as he reaches out his hand to take more of what the universe can give him, he unknowingly lets go of yours.

"you look like you've dropped a huge shit on your underwear with the way you're staring down the court," konoha comments as he takes the seat he reserved beside you, hands deep in his pocket while he does so.

you glare at him, scoffing at his vulgar choice of words, "and you look like that shit, asshole. we haven't seen each other for so long and that's how you greet me?"

he laughs out loud, opening his arms and shoving you in them, "here! is this what you wanted instead? so adorable, yn! i knew you loved me at some point!"

you let out a series of groans, struggling to get out of his hold, "no! you're so annoying, get off me!"

he cackles, releasing you as the buzz rings out throughout the whole court, signaling the beginning of the match between msby and schweiden adlers. you shift in your seat, watching the players get introduced one by one, gasping when your ex-boyfriend literally does two cartwheels in his turn. is he... serious?

"where does he think he is... some kind of circus?" konoha snickers, shaking his head in amusement. oddly, you find yourself laughing with your companion. after all, this was typical bokuto, so full of energy and surprises.

"he looks... okay. very much okay," you bitterly state, placing your chin right on your palm as your arms and elbows rested on your lap. envy envelops your whole being as you watch him lively wave to the crowds, a large grin staying on his face. you huff silently, eyes trying to look at the other players but gravity seems to be playing its tricks on you as you find yourself reverting back to his figure. you wonder if time will let you become that happy someday.

"you're not...?" the lad beside you trails off, sighing when you shake your head 'no.'

"of course not yet, aki. it's not that i still love him or anything but he's just... he was everything, you know? he's become part of all my routines and now that he's gone, it... it just feels empty. like the dreams that used to help me sleep at night suddenly went away," he nods, not pushing you to say anything further. you both knew better than to have a shameful breakdown in public.

"god, i keep forgetting that the air conditioning in here is the worst," you grumble under your breath, rubbing your hands together to keep them from freezing out... because bokuto was no longer there to keep them warm, no longer there to offer you his own hands because you both forgot your gloves at home, no longer there to blow on them as if it was effective (it distracted you both at least), no longe—

"here, give me your hand," konoha reaches out to you, palms awaiting for yours to be in contact with his. you blink, surprised by his sudden offer, along with the pink hues that dusted both sides of his cheeks.

"we can't have them becoming numb, can we? i... i want to hold these hands for a very long time, you know?" he stutters as he begins rubbing both of your hands together, successfully getting rid of the cold and providing a new warmth you never expected will come sooner. oh... it's time, huh?

"uhm... yeah... thank you," you felt your face get hot. it seems like something... rather, someone has come to distract from the coldness you've been recently feeling.

"give me your days," he coughs out, still blushing. if anything, he's flushing even more now, "i'll fill the emptiness in them... and... and i can be your dream so you can sleep tight... and you'll be mine."

you gape at him, thousands of scenes flying through your mind but all of them led to one specific scenario.

"i... i have a lot of dreams, yn! i want to become a star player, someone who everyone will look up to and cheer for! and i... i think i want to focu—"

"i get it, bo. i'll get out of your way then. thank you... for everything."

"i-i'll be your dream?"

konoha chokes on his own saliva, "y-yeah! don't make me repeat it though, do you even know how cheesy that sounds? i can't believe i just said that, god... the things you make me do, you...!"

"okay."

it was his turn to blink, "e-eh?"

"i guess this is day one then?"

"eh?! wait... we... we're dating now, right?!"

"shut up now, aki."

as his golden eyes observe the two figures sitting by the stands, bokuto wishes he could've seen sooner that you were the one he had always been dreaming of, yearning for; wishes it could be him that was holding your hands again and he swears to whoever god there is, he won't let go of them anymore.

but then again, it seems like you were finally ready to wander with someone that wasn't him— who was he to stop you from doing so?

he was just a star;

you were the whole universe,

his universe.

© SKIYOOSMI, 2021. reposting, translating, editing, copying and any kind of plagiarism are strictly prohibited, thank you.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Webcomic Chapter 140 Review: it can always get worse

Or... there’s no such thing as catching a break

That ONE likes to give Genos endless hardship is a thing we can’t help but note.  No sooner does Genos learn to deal with one problem than ‘BAM!’ he’s hit with a bigger one.  Quite literally at times.  Add that to the webcomic’s frenetic pace and you have a real ‘let’s toss him off a cliff and see if he figures out how to fly before he hits the rocks’ moment here.

So, as soon as dealing with dragon-level monsters by himself was no longer a huge deal, what happens but Genos has a conversation with Drive Knight.  Drive Knight happens to know the magic words for getting Genos’s undivided attention -- ‘mad cyborg’.  He’s blamed it all on Bofoi and we were getting quite worried about what Genos was going to do.

What he did was not fly off the handle and instead think of Saitama’s derpy face and get a hold of himself.  Good lad!

He firmly tells Drive Knight that he doesn’t trust him and won’t work with him but instead is going to consult the people he does trust to decide what to do.  That statement might have been a critical error, but they part ways peaceably enough.

He meets up with Saitama and they go to Dr Kuseno’s place for the long-anticipated meeting.  As to Saitama, he decided he liked the doctor once the latter fixed his Gameboy (I bet it’s King’s...).  He made himself right at home, lounging on a futon while they talked and set to roasting Genos, pointing out that he didn’t really have a chance of taking on Metal Knight.   So harsh...

Nevertheless it turns out to be quite a pleasant visit.   The doctor has laid in some super high quality meat which gets barbequed at table, it’s all very congenial... and saitama falls asleep right away in the body scanner.  So much for having trouble sitting still!

And then.  Oh my god.  And then.  Outside in the forest a group of cyborgs gather.  One takes aim at the house...

...and Saitama is woken to the sound of an alarm.   As he calls out to Genos and Kuseno to find out what’s wrong, we cut to Genos crading Dr Kuseno.  He’s been shot in the chest and it’s not looking good at all.

Meta: Peace was never an option:(

ONE, this is just too cruel.   I’m actually out of words.

Edit: I found my words.

I don’t mind reading or watching stories in which major characters die. I just adjust my level of investment in any character appropriately.   So Dr Kuseno’s apparent demise blindsided me.  So much so I got up and called it an early night... then had a terrible night’s sleep.

Even if he’s not dead, I barely feel better.  ONE is nothing if not punctilious about money, time, energy and opportunity cost.   The doctor has money, but how much of it is available to Genos?  On what timescale?  How much time and energy is it going to eat up for Genos trying to care for the doctor?  How many problems has he got if they need to relocate from their no-longer secret base?  What can he safeguard? Does he even know what needs taking?  And opportunity cost -- minimally, there’s a group of cyborgs up to evil.  There may be more bad actors in the mix.  What opportunities to stop injustices is Genos missing out on?  

And that’s all before we consider the drastic changes Genos will have to make to how he approaches fights now that there’s no longer anyone to pick up the pieces.  

If you’re into ‘found family’ tropes, then Genos and Kuseno being each other’s second family was so touching.  We’d known for a long time that they were really close.  The manga in particular had been really good at showing this to us.  Just as it started getting that bit better, it’s been torn asunder.

But most of all, peace was never an option. The cyborgs who came and attacked the very evening that Genos turned down Drive Knight... that’s an outfit that was always going to hunt them down.  Their secrecy, their drive to find justice, all of that are no longer the actions of strangely obsessed people; they’re the actions of people who really are facing a relentless and determined enemy who really, really doesn’t want to be stopped.

What’s going to happen next?  I don’t know exactly, but it’ll be a long time before we see Genos with a happy smile again, I’m sure.

[atlas-stonks-of-the-people]

Someone said they wanted t’ see me Minecraft World, so here’s th’ post fer that.

Some notes: The mod I play with is th’ Fossil an’ Archeology Revival. Me mun doesn’t really play without it. The skin o’ me (yes, that’s me! Atlas!) was made by a lasso called LinkGIF on Planet Minecraft.

Now, a wee lil’ tour of my world beneath th’ cut! Because I don’t wanna have this post be too long c:

This is me base! I have so many screenshots, lads, lassies, an’ lassos, I don’t wanna crop ‘em all. Anyway! I have a wee lil’ dodo in me front yard, an’ th’ base itself is a museum on the first two floors, an’ livin’ quarters in th’ loft. Lovely, yes? Th’ three points o’ biomes is very nice, especially since I’ve only been seein’ ocean few a good while now.

So! Here’s a tour o’ th’ inside!

Th’ two villagers are Lonnie an’ Moira. Lonnie is th’ one in blue, Moira is th’ one in th’ off-white.

An’ that’s what’s open to th’ public. Ah, but since yer me pal, I’ll invite ya further on. But shhh, don’t tell th’ visitors what’s further on, it’s between us c;

It’s storage. But not really! Notice those stairs? That’s ‘cause we’re goin’ to th’ livin’ quarters!

Where there’s books galore! This side is my “room” o’ th’ quarters.

An’ this is Lonnie’s side. But no one used that bed, if ya know what I mean hehe. We cuddle at nights ‘cause Lonnie is my boyfriend an’ Moira’s me wife. An’ I’m jus’ a wee lil’ manlet, in bliss between me two tall partners. It’s great.

Anyway, time fer animals! This is my kelenken, Bok! (Play on Booker, heheh. I’m jus’ simplifyin’ names because... I honestly ferget why)

These are my unnamed cows an’ their lovely barn c:

These are my male an’ female parasaurolophous (if that’s how it’s spelt, it’s far too long a word fer me. I’m jus’ an Irish farmer turned Rapture revolutionary), th’ red one is th’ male Augget, th’ other is the female Senkar (I remember th’ reason fer simplified names). I wanna give them a bigger enclosure soon.

These are me favorites so far! Unfortunately, they’re unnamed, but they’re both diplocalous. Jus’ wee lil’ guys, I love ‘em, so cute! An’ both a male an’ female in th’ pond :D

This smilodon had a name before bein’ cultivated, an’ it’s Regge. She jus’ simply loves to play with th’ balls in ‘er enclosure. Also immediately killed her pig mother.

This is Andu, th’ female trex. An’ what a lass she is! Such a big girl she’s gotten t’ be, huh? An’ not even fully grown (or tamed)!

An’ I put this lil’ thingy ‘ere fer feedin’ Andu. I jus’ hope Andrew sees this, takes pride in bein’ a trex, then gets insulted by ‘er bein’ in an inclosure an’ not runnin’ a thing lol.

An’ here’s th’ current herbivore enclosure. Th’ ankylosaurs are Dee an’ Jonni, an’ th’ triceratops (who got out in th’ image that started this post) is Jak. I’m gonna need t’ expand an’ edit th’ walls. I wanna add more animals + apparently large animals can glitch through th’ walls an’ get free. Andu got free an’ that gave me a wee bit o’ panic but nothin’ happened an’ I got her back in her enclosure.

Finally, we have th’ newest addition to th’ world: Fank th’ velociraptor. They jump an’ climb, so a roofed enclosure was a must. Not sure I like th’ look, if I’m honest.

But! Fank’s jus’ a wee lil’... lasso because I didn’t check th’ sex yet (or at least, don’t recall doin’ that). Here’s hopin’ it don’t cause me much trouble. Very cute, though, certainly next t’ th’ diplocalous now that I think ‘bout it.

I’m hopin’ t’ add this moose lookin’ animal soon, as well as th’ four stegosaurus that I have eggs off, a pteranodon, an’ these orange aquatic lookin’ eggs. I don’t have th’ names ‘cause I turned off th’ game so I could make this post with minimal laggin’ (that actually did not help if I’m honest but oh well I got it t’ work in th’ end. Rapture ain’t got wifi, after all, so me situation is odd).

Hope ya enjoyed a wee lil’ tour of me Minecraft world! Thank you fer readin’! Have a lovely day ‘r night, lads, lassies, an’ lassos <3

[marcholasmoth]

I posted 1,468 times in 2021

366 posts created (25%)

1102 posts reblogged (75%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.0 posts.

I added 2,080 tags in 2021

#sunshine boy - 338 posts

#osrr - 337 posts

#molly rambles - 336 posts

#operation srr - 336 posts

#2000s - 333 posts

#2400s - 101 posts

#2500s - 97 posts

#2600s - 80 posts

#ffs ff love me pls - 66 posts

#2300s - 56 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#reblogging this again for the added commentary about these musicians because they are bomb ass motherfuckers and deserve to be treated so

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

OSRR: 2365

i got my hair done yall

(the braids are not my hair but it is the same color.)

i don't really have a great picture of it because it's hard to do that with a shoulder that's acting up and i didn't do it anyway. it's an undercut but it looks like a normal haircut when it's all down, but i figure it'll rarely be down because i can't handle it down. but the back is fuzzy and i like it! but it's apparently a pain in the ass to lie down on. who knows.

i also helped my mom with a few things, and then i sorta fell into a funk and i couldn't shake it. i texted kat a little bit, and when i told her i couldn't make a decision on what i wanted to eat she told me that making decisions is hard for people with adhd. so that's helpful to know.

but after driving about for a bit i stopped at newbury comics an lad got myself a coloring book and a funko pop of einstein because who doesn't love albert einstein. if they had one of hakeem oluseyi i would be all over that, the man is literally my favorite scientist.

oh! speaking of funko pops, i also got one in that i ordered:

b a k u g o

yknow, the special limited edition one that's kinda rare but really expensive? yeah, that one. it came in today i think and when i realized that THAT was what was in the box, i took it in my little goblin hands and scuttled through the house to my room so i could place him in an appropriate location. i need to get kiri and put them next to each other. which is entirely WHY i got this specific bakugo, because he's in his full hero costume, and the box has his full name on it, and so does kiri's! and i couldn't have one without the other. it's just not possible. so i got him.

anyway, i got to spend the evening with joel! we just hung out upstairs in the warm and got five guys for dinner and watched tv for a bit. it was really nice to just hang out with him. for all the time i spend here at his house, i feel like i don't get to see him a whole lot. which is fine, because we both have lives outside of each other, but it's just odd to be here and not see him. given i have shit to do and he has shit he wants to do, that makes sense.

anyway, my and my bright-ass fire truck red hair are gonna go to sleep. i am EXHAUSTED.

14 notes • Posted 2021-01-24 06:41:45 GMT

#4

here's the painting i did today. didn't feel good so i depression-painted. you can't see it well, but the base water is matte while there accents of glossy black on top. the rest of the paint is also glossy.

the trees and outcropping on the left are my favorite.

and i free handed that circle.

16 notes • Posted 2021-07-25 09:28:29 GMT

#3

having titties is a fucking curse

21 notes • Posted 2021-01-20 09:10:32 GMT

#2

of all the pranks on the internet, rickrolling never lets me down

93 notes • Posted 2021-03-31 21:30:16 GMT

#1

"God that's a mouthful"

it's a kiribaku fic, my first one, be nice

--

Reporters clamor to the front of the pack, cameras and microphones knocking into each other as they all try to get a glimpse of what's happening.

Bakugou Katsuki - a.k.a. Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God, Dynamight - has just taken down seven villains simultaneously, with only minimal damage to the office building they tried planting a bomb in to get to the bank vault next door. A bomb the size they planted would have been much more destructive than Bakugou's controlled explosions. That's why they sent him and Red Riot, a.k.a. Kirishima Eijirou, in. Besides, the two never go anywhere without the other anyway. Something about them being married, but that was just a rumor. Judging by the matching rings on chains around their necks, it just might be true. But that's a story for another day.

Kamuro Shintou, an intern at one of the local news agencies, was late to the scene but managed to worm his way to the front due to his small stature. He tries calling out to Pro Hero Dynamight.

"Dynamight! Pro Hero Dynamight, can we ask you a few questions!" he calls out, but he gets no response. It makes sense, he thinks, since the crowd is loud and he has been repeatedly told his voice is far too soft to get anyone's attention. So he raises his voice and tries again.

"Mr. Pro Hero Dynamight!"

His voice is loud enough that it can be heard by the hero, who stands on top of some rubble, surveying the scene as police and others scramble to take statements and gather information. The hero stops for a moment, hesitates - it seems that he heard Kamuro.

But why isn't he responding?

Everyone knows of Pro Hero Dynamight's bad temperament. It's part of his charm, really - his no-nonsense attitude and bad boy looks have garnered him a huge following, and his public rank has been steadily climbing in the three years it's been since he graduated from UA High. At only 21 years old, he sits at rank number 4, dead-set on continuing to the top, to be number 1 eventually. His tenacity and drive inspire even those who can't stand him for his attitude. So despite being an ass, he's really rounding out to be a true hero.

The media not liking Dynamight isn't the problem. They do. It's the fact that Dynamight doesn't like the media, that's the problem.

Kamuro tries again.

"Mr. Pro Hero Dynamight! I have a few questions I'd like to ask!" he calls out.

From where he stands, about twenty meters from the scene where Dynamight has stopped, Kamuro can see the twitch of the hero's mask, the slight flare of his nostrils and slight turn down of the corner of his mouth. He doesn't seem happy.

At least that's not a surprise.

What is a surprise, though, is the way the crowd of reporters around him suddenly surge in volume, hurting his ears with noises that don't form words until he sees a large shadow to his right.

It's Red Riot. Standing there, arms crossed, smirk plastered to his face, Pro Hero Red Riot looks down at Kamuro.

"Hey kid, what's your name?"

It's all Kamuro can do to not be entirely frozen to the ground. He's been a big fan since Red Riot first showed up on the hero scene as an intern for Fat Gum six years ago, when Kamuro himself was in middle school.

It's been a few moments too long, Kamuro realizes, when Red Riot waves a hand in front of his face to get his attention.

"Kid? You okay?" he asks, brows raised in amusement.

"Y-yeah! Me great? I'm! Uh, Kam-Kamuro!" Flustered and red, Kamuro bows slightly to both show respect and clear his fanboy brain for a moment. He rights himself and clears his throat as he tries again, more successfully this time. "Yes, I'm good. My name is Kamuro, Kamuro Shintou. I'm with Musutafu local news. I'm an intern." He smiles widely, proud of himself for speaking actual words to the hero, his personal hero.

Red Riot laughs and puts a gigantic hand on his shoulder. "Well kid, since you're new, I'll let you in on a little secret. Here, come with me," he offers, gesturing a little closer to the scene, but still out of the way.

Overjoyed, Kamuro follows Red Riot to where a large chunk of concrete lay flat on the ground, an appropriate place to sit and chat. The hero sits and pats the stone next to him, and Kamuro sits gingerly, vibrating in his skin, and trying to not let it show too badly.

Red Riot smiles big and wide, shark teeth showing and eyes squinting. Even as the two sit, the hero is significantly taller than Kamuro - the spiked angry red hair adds a good twenty centimeters to his already frankly ridiculous height. How tall is this man?

Kamuro hears a hearty laugh which breaks him from his reverie.

"If you're that curious, I'm two meters, even," the hero says, still chuckling. "The hair is extra."

Kamuro goes red. Blessedly, Riot continues.

"Anyway, since you're new to this all, let me tell you a secret. Kat- Dynamight doesn't respond to reporters unless they call him by his name. His full hero name."

Kamuro stops.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"Like, not even the short version?"

"Nope."

"So it's just Pro -"

"Pro Hero Great Explosion Murder God, Dynamight."

A pause. "God that's a mouthful."

A long suffering sigh escapes Red Riot's lips. "Yup."

Brain kicking back into gear, Kamuro is able to think again.

"Mr. Red Riot-"

"Please, call me Kirishima," the hero - Kirishima interrupts.

Kamuro positively beams. "Thank you, Kirishima-san."

Kirishima gestures for him to continue.

"Kirishima-san, I was wondering, are the rumors true?" Kamuro wrings his hands nervously. "I-I-I know they're just rumors, but I saw the bands around your necks and-"

"You're quite observant, kiddo," Kirishima interrupts. "And before you go on, I'll let you in on another secret."

Kamuro is very, very confused. "O-oh?"

"Yeah."

A wide grin breaks across Kirishima's face, one that's somehow softer than any other smile he's ever seen on his favorite hero. The hero looks younger, a little less stressed for a moment, before reaching around his neck where the weight of the chain had fallen during the battle.

He pulls a golden band around and shows it to Kamuro. They're angled away from the rest of the reporters, toward pro hero Dynamight, so no one else is privy to the conversation they're having, except, perhaps, Dynamight himself. Kamuro follows Kirishima's glance up at the explosive hero who is looking at the two of them with an equally soft expression, seeing the other reach up and grab something that's hanging at his neck.

Kamuro gasps softly before returning his eyes to the ring that Kirishima is holding up. It's golden, and the red and orange diamonds swirling around it glint even warmer in the afternoon sunlight.

"The secret is that his name isn't Bakugou anymore."

149 notes • Posted 2021-01-11 09:20:51 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[scullysexual]

A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight [Reposted. Anniversary]

Jewel is one year old! In order to celebrate what is probably my greatest achievement in fic I’ve decided to re-release all the chapters. Not much has changed in terms of story but I’ve gone through and edited/fixed any typos and weird sentences that have popped up now and then. Me and my blog have both grown so much since writing this that I’m sure there’s many of you who have yet to have read or seen this before. So here you have it…my lil baby. 

- - - 

Chapter One

A cloud of heavy smoke rises from the four vapers, covering the clear sky above and littering it with stuffy grey puffs. People scramble about up and down the dock, trying to keep family members together as they rush to get through the gates. Others stand there gawking at the ship. For those not boarding it’s simply a day out; The greatest ship ever built, they call it and those who live nearby wasn’t about to miss out on such a historic day as this.

Mulder stares at it, surprised at just how wonderstruck he is with it. He never put much stock in the rumours when it was being built believing that she was just going to turn out as all those before her had. That the rumours were just that.

But he was wrong. Never in his life had he seen a ship as large as the one that towers over him.

He turns to Phoebe, reaching out for her hand as she climbs out of the cab.

“What do you think, dear?” Mulder asks as he helps his fiancé down. “Are you impressed?”

To no one’s surprise, Phoebe only scoffs at the ship, its presence not changing her mood in the slightest.

“It’s not as grand as the Mauretania.”

Bill Mulder chuckles behind them, handing their luggage to his man-servant, Krycek as the boy passes them onto a baggage handler.

“It’s much bigger than the Mauretania,” he says, ready to quote every fact he had memorised from the London Herald about the ship. “And much more luxurious,” he adds.

Phoebe only huffs, clearly becoming uninterested in their current conversation.

“Careful Fox,” his father warns him. “Hard one to please, that one.” Mulder only manages an uncomfortable laugh already well aware at the difficulties that come attached to Phoebe Green.

With time running out, they begin to make their way towards the ship, weaving their way through the crowds, Phoebe turning her nose up at every person not dressed to the nines, going as far as to dramatically balk and cover her nose as a lower-class foreigner runs across their path.

“Filthy immigrant,” Phoebe scorns at the innocent man. Mulder tries not to let his disgust show at Phoebe’s words, they’re excused after all and Mulder rolls his eyes at the clear disrespect his people show towards those less fortunate.

“He’s just trying to get to the ship, Phoebe.”

“Yes, well, maybe he should hurry to a bath instead.”

Mulder ignores her words, instead guiding her through the swarming crowds.

“Honestly Bill,” Mulder’s mother pipes up. “We couldn’t have gotten here earlier rather than scurrying around the docks like rats?”

“I was all packed and ready to go,” Bill says and indicates to the pair in front of him. “It was those two who weren’t.”

Mulder sighs. If anything, it was Phoebe who they had been waiting for.

“We did try to hurry, Mother. Phoebe couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Phoebe scoffs once more. “It’s not my fault that you told me to change.”

“I just thought you would get too warm wearing black all day.”

“I’m in mourning Fox,” Phoebe cries. “The weather doesn’t change that.”

Mulder resists sighing again. Phoebe had been mourning for weeks now. The loss of their baby had brought on this spontaneous trip. Phoebe, done with London and “wanting to get away from all the bad memories” all but demanded that they leave for America as soon as possible. A chance for a new start, she told him afterwards. They could get married here and start again. Next thing Mulder knew, he was packing his bag and going back to a country he hadn’t seen since childhood.

He felt trapped somehow, and it had nothing to do with the swarms of crowds. This was inside him. A cage or a hole he’d put himself in. One he wasn’t going to get out of any time soon.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s been sitting on this bench for what feels like hours now. The stuffy bar overcrowded with sight-seers only now they’ve done the sight-seeing and want to do some drink-beering.

She was told ten minutes. Ten minutes and they’d be looking for a ferry to take them back to Ireland. Dana was done with the place. Southampton was the same as everywhere else in England they’d been- the same people, the same scorning looks they’d get no matter where they go, the same rejections. It’s only a number of times a person can hear ‘no’ before they never want to hear the word again.

Her brother, however, had other ideas. They only came into the bar to ask if there were any ferries available to take them home and somehow Charlie had managed to be roped into a game of poker by a bunch of Norwegians who barely spoke any English between them.

The game had currently been going on for a lot longer than the ‘few minutes’ she was promised.

Dana sighs, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. She’d order a drink if Charlie wasn’t currently gambling away their last penny.

“You lonely, luv?” Dana turns towards the speaker. His cockney accent thickened by the slurring of his words. “Ye want sum comp’ny?”

He stumbles towards her, catching himself on the rickety table and smiles at his clumsiness. Dana attempts to shuffle further back into the bench, failing.

“I’m fine,” she says turning away and hoping the man would take the hint.

But he presses on.

“Are ye sure?”

“Aye. I’m sure.” She gets up before the man can say anything else, and heads over to Charlie’s table.

The boy is in full concentration mode. Lip caught between his teeth, eyes scanning his cards and the card laying down on the table. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Countless of times Dana has watched him play, never learning from the mistakes he’s made in previous games. This gambling addiction he’s seemed to have developed has cost them a lot in the finance department, a cost that Dana is not too happy about.

She taps him on the shoulder.

“Charlie, I want to go.”

“Hold on a second…”

His tongue replacing his lip, Charlie gives one nervous glance around at his fellow players.

“Charlie, we need to go.” She tries not to sound like she’s whining, he’s her younger brother for God’s sake, a child, she shouldn’t have to whine.

Charlie ignores her, a smile breaking out across his face.

“I’m sorry, lads.” He places his cards on the table, his smile turning cocky as he reaches over to take his earnings. Dana doesn’t miss the two pieces of paper lying on top of the money.

A large hand grasps Charlie’s. His grin falls as he stares in fear at the man.

“He cheat!” The man yells. With his hand still firmly wrapped around Charlie’s arm, he yanks him forward across the table, his other hand a fist that falls down and smashes straight into his face.

“Charlie!” Dana screams as his body falls slump against the oak. The man backs off as the bar grows quiet, ignoring the winnings that fall onto the floor.

With all concern for her brother, Dana rushes to his side, her hand falling on the boy’s face, wiping away the blood that drips down from his wound. You feckin’ idiot…she thinks.

Charlie’s eyes open slowly, despite the pain with smile it back.

“I won, Dana,” he tells her. “We’re going to America.”

Dana frowns, bewildered for the moment at what Charlie could possibly be talking about until her eyes fall to the two pieces of paper that lay on the ground. Realisation sets in and she reaches down to pick them up, turning them over to read.

The words White Star Line stare back at her. She looks from the paper in her hand to the ship outside and back to Charlie.

“You’re…you’re not serious?” she asks, full astonishment.

“Yep. Fecker put his ticket down as payment,” Charlie all but shouts.

Dana stares back at the ticket. She was really about to go to America and board the Titanic to get there.

“You’re gonna wanna be quick,” a fella beside them tells them. He points to his clock on the wall. “Boat leaves in ten minutes.”

At that, Charlie hauls himself off the table as the two siblings begin pushing what money remains on the table into their only bag, not caring for the coins that had fallen onto the floor.

“Hurry up!” Charlie urges her as Dana ties up the bag. “Come on, come on.” He takes the bag throwing it over his shoulder and grabs his sister’s hand, all but dragging her out of the bar.

They weave their way through the people, Charlie up front and Dana falling slightly behind. She fists her skirt in her palms, pulling it up so as not to trip over it, keeping her eye on Charlie ahead of her and praying she doesn’t lose him.

They almost collide with everything; people, a cart selling vegetables, a horse and carriage until finally they make it, out of breath and clutching at their tickets.

“Right, give me your tickets,” the crewman orders, his fingers making a grabby motion. They hand them over and the man all but snatches it out of their hands. His nose turns up when he reads the names.

“Leif and Ingrid Brevik?” he asks, sceptically.

Dana looks nervously at Charlie, worried that they had just ran all this way, got excited for a new future, just to be turned away at the doors once more.

“Aye, we’re Americans.” Charlie tells him doing nothing to mask his thick Irish accent.

The crewman gives once last glance at the ticket and them. Sighing and probably done dealing with steerage who’s English is minimal he accepts the tickets.

“Get in before I change my mind.”

Relieved, the pair rush in just as the crewman shuts the door.

They make their way down the crowded corridor. People stand looking at the various signs that point in directions of rooms, bathrooms, and general communal areas. They argue, an overload of different words muddled together to make one distorted language.

Dana isn’t paying attention, however. Her eyes switch from the number written down on the ticket to the numbers written on the doors either side of them. Charlie had gotten distracted, eyeing up every pretty lass that they walked past and Dana had ripped the paper out of his hands. If he wasn’t going to find their room, she will.

She finds it eventually. 23, near the end of the corridor. Charlie eyes up Room 24.

“Reckon a lass lives in there?” he asks.

Dana focuses on unlocking the door, a sly grin appearing on her face.

“I hope it’s a fat old man with a foot infection.” She looks up only to see the look of disgust appear across her brother’s face.

The door opens to their room. A single bunkbed, a desk and chair with a lamp set upon it, and a chest of drawers are the only furniture that occupy the room.

Charlie shares her sentiments exactly.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry.” He throws the bag onto the chair and proceeds to climb to the top bunk.

She stops him before he can claim it.

“Piss off, I get top bunk.” She grips the back of his shirt, yanking him off the ladder.

“Careful!” Charlie cries. “I’m already injured.”

“So move out the way before I injured you even more.”

He does as he’s told, not without pulling a face beforehand, and throws himself on the bottom bunk.

Dana lies down, thankful to be in a bed that actually feels like a bed and not a brick.

“Hey, Dee?” Charlie calls after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Are you worried?”

Dana thinks for a second, curious as to what Charlie thinks she should be worried about.

“About what?” she asks.

Silence passes and she waits for an answer.

“Nothing,” the boys says. “It’s nothing. We got nothing to be worried about.”

Frowning and profoundly confused, Dana decides to leave it.

Another bout of silence passes and perhaps Charlie’s fallen asleep, at least she thinks that until she hears his voice again.

“Hey, Dee?”

“What?”

“Do you still have that first-aid kit in the bag? My face is throbbing.”

[thepilgrimofwar]

Breaking the Line - Edited Roll20 Log

[Back dated from after Minutes to Midnight and before Warplanning 2]

[Event Start]

The counter-attack had caught the forces of House Illithia off-guard, and a conscripted army that had expected an easy advance against the scattered resistance from the Emberglades instead found themselves on the run. Retreating behind hastily dug and fortified earthworks, they manage to halt what meager soldiers that the Heartlands had to spare. Gathering their strength for the next push, they awaited Judereth’s militiamen. Numbering in the thousands from every household of the Glades, they had spent the last day mobilizing and marching to the front and were now prepared to join a new offensive.

Judereth marched at the head of the coalition. True to her words over the war table, they were to be the tip of the spear. A spear that would be driven straight into the heart of Westheath. “Spread the word, we’re approaching the front,” said the Baneret, and the men under her command did so without question.

Relriah rode beside her, sidesaddle. She looked the part of a noble lady save for the sheathed sword on her saddle and the look of fire in her eyes. “I am in your hands,” she said with a nod, looking at the men that she led into battle. The comment seemed to encourage them, activating some sort of primal instinct that did not wish to see a mother come to harm.

Mara Blazingdawn rallies the banner men of the Dawnspire to her side. Looking along the ramparts, she could see the muzzle flash of rilfemen opening up onto the approaching forces. Bodies littered the field of good men poorly spent. "Shields!" Mara shouted, as she channeled a personal protection spell. Swords and shields versus well fortified fusiliers. "It's a suicide charge! We need to clear them out!"

Thanidiel:"I am not fond of that entrenchment."

"Highdawn will hold but will not advance until there is breach."

Kebha was silent as always, her presence unknown even to those men she had been given to command. She had all but abandoned them, leaving them with the simple notion of kill or be killed- or be eaten, if they failed. Kebha cared little for the fates of 'her' troops- she was here at Lirelle's request, honoring perhaps the closest thing to a friendship she had formed outside of the cabal. She left them to their devices, cloaking herself in thick void and vanished from sight along with Xio'lhr and her trusted Ashtongue.

Ethalarian nudges his Charger forward to the crest of the small hill behind the artillery. He surveys the field with a grim expression painted over his scarred features and turns to the square-jawed man behind him. "Send word to Highdawn and the militia cavalry under my command- we wait for a breach in the lines."

Thanidiel:"Lady, if you would pull towards the farmland."

"It is unwise to be so close to the 'firing line.'"

Thanidiel 's iconic banner flicks after Ethalarian's runner reaches them. Some sign of her understanding without return or shout.

Relriah acquiesces to Thanidiel's demands. "Very well, I'll be observing"

Elara Blazingdawn surveys the troops under her command and fists her hands on her hips. "Alright lads and lasses. Now's the time to find that inner sense of strength that I hope to the Light you all have. Otherwise, uh, we're done." She pauses, realizing this is a bad motivational speech. "BUT!" She exclaims, "We represent the Dawnspire tonight! The Serdar has sent us strong and bolstered to the field. Tonight we fight for,er, Quel'thalas!"

Avenaiel is a construct of an elf, and her soldiers seem the same; the remains of Blood Knight armor mantles her but it is mostly replaced with leathers. She waves with her fingers to the artillery, and is greeted with nods.

[Combat Start]

[The Assault]

With a great war cry, the forces of Emberheart charge across the gap of no-man’s land, crossing over the corpses of the ones who had charged before them. But this time, the soldiers of the coalition were there to protect them with their flesh and steel. Esheyn covered their flanks, her soldiers protecting the ladder and siege bridge bearers with their shields as cavalry belonging to Thanidiel, Ethalarian, and Relriah ride at their backs, ready to cross the moment the staked trenches were bridged.

Beathyn orders the bombards that he had purchased off Obaniwix to shell the enemy rifle lines, trying his best to minimize the casualties from enemy fire.

Mara & Elara Blazingdawn, with their knights sent by Telchis and Ellasha from the Dawnspire, covered their rightmost advance, ensuring that the militia there were well protected from their assault.

Kheba, an Illidari of blood and shadow, infiltrated the enemy lines, drifting over with others of her kind until they were far behind the enemy defences and trenches. She moved towards the artillery that was raining death down upon friendly troops on the assault.

Oosaarn advanced with arbalests on either side and a handful of no longer bored Warsong at his back. While the orcs held their ground, crossbows soon fired away at the enemy's rifles.

[The Staked Trench Bridged]

Thanidiel rides straight through the enemy lines to the forefront of their cavalry reserves. The standard of Tyr’s Hand held high in the horizon by her troops as the ex-Knight cracks a whip of holy fire like a blazing lightning strike, meant to startle the horses.

Ethalarian lifts his lance high and bellows his orders over the din of cannon fire and the screaming wounded. "Punch through! Clear a path for the infantry!"

Thanidiel:"Soon would be the time to gain a real notch on your belt, Lady Illithia."

Relriah gives her a nod, unable to hide the mix of excitement and horror in her eyes.

Elara Blazingdawn signals her troops to advance, reinforcing Mara's troops near the ladder. Boots thunder on the ladder as the elven troops raid the fort, turning on the Westheath Militia where they can.

Oosaarn led that ragtag group of Warsong towards the siege ladders. Leaving the arbalests behind to continue their volleys upon the enemy forces.

Kebha continues to advance forward, an incidious shadow across the battlefield like choking smoke. She rushes forward, making her way towards the battery, biding her time until she can do real damage. Across the field, the militia struggled on, heeding the words of Thanidiel. They drew steel, diving forward into the riflemen before them.

[Battle for the Battery]

Esheyn rallies her troops to press on, to bring their weapons down upon the militia that surround them.

Mara Blazingdawn"Rally! Do not get stopped! All forces advance!"

Ethalarian wheels his cavalry about as the first formation of heavy infantry are broken apart. He signals to the militia cavalry with his lance and turns his own cavalry on the infantry striking at his flank.

Elara Blazingdawn hikes up the ladder with her troops in tow, eager to close the distance between her sister and herself. "Keep moving, keep moving! Get that militia!"

Oosaarn’s Arbalests again fired on the forces at the other side of the defenses. All while the group of orcs barreled into the enemy's frontlines in thunderous war cries.

Shrapnel catches Thanidiel as the battery fires indiscriminately into the advancing Emberheart forces. She is seen passing the Standard of Tyr's Hand to the Emberglades heavy cavalry and pulling off of the field with a scant retinue, letting them continue the battle in her stead.

[Morale Breaks Militiamen begin to flee]

Mara Blazingdawn:"Let these peasants run back to their homes. All forces reform and move onto the trebuchet!"

Ethalarian goes racing northward now, shouting orders for his flagging unit of militia to retreat. The Blood Knight lancers crest the hill, preceded by thundering hoofbeats and the deafening blast of a war horn. Lances at the ready, enveloped by the twisted sheen of stolen Light, they crash into the crews manning the artillery battery.

[The Trebuchet is destroyed. Combat Ends. Knowing they were defeated a significant number of Westheath forces have thrown down their arms.]

Ethalarian would like to keep War Crimes to a minimum.

Mara Blazingdawn:"The battle has finished. What will we do with all of these captured and wounded?"

Iriina:"Dungeon."

Relriah doesn't speak, but should the decision to slay the captured and wounded be decided upon she would see to it herself.

Oosaarn:"Give them a choice. Rot in a cell or a quick death."

Kebha sheathes her glaives, turning her attention back towards her allies. She says nothing, but does eye the frightened looking infantry like a snack.

Isilos:"The question is, will they become hostile combatants if released?"

Judereth clears her throat. "Prisoners will be a drain on resources we scarcely have at the moment. But I am usre Lord Emberheart would like them alive. The boy wants to be merciful."

Mara Blazingdawn:"I am liken to agree. Hold them in a cell until the war is over. Rebels are less likely to take up arms if their brothers and sisters have a chance of surviving. Killing them will only give them reason for revenge."

Elara Blazingdawn:"Offer them the choice."

Oosaarn:"Then do whatever it is your 'lord' wants. I do not care."

Iiloridan shrugs his shoulders; not his land, but if they were asking... "I agree with the orc. Cell or death."

Ethalarian tugs on the reins of his charger and, somewhat bloody and now covered in artillery shrapnel- thanks Isilos- exhales a long sigh. "I've seen enough of my kin slain in recent times." Lord does he sound thoroughly -tired-. "Treat their wounds and hold them until this business is finished."

Judereth:Sighs, shakes her head, but orders her militia coming up from the rear to collect the wounded and to clasp the others in chains.

[The Coalition votes to Imprison them.]

Kebha laments. But Dinner.

Ethalarian: There are enough freshly dead people to eat, you monster

[schrijverr]

Strong

5 times Peter scares/reminds people who know he’s Spider-Man that he is insanely strong

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter is crazy strong, which is something people often forget, because of his slender and kind of fragile frame, but it isn’t a small feat to easily block a Winter Soldier punch. He knows he often freaks out the people who know he’s Spider-man by picking something up that he actually shouldn’t be able too, but he hides it pretty well around people who don’t know.

~

The first time he scared someone it was Mr. Stark. They were chilling in the lab together and working on some stuff when a package arrived. Mr. Stark went to get it and Peter followed. Tony tried to pick it up, but he couldn’t get it even a millimeter of the ground, so of course Peter offered to help.

Mr. Stark looked at him and raised one judgmental eyebrow, but gestured for him to go ahead, he probably expected to get a small laugh out of the struggling teen. Instead Peter walked up to the box and easily picked it up and waited for Mr. Stark to lead the way.

The man in question rubbed his eyes one time before softly whispering: “What the actual fuck.”

Peter grinned and said: “Spider strength, I can lift cars and shit.”

Mr. Stark let the hand drop from his heart and scolded him while waving with one finger: “Don’t scare me like that young man. I do not need more heart problems than I already have.”

Then they both laughed and made their way back to the lab. Peter discovered he could carry it with one hand as well and used the other to wave at some of the other employees. Every time he did that he looked at Mr. Stark who glared a bit at the boy, but Peter could see the small twinkle in his eye.

When they were back Tony opened it and studied the insides. He then whistled softly and said: “Damn kid, that was 500 kilo. That is so not natural.”

~

The second time he scared someone was Ned. They were building Legos together is Neds home and Peter dropped a piece of special Lego, which rolled under the couch. Ned looked sad and said: “Whelp, that is lost forever.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked as he tried and failed to get his hand under the couch.

“That couch is mega heavy and you can’t get your hand under it.” Ned replied, “But it’s okay, we’ll live without that one piece.”

He tried to be casual, but Peter could see that missing that limited edition piece hurt him, so he got up and picked up one side of the couch. He crouched down and held the couch with one hand as he picked up the Lego piece with the other.

Ned gasped, but quickly grinned as he said: “Dude, that’s so cool.”

Peter grinned back and they did their handshake.

~

The third person was May, she was still getting used to the fact that her nephew was Spider-man and she had totally forgotten that it wasn’t just Spider-man who could do all that stuff. It was during one of their playful fights and she had almost gotten the upper hand when Peter grabbed her by the waist and held her above his head.

She shrieked and clung to his hands for dear life with wide eyes of shock. He looked up to her with a questioning brow and she said: “I forgot you could do that.”

Peter grinned and loudly exclaimed: “I am the Alpha now!!”

May raised one eyebrow judgmentally and crossed her arms, she trusted that Peter wouldn’t drop her. Peter didn’t disappoint, he instantly put her down and bowed deeply as he told her in a mocking voice that she would forever be the Alpha and he was sorry for ever doubting her rightful place.

She played her part and said in a posh voice: “Good job, peasant. Now, don’t bother me with your mortal squabbles anymore.”

They tried to maintain their parts, but they made eye contact and all was lost as both dissolved into giggles.

~

The fourth time he scared two people at the same time. Rhodey and Happy had been over at the tower, holding down the fort for Tony and Peter had forgotten his homework, so he’d come to pick t up.

It was in the lab and they didn’t allow him there without supervision, so both were watching him as he’d rummaged around the lad in search of his Spanish words. In the end he had found them, but they were under DUM-E, who had been shut of to minimize damage while Tony was gone.

This wasn’t really a problem for Peter, who casually picked DUM-E up and grabbed his homework. When he turned around Rhodey had clutched his heart and Happy was staring at him. He gave them an uncomfortable smile and politely asked if he could go now. Both nodded dumbfounded and let him through.

When he came back next week a still of the security feed from their expressions had been printed out and put up on the wall by the other snapshots.

~

The fifth person he scared was MJ, although it didn’t really count, because she hadn’t known for sure that he was Spider-man when it happened and she didn’t really get scared, maybe startled was a better word, but she kind of did so Peter counted it anyways.

It had been on their school trip to Europe and they were in Prague. He had just asked her to go with him to the bridge and she had said yes, something he still couldn’t understand really.

They were walking towards the bridge when an older lady had fallen down by some stairs with her rolling bag and all. Peter immediately stopped and went over to help her. MJ had found it pretty cute how he tried to communicate with her even though neither spoke each others language.

In the end he had hauled her to her feet, checked her over and repacked her bag. He lifted it up the first two steps easily and asked MJ if she could lift them the other one while he helped the lady up the stairs. She’d won from him in arm wrestling matches with ease over the years, so she figured the bag couldn’t be that heavy, but boy was she wrong. She barely got it up that one step, while Peter had lifted it up two with only one hand.

She didn’t comment, but silently added one tally on the side of Peter is Spider-Man.

[sporforya]

How to throw the perfect party when your team loses

After parties and social events are often the times where a sports teams bond the most. Celebrating a victory comes easily and the after-party vibes aren’t hard to get right, however, trying to host a social event after a team loss is hard, often the mood is killed and players understandable aren’t in the mood to party. If you are hosting an event after a game and what it to go well regardless of the outcome here are some failproof ways you can still have a good time.

Plan Games

People might not have the motivation to socialise naturally so planning some fun games (alcoholic or non-alcoholic) could be a great way create an enjoyable atmosphere. The games should be simple to play and need minimal equipment to ensure all guests are able to play without needing to understand complex rules — the easier it is the more likely everyone is to join in.

The games could be sports related, card games, classic party games or anything else you think the team would find enjoyable. Some of our favourite party games include;

Would you rather

Heads up

Two truths, one lie

Musical chairs

Charades

All of these games can easily be adapted into drinking games if you are over 21 and are planning to have alcohol at the event.

Allow Plus 1s

Whilst you might want to keep it to just the team allowing members to bring a plus 1 brings new people into the group and with them will come more energy and positive party vibes. This is especially great if the team has had a particularly bad lose as the plus 1s wont be suffering from those same negative emotions. Just make sure you know who’s attending in advance if you are serving food — you wouldn’t want anyone to go hungry as that would be a mood killer.

You could even make plus 1s part of the theme to add a little fun to the evening, for example a men’s team could have a ‘lads and Dads’ theme so the team bring along their dads to the event. Or if you want to keep it more open you could have a duos costume theme so everyone coming will dress up as a duo with their plus 1 — think Mario and Luigi, Bert and Ernie, Hannah Montana and Lola Luftnagle or any other classic duo.

Celebrate the success the team did have

Don’t write off a lost game as a complete failure, there are always some positives to see and they should still be celebrated at post-match celebrations. If you pick a player of the match or similar make sure you still recognise that teammate who did a good job even when the match got tough. Keeping up the post-match traditions is a great way to remind yourself and the rest of the team of all the things they enjoy about the sport.

Be positive!

For many adult players the social aspect of sports it what draws them to a team and therefore the outcome of the match might not be the main reason they participate. Because of this the mood at your event might not be completely ruined after a lost game so make sure you go in with a positive attitude and optimistic mindset — after all if the host is having a bad time it’s likely so is everyone else!

I hope you’ve enjoyed this edition of Sporty Club! We want to keep bringing you great content so make sure you rate this article highly if you’ve enjoyed it. If you’ve got any suggestions or ideas for future posts leave them in the comments below.

Thanks for reading,

Charlotte

(team SPORFORYA)

[funkymbtifiction]

Hello, I always enjoy the work on this Tumblr. It's informative, interesting, and satisfying. Anyway, being an Ne dom like yourself, do you have any tips to not be overwhelmed by Ne a.k.a. How to Train Your Ne? I admit there are times when the ideas are buzzing and I yearn for stimulation then I become drained to the point of being physically tired.

Good timing, since I was just reading about Si-grips last night and realizing I basically live in one six months out of the year. :P

I’m not sure exactly what you mean, so I’ll cover all the bases I can think of.

There’s pretty much four stages in my life:

Ne-dom Extraordinaire: this is when you are the unbeatable monarch in your field, when you are on such a roll that not only do you finish your project ahead of the damn deadline, you went ahead and did sixteen other magnificent things that day too, just because your brain was on such a rush of SO MANY IDEAS. For example: you felt good about finishing your essay, so you wrote six movie reviews, four e-mails, 26 blog posts, and worked on your book to boot. And then you went to bed with a smile on your face because damn, I’m so fine.

Ne-dom Uninspired: this is when you feel “meh.” Not awesomesauce, not the lowest of the low, just plain MEH. Meh for a Ne-dom equals: semi-bored, semi-uninspired, semi-annoyed about it. Now, a sane person on this day goes and watches 24 episodes of ALIAS in a row to chill. Me, I FORCE myself to be ‘creative.’ And because I’m generally good at what I do, it comes out fine. Not knock your socks off stupendous, not awful, not even average, just fine. But it feels like dragging my brain through a cheese grater and I go to bed mad that my Ne-brain was lazy as hell today. Like, it’s supposed to be AMAZING all the time!!! What’s up with this?!

Ne-dom Bored-as-Hell: generally, this happens when your life is stagnant, or you are stuck on the same god-awful project for weeks, or your friends have not spoken to you in days, and you are so bored you can hardly stand it, but NOTHING appeals to you. You crave something, but don’t know what it is. You drag yourself through the work / school day like a fish on dry land, you scope the depths of depression, you maybe force yourself to do stuff, but it’s a clear indication that your Ne is STARVING TO DEATH. You must feed it. How? That’s up to you. Get in the car and drive. Go hang out with someone. Start learning something new. Read a book that you know you’ll hate, and blow your own mind by loving it. Try something totally, radically different.

Don’t be like me, and dye your hair purple and cut into a punk rock style. Although, God knows I looked adorable.

Ne-dom Work-a-Holic: also known as tunnel vision, also known as inferior Si grip, also known as the perfect way to make yourself exhausted at the end of the day. Picture a nice normal Ne being a freight train barreling through a tunnel at 976 miles per hour. Now picture a peasant maiden (or peasant lad, if that’s you’re thing) running out onto the tracks, and holding it in place for about 15 hours. It grinds to a halt, its wheels start to smoke, and the peasant maiden/lad is inching forward at, oh, about 6 miles per hour. Fast by her standards, slow by yours. Now imagine that’s what happens to your Ne, when you develop tunnel vision. All that power, going nowhere fast. Imagine the tremendous energy that just ground to a halt. The creeping subconscious despair of the engineer. You are both the peasant maiden/lad and the freight train. See the problem? You are ripping yourself apart. How’s that peasant maiden/lad going to feel at the end of the day?

Yup. Exhausted.

Now, what if that peasant maiden does this day after day for about a week?

Exhausted. Mental exhaustion, from holding back the train, forcing Ne to stay on one topic, or focus on “boring” things for days on end. Where’s the fun? Where’s the zany? Where’s the sarcasm and jokes and random connections? Hello, inferior Si. Obsessive compulsive, aren’t you? Fixated. BAD.

How to Train Your Ne:

1) Give yourself permission to stick to one idea for awhile.

I get it. You will have thousands of great ideas in a single lifetime, or maybe even a week. If you follow all of them right now, you will never finish anything. Do what I do: think about them, ponder them, don’t let them get too developed, and write down the ones you want to hold onto, put them in a jar, and… walk away with the biggest, shiniest, most exciting idea you just had. The others will keep. Let them stew in their juices. Focus on THIS IDEA.

2) Reward yourself for finishing things.

If you want to accomplish something, give your Ne what it wants – a challenge, and a reward. I used to motivate myself through “boring” tasks by setting time deadlines and writing like a bat out of hell, or dividing the task up into separate shorter parts that I can cross off after I do them. That shows me I am making progress. Right now, I’m sitting next to a half-crossed-off list of chapters in my book, which I am proof-reading / editing. Each time a pink line goes through someone’s name, I know I’m THIS MUCH CLOSER to finishing. THIS MUCH CLOSER to starting a NEW project. THIS MUCH CLOSER TO THAT PIECE OF CHOCOLATE I PROMISED MYSELF.

Ahem.

3) Accept that you cannot be at 110% all the time.

This may be hard for you to hear, but you’re a normal human being. You need sleep. You need rest. You need food. You need days off, and dates, and to go places, and be with people, and do things other than your job or your school or writing or whatever it is that occupies 90% of your time. Those normal things that a sensor can do without much fuss, wear you out. Tedious details wear you out. Planning wears you out. Keeping track of things wears you out. The temptation when this happens is to under-estimate what you, as a low Si, needs – which is a break. You tend to way overestimate what you can do in a single week, and sometimes you get way too much on your plate… so, if you know about things in advance that are going to “drain” your Ne, because it requires other, lower functions to be heavily used in your stack, plan to limit your interaction with those functions in excess of your responsibilities.

In other words, if you (me) have to do a bunch of tedious line-editing at work, it is not a good idea for me to come home and do… a bunch of tedious line-editing on my novel at the same time. That’s all Te/Si stuff.

Ne-stuff is… new ideas, new people, new philosophies, reading things that excite your mind and imagination and help you see things in a different way, or watching something new, or going somewhere where you can just be yourself. Your Ne cannot run on full power all the time, especially when you’re trying to hold back the freight train – so give yourself permission to take time off.

4) Pace yourself.

This piggybacks on the above, but as a Ne-dom, you way over-estimate how much you can do physically. Things like going places, driving for hours, being in crowds, walking long distances, etc., are tiring to someone with minimal sensing. Ne-doms need down time, to process their experiences. You are an introverted extrovert. Remember that, and give yourself down time. Try not to be out and about 24/7. But don’t stay home all the time either. That’s a cesspool of Ne-draining boredom waiting to happen.

5) Either do it right now or write it down.

My usual pattern is: get a good thought about 10pm. Then springboard into another idea. Then zip over that way for more ideas. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, telling myself to go to sleep, while thinking about everything I should talk about, investigate, or do in the morning. By morning, of course, either the ideas are all gone or I have lost any motivation to do them. Some of my best work is from dropping everything and doing it RIGHT NOW. Strike while the iron is hot, my dander is up, whatever. Some of my best short stories or articles came from getting up at 5am and pounding the keyboard. So, do it NOW… or write it down. If you write it down, you won’t have to try and remember it (also a chore for Ne).

The best things you can do for your Ne are the following:

Accept that this is who I am, and it’s okay.

Realize that mundane or tedious tasks drain your Ne

Let your mind wander

Give yourself permission to fantasize

Reward periods of the mundane with fun activities

Never let a week go by without planning something ‘fun’

Stimulate yourself with constant NEW things (books, movies, music)

Read a wide variety of things on a continual basis

Give yourself challenges and deadlines to beat

Make sure they are SHORT-TERM (you cannot stay too long)

Always have something in the immediate future to look forward to

Hope that helps.

(This week on tumblr has been DULL. Is it just me or is it dead?! Thank God for a new Doctor Who tomorrow! I need me some NEW Capaldi + Bill Potts. I totally want to be her best friend and hang out in space and eat blue cubes together.)

- ENFP Mod

[gentleidealist]

A Taste

Under the cut is a slightly-edited transcript of a Skype RP between myself as Lloyd and Eizen and @bonafidebittersweet as Alvin.

A small coming-of-age story.

Jishin: Lloyd: -leans comfortably against Vint-

Vicious K: Vint -ruffles hair-

Jishin: Lloyd: Hey! (He's not mad, he's smiling.) -pokes ribs gently-

Vicious K: “Oh, c’mon kid, you can’t even tell I touched it”

Jishin: He holds up a finger, then his face falls. "You're probably right."

Vicious K: “That’s a plus, right? No hair day is a bad hair day"

Jishin: "I don't know about that. I think I'm glad Genis doesn't have a GHS."

Vicious K: “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Jishin: "Blackmail." He rubs the back of his neck. "I've fallen asleep on the anvil a couple of times."

Vicious K: Alvin chuckles. “I think that might call for retaliation”

Vicious K: “But is it really blackmail? All it shows is that you work hard."

Jishin: He considers that, and slowly starts to smile. "I guess you're right. Besides, who would he show it to?" Colette's already seen him covered in soot and half-asleep.

Vicious K: “That’s the spirit, kid"

Vicious K: (i forgot how well these two get along) Vicious K: (have we threaded them?) Jishin: (We have not, and we absolutely should.) Vicious K: (um yeah yes please) Jishin: I love those two together. Vicious K: Lloyd brings out alvin’s soft fond side Jishin: Lloyd thinks Alvin is so cool. ^^ Jishin: (Poor Kratos. The kid bonded with the other mercenary traitor.)

Vicious K: “Now what about you, Tall Dark and Blond?” Alvin’s looking at Eizen

Vicious K: (HAHAHAHAHO H NOOOOOO) Vicious K: (sorry kratos)

Jishin: "I don't recall ever falling asleep on an anvil, but I don't think that's what you were intending to ask."

Vicious K: Alvin spreads his hands. “Couldn’t help but notice you haven’t said a thing all night. The bottom of that glass too interesting?”

Jishin: "Less interesting than when it’s full. See for yourself." He slides a second glass over to Alvin. Lloyd pops up and hovers at the edge of the table, eyeing the drinks.

Vicious K: “Well, well, someone has good taste.” Alvin accepts the glass and tips it towards Eizen. He catches Lloyd looking and winks.

Jishin: (I don't think Eizen can really get drunk.) Vicious K: (he doesn’t strike me as able to) Vicious K: (he and rokurou were REALLY putting it away and not even tipsy)

Jishin: "Can I have a taste?"

Vicious K: (but rokurou gets drunk at that one other point)

Vicious K: Alvin takes a generous mouthful and hums approvingly. He sets down the glass, slides it to Lloyd, and grins. “Careful, it bites.”

Jishin: Eizen flicks a glance between the two, one corner of his mouth curved up, but it's Lloyd's ship to sail. He's not going to stop him.

Lloyd looks between the other two as well, vaguely disbelieving that neither of them will stop him. "O-okay." He picks up the glass tentatively.

Jishin: (I love this omg)

Vicious K: It’s Alvin’s turn to catch Eizen’s gaze. He lets some of the amusement through

Vicious K: (this is an amazing combo)

Jishin: Eizen's wearing that narrow little smile, one that Alvin can read well. "Go ahead."

Mindful of the warning, Lloyd sniffs at the glass. His nose twitches traitorously, but with their eyes on him, he's not going to back down. He's seen how much Alvin had at a draught, and tries for something between a sip and a swallow.

The color of his cheeks instantly matches his shirt, and they can see his adam's apple bob once, before he starts to cough.

Vicious K: Alvin’s grin catches, but he doesn’t let himself laugh. He claps Lloyd on the shoulder and gives him a gentle shake. “Easy, there. It what you expected?”

Jishin: "I -gasp- I -kaff kaff- guess I don't know -wheeze- what I was expecting." Lloyd's panting now, and leaning on the table, but better able to talk now that he's gotten his brain around the burn. "My throat's on fire. How do you -- ? Why do you -- ?" He stares between them, clearly perplexed.

"Practice, and the taste is good." At least those are Eizen's reasons. He lifts an eyebrow at Alvin, clearly interested in his answers.

Vicious K: Alvin hooks a thumb at Eizen. “This man’s got the right idea. It’s an easy way to be friendly. Though, usually I wouldn’t march up to someone’s table and commandeer theirs. Guess the next bottle is on me.”

Jishin: It is surprisingly possible for Lloyd's cheeks to flush even redder. "I'm sorry. I didn't -- "

"Easy, lad. There's no harm in wanting a taste. It's good to try new things. Speaking of which, I'm curious what your preferences are, Alvin."

"R-right." Lloyd looks down at the glass again, uncertainty written on his face. It hadn't been what he'd expected, and he still hasn't decided if the experience is a good one or a bad one, the taste of the alcohol lingering on his tongue.

Vicious K: Alvin gives Lloyd’s shoulder one last shake and squeeze before folding his hands around the glass. “If it’s whiskey, I won’t be too picky. I meant it when I said you had good taste.”

“Maybe we should’ve started you on something milder, Lloyd.”

Jishin: "Heh." To be fair, Eizen's had centuries to develop his palate. Even given a malak's slower maturation, he's had experience in spades. "I'd been wanting to try that Moonlight that you brought last time. Although I don't know if that would be any lighter for the lad."

Lloyd's not sure whether to feel grateful, pitied, or like he has to prove himself. Maybe a little of all three, the emotions warring on his face. "What do you mean by milder?"

Vicious K: “Beer, for starters,” Alvin says. “Something on tap. Not too dark. Cider, maybe, if you want it sweeter. Less easy to get drunk on, too,” Thankfully, Lloyd’s not had nearly enough to tip him into intoxication. Just the quick spark of a single sip won’t land him under the table. Alvin plucks up the glass and tosses back the rest. His hand disappears into his coat.

“Funny you should remember that,” he says, pulling a small silver flask. He sets it in front of Eizen. “Be my guest.”

Jishin: Beer and cider. Eizen even forgets sometimes that those count as alcoholic, his mana-driven tolerance rendering them as harmless as water. He unstoppers the flask and pours for them both, the porange brandy glimmering a gentle peach glow in the dimness of the room. "Magnificent. I'd heard the rumors, but never seen it myself."

Still not sure if he should be miffed that he can't play with the big boys just yet, Lloyd nods, trying not to look disappointed. But at the sight of the Moonlight, his eyes widen. A drink that glows? He's never seen the like.

Vicious K: (PORANGES i couldn’t remember the name of the things to save my life) Jishin: ( -pours Lloyd a teaspoon of the Moonlight- ) Vicious K: (risks minimal) Jishin: ( gosh this is so pure it makes my heart hurt and glow at the same time)

Vicious K: “If you want some, kid, just say so. It’s still gonna smart a little.” A little. Alvin’s sip doesn’t betray the strength of it.

“You gonna drink it or make eyes at it?” Alvin says, amusement beaming through. Eizen looks almost reverent.

Vicious K: (they’re so good in a scene together) Vicious K: (our boys )

Jishin: "A treasure like this deserves a moment to shine, before its light only graces the stomach," Eizen points out. He lifts his glass and swirls it gently, the glow following the spiral of the drink.

There's no 'no' on Eizen's face; Lloyd checks twice to be sure. Alvin's already said it's all right, although the teen heeds the warning. "Maybe just a little?"

Vicious K: Usually men look into glasses like they want to drown there. Eizen looks like he’s appraising a diamond—intense, almost distant. “I hope it lives up to your expectations, then. It’s well-aged, at least.”

“Course, Lloyd. Just remember, you’re drinking twenty gald a sip, so make it count,” Alvin says, eyes dancing as he props his chin on one hand.

Jishin: (Aw yeaaaaah. Poor Alvin, I suspect Eizen's curse is especially active around him.)

Jishin: A sliver of a smile hovers over the rim of Eizen's glass as he inhales gently. "I'm not worried about that. You've got sense when it comes to liquor."  It shifts from amused to pleased at the scent; apparently the Reaper's faith in Alvin is founded.

Twenty gil a sip? The flask in Alvin's hand isn't that large, and Lloyd's not that good at math, but even so, the number is nearly as unsettling as the taste of Eizen's peaty Scotch. All he sees in Alvin's eyes is mischief, though, not a warning. "A small taste," Lloyd decides more firmly, although it's sabotaged slightly by an awkward, "I don't want to waste it if I cough it out."

Vicious K: Alvin blinks. He’s not used to adamant faith, but Eizen seems confident in this small aspect of his abilities. He says, “I’ll be sure to give your regards to my distiller.” Alvin rubs his neck.

To Lloyd, he says easily, “It’s only wasted if it stays in the flask forever.”

Jishin: "Some for the lad, then." Eizen reaches behind his head without looking and plucks down a narrow shot glass, setting it in front of Lloyd. "I should meet your distiller someday, and introduce you to mine. There should be another barrel ready sometime soon."

This is about Lloyd's speed. He nods tentatively, then indicates about halfway up. A small bubble of excitement lurks in his chest; his first drink is with Alvin and Eizen, and they're not treating him like a kid the way Regal or Raine would. Better not to behave like a kid. He squares his shoulders and tries not to be overly excited or nervous or anything like that.

Vicious K: Alvin twists the cap free with a flick of his fingers pours a measure of the liquor into the shot glass. His pour is smooth and practiced, coming to a precise ounce in the glass. Eizen still hasn’t had a taste, so Alvin takes the opportunity to lift his glass to his table. “Cheers, gentlemen?”

Vicious K: (yeah he challenged rokurou to a drinking contest earlier, over their fishing thing. which made me wonder if Eizen DID have limits when it came to alcohol?)

Jishin: "Cheers. To old friends and new." Eizen lifts his glass too, with an approving nod at both of them. This sort of ceremony is important; another step on the young man's coming-of-age. He's got some pride in being part of it, thanks to Alvin.

Lloyd is still fascinated by the soft orange glow. It reddens his cheeks as he picks up the small glass. "Cheers." His voice is a little softer than the other two, carefully following their lead.

Vicious K: The glasses clinks gently against each other, the liquid within rippling slightly at the movement. Alvin returns Eizen’s nod, finding easier kinship than he expected. He winks at Lloyd, then tips a generous amount into his mouth straight after, spurred by the company. He never drinks anywhere near drunkenness when he’s out, but he’s being bolder than he might otherwise. The drink is one of the smoothest he’s had, a firelight warmth landing in his stomach. Jishin: Lloyd is the next to sip, and it's definitely a cautious one, braced against the memory of his last taste. He still feels the burn of the alcohol, but it's tempered with a rich, complex sweetness that's unlike anything he's ever tasted before. The liquor leaves a warm, fiery glow down his throat that settles gently in his belly, and he pokes his tongue around his mouth, trying to understand what it was that he just drank.

Eizen, of course, has taken his sweet time, holding the Moonlight on his tongue as he revels in the taste, drawing out the experience to its fullest. After a long moment and with deep satisfaction, he swallows and lets his eyes drift back to his glass, then back to Alvin. It would be no exaggeration on Alvin's part had he still thought the Reaper was being reverent; he was. "The craftsmanship on this is exquisite."

Jishin: (( I do think Eizen can get drunk -- but I don't think it's easy. I don't think it's really all that easy for Rokurou either, despite what he says.))

Vicious K: Alvin feels satisfied, and not just because the drink is lovely and he hasn’t tasted it in a long, long time. Lloyd looks pensive, curious and satisfied in his own way. The kindest introduction to hard liquor he’s like to get.

Eizen looks pleased in that quiet, sacred way. Alvin doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone with appreciation deep like a trench.

“The finest I can get my hands on,” Alvin says. “Worth every penny for special occasions.”

Jishin: "And this is one," the Reaper concurs, nursing his drink with the abiding satisfaction of a connoisseur. "Although we're like to ruin Lloyd's palate for anything inexpensive." That sliver of a smile has returned.

True to Eizen's observation, the teen has is studying what little is left in his cup with a curious intensity not entirely unlike the Reaper's. He's taking full stock of both himself and the drink -- the subtle warmth in his stomach, the taste of the brandy ... does he feel fuzzy around the edges? Alcohol is supposed to mess with your head a little, but this small amount hasn't done him any harm as far as he can tell, aside from a little extra warmth in his cheeks.

"Thanks, both of you." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly a little shy. How do you say something like for being my safety net? He's not sure, so he occupies himself with another small swallow. More accustomed this time to the taste and the burn, his own sunny smile begins to peek out from under his caution.

[kaytewrites]

the quick release || masquerada: songs and shadows || chapter 1

(a/n: i'd like to give a big ol shoutout to the masquerada discord for being absolute lads and a constant source of inspiration. y'all are awesome, bless y'all. the chapter number is a very rough prediction - i have about 8,000 words written, but i want to break it into manageable chunks and edit it. this is unbeta'd, by the way, so any and all mistakes are my own. feel free to leave comments/criticism!

work title from Red Sparrow by Mree.

please enjoy ♥)

also on AO3!

“So this is what Salting is like,” Tristan says, as if his vision isn’t tripled and he can feel his legs. The bridge seems impossibly long, so much longer than what he thought, and he dimly feels himself turn, puppeted by the need to keep moving, because if he stops he has a feeling that he’s never going to move again.

He feels something sigh in the back of his mind, and while he pushes himself ever further, feels the black creep in at the edge of his vision and his arm twitch at just the wrong moment, he spares a thought for what feels like something   else in his mind. He doesn’t get long, though, because there’s a sword coming down on his arm, and then there is no arm.

Pain like ice lances through his body, and he falls to the ground in a scream, convulsing. It’s the most terrified he’s ever been, and he wishes, for a brief moment, that someone will kill him quickly.

He has never been so lucky.

The despots who are left kick him to the edge of the broken bridge and then further, and he plummets to the dark water below. Just before he breaks the surface, he dreams he can hear someone screaming “No!”, and then all that’s left is ice.

He does not know how long passes. For a long time, all he knows is cold and sand and multiplicity - memories he does not know, cannot name, run behind his eyelids. He screams sometimes, when he wakes, but his throat grows raw and bloody and he cannot scream anymore.

Eventually, he tires and sleeps once more.

The world becomes warmth and light, at some point, but there are too many jagged edges in his mind, too many people speaking too many things he does and does not understand, so he does his best to try and ignore it all.

Tristan opens his eyes to a wooden roof. He blinks for a moment, two. Thinks: I should be dead; and then: Thank the Ages I’m not.

“Easy now,” comes a voice from his left, and he instinctively turns to face it, regretting the decision as it jostles the stump of his arm-

Oh. That. He winces sharply, and the voice chuckles.

Tristan recognizes the blue of the Sorelle before anything else - Kalden, his name was. He fights to get his tongue to cooperate, but when he tries to speak, there’s a jumble of vowels and not much else.

“Do you remember Salting?” Tristan nods, not trusting his voice. He remembers the bridge, and the burning cold, and -

He’s struck by violent tremors, then, and Kalden rests a hand on his arm to steady him. “Easy now, Valencio.”

It takes him a long moment to order his thoughts, longer still to try and steady his tongue enough to speak them. “H-h-how l-l-”

“How long have you been asleep?” Kalden finishes, and Tristan nods. When Kalden sighs instead of responding, Tristan’s heart clenched in his chest. Surely it can't have been that long…?

“A month, give or take. We found you a few weeks after the battle, under the river, surrounded in ice. Seems you saved yourself from death, even Salted.” Kalden sighs, and Tristan gets the distinct feeling that it's not the end of the story.

“You've woken several times, but this is the first you've been lucid enough to try and speak.” Kalden pats his complete arm. “We've had to call Vasco in every other time. He seemed to be the only one who could calm you down.”

The name throws him for a moment, until he remembers the dark-haired flute of a man who'd Salted himself for Cicero after -

Well.

After that .

Still, it makes him wonder - why would this Vasco, this man who'd saved Cicero when all Tristan had done was follow orders , spend his time helping him?

Kalden lets him think in silence. The man's presence serves to soothe, even with as little Tristan knows of him. At least he knows he's trustworthy.

“C-c-c-”

“Cicero?” Kalden supplies again, and Tristan nods once more. He has a feeling this will quickly get infuriating. There's already a headache buzzing behind his eyes, a swarm of thought like hornets in his brain.

“He shouldn't be busy today. Surprised he hasn't checked in on you more, to be honest.”

Tristan isn't surprised at all, but that doesn't mean it doesn't sting. At least Cicero is alive. He nods to Kalden, who stands and ambles to the door, poking his head out for a moment.

Tristan takes a moment to take stock of himself: his toes are responsive, confirmed by the wiggle at the end of the sheets. He clenches his left fist once, twice. He can feel his right fist move with it, even when he looks down and sees nothing past the elbow. Ice swims behind his eyes, and he does his best to breathe through it.

He must be lost in his reverie longer than he thinks, because he’s being jolted out of it what feels like seconds later by a soft touch and a gentle, “Tristan?”

“Good morning, hero, ” Tristan says, and at the confusion on Cicero’s face, he realizes he must not have spoken Ombrian.

“I think you said hello, right?” Tristan nods. “Hello to you, too, then. Still having trouble with the languages?” Another nod. “Well. You’re twice as smart as Vasco, so you shouldn’t have a problem-”

“I heard that!” comes a petulant yell from the doorway, and Vasco is there, seemingly from thin air. There’s a mischievous smile on his face, almost matched by the grin on Cicero’s. Airbrands, he thinks, exasperated.

“I think he’s just jealous that he doesn’t suddenly know an ancient language. ” Vasco’s voice flows smooth with the Dimenticate, and Tristan smiles despite himself. He finds his eyes drawn to him, all the languid grace of someone of the purple guild, and though Tristan has his own squabbles with that guild, it’s easy to put them aside. Especially since they stayed.

“Perhaps, ” Tristan responds, and the smile on Vasco’s face is blinding.

“- As I was saying,” Cicero continues, “you shouldn’t have trouble speaking again. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Tristan.” There’s something lurking under the surface of those words, a conversation that’s waiting to be had, and Tristan doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for it.

Still.

Cicero’s hand gives his remaining arm a firm grip at the elbow, and he smiles down at Tristan. He’s already exhausted, just by this minimal interaction, but he doesn’t want to rest. He wants to move around, get back up, back on his feet, be a part of what’s happening, but he knows if he tries there’s no doubt they’ll all just shove him back in a bed again.

“Good to see you back, old friend.”

“G-g-g-ood t-to s-s-s-”

He stops, impatiently patient, and Cicero waits like he’s got all the time in the world for Tristan to find his words. “Seeyoutoo,” he breathes out in a rush, and feels both humiliated and proud that he can speak. Cicero’s answering grin as he brushes past Vasco to leave only intensifies it -

Vasco. The man had slipped his mind for a moment, but now that he’s the only other living body in the room, it’s hard not to notice him. He walks over from the door, shutting it behind him, his walk making Tristan think of the cats that stalked the alleys of the Citte, hunting whatever poor rodent was unlucky enough to get in their way. He drops into the chair next to the bed in a single fluid motion, lounging like he’s been there for hours.

“So. Tristan Delzole.” There’s venom in his name, and he is remorseful enough to wince. “Back from the dead, in a fashion almost as miraculous as our d-dear Cicero’s.”

He feels like a viper staring down a mongoose. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say, only feeling shock as he registers Vasco’s words. He lets the shock show on his face, hoping Vasco will answer his unspoken question.

“Not going to speak for you, Valencio. You’ll have to sp-speak for yourself.”

Damn. There goes that idea, then. “W-w-wha-t-t hap-p-p-pened t-t-t-t-”

Vasco waits for him to finish with an enigmatic smile, and it makes Tristan want to swat at the flower vase that’s sitting on the bedside table. Lucky that’s his missing arm’s side, then.

“T-t-t-o Cic-c-c-c-ero?” he finishes, and the little clap Vasco gives makes him scowl.

“Very good! And, as a reward, here’s your answer: he died.”

Tristan stops. Looks at Vasco. Waits for the sign that it’s all some terrible joke he’s being played by.

Vasco laughs sarcastically. “I wouldn’t joke about that, Delzole. I think the universe has given me the best possible punchline it could, T-t-t-t-t-ristan.” He plays up the stutter on his name, and now Tristan sees why Vasco is so hostile: Tristan is the reason he Salted in the first place. And now, Tristan is here, in the same place he was weeks ago, having Salted for the very same man. It’s a type of cruel irony, and one that Vasco is enjoying immensely, by the looks of it.

“G-g-g-g-lad yo-o-ou’re hav-v-v-v-ing-g-g f-fun.” His voice is more tired than he expects. He is more tired than he expects. He’s far, far too tired to parse exactly what all this means: that Cicero died but clearly didn’t stay dead, by the looks of it. That he, for all intents and purposes, should have followed the man into the dark.

“Only a little,” Vasco admits, and Tristan doesn’t believe it for a second. Instead, he turns on his side, the side that still possesses an arm, and pulls the sheets up around himself as if to sleep.

“Don’t be in-salt-ed, Valencio.” He groans at the pun, and then remembers he’s supposed to be sleeping. “I’ll have you speaking p-properly in no time. I did have a fine tutor, myself.” His tone gets distant, misty, but Tristan doesn’t bother turning to see if his expression matches. He hears Vasco stand, pushing the chair back from the bed, and walk to the door. There’s a pause then, as if he waits at the door, but Tristan shuffles more resolutely under the covers. He hears it click, swing, and click again, and Tristan is alone once more.

Almost as soon as he decides that sleeping might actually be a good option, he’s already dozing.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 3, Number 6

(Graham Lambkin)

This edition of Dust dives deep into improv jazz, due to the stellar participation of Bill Meyer (five reviews!), but also makes time for Michigan post-punk, glowingly minimal electronics, an under-rated singer/songwriter and a wild and woolly one-man band. Contributors included Bill, Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake and Mason Jones.  

Mako Sica — Invocation (Feeding Tube)

Mako Sica is based in Chicago, but the trio’s music evokes reveries of terrain that is far less flat and urban. The reverberant guitars and stark, effects-laden trumpet played by longtime members Przemyslaw Drazek and Brent Fuscaldo inspire visions of high canyon walls and rocky desert escarpments. The winding, episodic construction of the record’s three pieces brings to mind a road movie, one where the protagonists are less concerned with getting someplace than they are with soaking in the locations along the way. And Fuscaldo’s mostly wordless not-quite-yodels, which are the element most likely to separate those on board from those who want to disembark, move things into a much more shadowy realm, a place and time where of those choral voices on a Popol Vuh record decided to break ranks and call out the ghosts in the night’s far corners. The singing is the music’s most uninhibited element, but it’s nicely balanced by the unabashedly straightforward drumming of newcomer Chaetan Newell. There’s a moment six minutes into “Potomac Blues” where he doubles the time and mental images of far-off vistas fly out the window while you imagine another marvelous movie of the mind — the one where Charlie Watts takes over a Savage Republic rehearsal and says “lads, this is how it’s done.”

Bill Meyer.

 The Suitcase Junket – Pile Driver (Signature Sounds)

Pile Driver by The Suitcase Junket

The most notable aspect to the Suitcase Junket's new album Pile Driver is how relatively normal it sounds. Which isn't to say average. The Suitcase Junket is Matt Lorenz performing as a one-man band, complicating the act by using found instruments and throat singing. The set-up sounds like a lead-in for a gimmick, but Lorenz's songs are carefully constructed pieces of rock and Americana. His fuzzy guitar, played in open tunings, drives the sound toward a Southern blues feel — “Swamp Chicken” being the most apt song title — but there are hints of other sounds in there, too. The found percussion (tucked into, of course, a suitcase, at least for the road) increases Lorenz's idiosyncracy, and enhances that atmosphere of songs like the spare “Evangeline,” where a boxing ring bell adds to the strange meeting between the singer and titular love interest. Lorenz's songs carry themselves, aside from backstory or unique sounds, relying on his storytelling and melodies. The fact that he's sonically inventive is just a bonus.  

Justin Cober-Lake

 Jeff Herriott—Stone Tapestry (New Focus Recordings)

Jeff Herriott: The Stone Tapestry by Jeff Herriott, Due East, Third Coast Percussion

Composer, multi-instrumentalist and music professor Jeff Herriott is based in Whitewater WI. One supposes that he makes the music he makes without regard for any particular scene, because where he lives there isn’t one. Stone Tapestry certainly doesn’t fall neatly into any category or school, and is probably better for it. Two groups, the flute duo Due East and the Third Coast Percussion Ensemble, play this hour-long, nine-part piece. While the word tapestry implies the presence of a narrative, it’s easy to ease back and enjoy its languorous progress from delicate, woodwind-lead melodies to bright bursts of metallophone color action to dreamy, ambient textures without getting preoccupied with representation. Sometimes, the right sound is more than enough.

Bill Meyer

 Neil Nathan – Flowers on the Moon

Flowers on the Moon & Don't Forget Me A/B Side by Neil Nathan

Neil Nathan's biggest moment came when his mellow cover of Jeff Lynne's “Do Ya” attracted enough attention to make it onto the Californication soundtrack. Then he recorded an album driven by his power-pop roots, touching Big Star for its best moments, without giving up Nathan's songwriter's sensibility. Now, for his second proper album, Flowers on the Moon, he's calmed himself back down, pushing further into his folk influences and 1970s AM radio. The title track is a Bowie-esque sci-fi trip with touches of Cat Stevens. In stripping back, Nathan foregrounds his lyricism and proves himself at the mic. “Diamond in the Sky” makes for a perfect April release, with its tale of his dad and baseball. The California country sound makes for a smooth flow, and Nathan drops his guard without crossing over into treacle. The disc's steady mood makes for a coherent listen, but as Nathan lets more of his flexibility show (as in his traces of psychedelia), he reveals himself to be pushing beyond just a follow-up folk album.  

Justin Cober-Lake

 Graham Lambkin—Two Points on the Angle (No Rent)

"Two Points on the Angle" (NRR44) by Graham Lambkin

Having confirmed his connections to humanity and song form on the recent double CD Community, Graham Lambkin looks both inward and into the virtual ether on Two Points on the Angle. While the sounds of family life and the neighbors’ cranked-up stereo register, the field recordings operate on the periphery of synthesized verbalizations. Are these Lambkin’s thoughts, lines from emails, or texts from webpages? The answer is probably yes to all, but if you look for a definite answer to anything you are missing the point. Words discomfit and confuse, sounds bore and delight, and the robot looms larger than people, environments, or music. Does this sound like a life that you’ve lived lately? Rappers and talk radio liars have been claiming for years that they’re keeping it real, but this is as real as it gets. Prepare to not know.

Bill Meyer

OUT — Swim Buddies (Comedy Minus One)

Swim Buddies by OUT

A brash, rough-housing, big-shouldered take on early 1990s post-punk, Swim Buddies blisters with crashing chords, rabble-rouses with shouted choruses.  At the harder end,“Chain Fight” rattles rapid-fire bursts of guitar/drums/bass spasm riffs, pulling up short every so often, as if just for contrast.  More lyrically, “Summer Tribute” weaves chain-saw guitars into languid nostalgia, bearing a whiff of Silkworm, even Red Red Meat in its ragged, rusty anthemry.  “You took the punch,” goes one line in this latter track, and yes, there’s a blue-color stolidity to these songs, a sweaty, heavy-lifting persistence that might remind you of Boston’s Black Helicopter. Three of the four principals – Isaac Turner, Chafe Hensley and Mark Larmee — were in another much-loved Michigan band called Minutes, which judging from the bandcamp, was pretty awesome too.  

Jennifer Kelly

 Steve Swell/Gebhard Ullmann/Fred Lonberg-Holm/Michael Zerang—The Chicago Plan (Clean Feed)

So what do you do when your old rhythm section, the one with the drummer (Barry Altschul) who has played on some of the great jazz sessions of the last four decades, is no longer available? If you are NY-based trombonist Steve Swell and Berlin-based poly-reedist Gebhard Ullmann, you don’t pack it in; you implement The Chicago Plan. It’s simple in concept. You call up cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm and percussionist Michael Zerang, whose 20+ year partnership has sharpened their ability to play just about anything, and make a new band. And while it’s simple in concept, it’s rich in execution and bounteous in results. The wide-ranging material composed by the two horn players makes ample use of their new associates’ fluidity and fluency as they shift from lyric expression to dissenting abrasion, packing a dense but lucidly organized amount of musical information into each track. The musicianship is frightfully high; “Rule #1: Make Sure You Can Play Your Own Tune” delivers a theme intricate enough to justify its title, and then starts peeling off pieces of it and playing them faster and harder. And the opener, “Variations On A Master Plan (Part 3),” is an intricately constructed variation on New Orleans second-line groove as refracted through a prism of Ornette Coleman-inspired emotional complexity. Hopefully there will be a second chance to hear this ensemble, no plan B required.

Bill Meyer  

 Delia Derbyshire Appreciation Society — Blue Filter (Six Degrees)

Blue Filter by Delia Derbyshire Appreciation Society

Lovely edgeless tones ripple and flow in the gentlest way possible, filling the sonic space to the edges with modest crescendos and faint imprints of melody. Blue Filter is the first album from electronicists Garry Hughes and Harvey Jones, who named their duo after the pioneering British composer Delia Derbyshire (who composed the theme to the Doctor Who show). Musical ideas bloom slowly in these seven cuts, taking shape in radiant arcs and shimmering pools of sound. The long tracks, particularly, have a motionless, eternal quality; it is hard to say, when you listen, whether you are near the beginning, at the end or cast adrift in an endless middle that laps like calm water under your becalmed vessel. And yet, there’s a light and a pleasure in being marooned here. These serene sonic landscapes stretch in variegated, pulsing abundance straight through to the horizon. You’ll hear bits of piano, suggestions of strings, unassuming threads of melody weaving through, but there’s no sense of journey or narrative. It is all right here, just now.

Jennifer Kelly

 New Music Coop—Invisible Landscapes (New Music Co-op)

Good things come to those who wait, as well as those who did not know they were waiting. Back in 2010 the Austin New Music Co-op  sponsored a concert of works by two composers who are counted as members of the Wandelweiser Collective. Just why it took six years to get from recording to release may be a secret buried in some board meeting minutes somewhere, but since this music embodies a deep respect for patience, let’s not complain. The Co-op’s ensemble comprises four string players and three percussionists; Pisaro also contributes electronics to his piece, “Ascending Series (7) (evaporation).” The Pisaro piece is a sequence of elongated whispers and slides that are played quietly enough that you could overwhelm them by using a cigarette lighter. This quietness is deceptive, though, because if you listen closely you will hear a richness of sound that suggests that the whole ensemble was playing as one. The Malfatti piece is fairly busy by comparison with what he has played in the 21st century, but that still leaves a lot of room for stillness. The strings come to the fore on this piece, charting slow arcs around which rustles and metallic sonorities hover like clouds of sunlight-dappled dust. The arcs are separated by silences that reinforce this music’s command that you stop and experience it. Listen while you can.

Bill Meyer

Orphx — Archive 1993/1994 (Mannequin Records/Hospital Productions)

Unearthed from cassettes recorded 25 years ago, these 20 pieces mine an array of industrial influences. In 1993 and 1994, the trio (Rich Oddie, Christina Sealey, and Aron West) would have been listening to Europeans like Asmus Tietchens, Lustmord, Kapotte Muziek, and Sigillum S.; Japanese artists such as Dissecting Table and Grim; and fellow Americans like Schloss Tegal and Controlled Bleeding. It was a fertile time for dark experimental sounds, and these tracks illustrate a particularly grimy, basement-aesthetic style. The sound is mostly dense, like metal stressed to its limit: the soundtrack for a slowly-collapsing bridge. The cavernous drones, metallic clanks, and ominous pounding sometimes gives way to vaguely dreamy synths, but it all reverberates in unsettling ways. One gets impressions of undersea assaults and deep-space encounters with hostile aliens, or the dread of being trapped in a cave, likely not alone but wishing you were. Impressively, while cloaked in a past aesthetic, this archive doesn't feel particularly dated. While more low-fi than current outfits, the release fits perfectly on Hospital Productions, and should find a number of new fans there.

Mason Jones