#dunking on that old man every day

[littjara-mirrorlake]

And just for fun Urza x The Guillotine

Makes sense, compels me ???????

Sure. lol

[whateveriwant]

Thinking about girl dad!Simon during dinnertime :’)

Simon Riley who sits beside his young daughter as he cuts her home-cooked meal up for her.

Simon Riley who listens attentively as the spirited three year old recounts every excruciating detail of her day to him.

Simon Riley who *gasp* can't believe that Maggie – no, sorry, Margot – tried to dunk Chrissy’s – sorry, Christie's – dolly in the potty during playtime.

Simon Riley who hears that little snort you just gave him from across the table, but ignores it and continues to nod along to your daughter as he slices up her food.

Simon Riley who arranges the bitesize pieces into the shape of a butterfly, presenting it just the way she likes on her favorite Elsa plate.

Simon Riley who, from the corner of his eye, notices how she tries to pick around anything vaguely green or healthy-looking.

Simon Riley who gently reminds her to, "Eat your veggies, love. So you can get big and strong like me."

Simon Riley who has to hold back his laughter when he sees the horror flash across her face at the thought of growing to be the size of her old man one day.

Simon Riley who isn't immune to his little girl's puppy dog eyes when she asks if she can have ice cream for dessert.

Simon Riley who peeks over at you before telling her, "Maybe… but only if you finish your veggies, love."

Simon Riley who despises food waste, so when your back is turned, sneaks your daughter's uneaten broccoli onto his own plate.

Simon Riley who checks with her "All done?" once her dish is cleared, watching her exaggeratedly pat her belly like he does after he's had a big meal.

Simon Riley who grabs a damp cloth to carefully wipe her tiny face and hands clean, not stopping until she's giggling and telling him it tickles.

And Simon Riley who gives her that bowl of double chocolate chip ice cream after dinner as promised, loving the way her eyes light up when she discovers the extra scoop snuck in there by her adoring dad.

[occamstfs]

Actually, They're Called Tetrominoes

Been holding out on some kinda Video Game trigger, here's a bit of an odd Russian cultural/racial TF, enjoy! -Occam

Michael could stand to be a more pleasant person. Day to day he is a pretty run of the mill head-down kinda guy, amicable but never really goes out his way to chat or make friends. Instead he finds his free time often used to prowl the internet looking for people to torment online in whatever way he finds funny at the moment. Born too late to be a goon on SomethingAwful he typically pages through Reddit threads and communities looking for someone sensitive or cartoonishly argumentative.

This is precisely where he finds himself tonight, being a pedant on some video game thread that he doesn’t truly care about. Some presumably Russian user, u/ZandrIvnov, seems to be quite proud of Tetris which Michael finds incredibly amusing. As an American he too takes pride in many of the cultural exports and ideas that his nation has sent into the world, including many of the deeply entrenched ideas about the Russian and Soviet people taught in world history. It takes especially little for him to decide to start taunting and baiting this man sitting at his keyboard a world away.

Michael launches petty taunts at the Russian, poking fun at his nationality and Eastern Europe at large, stopping short at making fun of the man’s less than perfect English, for now at least. Michael switches between accounts to upvote his responses and even add additional dunks on the Tetris-fan as needed. Try as he might though to get the conversation away from the ancient game and get some more personal and profane digs in there he finds it difficult to find any truly satisfying or clever insults.

Getting tired of hearing this man assert Russian superiority he prepares to pull the ripcord and move on before he sees the Russian misstep talking about the game he’s so invested in, as probably the only fun fact he has on deck comes to mind. After the Russian so eloquently compares Michael’s head to a Tetris piece Michael immediately replies, “okay lol big fan huh they’re actually called tetrominoes” and then moves on to find some other doofus to bully on the internet.

On the other side of the screen Sasha seethes at the man, so juvenile in his mockery “Проклятые американцы. (Fucking Americans.)” He takes to his own keyboard messaging Michael directly as his arrogant messages dry up in the thread proper, Sasha was going to have him put his money where his mouth was. He offers a challenge, “u americans are so proud da? how about we see whos country rly is the best”

Michael felt his pulse rise in excitement at how much he has truly bothered this man. Smug smile on his face as he types his response, “what did u have in mind, Zander?”

“Саша(Sasha) is my name. since u are so smart about tetris, why not see who is actual master of game da?” Sasha offers, knowing already that the troll is sure to accept out of pride alone. Michael wasn’t all that much of a gamer but surely he could show this dweeb what’s what yeah? He starts looking up tips to win Tetris as he replies “sure whatever dude, what are u thinkin”

Sasha smirks as he has Michael right where he wants him, “loser agrees with winner about national superiority? should not be problem if you americans are so good at every thing” Michael was already eager to give it a go and Sasha’s taunt only makes him all the more raring to go. Before he can even pause his meager attempt to study strategy, Sasha sends over a link to the game and Michael clicks over to play, leaving the cheat sheet open on a second monitor. 

Michael types his name into the game and finds himself looking at a familiar screen. He’s never played the game competitively but it’s a pretty simple game right? He just needs to keep his cool once the pieces start flying in. He gets the cheeky idea to check the cheat sheet in between pieces. That’s that good-old red white and blue ingenuity, Michael thinks. Unaware that these are of course also of the Russian flag. There’s a ping from the board as Sasha uses the in game chat to ask “u understand the rules da”

Michael sends back a thumbs up and Sasha sets the game going. It is predictably uneventful at the beginning, neither man making any particularly interesting plays. Michael continues to skim how to best cheat the game while Sasha waits for the perfect moment to fuck him over. Michael finds himself enjoying the game more than he thought he would as he hears the familiar tune, it is awfully catchy isn’t it? He’s gotta hand it to the soviets for that. His gameplay slows down as he tries to speedread the page on his other monitor. Instead of forcing pieces quickly he instead lets them drift slowly while his board is relatively clear. Sasha sees this and decides to go in for the kill.

Suddenly as Michael’s eyes wander away from the game for just a second too long there is an unfamiliar sound. He darts his attention back only to see the floor of his Tetris board rocket up in response to Sasha doing an impossibly well timed combo of lines. Michael’s heartbeat increases at a shocking rate in response as losing becomes a very real possibility. Why is he so upset? His face grows red as he realizes just how outclassed he is. Obviously this is no big deal right? Just a game. But Michael cannot help but feel physically uncomfortable as the tides start to turn so swiftly. 

There is suddenly a crick in his neck that he stretches to avail but only exacerbates as a soreness begins to spread further across his body. Man is he tensing up too much? It’s just, it’s just a game right? Trying to calm down he is hit with the thought as if it were a shot of adrenaline that he absolutely cannot lose this game. His eyebrows furrow as they begin to square and thicken, casting dark shadows over his rage-filled eyes. His limbs take turns cramping as he clenches his neck and jaw to distract from the pane, not noticing as the structure of his face begins to change. 

His chest grows to join the chorus of muscle spasms as Michael struggles to keep up with even Sasha’s slower gameplay. Across the seas Sasha takes his time, knowing victory is in the bag, and savoring what he knows must be happening to his little troll Michael right now. He smirks as he imagines the discomfort in Michael’s changing body as he feels warmth grow in his own chest, and crotch, as he decides just how much he wants to play with his food. 

Back in the states Michael finds the heat, the sweat, the tightness of his clothes increasingly unbearable. As he continues to mash buttons on his remote he is too intent on the game to notice as hair begins to darken around his forearms and begin to snake its way towards his hands. He rubs them each down to placate the tickle on his growing arms. This is absolutely nothing to the creeping itch that is starting to encompass the entirety of his rapidly expansive legs. He shifts his heavier thighs trying to soothe the discomfort, making a loud sound as they pull away from the sweat sticking them to the chair but not allaying the soreness or itch in the slightest.

He grunts and notices not how his voice has grown both deeper and gruffer in his throat. Michael struggles to keep the remote from slipping out of his hands as sweat trickles down from his hairy arms and into his palms. Before it becomes a problem however Michael takes advantage of the lull in Sasha’s gameplay and tries to quickly remove his far too strained shirt. It should be a simple task after all, just put the remote down for a second, slide it off, and then back to the game. He does a brief check in to ensure he has even that and after believing he does Michael starts to try and remove the shirt strained and sticking to his skin.

He has precious little time as the pieces continue to fall at their set pace in game. He gets one hand under the hem of his shirt and tries to wrench it while keeping his other hand on the controller, this lets in a breeze of cold air sending quivers of pleasure across his pulsating muscle, as well as igniting a burning ache in his chest and torso. His upper body grows even further, finally overfilling his shirt as the sound of tears ring out in his bedroom alongside the same repetitive folk song he knows well. The idea that this shirt was loose fitting when he threw it on this morning or that he just identified the Tetris theme as a folk song rather than an 8-bit annoyance don’t have a chance to come to mind as he struggles to remain focused on not losing the game.

He pulls the shirt up to his chest before it gets uncomfortably stuck “Ach, bog uh- god damnit.” He scratches at his chest as the soreness and growing muscle makes way for a fiery prickling as the few chest hairs he has been a tad ashamed of begin to thicken and darken on his chest. Swirling out from his nipples and inching higher on his chest with each breath, he continues to struggle to remove himself mindlessly. Finding his shirt caught on his expansive pecs he rubs his hand underneath it across his sweaty chest, and finding it pleasurably drag through more hair on his pecs than he would’ve sworn he had in his pubes, he resolves to remove the shirt however he can. 

As soon as he finishes a line Michael tosses the remote down and goes to raise his shirt above his head, his thicker arms struggling as they adjust to their new range of motion. He wrests the tight shirt above his head, his chest bursting large once more, freed from the garment as the breeze tickles the sweat covered chest hair and forces his enlarged nipples to harden. Having overcome his suddenly massive pecs the neckline is now caught on his chin, his arms raised high above his head expose his pits to the cold open air. He feels the air con blow against his recently shaved pits as the hair begins to grow back. It starts to catch as the hair begins to grow thicker and longer than it had ever done before, curling together as new hairs begin to push out and form a bush thick enough to never see the skin beneath again.

This also brings his attention to new development in his body, with his face shoved into his shirt it would be impossible not to notice the unbecoming amount of sweat soaking it. Arms raised though he finally notices that he has an altogether far more powerful scent, on par with a macro-obsessed body builder or hygiene-phobic wild man. Michael feels a beard start to push out into the shirt still hugging his face. Shaving once a month was more than enough to keep him clean shaven but now he knew deep in his mind that he would never have a day again where his face would be smooth. It’s that Ru- That American blood in him, right?

He begins to feel himself lost in the scent as his mind begins to grow distracted, attention fading from the game despite the looping tune filling his mind. He turns his head to smell his pits through his shirt which is when he hears the dreaded sound of Sasha making a combo once more, “Gah! Nyo, I can’t lose” he shouts, not noticing as his rough tone begins to develop a slight accent. Ending the long-standing struggle against his shirt he simply rips it off and jumps for the controller, ashamed at how foolish and lustful he has suddenly found himself in the middle of this all-important competition.

He needs to make his people proud! He cannot let Amerika down, ya? His focus and vision return to the game as he stumbles through one more line before all the pieces fall from view and the game declares Sasha the winner. Mikael reflexively pounds his table shouting, “Ny- no! I, this!” struggling to find any words to make his loss okay. Unable to notice just how bizarre this game has affected him, though sure that something grave has occurred. He scrambles to the chat box where he sees Sasha has yet again beaten him to the punch, “gg Брат(brother) yes?”

Mikael’s eyes don’t even notice the language switch in the message as he quickly races to demand a rematch. Punching keys slower than the career-cyberbully is accustomed to, almost as if he would be more comfortable with a different keyboard format, slowly he punches his response “one more best dva out of tri ya?” Sasha laughs out loud seeing Mikael suddenly typing out anglicized Russian. He smirks and squeezes his crotch in excitement at just how far this American brat has fallen into his hands. Sasha responds in full Russian knowing that Mikael may as well already be his countryman. “конечно, почему бы и нет, брат (sure why not, brother)”

Mikael smiles as he prepares for yet another go against Sasha, he’s eager to learn from his, uh? Suddenly he can’t quite remember how he knows Sasha exactly as his memories of his persistent pathetic history of being a troll begins to fade from his mind. As the Tetris theme starts once more with the game Mikael finds himself singing along as the words to the folk song it is based on, blushing at the vulgarity therein.

The race is on once more and though he was sure this was a competition against his friend, no, his брат(brother), Sasha, He can’t help but feel a giddiness as the game progresses. He feels a warmth in his chest just from playing a game of his childhood, of his country? No he’s a born and bred statesman da? He’s from, uh Moscow is a city in one of the states too da? Though he finds himself distracted his body continues to expertly control the game subconsciously.

He blushes as he struggles to remember where he grew up, it was a smaller town for sure. Somewhere very far North for sure, after all why else would he grow so hairy! He launches into a hearty laugh as body hair continues to push out from every pore in his body, sure to be peaking out from every shirt collar on both sides. He scratches at his pubes as it becomes clear that even besides his massive package there will evermore be a bulge in his pants from this unkept jungle as well. 

His eyes continue to follow the pieces up and down as they slowly begin to lighten and bleach themselves an icy blue. The itchiness that has made itself at home through the whole of its body is replaced with a burning pleasure as he thinks oh his home. Full days where there is only sun, long treks into the city to visit St. Basil’s, helping his mother fry pirozhki. The hair atop his head bleaches itself a sandy blonde while still thickening and pulling itself short as a lightbulb goes off in his head his voice rumbles in his chest as he reflexively speaks in what must be his mother tongue, “Конечно! я спрошу у Саши (Of course! I’ll just ask Sasha).” 

He goes to pause the game as he now knows he can do and types to Sasha in chat, “hey брат, wher am i от again?” Sasha smirks at just how easy this was stopping short from fully masturbating as he thinks of his new massive countryman living a world away as he replies, “недалеко от Москвы, Миша (just outside of Moscow, Misha).”

Misha’s eyes glaze over as he reads this, the room around him changes, American flags familiar patterns shift into the Russian tricolor. Any writing within the room shifts from English to the cyrillic alphabet and Misha sits there with a smile as he recalls his home. Long winters working alongside his best friend Sasha. His neck thickens and his waist expands as he thinks of long nights drinking alongside his friends to abate the cold. The game of Tetris continues on and he again feels a warmth in his chest at the chance to play with his dearest Друг(friend) Sasha.

For the life of him he can’t quite remember why he has moved to Америки though he is sure that Sasha will know. Sasha always knows the right thing to do. One thing is for sure though, he is going to do his Motherland proud.

[londonfoginacup]

Fuck. I missed my 10 year 1D anniversary by 17 days. September 29, 2014 SMG played on Radio 1 and I was changed.

Liam was my favorite. He’s always felt like home in a very specific way. Everything that I would say has been said. He deserved the chance to get better. He deserved the chance to atone. I will always be devastated that this is how it went.

To me Liam will always be that 21 year old trying his best, because I was a 21 year old trying my best. He will always be that bit of sunshine and joy who never said the right thing but his heart was in the right place. I will miss him and the grief will hit and it will hit and it will hit, because he was part of the everything that was pure magic in my bloodstream at a time when I didn’t know magic like that existed.

I saw 1D at the age of 22, exactly 31 days before I broke up with my boyfriend (who hated them). I remember literally ONE thing from that concert and it’s the moment that Liam said something so dumb that I knew, in that moment, that when I went home and booted up my laptop, people would be dunking on him for it. And they were.

He had too much on his shoulders from the very beginning and I only wish we could’ve help.

I’ve missed him for a while and I miss him now and I’ll always miss him.

But I loved him. And I love him.

And I love you all.

To every one of you who has journeyed in any form with me, I thank you. This fandom transformed me as a person, taught me what I was missing in life. I can honestly say I would likely have gotten married at 23 to a man who would turn out to be a Trump supporter, and be perfectly miserable now, if not for all of you.

This year has been one full of burnout and learning to cope with the bad sides of being an adult, and the burnout is still there and I’m still crawling my way through, but still yall have been here with me. I cannot thank you enough.

I miss Liam already. I miss him. I don’t want go to go work tomorrow and be given condolences. I don’t want to hear strangers talking about this pain that feels so private. I don’t want it to be real. I want this to be a bad dream.

But. I am so thankful to the fandom. I wish I could pay yall back properly for the wonderful experiences you’ve given me. I love you all.

[lizardsfromspace]

So I guess Film Twitter is apoplectic with rage over some people suggesting they have intermissions in long movies. Not over theaters adding one without the director's consent, but like, at the concept of them

...by which I mean, getting mad at disabled people daring to have complaints. There's a lot of "HAHA are you so STUPID you can't go beforehand? You can't HOLD it for three hours?" and implying you don't deserve to experience art if you can't

And, of course, because Film Twitter is a bunch of insular discourse-addled dipshits, they're tying this...to Marvel. Yes, people are only saying they have health conditions that make sitting still for a three hour movie is because...they're Marvel fans mad at Scorsese, or something?

Why is this complaint new? Well, bc runtimes are ballooning to the levels of the old epic filmmaking days of the 50s-70s. And those movies...had intermissions. Multi-act plays have intermissions. Bollywood films have intermissions. Intermissions were literally just abandoned so studios could cram in more screenings, not out of an artistic ideal. But anyone saying "this would make it easy for me to access this film I want to see" needs to be viciously shouted down and called a moronic, lazy child hating on Scorsese bc of "discourse"

I've seen that meme multiple times and Jesus, look at the bizarre disdain for your fellow human beings embedded in it. You dare still bodily exist during a Martin Scorsese movie? You have a disability I don't? Well, I have no problem just peeing beforehand and not buying popcorn or a soda (you should really just sit their quietly until it's done, when you can pull out your phone to log it on Letterboxd), so what's your problem?

Calling people who are into non-blockbuster films "film bros" is mostly untrue, but man, the hardcore Film Twitter types unambiguously check every box. They're certainly dismissive of anyone outside their little box; extremely insulting, in fact, of how anyone who disagrees with them even slightly must be a Marvel-addled hysterical artless moron. Because nothing says "artistic appreciation" like preemptively calling analysis of a movie's choices "discourse" ("Ugh, I can't believe the DISCOURSE about how a movie portraying a morbidly obese man portrays obese people" - what should they talk about, then, if the movie's subject is instantly off the table?) They think the idea that someone out there may have a disability that prevents them from sitting in one place for three and a half hours is a laughable thing made up by the internet; or when people pointed out that a movie only getting one or two screenings a city may be inaccessible to working people, and these bloggers and podcast hosts dunked on the idea that working class people may like art as a hilarious, made-up thing.

I don't know, maaaaaaybe classing the life experiences and complaints of anyone who isn't you as "discourse" and presuming it's made-up kvetching about nothing as a matter of course is bad, cruel nonsense, actually?

[sapphsorrows]

"people only pick on trans people because they're easy targets" yeah no shit they're easy targets just like flat earthers and antivaxxers. what they believe is absolutely fucking insane when you think about it for more than 2 seconds.

the idea of trans is no different from the idea of predestination.

predestination says only those who have been chosen by god will be saved and will go to heaven. how do you know you're predestined? there is literally no way to tell externally. there is no test you take to make sure you're predestined. you just have to put your faith in jesus and know, internally, in your heart, or whatever. funny how literally everyone who believes this also happens to be one of the ~chosen ones~.

the idea of being trans is that some people are born in the wrong body. how do you know you're born in the wrong body? there is literally no external way to tell, aside from maybe a few "am I trans?" quizlets (which as we all know are 100% accurate always and only made by professionals and not 12 year old furries). you just look inside, or whatever, and somehow "know" or you decide for yourself. then, based on your own self-reporting, which you have no way to externally verify, you expect people to bend to your will and you expect society to give you special privileges that no one else gets. no other man gets to pee in the ladies' or compete in women's sports but once you self-id as trans? well, right this way "ma'am", pay no mind to the women cowering in fear of you. their rights don't matter nearly as much as your feelings. funny how damn near everyone who believes in this also happens to be trans themselves, will a few outliers.

even "gender critical" transes like mr. blaire white and ms. buck angel will talk in hours upon hours of videos about the importance of gatekeeping and protecting women's spaces, yet /they/ demand the exact same privileges as every other "fake" (in their words) trans person on tiktok. do you seriously think "fake" trans people are going to listen to you and suddenly not go into the women's? No! are you fucking kidding me? it's so much easier to tell a buck or a blaire to fuck off than it is to a delusional fetishist who will 100% either hurt you or make a scene. there is no "true trans" because EVERYONE claims to be truly trans, everyone from bruce jenner to the "IT IS MA'AM" gamestop dude.

it fucking baffles me how youtube skeptics - people i used to admire, people who taught me how to think critically about shit - will spend all damn day dunking on flat earthers and creationists but will turn a blind eye to the trans cray and will even go as far as to support them. they think they're so above it all and they can't be fooled, but they have been, and I keep waiting for them to snap out of it - just like I waited for my own family to snap out of christianity - but they haven't.

if you seriously think a dress and some hormones and plastic surgery will make a man into a woman, you're insane, and you're no more crazy than a youtuber who thinks antarctica is an ice wall or a pastor who still prays to his "sky daddy". you have no right to make fun of these people for the insane shit they believe when you believe in this nonsense. you are quite literally the pot calling the kettle black.

and if you're one of those people who's like "oh well i know they're not actually women i just call them that to avoid hurting their feelings" im sorry but you're still in this cult, you're physically in but mentally out and the only way to really get out is to call a spade a spade, admit the emperor has no clothes, admit you were fooled just like me - just like all of us - and speak out against it.

[wheels-of-despair]

Gonna Need A Bigger Bathtub Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman, Eddie, and the rest of the Hellfire nerds have been sentenced to helping out at the school carnival. There will be casualties. (EW kinda hijacked this fic, but it's still a wild night for all!) Contains: Everyone's own personal hell, violations of child labor laws, carnival games, heroic rescues, new pets, a happy ending... for most. Words: 2.8k

"This is such bullshit," Eddie growls, slamming the front door of his van.

"It's one day," you remind him as you slide out of the passenger's seat. "Half a day, really. It's the price of a diploma."

You meet at the back doors, where the rest of Hellfire is piling out into the sweltering parking lot of Hawkins High. On a damn Saturday.

"Eddie?" He turns to you, misery on his face. It's still decorated with traces of fading yellow bruises from the rumble with the jocks. So is everyone else's. "I tell you this with all the love in my heart, but: Suck it up, buttercup."

"Easy for you to say," he sighs, stripping himself of his battle vest and emptying his pockets into an old coffee can. "You're not in the dunking booth."

He slams the back door, locks it, and looks at his keys with hesitation. "I'll hold 'em," you offer. You pocket Eddie's keys, and he throws an arm across your shoulders as you walk toward the field behind the high school where the carnival is being held. The rest of the boys reluctantly follow along behind you.

Your official assignments were distributed last night, after you helped set this shit-show up. Now you're here, at the damn Hawkins High Carnival Fun-Raiser, ready to raise money (and fun!) for the stupid school you're leaving behind in just a few weeks. Eddie's graduating, you remind yourself. This is a small price to pay for that diploma he's been working so hard for.

"Where have you been?" Miss Click screeches when she spots you, waving her clipboard in frustration. "It's almost time to open! Go get set up! Now!"

You answer with mumbles and half-assed salutes as you pass. Today is going to majorly suck.

"This is me," you sigh mournfully, stopping at your assigned booth. The rest of the boys keep trudging toward their own personal hells, but Eddie stays with you to say goodbye. "Close your eyes, hold your nose, think of Ozzy."

"Who told you the secret to giving great ora—" You cut him off with a shove in the direction of the dunking booth, and he turns around and walks backward to grin at you. And then he stumbles, catching himself just in time to avoid a fall. You cover your mouth to hide a laugh, and he flips you the bird before he turns around.

You have been awarded the honor of running the fish bowl game. It's a table full of fish bowls that people try to throw ping pong balls into. If they win, they get a live fish in a plastic bag. You're hoping for a quiet night, banking on the fact that most people probably don't come to the carnival for a new pet.

You're in a good location; you can see most of the boys from your booth. Jeff is in charge of the balloon game across the way, where people throw darts at balloons and pop them for prizes. Grant's manning the Lucky Duck Pond nearby, where toddlers will pick up a duck and feel like a little winner every time. Gareth is glowering at his popcorn cart a little to your left. And when you stand in the corner and lean out a little, you can see Eddie eyeing the dunking booth warily.

Assorted jocks are set up with easy-to-assemble sports games. Uniformed cheerleaders sell raffle tickets. You have Patrick McKinney with some kind of basketball game to your right, and Chrissy Cunningham in the Kissing Booth to your left. That seems sanitary.

"How are we doing over here?" Overlord Click asks.

"Ready and waiting," you deadpan.

"Why haven't you put the fish in yet?"

"What?" you ask.

"You're supposed put the fish in the fishbowls, silly."

You look from the massive bucket of goldfish in plastic bags to the fishbowls.

"You want people to throw balls at the fish?"

"Why do you think it's called the fish bowl game?" she asks.

"Because you toss a ball into a bowl and win a fish?"

"Put the fish in the bowls," she orders.

"And if I don't?"

"Then perhaps Principal Higgins will have second thoughts about letting you and your little friends off so easy," she says through pursed lips. "Now put the fish in the bowls, or I will put someone who can follow simple instructions in charge of this booth."

You'd like to put her in a fish bowl and let kids throw balls at her. Maybe let someone dunk their balls in her bowl, too. But the thought of Hellfire having suffered a week of detention for nothing gets to you. You reach for a fish bag, untie it, and carefully dump the poor little guy into a bowl.

"Every two or three bowls will do," she says. "We don't want to run out of prizes."

She walks away, and you want to chuck a fucking fish bowl at her.

You stare at the bucket of bagged fish and settle for staggering three of them across the front row of bowls so they're visible to people walking by. You apologize to the little guys as you pour them in.

You're surprised by how many people are willing to haul a goldfish around the carnival all day. But they get their dumb balls in and take their bagged fish and carry on. You take money and distribute fish until dusk, when your relief shows up to grant you fifteen minutes to eat and use the bathroom. How generous.

Since you have no appetite, you decide to check on the boys.

"Hey," you grin at Grant, yawning with boredom by his little duck pond. "Gettin' lucky yet?"

"Kill me," he mouths as a new herd of toddlers approaches. You back away from them with a horrified expression, and he laughs as he takes their mom's money.

"How's it going?" you ask Jeff, leaning against the plywood outside of his balloon-filled booth.

"Oh, just great," he rolls his eyes. "Love watching these degenerates throw darts in my direction. If I get hit, I will sue."

"As you should," you affirm.

"I'd rather be here than in the dunking booth, though," he says. "Poor Eddie, man."

You turn and look in Eddie's direction. He looks like a drowned rat.

Because the person trading money for balls is Jason Carver.

"Oh, no," you groan. "See ya," you say quickly. Jeff waves, then presses himself against the plywood wall as another wave of darts are launched toward the balloons.

There's a long line of jocks waiting for a shot to dunk the freak. It looks like he's barely catching his breath between drops, and exerting all his energy into crawling back on the stool.

"Look here, boys," Jason Carver says loudly when he spots you. "Does the little freak girl wanna play?"

"Maybe she does," you respond. "But her break's almost over, so she won't have time unless these gentlemen want to let a lady cut in line."

Jason gives his flunkies a look, and they part for you like a sea of dickheads. Eddie's breathing heavily on his little stool above the tank and still trying to brush his wet hair out of his face from the last dunk.

"Three tries for $3, miss," Jason says sweetly. Eddie's spotted you, and is shaking his head, but you hand over your cash. Jason gives you three balls.

You throw them quickly, before the pricks can figure out what you're doing. You launch them high and far, way over the target and into the woods. You almost wish the gym teacher could've seen it.

"You bitch," Jason seethes.

"And yet, you're the one who has to fetch," you smile, walking around him to the tank. You reach in and hand Eddie a hair tie. "It's almost over," you remind him. Eddie's in the process of tying his hair back when he's sent into the water again. You both yelp in surprise; Eddie at being dropped again without warning, and you from getting drenched by the splash. You turn to see Carver leaning against the target with a smirk on his face. He set it off manually.

"Thanks for that," you smile sarcastically. "It's really hot out here. I don't envy the person who has to suck Higgins' sweaty balls tonight. Maybe you should suggest he take a dip in the tank before the carnival closes."

You leave before he can work out what you've said, checking your watch to see that you need to get back to your fishy booth.

More fish have been put into open containers. Damn you, temp!

Business carries on as usual, until you notice that two elementary-aged kids are standing off to the side and watching you.

"Can I help you?" you finally ask, sick of being stared at like… a goldfish in a bowl.

"My fish died," Brace-Face pouts. His pal Glasses looks on nervously.

"What'd you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything to it!" he argues with a stamp of his little foot. "You gave me a bad one!"

"No refunds or exchanges." Is this an official policy? Probably not. Are you going to indulge this brat? Definitely not.

"Told you you shouldn't have taken it in the bounce house," Glasses mutters. Your eyes narrow.

"You took a live fish into the bounce house?" you ask.

Brace-Face freezes.

"Give it," you command, holding out your hand for the dead fish. He drops the bag into your hand. The poor little fishy is indeed dead; floating upside down in a plastic prison filled with too-warm water. You turn your gaze from the fish to the kids. "Scram."

They do.

"What was that about?" Miss Click asks, appearing out of nowhere.

"His fish died and he didn't want it anymore," you shrug.

"Did you give him a new one?"

"No."

"Good," she sighs. "We can return the live ones and get a refund when the carnival is over."

"The live ones?" you ask.

"There are bound to be casualties," she shrugs. "Anyway, I'm here for a cash pickup."

You take a fistful of bills out of your apron and hand them to her, concocting a plan as she counts the money and writes on her clipboard.

When she leaves, you dart over to Gareth.

"Give me some popcorn bags."

"Why?"

You huff in annoyance. He puts on his customer service voice.

"Small, medium, or large, ma'am?"

"Large."

He hands you a stack.

"Come see me when you get a break," you instruct, tucking them under your arm and returning to your booth.

Fun fact: You can fit four fish bags into one large popcorn bag.

The first batch of refugees (and Eddie's keys) are smuggled away by Jeff after a whispered explanation. He walks away with a grin and a popcorn bag held to his chest, looking like everyone else walking around the carnival with a snack.

Grant and Gareth's breaks come next, and eight more fish are rescued. They seem pleased to be sticking it to The Man and saving lives. Eddie is the last person to get a break, only an hour before the carnival is scheduled to close. This event is violating so many labor laws.

"This is the worst day of my life," he groans, stepping over the side of your booth and collapsing in the grass beside you. He's still dripping from his last dunk.

"Then I really hate to ask, but…" you bite your lip. "I need a favor."

Your sweet Eddie, soggy and wet and miserable, is the hero of the day. He transports twelve fish to the safety of the van. After his last run, he comes back with flushed cheeks and a twinkle in his eye.

"What about these little guys?" he asks, pointing to the fish in the bowls.

"I think their fates have been decided by a crueler god," you sigh.

"Munson! Your break is over! Stop loitering and get back to your booth!" the aforementioned crueler god barks, chasing him off with a threatening wave of her clipboard.

That's alright. Less than an hour to go, twenty-four fish saved, and a diploma with Eddie Munson's name on it being printed very soon. It's worth it.

When the time comes to pack up, Miss Click comes to collect the rest of your cash.

"How much do you get for taking the fish back?"

"How many are left?" she asks, eyes darting from her fistful of cash to the bucket that the boys of Corroded Coffin helped you empty.

"Just the ones in the bowls," you answer.

She performs a quick fish count and cringes. There are ten left.

"I don't even think it's worth trying to take those back," she sighs.

"Can I have them?" you ask. She eyes you suspiciously. "I've grown attached to the little fellas," you shrug, looking to the ground shyly.

"Fine," she laughs. "It's barely a dollar's worth of fish, and saves me an hour. You did a good job, moving so many! I bet there's a lot of happy kids out there, and a lot of dough in here!" She waves the leather zipper pouch containing the funds.

You smile, grateful that she didn't notice how few people were actually walking around with fish.

"We have to return the bowls though, so you'll have to put them in bags when you take them."

"That's alright," you grin. "I can handle bags."

You bag your remaining fish and present them to the boys with a grin when the post-carnival clean-up is complete.

"Look, guys! I get to bring a few fishies home!"

Your joy is met with eye-rolls and groans.

"What the hell are you gonna do with all those?" Eddie asks once you're safely in the fish-filled van.

"Eat them?" Gareth suggests.

"I bet if I put them into the tub with you, they'd eventually nibble you to death," you threaten.

"Nah, don't do that," Jeff says. "His funk will kill the poor little fishies." Gareth smacks him, and a playful slap fight breaks out in the back of the van.

You're all laughing as you pull out of the parking lot… but your smile soon fades. What are you going to do with all of these fish?

"Anybody want to take a fish or two home?" you ask hopefully.

"Nope," the boys in the back say in unison.

"Eddie?"

He puts his hand up, blocking his face from your view so you can't work your puppy-eyed magic. You roll your eyes.

"I'm gonna need a bigger bathtub," you sigh.

Thirty minutes later, after Jeff and Grant are dropped off, Eddie pulls into your driveway.

"How are you going to break it to Mom that you brought home a hundred fish?" Gareth grins.

"I had accomplices," you remind him. "And there are only… thirty-four?!"

Two Days Later

"Okay, babies, are we ready?" you ask, smiling down into one of two buckets full of goldfish.

Much to your surprise, your mother did not murder you for bringing home 34 mostly stolen goldfish. She found the situation hilarious, and declared that she'd always wanted a backyard fish pond anyway.

Your babies were freed from their bags and put into buckets for the night. The next morning, there was a group expedition to the home improvement store.

It took all weekend to get the hole dug and the liner laid and the filters installed, but you all had so much fun doing it.

(Except maybe Gareth, who hissed "I'll get you for this" every time he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.)

There's still work to be done with the overall landscaping, but flowers are your mother's department, so those can wait. Now, it's time to introduce your fishies to their new home.

You look to Eddie, standing on the other side of the little pond with a fish-filled bucket of his own.

"Release the fishes!" your mom calls, camera at the ready.

You both start to pour, slowly, and watch the little gold creatures plop into the pond and start swimming. When the buckets are empty, you set them aside and meet in the middle, kneeling beside the pond to peer down into it.

"They look so happy," you whisper.

"Well, yeah," Gareth grunts, dropping to his knees beside you. "They have a memory span of like three seconds."

"So do you," you and Eddie say together, looking away from your fish long enough to smirk at each other.

"That's good, though," Eddie says quietly, wrapping an arm around you. "Because they don't remember the carnival. They've already forgotten all the bad stuff. This is their life now."

"And it's gonna be a good one," you smile, leaning into him.

"How do we forget that fucking carnival?" Gareth mumbles.

Eddie glances back to see how far away your mom is. She's staring at a butterfly on one of her flowers through the camera's viewfinder.

"The good shit's in the van," he whispers. "Our memory loss comes later."

[hatoheart]

hey so I’ve said before I prefer to keep my blog a drama free place but

Oh well. It’s my blog and I can break my own rules as I see fit lol.

My background with Lily Orchard: I had been a fan since about summer 2019 (20 years old, I was born December 12, 1998) and had heard her talk about the various abuse she claims to have gone through throughout her life. With no reason to believe otherwise, I just accepted this. I bought into everything she said when allegations came out against her because I had already anchored my beliefs to things she’d said. It’s hard to dismantle beliefs that are so ingrained in you.

In June 2024 I made a tumblr post asking for actual evidence, and to be fair, I had plenty of people come to me in good faith. Unfortunately, I was unwilling to believe a lot of what I was sent, parroting the same excuses for them I’d heard Lily use. I like to think of myself as someone who’s objective and looks at things from every side, and yeah, I’ll fully admit I was not doing that at all here. I got dunked on a bit, rightfully so.

I was a member of Lily’s Patreon server from June-September 2024 (I only just joined Patreon itself in June 2024). I started as a $1 Patron before bumping up to a $5 Patron for access to the Patron chat. I wouldn’t say I was especially close to Lily, I certainly wasn’t part of her “inner circle”, and got reprimanded by her a few times for various minor things, but ultimately she trusted me enough to let me into the private “server regulars” chat she implemented a week or so before I left.

The first major crack came when she used me venting in her stream chat about my beef with KP as an excuse to drop her and Sai’s full names. I did not at all endorse that and was actually quite pissed at her for doing that. I value my privacy a lot, and I try to extend that courtesy to everyone else I come across online. I’ve got plenty of good friends online and I couldn’t tell you the real-life names of about 90% of them.

Ultimately, the incest game folder was the major incident that got me thinking. She did her best to debunk it, but it was just… such a flimsy excuse? It seemed like she was desperate to cover it up. I don’t know, I’d bought into plenty of things she’d said in the past, but this seemed… unbelievable. So after spending a few days conflicted, I looked back into the evidence I’d been given months prior. And it was… a lot. I lashed out at some people trying to help me during this time, and blocked someone who’d been very cordial to me in DMs. I was stuck. I didn’t know what to believe. I suppose you could say this was my breaking point.

Ultimately the evidence did prove overwhelming, so on September 13th, 2024, I quietly left Lily’s community. No big statement, no fuss, just quietly retracted my Patreon sub, unfollowed on tumblr, and unsubscribed on YouTube. I’ve been quiet for the past month, give or take.

And man, has hindsight been 20/20.

She frames everything as “my boundaries tho” so that she can excuse being rude to her fans. She consistently denies Tara Callie/Stockholm and other wrongdoings without any proof to back up her claims.

I’ve watched KP and Courtney’s videos. I’ve looked at Britt’s evidence. I’ve privately made amends with all three of them.

I had already planned on watching Joon the King’s video when it released. I was a fan of his prior and figured if he was covering Lily… then there must be something I was ignoring.

Part of the reason it can be so difficult to look into Lily’s past is because the resources aren’t neatly gathered in one place. Joon’s video does just that. An easily digestible resource for people to get the gist of who she is.

And I’m sorry to anyone I may have hurt on her behalf. I am not claiming to be innocent here, I knowingly dug my heels in while claiming to want evidence, and then refused to look at it. I’m sorry for the rancid shit I’ve said and done to people in defense of Lily.

But I’ve opened my eyes. I’ve stopped hiding from the truth.

I’m not going to discuss this further, as I’ve said I prefer to keep my blog a fairly lighthearted place for me to hyperfixate and shitpost. I’m not interested in dunking on Lily or harassing her (please don’t harass her), but just being transparent and letting everyone know where I stand as of right now. This needed to be said eventually.

[callofdudes]

Happy National Women's Day (yesterday, woops) Celebrated with a platonic story for y/n, Laswell, and Farah.

Readers gender is not specified. This isn't beta read because my eyes really hurt today for some reason.

You had just gotten back from a mission followed by Farah's forces and accompanying assistance of one Alex Keller. After getting back the guys were pretty tuckered out. Price and Simon going for a smoke and Johnny going for a long snooze in his bed. Missions usually left you exhausted.

However, this was the week that Laswell got a much needed break from her work and she wanted to spend it well.

She was sat on the couch, watching you and Simon quietly talk. Farah was cleaning her goggles, frowning over a small scratch in the top corner of the lense.

She could see the stress on Farah's face, and just from your posture she knew you needed a break as well. So when Simon got up to use the bathroom she leaned forward.

"What do you two say we get out of here for a couple days?"

You looked up curiously. "What do you mean?? Get a hotel or something?"

She shook her head. "Camping. My brother has a cabin up in the mountains where his buddies and him go climbing. We could go spend some time out there."

"Would it be quiet?" Farah asks.

"Most likely, it's not a big place. The spot we usually go isn't touristy either."

Farah looks to you. "I've never been camping outside of missions."

"If we can get a place with room for three and not get eaten alive by mosquitoes and the like, then yeah."

Laswell nods. "It's a cabin, so I don't think you'll have to worry too much about mosquitoes. But it'll just be the three of us." Laswell stands, stretching and grabbing her coffee. "We'll head out tomorrow after you're packed."

So the next morning you and Farah brought out your backpacks to Laswell's car. She only had a small vehicle but it was enough to fit all your supplies. Laswell brought her climbing gear, and enough food to last you a week at the cabin.

Once you were all ready to go there was one person you had to say goodbye to.

"Simon it's ok, I'm not going to be gone that long, only a week."

"A week... What am I supposed to do until then??"

"Hangout with the guys, take some time off to relax your feet. Read your book. You'll be ok."

Simon grumbled and looked over at Alex who was staying with them. To Simon's dismay.

You smiled softly, and fixed his sweater hoodie. "Only a week." You wrap your arms around him and he hugged you back, squeezing you for good measure.

Soon enough you packed in and set off on your journey. Farah plugged her phone in and played music from the passenger seat. "Any song requests??"

"Remember that one song you played the other day? With the guitar solo?"

Farah smiled and put the song on, and you jammed away in the backseat. Laswell put her son blocker down and set you off to the nearest coffee shop. Because what's a road trip without coffee?

She took the tray from the man at the drive through window and handed Farah her iced coffee and you your drink. “There you go.”

“Thank you mom.” You smiled and leaned back.

“Of course. Now, it’ll be a bit of a drive.” But you guys were ready for that.

You drove for the rest of the day. As you got closer to the mountains, Farah and you both pointed out a fair bit of wildlife you saw along the roadside.

Farah’s entire day was made by seeing baby ducklings going for a dunk in a small pond with their mom.

Laswell pointed out a few deer on the way, and soon you reached the place. Driving up the road and parking in front of a rather nice little cabin. It was old, with a couple swinging shutters and the frame would need some repainting.

“This is nice.” Farah looked around the grassy area behind the cabin that led up into a large hill. A small fire pit set up around some trees and a stone pathway up to the stairs.

“How did you get this place again??”

“My brother rents it most of the summer for his rock climbing. They come every few weeks.”

“Cool.”

Laswell nods, opening the car door and putting her park pass in the window. She tossed you the keys. “I'll go tell administration we’re here so they don't freak out. You two and get the first pickings.”

You and Farah smiled at each other softly. “Thanks laswell!” You called and grabbed out your stuff. You unlocked the house and you two headed inside. In the small entry way was a couple buckets full of wood and a shelf of paper and some lighters.

A tiny kitchen area and a gas stove. It was a cozy little place. Heading into the next part of the cabin there was a small bench, a cabinet with some games and a bed tucked against the opposite wall.

The back bedroom was separated by a curtain, inside being another two beds.

You and Farah looked at each other. “you can have either, I don't mind.” She said softly.

You were quiet for a moment. “You want the one by the window??”

“I'd like that.” She admitted.

You nodded and tossed your stuff on the bed in the corner, and let Farah have the bed next to the big window looking out at the field.

Laswell came back with a bag of some firewood and her climbing equipment. Taking dibs on the bed in the other room and getting comfy.

After which she promptly started on some dinner because she was starving. Until then you two opened her tray of fruit from the cooler and snacked away.

“So where do you usually go rock climbing, Laswell?” Farah asks.

“We usually go up one of the old trails. There's an open section of land that shows off this huge rock face. It's the perfect climb. I think it'll be easy enough for you two.”

“We’re capable Laswell.” You chuckle. You could smell the food waft through the cabin. She plated up, and came over to set down two plates for you two. You moved over on the bench allowing Laswell to sit down, and you all dug in.

Talking and laughing as the sun starts to go down on the field, the food being quickly devoured. Laswell brought out brownies as dessert.

You gasped softly. “Are those….”

Laswell smiled and ruffled your hair. “She said they're all yours.”

You eagerly popped the lid off and snatched one to dig into. “Oh Farah, you gotta try one. Her wife makes them the best.”

Farah smiled softly and reached in and took one out. “What's in it, Laswell??”

“Hm? I have the recipe list here if you want to look at it.” She took it from her bag and passed it over. Farah read through it before biting in, humming happily. “Oh, oh these are good.” She took another bite.

“Can I just…” She slid the recipe back toward herself and Laswell nodded. “All yours”

Farah tucked it into her pocket and you two devoured the brownies. Laswell’s wife was the best, always asking what sweets you guys would like best and sending Laswell out to work with a box or two for you guys.

Eventually you all headed to bed. You crawled into bed and rolled over, falling asleep.

Farah pulled the blanket over her shoulder, and opened the window to look out at the darkness. The cool breeze on her face.

She sighed softly, and closed it. Flopping down and rolling over again. She looked into the darkness, trying to arrange the blanket to try and get comfy.

When she couldn't, she leaned over and grabbed the flashlight off the nightstand, flicking it on low. She went over to you, standing at the edge of the bed for a bit before poking you.

“Y/n?” She whispered. You mumbled softly and opened your eyes. “Farah?”

“I'm sorry… I can't sleep.” She whispered.

You smiled softly, and rolled onto your back. You pulled the blanket back to allow her in. “Come on.”

She pursed her lips and flicked the light off. But she crawled into the bed. You gave her some more blanket and closed your eyes again. Farah laid next to you, sighing and slowly closing her eyes.

She held out her hand and you linked your pinky with hers. Helping her relax and fall asleep.

The next morning Laswell was up first. She got dressed and needed a coffee. She pushed the curtain to the second room open and smiled softly when she saw you and Farah curled up, pinkies still linked.

You two could sleep in.

She tied up her hair and went to the kitchen to put hot water on the stove and look through the food bag for what to make for breakfast.

The sound of the kettle woke you up, slowly rubbing your eyes and sitting up. Farah felt you stir and also opened her eyes. “Hmm…??”

“It's ok, you can keep resting if you want.” You assure, and crawled out around her. You scratched your stomach and headed out to the main room.

“Well good morning.” Laswell greeted you.

“Mornin…”

“Coffee??”

“Please.” You nodded.

You sat down at the bench, and heard the curtain shift. “I'm gonna change.” Farah gave you the heads up.

Laswell handed you your fresh coffee. “What do you feel for breakfast??”

“Eggs??” You gave her the innocent best child ever look. “Please mom??”

“Tell you what, find the carton in the cooler and I'll see what I can do.”

Farah filled up her water bottle as Laswell made breakfast, checking her phone. She snickered a little from across the table.

Without further incentive you rushed to the cooler and dug around for the eggs, bringing them to her.

She chuckled and saw Farah come out from the back room soon.

“What are you chuckling about?” You teased softly.

Farah turned her phone and showed you a photo of Alex around a corner with a blurry Ghost in the background.

“You think he's dead yet??”

“Knowing Simon and Johnny… maybe.” You snickered.

“Those three are going to kill each other.” She fully smiled briefly before looking down at the accompanying texts.

“Well, he's still alive but accidentally took some of Ghost’s gummy worms it seems.”

You cringed a little. “Ooh… ouch. I'll have to talk with Simon to make sure he didn't hurt Alex too badly.”

You both have a chuckle over it and Laswell brings you your eggs.

And without hesitation you dig in, humming happily to have your stomach full of food and happy.

“How long is the hike to the rock face??”

“Not long. Fifteen minutes at most. And I've got all the gear for you.”

“Awesome.”

“Now that you've got some fiber in you, let's get going.” Laswell fills her water bottle and grabs the bag of equipment.

“I can carry it for you??” You offered, but she shook her head. “I got it.”

You headed out down the road and hiked up the trail into the mountains. Seeing the tall trees and smelling the fresh air. Feeling the gentle breeze on your warm skin.

Laswell led you up and off the main path to a small outcrop. And there it was. A tall rock face up the side of the mountain with clearly outlined passages and handholds from how much it had been traversed.

Laswell secured her hair and handed you your gear. You and Farah got snug and comfy. Laswell set up the ropes and pegs in the ground to hold you three.

Chalking up your hands.

“You ready, princesses??”

“Hey!” You huffed, rushing after Laswell. Farah chuckled under her breath and found a small ledge to slide her hand into. And you three started to climb.

Farah scaled it fairly easily, though it definitely felt easier when under the pressure of a mission.

You found another handhold and pushed your foot up, feeling around until you could find a spot to slot your shoe in. Securing the tie on your belt.

“You doing ok Farah??”

“A little sweaty.” She wrung her wrist out.

“Let's pause for a minute.” You secured your line and tugged it a couple times before taking your hands off the rocks, keeping your feet in place to keep you from spinning.

Farah did the same, wringing out her wrists and wiping her sweaty palms on her hips.

“Need some more powder??”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You grabbed it off your belt and handed it to her, letting her resupply, and you did the same.

“I bet Laswell is already at the top.” You chuckled.

Farah looked around, trying to spot her. “Oh she probably is.”

“Let's catch up then, hey?”

Farah nodded, and you continued to climb until you reached the top.

And as you suspected, Laswell was already at the top. “You're fast.” You pushed yourself up, shaking out her legs, looking back down at where you came from.

“Oh.” You wobbled a little, stepping back. “It's best not to look down for a minute.” Laswell tipped and looked out at the edge of the cliff. The sun showed out from behind the clouds. It casted down over the lake and reflecting off of the water.

Farah took out her phone and got a picture of the view. Motioning you and Laswell to get close.

You wrapped your arm around her, keeping your hand just off her waist as she attempted a simple smile. Catching the moment with you three.

“Now I'm gonna tell Alex about the fun we’re having.” She chuckled, and put her phone away.

“Maybe I could bring Simon here.” You wondered aloud. You threw sat around the cliff on a small blanket, drinking from your water bottles.

“Hey, I just remembered.”

Farah and Laswell looked at you curiously.

“Happy National Women's Day.”

The two smiled. “That is today, isn't it?” Farah said, and Laswell nodded.

“It is. I almost forgot.”

“I mean, we got the Barbie movie.”

Farah smiled. “I got to see it with some of the girls from my group. Their families said I could come with them.” She fidgeted with her water bottle. “We want to go with Miss Farah.” She remembered them saying.

Laswell looked out at the cliff. “I remember dragging John out with my wife and I.”

You snickered. “Uh oh, how did that go??”

“Oh I think he fell asleep.” She snickered. “It's not his typical movie. But hey, he gave a kicker of a review afterward in the car home.”

You looked down at your hands, looking at all the roughness to your hands. Your battered knuckles and the dirt under your fingernails.

“Do you guys ever feel pressured to look or act a certain way??”

A moment of soft silence went by, letting the breeze drift between you three. “Yes. I think it comes with the territory… but even though I have respect, I still feel mentally challenged a lot to prove myself.” Laswell said.

“Like some of the men in my charge can't understand how I could be as smart as them or understand how to handle pressuring situations.”

"But... Recently a lot of the pressures and beauty standards have been pushed by other women. Which, is sad, considering a lot of them think we need all this stuff done to look pretty or be wanted. But it just isn't true."

You nodded. “Yeah…”

Farah sighed softly. “It feels pressuring every day, to have to dress and act a certain way. Follow a certain code or I won't be respected. I had a man tell me I wouldn't ever have a voice if I didn't have a husband to speak for me.”

You frowned, but nodded. Farah fidgeted a little. “But you know what? I did find my voice. And a voice for many other men and women who couldn't speak before.”

She smiles. “And for every bad person I meet, I've met ten more amazing men I know I have in my corner.”

Laswell nods. “I second that.”

You smile more, happily raising your water bottle. “To the women, and all those who support them.”

You clinked your water bottles and took a large sip. “I'm glad I get to spend the week with you guys. I know it's gonna be awesome.”

“We’re going swimming next.” Farah says quickly.

Laswell and you laugh. “Swimming is next on the list then.”

[honey-milk-depresso]

Batboys watching anime with reader

You know my ass went FULL ON LOCK MODE with Tim. I went crazy- 💀

***S/o is above 18, which means characters below are also aged up!

Doing requests until 1 Feb! Please see my pinned post and read the request rules on the navi! Thank you!🩷

Batbros watching anime with you

Dick Grayson

He’s watched a few 90s anime before, more the basic ones like One Piece and Pokémon, and he probably still watches them to this day. Boy has old CDs he has and you should probably try finding a Blue Ray (or use his if he can have Tim help fix it because it’s good as dead 💀) because he’s popping in every CD of old anime’s he have lying about.

“Wow, I didn’t know I had cowboy bebop! Or Slam Dunk!” He got a few rare gems, which makes it all the more fun to sit down on the couch under a blanket as you huddle and watch the nostalgic 90s anime shows together while eating popcorn.

He doesn’t mind watching new, modern day animes, just be prepared for when you two watch sad anime shows because he will sob like it’s the end of the world.

“NO, WHY WOULD KAORI DIE LIKE THIS?? AND SHE LOVES ARIMA- OH MY GOD IM SO—”sobs even more. He gets emotional while watching them because it’s so sad that it’s sO GOOD-

Loves dancing to those danceable anime music with you. He goes ALL. OUT. He even sings all of it in Japanese like wow-

I would love to hear him sing Cruel Angel’s Thesis in his Discowing suit and with goth makeup on it because it “sets the mood”, PLEASE-

Overall, great time watching with Dick. <3

Jason Todd

You expect someone like him to like Chainsaw Man, Trigun or something like those grunge-y, guns and knives animes, right? I mean, he does, but only with you and ONLY with you will he let his inner Magical Girl enthusiast ass shine. Because he LOVES Magical Girl animes. That’s probably the reason and one point of time why he wore red ribbons around his arms, he wanted that Sailor Moon experience and Tim might’ve just teased him about that era without knowing his love for Magical Girl animes and Jason might’ve flipped and freaked the fuck out and started chasing him down the manor.

Jason watches Sailor Moon, Madoka when he feels edgier than usual, Cardcaptor Sakura, every Precure series, Tokyo Mew Mew, man has all these shows somehow. He swears they weren’t through illegal means and he just worked very hard to gather all of them. He also might be a shoujo anime fan because if he loves Jane Austen books, you bet his ass would be reading Fruits Basket, Maid Sama or something because of course he would.

Also a Studio Ghibli fan, although watching the Tale of Princess Kaguya might make him feel too much, especially getting pissed off with the dad who forces his daughter into a wealthy life without her input and- yeah, you gotta calm him down as he cries bitterly and sourly with a pout on his face.

The two of you can go on and on about debating about unclear endings of animes all day long. You know the “AND SHE WAS A PRINCESS” video? That’s Jason.

Great man to watch anime with, and he’ll gladly be your Tuxedo Mask to your Sailor Moon (and not the “But you did nothing meme- or the other way around- he don’t mind being the Usagi-). <3

Tim Drake

I’m very convinced this man got into his whole detective shit because he watched Detective Conan and honestly I can’t blame him. Tim has probably the largest vessel of anime knowledge out of all of them. He doesn’t really have a specific genre he likes but he’s pretty fond of old 90s and 80s animes. He can explain the whole lore of One Piece, Fairytale, Pokémon like Jesus Tim, calm down- 💀

I can see him watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, Serial Experiments Lain or Key the Metal Doll because he likes that little bit of horror nature and mystery and thriller in his animes although he really doesn’t mind watching Haikyuu all over again if you want to.

Might introduce you to underrated and/or old animes like Revolutionary Girl Utena, Nadia the Secrets of Blue Water, every Studio Ghibli movie, those kinds of animes that give off the really pretty and aesthetic old anime animations that is just so pretty to watch and with really good storylines that both of you can cuddle on a couch together and watch. I bet he even watches anime with you even before you two got together, so you guys pretty much have “watching anime together” as part of the foundation of your relationship. Owns so much manga that you can’t even count, too.

Just… don’t make him watch those really slow burn, comedy love animes, specifically Love War. Not that he don’t like romance animes, he watches Ouran High School Host Club and Your Name, trust me, but Love War? He is going absolutely insane because of it.

“OH MY GOD- PLEASE JUST KISS ALREADY. ME AND S/O ARE ALREADY TOGETHER FIVE MONTHS AGO ANF YOU TWO ARE STILL TOO PROUD TO ADMIT YOU LOVE EACH OTHER WHILE BLUSHING- JUST KISS ALREADY-” <3

Damian Wayne

Damian likes anime. Would 100% go to an anime convention with you as a date if you’re up for it. He doesn’t mind (surprisingly- just for you only-).

He doesn’t necessarily like showmen animes although he has enjoyed a few, but he really loves slice of life, I feel. It just feels like he wants to put himself in a normal life and with a tad bit of drama in it like what the characters go through. The touching ones like Hyouka or Natsume’s Book of Friends.

Also animal related anime maybe except Beastars because he didn’t understand shit-?? He calls that peak anime. Aggretsuko, Chi’s Sweet Home and My Roommate is a Cat?? Damian loves this shit, he watches it intently with his arm around you. Even if he doesn’t smile, you know he loves it by the way his eyes sparkle.

Just don’t tell his brothers. He will seriously feel betrayed if you do so because he only watches these kinds of shows with you: the cute animal ones that are actually wholesome and/or funny.

The whole family is into Studio Ghibli, and he is no exception. He feels like it’s the best kinds of anime to watch with you when you guys just want to turn in for the day and huddle up on the couch. It’s one of the rare times he relaxes and softens and he’s glad to have quality time with you. <3

Duke Thomas

He likes anime! Studio Ghibli is definitely a favourite of his and he would gladly watch it together with you! He also love a fair bit of Shounen animes, the more popular ones like Jujutsu Kaisen, One Piece, Haikyuu, or Spy x Family. He likes them a lot!

A big fan of romance animes too: Ouran High School Host Club and The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (if you two are in the mood to huddle on the couch together and cry).

Duke doesn’t mind any kind of anime so long as it doesn’t have too much horror or gore like… Higurashi. He gets chills when that anime is mentioned. D-Don’t watch it for your own sake if you don’t know. And if you do, avoid it with him at all cost because he will.

Duke also like singing some good anime songs with you and you guys can go crazy and dance around, just not as dramatic as Dick.

He would be super excited to spend a date with you watching shounen anime movies like from Jujutsu Kaisen and he would be so hype to spend time with you being a fanboy while also sharing that romantic air for the shared love of anime between you two and the love that you two share, although that love is far stronger. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

[palant1r]

death note characters, ranked by ability to do a backflip

near: wouldn't even be able to get his feet off the ground

mogi: seems like he'd be pretty fit but simply does not have the body type for it. too Bear to do a backflip. it would be like that one video of a strongman and a bodybuilder trying to imitate a gymnast

mello: would attempt to do a backflip to dunk on near and immediately wreck his entire shit right there on the concrete

soichiro: sorry old man a backflip would throw your back out

light: pathological overconfidence in his own ability to do a backflip. it would be that, not his lack of ability itself, that would fuck him up. hed for sure at least sprain a joint

takada: why WOULD she be able to do a backflip? idk. but theres a possibility for hidden depths there. i dont think her sense of dignity would permit her to fail at a backflip, so either she wouldn't try to do a backflip or she'd successfully do a backflip

ide and aizawa: these two are here as the Baseline of Backflip Likelihood. they have the Average Ability to Do a Backflip.

mikami: only above the baseline because of his abs. but he probably has no idea how to do a backflip.

misa: it's plausible that she'd receive dance training as part of her j-pop career, and that may have included some stunts or gymnastics practice

L: capoiera probably means he has some hidden physical abilities. it seems like a martial art very suited to backflipping

matsuda: this man has looney tunes level of stunt plot armor and the ability to do a walking handstand with seemingly zero effort. he'd be fine. "light, i do a backflip every single day of my life"

naomi: regularly can does and will do a backflip in the process of beating someone's ass. and will do it better than L because she has a diet that isn't just ice cream and twinkies.

[stop-talking]

Mike & Abby Easter Headcannons

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

• Mike always hides eggs for her. Without fail. Every year. He probably enjoys hiding them more than she enjoys finding them, honestly.

• He's super annoying about not just TELLING her where one is when she can't find it, he'll just go "warmer..." or "colder...!" until she gets fed up and throws empty plastic eggshells at him.

• Abby knows the Easter bunny isn't real. She's not dumb. But it's a fun tradition, and she's willing to play pretend for as long as Mike is.

• Mike never busy himself any Easter candy. He "doesn't need the extra calories". Yet every year without fail, he ends up bumming Abby for candy, stealing a chocolate here and there. (She acts annoyed, but secretly doesn't mind sharing.)

• The first time Mike showed Abby the "draw with white crayon on an egg before dyeing it and the dye won't stick there" trick, she thought he was magic. Now, she draws a doodle on every single egg before dunking it in the colored water. Mike always makes comments on how they look "too good to eat," then eats one before they're even done dying them anyways.

• Once he forgot where he hid one of the hard boiled eggs... until it stank up the front porch. He nearly gagged when he found it two weeks later, tucked into an old flowerpot.

• Easter is like, the one time a year Mike drags Abby to church... If only for the giant egg hunt they host. He definitely has some kind of religious guilt from not going more often, but he's just too busy and tired. (He used to use Abby as an excuse, since she refused to sit still when she was younger. Now that she's older, he could go, but just doesn't care to. Neither does Abby.)

• (Post-movie) He and Abby happened to run into someone dressed as the Easter bunny outside of, like Walmart. And it just so happened to be a YELLOW bunny. Mike jumped two feet in the air and nearly pissed himself, and Abby just laughed at him. The guy in the costume thought it was hilarious to see a grown man so scared of a bunny, and the high-five he gave Abby made Mike just want to punch him. He didn't, thankfully.

How Mike would treat his 💙partner💙 on Easter:

(slight NSFW warning)

• He'd definitely make you an Easter basket. Nothing super fancy or expensive, he spends most of his budget on Abby. But he'd make sure you feel included and appreciated.

• Your basket would include: Your favorite candy, a pack of gum, something related to one of your hobbies, (ex: guitar pick, yarn, nail polish, colored pencils, etc), a cheesy hand-written note, a few plastic eggs with candy, a small stuffed animal, and a savory snack, like chips or pretzels. He's attentive, and knows what you prefer.

• Depending on how long you've been dating, he might even throw in something a little raunchy... like a pack of flavored condoms, lube, or a "toy". More as a gift to himself than you.

• He'd absolutely let you spend Easter with him and Abby, but wouldn't pressure you if you wanted to be with your family. If YOU invited HIM to spend the day with YOUR family, though? He'd fucking melt. ESPECIALLY if they were warm and welcoming to him. It'd make him cry like a baby to see Abby getting along with the other kids.

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

Happy Easter to those who celebrate!! I thought about writing a whole fic on this but just don't have time. If anyone wants to steal these ideas, be my guest. Love y'all!! 💖

[ashintheairlikesnow]

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

-

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one. 

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him. 

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her. 

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily. 

That’s okay. 

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did. 

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better. 

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax. 

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it. 

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head. 

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble. 

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing. 

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own. 

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband. 

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to. 

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there. 

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed. 

She doesn’t always roll well. 

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back. 

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch. 

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them. 

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue. 

No, wait. 

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word. 

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse. 

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.” 

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.” 

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump. 

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.” 

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke. 

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply. 

She can't help herself. 

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear. 

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath. 

“Savvie,” he whispers. 

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

 She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips. 

Her blood. 

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?” 

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.” 

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her. 

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step. 

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch. 

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion. 

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall. 

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.” 

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie. 

-

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

[katzkinder]

The Vongola Estate is haunted. Literally, and figuratively. The ghosts of the past walk the halls, occupy the same spaces, forever repeating the days of the first generation. The ones who built this place.

Funnily enough, they don’t seem to be playing out any regrets. Funnily enough, every moment that isn’t theirs to know feels sweet. Tender. Silly even.

It’s uncomfortable, being confronted like this. With humanity.

***

One of the most surprising things for Tsuna was the communal bath. Apparently the first Rain held a lot of sway with Primo.

Or he was exceedingly eccentric. Tsuna’s starting to lean towards the latter contributing to the first.

Especially with what he’s seeing.

He just wanted to check it out. Instead he feels like a voyeur, watching six grown men lounge around in phantom water. Even Daemon Spade is there, sulking up to his neck.

“It’s surprising isn't it?"

“Huh?” Spade snaps out of his pouting fest (which is already weird enough, given their history) to direct his attention to Asari.

"Giotto being normal about this.” Knuckle this time, and when he flicks his hand out, casual, it splashes a few droplets Spade’s way, who shies back. Of them all, he seems to be the most… uncomfortable with the arrangement. Alaude is, of course, far away from them all, a towel dropped over his face and head sprawled back against the tiles. Tsuna’s not sure if he’s sleeping.

Spade nods, slowly, and opens his mouth to answer. It slams shut with a click when they catch the conversation Primo is having with G.

“I like being able to see your bodies are okay. Puts me at ease. There’s no hiding when you’re naked~”

“Man… I get what youre saying but don’t. Don’t put it like that.”

The apparition of Primo laughs and splashes warm water at his Storm, who dunks him in return and leaves him to come up sputtering.

“Uncalled for??”

“Don’t play in the bath. What are you, five?”

Giotto sticks his tongue out at him and settles back into the water “Hardly. A five year old wouldn’t have a dick this—“

Spade practically shrieks, standing up to scold the very first Vongola Don. “Giotto!!!”

Primo laughs, loud and free, and Tsuna nearly face plants in his haste to run before he hears any other adult jokes.

It’s so vulgar.

So… Normal.

***

Not even Reborn’s bedroom is safe. It’s attached to Tsuna’s, of course. Tsuna’s much too old to be sharing a room outright with him.

Neither of them want to think about what it means, to draw such comfort from being within easy reach of each other, or the intended use of a bedroom which holds the same basic set up of the one Tsuna’s two mists share. Granted, considering it’s a high occupancy room which often holds four people, it’s easy to ignore.

What’s not easy to ignore is this fever he’s got, the fuss it’s causing, or the apparition at his side.

Tsuna had just been in there earlier, having a carefully measured conversation with Ryohei that totally wasn’t verging on an argument over his health (He’s such a worrywart) so when he feels a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature, he doesn’t really react. Merely continues to pretend to sleep.

It’s only when a voice murmurs “Poor thing…” in an unfamiliar cadence with a very familiar tone that his eyes snap open to find Vongola Primo’s ghost hovering over him. “You must be absolutely miserable.” That phantom hand, already scarred and broken, moves to stroke his hair. “Get better soon… Once you do, we’ll go down to the beach. Make a whole day of it. Even get Elena and stuffy old Spade out there with us~ Or maybe you’d like to go some place else? Whatever you want, Ricardo… Just as long as you get well.” There’s so much pleading in that last sentence. Reborn’s chest is tight. He already knows these things can’t hear them, can’t respond, and yet he finds himself wanting to offer words of comfort to this great man who sees Secondo where Reborn now lays.

Which is new information to him. He didn’t realize they’d been so close…

"Uncle..." Especially not that close. “It’s hot. Get off the bed.”

Primo looks distressed, and it makes Reborn struggle to sit up. He shouldn’t be seeing this. “S-sorry—“ It’s when he’s about to leave that a small hand tugs at his sleeve.

"m'not telling you to leave..." a child’s voice mumbles. Secondo’s voice as a child. Secondo, who was Primo’s nephew…? Apparently? Not direct descendant? But then how. Vongola’s Hyper Intuition. It was hereditary.

Primo blinks down at him, at whoever he’s really seeing, then smiles, and it feels like having the air punched out of him. It’s a completely different feeling from Tsuna. Somehow it’s violent. “Is it alright if I go long enough to get you a fresh towel? Help you cool off.”

"M’kay."

"Be right back.” Primo leans down to kiss his nephew's forehead. It lands on Reborn's instead. “I love you.”

“Love you too, uncle.”

The next day, his fever is worse than ever.

***

Julie really doesn’t like visiting, mostly because out of every spirit he could possibly see… It’s always the one he detests the most.

It feels like a punishment.

The things he sees are cruel because they’re not.

He sees Spade praying over a heavily wounded Giotto as he lies unconscious in bed, head bowed and hands clasped, his lips moving silently.

He sees Spade wine drunk and laughing, arm around his leader for support and Giotto leaning into him with the same alcohol induced glee, two men who want to change the world giggling without a care in it.

Sleeping and then insisting he wasn’t, shouting at Alaude and needing to be separated, bending to absurd requests and putting his foot down about others…

Exchanging gifts during winter.

The center of attention on his birthday.

Gazing fondly at the Vongola ring that marks him as Giotto’s, and the wedding band that claims him as Elena’s

“This just might work.”

It makes Julie sick. This isn’t the evil creature who toyed with them all, took his frustrations and turned them into barbed words, made him betray his family, took Enma’s from him.

This is a normal man.

He finds a bush.

***

Gokudera feels the bed dip, the cool touch of the air outside the warm cocoon of his blankets, and grunts, swatting at what he assumes to be Lambo in his half dream state.

And then he remembers Lambo both isn’t here, and has long been too old to seek such comfort from him.

This is someone else, and he’s more awake than he’s ever been in his life. When he turns his head, half sitting up, it’s just in time to see a head of wispy blond hair settle against his pillows, and his boss’s face settle into an angelic smile. It’s the eyes that are the most wrong, though, smoldering orange in the dark. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I snuck in…”

A hand that isn’t his settles onto that cheek and the not-tsuna’s eyes fall shut, exhaling softly and the last tension leaving him “thanks, G… You always make me feel better.”

The hand he’s certain belongs to the first storm ghosts knuckles over the apple of not-tsuna’s cheeks, brushes bangs away from not-tsuna’s forehead, and settles in not-tsuna’s gently curled palm which rests in the space between two bodies.

Gokudera doesn’t hear words, but he doesn’t need them to know what his predecessor must have been thinking.

There’s no mistaking that love.

Primo must have been the most important person in the world to the first Storm.

“What makes you so different from me…?”

What kind of person does he need to be, for Tsuna to come to him like this?

He wants what they had.

[newtonsheffield]

can we see married Anthony being a big old softened watching Kate interact with his siblings? Well that or Kate and Benny teaming up to make the viscount miserable lol I don't care what happens in the rest of the show, Kate and v Benny love to dunk on Anthony together. That's my head canon.

Hmmmm why not both

Anthony was actively trying not to stare at his wife. It should have been an easy task, given they now spent the greater part of every day together, even when he had to work in his office he found her, sat on the window seat with a book and her tea in front of her staring expectantly up at him.

“There you are, Darling.” She smiled at him over the cup, her eyes dancing with the joke she was about to tell. “You’ve rather kept me waiting this afternoon. I was lead to believe I had married a very important viscount, but here you are: hiding from your work.”

Anthony dropped into his chair, flicking the tails of his coat officiously, “Well, let’s just see if one of us doesn’t get distracted from their task.”

“It won’t be me.” Kate rolled her eyes.

“Well, it shan’t be me. I’m immune to you now, love. I barely think about the smell of your soap anymore.”

But it was a lie. Every second of the day he was thinking about Kate. More than once he’d found himself sat in White’s not listening to a single thing the man across from him was saying while his mind wandered back to his wife. He wondered what she was doing, now. Whether she was walking Newton in the park or visiting her mother. His mind wandered to the days when they stayed hidden at Aubrey Hall, her hair unbound as they lay by the lake, on the lawn where he’d once laughed properly for what felt like the first time in forever. He thinks about how her hand is gentle on his cheek when she tilts his lips to meet hers slowly, languidly, as though they have all the time in the world to be together now. As though neither of them knew how a life could be cut short. He thought about how her lips were soft and warm on his and how her hands felt when they tugged at the buttons on his shirt and he thought how she swallowed his moan when she reached for his breeches and his hands tugged at her dress, rucking it up around her waist as he settled between her legs and she was so beautiful it stole the breath from his chest.

Eventually he always set his drink down on the table with a loud Clack, and the man across from him cut off awkwardly with a questioning look.

“I’m afraid there’s somewhere else I need to be. My wife requires my attention.”

She was just so… damned distracting, his wife. Everything about her called to him. Every moment of his life he was so goddamned aware of her. His skin prickled when they were in the same building, let alone the same room. He should have put all this behind him. And yet here he was. Two hours into trying to read the same damned newspaper because he couldn’t stop staring at his wife.

“You’re staring.”

Anthony tutted at his brother and turned his attention pointedly back to his newspaper, “And you’re still lurking about my house, I see.”

Benedict wasn’t bothered, tossing a walnut into the air and catching it in his mouth. “What’s the article about?”

A flicker of irritation shot through Anthony at having been caught out, “Something very important.”

Kate’s laugh rang loudly through the room and his head shot up to watch her, his heart fluttering in his chest.

She was sat in the middle of the floor, Gregory and Hyacinth around her, marbles spread all over the floor. She had Augie on her lap, clapping his hands together as Hyacinth crowed with triumph and Gregory huffed and Anthony’s stomach dropped. Longing rose in his chest as Kate smiled at the children. She was so good with them, so gentle with their eagerness to know her. She knew how important they were to him, his family. She’d understood it without him needing to explain it at all. She’d simply turned to him one morning and smiled.

“Darling, I’ve made arrangements for Gregory to go with you to the tailor this week.” Anthony blinked, at her and she’d continued, “His trousers are getting too short and your mother and I agree that… this is the sort of thing that-”

“A father would normally do.” Anthony agreed, “My father used to take me, when I didn’t want the other boys to think I was tied to my mother’s apron strings. Of course I should take him. Francesca’s debut isn’t so very far away, He’ll need something appropriate to wear.” He winked at her, “Men’s business.”

“Oh, but you’re fine to be tied to me, are you?” Kate chuckled, tugging him against her chest, “You let me accompany you.”

“Well, that’s because many of my attributes appear at best advantage when I’m only partially dressed.”

He loved watching her with his family, he loved watching her stand with his sisters and gossip, he loved watching her with Daphne, cooing over his nephew and niece, but it made him want. It made him long to see her with their child. A child with tiny hands, and dark curly hair and his eyes. He wanted a child of their own.

“It must be very important.” Benedict mused, nudging Anthony with his foot. “You’ve been reading it for quite a while.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “I’m merely trying to take it in properly.”

“Of course.” Benedict chuckled and were he actually paying attention, and not staring at his wife across the room, Anthony might have noticed the smirk that crossed his brother’s lips. “Oh, Lady Bridgerton.”

Anthony startled, as Kate sighed, raising one eyebrow “Me, or your mother, Benedict?”

Their mother sighed across the room, sat beside Daphne “Not me, surely. They’re your problem now.”

Benedict chuckled, leaning over, “Kate, I think darling might need glasses.”

Anthony stared at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

Kate’s eyes flicked between them, “Do you need glasses?”

Anthony shook his head, “I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. Best not to listen to him, Love.”

Benedict sighed, “He’s spent two hours on this one article. I don’t think he can read the writing.”

“Oh for god’s-”

“After all,” Benedict grinned at him, “What other possible reason could you have for not turning the page in so long. I mean, he’s not as young as he used to be. You’ve bought the cow past its prime, Kate.”

Kate blinked at him, holding up her fingers, “How many?”

He rolled his eyes, “Three. I can see very well thank you!”

“Are you sure?”

Anthony sighed, swatting at his brother, “Yes, if we all must know I was staring at my wife. Which I’m perfectly within my rights to do now, thank you!”

“To be fair, darling.” Benedict grinned, not at all bothered by Anthony’s attempt to hit him for the use of Kate’s nickname, “I don’t think you fought very hard not to before she was your wife either.”

[dirtybg3confessions]

Meet the Mods

Hello hello, I'm Mod Voli and I should really be dealing with finals right now but I have free will dammit let me look at and giggle at hornyposts!!!!!

I'm one of the new mods and have so far had an absolutely wonderful time being dealt significant psychic damage by the inbox and I would not have it any other way <3 You can probably recognize a post of mine if it's a screenshot that's just a liiiittle bit oversaturated (the ReShade heart wants what it wants what can I say) or has a very stupidly stretched out photo of Gale (you'll see what I mean soon :)

On any given day you can probably find me frothing at the mouth over pretty fantasy elves or whatever problematic fictional man has overtaken my brain at that moment. Or women. usually women.

Current bg3 faves are Gortash, Jaheira, Orin, Astarion, Shadowheart, jesus there's too many. Shaking my fist like an old man yelling at cloud at every submission I've seen dunking on the handsome young man with a quick easy smile. I'll get you (lie)

Proud and humbled to be of service to all you thirsty motherfuckers, keep it coming or else🫡🫡