#i like straight up was frothing at the fucking mouth over that post saying his horse parallel would be ab lue roan

[castielsparkle]

everypony shut up....castiel horse....

[weepingwillows-sweethibiscustea]

OKAY. RWRB MOVIE REVIEW.

(Disclaimer that these are all only my opinions)

I imagined Philip as looking more like Philza Minecraft, to be completely honest. So tell me why they made him kinda..???

THEY FUCKED UP HIS CHARACTERIZATION (imo). In the book, he’s just a victim of what he was born into as well. He’s rigid & kinda a dick because it was what he was taught to be to survive, the movie completely took that away, giving him literally two scenes.

AND THEN THEY GIVE GOOD GRACE TO THE KING? Bro. No. Stop it.

I feel as though they were afraid to criticize the British monarchy too hard, which is why they gave the king the good grace they did (plus other changes done, I don’t think they included the cliticization of the British Museum stealing all those artifacts either)

Frothing at the mouth over the fact they not only took away Luna, but completely got rid of the fucking sex abuse scandal in favor of a jealousy plot. Explodes you with my mind.

Going back to my point above that one, I feel they might not have wanted to add that seeing how many Richards are out there. Can’t fan too many flames, huh?

They also gave Bea way less screen time, & took away the whole “Powder Princess” thing, I think the way they talked about their dad passing & how it effects the family was kind of cheap.

AND they fucked up Henry’s moms characterization. She just straight up wasn’t in it, only mentioned, & in a negative light. Again, they really didn’t give the dad passing the attention it deserved.

The beginning went by pretty damn fast. But in all fairness for that & I suppose a lot of points, the movies already two hours long with all that missing, so I suppose I can give some leniency on some of these points.

June obviously wasn’t there either, but it at least doesn’t feel like anybody’s missing. I guess they managed the Nora & June merge well. THEY DID NOT MANAGE THE LIAM & LUNA MERGE WELL.

Seriously fuck them for taking away Luna & subsequently his character arc

THEY UN-DIVORCED ELLEN & OSCAR. I UNDERSTAND IT WOULD HAVE ADDED A LOT OF SCREEN TIME THEY DIDN’T HAVE BUT COME ON.

Do love all the terms of endearment Henry uses, honestly don’t remember if that’s in the book or not.

Can we circle back around to how attractive Philip is. Sorry who said that.

I like the way they handled the cake scene better, definitely feels more realistic.

Admittedly also kinda happy the Henry magazine photo thing wasn’t added, kind of made me cringe reading about it lmao

OH YEA THEY TOOK OUT THE SCENE WHERE ALEX CALLS HENRY TO VENT ABOUT HIS PARENTS(?), IT WAS SUCH AN IMPORTANT MOMENT FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP BOO

Is there a copy right reason they couldn’t include Henry being a Star Wars fan? If they just simply choose not to then I am Disappointed.

Really liked how they did the phone calls, with them appearing in front & them as though they’re in the same room, together. Great touch.

Edit to add this bullet point because it’s really important to me. Alex says he’s bisexual, Henry says he’s gay. Ellen asks if Alex is gay, fluid, bi, pan. Ellen references transgender people. They talk about the LGBT+ community. They say all these words, they don’t whisper them, or talk around them. They say them loud & clear as day. Idk, this just makes me really happy because of how often you’ll see people talk around these words like they’re bad or dirty words (yes I’m aware this is a movie where they have gay sex multiple times on screen but it’s still important to me shut up)

FINAL THOUGHTS.

It was alright. I don’t regret watching it. It was entertaining, but admittedly not the type of movie I’d usually watch, so I think other people could enjoy it way more then I did. But I definitely still enjoyed it despite all my criticisms.

Definitely not as good as the book, but not bad at all. I’d say it’s absolutely worth the watch.

I’m sure you can also find posts that can better articulate why this movie is so groundbreaking & important as well, which is something I didn’t particularly touch on in this post.

[hertwood]

dts s3 e9-10

e9: -bahrain is such a beautiful track btw i love her -damn they just jump straight into it boom explosion -before logan was the sad wet lil meow meow......2020 alex was the ORIGINAL -the way reporters are asking abt checo->red bull before he even won that race, makes me curious how much he was seriously in the conversation for the seat beforehand. anyone who was on tumblr at the time i'd love to hear what the gossip mills were like at the time 👀 -dany's "please tell me he's okay" always GETS me bc i know dany's the car he crashed with and it was 100% a racing incident but i cannot imagine the guilt he was feeling in the moment. i'm so fond of him he definitely deserved better by the red bull machine -gunther talking about how fire is the worst thing you can have in a crash--and thinking about how guanyu said his biggest fear in his silverstone crash was the car catching fire. we're really lucky that his car didnt honestly -the music design on this in INCREDIBLE like they really did an INSANE job here. cacos "thats an act of god" always gets me. really summarizes how improbably lucky he was to survive that. i'm so glad he did -gunther sucks but the way he insists he has to meet the rescue guys to thank them personally 😭😭 -ALBODIUM MY BELOVED (when will she return) -i didnt write anything down for the grosjean post crash self reflection bit. i just wanted to sit and experience it and not think :) -one can say this sakhir crash was the original checo third wheeling lestappen -when ppl ask how to get into f1, i always bring up the inside story series on youtube, and TOP of recommendations is the inside story on this race! it is truly insane what he did here, cant wait to see this race in full -i just think it wouldve been SO iconic if george had won this race. first ever mercedes race win before he even got a mercedes seat? wouldive been ICONIC. ppl talk abt the domino affect of alex's appendicitis but if mercedes didnt fuck up BOTH their drivers pit stops, checo wouldn't have won (probably), would he have been signed then? new butterfly affect to discuss -I THINK. i know the idea of checo leaving the sport soon is being discussed a lot, and even in this episode he discusses that if its the end for him he is proud of what hes accomplished and thankful for as long as he had to drive in f1. his red bull seat really was a lifeline, a second chance, and he has added to his legacy significantly with red bull. if he loses his seat on 2024, no matter what mean things i've said about him in the heat of the moment, he has a LOT to be proud of. if its his time to go, its his time to go

ep 10: -i think AD is a BANGER of a race track. i'm glad its the finale race -ok so lets see daniel gives renault their first podium in 9 years......then gives mclaren their first win in forever as well.....hmmmm.....washed up who? -cyril getting a tattoo youtube video is So Important 2 ME. cyril calling his wife to tell her the details while daniel dies silent laughing is the instant seratonin boost for me -every time zak & lando have a lil clearly staged chat it has the most sugar baby energy ever why do they do this -lando says so many nice things abt daniel here yet the dando antis choose to ignore them and insist lando does nothing but distrespect him 😡 anti-lando daniel girlies r my least favorite -NOT DANIEL HITTING THE BEAM ABOVE HIM IN THE GARAGE TOO the dando agenda continues -damn i hope they give this much dts attention to the battle for 7th last year too -lawrence rly hired seb to mentor his son huh -aston martin colors Do Fuck we all must admit -frothing at the mouth over the 4433 moment here. its mental illness innit -i've always felt. like the lewis racism segment was a bit shoehorned in here. like they went oh fuck we need to include this somewhere lets just slap it on the end of the episode. i think it would've been so much better and more impactful in a fully lewis focused episode. but ya kno? i'd rather they do it this way than not at all, so i suppose i shouldn't complain too much

[tacky-optic]

I SAY BEHOLD BEHOLD OUR RAMBLES WITH YOUR PUNY MORTAL EYES, RANDOM INTERNET PEOPLE. IF UR DOWN THIS FAR Y'ALL SIGNED UP FOR THIS A LOOONG TIME AGO!!! but i really do appreciate this btw. its a genuine pleasure having the ceo/phd holder of luzeni go absolutely ham on my silly little post lol

anyway sending u a letter delicately sealed with an exquisite wax stamp pressed with a design of luzeni making out mega nasty style. yes there is carefully concealed old man yaoi inside

_ so many delicious hypotheticals, goddamn. having this mega sad edgelord noir detective zenigata blush a lil when this friggin' gyuhuhu-ass guy wearing an obnoxiously bright jacket crawls into his window is such a fantastic mental image. there's a reason i have this hyper-idealized image of this god forsaken schrodinger's koike zeni movie in my noggin because THATS WHERE YOU'D GET THE REAL NASTY SHIT. they had it right there-- reciting romeo and juliet and wanton declarations of violence via shooting to kill. that got to me man. right here. in my very real heart that i'm pointing to.

there's permanence in their impermanence, i think. same vein as that "stability in instability" take i already blathered about. their refusal to maintain anything concrete is their truce.

_ i personally think zeni cares about his bosses and the people he has to surround himself with (just so he has the resources to get closer to capturing lupin) a little bit. maybe 'flipping off' isnt the most accurate way of putting it but he would get some sensation out of proving them wrong, or just proving something, anything at all. he is SO praise-deprived. dude starts openly full-body bawling the second anyone tells him he did something, like, a little bit okay lmao. very pathetic wet cat behavior. zenigata is too human, he cares too much. every single aspect of him is simply a lot. in those moments where his full-throttle lupin-fixating is on the backburner, any bit of validation that lets him know he isn't wasting his life on this pursuit wracks him right to his goddamn core. stokes the fire, makes him work ten times as hard. as long as all of it circles back into fueling the Chase, its solid :thumbsup:

but maybe that's more of a pt 2/certain specials thing, i dunno. it weaseled its way into my brain somehow s'all i can say lol. either way its in his character dna. like you said there's just so many different versions of him, all with different extremes that somehow manage to maintain his core characterization. but holy shit moments where he does not give even a SINGLE SHIT are some of my favorites. pt 1 finale where he has that big-ass tantrum "I'M NOT GONNA GO ALONG WITH YOUR DUMBASS PLAN" and then the commish is like "DAMN RIGHT YOU FUCKING WON'T, YOU'RE DEMOTED" and then zeni smashes a chair or some shit. i think a golf club was involved?? whatever. "IM DOING THIS MY WAY. IF I FAIL I QUIT. TEA TIME'S OVER MOTHERFUCKER." its peak

_ "Let Lupin rot in jealousy and desire and the anger of not being the focal point of everything". as a chronic jigzeni obsessor this sings to me. i froth at the mouth over this. it really is difficult to concoct jigzeni without lupin peeking his ugly little freaknasty imp head in there because man, he really is so deeply integral to their lives (as he should be! as much as he simultaneously does and doesn't deserve it he is our mc.) but it IS possible. in my heart of hearts it is doable and it freaks all of them the fuck out. what a beautiful subversion-- it's not the guy, but the guy-adjacent. and the guy does not like that because it really is really sexy. sexier than he could've had it, which, wtf. that's not.... that's not right.

i think it boils down to jigen and zenigata just straight up not caring for once. which is all chill for jigen but inherently easier said than done for zenigata. i think that's where most of the hold-up stems from for some ppl. there's this one fic (sry i keep linking fics and i feel like i'm giving out homework waghhh) that i think about a lot where jigen's just perfect. like can we please just forget about him for ten fucking seconds??

unfortunately zeni could not forget in that fic. but if he did? mm. good shit. get bent, lupin. or not i guess. its jigen's turn, oops. better luck next timeline

i have unprompted lupin-esque questions pop into my stream of conscious, interrupting my day-to-day wholesale, and one of them is "damn. does lupin only have three companions because zenigata never caved and joined him". like what kind of question is that??

i think its one of the more recurring ones because the sorta lines in lupin tv/films that're like "kinda surprising you're a cop" or "you'd fit in real well with us" or, the wombo combo of the two, "your skills are wasted on your job" really dig into my brain and won't feckin' leave.

in a lot of iterations, jigen and goemon meet lupin when they're tasked with killing him. fujiko's essentially his other rival. and yet, despite whatever the rest of the gang may be doing or whoever they pledge themselves to or whatever other jobs they might take on they always wind up right next to lupin again. on the same team, even.

and then there's zenigata. the sole obstinate holdout. they truce, they save each other's lives, have an avengers bonus credit scene shawarma lunch, etc etc. yet he isn't *with* them. he dips after they stop some evil billionaire from blowing up a city for some asinine power/profit grab or whatever the fuck, shouting that he'll "get them next week" while comically shaking his fist at the sky, and jigen rolls his eyes for the dozenth time and goes "that guy'll never change, will he". no jigen, he won't. when things calm down he'll sit alone in his office and do paperwork for all the property damage he caused with lupin & co. like he always does.

lupin and zenigata prefer it that way, obviously. they know their roles and how to play them. zenigata's too good to be a cop but he's also too good to be with lupin. lupin will kill in self-defense whereas zenigata will *not* kill, period. a la "life is a much more incredibly significant thing".

and then there's the *other* obviously-- the adversarial aspect. they can only *truly* challenge each other if they're on opposing sides. jigen stuck around after lupin beat him. goemon pledged his allegiance to lupin after he bested him. fujiko cozies up to lupin because it's easier than outright contesting him. but lupin is the best criminal and zenigata is the best cop. of course they'll never swap sides. they have the most fun from where they are.

"but tackyyy, what if he *did* join them?" you may ask. well whether it'd be cathartic for zenigata or not aside, there's some other q's that come up that deserve some consideration.

would the gang finally be "complete" if zenigata finally shed his inspector title? what would that look like, how would it work out? what does that even *mean*? is lupin just collecting people he thinks are neat? if so, if a hypothetical (realllllllly emphasizing that hypothetical btw) fourth-- someone with skills on the right level and surprisingly good chemistry with the gang-- came along, would lupin welcome them? or would lupin look at zenigata and go "nah, i'd rather have *that* guy"? lots of stuff to explore.

but at the end of the day there's one thing that really gets my brain gears turning. i think zenigata's higher-ups imagine him on lupin's side and shudder. i think *zenigata* imagines himself on lupin's side and shudders. i think the only way his full potential can be realized is if he's with lupin *permanently*. those blips of unbridled feral skill wouldn't be blips anymore. they'd be normal. and devastating. and the five of them would be unstoppable. and maybe that'd scare him, finally knowing exactly what he's capable of. maybe it *already* scares him, knowing he's the only one who can decide what happens.

[sunshinepunches]

Tomura gets a kiss at the kissing booth

Warning: Major character death i’m serious

Shigaraki/reader Words: 1.7k

Also posted on ao3 😳😏

————

His first kiss.

He was gonna get a kiss today at the University open day and that was gonna be it. Then those whore bastards, Dabi and Takami, couldn’t say anything ever again. Well, they could still make fun of his virginity, but not his kiss virginity. How was he gonna do it, you ask? The cheerleading club had opened up kissing booths to raise funds for charity. That’s how he was gonna do it.

There were several booths, all with cute girls in them, they were the cheerleading squad after all, in their cheerleading outfits too, tight tops and tiny skirts. He nearly chickened out, but stood in line at the nearest one before he could. He quivered excitedly on the spot. The girl at the counter was cute. That being said they were all cute.

When he reached the counter the girl took one look at him, “Oh ew,” she said.

Tomura panicked. Ah. He didn’t think it was that bad? Was it his face? He showered yesterday?

“Look, I’ve already gone overtime, and I really don’t wanna touch anymore compsci nerds like you.” She looked harried and Tomura had no idea how she knew he did compsci, “where the fuck is Y/N?” She pulled a University branded sweatshirt over her tiny top, “God, I can’t believe they’re whoring us out like this,” and flounced off, clearly very over it.

Thus leaving Tomura, horrified, stuck to the spot. Had that really happened? Had a kissing booth girl denied him a kiss? He felt far too ashamed to join the other line. Some of the students were eyeing him with mixed amusement and pity. God, he just wanted to disappear. He started to stiffly walk away, scratching his neck anxiously, when he heard you.

“Wait! Oh my god. Wait, just wait! Please don’t leave.” You dove heroically behind the stand, dragging your sweatshirt over your head, messing up your bouncy hair.

Tomura goggled. It was you. Cheer squad captain. 3rd Year Bachelor of Physiotherapy. One heck of a Big Deal on campus and an Absolute Bombshell of a woman. Saved a cat from being run over once, rumours said you stopped the car with your bare hands, other rumours said you picked the car up off the cat’s broken body and set the bones yourself.

“Y/N” Tomura whispered.

“Yeah, Oh dear god you know me. I am so, so sorry.” You bowed your head deeply at him. “I am,” you looked at your arm which didn’t have a watch on it, “like, really late.”

“That’s ok,” said Tomura tightly. He had an erection seeing you take the sweatshirt off and he hated himself for it. Your hair looked so soft, he wanted to die in it.

“And oh gosh, I- have seen you around campus haven’t I?” You sure had. He knew exactly where the cheer club did their weekly training, next to the swimming pool, on the oval and he’d always sit himself on the bench looking very hard at the flipping skirts while tapping away at his code. Once, you sat down next to him, sweaty after yelling out instructions at your team and bent down to retie your shoelaces. You smiled at him mindlessly and flung your messy hair back up into a ponytail, sweat dripping down your neck. It was the best moment of his life, and he figured that was the closest he’d ever get to a girl. He didn’t even make it home, he had to limp off into the pool bathrooms and jerk one out right there.

“And, sorry, your name was?”

Tomura wasn’t jerking off in the pool bathrooms, he was standing there, staring at your tits. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, Tomura?”

You smiled. It was as beautiful as that time on the oval. Tomura melted a little bit. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He already felt himself getting stiff.

“Well, Tomura, would you like a kiss?”

Would he like a kiss? He could die happy just being offered one. He would get run over in place of that cat for a whole kiss!

“It’s for charity,” you continued brightly as if you read his shellshocked arousal for hesitation, “We’re raising funds for kids with cancer at the local hospital. We’re even gonna have our mascot go to the hospital for the sick kids! I think that’s really nice, it’s something fun for them to get their mind off things!”

Tomura was glad those kids were dying from cancer because it meant this opportunity. He shakily took out his wallet and dropped a fifty into the donation jar.

Your perfect mouth o’d at the donation. “Oh, how generous Tomura! Thankyou so so much, hopefully we can reach our target sooner.”

You were so sweet, he would pay a thousand if it meant you never kissed anyone else ever again. But his heart was beating very fast and it was seemingly getting unbearably hot.

He swallowed, mouth dry, “yeah, uh, goodluck. Hope you guys get it.”

You smiled again, it was brighter somehow than the damn sun. It was blisteringly hot actually. Wasn’t there a cool breeze before? He was sure of it because he was looking at skirts all day. And what was up with his heart slamming against his chest? Well he was kinda about to kiss a Big Deal so that was normal.

You looked concerned at him. Noo he didn’t like seeing you frown. Your lips seemed to be moving slower than your words, “Are you okay? Tomura?” Oh, you were worried about him, that was super cute actually. You could frown a bit more if it was over him.

He found he couldn’t reply, but actually he couldn’t breath either. It really was so hot and blurry, and it wasn’t just because you were hot. Everything was hot and blurry.

Tomura passed out.

————

Tomura came to pillowed on a soft lap and a tender hand stroking his sweaty forehead with a cool handkerchief. Cheerleaders tittered above him and hovered about, curious. He could see up their skirts...

“Everyone! If we could give him some space please!”

No he didn’t need space, he needed a face full of hot cheerleader ass. Your spandex bound tits came into view, actually he decided he didn’t need other girls. “Tomura? Are you alright?” You gently stroked his hair, and he pushed into it weakly. It felt really nice. And he was right next to pussy. It was going straight to his cock.

“I had the nurse check up on you and it seems like you had a panic attack. Oh you poor thing,” you murmured at him, eyes glistening with pity. You had such nice manicured hands and they were just scratching his scalp in a delicious way. He needed to cum.

“Oh, the nurse said to hydrate you.” You proffered a pink bottle, “Oh sorry, it’s mine, I hope you don’t mind.” He shot up and snatched it from you and took several greedy gulps.

You giggled. Tomura thought it was a nice sound.

“Seems like you’re feeling better.”

Tomura sunk back down onto your lap and meekly handed the bottle back. “Just thirsty, still don’t feel good,” he half lidded his eyes, and breathed in your flowery perfume. He hoped you bought his excuse. He’d like to stay forever.

“Aw, ok,” you sounded genuinely disappointed. “I just thought I could give you your kiss if you were up to it.”

Tomura’s ear twitched.

You continued playfully, “but if you’re not feeling up to it then...”

Tomura opened his eyes with a snap and narrowed them at you, “I feel well enough for a kiss-,” he said snappishly, then caught himself and coughed as if ill, “I think,” he corrected, pretending to struggle to get up. You pushed him down again, getting on top of him, pushing your plush tits to his chest.

“You really think so?” You said, licking your lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you again.”

“No, no, this is good, this is fine.” He nodded eagerly, hoping you weren’t feeling his rock hard stiffie. Oh, you were, you were grinding on it, that was hot.

“Okay then” you breathed. You touched your lips to his tenderly, belying the fact that you were grinding your hot core against his zippered erection. Tomura grunted, opening his mouth, enjoying the wet hot slide and the perfect way your mouths slotted together. And oh, you had his lower lip between your teeth. Tomura was sure he would faint again. You only nipped him gently before returning to your passionate makeout session. The hotness of it was giving Tomura enough courage to run his hand up your sides. You whimpered and grasped his hand, shoving it under your skirt. Tomura’s head combusted. He could feel the swell of your thigh and the slick slide of your tongues against each other, he didn’t know what to focus on at all. You ended the kiss with a gross pop and Tomura could see there was still a drip of saliva connecting your mouths. “Oops,” you giggle, diving in for a naughty peck which broke the saliva string. You twirled a finger through your long gorgeous hair, “Got a little carried away.”

Tomura nodded in agreement. “Yeah same.” And at that point he decided he could die happy.

————

You couldn’t believe it. Tomura fainted. He gave you fifty bucks and passed the heck out, twitching disturbingly on the ground and frothing at the mouth.

You’d called an ambulance immediately of course. A man just went down! How could you not?

They’d been fussing around inside for almost an hour now. And it wasn’t looking good.

A tired looking nurse emerged from the back of the ambulance, “Sorry, are you family? Anyway, uh the kid’s dead, sorry,” he told you, “He had a heart attack.” Your team tittered behind you, gasps and other noises of horror.

Some guy yelled unhelpfully “Y/N just killed a guy!!”

Dear God, you supposed you had. That wasn’t a rumour you’d live down so easy. Not after the cat incident. And the poor guy didn’t even get his kiss.

But you were keeping the fifty.

[writingblock101]

Heir to the Throne (Jason Todd x Reader)

Hello, I love you all so much for being patient with me! I am super excited to share this! This is a continuation to my other two part fic For the Kingdom. You don’t need to read it for it to make sense, but it does give some background. 

A huge thank you to the absolutely lovely @incrediblysadstudent​ who edited and made some really amazing suggestions. She also runs a writing blog where she writes the batfam so definitely go show her some love! 

Warnings: Threats of violence, puking 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish (I’ve missed you, my love) @mayahoelland2013

Word count: 4,800

You lean over the toilet with a groan as you retch again. Jason frowns with concern, one hand gently pushing your hair out of your face as his other comfortingly rubs your back. You pause, giving yourself a moment to breathe and spit into the porcelain toilet bowl. Jason leans over and flushes the toilet as you tiredly watch the contents swirl around then disappear. 

Sighing, you push past Jason’s hand on your back and fall against the wall, exhausted. Jason’s frown deepens, he hates seeing you like this. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, grabs the cup of water waiting on the bathroom counter, and brings it to your lips.

Your shaking hands wrap around the cup with Jason helping you tilt it, taking slow sips. As your grip on the cup gets stronger, Jason let’s go, opting to wrap an arm around your shoulder, bringing his lips to your forehead for a sweet kiss. You lean against his chest, your nose wrinkling at the bitter taste in your mouth. 

“You alright?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” You respond, taking another sip of water to wash down the disgusting taste in your mouth. 

“Are you though?” Jason’s tone hardens in seriousness. “You’ve been puking for the last two weeks and you’re exhausted all the time. I’m worried about you,” He admits, pulling you closer to his chest. 

You stay quiet, staring down into the cup of water. Jason sighs, sounding irritated. He pulls his arm off your shoulder, running his hand through his hair with a frustrated huff. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” He looks over at you, nudging your shoulder. You force yourself to look up at him and feel guilt pool in your stomach at the deep look of worry in your husband’s eyes. “We agreed to not do that so whatever is wrong, just tell me and we can deal with it together--” 

“I’m pregnant,” You blurt. 

Jason blinks, his face blank. 

“You’re uh��.” He swallows, blinking again in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “You’re what?” 

You reach for his hand, placing it on your still flat stomach. 

“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, enunciating the two words slowly. 

“You’re… Pregnant…” Jason echoes back. Hearing himself say the words seems to break through the shock as a small smile works its way onto his face. “Holy shit!” He curses with an excited grin, his eyes lighting up. “You’re pregnant!” He exclaims, his eyes flicking from his hand to your face, his smile growing larger by the second. 

“I’m pregnant!” You confirm, your voice cracking as you nod your head. Tears of joy well up in your eyes. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason’s eyes well up as well, as he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into your shoulder. 

You hug him back, squeezing with all your strength as a few tears slip, overwhelmed by how perfect this moment feels. 

You didn’t mean to be secretive and worry Jason, but you two have been trying to have a child for a little over a year, so you wanted to be sure before you got his hopes up. 

It’s hard to believe how far your relationship with Jason has come. What started as an unwilling arranged marriage has developed into a healthy, loving relationship. You were terrified of him, only knowing him through brutal battle stories in which his triumphs were bloody and his mercy was unheard of. The thought of marrying him terrified you straight to your core and made your insides burn with anger, but Jason has proved you wrong every step of the way. 

He’s shown you his passion for his kingdom, his heart which is incapable of half-ass love, and his deep respect for everyone around him. Jason is full of passion, fire, and snark. While you two have your bad days and your tempers create blow out fights, you always find your way back to each other because at the end of the day, he’s the love of your life. 

Jason pulls back from the hug, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs wiping your tears. You can’t help but to giggle at the unshed tears brimming in his eyes. Jason huffs with a watery laugh too, leaning in and kissing you sweetly. 

You frown, and pull back, your nose wrinkling. 

“I just finished throwing up,” You remind him. 

“Yeah, I could taste it,” Jason admits with a chuckle. 

He rests his forehead against your, the excited grin never leaving his face as he runs his large hands across your stomach. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason murmurs to you in amazement, as if he can barely believe the words himself. 

You place your hands over his. 

“Yeah, we are,” You grin. 

Jason kisses your forehead sweetly, pulling you close to him. 

Long gone are the days of feeling pressured by advisors to make an heir, tense, fearful sex, and awkward conversations. You’re going to be parents and you can’t imagine embarking on this crazy journey with anyone else. 

. . . 

A week later, you and Jason are sitting in the kingdom doctor’s office. Jason nervously bounces his foot while Dr. Thompskin spreads cold gel across your stomach. 

“It’s a little cold,” You giggle, feeling a chill run up your spine as you look toward your husband who smiles back tightly. Sighing, you reach out to Jason. “You have too much nervous energy.” 

Jason takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and chuckles. 

“Yeah, I guess I do…” 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one?” You tease, squeezing his hand reassuringly. 

“I don’t even know why I am so nervous…” Jason admits. “I mean, they’re in your body, you should be the nervous one, not me. I don’t even know if it’s really nerves, or if it’s just excitement. I mean, I’ve clearly been around pregnant people, but it’s different because it’s… you,” Jason rambles, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. 

“Jay, it’s okay,” You tell him, moving your hand to cup his cheek. “It’s okay to be nervous, I’m nervous too,” You smile gently. “But that’s why we’re here, to make sure everything is okay.” 

“Speaking of which,” Dr. Thompskin interrupts, moving the wand around your stomach, and points at the screen. “There is your baby, looking very healthy.” 

Your eyes dart to the screen as you and Jason stare in awe at the tiny pea sized dot hidden in the fuzzy black and white image. Usually, you don’t understand the hype around early ultrasounds-- you can hardly see the baby-- but staring at your baby, your heart soars with excitement. Faintly, under the sound of your heartbeat through the monitor, you hear another sound, thudding at a faster pace than your heart. 

“Is that…” You feel your eyes fill with tears as a smile breaks out across your face, listening more intently for the steady, thudding sound. “Is that their heartbeat?” 

“It sure is,” Dr. Thompskin smiles. 

You laugh, your grin hurting your face. A few tears slip down your face and you look over to Jason who is smiling with glossy eyes. 

“This is actually happening,” You whisper to him. 

“Yeah,” He grins, looking toward you. He gently squeezes your hand and turns his attention back to the monitor. “It is.” 

. . . 

“We need to hang some calendars,” You announce as you walk into Jason’s office, holding lunch on a tray. 

Jason stands and takes the tray from you, kissing you on the cheek. Despite only being three months pregnant, Jason barely lets you lift a finger. 

“Why is that?” He chuckles, pulling your seat out then moving to sit behind his desk once you are settled. 

“Because the advisors don’t seem to know how long a month is,” You roll your eyes.

Ever since you and Jason proudly announced the pregnancy, the advisors have practically been frothing at the mouth at the prospect of a male heir. While a female heir would be fine, she would be more likely to marry into another kingdom as opposed to expanding your kingdom like a male heir would. Of course, you and Jason don’t care; however, the advisors will not stop bothering you about the gender of the baby, which you don’t know yet. 

“How many times do I have to tell them I won’t know the gender for another month?!” You rant. “It’s ridiculous!”

The guard posted at Jason’s door snickers at your rant. You turn with a grin. 

“Something funny, Quill?” You ask. 

“Nothing, your Highness,” Peter stands at attention like the trained knight that he is. “But I think you’re overestimating the advisors abilities to read a calendar.” 

Jason starts cracking up while you sigh in exaggeration. 

“Shit, you’re right!” You exclaim, resting a hand on your stomach. “You know what will be worse? When we find out the gender, they’re going to “suggest” names.” 

“You know they’re going to suggest old names after past kings,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Like Olaf.” 

“Olaf?” You repeat back with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, let’s name our kid after the snowman in a kid’s movie,” You roll your eyes. 

“You could give them a really intense name,” Peter suggests. “Like Slade or something.” 

You pause for a moment, knowing that name is familiar. 

“Slade like the mercenary that recently assassinated the King of Cintra?” You ask. 

“Oh…yeah… maybe not,” Peter says quietly while Jason just grins. 

“So, I’m guessing we’re not going to go with outside suggestions for names?” Jason asks with a knowing smile.

“Probably not,” You snort, resting a hand on your still flat stomach, considering various names. 

. . . 

“And it’s…” Dr. Thompskin moves the wand slowly. “A boy!” She announces. 

“Oh man,” You glance over at Jason, who’s holding your hand, his eyes fixated on the monitor. “The advisors are so not going to leave us alone now.” 

“Fuck them,” Jason breathes, dismissing the idea of letting the advisors ruin this moment for you too. He kisses you sweetly, moving his other hand to your growing stomach. “We’re going to have a little boy,” He whispers.

You grin, pulling Jason in for another kiss then look back at the monitor, feeling tears of joy well up. You can’t wait for him to get here.

. . . 

“Your Majesty,” A lady curtseys while her lord husband bows. “We want to congratulate you!” 

“Thank you,” You smile politely, resting a hand on your now present baby bump, while the other rests on your aching lower back. 

“We heard it is a boy!” The lady grins then rushes forward, placing her hand on your stomach. “Boys always kick the hardest!” She winks. 

You blink, resisting the urge to shove the woman’s hands off you, but instead stiffly smile. 

“Yes, it is. He hasn’t started kicking yet, but I’m sure he will soon,” You tell her through clenched teeth as she rubs your stomach.

“Excuse me,” Jason’s voice smoothly cuts in. 

“Your Highness,” The lord bows and the lady curtseys, removing her hands from your stomach thankfully. 

“My queen is needed elsewhere,” Jason says assertively, pulling a protective arm around your waist to put distance between you and the noble couple. 

“Of course, your Majesty,” The couple bows again and Jason guides you back to the head table, his hand rubbing your sore lower back. 

Banquets are an annoying necessity to royalty, especially when they are a king’s coronation banquet to an ally kingdom. When you were younger, you didn’t enjoy them much since your parents often bartered you out to dance with handsy princes, but since marrying Jason, you’ve come to enjoy them more. 

Any lord or prince who would hope to dance with you is sent away cowering after one look from your husband. Instead, you are given an excuse to dance with Jason all night; however, being pregnant at a banquet brought its own set of headaches. 

At five months pregnant, you’ve developed a noticeable baby bump through your dresses. Despite being the queen of the kingdom, your subjects seem to take your pregnancy as an invitation to touch your stomach without permission, give advice and tips (or weird old wives tales), and share as many opinions as they can. Although you are appreciative of your loyal subjects, you also tire faster and you have to pee all the fucking time, so your nerves get quickly shot at banquets. 

“How are you doing?” Jason asks, turning you away from any prying eyes by shielding you with his body. 

“Oh, you know, tired of people touching my stomach,” You roll your eyes. 

Jason frowns. 

“We’ve been here long enough, I’ll talk to Dick so we can leave--” 

You stop listening to Jason when you feel feel a strange fluttering in your stomach, almost like bubbles. It flutters for a moment then stops. What was that?  It didn’t feel painful, just a little strange. You look down at your stomach, questioning your unborn son then it does it again--

Your eyes widen with realization and you snatch Jason’s hand up, placing it where you feel the fluttering. 

“What are you--” The fluttering happens again, cutting off Jason’s sentence. His eyes lock with yours, looking for confirmation. “Is that…?” He trails off quietly. 

“He’s kicking,” You grin, feeling tears bubble in your eyes. 

You can’t help but tear up, this pregnancy making you so emotional that it feels as though you’ll cry at anything.

“Oh my gosh,” Jason grins, moving to place both hands on your stomach as your son kicks again. “Hey, little guy,” Jason whispers. 

“He’s definitely in there,” You smile. You giggle as you feel him kick harder at the sound of your voice. “I hate to admit it, but that woman was right, little boys do kick hard.” 

Jason laughs, rests his forehead against yours, both of you enjoying the feeling of your son kicking at your hands. 

“Everything okay guys?” Dick walks over, oblivious to the moment you two are having. “I saw another person touching Y/N’s stomach and you looked ready to bite their head off--” 

You and Jason glance over at Dick with huge grins. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Dick raises his eyebrows. 

“He’s kicking,” Jason says proudly, looking down at your bump. 

Dick’s face lights up. 

“Really?” He exclaims. His eyes dart down to your stomach for a moment, his hand raising in excitement but he hesitates, knowing how annoyed you’ve gotten with people touching you without permission. 

You roll your eyes-- Dick is not some random stranger trying to touch you. You certainly don’t mind if he wants to feel the baby. You grab his hand and place it on your stomach, his face lighting up with excitement. He waits then there’s another flutter. 

“That is so cool!” Dick grins, shifting his hand to feel the baby kick again. “You guys haven’t picked a name, have you?” 

“Not yet,” You tell him. 

“Well, I personally think Dick Jr. would be a great name.” 

“Well, I personally think you’re wrong,” Jason tells him bluntly. 

Dick squawks indignantly, making you laugh. 

“Come on, Jay, you said something about leaving?” You ask. 

Jason glances at Dick. 

“Cover for us?” 

“Of course,” Dick grins. “But just consider Dick Jr,” He winks playfully. 

Jason chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he loops his arm in yours. 

“Dick, I can think about it until the day the baby is born, but it will never happen,” Jason promises. 

Dick mumbles something about Jason being unfair, but waves you two away. 

“Come on, your Highness,” Jason teases, escorting you from the banquet. 

. . . 

A few weeks later, you’re relaxing in bed, reading the latest book Jason gave you, Catcher and the Rye, while he gets ready for bed. You feel your son kick, his kicks getting stronger with each day. You smile to yourself, placing your hand where you can feel his feet kicking you and continue reading. 

The bathroom door opens, revealing your shirtless husband who crawls across the bed, his head laying next to your hip while his hands rub your stomach. 

“He’s kicking tonight,”You tell him. 

Jason lights up. 

“Really?” He asks. 

“Mmhm,” You shift his hands to where he last kicked and watch Jason grin at the feeling of tiny feet kicking. 

“You know, we are going to need to come up with a name,” Jason says, leaning down to kiss your stomach. “This guy will be here in a few more months.” He kisses your stomach again then crawls up the bed to lay back against the pillows, pulling you against his chest. Jason kisses the top of your head, leaning over to read the page you’re on. 

“I know…” You tell him. 

You and Jason had been tossing around baby names, but nothing was sticking. Neither of you wanted to name your son after anyone in your family and no one had yet to offer a name both of you liked. Naming a person is hard. 

“Have you thought of anything else?” You ask, abandoning your book to cuddle with your husband instead. 

“How about Liam?” Jason offers, taking a hold of your hand and playing with your fingers.

You wrinkle your nose. 

“I knew a Liam in school who was a little shit.” 

Jason chuckles, kissing the side of your head. 

“Okay, not Liam.” 

Neither of you wanted an extremely common name, but you didn’t want to do a strange name either. Finding the middle ground was difficult. 

“How about Nathaniel?” You offer. 

“Well, that would depend,” Jason starts. “I like that name, but it’s kind of a mouthful, so rather he or his friends… or my brothers would give him a nickname,” Jason rolls his eyes, probably thinking of Dick’s fondness of nicknames. “It would likely be Nathan or Daniel… or Nate. Do you like any of those names?” 

“They’re fine names, but I’d prefer those as middle names,” You admit. 

“I agree… How about Taylor?” Jason offers. 

“Taylor Todd?” You repeat. 

Jason giggles behind you. 

“If you say it fast enough, it sounds like tater tot.” 

“Taylor Todd, Taylor Todd, Taylortodd, Tayortodd, Taytortot,” You start laughing. “It kind of does!” 

“So, not that one,” Jason decides. “We suck at this,” He admits. 

You chuckle, leaning into him, your copy of Catcher and the Rye catching your eye on the nightstand. 

“How about Holden?” You ask. 

Jason looks down at you for a moment and follows your eyes to the book, pondering the name. 

“Holden?” He repeats. “Holden Todd. I actually like that a lot.” 

“It would be suiting for us to name our kid after a book,” You chuckle, recalling how you and Jason finally connected with each other years ago. 

Jason grins, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your temple. 

“Yeah, it would,” He places his hands on your stomach. “Hey, Holden.” 

Holden kicks again, making tears bubble in your eyes. 

. . . 

Your pregnancy hasn’t been the worst. Sure, you had some morning sickness and been more emotional than you’re used to, but you haven’t gotten any strange cravings, your mood swings aren’t too severe, and you haven’t been overly bloated. 

Despite the relatively smooth pregnancy, at month eight of the pregnancy, you’re ready for Holden to be here. Your back and feet are sore, you're exhausted all the time, and you’re tired of not being able to see your toes. Also, you now have the bladder of a squirrel. A squirrel. You just want to meet your son. 

You’re tired of going to banquets when you’re pregnant. The elaborate dresses you have to wear to the banquets are already a lot, but peeing in said dresses every thirty minutes? Yeah, you’re tired of being pregnant. 

Just like all the other banquets, you know random people are going to touch you and your stomach, ask invasive questions, and try to tell you what to name your baby. You’re probably going to get overwhelmed by all the smells and people then get very irritable, but this is the last banquet you and Jason have to attend for a while, so you’ll put on your kind queen face and behave. 

As servers bring in another round of food, you head swims from all the smells. You grimace, trying to ignore the overwhelming smells while listening to whichever lord ramble to you and Jason. Jason wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Instead of focusing on the varied food smells melding together, you try to focus on how Jason smells. 

Focusing on the fresh scent helps some, but soon, even Jason’s familiar smell blends to the cocktail of food around you, making your head spin even more. 

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” You tell him quietly, rubbing a hand over your swollen stomach. 

“I can come with you,” Jason offers, taking your hand as he goes to follow you. 

“No, stay and socialize. I’ll be okay,” You promise. 

Jason looks reluctant, but agrees. You kiss his cheek and excuse yourself from your company then slip onto a side balcony. The instant fresh air eases your headache, making you sigh with relief as you lean against the large, stone railing. You kick off your shoes, toeing them to the side and out from under your long dress. Holden kicks, making you chuckle. 

“Nothing smelled good in there, huh bud?” You ask, fondly rubbing your stomach. 

You’re so excited for Holden to be born. You can’t wait to see what he looks like, to hold him, and know that he’s really here. 

You’re excited to be a parent and you’re even more excited to watch your husband become a parent. Jason’s relationship with his birth father was terrible to say the least. Meeting Bruce was one of the first strokes of luck Jason came across in his life, even if it was in the form of King Bruce Wayne catching twelve year old Jason stealing wheels from the royal carriage. 

While Jason is also excited to meet Holden, his anxiety about becoming a father is no secret to you. Despite being nothing like his father, Jason is still afraid of becoming him. You know Jason will never be like his father. Jason is going to be a fantastic dad who is going to love Holden so well. 

While daydreaming about the day your son will finally be born, you didn’t notice the balcony door open. 

“Well, what do we have here?” That voice sends chills down your spine. 

You spin around to come face to face with Roman Sionis. Roman was one of the few people you were unfortunately very familiar with prior to your marriage with Jason. His kingdom strong armed your parents' kingdom into an alliance, meaning Roman often made appearances at your family’s banquets. He’s always made you incredibly uncomfortable, even when you were little. 

“The Queen, knocked up with no King to protect her,” He hisses, taking a step toward you.

You feel your chest tighten. Jason’s war with Roman was no small ordeal. He nearly destroyed Roman’s kingdom, forcing the man to rebuild from the ground up. You hadn’t heard from Roman in so long that you’d figured his kingdom was destroyed, but if he’s at a banquet at the Russo kingdom, then that doesn’t mean anything good either. 

“So, what are we going to do?” Roman asks, staring at you menacingly. 

He takes another step. You step backwards but your back hits the railing. Roman steps closer. Your hand quickly covers your stomach, protectively. 

“King Jason has left his poor, defenseless wife out here alone with me,” Roman steps into your space, forcing you to lean back against the railing. “And,” His hand lays on your stomach, making your skin crawl. “She’s pregnant with the precious heir to the throne,” He hisses. 

Your heart races as you try to figure out your options. Roman has backed you into a corner. While you have training, unfortunately, that training doesn’t account for all the extra weight in your stomach. Your center of gravity is completely thrown right now. Any hit you try to land will be uncoordinated and likely easily blocked by Roman. 

“Well, I guess I need to teach the King a lesson about taking better care of his things,” Roman slips a dagger from his pants and your eyes widen. 

“Stop--” You say, finally finding your voice but Roman pushes a hand against your mouth forcing you back farther.

He presses the tip of the dagger into your stomach. Thankfully your dress is thick enough that the blade doesn’t puncture the fabric, but it’s not armor. If Roman puts any pressure, he’ll stab Holden.

Your arms shake against the banister, your whole body pinned by Roman’s. A layer of tears sting in your eyes.

“Sh, don’t worry,” His face hardens. “It’ll only hurt for a second. Maybe your precious King will learn a thing or two about what it’s like to lose something precious.” 

You feel him press the blade harder against you, your heart pounding in your chest. Holden kicks the hand you're holding tightly against your stomach, snapping you out of your stupor.  

No. He’s not going to hurt your baby. You refuse to let him. 

You shove Roman back as hard as you can, then throw all your body weight into a hard punch to his face. Your hand instantly screams in pain and you nearly fall over, not prepared for your extra weight to fling you forward. 

“You bitch!” Roman yells, wiping blood from his nose. 

He runs toward you, but there’s someone else tackling him to the ground before he comes close to you. Relief floods your system when you realize Jason is on top of Roman, beating his face to a bloody pulp. 

“Stay,” Jason punches him between each word. “The. Fuck. Away. From. My. Wife!” He screams. 

Roman collapses backwards, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his face bleeds profusely. Jason stumbles to his feet then quickly rushes toward you. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands, cradling your face. 

Tears spill over but you shake your head, your brain catching up with the terrifying event. Jason pulls close, holding you tight as you sob against his shoulder, so relieved that Holden isn’t hurt. 

“Come on,” Jason whispers to you, kissing your head. “Let’s go home.” 

Despite the gentleness in his voice, you can feel him trembling with anger. 

That night, you curl up against Jason, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He reaches one hand down, rubbing his thumb over your stomach. 

“Thank you,” You murmur to him, not specifying what you’re thanking him for. 

The way Jason’s arm momentarily tightens let’s you know that he knows what you’re referring to. 

“Nothing is going to happen to either one of you while I’m around,” Jason promises, pressing a kiss to your head. 

You smile, curling against Jason’s chest, knowing he will do anything to protect you and Holden. 

. . . 

A month later, you’re looking over the early draft for new kingdom policy in Jason’s office when you feel a gush of water. 

“Jason…” You say quietly then a contraction hits, one much harder than the smaller ones you’ve been experiencing all day. 

You're bent over, holding your stomach, your other hand gripping the side of his desk. Jason is instantly on his feet squatting in front of you, not sure how to help. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, helping you lower into a chair. 

Another contraction makes you grab your stomach, your eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you take a breath.  

“My water broke,” You manage, feeling another smaller contraction. 

Jason’s eyes widen at the implication, but springs into action. 

. . . 

Ten hours of labor later and you’re collapsed on the bed, your back pressed to Jason’s chest as you hold Holden close to your chest. He’s sleeping peacefully, his eyelids fluttering. You press another kiss to the top of his head, already covered in dark hair. 

“He has your eyes,” You quietly tell Jason, stroking your fingers over Holden’s nose. “And your head, full of hair.” 

Jason grins, gently rubbing a hand down Holden’s back. 

“He’s got your nose,” Jason points out. “And eye shape.” 

You smile fondly at your son, your chest brimming with love and affection.

“We made a pretty cute kid,” Jason grins. 

You turn to look at Jason, kissing him softly. 

“Yeah we did.” 

Welcome to the world, Holden Daniel Todd, you think to yourself. It’s a scary place, but nothing is going to happen to you, not while your dad and I are around. 

You press another kiss to the top of Holden’s head and feel Jason’s arms tighten around you. 

“I love you,” He whispers into your hair. 

You turn, kissing him again. 

“I love you too,” Then lay your head back against Jason’s chest. 

Jason shifts so he’s holding you more closely against him and one hand lays on Holden’s back. You’ve never felt more loved and safe in your life. As another bout of happiness warms your chest, you fall asleep to the sound of your husband’s heartbeat and the feeling of your baby breathing against your chest. 

Shout out to anyone who catches that Witcher reference. Hope you enjoyed! Request are closed until I am caught up again. I’m already working on the next request, hopefully it’ll be done sooner than this one was!

[pocmuzings]

hello hi , it is g , ur friendly local neighbourhood hindu indian ( as in south asian  ) ! so a few people requested that i just make a guide-esque sorta thing on hindu  indian characters ! im not really good at guides , so instead , these are just little things i’ve noticed or picked up on that could really potentially strengthen the next indian character u ( pretty please ! ) pick up ! 

disclaimer : i am writing this from my perspective and it is NOT definitive , nor do i speak on behalf of all hindu indians  ! i am a 23-year-old bisexual cis female hindu indian , with one older gay brother, and a Train Wreck middle brother . my mother is from new delhi , and my father is from nairobi but has indian heritage ( not sure which part of india bc he’s an Engima ) . i have extended family in india and have visited india about 10-15 times throughout my entire life .

so firstly , im so glad u all are here and want to write more hindu indian characters ! please please do so !  i hope this helps , encourages u , and isnt too confusing !! 

psa : i need everyone to know that this is a very basic ‘ guide ‘ and theres a lot it DOESNT touch on or address bc i didnt want to get too Extensive and Detailed and have people Turn off and not Read it . this is just written in the terms of hopefully helping build  character / be relevant to characters a bit better that ive employed into writing my OWN hindu indian character creations !  but if u have any other questions pls reach out to me or any other indians in the rpc and im sure we’ll try our best to assist u !

FCS: 

one thing i’d really like to say is that its great to see fcs like dev patel  , deepika padukone and avan jogia picked up every now and then in rps , but there’s actually a LOT of other indian fcs you could be and should be using ! the main reason people don’t seem to know them is because they’re not ‘ hollywood ‘ stars per se ( it was a super big deal when pr*yanka broke out of bollywood and into bollywood but we don’t talk about her on this Blog ) . they’re usually bollywood stars and i don’t really see bollywood discussed that much in the rpc ! 

if you’re after MORE indian fcs , i have a tag of indian females here , and indian males here . the fcs on my blogs are also not ALL that exist . there are plenty of other blogs out there that post indian fcs , such as sonamhelps &  bollymusings !!! there’s also some really great faceclaim directories out there that include a LOT of indians with resources !

 unfortunately , i do not know of any trans indians or nonbinary indians but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist . indian cultures and beliefs are still quite Old School and not super progressive . india only just had it’s first wlw mainstream bollywood film released last year . lgbtqia+ issues are NOT really spoken about in india or within indian families at ALL , and if they are - they’re usually dismissed or reacted to Very Very Badly . ( again this isnt definitive and im sure and hopeful that some indians have had GREAT coming out stories and been accepted by their families but this has not been a common thing ive seen or witnessed from my cousins my age , indian friends , myself and my brother who are lgbtqia +  ) 

FOOD : 

we do eat with our hands and we eat like PROS with our hands . we can shovel it so easily and quickly . i don’t know how to describe it but you use the first three fingers of your hand to place the Food there , and then use your thumb to kinda scoop it off and into your mouth . this is NOT unhygienic because indians wash their hands very regularly and most of the time we aren’t actually touching our mouths to our hands ! 

indian food is MADE to be eaten with your hands for the most part . it is literally NOT practical to eat food with a knife and fork . here’s a really great article explaining things more in depth re: indian food and using our hands !

cows are seen as Very holy beings in hindu indian culture , and for that reason - there isn’t a lot of beef being eaten or consumed. sure , some indians DO eat beef but i don’t think its super common, but in my personal experience as a non-beef-eater this results in A LOT of me asking ‘ oh ,  sorry what sauce does that pasta come with ? ‘ ‘ oh those are beef sausages ? sorry i can’t eat them ‘ etc etc . beef is in a LOT of things , and this makes me very very careful and almost pedantic about what i do eat and ask about , food wise  !

indian food is seen as stinky by a majority of white people . it has a very very strong smell as im sure u know , and opening ur lunch box as a little kid to a Curry or Dal ur mum has made u ? one way street to being bullied . i also remember a time a real estate agent continuously told my dad nobody was interested in buying our house bc it smelled too much like curry,  despite my mum not having cooked curry in Weeks ( just say what u Really mean ,  bitch ! )

 indian curry exists but so does dal / daal . this is curry-like dish that is usually made out of lentils . so if ur going to talk about indian food and u know curries and samosas . . pls also bring up dals . and sabji ! ( sabji is usually just boiled vegetables plopped together . a lot of potato usually )

desserts are what we call Indian Sweets  . this is stuff that is usually very VERY sugary and a bit of an accustomed taste . theyre very colourful and LOOK beautiful but even i , for one , can not eat many indian sweets bc they are a Lot of Sweet and Sugar    . examples of indian sweets that u can google  : gulab jamun , burfi , rasgulla , jalebi etc . here’s a great link for more !

give me spiced food or give me death . literally . . put some cumin in . . put some garam masala . . put some chillies . . flavour ur Food for my Indian Taste Buds 

FAMILY : 

if you are the oldest son of an Indian Family . . congratulations . you are now the Head of the family and must carry every weight and burden alone . it is extremely isolating and taxing on you ( my dad is the oldest indian son , and also - so is my eldest brother , obvs ) . there is a LOT that is expected of you to do . you are expected to quite literally run the family and be the ‘ man of the house ‘ by yourself . 

if you are a daughter . . . even BIGGER congratulations ! you are basically a maid to every male or guest who EVER comes over to your house . you must be a Hostess , you must be in the kitchen cooking , serving snacks, bringing tea , and then washing up and basically waiting on Hand and Foot . you will not be included into a lot of dialogue or engaged in a lot of conversation and TRUST ME ! THAT WILL GRIND UR GOD DAMN GEARS IN THE 21ST CENTURY ! 

if you are a boys’ boy ( aka straight and Sporty ) , then congrats ! you get it the easiest : you are the favourite of every social event . the uncles and cousins love talking to you and dude-ing it up with you , and the aunts fawn over you and think you’re the Best Thing since sliced bread . sit back , put your feet up , and expect to be treated like a God. you can do absolutely no wrong . ( my middle brother is this to a T and listen . . he’s been in and out of jail for physical violence and ab*se for over 5 years . and family still FROTH over him . my teeth are gritted to dust thinking of this again ) 

indian aunties are lethal . they gossip like teenage girls . they will find out everything . they will bitch behind your back . they can NOT be trusted .

everyone is ur uncle or aunt, sister or brother . literally everyone . ur cousin ? no. thats ur sister . ur dads friend ? no , thats ur uncle . you will call them as such . EVERYONE is family .  

family is in general a VERY BIG THING in indian culture , too . ‘ what will it Look like to everyone else if we don’t all arrive together ? ‘ my dad usually asks dskjdfjn . it’s all about Looking Right and Standing As A United Front  . that being said , indian family has undying and unwavering loyalty for one another , they just show it in a very Weird way .

FASHION: 

female hindu indian formal  clothes are usually really embroidered to hell and back and this makes them very scratchy , uncomfortable, and HEAVY . you aren’t running anywhere anytime soon in a full blown lehenga or saree 

most ‘ modern ‘ hindu indian women do not wear full Indian Clothes all the time . some do , but usually it’s a lot of wearing a kurti tunic with jeans , or just normal everyday clothing . again , this is going to be different based on which parts of india your character is from , though ! 

usually , older women and married women  wear traditiona hindul indian clothing quite often . i know my mum wore a sari AT HOME everyday when i was growing up, until i was like 13 and took her shopping with me to get something Else to wear . 

bindi’s just stick right onto ur forehead but they do fall off a lot , especially when ur wearing makeup or sweating . again , you don’t need to wear a bindi everyday , unless thats ur preference . i usually only wear them for festivals . ( festivals means indian celebrations , not like . . coachella  ((which u should not be wearing a bindi to , if ur not indian fyi )) )

male formal clothes are usually just literally anything Formal and buttoned up for the most part , and u can get away with that , or you can wear a really nice kurta

indians wear white at funerals , not black  ( not sure if this should go in the fashion section but this entire thing is being organised into a Mess by now anyways ) . you CAN wear black to a funeral of course , but its common to wear white !

DATING ( tw’s for islamaphobia ): 

modern day indian / desi fuck boys exist and my god they are Something Else . hasan minhaj did a really good piece about this and explaining them to a T ( starts at 1:43 )

( THIS IS THE POINT THAT WILL MENTION ISLAMAPHOBIA AND HOMOPHOBIA ! ) basically according to Older  indians , ,  ur dating options  in 2020 go like this ( if ur a cis female like me ) : hindu indian men are god tier , white men are Not Okay But I Guess So Bc We Have To Accept They’re Everywhere , females / being lgbtqia+ is not Taken Seriously , and muslims are literally not even close to being an option or Accepted  . again this isn’t definitive but based on a lot of  indian media i’ve consumed and seen how they portray muslims in general as well as Dating Options , as well as talking to other indians  , both who are older / traditional and hold these ideals , whereas Younger gens generally do NOT hold these ideals  / actively are Against these backwards ideals.   i remember when i was in year 6 and had my first boyfriend . . he was a muslim and my dad FLIPPED the FUCK out  . it’s not even that i was dating someone / young / his only daughter . . it was mainly because i was dating a muslim . again , this is a very OLD SCHOOL and traditional way of thinking and it is NOT CORRECT .  pls don’t take this as a note to be islamaphobic if u write an indian character bc . . thats literally the opposite of what im trying to tell u here . 

yeah arranged marriages are definitely still a thing for us , even now in 2020

YES if u are an unmarried / single indian ( ESPECIALLY if ur a woman ) about to enter ur 30s . . ur in DANGER and u are the black sheep and theres probably something Wrong With You bc why are u still single ?

TRADITIONS / BELIEFS / SUPERSTITIONS :

idk if its just me and my family but we are SUPER superstitious . if you say anything like ‘ he hasnt gotten sick in years !’ immediately , everyone knocks on wood or their head . if you were planning on leaving the house and sneeze ? thats bad luck , stand and wait for five minutes then u can leave . we have a strong belief in drishti , or  alternatively : The Evil Eye  , and making sure we don’t invite it into our lives . a lot of our prayers are about warding drishti away .

the evil eye is kinda Complicated but basically its an ill-wishing upon an unsuspecting person . if somebody is jealous of you or angered by you , they may wish upon you or cast upon you the Evil eye ( or even just glare at u whilst ur not looking and thats Big Bad ) . 

a lot of older indians , like older people in general i guess , are not super progressive or Open . this isnt ALWAYS the case but older indians can be very very stubborn in their beliefs in what is Right and Wrong , Normal and Not Normal 

theres a LOT of hindu indian festivals and events ! tbh too many for me to even keep up with . but without fail at least once a year ill say to ONE of my friends ‘ oh sorry i cant make it . i have an indian Thing on that day ‘ and its usually about a festival , so pls be aware that there are a LOT of indian festivals and if ur writing an indian character , its perfectly understandable and Relatable for them to say they can’t make it to a party or hang out with their friends that night , for that very reason !

the main / most popular ( ? ) festivities  that i personally do celebrate every year without fail are : 

diwali ( the festival of lights , celebrating goddess lakshmi roaming the earth . in my household this is usually turning on literally every single light and lighting candles and fireworks / sparklers and saying some prayers , and eating a formal dinner all together !  )  

holi ( the festival of colours . celebrating victory and love . again personally for me , this was usually celebrated at the temple with all of us Kids running around throwing paint on each other ! ) 

rakhi / raksha bandhan ( a day of sisters celebrating their brothers . you tie a rakhi which is usually a bracelet / holy string around your brothers wrist , feed them some food , pray for their wellbeing and in return they gift you something . in my case, i usually get money from them ) .

navratri  / durga puja ( 9 nights and 10 days of celebrations but tbh u don’t have to do all the days . or i mean . . i don’t . i fast one day from morning to night and then i slide on over to boogie and dance dandiya which is literally the MOST FUN dance ever bc its based off some Historical Fight and u go faster and faster and keep going until ur absolutely SPENT bc u dont wanna lose ur place in the circle )  

there are SO MANY HINDU INDIAN GODS too . and so many prayers to all of them and to just general Life Wellness . chances are that ur character will know at least ONE aarti / gazal / prayer off by heart and have sung it at least 30 times in a monotone voice . the ones i know off by heart bc ive had to sing them 3000 times ? om jai jagdish hare , & the gayatri mantra 

GENERAL LIL THINGS I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO CATEGORISE ( tw’s for skin whitening , colorism and classism ) :

( THIS IS THE POINT THAT NEEDS A TW FOR SKIN WHITENING AND COLORISM  ) lets hold indians accountable right now : we advertise SKIN LIGHTENING CREAM  . i think they finally stopped that earlier this year / due to BLM ( i’m not entirely sure / could be wrong ) , but thats literally how bad it is , that we would openly advertise and encourage people to literally bleach their skin rather than look darker . 

( THIS IS THE POINT THAT NEEDS A TW FOR COLORISM AND CLASSISM ) colorism is a BIG thing in india and usually linked to class . generally speaking , the people who are Darker Skinned are usually people who work outside / labourers or homeless even , and are therefore seen as lower class / bottom class . the lighter skin you have , the more privileged and advantaged you are bc ur seen as working a Good job out of the sun and having a home . it’s incredibly classist as well as just generally Fucked Up . why am i telling u this ? mainly so u understand the importance of using a dark skinned indian fc vs a light skinned indian fc which i know is hard , bc a lot of darker skinned indians arent in hollywood / have resources , but its still something to Think About .  

i have a long Ethnic name . literally my first name is 10+ letters , which i know doesnt seem that long Necessarily but its also a Super Ethnic name with e’s and and j and n . it Flows and Sounds very clearly different from a christian name . it is VERY important to me that my name be said Correctly because i’ve spent so much time having it said incorrectly or Westernised . i also know a lot of indians my age who ( like me ) have had to dramatically shorten their REAL first name ( which is usually also pretty long . not always , but it is Common ) , to fit their name into white people’s mouths better . please put some thought into ur indian characters name !

not all indians speak hindi ! hindi is one of MANY dialects within india . there is also tamil , urdu  , bengali , punjabi , telugu and SO many more , so pls research which part of india ur character / their family  is from bc hindi won’t always be the default language for them !

not every indian is hindu ! of course ur character doesnt have to be religious at all , bc if im being honest IM barely religious but my FAMILY is and this is smth u should think abt bc religion is a pretty big thing for indians . so even if ur character isnt hindu , they were probably raised with SOME religious beliefs . have a think about which religions they would have been brought up with ! there’s a very large percentage of practicing muslims , sikhs and buddhists too ! and even christianity !

WRITING WISE / CREATING AN INDIAN CHARACTER WISE :

the first step should be to consume indian media ! listen to indian music . watch bollywood movies ! theres SO MANY  out there on everyone’s netflix . if u want some recs , let me know and i can try my best to find smth for u ! if u want smth thats Hollywood-indian . . . Hasan Minhaj is great to watch , especially his episodes on indian culture / politics , and Never Have I Ever on netflix was rlly good / relatable for me personally as an indian growing up in a western society !

i would really really love to see more indian rep in general , but i’d also like to discuss the Stereotypes that ive seen indians portrayed as in mainstream hollywood media :

indian women as soft spoken and subservient beings who are abused by their husbands and have no say in anything 

heterosexuality within indian relationships and indian dating 

indian men as sleazy 

indians in general not being seen as Sexy or Sexual beings with any sex drive at all 

Stumbling , Stuttering , Nerdy awkward messes of men who don’t know how to interact with anybody they find sexually appealing

an indian character that everybody ( usually white ) finds Uncomfortable and Weird and is seen as usually the Butt of the joke .

 i think those mentioned above could be helpful in how to plan your next indian character and think about how to SUBVERT a trope theyre often portrayed as , or create an indian thats not stereotypical !

so what and who SHOULD you write ? 

an indian character who is proudly and openly gay , or bi 

a trans or nonbinary indian ( PLEASE ! ) 

an indian character with really super accepting parents and family 

an aromantic indian 

an indian who is focused on their career first and not their dating life 

a fuckboy / fuckgirl ( honestly . . i’d love to see it )

a indian character who is a party animal 

an outspoken indian female who takes no shit and is strong in every sense of the word

a confident , smooth talking indian businessman who is Sexy and Lusted After ( not in a gross christian grey way but just . i’d love to see indian characters seen as Sexy . not in a fetishy way , either , but just because it’d be a nice change in pace ! )

a character who IS traditional / religious but also very progressive and forward thinking in their beliefs 

honestly just any character that isnt whats mentioned above

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: You Going to Todd’s? (Brick/Blossom)

My Powerpufftober fic! Still rocking the high school AU for this, so consider it a part 5 to the Shooketh, Not Stirred series. As always, can be read alone, but happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom go on a Halloween scavenger hunt. It sucks.

xxx

Blossom checked her watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. It was already a quarter past 9 p.m., her Frankentini was going flat in its plastic neon martini glass, and she was starting to regret coming to Todd’s overhyped Halloween party at all.

“Oh, hey Blossom,” said Harry Pitt, ferrying three bright glasses of the same watered down mixed drink Blossom was too preoccupied to enjoy. “You hanging out?”

Blossom smiled politely. “Hi, Harry. Just waiting for someone.”

Harry’s extra padded shoulders slumped in his pinstripe mafia boss costume. “Oh, let me guess.”

Blossom frowned, a reply on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it when precisely at that moment, Brick stormed through the front door like he was running from a zombie horde and desperate for a weapon. Todd himself spread his arms with a “What, your hairdresser keep you late?” and was almost mowed down with a cursory “Shut up, Todd.” Curiously, Brick made a beeline for the unpopulated second floor. He didn’t even see the other high school Seniors who barely dodged his path. Todd grimaced in his fake vampire fangs and chugged the rest of his beer. “Cool, catch up with you later, bruh!” he said, but no one was listening.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Blossom didn’t have time to feel bad about Harry’s dejected sigh as she ditched her drink and followed Brick upstairs. The Spotify Halloween playlist booming in the speakers faded to a low bass din as Blossom rounded the corner in the upstairs hallway. “Brick?” she called, a little annoyed.

No text, no call. He could have at least told her he’d be late so she could have timed her arrival better. With a mouthful of grievances and a heart full of him, she pushed open the lighted bathroom door at the end of the dark hall. “Brick, did you hear me calling—”

A fluttery and spine-chilling laugh slithered past the crack in the door and sank into her flesh like a snake bite. It arrested her where she stood halfway over the threshold, shackled in the throes of a very specific terror she could never forget.

Brick stood at the pedestal sink, his fingers attempting to fuse with the porcelain as he gripped it hard enough to crack and stared with manic focus at the mirror. All around them, the lyrical voice reverberated:

“Poor, angry boy, there’s yet no end to your suffering! For this next task, I want you on your knees groveling. Hide your tears And sharpen your shears— To save your brothers, make me a true offering.”

Brick snarled at his reflection, as if his demon might appear there in the mirror to throttle. But there was only him in the glass, furious and frothing under his red hoodie. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

It took only a moment for Blossom to shake her stupor as instinct and training took over. “Brick,” she said, crossing the small bathroom to touch him.

Red eyes narrowed at her approach until the moment he recognized her beneath her smeared costume lipstick and dark eyeliner. “Blossom?” he rasped. His surprise made sense when she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. Crop tops, fake bloodstains, and fishnets weren’t her normal style, but in a parallel nightmare universe perhaps they could have been.

The blushing eighteen-year-old boy in him went straight for her midriff, but his distress stayed his hand. “Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Nothing, just— Let me get in there.” He reached around her to pull open one of the drawers next to the sink in search of something.

“It’s not nothing.”

He didn’t answer as shut the drawer and checked the one below it.

“Brick, hey. You could have called me—”

With a snarl, he slammed the drawer closed and glared at her. “I was a little busy.”

“Talking to Him?” Blossom held his glare like a hand grenade with her thumb through the pin, ready to pull. “I’d never forget that repulsive lilt. Tell me what’s going on.”

He chickened out of answering her and dove for the drawers on the other side of the sink, where he found what he’d been looking for. Blossom barely had time to question the large scissors he’d pulled out before his hood was down and his man bun toppled into the sink with all the finality of a guillotined head.

Blossom gasped. “Brick!”

Somber as a corpse, he fished out his shorn bundle of hair from the sink, and Blossom watched as it burst into flame in his palm. Smoke curled through his fingers and rose high above them in an angry, red miasma. Its stink was saccharine and brought tears to Blossom’s eyes.

And then, it moved. In swirling, bloody tendrils, it slithered through the cracks above the bathroom door and down the hall as though it had a destination in mind.

“Oh, shit.” Brick dashed after it, and Blossom dashed after him down the stairs. His hand was hot in hers when she caught it and yanked him back. The split second in which their eyes met was an eon of understanding, bone-deep and cauldron-brewed. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked like he needed a friend.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“Blossom,” he tried to argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Blossom, hey babe, wanna flip some cups on my team?” Todd sidled up to Blossom with a stack of solo cups. Then he noticed Brick’s serrated haircut. “Buddy, what the shit happened to your hair?”

“Please go away,” Blossom said at the same time as Brick said, “Choke on my dick.”

She grimaced at Brick’s vulgarity, but Todd took a step back. Before he could snap back, he noticed the red smoke wafting through his house out the open window. “Oh shit, fire?”

“There’s a fire?!” someone else exclaimed, and panic ensued.

Blossom was about to intervene when Brick snatched her hand and dragged out the front door. “Where did it go?” he said, squinting in the dark.

Blossom swallowed her instinct to calm down her fellow partygoers (there was no fire, they’d be fine, surely…) and looked around for the demonic smoke. “There! It’s heading east.” She rose into the air to fly after it, but paused when she noticed Brick hadn’t followed her. Instead, he jogged down Todd’s cul-de-sac toward the main road. “What are you—hey!”

She landed on the ground in front of him, cutting off his dash. He tried to go around her, but she easily blocked him. It was like he wasn’t even trying to move past her, unless…

“You’re powerless,” she said.

That was the wrong thing to say. “It’s just a temporary setback,” he said in the same choke-on-my-dick tone he usually reserved for Todd.

When he tried to get around Blossom again, she put her booted foot down and cracked the asphalt. He didn’t try to pass her again. “I’m not going to ask you again.” Then, more gently: “Please, let me help you.”

The last of Brick’s petulant pride dissolved to ashes just like his ruined hair she knew he loved, and yet he’d viciously cut it off anyway. Hesitant, yet stubbornly determined, he held her gaze. “It’s Him. He’s fucking with me. Sapped my powers and said my brothers and I will pay the ultimate price unless I solve this idiotic scavenger hunt by midnight.”

“…Wow.”

“Yeah, so it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Blossom cupped his cheek. His chopped hair was not a total disaster, but it needed cleaning up. All that time he’d spent growing it out again…

Brick sucked in a sharp breath at her tender touch. He was as rigid as a pole, gritting his teeth hard enough to shatter. Blossom’s gaze hardened, and an old but fierce fire ignited in her Super-powered veins. “We’ll beat Him’s game. I promise you. Nothing’s going to happen to you or your brothers.”

Brick let his eyes fall closed as he touched his hand to hers, and that was probably the most intimacy she was going to get out of him in the middle of a murder-y scavenger hunt on Halloween. Maybe after they booted Him back to whatever pit he’d been living in all these years she could salvage what should have been a fun, romantic date with her sort-of boyfriend.

Blossom cleared her throat. “So, evil limericks?”

Brick just groaned from the bottom of his tortured soul. He took her hand and led the way after the demonic smoke before they could lose its trail. The smoke led them to Townsville High School a few blocks from Todd’s, specifically to the annual haunted house experience the Senior class spearheaded every year. Plenty of students dressed in their ghoulish finery crowded in the lawn socializing and lining up to take a turn through the haunted house.

Bubbles was on duty as part of the social committee in charge of managing the exhibit. When she spotted Brick and Blossom headed for the cafeteria door that had been transformed into the haunted house’s black-curtained foyer, she bounced over to them. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you guys here tonight! I thought you were going to Todd’s. Wait, Brick, did you cut your hair?”

“It’s a long story,” Blossom said.

“Whoa! Slow down. You can’t go inside without a costume.” Bubbles blocked Brick’s single-minded steamroll inside after the last of the curling, red smoke slithered past.

“Bubbles, move,” Brick spat.

“No way. You can be a party pooper at Todd’s all you like, but you’re not bringing any of that into my super scary haunted house that I spent all day decorating.”

“I swear to god—”

“Bubbles, do you have any eye liner?” Blossom interrupted before Brick could say something to her sister she would make him regret for the rest of his life.

Bubbles, dressed in glam trash Powerpunk solidarity with her sisters for the night in fishnets and glitter, grinned as she dug in the pockets of her spider web-patterned black tutu. “Great idea, Blossom! C’mere, you.”

“What—hey!” Brick was literally powerless to stop Bubbles from manhandling him into a quick makeover. “There, it’s purr-fect!”

Despite the possibility of Brick’s gruesome end by satanic evisceration looming at the end of the night, Blossom could not help but laugh at the cute nose and whiskers that transformed Brick from grumpy boy to grumpy cat.

The flash on Bubbles’ phone went off.

“Hey!” Brick was redder in the face than his ruined hair.

Bubbles preened as she easily danced out of Brick’s reach before he could nab her phone and delete the evidence. “You look so cute!”

Brick turned to Blossom as his final saving grace, but there were tears in her eyes as she tried to pull herself together. “I’m so sorry, but she’s totally right. You look very cute right now.”

“Fuck this,” he grumbled, bright as a tomato as he shoved past a floating Bubbles and stormed inside the haunted house.

“Oh no—Brick, wait!” Blossom tried to tone down her giggles as she ran after him. “Bubbles, come on, this is actually serious.”

The sisters headed inside to a spooky banshee screams playlist past Ms. Keane’s bubbling cauldron and the football team zombified in a cardboard graveyard, until finally Mr. Green welcomed them to the final stop with a frightful flourish. “Step on up, boys and girls. See your future, if you dare. Mwahahahaha!”

Brick took one look at the over-eager demon teacher and tried to leave. “Maybe I should just let Him kill me while I have some dignity left.”

Blossom caught up to him and slipped her hand in his before he could turn back. The sobering reminder of why they were even here sent a chill all the way to her fingers, and she squeezed his hand in what she hoped was reassurance. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“What’s going on?” Bubbles asked, peering around Blossom’s shoulder.

But Blossom was too preoccupied by the unnatural red smoke swirling around the final, purple-draped room and its sole occupant: Robin Snyder in a truly rocking dead fortune teller costume. “Come in, come in! Let the spirits foretell your Halloween future!”

Bubbles giggled and skipped inside. She planted a very loud, very adorable kiss on Robin’s head.

“Bubbles, what’re you doing in here? You’re supposed to be on welcome duty!” Robin complained, but she reached for Bubbles’ hand and pulled her down into the chair next to her.

“I wanted to see you, obviously!”

Brick’s hand in Blossom’s squeezed uncomfortably tight, and she soon realized why: the red smoke had descended upon the ouija board set up on Robin’s table and absorbed inside it. Bubbles and Robin did not seem to notice it at all.

“All right, let’s get this shit over with,” Brick said, taking one of the empty seats across the table.

“Wow, such enthusiasm,” Robin said flatly.

Blossom took a seat next to Brick and asked their costumed host, “How does this work?”

“It’s a séance. We’ll ask the spirits what we want to know, and the board will do the rest. Everybody put a hand on the planchette.”

The moment everyone’s hands touched the plastic planchette, red smoke bubbled up from beneath it and swirled around them. In a panic, Robin tried to pull away, but found that she couldn’t. Everyone’s hands were stuck to the planchette.

“What—” Bubbles sputtered, but Him’s cotton candy creep show voice slithered from the smoke and stole her breath:

“This clue is not for the fainthearted: Unearth your next destination uncharted. Absent any confession, To the board pose your question And divine who among you just farted!”

“What the hell was that?!” Robin said at the same time as Bubbles wailed, “Oh nooooo!”

Before Blossom could respond to Robin’s very reasonable question, her arm was yanked across the board still stuck to the planchette: “B”.

Brick’s smoky cat-eyes were wide and slightly manic as he looked at Blossom, and she looked at him. She flushed so badly that she nearly swallowed her own tongue to say, “It wasn’t me!”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t me,” he shot back. And then, understanding dawning, they both looked across the table.

“Bubbles?” Blossom said.

“I DON’T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME ANYMORE!” she screeched.

“Bubbles definitely farted,” Brick deadpanned. He dragged the planchette and everyone’s hands still stuck to it toward the “U” and then back to the “B” until the board spelled out Bubbles’ name. As soon as the planchette settled on the “S”, it released everyone’s hands in time for the heady, red smoke to engulf the board entirely.

Bubbles, distraught, shot out of her chair and covered her eyes in shame.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Robin tried to coax her back down from the high corner she’d flown to. “Come on down from there—Bubbles, really, I can’t even smell anything!”

“You’re just saying that because you love me!” Bubbles complained.

“Oh my god,” Blossom said, too preoccupied with the board to worry about her sister’s mortification. “Is that—”

“A map of the city?” Brick finished her sentence.

The ouija board was transformed into a mini map of Townsville, if a preschooler had drawn it in crayon.

“Here we are at THS.” Blossom pointed her finger to a collection of buildings scribbled in blue crayon. “And here…” She followed a crosshatch path to the edge of the map where a horned, red, devil face sticker grinned up at her. “The cemetery.”

Brick stood up so fast his chair fell over. He stood there for half a second, his face screwed up, and then: “Goddamnit!”

He’d forgotten he couldn’t fly.

“I can carry you.” Blossom held out her hand.

“Is everything okay in here? Robin, the next group is waiting.” Mr. Green poked his horned head through the thick drapes and sniffled. “Ew, what’s that smell?”

“Oh my god!” Bubbles turned beet red and disappeared in a flash of blue, knocking down the rest of the chairs and Brick too, if Blossom hadn’t caught his elbow before he could break his nose on the tiled floor.

“Bubbles! Sorry, Mr. Green.” Robin dashed after her.

“Wait just a minute—”

In the chaos, Blossom let Brick slip out of her grip, and he stormed out the opposite door back outside.  

“What are you doing?” Blossom asked when he stopped at the sidewalk.

“Calling a Lyft.”

“I just said I can fly us both.”

“Hard pass.”

Blossom crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong with it? Flying would be faster, and it’s free.”

“I’m not letting you carry me like some damsel in distress.”

“Honestly, Brick. There’s a demon threatening to kill you and you’re worried about your masculinity?”

“No, I mean—look, this isn’t your problem, okay?”

“You did not just say that to me.”

He scowled so deeply that it should have given her pause, but the painted whiskers somewhat ruined his menace. He clenched his phone hard enough to crack if he’d still had his powers. “I didn’t mean it like I don’t want you here.”

Blossom materialized inches from his face in an unnecessary display of power that nonetheless felt fantastic. “That’s better.”

Brick flushed, but not from anger. When she slipped her hand over his, he eased his grip and relinquished his abused phone.

“That’s better,” she said again, more honey than venom this time.

Like hell was she going to send him off to his possible doom alone, powerless and with a really bad haircut painted like a cat.

“Blossom, I’m—”

Her kiss shut him up, and with it any further excuses to go it alone. And despite his increasingly desperate situation, he kissed her back like he’d never get the chance to again.

A car horn honked. “Hey, are you Brick?” asked an older guy in a Honda Civic with a fuzzy, pink mustache attached to the front bumper.

Brick very briefly broke their make-out session to reply, “No,” and then tightened his arms around Blossom’s waist and got right back to it.

The Lyft driver squinted between the profile picture on his phone and Brick. “Wait, really?”

“Never heard of the guy,” he mumbled against her lips, proving that if she wanted to get something done, she’d have to do it herself.

Blossom rolled her eyes and removed his hands from her. Before he could do anything about it, she hoisted him onto her back and hooked her arms under his knees. “Come on, let’s go thwart your imminent murder.”

The Lyft driver watched them take off in a blur of pink. “Goddamn teenagers.”

He canceled the Lyft order and left Brick a one star rating, which was probably fair.

xxx

When Blossom touched down near the entrance to the graveyard, it was back to business. “How much time do we have?”

Brick checked his phone. “About an hour and a half.”

She jogged to keep up with his longer stride as they made their way deeper into the graveyard. “Okay, that’s plenty of time to figure this out.”

A peal of laughter stopped them in their tracks on the gravel path for the split second it took them both to recognize that particular manic cadence.

“Butch,” Blossom said at the same time as Brick said, “Motherfucker.”

Beyond a small hill near the base of a huge oak tree, Brick’s brothers, Buttercup, and Mike Believe sat among the granite tombstones with a pillowcase full of candy passing a joint around. Buttercup had just blown a smoke ring in the shape of a star.

“Bitch, I’m too stoned for this fucking tongue witchcraft,” Butch said. He made an appropriately chilling sight all in black with his face painted black and white in the design of a skull.

“Hey, can you blow a heart?” Boomer asked.

“You sap.” But Buttercup took another drag and hopped off the tombstone she’d been sitting on. Moonlight glinted off the spikes on her black leather jacket as she reeled back and blew three perfect, concentric hearts from her red-painted lips.

Boomer sat up from his place under Mike’s arm and snapped a picture on his phone. “You officially have the greatest special power out of all of us, no contest.”

Mike laughed and accepted the joint when Buttercup passed it to him. “I’m gonna have to agree with that one.”

“That’s because you’re one hundred percent whipped,” Butch said.

Mike shrugged. “Eh.”

“Buttercup.” Blossom approached her sister. “You’re smoking here? What if someone catches you?”

“Somebody just did,” Boomer said under his breath.

“Damn, Blossom, you girls doing a three-way theme tonight?” Butch slipped off the tombstone he’d been draped over to admire her fishnets and then Buttercup’s matching set. “I like it.”

“Give me that.” Brick took the joint from Mike and snuffed it out under his foot.

“Whoa, whoa,” Mike said. He stood up, and at his full height in a 1920s-style adventurer’s costume, he was a Sight™ to behold, if Blossom was being completely honest.

“Brick, what’s the matter?” Boomer peered around Mike in his homemade mummy costume. “And why the hell are you wearing cat makeup?”

“Oh shit, he is,” Buttercup said with a snort.

Before Brick could lose his temper, Blossom said, “Brick, the clue. We don’t have all night.”

“What clue?” Boomer asked. He peered at them seriously. “What’re you two doing here, anyway?”

“Yeah, I thought you were going to Todd’s,” Mike said.

“Todd’s parties blow,” Buttercup said.

Blossom ignored them. “Something about unearthing a destination uncharted. What could it mean…?”

Brick made for quite the adorable pensive cat as he considered. He seemed to come to the answer at the same time as Blossom.

“No,” Blossom said. “There’s no way.”

“We’re going to have to,” Brick said. “What else could it mean?”

“It’s extremely illegal.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fucking cursed!”

“We can’t dig up a bunch of graves!”

“Wow, so that’s what that creepy limerick meant?” Robin approached the group with Bubbles looking windblown and totally ready to get her hands dirty digging up some goddamned graves.

“Bubbles,” Blossom said. “Look, I’m sorry about before—”

“This is Him’s doing,” Bubbles said flatly. “I recognized the voice when I calmed down and we followed you here. Just tell me what the plan is.”

“Did you say Him?” Boomer said soberly.

Buttercup put her hands up. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

Brick pulled down his hoodie and revealed his ridiculous haircut. “This is what the fuck’s going on.”

Boomer looked close to tears at the sight of Brick’s mangled hair.

“Him cursed Brick, and we have to solve a scavenger hunt before midnight or he and his brothers will pay the ultimate price,” Blossom said.

“The ultimate price?” Mike said, aghast.

“What the fuck.” Butch advanced on Brick. “What bullshit did you get us into this time—”

Blossom materialized in between Brick and Butch before the latter could carry out whatever violence he intended. She tapped him hard on the chest, and he stumbled back, probably too stoned to hold his normal balance against her Super strength. “Not today, Butch. Him took Brick’s powers.”

“Shit,” Boomer said. Blue sparks jumped in between his toilet paper-wrapped fists. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

Blossom looked to Brick, who was clearly outnumbered and they both knew it. With a groan, he ran his hands through what was left of his poor hair. “We’ll split up,” he said.

“And do what?” Buttercup said.

“Somewhere here, there’s bound to be a clue left by Him. I know that’s not a lot to go on, but it’s all we’ve got right now,” Blossom said. “Split up and cover as much ground as possible.”

“And what are we looking for?” Robin asked.

“Red smoke, demonic laughter, a general feeling of imminent disembowelment,” Brick said.

Bubbles cracked her knuckles and tightened her pigtails. “The usual, then.”

“Fuckin’ right.” Butch began to crackle with pent up green power.

With four other Supers plus Mike and Robin helping cover ground, Blossom hoped they could at least glean some inkling of what Him’s last clue meant. She stayed with Brick since he didn’t have his powers anymore, and together they wandered deeper into the graveyard. Lampposts along the gravel path cast a saturnine glow amidst the trees, fey and eerie on this most eerie of nights.

“Blossom,” Brick said softly. “If we don’t figure this out before midnight—”

“We will,” Blossom said.

He stopped, and Blossom turned to look back at him. Even powerless, there was a presence in his red eyes, beyond mortal and brimming with fire. Even as enemies, even when she couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as him, she had recognized that counterpoint in him, that tranquil confidence that there was nothing in this world he couldn’t overcome. It was a part of him and no one, not even Him, could take it away.

“But if we don’t,” he pressed.

Blossom’s throat wrenched to see him so calm. Not much scared Brick, not truly, but his softness spoke volumes here where only ghosts could hear them. Go, his eyes entreated her, forget about me and go before it gets you too.

She marched up to him and placed her hand on his chest. Ice froze her breath to mist as her anger clawed its way out of her, and she let him see it. “Then Hell will tremble to watch me drag you back out.”

Brick said nothing. He slipped his hand over hers and curled his fingers. Even now, he was far warmer than anyone she had ever known, and she clung to that certainty.

“Come on,” Blossom said, pulling him along after her. “Let’s solve this so we can go home.”

They followed the floating lamp lights east. Fog gathered at their feet, heavy and strange, but Brick held her hand, and secretly she was grateful not to be alone in such a creepy place. When a laughter they both wished they didn’t recognize reached them on the wind, Blossom’s heart leaped into her throat and she took off running with Brick hot on her heels.

The cachinnation petered out when they came across a man in a grey uniform and hat with a flashlight. “Hey, what’re you kids doing here?”

“We were just—” Blossom began.

“Enough,” Brick said, stepping forward. He put an arm out to block Blossom’s path. “I know it’s you.”

“Brick,” Blossom said.

“Son, I don’t know what you mean,” the graveyard worker said.

Brick ignored him. “I played your shitty game. This is the end. Stop hiding behind that pathetic mask and show yourself.”

The portly graveyard worker dropped his flashlight with a heavy crunch on the gravel. Watery, blue eyes bled to baleful red, and his pasty cheeks stretched to accommodate a smile far too wide for his human face. A low chuckle built deep in his chest like termites in a kicked mound, bubbling up through his throat to bursting.

“H͓̼̯ḭ̠̣d͜i̞᷊̯᷂͜n̨͇͟g̤̱͓,̼͎ a̮m̱̪̫͚͢ I̤̜̗?̨̞ T̨̳̻̜h͚̟̖̜͢a͖̻̠̜͇t̨̹ s͖i̹ṃp̨̟͈͕͢ļy̢͔͜ w̨̱o͈̜̟̠͟n̹̮̖’̳̝t̮ d̪̟̪̝o̹̠.͕̫̙̩”

The booming, sinister voice came from that mouth full of teeth, but it seemed to grow out of Blossom’s bones. She felt it in her lungs, her fingertips, as a tingle on her lips Brick had kissed. And she remembered he was vulnerable, under attack by this very thing standing before them now masquerading in a meat sack.

Well, screw that.

Blossom lowered Brick’s wrist and stepped around him. No matter how hard he pushed against her, he was no match for her power—power she leaked now like gasoline fumes hungry for a spark. The gravel at her feet froze, and her eyes faded to ghastly pink as she faced her childhood nightmare. “Hello, demon,” she said.

“Y̹o̬͟u̢̡̳.”

The lampposts flickered and popped, plunging the earthly ossuary into chilling shadows, but Blossom did not fear the cold. Her fists frosted over as she clenched them, and her step summoned an ice floe in the gravel that bridged the crevasse between her and the coward who dared to haunt Brick and his brothers on her watch.

“Well?” she said. “I’m waiting.”

His meat sack shrank back. This was no child Him was taunting, but a fully realized Super who was no longer afraid of his mind games. He closed that heinous mouth and cleared his throat with a dainty, sausage-fingered hand over his heart, and recited in Him’s more lyrical pitch:

“You’ve served all night at my gracious pleasure. Now the final test to determine your true measure: Find the lady who slumbers In her crypt sunk in umber. X marks the location of my precious treasure.”

No sooner had Him given them their last absurd clue than the graveyard worker seized and fell to his knees. Blossom dashed to catch him before he could injure himself. The man coughed and wheezed as if he’d held his breath for too long.

“What in tarnation…?” he muttered, dazed.

“Sir, you had a dizzy spell. You’re all right now,” Blossom said, clinically calm as she discreetly checked him for signs of blood or other wounds. She found none. “Maybe you should take a break.”

“Who… Hey, you kids shouldn’t be here!”

Brick growled and grabbed Blossom’s elbow to haul her back up. “Let’s go.”

“Take it easy, sir,” Blossom said, and let Brick drag her along before the man could think to call security on them.

When they were out of earshot, Brick whirled on her like he was about to get scary, but she held up a hand for silence.

“Before you get mad, I was just trying to—”

His kiss was not as unexpected as she once may have thought it would be. Feverish, frantic, like a boy about to die in twenty-odd minutes, sure, but not unexpected. “Fuck, Blossom,” he panted when they parted for a breath.

Blossom’s heart swelled at his raw emotion on full display, as rare as it was true, and she almost lost herself in it. But they had work yet to do. She tucked his too-long bangs behind his ear.

“So, a lady who slumbers,” she said. “I’m guessing it’s a special statue.”

“A crypt sunk in umber,” Brick said, licking his lips. “A mausoleum, maybe.”

“That narrows it down, for sure. Must be older if it’s sinking.”

“I saw a map of the cemetery at the entrance.”

Blossom grinned and put her fist in the air. She fired a pink blaster that lit up the night sky and would summon their siblings soon. “Let’s check it out.”

He didn’t complain this time when she carried him on her back for a speedy trip back to the entrance and a quick check of the map. There were four mausoleums in the cemetery.

“Found something, Leader Girl?” Buttercup, Butch, Bubbles, and Robin were the first to catch up to the Reds, and Blossom filled them in just as Boomer returned with Mike.

“Four mausoleums? Sounds like we need to split up again,” Mike said.

“If you find anything, send a signal,” Brick said.

Chance. Brick’s and his brothers’ lives were up to the one-in-four chance that they would find the right crypt. All around them, Him’s lollipop laughter followed them like a demented poltergeist.

“This isn’t it!” Brick slammed a fist against the innermost tomb in their chosen mausoleum. “There’s nothing here.”

Blossom was about to respond to that when a bright, blue spark crackled in the air. Boomer and Mike had found something. “Hurry!”

The mausoleum Boomer and Mike had picked was guarded by a lichen-infested statue of a woman with angel wings in a bed of grassless, brown soil, so dark it could have been umber in daylight. Bubbles, Robin, and the Greens arrived soon after Blossom and Brick charged inside.

“Check it out.” Boomer indicated the innermost tomb carved with two crossed sabers.

“X marks the spot,” Mike said grimly. “Oh crap, it’s almost midnight!”

“Move!” Brick tried to push the crypt open, but it was too heavy for him, so Blossom helped. The heavy stone slab groaned when she pushed it, and a plume of foul, red smoke burst from the opening.

Him’s maniacal laughter rose with the smoke that swirled on the domed ceiling and opened two glowing eyes and a cheshire smile. “My my, cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

Bubbles shoved her phone at the unholy miasma. “It’s midnight! We beat your stupid deadline, see?”

“Bubbles, please don’t antagonize the ancient evil,” Robin whispered nervously.

“Technically, Blossom met the deadline since Brick was too weak to open the tomb,” Him crooned.

“You took my powers!” Brick said.

Him’s sinister smile fell. “Oh…did I? My bad. Here you go.”

The red smoke converged on Brick and passed through him with the force of a sword through the gut, and he collapsed to his knees in a circle of fire, gagging. Bubbles and Boomer were lightning fast as they swept Robin and Mike as far away from the conflagration as possible.

“Butch, shield!” Blossom commanded, and Buttercup shoved him so hard he tripped and crashed against his own hastily-erected shield bubble. It contained the explosion of power well enough to keep the mausoleum standing.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this won’t do. All I wanted was to play a little father-son game with you, and you had to drag your girlfriend into it. Parenting is so hard these days. I’ll just have to teach you boys a lesson.”

Blossom’s heart twisted. If Him was truly serious about killing Brick and his brothers, he would have to go through her first.

“Like hell,” Buttercup spat, her fists glowing green.

Brick got to his feet groggily. He looked like he just survived a bad case of seasickness.

Him burst out laughing. “Choice words, Buttercup. Now boys, time to pay the ultimate price!”

The tomb lid slid to the ground on unseen forces, revealing the horror within. Blossom readied her pink blasters, and her sisters did the same. Brick took one look in there and recoiled. “What the fuck—”

When no hellspawn burst from the tomb to attack, Blossom approached and peered over the edge. Inside were hundreds of polaroids of young children in dresses with their hair styled as they posed like Victorian paintings. Blossom reached for one.

Buttercup burst out laughing. “Holy shit, is this you?!” She had two polaroids in her hands as she flapped them in Butch’s face.

“Give me those!” Butch snarled.

“Wow,” Robin said, torn between hysteria and horror as she gawked at a picture of six-year-old Butch with bunny clips in his hair wearing a frilly white dress. “Wait until my therapist hears about this.”

In the picture Blossom had selected, Brick’s hair was expertly braided over his shoulder as he sat on a stone throne surrounded by candelabras and horned skulls in a flowing, white dress. He did not look happy to be there. He looked even less happy to behold this childhood shame years later.

“I burned those,” he said in a voice from beyond the grave to no one in particular.

“I made copies!” Him sang. “And now, all of Townsville will get to see you in your pageantry finest!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Butch screeched as Buttercup took off flying with a fistful of polaroids laughing her ass off. “Get back here!”

“You know, I think I look pretty cute in these, actually,” Boomer said.

Mike laughed. “Yeah, you totally do.”

“This is what you meant by paying the ultimate price?” Blossom asked the incorporeal demon head floating above them.

Him grinned. “Why, of course. Oh! You didn’t think I would murder my own sons, did you?”

The sinister glint in those yellow eyes told a very different story, one that may have ended poorly if she hadn’t forced Brick to involve her in whatever was going on.

Or maybe Him was just bored of his perpetual existence in a hellish void where a cute photoshoot with his re-spawned Super sons was the most exciting thing that had happened in a millennium, and he was feeling nostalgic.

The tomb erupted in flames all of a sudden when Brick breathed fire over all the polaroids.

Bubbles gasped. “Brick! Those were a work of art, how could you?!”

Brick glared at her with glowing, red eyes. “We’re never speaking of this again. Give me those.” He snatched the photos Robin was holding and burned them too.

Blossom hastily pocketed the picture she’d nabbed of baby Brick before he could notice.

Him disappeared in a swirl of smoke and laughter. “Happy Halloween! Remember to brush your teeth…”

“I can’t believe I came all the way here for this,” Robin said. “Literally, the weirdest shit is always happening to you guys. Can we just have a normal Halloween, like, one time? Just once?”

Boomer laughed. “Tall order, Robin.”

A loud explosion outside told Blossom the Greens’ fighting was going too far, as usual.

“Brick? What’re you doing?” Blossom asked as she and the others followed him outside.

“Helping Butch destroy the evidence your sister stole.” He took off in a blaze of red.

“What a killjoy,” Bubbles pouted.

Blossom bit her lip and revealed her pilfered polaroid. Bubbles’ smile turned downright sinister as she greedily snatched it. “Blossom, I love you.”

“That’s for emergencies only. I mean it, or he’ll kill me.”

Boomer threw an arm around her shoulders and grinned. “Nah, he’d never turn on his girlfriend.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, you’re right!”

Blossom flushed. “But we’re not exactly—”

“Him said it, so it’s gotta be official by now,” Boomer teased.

“Ooh, true. There’s nothing more official than a primordial force of chaos acknowledging your relationship status,” Mike said.

“Hey, you damn kids! You’re not supposed to be here!” shouted the no-longer-possessed groundskeeper from before. He had a shovel that he shook at Brick, Butch, and Buttercup locked in a game of cat and mouse as the brothers tried to reclaim the evidence of their dignity.

“Time to go,” Blossom said.

“Hey, party at Todd’s?” Mike asked.

“Great idea!” Bubbles chirped as she gave Robin a leg up onto her back.

As Blossom found herself back at the same party where she’d begun the night on the sofa next to Buttercup regaling everyone who would listen with the story of Butch’s child beauty pageant past (sans evidence because Brick had managed to burn it, unfortunately), she found her gaze drawn back to Brick. He was up getting them drinks, his haircut cleaned up thanks to Boomer, snickering at something Mike had said.

“Blossom, where are you going?” Bubbles asked when she got up.

“Just going to talk to Brick,” she said. “Officially.”

Bubbles lit up and grabbed the nearest hand to crush her feelings into, which happened to be Butch’s. “What the—ow, woman, let go!”

Brick saw her coming and stared at her growing smile like the baffled teenager he was underneath it all. With all their friends’ eyes on her, she walked right up to him and kissed him in front of everyone.

Let them see, she thought. Let anyone who was watching and biding their time to strike see, and let them try.

Lyrical laughter echoed somewhere on the edges of hearing over their friends’ laudatory cheers and loud calls for celebratory shots, but Blossom tuned it out as she smiled into her kiss.  

xxx

Like Boomer, I am a sap who loves a happy ending. Reds are finally official in this AU?! Took us long enough. Also, I always saw Him as this weird dichotomy of ancient murder-y evil and chaotic good mom. I feel like trolling the Boys would be a favorite past time of his. Might write more Him in the future and explore that more.

Happy Halloween y’all. Get spooky, and stay safe!

[harrygroves]

i’ve strayed in my minds eye (many times)

(based on this post)

There’s an overwhelming amount of darkness.

Inky black is the only thing he can see.

Amidst the nothing he hears things.

Scurrying feet, nibbling, squeaks.

It’s nauseating.

The fuck is that?

He’s been quiet, trying to figure out where he is and what’s going on but he can’t hold back anymore. Billy opens his mouth, ready to shout but someone else screams first.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!”

He’s got to be dreaming because that’s Steve Harrington he can hear.

There’s more feet, pitter patter pitter patter, and then scuffling, almost like someone’s wrestling.

“Harrington?” He shouts into the darkness.

It’s so dark, he can’t even see himself. He looks down at his own body but nothing’s there, just the dark void.

“I swear to god, Harrington, if this is you pulling some weird shit I’ll kick your ass!” He yells.

He hears the same repetitive scurrysqueak over and over and then the silence finally breaks.

“Hargrove?”

“Where the fuck are you?!”

“I-I don't know, I don't-where are you?” Steve yells back.

“I don't fucking know, can you hear that?” Billy shouts.

“What? That weird rat sound?”

Rats. That’s what it is.

“Fuck.” Billy mutters. “I fucking hate rats.”

“Billy-look, I think-fuck-I think I know where we are.” It sounds like Steve’s close so Billy walks forward-or at least, he thinks he does.

“Yeah, okay, wanna clue me in?”

“You wouldn’t believe me. I’m gonna-I’m gonna try to find you.”

“Wait, Harrington, what the fuck?” Billy shouts but Steve doesn’t respond.

Billy waits for what feels like an hour before he opens his mouth again but he doesn’t get a chance to speak because he suddenly feels like he’s losing footing, like he’s slipping down, down, down, almost like...sand, like he’s slipping through sand and he throws his hands out, tries to grab something but there’s nothing.

Just the sensation of falling.

*

SteveSteveSteveBillySteveBillyBillyRatRatRat

He can feel so much.

There’s so much in his head it feels like it’ll split apart.

He wants to clutch it in his hands but he-he can’t see his hands, he can’t even feel them lifting.

ScuffleFoodDarkSqueakLightsSteveBillyTailEarsSteveFurBillyWhiskers

Why...why the fuck can he feel the sensation of running, like he’s scrabbling over the ground too fast, he’s tiny one second but then he’s not, then he’s himself, but then he’s seeing himself through someone else’s eyes, and he’s got these weird thoughts.

NancyBatDustinScoopsSummerUpsideDownBillyPlate

He knows that’s not him. Those aren’t his thoughts.

He tries opening and closing his hand but it doesn’t do anything. He tries screaming but nothing comes out.

And then he’s falling, keeps falling.

He sees so much.

Where there was once nothing there is now light, his vision fills with color and shapes, people appear in front of him and it’s so sudden that he almost starts panicking, can feel the anger froth up in him, licking to get out.

It’s the pool. He’s at the pool. He looks down and sees that he’s in his trunks, has his whistle.

Everything’s normal.

Kids are shouting, splashing each other, girls are sauntering past him and looking over their shoulders. He sees Karen Wheeler coming out of the pool at the opposite end, giving him a view of her ass.

There’s that other lifeguard that’s been hounding him, Heather, walking by and smiling all wide and toothy.

His eyes dart across the pool, he looks at people and identifies them, the ones he knows, and everything seems fine.

But then he scans again and he can see Steve.

Steve’s in that fucking awful Scoops Ahoy uniform, standing at the other end of the pool, directly across from him, staring at Billy.

His mouth is moving but nothing’s coming out.

It’s fucking creepy.

Billy tries to move but then the picture changes and he’s at school, on the court, and he’s dribbling a ball, and everyone around him is shouting and Harrington’s there but he’s not playing, he’s just looking at Billy who stops moving, lets the ball roll away.

This isn’t real.

These are memories.

And Steve’s in them too, aware that he’s in them.

The picture changes and they’re at Tina’s Halloween party, right in front of each other, eyes locked while Nancy moves away from Steve’s side and Tommy talks shit next to him but Billy doesn’t hear it.

“What the fuck is this, Harrington?” Billy asks angrily.

“I don't know, this is different. Uncharted territory.”

“Different than what?”

“You-you don't know about the shit that’s been happening here, it’s not good.”

Billy scoffs, holds out his arm. “Have something to do with this bullshit?”

He shows off the dark mark that’s been steadily growing on his arm. Steve stares at it, eyes wide and full of a complicated understanding.

Slowly, Steve lifts his arm, and holds it out to Billy.

It’s the same mark.

“What the fuck?” Billy breathes out, the words weighted and shaky.

Steve screws his face up, opens his mouth, “I-I think we’re-”

Steve vanishes, everything cuts to black and then he’s on a beach.

The sky is dark blue, but there’s ominous electricity crackling through the clouds, red lines he can see shooting back and forth, like he’s in some sort of storm straight from Hell.

Shit, maybe this is his Dante’s Inferno.

He looks for Steve but doesn’t see him.

There’s nothing but sand and water, no line of trees, nothing but a long stretch of land that doesn’t seem to go anywhere.

The waves rush, angry and violent and the water keeps getting closer, licking at his feet.

It’s warm-too warm, hot almost and it makes Billy stumble back.

A huge wave is approaching, so massive Billy thinks he’ll get swallowed whole. It’s only seconds away from him and then he realizes it’s not water.

It’s rats.

A giant wall of rats is coming at him.

He looks down, the water has been replaced with rats.

A sea of them, all moving and squeaking, beady eyes times a thousand staring at him, advancing.

He screams.

Everything changes and he’s at the Byers, the thrum of his Camaro behind him, floodlights illuminating Steve in front of him.

“F-fuck.” He’s shaking.

There’s a lit cigarette in his mouth and he pulls on it thankfully.

“Wall of rats?” Steve asks and Billy realizes he’s panting too, bending down to plant his hands on his knees like he’s out of breath.

“Yeah, not a fan.” Billy says and then takes the cigarette from his mouth and extends it to Steve.

He doesn’t know why he does it.

Steve takes it, slips it between his fingers and smokes, doesn’t say thank you but that’s fine because honestly? It’d be fucking weird.

“I don't like this.” Steve says, breathing out a plume.

“Yeah, like a bad acid trip.” Billy says.

Then there’s voices and they both look to the side.

It’s...it’s them.

“What the fuck.” Billy bites out.

He’s looking at himself and Steve, talking a few feet away and then Billy reaches out and shoves Steve.

Shit. Oh shit.

“Dude, are you seeing-”

“Us?” Billy confirms.

“Okay, this is weird.” Steve says and they both watch for a few seconds, not speaking as their doubles move into the Byers house.

They exchange a look, a silent agreement not to follow. They both know how this ends.

Then it’s gone and they’re at Billy’s house and that’s not fucking cool at all because his dad has a Clone!Billy by the shirt collar and is yelling profanities at him.

The real Billy watches, winces because he remembers the smell of booze fanning his face, the sting of the fist against his cheek that follows.

Steve makes a sound when Neil throws the punch, like he’s shocked, and Billy steals a glance at him. Steve’s watching intently as his clone falls to the ground and lets out an aborted sound.

Billy waits for the scene to change, is begging it to-it doesn’t, not right away. It sticks around, taunting him, and they watch Neil circle the clone, spitting vicious words, getting louder and angrier.

And then it finally fucking stops and he doesn’t know where they are.

But Steve sure seems to.

They’re in a real fucking nice living room and Billy’s looking around, almost impressed but Steve’s got his eyes trained on the foyer, and they hear the front door open.

Billy turns and watches a Steve clone stumble into view, clearly drunk.

Then Billy hears humming and looks to the side, where carpet meets tile and there’s light illuminating, he sees a woman float in and out of view.

“Mom!?” The clone slurs loudly.

The woman doesn’t seem to hear.

Steve, the real Steve-he’s not making a sound, his face dark and reserved.

Clone!Steve jolts forward, like he doesn’t understand how his body works and walks right in-between the two of them, towards the kitchen.

They both turn.

“Mom, I’m...I’m drunk.” Steve says.

His mother doesn’t look at him.

“Mom!” Clone!Steve yells. “Fucking look at me!” His voice is so desperate, thick and hoarse from exertion.

Billy doesn’t get it at first, but then a man who has to be Steve’s dad walks past them and into the kitchen, greets his wife and sits down at the kitchen table.

“Look at me!” Clone!Steve yells.

Jesus.

Everything changes again but this time Billy’s alone.

The memories flick past him like the pages of a book.

It’s a mix of Steve’s and his own, but they’re starting to change, there’s too much color-it’s over-saturated, like a bad movie.

Some of these aren’t memories.

There’s one of Billy on the deck of a beach house, staring out into a calm ocean and puffing on a cigar.

That’s...that’s a dream he’s had.

-Steve’s working in an office, hair slicked back and wearing a fancy suit-

-Billy’s in bed, lying on his side, an arm snakes around him but he can’t see who it is, can’t see the face-

-he’s at school after hours, in the locker room and he hears the showers running. He approaches and there’s a comical amount of steam, it’s not real and he can hear-he can hear himself talking low. When he catches sight of himself he’s not surprised at what he finds, he’s seen it before. It’s him, back against the tile, head tipped back, mouth open a little. Clone!Billy’s eyes open and his head falls down and he looks at the Clone!Steve that’s on his knees and-well-

-he’s in a room with a horrible set of plaid curtains and there’s movement on the bed in front of him. Clone!Steve’s on top of someone, Billy can hear the wet sound of kissing, but there’s this weird morphing thing happening, the person beneath Clone!Steve keeps changing. Billy can’t really make out who it is but there’s this soft, static effect happening-

-junkyard, Clone!Steve’s got that fucking nail-bat in his hands, and he’s digging his feet into the ground, eyes trained on some sort of weird lizard-dog thing. Billy’s breath catches when he sees three more-

-some sort of fucking meadow, a hill, wind in his face, he can taste the lilac. He’s looking at himself and Steve lying on their backs, talking to each other, laughing and-and touching each other. He doesn’t know what this is-

Nothing.

Everything goes black.

He doesn’t know how long he’s in the darkness. After all that shit the void is almost welcome.

“Billy?” He hears Steve’s tinny voice, cautious but there.

“I’m here.”

“Did you...I saw-”

Steve cuts out, or stops talking. One of the two.

And then he’s opening his eyes.

He’s staring up at the face of a teary-eyed Max and that kid with the curls staring down at him, covered in black streaks, hair matted with sweat.

“Billy?” Max whispers.

Billy opens his mouth, coughs hard.

His lungs hurt. His eyes-legs-everything hurts.

It’s dark still, but it’s not the void.

It’s the mall. He’s inside the mall and a bunch of kids are surrounding him, and Nancy and Jonathan, and he realizes Steve is next to him. The kid with the curls has moved his attention to Steve, sniffling and touching his arm carefully.

There’s hundreds of dead rats around them. Hundreds. The smell of blood is overbearing. He realizes he’s lying in a pool of something dark and tacky. He gags a little.

The kids help them both stand and Steve looks over, meets Billy’s eyes and Billy feels his stomach drop.

Fuck.

He has to talk to Harrington. Now.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

Your blog is amazing, I've just spent several hours reading through everything you written. Could you write about John with epilepsy? My husband has it and it can super stressful to deal with

Jumping.

That’s what John called the phenomenon of absence seizures. While his brain paused, rendering him unconscious, the world kept going. When he came to just seconds later, people and things have moved considerably. Or jumped.

Like that time Freddie was laughing at a joke and then seconds later was halfway across the room, drinking water. Or the time Brian was discussing a song and seconds later, was quiet, looking at his fingernails.

Jumping or absence seizures weren’t so bad. John would freeze up for a few seconds but wake up and immediately recover, leaving him able to do pretty much anything he wanted to. Stairs were daunting when the episodes were frequent, but other than that, no big deal.

That was the part of his epilepsy he didn’t care too much for. Easy to handle, and most importantly, easy for others to handle. ‘Spacing out’ was of no concern to those around him. Just make sure John doesn’t fall over or slip if you notice he’s having an episode, but really, it’s a nonissue.

The issue was the type of seizures that popped into everyone’s mind when they saw the word Epilepsy.

John was proud to say his convulsive seizures happened far and few in between. Only in times of stress did he really have to worry about an episode.

And who knew being in an internationally famous band was stressful?

“That sounds hideous,” Roger said, voice rising in pitch as the tensions in the recording studio grew.

“Maybe to you, but that’s how I wrote it and it sounds nice,” Brian snapped, eyes narrowed at the drummer who sat tall on his stool.

“It could afford to be quieter,” Freddie threw into the debate, not necessarily wanting to get in the midst of a Roger-Brian spat. They were ugly.

“Oh fuck getting quiet. It’s atrocious and should be cut entirely! Have you all lost your bloody ears?” Roger erupted, throwing his drum sticks on the floor.

All the while, John was in a corner, not saying a single thing. He didn’t like fighting, really. Not unless he found it imperative. He preferred to let the others toss hands while he just watched. 

Today he was tired though. The whole entire session had been nothing more than petty fights and venomous quips, for hours. The sun had long since set and they’ve been at it since 12pm. Not only was he plagued with a significant annoyance, he was hungry as all hell.

If only the other 3 could just shut up and play whats on the paper, they could all be home now.

But nooo. Roger always has to say something and Brian has to be the ass he is and Freddie just revels in fanning the flames.

John rolled his eyes as they all started getting into it for what seemed like the 40th time. Bite your tongue, John....

Not today!

“Can you all please shut the hell up and either play what’s on the goddamn papers or can we all just go home already?” he exploded, not even realizing all those words had erupted from his mouth.

Everyone went wide eyed, a few mouths popping open into surprised ‘o’s. You’d think that would be enough to get them all to act like adults but John had unwittingly entered his name into the match.

“Oh, so then you agree the section is good, Deacy?” Brian was the first to pipe up, finding the outburst to be a point for his team.

“That is not what he meant and you know it, you bastard!” Roger yelled incredulously.

Most people would’ve ripped their hair out from the idiocy, but John was busy with the sudden feeling of his fingers breaking.

Every joint felt like it had snapped in a grotesque manner, a familiar and hot pain searing from his digits all the way into his core.  His stomach erupted in butterflies, the one you get not after a kiss but when your roller coaster is about to drop from it’s highest peak.

And then, John didn’t feel anything.

♚

“You two ne- oh shit!” Freddie yelped when they all heard a thump and the chaotic strumming of bass strings.

John was on the ground in a heap, body starting to shake. 

This wasn’t any of their first rodeos, so they knew the drill. Didn’t make it any less scary.

Before the seizing got bad, they took off his bass, putting it aside. Roger made busy work of clearing the area around John, whose eyes were rolled back, foam already frothing at the mouth.

Brian tasked himself with watching the clock. No more than 5 minutes, he reminded himself. If John seized for longer, they needed to call an ambulance. 

Freddie put a jacket under John’s head just in time for the thrashing to grow particularly violent. His limbs tightened and relaxed, flailed and flopped. His head wouldn’t stop jerking from side to side, his torso popping off the ground in a manner that looked painful.

Of course, it wasn’t painful. It was something that took a few episodes for them to solidify. John was completely unconscious and couldn’t feel a single thing. There was no need to try and comfort him during an active seizure. They’d only be putting him or themselves in danger.

It still was a hard thing to feel in their hearts, watching as his lips turned blue or he gasped for air. They all were just thankful he wasn’t awake to experience it.

It was only 2 minutes and 27 seconds exactly, according to Brian, when John finally stopped. He went limp like a ragdoll on the carpet and that’s when they all approached him.

Freddie mopped up the sweat and spit with a towel. Roger petted his hair, talking to John to get him to wake up and Brian was rubbing John’s knee.

John was always bad at waking up. He took an hour or more to have complete clarity. He’d be in a daze or state of confusion for so long, mumbling the whole time about needing sleep.

They all knew this naturally and just needed John to show that he was okay before he was allowed to sleep.

“Wake up sweet boy,” Roger cooed as the youngest murmured absolute nonsense. 

“Yes, wake up, sweetheart. You're safe and fine. Just wake up so we know you’re well, alright, Deacy?” Freddie said, now smoothing circles over John’s chest. 

It wasn’t 20 minutes before John said anything intelligible.

“Floor,” he slurred.

“You’re on the floor, John. You had a seizure. Are you with us?” Brian chimed in, a break from all the sweet talk to two mother hens were doing.

“Seizure?” John groaned. He still was far from being 100% conscious but he seemed to be coming around a lot faster than usual.

“Yes, mate. You had a seizure. Everything is alright though. Not even a bruise on you,” Roger answered, giving his cheeks some light smacks to see if that’d rouse him up faster.

“Sleep,” was John’s last words before the rotter fell asleep. 

♚

“Careful, Deacy, careful,” the other 3 said as they helped a considerably awake John to his feet.

His eyes were alert, looking around the room squinted, as if trying to piece together how he wound up convulsing on the floor.

Once stood up, John leaned against Freddie who had his arms wrapped around the bassist tightly. He let out a sigh and crinkled his nose, the post-seizure feel being just slightly better than having a full blown flu.

His head pounded. His muscles were sore and some pulled. His brain still felt wacky and all he wanted was to sleep for a week straight.

Freddie asked if he felt safe to go home or if he needed to go to hospital. No matter how miserable a seizure was, this was pretty normal in terms of an episode. So no doctors, just a king sized mattress, please.

Being the concerned friends they were, they all drove John home, led him into bed and tucked him in. It wasn’t necessary, but they stayed a few hours afterwards, making sure he was okay and didn’t seize again. Maybe concerned friends wasn’t the right word.

More like guilty.

They knew stress was John’s biggest trigger, but selfishly they had all bickered like children all day, even when it was apparent he was getting weary. And for what? For John to suffer.

They all came to that realization quietly, twiddling their thumbs and anxiously twirling their hair. 

When they all met up again at John’s house the next morning, that was the first thing out of their mouths. An apology.

John sat up in bed, craving at least another 24 hours more of sleep, but he listened, nodding every so often as his bandmates confessed their sins.

He put on one of his infamous Deacy smiles, lips tucked in and eye crinkles deep and said, “It’s alright, guys. I should’ve said something, y’know? It’s not your faults.”

Roger shook his head, a hand squeezing John’s shoulders. “Naw, it’s our faults too. We never wanna be the reason you drop like that again. We’ll promise to be more civil,” he said, blue eyes sad.

There was nothing for him to be mad about, but he accepted their apology, shrugging off last night’s fiasco. 

Well, almost.

“Now that I am saying things I feel, I do have something to tell you all. Brian, that section you want is horrid,”

“Oh go to hell, John,”

[idontevenremember5minutesago]

Bnha is overhyped and it’s damaging the fandom.

Did that get your attention? Good.

I tried. I tried so hard to stay away from discourse in this fandom because I know how Tumblr is. I’ve been on this site long enough. It’s a site full of complainers who can never be happy with anything. It’s site full of fan entitlement and people who think they can tell other people how to write their own stories and what they can do with their creations.  I know this.

And that would be fine, if they kept it to Tumblr. But there is a rise of idiots harassing content creators with how they feel a story should go and it is driving me INSANE! And with the BNHA fandom on the rise, their newest target is Hori and it is so aggravating.

This man has been through so many failures and disappointments that almost knocked him out of manga writing for good and now he has a hit series and is gaining back the confidence he lost and writing a story he loves and you assholes are ruining it with your disgusting fan entitlement. I saw the Voltron fandom turn to absolute garbage in real-time because of fan entitlement and it so discerning to see it happening right in front of my eyes with the bnha fandom. Again.

(I’m not gonna say it’s because a lot of toxic Voltron fans came into the fandom when the show ended, but it’s because a lot of toxic Voltron fans came into the fandom when the show ended.)

(I’m not even gonna go into the Endeavor death threats because good God)

So let me address something, and I say this as a bnha fan, who loves the show and the characters.

BNHA IS NOT A DEEP SHOW.

The premise. The characters, the setting, the motivations. They are not deep. They are as simple and cliché as it gets.

The characters have done before.

The plot has been done before.

The conflict has been done before.

And that is okay.

It’s okay for a story to be simple and for the characters to have simple motivations. That’s why people like DBZ. That’s why people e liked Naruto Part One. And yes, that’s why people also like Black Clover. Because they are simple shows that employ simple themes that, yes, have been done before.

There is a pretentiousness on tumblr where everything has to be deep for you to like it.

I see this mostly from Bakugou stans in this this fandom. They herald him as a beacon of character development that has never been done before, not just in the series but in all of shonen actually in all media. I have literally seen someone compare Bakugou’s arc to Zuko’s and I just- . It’s so damn stupid. And I laugh everytime I see it because Bakuogu has been done before. His character arc has been done and it’s been done better. It aint that damn deep.

Y’all can just admit you like assholes.  It’s okay. I see this mostly done as defense mechanism done because Bakugou anti come after fans and the character which is okay because Bakugou antis get on my nerves too. But when I see it done unironically I can’t take them seriously. It was said straight out of Hori’s mouth that Bakugou was made to be unlikable, but hey so was some other popular assholes on this site, but the difference between those fans and Bakugou fans is that the other fans can admit they just like assholes.

Whew.  Had to get that out of my system. Probably pissed off a bunch of Bakugou stans. Don’t really give a shit. Moving on.

It seems like most of the damn discourse these days is coming from the fact that Hori is implementing traditional shonen clichés. And to that I say, WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF GENRE DID YOU THINK YOU WERE READING? A shojo? A seinen? A josei? A harem? Of course, it’s gonna implement Shonen tropes.

This fandom has fallen into the traditional tumblr pitfall. People make deep think pieces,headcanons and metas and convince themselves and others that what they’re watching is deeper than it is. When the creator of the show includes something that aligns with their content, they think that their think pieces and metas were right and that was the creator’s intention all along which tricks them into believing that they know all of the authors intentions  and can speak on what the author is trying to do and with that comes an inflated sense of entitlement where they begin to think that the authors decisions must always align with their theories and views and when they don’t, in comes the death threats and the screams that the creator is a terrible writer and doesn’t know how to handle their own story and characters.

You guys want Bnha to be a subversion to Shonen clichés because that’s what YOU hyped it up as. And now that its going against what you want, it’s terrible writing and going down the road of older shonen manga, like Naruto. It drives me crazy when I see idiots on this hellsite attacking Hori for using common Shonen tropes when he has since the beginning, but you guys just didn’t want to see it cause everything has to be deep or a subversion on this hellsite.

It’s so damn aggravating.

Fan entitlement is so cancerous. And I’m so annoyed to see it spread over to this fandom because this fandom was so chill when it was smaller. I’m so tired of seeing big fandoms become crap because of fans like this.

Has the story stagnated? In some ways, yes. It has. The motivations and growth of some of the characters, (NOT JUST DEKU, BAKUGOU STANS) has slowed down since most of them are realizing their arcs. Deku is gaining more control over his emotions and OFA (AS HE FUCKING SHOULD BECAUSE MAIN CHARACTERS ARE MEANT TO GROW AND THAT IS GOOD THING YOU DUMBASSES) Shouto is opening up, Bakugou is shimmering down, Shinsou is one step closer to being in the hero course (which was his entire character arc btw). Iida’s arc has been done and a lot of other characters are reaching plateaus as well or haven’t been explored because there are so many.

But guess what.

The series isn’t fucking done yet. It’s not completed. It’s not done yet. Long stories tend to slow down , sometimes they will hit walls and that’s okay. That is natural.

Holding Bnha to impossible standards where it always has to be on pace because you hyped it up as ‘ The best Shonen ever written tm ‘ is not fair.

So instead of frothing at the mouth when your little meta’s and tumblr post and theories don’t align with the story or it takes a turn you don’t agree with how bout you shut up and let this man write his own damn series and work his story out. He has it planned out. He has gone on record saying this. I think he’s good.

Criticism is good. There are a lot of criticisms I have with Bnha. Not agreeing with writing decisions is good. Having headcanons is good. Having theories is good. These are all valid,

Attacking someone because THEIR story is going a way you dont want it to go, is not okay and it never will be. I can’t believe I have to say this.

[sirkkasnow]

09 Catch Your Breath When You Can

Ao3 link

07/17/13 Wednesday evening

Stan was shoulder deep in the Fairlane’s engine compartment when the kids finally made it home late that afternoon. Dipper waved and headed straight inside; Mabel came over to lean casually against the front fender. “So?”

“There’s a meatloaf in the fridge for dinner an’ we’ve got potatoes, and I guess the fixins for salad if you’re into that kinda thing.”

Mabel pressed both hands over her eyes and groaned in protest. “Nooooooo. I mean did you call her? Did you get to do your something nice whatever it was? You’ve gotta be almost done with the car!”

“Yep, almost done.” Stan straightened up with a sigh and latched the hood. “Gonna fire it up in the morning, see where we’re at. Probably a day, day an’ a half to finish up, then she’s free t’go.”

“You’re not just gonna let her walk out of here, right?” She was peeping out at him between fingers now, looking horrified. “I know you’d both regret it.”

Stan pinched his lips against a smile - his poker face was cracking. “Well, I maybe mighta lined up a flick after dinner. So if you could help keep the nerd brigade occupied that’d be great.”

Mabel produced a whistle-shrill hypersonic squeal of delight and flung herself at him for a hug. “I knew you could do it! Consider the nerd brigade well and truly distracted! You report to me on everything, got it?”

“Mabel, c’mon, it’s just a movie.” He was grinning anyway as he swiped down his hands.

The five of them gathered for what proved to be a noisy meal. One tiny nudge from Mabel was enough to derail the conversation into DD&MD worldbuilding. “Clary’s about to leave,” she said firmly, “she hasn’t gotten to play one game and we need to fix that.” Within fifteen minutes the rulebooks were scattered across the crowded kitchen table and both Ford and Dipper were talking scenarios and taking notes.

Clary had spent most of the afternoon napping. She looked crisp and refreshed, a froth of peony pink silk knotted off-center at her throat, tossing an occasional suggestion into the chaos. Mabel vanished for a minute or two as the plates were cleared. When she returned it was with arms full of scrapbooking supplies and an unsubtle jerk of the chin towards the living room.

Stan took the hint and slipped out unnoticed, setting up a dinette chair next to the recliner. He tracked down a couple of pillows and a light blanket to make the whole thing a little more comfortable. Clary showed up a few minutes later, hands in pockets, still smiling to herself. “I’ve been banished,” she murmured over the background conversation from the kitchen. “So they can surprise me in the morning.”

“Damn shame, too bad, movies are under the TV.” He punched the pillows in a mostly-futile effort to fluff them up as she knelt to sort through the cabinet. He’d tracked down the remote and gotten comfortable in the recliner by the time she waved a worn black-and-white cardboard sleeve at him: Captain Of Her Heart.

“Old-school okay?”

“Um. It’s mushy.”

“I can handle mushy.”

“It’s sad.”

“I can handle sad and I’m not in the mood for nature documentaries.” Clary slotted in the tape, fiddled with the channels until trailers for twenty-year-old New Releases! began to play, and collected a box of tissues before settling into her seat.

“You a crier?” Stan nudged her tissues with a knuckle and she gave him a dirty look.

“Insurance. Settle down.” Clary stacked pillows against the recliner’s back corner, propped her elbow on the arm near his and made herself at home. He’d seen this one a million times, an obscure classic in his opinion with some really good on-location seaside shooting for its era. Familiarity never seemed to make this one hit any less hard.

He found that it was hitting maybe a little harder than usual. The bookish harbormaster’s daughter and the rough-edged first mate she’d spent the last hour falling improbably in love with walked the shoreline under a spotlight moon, switching to closeup against a painted backdrop for their wrenching scene of farewell.

Stan stole a couple tissues while she wasn’t looking. Clary already had one clutched to her lips, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes in resolute silence. Maybe she was a bit of a crier after all, though she held it together pretty well through the last ten minutes or so.

Once the ship had departed and the harbormaster’s daughter had slipped down to the docks in the night, dressed in a man’s traveling clothes and bound for parts unknown, Clary blew her nose in an undignified honk. He would have teased her if he weren’t busy trying to do the same without her hearing him. At last she settled close to watch the brief credits. When the tape ran out and the screen went to static he grumbled and jabbed at the remote until the TV snapped off.

They rested together in the near-dark. Stan listened as the rhythm of her breathing steadied. “Good flick,” she murmured at length, in no apparent hurry to move.

“One of my favorites,” he admitted, equally quiet. “I did warn ya. If, ah, if it’d help, there’s a sequel...or I could maybe get Soos to write some kinda fix-it, he’s good at that fanfiction stuff….” He felt rather than saw the subtle shake of her head. “What, no?”

“It’d be cheating.”

“C’mon, now, there’s nothin’ wrong with chasin’ a happy ending - “

“They’re hard to catch.” He heard her swallow thickly and felt her shift to turn a little more into him. “Why the heck don’t you have a couch? I don’t want to move yet but this is uncomfortable as hell.” Stan considered bolting to leave her some privacy, then held his breath and wriggled his arm free to lay it lightly around her.

“This a little better?”

Clary drew up her legs and nestled into his side without hesitation. “Much.”

“So - we don’t have a couch because we didn’t need one until everyone was leavin’ at the end of last summer, anyway - “ He was cursing the lack of a couch right now, because the arm of the damned recliner was wedged between them and this would be a very nice post-movie snuggle without it. “I’m not sure Ford an’ I ever really thought we’d be back for more’n a quick visit. Soos hasn’t had time to update the place much.”

“You said you’d been running the Shack for thirty years. Alone?”

Stan hissed softly, dragging his free hand through his hair. “Yep,” he said just before the pause went beyond recovery. “More or less. Kids first visited last summer an’ that changed a whole lot.”

“From what I’ve gathered in town last summer was pretty lively.” He felt her smile against him. “Funny, no one really wants to talk about it.”

“It was, uh.” He groped for the right word and finally said, frustrated, “Weird.” Clary laughed softly. “Listen. I am not the one who should be givin’ pep talks, you get that? But I can promise that sometimes y’catch the happy ending.”

The house had gone quiet around them, the kids retreated to bed, Ford probably downstairs. Stan flinched in surprise as her cool hand covered his at her shoulder. “I’ll take your word for it,” Clary murmured. “And thanks. For today. Not everyone handles - “ She tugged at her silk scarf with a fingertip.

“We both got history, kid, I got no right t’pry.”

“I’ve been preemptively dumped over this, you know.”

“Hah! Just as well. You don’t strike me as the type t’date idiots.”

“No. I’m not.”

A minute or two drifted by like that, comfortable, the warmth of contact something he hadn’t slowed down to enjoy in an eternity. Stan had about found the perfect angle to pillow his cheek against her hair when she stirred. He rumbled in protest before he could stop himself, arm tightening for a second then relaxing as she sat up straight.

The wan wash of light from the hallway gilded the slope of her cheek; her shadowed eyes held a determined glint. “I’m in too good a mood to talk about ancient history, but I’d like to trade stories with you sometime.”

“Sure, but I don’t know when - “ She tilted her head in reproach and any further protest stalled in his throat.

“Stan. You made the fatal mistake of giving me your phone number.” Stan cracked a crooked grin and she went on, low-voiced and all velvet persuasion. “Let me know when you hit a port I can get to. Anywhere in the north Atlantic’s fine. If you end up someplace warm, like say Gibraltar or the Azores, so much the better. Drinks are on me.”

He almost barked out a laugh, a startled little huff like she’d just sucker-punched him. “You askin’ me out? Your treat?”

“Yes.” The practiced look of light amusement on her face faded by degrees into something more apprehensive. “If you’d like. I’d hate to never see you again.”

His brain locked up hard, spinning off into logistics and complications and the overwhelming desire to not fuck up the good thing he had going. Mercifully his mouth got out ahead, as usual. “Yeah. Definitely. I’d - really, really like that.”

She lit up in a split second of unguarded happiness for maybe the first time since they’d met. Clary leaned in too quickly to intercept, her lips grazing the stubble of his cheek as a fleeting whiff of her faded peony perfume curled into his nose. “Great. So would I.”

Stan’s hands twitched once with the sudden impulse to snag her by the waist and drag her into his lap before common sense shut that down. She couldn’t quite look him straight on as she withdrew and this time he laughed in earnest. “Oh, c’mon, counselor, y’can’t make a pitch like that an’ then go all shy on me.”

“Sure I can.” Clary’s fingers tightened in his, then slipped away as she rose. “I’d better go to bed before I say anything else incriminating. See you in the morning.”

“What, alone?”

“Stan.”

“It’s gonna be chilly, want me to drop off a couple extra blankets - “

“Stanley.”

“I got a sideline in personal furnace services - “

“Oh my god. Don’t make me regret saying anything.” The chuckle she was trying so hard to suppress laid a husky note under the words as she headed for the hallway.

“G’night, sweetpea.”

She slipped through the door with a last backward glance. He sat back to think it over, eyes closed, horrified and delighted all at once.

Mostly delighted, he decided, pressing fingers to his cheek where she’d kissed him.

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

“I’d hate to never see you again.” She looks anxious, jittery with anticipation and a little sad all at once.

Definitely.

Maybe.

I just can’t.

[askullinajar]

Fifty Shades Ghostlier

The sequel to Fifty Shades of Ectoplasm that literally no one asked for!

Yet again, the people of discord are all heathens and bad influences, namely @ironsilversaltandtea and @skull-in-a-jar this time.

Warning: Any accuracies, historically, scientifically, or to canon, are completely accidental. This is pure crack. No actual hanky-panky - as I am but a totally innocent asexual - but a whole lot of inappropriate jokes. You have been warned.

Fic info: Post teg. Rating: Mature, clearly. Pairings: Implied locklyle. Word count: 2284

Summary: Contrary to what canon might suggest, the main trio of Lockwood & Co are all teenagers and, like many teenagers, they can sometimes be rather immature. Especially when given a pack of condoms.

Fifty Shades Ghostlier

On that midsummer evening, Lockwood & Co sat in the cool kitchen of 35 Portland Row. Holly bustled around making homemade lemonade, while Lockwood, George and I sat around the table, acting, for once, like normal teenagers as we were currently in a competition over who could doodle the most phallic images on the thinking cloth. I was winning, though I was helped by my talent at drawing as well as the skull’s ghost at my shoulder making increasingly obscene suggestions.

Holly set a jug of lemonade on the table and looked over Lockwood’s shoulder at one especially graphic doodle featuring Rupert Graves and his rapier.

“Honestly! I’m going to have to wash this again now,” she scolded, her eyes sweeping the cloth and her lip curling. She frowned at the image I was drawing of Marissa and Ezekiel, as per Skully’s suggestion. “I did always wonder how she managed to conceive. I mean, there was no man ever mentioned, right?”

“Exactly!” said Skully, though she couldn’t hear him.

“Do ghosts have sperm?” George wondered allowed as I poured myself a glass of lemonade.

“What do you think ectoplasm is?” said Skully, right when I’d taken a sip. I started choking.

“Lucy?” said Lockwood, concerned, standing from his seat to round the table and pat me on the back as I continued spluttering. “What did he say?”

“Ectoplasm-” I continued choking. “-ghost-” More coughing. “-jizz,” I finished as Lockwood gave me one last hard pat on the back.

George snorted. “Wait��� so the Red Room?”

I went back to choking.

“Didn’t those monks get executed for doing ‘unholy things’?” Lockwood asked, snickering.

George nodded. “I’m calling it now: Monk orgies.”

“Good thing you didn’t take a blacklight in there,” said Skully.

“You are all disgusting,” said Holly, though I could see she was trying hard not to laugh.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. I stood to go and answer, wiping my watering eyes as I went.

“Hey, Quill,” I said, upon seeing the man in question at the door.

“Listen,” he said, looking rather sheepish, “I need a favour.”

“What?” Holly asked, coming into the hall with George and Lockwood following behind. Quill didn’t seem pleased at us all being there.

“Promise you won’t make fun of me,” he said.

“Oh, Quill,” said George. “I can’t promise anything.”

Quill glared at him but sighed. “Look, I’m going away for the weekend with Kat and Bobby. Catching up and stuff. And, uhh…” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Look, I forgot I had these on me, and it’ll take too long to go home and drop them off, but I don’t want Bobby to find them… he’s so small and innocent…”

“Get to the point, Quill,” said Lockwood.

Quill shot him a glare, then he huffed and pulled something out of his pocket; a little box by the looks of it. He practically thrust it into my hands and then turned to leave. “Just hold on to them for me, okay. I’ll be back for them in a few days.” And with that, he practically jogged away and down the street.

I stared after him, then looked down at the box in my hands.

Fittes Condoms: For the Perfect Fitte!

Side effects may include: nausea, vomiting, unplanned ghost pregnancy, and death.

Warning: May contain ghost nuts.

Beneath the title, a picture of Penelope Fittes smiled up at us.

“I didn’t know they made condoms,” said Lockwood, matter-of-factly.

“Oh dear,” said Holly. “Do you thing Quill read the small print?”

George removed his glasses to wipe on his shirt. “Well, now we know what Marissa used with Ezekiel.”

I whacked him with the condom box.

Later that night, once Holly had gone home to spend time with her totally platonic roommate, I stood in the kitchen fixing myself a cup of tea, because even in the midst of a heatwave, it’s never a bad time for a cuppa.

“You know,” said Skully, who was hovering nearby, “you should pinch a few.”

“What?”

“Condoms,” he clarified. “Ya know, just in case you and Locky get all heated like you did last night. You’re not exactly quiet, you know. Good thing George is a deep sleeper…”

I flushed scarlet and lobbed a used teabag at him, but it just passed straight through and hit the wall with a wet slap.

“What?” said Skully. “I just want you to be safe, if all…”

I went back to stirring my tea, trying my best to ignore him, though I almost shattered the cup clanking the spoon harshly against the sides to try and drown him out.

“You’re lucky,” he continued. “We didn’t have them in my day. Teenage pregnancies abound. Though, most people died at twenty so that was probably a good thing… But, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. And I hear you can get them ri-”

“Fine!” I interrupted. “You like them so much? Here.” I stormed over to the table where the box sat and ripped it open, tearing right through Penelope’s face and scattering little foil squares everywhere.

“Oi, what are you doing?” he said, as I opened a condom and grabbed the skull.

I ignored him, though he started up a gale and smashed my mug of tea. It didn’t really phase me; I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. So, with difficulty, as the condom seemed to be coated in lube, I tugged it over his stupid, mouldy skull.

“How’d you like that!” I said, dangling it in front of me, triumphant.

No reply.

“Skully?” I said, looking around, but his ghost was gone. I peered at the condom curiously and noticed the ectoplasm swirling within. “GEORGE!”

After a minute, George shuffled into the kitchen, toothbrush still stuffed in his mouth and froth spilling out. He grunted in what might have been a ‘what?’ and I shoved the slimy, skull-filled condom into his hand.

“Happy experimenting,” I told him.

“So, as it turns out, lubricant is far more effective on ghosts than iron or silver,” George informed Flo as he and I sat with her on a wall by the river eating sweets. I’d only joined because George owed me a bag of bonbons after he’d scoffed mine the other day while my back was turned. “In fact, lubricated condoms make very effective containers for Sources.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Flo, through a mouthful of liquorice. “Used ‘em to hold Sources for years.”

“What?” I said, almost swallowing a bonbon whole. “So you just carry around stuff in condoms all the time?”

Flo cackled. “Yeah. Really freaks out the relic-men.”

“We ought to experiment on more things like this,” said George, thoughtfully. “You know, there’s actually a high salt concentration in sem-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” I told him.

“I dunno about that stuff,” said Flo, “but I did find something in the mud the other day.”

She went about digging through her sack before pulling out a strange chunk of iron. I stared at it, puzzled for a moment, before realising what shape it was.

“Is that an iron dildo?” said George, bursting into laughter.

“A proper old-timey one,” said Flo. “Reckon this made some Victorian lady - or man - very happy.”

George took it from her.

“George!” I cried. “You can’t just touch it with your bare hands!”

“Why not?” said George. “The river’s probably washed away anything too bad.”

“Still,” I said, disgusted. “You don’t know where that’s been.”

“Or who it’s been in,” Flo added.

“Please stop.”

“Well, this should do nicely for my experiments, in any case,” said George. “We should try using this stuff in the field. Any clients with Type 1s?”

“I think there might be,” I said.

And that was how Lockwood, George and I ended up in a clients house, facing off against a weak Type 1, with a circle of lube in place of an iron chain, condoms rolled onto our rapiers, and a bucket of saltwater to fill condoms with to lob at the ghost.

“You were right George, this is actually quite effective,” said Lockwood, prodding the ghost with his condom-tipped rapier as I squirted bottles of lube at it.

George knelt by the bucket, dunking a condom in to fill it up, but when he pulled it out again, water began spurting out.

“Huh,” I said. “Looks like they’re more effective on ghosts than they are as actual condoms.”

“We’re probably doing Quill a favour by wasting them all,” Lockwood agreed.

George attempted to throw the filled-condom at the ghost anyway, but it sloshed harmlessly in a puddle on the floor.

“So much for that idea,” said George. “Plan B.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I said as he attempted to tug a condom over his head.

“Hey, if you can get a skull in one, it can fit over my head,” said George.

Lockwood, who seemed to be having the time of his life, helped George tug the thing on, and, I had to agree, he did look hilarious with his face all smushed up inside the latex.

We stood back and let the researcher charge head-first at the ghost.

He made it about two steps before slipping on the circle of lube. As he fell, he grabbed my arm and tugged me down too, and I, in turn, grabbed Lockwood’s tie and dragged him with us. We landed with a thud, and skidded across the hardwood floor that had been drenched thoroughly in saltwater and lube, which, unsurprisingly, is a pretty good lubricant. We shrieked as we slid at breakneck speeds directly towards the ghost, until, at the last minute, I managed to tug the iron dildo from George’s coat pocket it and lob it at the ghost’s face.

We skidded right through the spot the ghost had just been, all the way to the other side of the room, and slammed into the wall before falling back in a tangled heap of slick bodies.

“Okay,” said Lockwood, “no more experimenting on cases. Anyone see where it went?”

“There!” I said, pointing at a floorboard that seemed slightly raised above the others. I shuffled, or more like slid, over to it and fumbled with it to pull it open. The ghost had reformed in the centre of the room now, and maybe it was the fact that we were all thoroughly drenched in ghost-repelling lube, but it didn’t come anywhere near us as I plucked the Source - an old ring - out from under the floorboards and handed it to George, who tucked it into an unused condom. The ghost vanished instantly.

“We should always use these things to contain Sources!” Lockwood said, cheerily. “They work so well!”

“I think I’ll stick to the regular stuff,” I said.

We got home a little past midnight, where Holly was waiting for us. She inhaled deeply as we entered, soaked head to toe in lube, her lips pursed as Skully cackled loudly behind her.

“I see you kids had fun!”

I ignored him and headed upstairs to take a much-needed shower.

The next morning, I came downstairs to the sound of Holly arguing loudly on the phone down in the basement.

“What’s happening?” I asked Lockwood as he poured us both some orange juice and put some crumpets in the toaster.

“I don’t think we’re getting paid,” he replied. “It seems our client wasn’t too happy about coming home to find lube and broken condoms all over his bedroom.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I said, sipping my orange juice.

Holly entered the kitchen, trying her best to retain her ladylike etiquette, though her face was flushed and her hair wild.

“I told you that was a bad idea!”

Lockwood shrugged. “We’ve got cases coming out of our ear nowadays. What’s one Type 1?”

“Unless he goes to the press about it!”

“Ah,” said Lockwood, “didn’t think of that.” Then he perked up. “We’ll go to the press first! ‘Condoms: Effective protection against more than just STDs!’ What do you think?”

Holly rubbed her temples like she was getting a migraine.

There was a knock on the door, and I heard George bustling through the hallway to answer it, but I stood to see who it was anyway.

“Have a nice weekend away, Quill?” George asked, jovially as Quill stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Yes, yes,” he said, impatiently. “Now, come on. I’m going to need the box back.”

“Ah,” said Lockwood, “about that…”

Quill narrowed his eyes at him.

“We took the liberty of testing them,” said George. “They weren’t very effective. Kind of leaked.”

“Christ,” said Quill, eyes widening. “What did you do?”

“Calm down, we just filled them with saltwater,” I told him. “...And stuffed Sources in them… and rolled them onto our rapiers… and stuffed George’s head in one...”

“And we blew the last few up like balloons and chucked them around last night,” Lockwood added.

Quill pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I should have expected the worst, leaving them with teenagers…”

“Better buy another brand next time you want to see your lady friend,” said Lockwood, grinning at him.

Quill turned a brilliant red. “There’s no… lady.”

“Ooh, a gentleman?” Holly gushed. “What’s he like?”

I put on my best innocent face. “Is he good in bed?”

“That’s it,” said Quill, turning around. “I’m done. Goodbye.”

“No, come back!” Lockwood called after him.

“Tell us about the guy you needed a twelve pack of condoms for!” George yelled, loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear as Quill all but sprinted away from us.

No matter. We’d see him again, soon enough. And then the merciless teasing would really begin.

[yulesend]

#i mean a lot of it is totally seto reclaiming his childhood in weird ways because he is in no way well adjusted#but some of it is absolutely seto going ‘a bewd jet is stupid’ then 5 seconds later saying outloud with no context#‘wait that’s something gozaburo would say’ and then an all nighter later kc r&d has the schematics for the bewd jet#and???? imagine you’re a former part of gozaburo’s kc and you see seto fucking kaiba in his gaudy anti aerodynamic bewd jet#tell me you wouldnt be frothing at the mouth in rage and jealousy over the technology#seto kaiba#kaiba brothers#gozaburo kaiba#yugioh#ygo dm#mokuba kaiba#speaking of#i also like to think that every dumb 2am thought mokuba has also goes straight to r&d#mokuba after staying up playing video games: what if you could smell the holograms#seto kaiba the one up late playing video games with him: oh my god youre a genius#cue two days later seto entering mokuba’s room without knocking and straight faced asking him what he thinks dragons would smell like#mokuba: processing..... ‘NIISAMA N O’#also pour one out for kc r&d those poor bastards have to deal with so much#seto at one am calling a conference call: WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT PORTALS TO THE AFTERLIFE#kc r&d: w h a t ????#seto: right sorry i’ll get you the specs tomorrow good night#kc r&d: W H A T ?????#i have a lot of feels about kc employees but that’s another post

i think we’re ignoring an aspect of seto kaiba’s obsession with impractical duel monster/bewd crap. and that aspect is: kaiba corp is a former military arms company. that seto has now turned into, of all things, a game company. half of all ygo seasons have some sort of plot involving people who are Very Unhappy with seto about it and who Will Kill Him for it. which turns all of his ridiculous technology (blue eyes white jet, the holo technology, duel blimp™️, his fucking jetpack, etc.) into absolute spite inventions that send every previous military contract, investor, and board member kc ever had absolutely batshit.

[ithisatanytime]

i know im going on and on and sometimes repeating the same stuff, but im still reeling from this, its hard to explain what losing your mind and regaining it feels like, but im sure what im about to say i havent said maybe to anyone, not that its a big deal, but i also texted my other ex girlfriend laura quite a bit during this time, the primary reason for this was that i need something to take my focus off skye, i would text her fucking constantly otherwise, and i didnt want to push her away, and remember i wasnt thinking clearly to say the least, so i thought it would be a good idea. but the other reason i texted her was twofold, one, the white poop coupled with jaundice told me that i certainly had fatty liver degeneration, which is NOT GOOD, you can go for a while with fatty liver degeneration, but its a clear sign that your liver is gonna fail if you dont make some changes. which means you die. i had thought a lot about our relationship, and i felt badly about how i behaved while we lived together, i didnt really understand it until well after i got home, but i just wanted her to know i was sorry. she did a lot of fucked up shit too, and im pretty ambivelent towards her now, she never texted back, i think she probably checks my blog periodically and had a lot more context than i thought she had.

 another thing i touched on but i dont think i talked in depth about it, was i was fucking insanely horny. im not  a horny guy, if im in a relationship with a girl im attracted to, thats different. but for most of my life, i have been less outwardly horny than my male peers, only once in a blue moon did i ever really feel the pull outside the context of a relationship. but my fucking god, first of all phenibut just makes people fucking horny, its notorious for that, but on top of that, in my mania i found ALL my old habits disgusting, including masturbation, so for at least three months, i didnt nut fucking once! not once! and before i called skye i searched the tumblr tags for things like “me” or “my body” and just started hitting girls up, weirdly it worked and suddenly i was talking to around a dozen young women who i didnt know at all lmao. i would just be like hi, are you over eighteen? if yes id just go straight into trying to find out if they were DTF, and i was more successful than id ever dreamed id be, but whenever i felt close to sealing the deal, id instantly cut contact. again, before i called skye, i would be at the gym just looking, and telling myself to find a girlfriend or you cant go home, and i didnt feel shy, yet something was stopping me from doing this. i had a realization, a real one, i had realized that for the last 13 years i subconsciously was trying to not only become financially successful, but successful with women as well, all in an attempt to impress skye should she ever find out or should we ever run into each other, but im just not that kind of guy. i never cared about money or material things, and i never was a pussy hound. its just not me, ive always been a romantic, and for over half of my life ive loved the same woman. it was only a few days after this i ended up calling skyes mom in an attempt to get a hold of her again, but it wasnt due to this it was because i was up all night furious and i felt violent and totally alien to myself. in short i was horrified, ive never been so scared in my life, and something told me she was the only one who could help, and honestly she did, she saved my life. the other thing was, that night i watched the purity ring cover video for “better off alone” and thought it was god calling me a coward for running away from skye, i posted right here on this blog my response which was something like, “im not running i just dont know where to find her, id run to her house and quit cold turkey right now if i could!” and then that whole night i was frothing at the mouth angry, thats not a figure of speech either, and i found her mothers number and called at like 8 am the following morning. when she didnt answer i attempted to grab back my phenibut (my sister was handling my taper at this point) and just spend a few nights in a cheap hotel, but they wouldnt let me have it, so i tried to shove past them, but my sister said “i bought the phenibut!” which wasnt true, but it made me stop trying to shove past. honestly i felt like a massive piece of shit, but also everyone was a little relieved, myself included, because even in that state it was obvious i wasnt trying to hurt them. but that night before it happened i was having wildly violent urges. im kinda retreading old ground again here.

[sequencefairy]

Pay No Heed to Fallen Skies

Ichiruki. AU, post-TYBW. Canon-typical violence. This got away from me a bit. ~2200 words. 

Ichigo has always known that his choices have consequences. 

[ AO3 ] 

Ichigo is headed across the wall tonight, Zangetsu strapped to his back and the gathering fizz of power in his blood. There’ve been reports of hollow incursions in some of the lower Rukongai, and Ichigo is not about to leave them unchecked, regardless of what the official word from command is.

Rukia catches up with him just as he’s preparing to leap the wall. “What are you doing?” she hisses, and Ichigo shrugs. She knows that the orders this morning didn’t sit well with him, and that the white haori chafes, but orders are orders and disobeying them is treason. They both know, all too well, the penalty for treason. 

Ichigo ignores her and jumps the wall, shunpo lightening his landing. Rukia lands beside him, and catches him by the hand before he can take off again. “Listen to me,” she says, and Ichigo turns to look at her.

“No,” he says, “you know this isn’t right. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I’m not leaving these people to die, because Kyoraku said so.”

“The captain-commander has his reasons,” Rukia protests, but Ichigo shakes his head. 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” 

“Ichigo–“ 

“Either come with me or don’t, Rukia. I don’t have time for this.” Ichigo steps out of her reach and launches himself into shunpo, streaking off across the rooftops. He doesn’t stop to check and see if Rukia is following him, focusing instead on the telltale reiatsu signature of a group of hollows in the distance. 

Ichigo is drawing Zangetsu as he drops out of the slipstream, and his first swing cleaves the first hollow in half, it’s mask splitting cleanly. He hears Rukia before he sees her; she drops out of shunpo muttering a kido spell under her breath and obliterating the next hollow that charges them in a flash of blue light. 

The fight that follows is fierce and violent. 

It’s close quarters in this alley; Ichigo ducks under Rukia’s next volley of kido flames and throws himself into a skidding slide, Zangetsu raised and it’s keen edge slicing through muscle and sinew as he disarms the hollow, before rolling to his feet and turning, shattering it’s mask with one hit. Rukia freezes the next one in place, and then runs it through, the roar of its death making Ichigo grit his teeth as he leaps and then drops, driving the point of Zangetsu into the soft spot at the top of the spine of another hollow. It dies in a gush of murky blood, and Ichigo closes his eyes against the spray. 

They dispatch the last hollow together, and as it’s reishi dissipates into the clear night sky, the street is silent once more around them. 

Ichigo takes stock. Rukia has a scrape across one cheek, and her blade drips, inky blood running in rivulets down the silver surface. Ichigo is breathing hard, and he can feel the beginnings of several bruises in the throbbing ache all along his left side. Rukia lets her shikai go with a whisper of frigid wind that lifts the ends of her hair, and sheathes Sode no Shirayuki after flicking the blood off the length of her blade. The droplets scatter against the dirt of the alley floor and Ichigo grimaces. 

“You didn’t have to come,” he says, finally, after the silence has stretched so long that he nearly aches to fill it. 

“I know,” she answers. 

“Thank you,” Ichigo says, and then steps out of the alley. The scent of hollow blood and the taste of hollow reiatsu lingers in the air, and he wonders if there’s something they could do to cleanse the space, and he turns to ask Rukia, but she’s standing, frozen, staring at something behind him. “Rukia, wha–?” 

Ichigo doesn’t feel the first hit, but it throws him into the building across the way. He sprawls, groaning, in the rubble, Zangetsu lost to his scrabbling hands. Ichigo coughs, and rolls onto his side, propping himself up with one hand. He gets as far as lifting his head before the next hit comes. This time it is a kick to the point of his chin and Ichigo sees stars and nearly loses his tongue as his teeth clack shut. 

“Fucking Shinigami,” a voice mutters from overhead, and Ichigo opens his eyes again, now on his back, and blinks up at his attacker. “You think you can just come in here–“ the man is cut off by Rukia’s wild yell, and Ichigo watches upside down, as she jumps him, slinging her hands around his neck, sword forgotten, and tackles him to the ground, using her body weight and momentum to counter the man’s center of gravity and topple him over. 

Ichigo picks himself up from the ground, and massages the back of his neck while Rukia holds their assailant down easily. The man is frothing with rage and tugging at the binding kido Rukia slapped on him, ignoring Rukia’s admonishment that it’ll only get tighter if he keeps struggling. “She’s telling the truth, man,” Ichigo says, but the man grunts in response and tugs again against the restraints binding his hands. 

“Explain why you have attacked two Shinigami captains,” Rukia demands, and there is ice in her voice. Ichigo ignores the throb of pleasure that rides in his belly at the command in her voice, and watches their captive instead. The man is dressed like an average citizen of the Rukongai, but there’s a whiff of power about him that sets Ichigo’s teeth on edge. 

Ichigo prods him, none-so-gently, with the business end of Zangetsu. “She asked you a question, asshole.” 

“Don’t have to answer to likes of you.” The man spits, it misses Rukia’s toes by the barest of spaces. “Filthy Shinigami.” 

The insult makes Ichigo’s hackles rise, but Rukia’s hand on his arm eases the bristling rage under his skin. “It’s not worth it,” she says. Ichigo knows it’s not worth it, and to be perfectly honest, he doesn’t begrudge the man his opinion of Shinigami as a whole, but an insult to Rukia is always enough to fire his blood. He looks down at her, and falls, as usual, and completely helplessly, into her twilight eyes. 

After a long moment, Ichigo blinks and Rukia drops her gaze to the man on the ground. “What do you know about the incursions?” Rukia asks, and the man grunts. Rukia sighs, and Ichigo sheathes Zangetsu. 

“Shall we drop him at the Second division on the way home?” Ichigo’s question is all false levity. The man on the ground visibly flinches. Rukia follows Ichigo’s gaze and then looks back up at him; her mouth twists briefly in a moue of distaste at this tactic, but she will go along with him anyway.

“I think there’s a spot in the holding cells at the barracks, no need to wake the Second’s captain at this hour,” Rukia says, conversationally. “Though, it might be better to take him straight there…” Rukia trails off and their captive remains silent. 

“The Second it is,” Ichigo declares cheerfully, and heaves the man to his feet. “Have you ever travelled by shunpo?” Ichigo asks, and the man remains stonily silent. “No? Well, this might be uncomfortable.” Rukia shakes her head at Ichigo’s antics, but takes the man’s other arm, and they step into the slipstream together, whisking their captive back across the Rukongai to the wall. The three of them drop out of the slipstream, Rukia and Ichigo landing lightly, and their captive tumbling forward to his knees, retching. 

“Sorry about that,” Ichigo says, not looking very sorry at all. 

The man clears his throat and looks up the two Shinigami. “Alright,” he says. 

“Alright, what?” Ichigo says, leaning down. The man looks away, unable to meet Ichigo’s gaze. Ichigo straightens. 

“I got information,” the man says, and Rukia looks at Ichigo over his head. Their eyes meet and Ichigo nods. 

“What kind of information?” Ichigo asks. 

“Stuff about them monsters, and that guy - the one you were all lookin’ for a while back? With them googly eyes all over hisself?” 

Ichigo feels Rukia stiffen next to him. The mention of Ywhach chills him to the bones. 

“What’s your name?” Rukia asks, sinking down so she can be at his level. Ichigo remains standing. 

“Devin,” the man says, finally, though the admission seems to cost him. “I ain’t got a last name, so don’t ask.” Rukia nods, and Ichigo remembers all of a sudden that she lived in the Rukongai for decades. He forgets more often than not that this is where she came from, and the resultant swoop of shame means he misses most of what the man says next. Rukia seems satisfied with the man’s responses, and continues to question him, carefully avoiding the subject of Yhwach and sticking to the more recent incursions. 

Devin seems to relax as he and Rukia talk, and Ichigo does his best to ignore the pit of dread that has opened up in his gut. Devin’s information about the hollow attacks seems to line up with what the Captain Commander had been outlining in their meeting the other night – they come in groups of five or six, slaughter whoever happens to be in their vicinity when the gargantua rips open and then disappear, back the way they came. 

Rukia releases the binding spell before asking about Yhwach, and Ichigo feels rather than sees Devin blanch. “Them eyes,” he says, “they watch you, you know? Always watching. In every shadow.” Devin shudders. Ichigo doesn’t blame him. The night is warm, but Ichigo is covered in goosebumps and his hands have gone clammy. He wipes them on his shihakusho. Rukia’s sharp glance upwards is the only outward sign of her discomfort. Ichigo, as always, envies her control. 

They let Devin go shortly after that. Ichigo presses a card into his palm. The address is a tea house that the Kuchiki family runs in one of the middle districts of the Rukongai. The Second division and the stealth force it houses may be the official intelligence arm of the gotei, but every noble family runs their own network of spies and informants, and the tea houses are the Kuchiki’s points of contact. “If you have more information, leave a message for us here.” Devin nods and disappears back into the shadows. Rukia’s shoulders droop and Ichigo feels the wave of exhaustion that signals the beginning of his own adrenaline crash. He steps forward and pulls Rukia to him, her small frame fitting easily in the circle of his arms. 

“It’ll be okay,” Ichigo says, with a confidence he doesn’t feel, and he presses his lips to the crown of her head. Rukia’s hands clutch at his waist. “We’ve got each other,” Ichigo says, “he didn’t count on that last time, and he won’t this time either. We’re both stronger than we were–” 

“It’s our fault, isn’t it?” Rukia interrupts, and looks up at him. “We did this, we chose our own happiness over the safety of both our worlds. Ichigo, how could we?” 

“No,” Ichigo says, firmly, “this is not on us. We defeated him once, despite his claims that he could not be destroyed. We can do it again, and this time, we’ll end him forever.” Ichigo wonders if Rukia can tell this is all false bravado. They both nearly died last time; his bankai shattered and his power siphoned out of him until there was nothing left, and Rukia– 

Ichigo doesn’t like to think about waking up to a world encased in ice, and Rukia collapsed on the stone, her hair a white halo and her hand outstretched towards him. Yhwach was nowhere to be found. The official story is that they defeated him together, but Ichigo knew better, and Yhwach’s threat had echoed in his mind. 

Still, they dared to be happy together, and Ichigo put the voice out of his mind, consciously ignored the warning, and chose, instead, a life with Rukia, instead of a life without her. He doesn’t regret this choice, could never regret this choice, because a life with her is better than any life he could have had without her, and Yhwach had shown him several. 

There’d been lives where he’d married Inoue, settled down and had passel of children and a dog; a memorable life where he and Ishida had grown old and grey and snarky together; and lives where he’d ended up alone, watching his friends wither and age while he remained ever-youthful and the long stretch of eternity threatened to tear him apart at the seams, but never a life with Rukia, and when the vision had ended, Yhwach had answered the unasked question with a threat. 

I will return, when you are at your happiest. 

Ichigo knew then, even as he threw himself at the Quincy’s self-declared despot, that choosing the life he wanted, the one with Rukia in it, was playing with fire, but he didn’t care, and even as his blow did not land and Yhwach’s hand wrapped around his throat, Ichigo knew he would pick her, and pick their life, never mind the cost. 

Rukia slips out of his embrace, and Ichigo shakes off the pull of memory. She looks up at him. 

“I’d always have chosen you,” Ichigo says, “no matter the cost.” 

Rukia turns so she is standing in front of him. Ichigo can feel the weight of her gaze. “I know,” she says, and leans up. The kiss is brief, but laced with heat. When they break apart, Rukia rocks back on her heels. “I love you too,” she says, and together, they leap the wall, landing hand in hand.