#if you think this is me making another caesar joke

[rogersideup]

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

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Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧

[catslvrr]

bound 2 (falling in love)

danielle marsh x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Good news: Danielle has agreed to be your pretend girlfriend for Christmas so Haerin can stop extorting you of money. Bad news: Danielle is a bit too good at being a pretend girlfriend.

Contains: suggestive and threatening jokes, cursing, obligatory mistletoe scene

Song: Gingerbread Lover — Ivoris, Chevy

“I’m so screwed,” is what you say as you plop on the booth across from Minji.

She makes no movement to greet you, engrossed in some YouTube video titled ‘How Ceramic Tiles Are Made’. She’s never expressed any interest in tiles nor has any history with tiles, but this is not anything unusual for Minji.

She’s also playing the video at an uncomfortable volume, not necessarily on full speaker, but loud enough that the people on the next table over could hear and possibly be annoyed at.

You start digging into your chicken Caesar salad and smile to yourself in amusement as you spot Minji’s finished plate of it as well.

The two of you made a pact to eat healthier. Issue is, there’s this one dessert place two streets down that makes some bomb biscoff cookies, and you always catch each other there at least once a week. There’s a silent agreement that this does not break the pact.

You both sit in silence for a few more minutes until the video is finished — you eating and Minji watching.

Minji takes a loud sip of her hot chocolate when the video transitions to an obnoxious outro. “You were saying?”

You retell the story to her with a mouth full of food, and there are occasional offtopic segues, as there always are.

To sum it up: Your cousin Haerin is a force of evil and strangely has a good memory. Allegedly, you made a wager with her when you were both nine years old that you would get a girlfriend to bring home for Christmas when you turned eighteen.

And apparently, if you didn’t find one, you would have to pay her a hundred dollars.

Two things strike you as absurd: that younger you somehow thought you would be charming enough to get a girlfriend, and that younger you somehow thought you would have a hundred dollars just lying around to spare.

And for some reason, Haerin decided to never remind you of this wager until, of course, yesterday. You obviously didn’t believe her, but it was kind of hard to argue with Haerin.

Not because she’s good at arguing, but because she just stands there with this look in her eyes that makes you uneasy. So, you didn’t bother questioning her because you know there’s no escaping this fate.

So now, you have just a few days to find a girlfriend, because there was no way you were paying money. 

There’s also the matter of pride, too.

“Yeah,” you finish off your monologue. “I texted Hanni if she could be my date, but she just ignored it and sent me some TikTok of a stupid looking dog.”

Minji steals a piece of grilled chicken from you, to which you step on her foot under the table. You pull back your feet in time before she can return the favor. You get a glare instead.

“And Hyein?”

A notification ding stops you before you can speak. You lean forward to look at your phone. “Speaking of Hyein…”

Hyein’s text reads, I think I found someone for you! You two meet at the usual cafe at 12 tomorrow :)

“Okay,” you start. “Good news or bad news first?”

Minji thoughtfully chews on another piece of grilled chicken that she stole. Your plate of salad somehow now sits in the middle of the table instead of right in front of you. “Bad news.”

“Well I want to say the good news first,” you wave the fork in your hand dismissively. You’re pretty sure Minji mumbles “asshole”, but you ignore that as well.

“Good news,” you declare with a smile. “I found a girlfriend.”

Minji is unimpressed.

“Bad news,” you sigh. “I have to talk to said girlfriend who is a stranger.”

She is still unimpressed. “This is why nobody wants you. You don’t talk to anyone outside of us.”

“You don’t get it. It’s part of my mysterious vibe,” you grumble petulantly.

“Well, if you don’t want to socialize like a normal person,” Minji is folding a serviette into some sort of disfigured airplane. “Then consider paying Haerin that one hundred bucks.”

“I would never,” you fold your arms. “And even if I would, I can’t, because I literally only have 76 dollars in my bank account.”

You text Hyein back: you’re the BEST i love u so much xoxoxoxoxo

Minji tries to throw her tissue airplane at you, but it flops unceremoniously into your now empty bowl.

She sighs. “I guess I’m paying for lunch.”

“It’s your turn anyway.”

And that’s the end of the conversation, or at least the conversation concerning your predicament. You both spend the next hour babbling on about recent life updates and rehashing the same old stories over and over again.

“How do I look?”

You have your phone set upright by leaning it on this worn red panda plushie. Its head is permanently twisted after you and Haerin fought for it as kids and ended up ripping it in two, which led to your mom having to stitch it back together. She didn’t do a very good job, clearly.

You see Hanni, or what you think is Hanni, squint at the camera. “Like a bunch of pixels. The connection is so shit that you look like those wendigos from Until Dawn.”

“I’m sure you look fine,” Minji chimes in. This is the first time that she’s spoken since the call started (the call has been going on for half an hour), her camera pointed at her ceiling, and you’re pretty sure she’s half asleep.

“Thanks,” you say. “And I’m pretty sure it’s your WiFi, Hanni.”

You think she’s arguing back, but it’s all a garbled mess, and then the call drops. (It was definitely your WiFi.) You check your appearance one last time before you make your way to the cafe.

The cafe is named “Spill The Beans”, which you find appropriate, because that’s all you ever find yourself doing there. The walk there is a bit long, but the decent prices and good quality make up for it.

Plus, it means that most people would rather go to a cafe that’s closer, so this one has a bit more of a ‘if you know, you know’ vibe to it.

You’re also friends with one of the workers there, and she occasionally sneaks you a free pastry, or even better, gives you gossip about one of the regulars. You smile when you see her signature blonde hair through the window.

The cafe is decorated for Christmas — tinsel stringing on the top and bottom of the windows and cutely drawn candy canes and baubles stuck on the panes. There’s also a cardboard cutout of a snowman holding a coffee cup sitting next to the door. You hear the muffled voice of Mariah Carey.

Your entrance is announced by the light tinkling of the bells. You make your way to the cash register to greet a familiar face.

“It’s beginning to look a latte like Christmas!” Yunjin sings as she twirls clumsily, broomstick in her hand as a microphone. You are forced to stand there and watch this. For some reason, she’s adamant on greeting you with a coffee pun everytime you come in. She has yet to crack a smile from you.

“Stop it,” you groan, scanning the cafe and checking who’s in. There’s only four or five people in right now, most of whom you recognize. She holds the last note, with an unnecessary vibrato, for a few more seconds.

“So,” she leans toward you with an eyebrow raised. “Anything new or interesting you wanna share?”

“Asking for gossip?” You deadpan. “Is that how you take orders now?”

“Just curious,” Yunjin says nonchalantly. “You’re never here alone.”

You give her a scowl. “Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here.”

There are some things that you can be sure of in life. You know how the saying goes: death, taxes, and Yunjin being all-knowing. She and her little army of spies (spies being her co-workers) are the most nosy people you could ever meet.

You’re pretty sure they consider eavesdropping as their main job, and that the cafe is just a means for them to satisfy their curiosity. (Again, an extremely appropriate cafe name.)

She grins cheekily, dropping her voice to a whisper and tilting her head. “She’s on that table.”

You follow her gaze to the table against the window, where a girl who seems around your age is staring outside like she’s the protagonist of a coming-of-age movie.

Yunjin slides you a slice of a carrot cake and winks. “On the house. Good luck!”

You grab the plate off the counter and slowly make your way toward your future fake girlfriend.

“Hi,” you clear your throat awkwardly as you slip into the seat opposite her. “Danielle, right?”

She enthusiastically nods and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You slide the plate of carrot cake towards her, to which she gratefully accepts. “Has Hyein filled you in on everything?”

“Hm,” Danielle taps her cheek. “Christmas party, a wager, and me as a fake girlfriend?”

“Sounds about right,” you hum. “Not to be nosy, but is there a reason that you’re doing this? I mean, you’re not getting anything in return.”

“Hyein did say she’d owe me a favor,” she answers with a hint of amusement. “Which I’m sure will come in handy one day. You’re also cute, so it��s a bonus.”

You internally wipe a proud tear. God bless you, Hyein. You make a note to get her something snazzy for Christmas. You were so thankful for Hyein that you didn’t even process the last sentence.

You then realize that you’re just spacing out and probably look a bit crazy, so you quickly clear your throat. “So, we should probably come up with our origin story and all that.”

“We should,” Danielle agrees.

You scratch your nape awkwardly before pulling out a notebook. You have this secret theory that notebooks are a hoax and people just pretend to use them. Which is a bit contradictory for you to say, because you’re using one right now. But you still hold onto that belief.

“So, when did we first meet?”

She seems a bit taken aback by the presence of the notebook, but her face quickly relaxes into a smiling one. “What are your interests? Maybe we share some and that’s how we met.”

“Actually,” you proudly flick to the back of the notebook. “I have prepared for this question.”

It reads: About Me

I like staying indoors

I go to the cafe sometimes

And that cookie place

Cats are cute

?

“Wow,” Danielle says after surveying your notes. “This is a very… extensive list.”

“Anything that can be used for our story?”

“Let’s just say we met at the cafe,” she decides. You nod in agreement.

“And who approached who first?”

“Definitely me.”

You frown and stop writing. “Why definitely?”

“I mean,” Danielle gestures at you vaguely. “We have to make the story realistic.”

“I hope you mean that because I’m too irresistible, not because I can’t talk to anyone.”

She smiles. “…Right. That’s exactly what I meant.”

“Excellent,” you say, continuing to pen down the story. “So, let’s say about three months ago, give or take, you entered the cafe for the first time. And then you saw me, sitting there all cute and pretty, and you knew you just had to ask for my number.”

“Right…”

“And because I’m never here alone, I’ll just say Minji was in the bathroom. I gave you my number, and then we instantly hit it off.”

“And Minji is…?”

“Oh,” you pause. “She’s a dumbass. Don’t worry about her.”

“Okay,” Danielle says slowly. “And our first date?”

“We’ll get to that in a sec,” you tap your pen. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I,” she heaves out as she bends down to reach into her tote bag. “Have also prepared.”

She slaps a folder on the table that resembles a police case file. You feel a sudden wave of affection crash over you. You immediately open it in anticipation.

It’s an in-depth profile of Danielle. There is the technical stuff, of course: name, date of birth, star sign, MBTI. Then, there’s the ‘favorites’ section: color, animal, season, time of day.

“Oh wow,” you run your fingers over the page. “This is more than I expected.”

You turn the page. There’s a ‘fun facts’ section, although you’re not sure if it’s considered fun. Example: “I once broke a tooth from trying to eat a rock. I also choked on it and my friend had to perform the Heimlich maneuver.”

“Oh wow,” you say again, louder this time, and out of concern more than awe. “Was this when you were a kid?”

“No,” Danielle blinks innocently. “Just last year.”

She is fucking insane. How on earth did Hyein find her?

The last page features results that she got from various UQuizzes, like “what romance trope is meant 4 you?” (ironically, she got fake dating) or “which ‘-core’ aesthetic are you?”

“I’ll make sure to study this when I get home,” you stare at the pages in astonishment.

“Sure,” Danielle smiles. “I was thinking our first date could be at the local arcade.”

A memory of Hanni breaking the buttons and joystick of a fighting game flashes in your mind. The joystick somehow flew and hit a worker in the face. To this day, you still have no idea how it happened.

Regardless, you always look back at the memory fondly, especially because Hanni didn’t even end up winning, despite putting her whole body into smashing the buttons.

“Haerin will know that’s a lie,” you grimace. “I’ve been banned from that place for three years now. Long story.”

She looks curious but continues anyway. “How about a classic dinner?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips. “There’s this amazing Korean restaurant that’s a 10 minute walk from this place.”

“And you’re not banned?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No. They make this amazing jjajangmyeon. I’ll have to take you someday.”

“Sounds good,” Danielle’s eyes twinkle. “I think that’s good enough for now. Anything else I should know?”

“The party is on Christmas day, of course. It’ll just be a dinner and some party games, nothing too serious. After the party, our work is all done!”

“And Haerin,” you hesitate. “She’s nosy. But not in an ‘asking questions’ way, but in a staring way. So we have to act really good if we want her to believe us. Like, a real couple and everything. Like-”

Her laugh cuts you off. “You can say PDA, it’s okay.”

You cough and turn to the side to hide the heat rising in your cheeks, but when you look out the window, you see an odd sight.

Across the street, on a bench, there are two suspicious figures sitting. Suspicious meaning wearing sunglasses, a coat, and a scarf despite it being hot today. Suspicious meaning Minji and Hanni.

No fucking way, you think. Those little fuckers.

“-you okay?” Danielle waves her hand in front of you.

“Huh?” You quickly turn back. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

“I love physical touch,” she admits, although somewhat shyly. “So I’m okay with hugging and holding hands.”

“Good!” You reply stiffly. “Great. Awesome. All done.”

There’s a mix of confusion, concern, and amusement on her face. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes,” you slide your phone across the table before opening her file in front of your face to hide your embarrassment. “Let’s text in between so we get used to talking to each other too.”

The two of you exchange numbers and you watch Danielle leave with a smile and a wave. Minji and Hanni proceed to shuffle inside the cafe, sighing in relief as they take off their ‘disguise’.

“Oh my god,” Hanni whines, resting her cheek on your outstretched palm. “I thought I was gonna die outside.”

You retract your hand in disgust, but not before flicking her forehead. “You’re sweaty. And you deserve it.”

“So how did it go?”

You recount everything that happens. Minji makes you pay for her lunch. You now have 46 dollars in your bank account.

When you get home, you hug your red panda plushie and turn on your phone to see a text from Danielle. You spend the next few days talking to her, your feet kicking in the air and a stupid smile on your face.

The day of the Christmas party has arrived. It’s due to start at six in the evening, and exactly three hours before that, Haerin sends you nothing but an ominous text: I will be awaiting you and your girlfriend’s arrival.

You roll out of bed and get ready in the morning, and read through Danielle’s file one last time. You’ve annotated it, adding sticky notes and highlighting it, which is more work than you’ve done for the entirety of university so far.

You make sure to put the matching reindeer headbands that Danielle suggested on before leaving. You drive to pick her up and you try not to weigh the meaning of the warmth blooming in your chest as you see her.

“Hi girlfriend,” Danielle puffs her cheeks out and smiles as she gets in the car. It’s awfully cute.

“Hey.”

“Before I forget,” you reach over into the glove compartment to grab a little box. “I got you a Christmas present.”

Danielle gasps, eyes shining as she opens the box. It’s a gold necklace with a sun pendant. You remember her eyeing it when you went out to the mall.

You don’t expect her to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

She also takes out a little box from her pocket. “I also got you a present.”

God, she even prepared it with a nice ribbon. You unwrap it to find a silver bracelet with a moon pendant. You think you’re a tiny bit delusional for thinking that you two were meant to be, but you let yourself live in this fantasy just for today.

“Oh my god,” you grin. “We’re matching now.”

The both of you put on your respective gifts before you start the car. You instinctively pass her your phone to pick a song. Of course, she puts on Christmas music. You glance at her as she takes out her crochet supplies.

“What are you working on?”

“Nothing much,” Danielle says. “Just a little cat to add to your car. It’s kind of plain.”

Her thoughtfulness makes you feel an out-of-body experience where you want to scream your lungs out and melt into a gay puddle.

You manage to get out one word. “Cool.”

The two of you pass the time by quizzing each other and ironing out the fine details of your ‘relationship’. And belting your hearts out to Christmas songs.

The drive is only an hour or so, and there’s a tender feeling encompassing you as you truly realize that it’s Christmas. Spending time with family is always nice. Receiving presents is too.

You only see Haerin a few times a year, and Christmas is one of them. Despite your bickering and her foreboding aura, she’s still somewhat endearing.

Danielle looks out the window in excitement as you draw closer to Haerin’s house. There’s a large blow-up Santa set up on the lawn that they reuse every year, and a bunch of other generic Christmas decorations.

You can already spot Haerin in the window of the house staring at your car.

Pretending to check your phone, you mutter, “She’s watching us. Let me open the car door for you.”

Danielle only responds with a giggle. You dash outside the car in record time, open the back to get your cookies and presents, and open the car door for her, as planned.

She surprises you with a kiss on the cheek. You’re sputtering and blushing, and she has to drag you toward the house (and lock the car for you).

By the time you come to your senses again, Haerin has vanished.

You heave out a long exhale and your gaze flickers to Danielle. You find that her eyes are already on you. If there was a person who could embody the joy and comfort that Christmas brings, you think that it would be the girl in front of you right now.  

“You ready?”

Danielle brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. For a second, you indulge yourself in the yearning of your heart and pretend that this is all real.

“Of course.”

Inside the house is chaotic as always. Everyone’s rushing to finish wrapping gifts, preparing the food, putting plates and cutlery on the table, setting up the TV to play Mario Kart, the usual.

You take Danielle around to introduce her to everyone, and you feel slightly guilty as everyone fawns over her. Haerin is the last person you find.

“Haerin,” you say. She nods in acknowledgment. “This is my girlfriend, Danielle. Danielle, my cousin Haerin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Danielle gushes, letting go of your hand to hug her. “I’ve heard so many stories about the two of you and your adventures.”

“Don’t trust those stories,” Haerin says. “She probably changed it to make her look better.”

You whip your head around. “What the f-”

Danielle winks. “Don’t worry. I know how much of a loser she is.”

You take a deep breath in and force a smile. You must maintain the jolly Christmas spirit.

Haerin gives Danielle a once over before nodding mysteriously. She then stalks off to who knows where. Danielle looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

You pat her shoulder. “That’s a good sign.”

“That felt surprisingly easy…”

“Oh no,” you laugh. “We’re just getting started. They’re going to try separate us-”

With perfect timing, you hear your name being called before you’re dragged into the kitchen.

“Be a dear and help us with the food,” your mom says kindly. (You know this is a facade.) You accept your fate and place down the cookies before starting to cut the vegetables for the turkey.

You try to keep an eye on Danielle, who’s now putting ornaments on the Christmas tree with your other relatives.

The Christmas tree has been around since you were a baby, and if you look closely, there's pieces at the back that is slightly charred. Haerin pushed you, you tripped on your own feet, crashed into the tree, and it fell into the fireplace. Alarms went off, neighbors left the house in a panic, the firefighters were called… it was bad.

You strain your ears and try to hear what questions your family are asking Danielle right now, and you hope it’s nothing too over-the-top or personal. She seems to be taking it well though. Your aunt keeps bringing you new things to do and speaking loudly in an attempt to distract you.

“First girlfriend, huh?” Your mom nudges you with her shoulder.

“Yeah,” you laugh awkwardly. “I’m so lucky, right?”

“She seems good for you.”

You pause your chopping. “It’s only been five minutes, Mom.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes. “That’s all I need. And you finally have a reason to go outside for once.”

You roll your eyes and continue chopping. Your aunt comes in at one point, and together, the two of them grill you about the details of your relationship. The words fall out of your mouth just as you rehearsed.

It’s around half an hour later when you’re finally reunited. The dinner is delicious, as always, and it all feels so good.

The light squeezes on your arm, resting her hand on your thigh under the table, making sure you get the crunchy potatoes because that’s your favorite — it feels so good.

And none of this is real, but as you listen to Danielle bantering with your family, your feelings start to feel more real.

The realization sets your heart aflame, just like the fireplace once did to the Christmas tree.

You’re leaning on the kitchen counter, nursing a can of Sprite as you watch Danielle squeal over Mario Kart (she just got hit by a red shell).

Haerin joins you. She doesn’t announce her entrance but you can sense her presence.

“No money for you,” you smirk.

“No. I guess not.”

Hell yeah. Your bank account is safe. “What do you think of her?”

“She seems too nice for you.”

You elbow her ribs. “Be nice. It’s Christmas.”

“…I’m happy for you.”

“Oh Haerin,” you muster up a sweet voice and open your arms out for a hug. She grabs a knife and holds it in front of her. Nevermind. You take multiple steps backwards.

The race is over, and Danielle finishes in a whopping seventh place. She turns around and looks for you, and smiles when your gazes lock.

You tilt your head, and she tilts her head back in response.

“I’ll be back,” you slither out of the kitchen. “The girlfriend calls.”

You think you hear Haerin scoff but you’re too busy focusing on Danielle. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh,” you cough. “Sorry, I’ll show you the way.”

You try not to stumble as you hear someone call out “don’t run off and make out!” Thankfully, Danielle takes it well and isn’t weirded out.

You’re unsure if it’s weird to wait outside, but you do it anyway (from a respectable distance) in case she needs anything. When she’s done with her business, the two of you make your way back to the living room, and your worst nightmare (but also a dream deep down) comes true.

Haerin is standing there, with her stupid mischievous smile and Rudolph’s nose on, holding some DIY fishing rod. At the top of that rod hangs a mistletoe.

“Haerin,” you hiss. “Put that down.”

She closes her eyes and pretends she doesn’t hear you. It’s like everyone’s telepathic, because suddenly everyone has their attention turned to you, and they’re egging you on.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

This cannot be real, you think. This is some skit or a sick joke.

You turn to Danielle awkwardly.

“A cheek kiss will be enough,” you say apologetically. “We don’t have to-”

She cuts you off with a kiss — a chaste one, but it shocks you nonetheless. You can barely hear the cheers of your family over the pounding of your heartbeat.

Haerin eventually brings you back to Earth by smacking your face with the rod, and everyone’s back to doing whatever they’re doing.

“Sorry,” you see Danielle’s worried face as your vision starts to refocus. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry. Because I actually like you but I just realized that twenty minutes ago and I have to tell you now because I don’t want you to think that I’m using you-”

“I know,” she laughs, grabbing your hand to squeeze. “Me too.”

You blink. “Oh. Cool.”

“…So we’re real girlfriends, right?”

“Yes,” she pokes your nose. “We are.”

“Awesome! Because I was going to ask you to be my fake girlfriend again for New Year’s.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls you back to the living room, and you finally understand, for the first time, all the cheesy Christmas songs.

God bless you, Hyein.

[teojira]

(Planet of the apes) Please can you give me anything about Caesar like head cannons a fanfic anything please I am just in the mood for Caesar :(

[Assortment of Caesar headcanons]

Summary: Just random headcanons for Caesar x reader <3

Warnings: Monster/Human romance, angst, can't think of anything else!

A/N: Caesar my BELOVED, I hope these are okay anon! You didn't specify if you wanted romantic or platonic so I'll do a mix of both that you can read as either or! I love my man sm

Caesar is an old man at this point, he's tired. This being said, he is not above pinning you down and resting his entire fucking body weight on you.

You can struggle all you want, you cannot lift him up and you just have to sit there and let him do what he wants. And what he wants is to have 5 minutes of quiet with his favorite human, okay? Let him have this.

Caesar also takes it upon himself to help groom you, parting your hair, scratching at your scalp and checking you for anything, taking your face in his hands and twisting and turning your head every which way.

Very very huge worrier, he worries for you so much and it comes out as anger. He's not mad at you for doing what he seems stupid shit, he's mad because he's scared of you getting hurt and he can't fix it.

He usually won't leave you alone without at least one ape he trusts in the beginning, he's worried about another ape like Koba emerging, so for his sake, please stick around with Maurice.

Maurice loves you by the way, and so does Nova. Since you're immune to the sickness, you're able to freely interact with her, so whenever you're not with Caesar or Cornelius, you're with them.

Caesar watches you alot when you're not looking, especially when you're laughing and smiling with the young girl. It fills his heart with warmth, even more so when you include other apes in on your jokes.

Give him hugs, he'll never admit just how touch starved he is, the only apes he has physical affection with often were Cornelia, Blue eyes and Koba. He won't admit it that he misses it, but he gets a little huffy if you go on to hug Rocket and not him.

You make him feel younger, almost like how he used to be when he was with Will. Yes, he's a leader and he will always predominantly be the collected and righteous leader, but he has his little shit tendencies that come out when he's around you.

I don't care what anyone says, Caesar is asshole at his core, he's just repressed it because he's a leader. He's the kind of person to have a bug in his hand, and gesture for you to open your palm.

"Open your hand."

"...I don't trust you."

"You do trust me, now open."

And then you have a centipede in your hand and you screech and he just smirks and huffs out a laugh.

I've said it before but he is so overprotective, you will not leave the confines of the colony if he can help it.

He knows you're a grown adult, and that you are capable of holding your own but he doesn't care. He much rather have you here when he can keep an eye out for you.

That being said, he will go with you if you're insistent, he has to teach Cornelius how to hunt and fish anyways, so you come with. It's a family day trip:)

Caesar doesn't like guns, but he gives you a pistol, it's a huge sign of trust due to losing his wife and son by them, by being shot by them, and you know he's trusting you with his life.

Speaking of trauma, he littered with it. Sleep doesn't come as easy to him anymore, he's too anxious, to the point you're scared he'll have a heart attack.

The only way you've found that he'll relax enough to sleep is when you and Cornelius are by his side, his arms wrapped around the both of you.

He finds it hard to tell you about Cornelia, especially since you're both teetering on the verge of something more, he feels like he's betraying her, but you reassure him you'll wait for him as long as he needs. Never overstepping any boundary he has.

He loves you, truly he does, he didn't think he could continue on, even with getting everyone to relative safety, but you've always been there, loving not only him, but everyone else around you. He doesn't know what he'd do without you.

[me-and-your-husband]

i’m starving, darlin’ (let me put my lips to something) || j. miller

summary: you won’t let joel eat. he has something else in mind, modern!au, still takes place in 2023.

warnings: joel fucks the reader with a beer bottle (no, it’s not empty...), dirty talk, kind of exhibitionism?, female reader, reader wears a dress, modern!au, not proofread

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is just me being so fucking feral. y’all saw my “ellie fucks the reader with her pistol”? same idea. don’t think about the logic cause i sure as fuck didn’t. title credit to @tieflingpride . i too am obsessed with hozier’s new song (been a hozier girlie for awhle). let’s not talk about the fact that the song is actually about generations exploiting new generations thru capitalism! only pay attention to the slutty base intro! also the idea that joel can’t cook is kind of from @textsfromeponinet ‘s blurb. i wrote this in like forty minutes.

The hot summer air clung to your skin as you crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in your chair, pulling your dress down over your thighs. The golden evening sun was peeking out through the trees in Joel’s backyard, coasting over the four of you in a comfortable glow. You sat next to Joel, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as you chatted with Tommy and Maria. Sarah was at a friend’s house, missing out on the barbecue. The only part of cooking Joel could pride himself on was his barbecuing. 

“Not sure how much I trust your cookin’ Joel. Not after the time back home when you lit old Mrs. Garcia’s kitchen on fire,” Tommy said to Joel with a smirk, making both you and Maria look to Joel and laugh. 

Joel grinned. “If I remember right, that fire only started ‘cause I had to pick your ass up from that party and I forgot I had shit cookin’,” he said, tilting his head to the side and tilting his beer bottle up to his lips, taking a swig. 

“He’s better at barbecuing than he is…anything else. I promise,” you said, making Tommy and Maria chuckle. Joel squeezed your thigh. 

“Reminds me. Should go sauce the steak,” Joel drawled, getting up from his place next to you and walking a few feet away towards the sizzling barbecue.

Maria leaned in closer to you, “Please tell me you made those salads I saw in the kitchen earlier.” 

You laughed and assured her that you made them. “There’s caesar salad, pasta salad, potato salad, macaroni salad, you name it. Joel eats like a man starved, so I always make sure we’ll have leftovers for a couple nights. Y’all can take some home if you want,” you offered. 

“We’ll definitely take you up on that. Tommy here takes after his brother.” You and Maria laughed as Tommy rolled his eyes with a smile. 

“I’m pretty sure last time someone let Joel around anything that couldn’t be grilled, everyone went home with food poisoning,” you joked, jolting when you felt hands begin to gently massage your shoulders from behind. 

“That right. Darlin’?” Joel laughed. You smirked at him as he sat down. “Steak’s almost ready. I’d say in five.” He took another swig of his beer. 

“In that case, I should go inside and put the dressing on the salad. Didn’t want it to get soggy or I would’ve done it earlier,” you said as you got up from your chair. 

“Oh, let me help you!” Maria said, standing.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Sit! I’ll be right back.” You opened the back door, shutting it gently behind you. The kitchen windows were open. You could still hear small bits of the conversation going on outside if you listened hard enough.

You began pulling the different bowls of salad out from the fridge and onto the counter. You grabbed the caesar dressing and added it to the salad, mixing it around. You looked over your shoulder when you heard the back door open and shut, still mixing.

“Just grabbin’ another beer, honey,'' Joel said, grabbing you by the hips and moving you gently to the side so that he could get in the fridge adjacent to you. Joel grabbed another bottle before closing the door. Hand still on your hips, he peered over your shoulder at what you were doing. He brought the lid up to his mouth, cracking the lid off with his teeth and throwing it out. He downed about a third of the beer, only stopping when you turned to place the bowl on the kitchen island. However, you ran into his broad chest, his frame stopping you from moving past him. 

“You’re drivin’ me crazy with that little dress you’ve got on, pretty thing,” he groaned. His breath smelled like beer, but you knew he wasn’t drunk. Just tipsy. 

You giggled. “Joel. I’ve gotta finish up. The people want to eat,” you said, trying to move past him.

“Hm, so do I, darlin’,” he said with a smirk, pulling you back into him by the wrist.”

“Joel!” You gasped, smacking him playfully on the bicep. He took another swig of his beer, grabbing the salad bowl with his other hand and throwing it on the counter. “Joel, not now. We can finish this later, I pro-”

He cut you off with his lips on yours, hands cradling your face, the cold surface of his beer bottle pressed up against your cheek. You whimpered into his mouth as he pressed your back into the island.

He broke away. The grin on his lips was almost permanent, an ever-present reminder of his constant desire for his woman. “You won’t let me taste you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take something else for me, honey.”

Your brows furrowed. He lifted you onto the counter and you squealed. “Joel, what if Tommy or Maria come in?” 

He pressed another kiss to your lips. “Shh, baby. Window’s open.”

His rough hands lifted your dress higher and higher until it was bunched around your hips, your dampening panties the only thing shielding you from the air. Noticing the wet spot pooling there, Joel’s thick fingers traced it, fingers ghosting over your pussy, leaving silent kisses there.

“Already this wet for me, huh?” he whispered before taking one last sip of his drink. “You feelin’ brave, sweetheart?”

“Anything for you,” you said, becoming too wet to care or resist. 

He hummed and moved your panties to the side. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

You gasped as you watched him lower his bottle to your core, running the cold tip through your wet folds, making you shudder. “Trust me?”

“Always.”

He smirked. He lined the cold tip of the bottle up with your entrance, pushing in ever so slowly, watching the way it disappeared perfectly inside you. You bit your lip as he worked it deeper. You couldn’t help but moan when it bottomed out inside of you. 

“Gotta keep quiet for me, honey,” he said as he slowly pulled it out and worked it back in. He pulled you so your ass was barely supported by the island, his arm doing most of the work. “Look at you, takin’ my bottle like a slut,” he chuckled. You didn’t care. You let out quiet, breathy moans as he worked it in and out of you.

“Faster, please Joel,” you moaned softly. He obeyed, thrusting it in and out at a faster pace, eyes transfixed on your slick collecting around the neck of the bottle. You could feel the familiar pressure in your core building up. One of your hands found his hair, pulling gently for some reprieve. His other hand moved to circle your clit, hell-bent on seeing your release. 

You bit back your moans as your release crept up on you, Joel trying his hardest to coax it out of you. He thrived off your little moans of his name, begging for your release, knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.

“That’s it, baby. Come on, know you can do it. Cum for me, pretty thing. That’s right.”

The coil finally snapped, Joel clamping a hand over your mouth immediately in an attempt to quell your moans. He worked the bottle in and out of you through your orgasm, your back arching and body writhing up off the counter. 

When you came down, Joel took his hand from your mouth and gently worked the bottle out of you, watching the way your puffy hole clenched around it, then clenching around nothing. As you tried to catch your breath, Joel brought the bottle up to your eyes. You blushed at the sight of your cum running down and inside the bottle, mixing in with the liquid left still inside. 

“Look at that, honey,” he said before bringing it up to his lips, taking a savory sip before kissing you once more. He grinned as he began to make his way outside. 

“Joel?” You called, still wanting more of him. Always more. 

“What? The people need to eat, baby.” He laughed before going back outside. 

A few minutes later, after straightening yourself out, you walked outside with the salads. Your eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards Joel, sprawled out in his chair, still sipping from the bottle.

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs 

joel taglist: 

@sunxflowerxx @mmeerraa @chrry1ovr @milly-louise @jordie-gvf @themusingkitten @anxiety-made 

[a-998h]

I wonder how the Battle Tendency crew would react to a friendly Himbo! Pillar Man! male reader who was the only survivor and last of his kind? No one, not even reader, knows how he survived. But, he somehow did. He's usually happy all the time and sometimes jokes about his trauma but he can get serious if needed. He wants revenge against Kars for killing his family.

Reader after telling his tragic backstory: Isn't that crazy? 😄

Caesar, straight up flabbergasted and mortified: Wha- I- How the hell are you even alive?

Reader: I have no idea! 😃

Lisa Lisa: Have you heard of someone called Kars?

Reader: Kars? *face goes dark while he poses dramatically in true Pillar Man fashion* I have not heard that cursed name in years.....

I love this idea. Himbo reader is best reader.

Joseph and Speedwagon were still trying to cope with everything that just happened, beating Sanvento, the pillar men's connection to the stone masks, and the death of Von Stroheim. They returned to New York and reunited with Erina, before heading to Italy.

He befriends Ceaser, meets his mentor Lisa Lisa, and begins hamon training. Things are going great, but of course life has to throw a massive wrench in the way in the form of a another pillar man.

Your stony body was quite the shock for Suzi Q to find, she ran and reported it to Lisa Lisa. You were stared at, everyone worried. If you awakened, you could kill them all. But, something compelled them to drag you to a shaded area where you awakened. They were on guard, but you didn't attack, instead you freaked out and raised your hands in surrender.

"I come in peace humans!" You exclaim.

They don't believe you, they think you're going to attack the second they turn their backs. Lisa Lisa activities her hamon, and you smile?

"Wait, members of the hamon yribe survived?!" You ask in shock, not angry but happy, like an excited puppy.

The group looks confused and have you explain yourself.

Caesar, straight up flabbergasted and mortified: Wha- I- How the hell are you even alive?

Reader: I have no idea!

Lisa Lisa: Have you heard of someone called Kars?

Reader: Kars? *face goes dark while he poses dramatically in true Pillar Man fashion* I have not heard that cursed name in years.....

They ask you to explain.

" Kars attacked, me and my people, we fought against him. I ended up being stabbed after he slaughtered them, I had attacked with more vigor but I still got injured. I remained entombed for centuries until I met you all, Isn't that crazy?" You explained.

"Final question, are you with us, or against us?" Joseph asks.

"With you all the way, friends!" You declare.

Lisa Lisa

Pleasantly surprised by you friendly demeanor

Glad you're not planning to kill them

She feels kind of bad for you

You both bond over losing loved ones

When she sees you act dumb... she is so confused

You are an ancient powerful being that could kill them all, but you stand out in the rain not moving

She doesn't know who's more ditzy, you or Suzi Q

She finds some of you antics funny

Catches you traning at night, is proud of you for trying to get better

Has a list of things you can do and touch in her house... it's a small list

Doesn't laugh at you or mocks you

Thinks your heart makes up for you lack of brain power

Tries to act as a therapist for you and your trauma

Is kind of like a mom to you

Lisa Lisa: Reader when did you eat today?

Reader: *bright smile* Last week!

Lisa Lisa: *facepalms* Dear, let's get you breakfast.

Reader: ok 😁

^ these kind of interactions are daily

She ruffles your hair and laughs with you

She gets a little nervous when you start ripping into Kars

Wonders where the soft kind Pillar Man she loves went

Teaches you how to act in the world

Joseph Joestar

You're his new best friend

You two are a Josuke and Okuyasu type duo

He enjoys your friendliness

Thankful you were not planning to kill them

Is a little worried about you

When you joke about your trauma... he doesn't laugh

Wants to help you

Asks you about your family to make you feel better

Is willing to spar with you in the middle of the night... sometimes

Teaches you how to adapt to the modern world

Teaches you a few things he knows

Feels bad that you lost everything to Kars

Whenever you do something dumb, he questions how you survived centuries

Calls you "Love" and "Handsome" but you don't understand the flirting

Is annoyed with how dense you are

"You're as dense as the rock you were trapped in!" Becomes a common phrase he uses with you

You two are peas in a pod

Ceaser Zeppeli

He doesn't trust you

You're something that could kill them all, so he doesn't trust you at all

It's only after he sees how dumb you that he starts to let his guard down, only a little

Your "coping skills" makes him a bit worried

Tries to keep his distance but your friendly nature draws him in

Once he trusts you, he tries to be the older brother to you

Also teaches you things about the world

Is horrified by your story, and the way you joke about it

It takes him a bit to realize your jokes are your "coping skills"

He is proud of your warrior spirit

Wishes he could spar without one of you getting hurt

"Sei un idiota!" This something he commonly says to you whenever you've done something dumb

He calls you "second Joseph"

Tries to help you cope in a proper way

Is now a friend of yours

Feels your hate for Kars and wants to help you get revenge

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Okay we talk we talk… but have you think about how a mess it would be to joke around with our ape men at the beginning?

Let me explain: why do we laugh at a joke? Because we have more or less the same references! About culture stuff, events (good or bad) in life, traditions, school stuff, childhood stuff, adult stuff and so on… we understand the story behind the joke and this is what makes it funny!

Now, with our ape men it’d be another story… except with Caesar who grew up in our society and is able to understand a lot of human joke thanks to it (I swear in his good and peaceful day he can try to make some with you -spoiler he doesn’t know how to joke so they are not funny but please laugh he is trying-), other apes would just look at you like: 👁️👄👁️

How embarrassing it’d feel 😭

And it’d probably be the same the other way around until you both learn each other culture.

It’d take some times but once you know each other well, this is when the inner jokes would happen and it’d be more natural and relaxed! And I firmly believe most of the jokes you are both making are inner jokes!

[xoxochb]

could you do a child of hades x leo valdez reader?? either headcanons or a fic idm!!

⋆·˚ ༘ * trying everything to get you laughing at me!!

warnings: none

pairing: leo valdez x gn child of hades

“okay how about this one: what does the skillet eat on its birthday?”

“I’m not sure, what does it eat?”

you were trying to sleep in, that was the plan, but when I certain son of hephaestus walked into your cabin at the crack of dawn (nine am) you were forced to forfeit your sleep to keep your boyfriend happy

he was telling you jokes, that’s what he wanted so badly that he just had to wake you up for, so now you sit on your bed with leo telling awful dad jokes

“pan-cakes” he says with a large grin

you shake your head slowly. he’s trying to make you laugh, you know because he won’t stop, and you haven’t laughed yet

but in truth, this was better than sleep, you liked listening to him talk, but you’d never tell him that

“alright…” he sighs “dogs can't operate MRI machines. but cats can (catscan)”

now it’s your turn to sigh, “I don’t like that one”

“I didn’t think you would to be honest” he thinks for a second before gasping “I’ve got it!”

“hit me” you say

“why are ghosts bad at deceiving?” he beams

“why?”

“because you can always see right through them”

you bite your lip to fight a smile, and you know that leo sees it because he goes in for another joke

“I’ve got another, you’ll love this one” he clears his throat before speaking “want to know how you make any salad into a caesar salad?”

“how?”

“stab it twenty-three times”

this one makes you laugh, and when you saw leo’s bright smile it made yours widen

“I’ve got one more, hear this: they say the surest way to a man’s heart is through the stomach, but I find going through the ribcage a lot easier”

at this point you’re gasping for air, and leo knows he’s succeeded in his mission to make you laugh. although he isn’t a fan of dark humor, he knew you loved it and he would do anything to hear your laugh

[darshy]

(sun and moon ((and maybe our son)))

tw: miscarriage

2017

Suguru stares at his ceiling. The rolling sound of the hamster wheel fills the silence. Julius Caesar. What an active little thing.

His eyes find the cage. The hamster appears to be running for its life.

How simple life would be: to run in circles and think that you are escaping.

There are more and more curses appearing each day. Suguru is getting tired. Satoru just seems to be over the moon—maybe because you’re gone.

It’s a good thing, Suguru wants to believe, that your absence will be beneficial in the long run. But so far, the side effects are a lack of sleep and quite a bit of silence.

”Suguru! Look at this bug I found! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns to Satoru’s direction. Perhaps ‘silence’ isn’t the correct term. And well, there is no possible way that ‘peaceful’ is the word for it either.

”..It’s odd that it’s orange.”

Content.

”Don’t discriminate him..!”

No, that’s not right either.

Dissatisfaction. 

“Leave.” 

Suguru remembers it like it was yesterday.

“Huh, what?”

His heart racing and squeezing and thriving.

”Leave me the hell alone. Get away from here.”

Your lips twisting and thinning and cracking.

”I don’t..understand. Oh, is this some kind of joke—“

His eyes squinting. Your eyes flitting.

”I am going to kill you.”

He remembers your silhouette backing away quickly, near akin to the sun running from the moon.

”I will kill you.”

He remembers your tears dripping to the floor.

”Please.”

He remembers you.

And, really, it’s always been the moon scaring the sun away.

Suguru is such a liar. To himself. His family. Satoru. His hands itch as he types into his computer with vigor. His eyes dart and squint at street names and Facebook profiles.

He’s a liar because he wants to find you. Not seek you out, not even talk to you. He just wants to find you. Know you’re safe. Know that he’s not in reach of you.

A few clicks later and he’s finding your address and where you’re working at: Exotic Strip Club, Friendly Girls! He frowns at the name, his gut wrenching. He wants to puke but holds it down. Julius Caesar sprints from behind him—he can hear the squeaks of the wheel.

Suguru clicks on a picture of you. It’s your high school graduation photo. You had braces on then—bright blue and clunky—and fat Chucks that increased your height by one and a half inches. The photo is endearing.

His cursor slides to a newer photo of you. You’re dressed in baggy jeans and a thick sweater. Another’s hand is on your left shoulder, but the person is cut out of the photo, unidentifiable.

After that, there’s a picture of you standing in front of your new apartment, open for all to see. Suguru tastes the bile crawling up his throat in waves before he makes it to the bathroom.

In the quiet moments of his life, the man finds himself thinking about his baby. It would be a boy, most certainly, and it would look like you. He would want the baby to look like you because you’re you and Suguru is just Suguru. He’d want the child to be beautiful.

Maybe the boy would have black hair—he’d be born with a head full of it—and long legs. Tall for his age. He’d grow into a prodigy, have brains and a nice taste of humor. Suguru would want him to have your stupid humor and your dumb laugh and your teeth. Maybe the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the way your nose flares. He wouldn’t be you at all, but he’d be comparable, the closest any being would ever be to you.

Suguru wouldn’t want the baby to be like him.

And he thinks about it in the shower while watching the blood from the day’s battles wash down the drain. He thinks about your face twisted into a look that doesn’t suit you. A rage in your eyes but also a heartbreak. Your hands hold your stomach. Not in tenderness, but in grief.

Suguru thinks about the baby the two of you would have had if not for him.

Again, he’s a liar. He just wanted to know where you were, not find you in person. That’s it. That’s all he wanted.

(But is it? Stalking your ex—is that what you want? Keep her tied to you, force her open, and take out all her insides? Take everything you want? Need?)

You're sitting in front of him. Oblivious. Reading out of a newspaper (despite your phone sitting right next to you) and sipping out of an oddly shaped mug. All of this is you. And Suguru thinks he wants it again.

You stand up, stretch, glance in his direction (his heart palpitates), before trekking out of the café. He follows, a wool hat over his head and a black coat tight around his shoulders in a quick attempt to hide himself. The whole plan was rushed; one moment he was feeding Caesar, the next he found himself catching your eyes in a coffee shop. And he doesn’t even like coffee. 

Besides that, why are you on this side of town? Why are you in town? You shouldn’t be—you must know there’s a chance that your estranged husband lives here. That you used to live here. You moved away for a reason. Why come back? Why?

(For a moment—just for a fraction of a second—Suguru thinks that you came back to him with some kind of twisted news.

He thinks you want him.)

The questions are answered as you make your way to a familiar street but it’s not Suguru’s. Instead, it’s your best friend, who he assumed he already silenced and ended your connections to each other. Well, clearly not as he watches the two of you hug and kiss. Soon, you make your way off of the doorstep and into the house.

On Suguru’s way back home, he kills twenty curses, two of which bear the slightest resemblance of him and his struggles.

Gluttony and obsession.

The sun is gone and the moon controls the sky.

He wants you.

[catilinas]

pharsalia 3.20-35 trans. wilson joyce i.e. one of my most favouritest passages in the whole pharsalia <3 various thoughts:

i’m actually not a fan of the translation ‘wed you while my ashes were still warm’ when the latin is ‘innupsit tepido […] busto’ (married into a warm tomb). my dictionary gives an example of innubo being used with thalamis (marriage chamber) and i’m sureee i’ve posted about this before but to ME the image here is that cornelia’s marriage chamber is a tomb that sure could be her tomb (warm because she does not / (cannot) die) but that equally could be like. pompey’s tomb. he’s soooooo proleptically dead rn. yay

the triangle of dead julia / cornelia with her dead previous husband / proleptically dead pompey is definitely adjacent to the triangle of dead hortensius / marcia / cato in book 2. the ghost of crassus is somewhere in the first triangle btw. the ghost of the republic is in that second triangle too. i think lucan is even trying to make that more obvious by having julia stress how quickly pompey remarried bcs like. he didn’t. julia died in 54 bce and pompey only remarried like two years later.

adjacent to THAT is like. cato and marcia’s goth antiwedding is described entirely through what isn’t involved in it. on its own that might tempt you to say something about civil war and the breakdown of social bonds. but julia sees her marriage to pompey as continuing even despite her death and his remarriage -> more like civil war involves an over abundance of social bonds. which makes it Worse

can we talk about roman ghost marriage law btw. marriage does NOT end with death. sorry pompey but i think you need to figure out how to divorce a ghost

^ joke but also cornelia has a line in book 8 where she does actually mention her legal status as being married to pompey’s ghost. so.

julia’s ghost haunting the battle of pharsalus real? does she actually appear? yes. this is so sad hashtag i will see thee at philippi then. the donmar warehouse production of julius caesar understands this. also fun how pompey does have another dream sequence before pharsalus. is julia in it? no but also once again yes

is this like. propertius

[w00ah]

cuete x santo reader pt.2

it’s been 3 months since you and Cuete started dating. You still haven’t told anybody about what’s happening between you both, and with the tension between the santos and 19th street getting thicker each day, it’s getting more and more stressful hiding it from you two brothers. you’ve tried multiple times to get your boyfriend to lay off the heat but he’s ignored all your requests.

‘Cmon baby,’ you pleaded over the phone to cuete.

‘stop fighting with Oscar it’s stressing me out. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.’

you hear him sigh across the line.

‘we’ve talked abt this Mami; Business is business. And that territory belongs to 19th street. I’m not gonna stop till your brother gives me what’s mine, alright?’

you sigh loudly and he continues talking;

‘I don’t wanna argue with you now princesa. I’ve got some work to do but I’ll be round yours to pick you up in a few hours so make sure ur brothers are out, okay?’

‘yeah, okay. I love you.’

‘I love you too mami.’ He replied before hanging up the phone.

groaning loudly, you flopped down onto your bed. You knew that he would never agree to your pleads but it was still worth a try, and you knew if you ever asked Oscar to put and end to the situation he’d know something was up. So for now you’ll just have to deal with the pressure of your little secret by yourself.

-

Just as you apply the final touches to your makeup you hear loud music slowly approaching your driveway and a car honks its horn, cuete’s way of telling you he’s arrived. You hurriedly grab a hoodie and put on a few sprays of the perfume you know he likes before running out the door.

you jump into the car and he gives you a smirk.

‘excited to see me?’ He chuckles.

‘Of course papi’ you smile before leaning in to kiss him.

He leans forward into the kiss and you feel his hand slip onto your thigh and give it a tight squeeze before he pulls away from the kiss.

‘cmon Hermosa, we can do more of that later’ he jokes, making you let out a small laugh as you slap his arm playfully.

‘so, where are we going then.’ You ask.

‘you’ll see’ he grins at you and you roll your eyes in fake annoyance.

Keeping his hand on your thigh, he pulls his car out of the drive to wherever he plans on taking you.

-

After a while of driving you realise he’s taken you to the beach, a place you enjoy going to with Oscar and Caesar. You let out a little gasp at the view; a beautiful pink and gold sunset and the calm gentle waves lapping at the shore.

Getting out of the car you feel him wrap his arm around your waist and pull your frame closer to his. ‘what do you think then, hermosa?’ He questions with a proud smirk on his face.

‘it’s perfect’ you grin as you lock lips with him once again, this time in a more intimate kiss that lasted longer than the last one. You pull away giving him another grin before continuing towards the sea.

you both sit on the sand together and you watch as he pulls out a joint and a lighter, and you keep your eyes on him as he lights it and takes a puff. And you let your yes wonder around his figure before letting them linger on his face, taking in his handsome features. His eyes flick over to yours and your checks flush as he lets out a chuckle,

‘like what you see, princesa?’ He jokes as he passes you the joint.

‘oh shut up’ you laugh before taking a drag of the joint and leaning your head on his chest, taking in the scenery around you.

-

After a couple hours on the beach you end up at Cuetes place, which is now empty, not full of 19th street boys like it always is when you’re here with Oscar. Youre in bed with cuete and things begin to get heated; you’re kissing and you feel his hands begin to wonder. You let out a breathy sigh and you feel his hands travelling up your shirt as you begin to slowly grind down on his lap.

just then you feel your phone ringing in your pocket and you let out an annoyed groan as you go to check who it is, but your heart drops a little when you see who’s calling you.

‘it’s Oscar, be quiet’ you say quickly as you go to answer the call.

‘Hello?’ You say, looking at your boyfriend as he looks back at you in curiosity.

‘Where the fuck are you, Y/N’ oh shit he sounds mad.

you gulp as your mind races to think of a good excuse.

‘I got bored so I went out on a walk, I thought you weren’t gonna be back till tomorrow?’ You reply giving cuete an anxious look.

‘well things changed. What the fuck were you thinking going out by yourself when the blocks this hot, you’re a target Y/N, what if 19th street sees you, huh?’ you can hear the anger in his voice but try to stay calm.

‘I can take care of myself Oscar, you don’t have to worry about me all the time’

‘don’t gimme that shit’ he shouts, ‘where are you im coming to pick you up.’ oh fuck. If he knows your in 19th street territory he’ll kill you.

‘Uhh… im at the park’ You feel a bead of sweat drip down your neck And you feel Cuete give your hips a squeeze of reassurance.

‘alright I’ll be there in 10.’ Oscar says hanging up the phone.

‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ you say jumping out of bed and grabbing your hoodie off the floor. The parks a 15 minute drive from Cuetes house and if you’re late Oscar will know you lied about where you are.

the both of you run to the car and cuete drives dangerously fast down the road towards the park.

you rush out of the car without kissing your boyfriend goodbye and slam the door behind you as he speeds off back towards his house. You let out a sigh of relief as you check the time, you made it in 9 minutes, thank fuck.

just then Oscar’s car pulls up next to you and you step into the passenger seat, trying your best to act normal.

‘You’re a fucking idiot.’ He says as he begins driving home.

‘sorry’ you sigh out; That was too close.

[denimbex1986]

'David Tennant and Cush Jumbo walk into the Donmar Warehouse’s offices, above the theatre’s rehearsal rooms in Covent Garden, and sit down on a sofa, side by side. Tennant has that look his many fans will instantly be able to call to mind of being at once stressed – with a desperado gleam in his eye – yet mischievously engaged, which has to do with the intelligence he applies to everything, the niceness he directs at everyone. He is wearing a mustard-coloured jersey and could be mistaken for someone who has been swotting in a library (actually, he has been rehearsing a fight scene). If I am right in supposing him to be tense at this mid-rehearsals moment, I know – from having interviewed him before – that it is not his way to put himself first, that he will crack on and probably, while he’s at it, crack a joke or two to keep us all in good spirits. But some degree of tension is understandable for he and Jumbo are about to perform in a play that explores stress like no other – Macbeth – and must unriddle one of the most dramatic marriages in all of Shakespeare’s plays.

This is star billing of the starriest kind. Tennant, at 52, has more triumphs under his belt than you’d think possible in a single career (including Doctor Who, Broadchurch’s detective, the serial killer Dennis Nilsen in Des, and the father in There She Goes). Jumbo has been seen on US prime time in The Good Wife and The Good Fight and in ITV’s Vera. But what counts is that each is a Shakespeare virtuoso. Jumbo, who is now 38, won an Ian Charleson award in 2012 for her Rosalind in As You Like It and, in 2013, was nominated for an Olivier for her Mark Antony in Phyllida Lloyd’s all-female Julius Caesar. More recently, she starred as a yearningly embattled Hamlet at the Young Vic. A dynamo of an actor, she is described by the former New York Times theatre critic Ben Brantley as radiating “that unquantifiable force of hunger, drive, talent usually called star power”. Tennant, meanwhile, who has played Romeo, Lysander and Benedick for the RSC, went on to embody Hamlet and Richard II in performances that have become the stuff of legend.

Jumbo settles herself cross-legged on the sofa, relaxed in her own body, wearing a white T-shirt, dusky pink tracksuit bottoms, and modestly-sized gold hoop earrings. She looks as if she has come from an exercise class – and she has in one sense – no need to ask whether rehearsals, at this stage, are full-on. As we shake hello, she apologises for a hot hand and I for a cold one, having just come in from a sharp November morning. She is chirpy, friendly, waiting expectantly for questions – but what strikes me as I look at her is how her face in repose, at once dramatic and pensive, gives almost nothing away, like a page waiting to be written on.

Max Webster, the director, is setting the play in the modern day and Macbeth, a taut and ageless thriller, is especially friendly to this approach. I want to plunge straight in to cross-question the Macbeths. Supposing I were a marriage counsellor, what might they tell me – in confidence – about their alliance? Tennant is a step ahead: “There are two versions of the marriage, aren’t there? The one at the beginning and the fractured marriage later.” And he then makes me laugh by asking intently: “Are they sharing the murder with their therapist?”

He suggests Macbeth’s “reliance” on his wife is unusual and “not necessarily to be expected in medieval Scotland” (another excuse for the contemporary production): “I look to my wife for guidance: I don’t make a decision without her,” he explains. “We’ve been through some trauma which has induced an even stronger bond.” Jumbo agrees about the bond and spells out the trauma, reminding us the Macbeths have lost a child, but hesitates to play the game (I have suggested she talk about Lady Macbeth in the first person): “I want to get it right. I don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t know what to say… If I improv Lady Macbeth, it will feel disrespectful because you don’t know if what you’re saying on her behalf is true. And then you’re going to write what I say down and she [Lady Macbeth] is going to be: ‘Thanks, Cush, for f-ing talking about me that way.’” She emphasises that, as an actor, you must never judge your character, whatever crime they might have committed. And perhaps her resistance to straying from the text is partly as a writer herself (it was her play, Josephine and I, about the entertainer and activist Josephine Baker, that put her career into fast forward, opening off Broadway in 2015).

She stresses that the great problem with Lady Macbeth is that she has become a known quantity: “She is deeply ingrained in our culture. Everyone thinks they know who she is. Most people studied the play at school. I did – I hated it. It was so boring but that’s because Shakespeare’s plays aren’t meant to be read, they’re meant to be acted. People think they know Lady Macbeth as a type – the strong, controlling woman who pushed him to do it. She does things women shouldn’t do. The greatest misconception is that we have stopped seeing Lady Macbeth as a human being.”

For Tennant, too, keeping an open mind is essential: “What I’m finding most difficult is the variety of options. I thought I knew this play very well and that it was, unlike any other Shakespeare I can remember rehearsing, straightforward. But each time I come to a scene, it goes in a direction I wasn’t expecting.” He suggests that momentum is the play’s great asset: “It has such muscle to it, it powers along. Plot-wise, it’s more front-footed than any Shakespeare play I’ve done.” And is it ever difficult for him as Macbeth to subdue his instinctive comic talent? “Well, yes, that’s right, there are no gags! But actually, there are a couple of funny bits though I’d never intentionally inflict comedy on something that can’t take it. I hope I’m creating a rounded human being with moments of lightness, even in the bleakest times.” Jumbo adds: “Bleakness is funny at times”, and Tennant, quick as a flash, tops this: “Look at our government!” (He is an outspoken Labour supporter.) Later, when I ask what makes them angriest, he says: “Well, she [Suella Braverman]’s just been sacked so… I’m now slightly less angry than I was.” Jumbo nods agreement, adding that what makes her angriest is “unkindness”.

It is Tennant who then produces, with a flourish, the key question about the Macbeths: “Why do they decide to commit a crime? What is the fatal flaw that allows them to think that’s OK? I don’t know that they, as characters, would even know. Has the loss of a child destabilised their morality?” In preparation, Tennant and Jumbo have been researching post-traumatic stress disorder. “PTSD is a modern way of understanding something that’s always been there,” suggests Tennant – and the Macbeths are traumatised three times over by battle, bereavement and murder. “We’ve looked at postpartum psychosis as well,” Jumbo adds. They have been amazed at how the findings of modern experts “track within the play”. Tennant marvels aloud: “What can Shakespeare’s own research process have been?” Jumbo reminds him that Shakespeare, like the Macbeths, lost a child. She relishes the play’s “contemporary vibe which means it’s something my 14-year-old niece will want to see. Even though you know the ending, you don’t want it to go there. It’s exciting to play that as well as to watch it.”

A further exciting challenge is the show’s use of binaural technology (Gareth Fry, who worked on Complicité’s The Encounter, is sound designer). Each audience member will be given a set of headphones and be able to eavesdrop on the Macbeths. “The technology will mess with your neurons in a did-somebody-just-breathe-on-me way,” Jumbo explains. “You’ll feel as if you’re in a conversation with us, like listening to a podcast you love where you feel you’re sat with them having coffee.” Tennant adds: “What’s thrilling is that it makes things more naturalistic – we’re able to speak conversationally.”

Fast forward to opening night: how do they manage their time just before going on stage? Tennant says: “I dearly wish I had a set of failsafe strategies. I don’t find it straightforward. I’ve never been able to banish anxiety. It can be very problematic and part of the job is dealing with it. I squirrel myself away and tend to get quite quiet.” But at the Donmar, this will be tricky as backstage space is shared. Jumbo encourages him: “When I’ve played here before, I found the group dynamic helpful,” she says, but explains that her pre-show routine has changed since her career took off and she became a mother: “These days, I no longer have the luxury of saying: I’m going to do five hours of yoga before I go on. When I leave home at four in the afternoon, I might be thinking about whether I’ll hit traffic or, whether my kid’s stuff is ready for the next day. You get better at this, the more you do it. The main thing – which doesn’t sound that sexy – is to make sure to eat at the right time, something light, like soup, because when I’m nervous I get loads of acid and that does not make me feel good on stage. I have a cut-off point for eating and that timing has become a superstition in its own way.”

In 2020, Tennant and Jumbo co-starred in the compulsively watchable and disturbing Scottish mini-series Deadwater Fell for C4. How helpful is it to have worked together before? Tennant says it is “hugely” valuable when tackling something “intense and difficult” to be with someone you are “comfortable taking chances with”. Although actors cannot depend on this luxury: “Sometimes, you have to turn up the first day and go: ‘Ah, hello, nice to meet you, we’re going to be playing psychopathic Mr and Mrs Macbeth.’” And Jumbo adds: “I’ve been asked to do this play before and said no. You have to do it with the right person. I knew this would be fun because David is a laugh as well as being very hard-working.” He responds brightly with a non sequitur: “Wait till you see my knees in a kilt…” Are you seriously going to wear a kilt, I ask. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he laughs.

It is perhaps the kilt that triggers his next observation: “We’re an entirely Scottish company, apart from Cush,” he volunteers, suggesting that Macbeth’s choice of a non-Scottish wife brings new energy to the drama. He grew up in Paisley, the son of a Presbyterian minister, and remembers how, in his childhood, “whenever an English person arrived, you’d go “Oooh… from another worrrrld!”, and he reflects: “Someone from somewhere else gives you different energy.” And while on the Scottish theme, it is worth adding that Macbeth is the part that seems patiently to have been waiting for Tennant: “People keep saying: you must have done this play before? I don’t know if Italian Shakespeareans keep being asked if they have played Romeo…”

I tell them I remember puzzling, as a schoolgirl, over Macbeth’s line about “vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself and falls on th’other” – the gymnastic detail beyond me. Tennant suggests that what Macbeth has, more even than ambition, is hubris. But on ambition, he and Jumbo reveal themselves to be two of a kind. Tennant says: “Ambition is not a word I’d have understood as a child but I had an ambition to become an actor from tiny – from pre-school. I did not veer off from it, I was very focused. When I look at it now, that was wildly ambitious because there were no precedents or reasons for me to believe I could.”

“For me, same,” says Jumbo, “I don’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.” She grew up in south London, second of six children. Her father is Nigerian and was a stay-at-home dad, her mother is British and worked as a psychiatric nurse. “At four, I was an avid reader and mimicker. I got into lots of trouble at school for mimicking. My ambition was similar to David’s although, as a girl, the word ‘ambition’ has always been a bit dirty…” Tennant: “It certainly is to a Scottish Presbyterian.” “Yes,” she laughs, “perhaps I should have said Celts and Blacks… Girls grow up thinking they should be modest, right? But I had so much ambition. I knew there was more for me to do and that I could be good at doing it.”

And what were they like as teenagers – as, say, 14-year-olds? Tennant says: “Uncomfortable, plooky…” What’s plooky, Jumbo and I exclaim in unison. “A Scottish word for covered in spots.” “That’s great!” laughs Jumbo. “Unstylish,” Tennant concludes. Her turn: “At 14, I was sassy, a bit mouthy, trying to get into a lot of clubs and not succeeding because I looked way too young for my age. And desperate for a snog.”

And now, as grownups, Tennant and Jumbo are, above all, keenly aware of what it means to be a parent. Jumbo has a son, Maximilian (born 2018); Tennant five children between the ages of four and 21. Parenthood, they believe, helps shape the work they do. “Being a parent magnifies the job of being an actor,” says Jumbo, “because what we’re being asked to do [as actors] is to stay playful and in the present – be big children. As a parent, you get to relive your childhood and see the world through your child’s eyes as if for the first time and more intensely. We don’t do that much as adults.”

Tennant reckons being a parent has given him “empathy, patience – or the requirement for patience – and tiredness. It gives you a big open wound you carry around, a vulnerability that is not a bad thing for this job because it means you have an emotional accessibility that can be very trying but which we need.” But the work-life balance remains, for Tennant, an ongoing struggle: “Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something happens,” he says, “and you have to recalibrate it because your children need different things at different times.” Jumbo sometimes looks to other actors/parents for advice: “To try to see what they are doing – but you never quite get it right.”

And would they agree there is a work-life balance involved in acting itself? Is acting an escape from self or a way of going deeper into themselves? Tennant says: “I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive though they sound as though they should be – I think it is both.” Jumbo agrees: “On the surface, you’re consciously stepping away from yourself but, actually, subconsciously, you have to do things instinctually so you find out more about yourself without meaning to.”

And when they go deeper, what is it that they find? Fear is another of the motors in Macbeth – what is fear for them? “Something being wrong with one of my kids,” Tennant says and Jumbo concurs. And what about fear for our planet? Tennant says: “There is so much to feel fearful and pessimistic about it can be…” Jumbo finishes his sentence: “Overwhelming.” He picks it up again: “So overwhelming that you don’t do anything.” Jumbo worries about this, tries to remind herself that doing something is better than doing nothing: “If everybody did something small in their corner of the world, the knock-on effect would be bigger.” Tennant admits to feeling “anxiety” and distinguishes it from fear. Jumbo volunteers: “I recognise fear in myself but don’t see it as a helpful emotion. It’s underactive, a place to stand still.”

As actors who have hit the jackpot, what would they say, aside from talent, has been essential to their success? Tennant says: “Luck – to be in the right place at the right time, having one job that leads to another.” Jumbo remembers: “Early in my career, I had a slow start. You have to fill your soul with creative things, which is not always easy if you can’t afford to go out. You have to find things that are free, get together with people who are creative and give you good vibes and not people who are bitter and jealous or have lots of bad things to say about the world. This tends to bring more creative things to you.” Tennant observes: “As the creative arts go, acting is a difficult one to do on your own – if you’re a painter, you can paint – even if no one is buying your paintings.” Jumbo chips in: “Because of that, it can be quite lonely when it’s not happening.” “Tennant concludes: “It’s bloody unfair – there are far too many good actors, too many of us.”

And are they in any way like the Macbeths in being partly governed by magical thinking – or do they see themselves as rationalists? (I neglect to ask whether they call Macbeth “the Scottish play”, as many actors superstitiously do.) “I am a rationalist. I’m almost aggressively anti-nonsense,” Tennant says. Jumbo, unfazed by this manifestation of reason, speaks up brightly: “I’m a magical thinker, I’m half Nigerian and that’s all about magical realism and belief in energy. If something goes my way, I think: God, I felt that energy. And the thing that drew me to theatre as a kid was its magic.” And now Tennant, alerted by the word “magic”, starts to clamber on board to agree with her – and Jumbo laughs as they acknowledge the power of what she has just said.'

[thesweetnessofspring]

Roses and Pearls by HalfHope (thesweetnessofspring)

Rated: E

Description: Peeta Mellark is the sole victor of the Quarter Quell. With District 12 nothing but ash, he rebuilds his life by moving to the Capitol and falling in love with Rosalia Snow, granddaughter to Coriolanus Snow.

Then people Peeta thought long dead kidnap him and Rosalia, including the one person he hates more than anyone: Katniss Everdeen. They say he's been hijacked. They say that he used to love her. Locked away in District 13, Peeta is determined to protect his mind and his fiancée from the rebels. But while imprisoned, videos disprove his memories and his feelings toward Katniss grow confusing. Who can he trust, and what really happened in his past?

Thank you to @louezem for being the best beta and cheerleader and for helping me track down the original version of this. And huge, huge, HUGE thank you to @ldyglfr62 for having an original version saved and sharing it with me again so I can revise and finish what I started 10 years ago.

Chapter One

I wait behind the stage as Caesar Flickerman makes jokes about his age, the audience roaring with laughter as he impersonates a hobbling old man horny for his Avox to give him a sponge bath. After forty-six years of hosting the Hunger Games, Caesar is retiring.

He wraps up his bit and the audience quiets. Caesar turns more serious as he says, "While I have bittersweet feelings about leaving, I'm excited to announce the new host of The Capitol Late Night Show and the upcoming Eighty-First Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark!"

My cue. I come on the stage, waving and smiling at the cheering people who create a pointillism painting, each one a dot of a different color. Caesar, with shiny metallic silver hair and suit to match, reaches out his hand, then jerks it back before I can grab it. I put my hands on my hips and shake my head as if jilted, raising titters among the crowd. Caesar and I shake hands this time, slapping each other's backs.

"Who would have thought when you were a tribute seven years ago, that you'd be replacing me?" Caesar asks after the cheers die down. "I certainly didn't!"

I grin. "I wouldn't either, Caesar. But so much has happened since then, and I'm so grateful for all of it. For the people of the Capitol to accept me after the Quarter Quell and those rebels destroyed my home. That I've been chosen for this job, and of course, to find love again."

"That's right, you're engaged! We haven't had a chance to talk since it's happened," Caesar says. His face grows solemn. "You must get this all the time, Peeta, but I have to ask: how do you think Katniss would feel about this recent turn in your life?"

Katniss again. I wish I could just get through one interview without that bitch's name brought up. But as she planned it, I can't escape her, even with her dead and gone for six years now. Even with another woman in my arms. Even with the rebellion squashed under the Capitol for a second time.

"I know Katniss wanted me to live a full life, even without her," I say, my voice soft. "She's not gone from my heart, she never will be, but Rosalia Snow has given me so much of the happiness and love I needed to heal. I think Katniss would be happy for us. If our fates had been switched, I know I would have been for her."

I've said something similar to this so many times I'm surprised the audience still sighs and I see a few people at the front have watery eyes. Their hearts break more for her loss than mine ever did. I let a slow, easy smile crawl back up my face.

"But what I think what the audience wants to know, Caesar, is what you'll be doing now," I say.

"Absolutely nothing!" Caesar says, and the crowd laughs and applauds.

"Watch your figure," I say. "You wouldn't want to lose it."

"But my dear Peeta, that's what retirement is for."

We continue our banter about body image, diets, and golf until time comes for us to sign off. We say good-night, the camera's red light stops blinking, and the audience stands up.

Rosalia's in the front row and climbs up the stage to come kiss me. Her rosy-pink curls brush against my cheeks. She pulls back a little, her bright green eyes fluttering open, and puts her left hand on my face, her engagement ring sparkling.

"How did I do?" I ask.

"Charming as always," Rosalia says, then the smile from her plump lips fade. "Except…"

"I know. But I can't help that they bring her up so much," I say. Rosalia's the only person alive who knows the truth about Katniss and I. Of how she twisted the first game so we were stuck with each other, how she abused me, how she never really loved me and only used me to get ahead in the Games. Only she knew of my relief to find that when Katniss blasted the force field in the Quarter Quell, she died.

Rosalia brushes my blond hair back. "Now that you're a host, will you please let me give you a make-over? I know I said blue before, but I’m thinking purple now, it’s much more in style. Of course, though, we won't even touch your eyes. They're perfect as they are."

I shake my head. "I'm sticking with the way I am."

Rosalia pouts, but contends as she always does when she wants me to get tattoos or dye my hair or fill my lips.

Caesar walks away from his crowd of fans at the edge of the stage toward the two of us. "Are you lovebirds coming to my party tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Rosalia says. I pull her closer into my chest, breathing in her flowery perfume.

"Any chance you could get that father of yours to show up?" Caesar flashes her his pearly smile.

“He’s less of a fan of parties than my grandfather was,” Rosalia says. 

“Probably better for the President to not be there, right, Caesar?” I say. “Won’t have to worry about keeping everything above board then.”

Caesar laughs. “Oh, Peeta. Sometimes you’re still that boy from Twelve.”

A breath jabs in the center of my chest at the mention of home like a shard of glass. The boy from Twelve, spoken of in such simple terms by people here at the Capitol. But I am now the only boy from Twelve. The only person. Not even Haymitch, discovered to be a rebel traitor and shot down in a hovercraft attempting to escape during the Quell, was left. 

Continue reading on ao3

[nihilnovisubsole]

the writer interview game

tagged by no one, but i saw @arthoure doing it, so that's as good an excuse as any

when did you start writing?

when didn't i?

are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

i mainly read nonfiction, because i'm always getting myself into some mess where i have a cool idea that i can't execute properly without research. i just finished mary beard's twelve caesars, which is about how roman emperors have become the blueprint for how the west depicts power in art. you know, AK-brand stuff.

if i'm reading fiction and i like the genre, i always want to write it myself at some point. reading and writing are kind of an audience-participation thing for me. i'd love to do more spy stories, or something like elizabeth peters' egypt mysteries, or some sea-soaked victorian intrigue. it's all a love letter to something i read or watched or played.

is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

i'm alone in the middle of the ocean in the splintered fishing boat of third-person objective that hemingway left behind, and that's where i'll stay. nobody's been wild enough to actually compare me to him, because i'm not one-fiftieth as skilled, but i'll always wish i were. in brief, he gets to the point. he tells you what happened, because his stories are about humans doing things that result in consequences, which is basically, to my mind, how the world works. i simply believe that if i'm not able to convey how a character feels without dipping into internal POV, i'm not doing a good enough job. movies only have a script and music and visuals and the body language of the actors, and they pull it off all the time.

i mean, okay, i'm being dramatic. i don't hate internal POV. use it! be excellent at it! i want to see how far i can get without it. let me do my one-armed push-ups here.

can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

it's my white wood childhood desk in my tiny bedroom with my 11-year-old desktop on it. very romantic, i know. my work-from-home machine is in the dining room. i fantasize about having one of those book-lined studies one day, but i have to be able to afford a house in the place where i want to live first!

what’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

i've been telling the same old joke about my method for years: "i don't have a muse, i have a hundred sooty workers in a coal mine." writing for money as an adult has not given me the luxury of waiting until i get inspired or feel like doing it. inspiration is one percent. the other 99 is knuckle-down discipline. anything i've ever finished, i only finished because i grit my teeth through it.

for work writing, it's easy. "they're paying you for the privilege of contributing to this project." for personal writing, it's more existential. "what will you have to show for yourself?"

are there any recurring themes in your writing? do they surprise you?

here's another, fresher joke that i told a teammate yesterday: my method for creating characters is to take some deep, personal neurosis or question, then give it a hairstyle and outfit. make of that what you will!

what is your reason for writing?

when it comes down to it, i just think it'd be a shame if i didn't. i'll be 32 next month. i have probably 27 years of ideas kicking around, and i would be disappointed if all of them died with me. in that respect, it's really childlike. i want to be heard. if somebody hears my voice through my writing, i'm less lonely. i feel connected to them.

i wish i could tell deep truths about humankind, but maybe that'll come later. it'll have to come later if i want my work to mean anything, right?

what do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

i don't know! if nothing else, i have a lot of fun carving out characters with fully-formed, distinct identities. of course they have things in common, because my taste leads me to certain places, but i want them to stand apart from each other. they should have their own discrete atmospheres and themes.

how do you feel about your own writing?

no time to dwell on that. if i start thinking about whether i'm good or bad, i'll get too self-conscious to continue, and what am i gonna do? not write? back to it!!

also if you see this ur tagged, sorry i don't make the rules

[papakhan]

Lol why would someone even say that. Like... idk im transmasc im personally mortified of the idea of getting pregnant but... its none of my business if another man wants to be pregnant why would there be any judgement there 😭😭😭 plus the post was very funny people need to stop projecting over a sillay little post. Have a good night king the haters dont get it

the thing is I totally understand trans guys being uncomfortable with the concept of (trans) men getting pregnant. In our society its a very gendered concept, it gets fetishised by weirdos online all the time and to a lot of (especially queer) afab people its strongly associated with control and abuse. I totally get it. That was me not so long ago but after a lot of research I became more comfortable with it because I want to have children one day. I shouldn't have to expose this part of myself as a defence against people calling me transphobic when I am literally trans and half the fight for trans people is "my body my choice"

what gets me is that the tumblr fallout community gets in this fucking argument allll the fucking time over whether the fallout universe should be "dark and gritty and ~realistic~" in regards to Everyone being transphobic Or if the wasteland should be some kind of trans haven without the binds of society. I personally lean on the latter and get a lot of comfort out of the idea that the Great Khans specifically are a bastion of trans joy and experience and to them women having dicks and men giving birth is just. normal.

the end goal for trans people should be to de-gender concepts like pregnancy and penis but we're never gonna fucking get anywhere if trans people project their dysphoria onto each other and start self-flagellating themselves whenever someone steps out of line or makes a stupid joke.

And yeah this is an overreaction to someone critising a stupid post of mine but I'm more mad at the wider culture of the fallout community (and tumblr) regarding this topic because like I said shit like this keeps happening. part of my job is about educating people about trans bodies and saying shit like "don't assume who can and can't get pregnant" and trying to help fellow trans people find comfort in a country that's actively trying to get them all murdered. To then log onto tumblr dot com and get called transphobic because I said I love headcanoning Papa as trans and him being able to deflect the Legion's misogyny because of his transness is like a slap to the face. you guys are meant to be the transgender love website what the fuck are you talking about?? Also Saying that I'm enabling transphobia by allowing people who arent trans men to reblog my post is also stupid and for the record most people in my notes right now are either trans people who are genuinely agreeing that Papa is trans or ghost fans who think I'm talking about their band (but are still trans and still agreeing).

sure maybe I should have put a trigger warning on the post or something because it might trigger someone's dyphoria, but just say that. Don't act like I'm the problem and that I'm too stupid to recognise internalised transphobia and calling me "too comfortable with joking about trans bodies" when 1. I wasn't joking About trans bodies and 2. ITS MY FUCKING BODY

My joke was about how Caesar cant handle Papa being trans. it was a joke about how society cant handle trans people who they can't clock. it was also a joke about how Papa comes from a society where transness is so normalised that he wrongfully assumes that its something everyone can do. At no point was I "nasty about trans bodies" like this person claims I was. In fact I think that pretending that I was says more about how they view trans bodies than it does about how I do, That I can mention trans pregnancy and they automatically assume I'm fetishing or being disrespectful.

anyway. that's a lot of shit. thanks for letting me ramble and tucking me into bed so sweetly <3

[violivs]

NMTDaily - A Special Announcement

- Messina High has a new candidate for Student Leader, how auspicious! Still a riot that his campaign platform is his friend’s YouTube channel that hardly anyone at school watches though.

- Pedro and Bea’s friendship really is very sweet, I like their dynamic. Would be a shame if something… happened to it…

- “All Round Great Guy”. Never have four words been so laden with meaning that changes completely over the course of the story.

- Oh my god, Pedro was “a lonely kid” because he was living as an only child at the time. He met Bea before John came to stay. So the whole John thing was fairly recent. Finding out you have a secret sibling you never knew who you didn’t really get to grow up with is a trip. I wonder exactly how many years John has even lived with the Donaldsons at this point. Actually, it can only be four years maximum, because it was after Bea met Pedro. No wonder shit’s rough between the Donaldson boys. This is still very raw for them.

- “We’d been making real-life mermaid tails for ourselves… they exist, don’t crush my dreams.” The way this show sometimes feels like it was MADE for me though, mermaids are my favorite!!! I’m with you, Bea!

- I love this story. They met through a water and sand war! Why is fighting SO Beatrice’s love language?

- While we’re on backstory, do we ever learn why people started calling Peter ‘Pedro’? I don’t think we ever do.

- “You can’t beat me, you’re a girl, I play football.” Societal misogyny already being seeded in Pedro’s young mind like it still is in too many kids. A telling portent for his arc.

- They’re so cute! Love friends who make each other laugh.

- Bea independently bringing up Benedick again for no reason. Is this the first instance of “Dickface”, or have we gotten that nickname before? (Genuinely still headcanon that it eventually becomes a term of endearment.)

- “You were friends with him then.” “I tolerated him.” Ooh, the first hints of the lost friendship!

- “I don’t really have any big secrets or anything” *bisexual flag fades into view* That’s the edit my mind is visualizing anyway. Hugs and support for Pedro.

- “Obama had Yes We Can, I have An All Round Great Guy” - this took me OUT

- What do you MEAN this show is so old that Obama was President of the US when it was originally airing????? Time is meaningless!

- “Friends, high-schoolers, countrymen, lend me your ears!” That Julius Caesar reference, chef’s kiss! God, I forgot about that, and I love it a lot.

- Pedro’s politician voice is perfect, as is Bea laughing at him for it.

- Oh my god, I almost forgot to mention what a riot it is that Benedick has decided to spam the comment section with random comments and questions for her upcoming Q&A. He wants Beatrice’s attention so bad it’s a little pathetic.

- Oh honey. You do know you don’t have to share every thought that’s in your head? Some of these comments you did not have to share.

- “do you really think Pedro is an all round great guy? Because I’m pretty sure that’s me. I’m amazing. But like jokes, you know that.” Oh my god, he is SO jealous of Pedro, wow. I don’t know that he would have made all these comments if Pedro wasn’t in the video competing for Bea’s attention.

- “do you not feel like sometimes your life has actually been written out before you and you are forced to make decisions which are already determined?” Uh-oh, code red, major breach of the fourth wall! Also, it’s been this way since 1598 ;)

- Also the way that Ben definitely watches every single one of Bea’s videos up until Hero’s makeup vlog scares him off. He sees every mean thing she says about him and he’s STILL like an annoying puppy in these comments seeking her attention. He’s so drawn to her. It might not be super healthy right now, but it’s cute in a sad way.

- He also made another comment calling Leo hot. I think bi Ben is alive and well!

- Vote for Pedro!

💖🥭🦩

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

ttwt episode 1 - part 1

Chris McLean, fresh out of court and looking as spiff and spin as ever, stands on the tarmac of an airport landing strip somewhere in Toronto, Canada. His smile is bright and confident, and his eyes are shimmering with sadistic glee as he giggles to himself. 

“Season three of Total Takes, folks! From sea to shining sea, from forest to plain, from here to Machu Picchu and back, this is Total Takes: World Tour! Seventeen teens you know and love will be competing right here, right now, ALL around the world for another million dollars!"

A large, shiny bus pulls up behind him and the doors slide open with a low hiss. 

“Let’s meet our contestants, shall we?” Chris beams. “Here with us today is Courtney, Scruffy, Ass, Julia, Bonnie…”

The first four teens breeze out of the bus with ease. Courtney waves merrily, while Scruffy gargles something from a Thermos, and Julia and Ass elbow each other when the other gets too close. Bonnie looks less than enthused- even less so than usual. 

“Missing Caesar?” Courtney asks, adjusting the straps on their pack. 

Bonnie shrugs. “A little. Stupid contracts,”

“Staci, Austin, Max, and… Patrick!”

Patrick makes a point to shove Chris a little on his way out. The host scoffs as a crew of makeup and hair assistants rush to fix his flyaways. 

“This season’s gonna be right groovy, isn’t it?” Austin says, wrapping an arm around Staci and beaming. 

Max doesn’t look at him. “Don’t talk to me,”

“And returning favorites, Mal, Kelly, and Frollo!”

The latter slinks out of the bus with his nose buried in his Bible, looking around suspiciously before being barreled out of the way. 

“Watch out below!” Joner and Sha-Mod yell, jumping onto the pavement and trampling Frollo before running off to join the others. 

Julia gives the two an odd, disgruntled look. “I don’t remember seeing you on the carpet,”

“You must’ve mistaken us for each other. We’re wearing matching outfits,” Joner says proudly. 

Julia blinks, then rolls her eyes. 

“Also returning this season- Michela!”

Michela stumbles out of the bus, several bags on her arms. “Was it really necessary I carry all the luggage?”

“Less talky, more carry, She-Hulk!” Ass yells, then chuckles at their own joke. Courtney rolls their eyes. 

“Here, let me help you with that!” a voice from within the bus says. Albert jogs out and takes some of the bags from Michela, who smiles. “Thank you,”

“And without further ado, here’s our brand new cast member- Albert!” Chris beams, then squints. “The guy who got me arrested.”

Albert laughs nervously. “Water under the bridge?”

“Hey, don’t forget about me!” a weak voice from within the bus squeaks. Phillip, dressed eerily similar to Alejandro from the original World Tour, walks out. “Woke media trying to silence me…”

“Oh, yeah. And here’s Phillip,” Chris sighs. The sound of scraping metal pulls everyone’s attention behind them, and a massive, hulking plane rolls up on the tarmac. 

“Great. This is how I die,” Ass crosses their arms. 

“Why don’t you complain a little louder, they can’t hear you in Winnipeg,” Courtney grumbles. 

Mal steps up to Courtney and whispers in their ear. “I know, such a drag, right?”

They jump. “Jesus, where did you come from?”

Frollo appears out of thin air on Courtney’s other side. “Did someone say Jesus?”

Julia, standing next to Scruffy with her hands on her hips, turns to them. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Scruffy shakes their head and taps their throat. Julia sighs and walks off. 

“Are you sure this is… uh, safe to fly on?” Kelly asks. “No judgment, but…”

“Full judgment, but I don’t think that’s going to be capable of lifting off,” Max cuts in. “Or landing.”

The contestants look between each other nervously. Chris chuckles. “Hey, I’m flying in it too. You guys have nothing to worry about!”

“Fine,” Ass sighs, slinging their pack over their shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

---

“As some of you might’ve guessed-” Chris looks at Scruffy. “This season is, in fact, a musical one! However, due to budget restraints and copyright laws and blah blah blah, we only had the moola to recycle the songs from the original TDWT. It’ll be your job to adjust the lyrics accordingly.”

Scruffy jumps up and down and claps their hands. 

---

SCRUFFY: “Ahem. Saving my voice. I’ve been looking forward to this for years! Singing classes since I was ten!”

---

Michela raises an eyebrow. “You can’t honestly expect us to know all that,”

“Oh, but I am,” Chris chuckles. “I’m sure your castmates will give you a hand where they need to. Oh, and- if you don’t sing, you’re automatically eliminated!”

The cast gasps, much to the host’s amusement. “And while you’re here, I might as well explain the perks and the pains. Losing teams will sleep here- in economy. Winners will get first class, though- so you might wanna bring your A-Game,” he grins. “We also have two confessionals, a cargo hold, and a galley- and an elimination hall. Got it? Got it, good.” he says, ignoring the sea of raised hands. 

“This is a nightmare,” Max grumbles, seated next to Michela in the galley. 

The jingling chime of a bell catches everyone’s attention. Scruffy squeals. “It’s song time!”

“That’s right! Whenever you hear the sound of that little bell, it’s musical number time!” Chris grins. “So get to it! We’re taking off!”

Chris disappears behind a large metal door, leaving a host of confused teens behind. Ass rolls their eyes. “Any volunteers?”

Scruffy stands, but before they can get a note in, Courtney rises from their seat in the galley. “Up!”

Kelly joins them. “Up!”

Staci jumps up next, grabbing Kelly’s hand and raising their arms to the ceiling. “Up! Up!”

Sha-Mod and Joner jump in right after. “Sing, sing, sing, sing!”

“We’re flying,” Max grumbles. Austin butts in seconds later. “And singing, baby!”

“We’re flying and we’re singing!” Sha-Mod and Joner pick up, joined by Albert. 

Julia walks across the galley, half-heartedly gesturing around. “Come fly with us,”

Scruffy tries to join in but is barrelled over by Patrick, who sings in a loud, soprano voice. “Come fight with us!”

Bonnie chokes out a half-hearted spoken-word mumble. “I think this stupid plane is about to combust,”

“This is miserable,” Michela sulks. “Come fly with us,”

Mal jumps into frame, shoving her out of the way and beaming. “COME FLY WITH US!”

Frollo holds up a finger. “In the Lord we find salvation, love, and trust,”

Mal and Michela stare at him. 

“This is the best, our noise is so groovy!” Austin shouts, pulling Phillip and Ass into a hug with either arm. 

Ass shoves him off. “You better watch it before I end up in juvie!” 

“Yeah, like guys, isn’t singing kind of gay?” Phillip adds. 

Patrick shakes his fist. “Call me that again and I’ll mess up your face!”

Courtney butts in, pushing the two apart. “Come fly with us! Don’t die with us!”

The plane suddenly lurches to the left, sending everyone flying. Austin flies around the galley like a piece of paper in the wind, shrieking. “Baby, who’s flying this groovy aeroplane!” Bonnie groans and gets up, massaging their temples. “You guys are giving me a migraine!”

“Come fly with us, come sing with us!” Courtney, Kelly, and Staci sing to Ass and Phillip. 

“NO!” the latter two insist. 

Chris ducks out of the cockpit and holds up a thick stack of paper. “Remember, no singing means no winning! Every contestant must SING!”

Courtney elbows Ass’ ribcage. “Let’s hear it! Just one thing!”

Patrick holds up a fist to Phillip again. “You better not cost me a win!”

Phillip sighs. “Well, I don’t want to go home- fine! But for the record, I’m not gay,” he takes a deep breath. “Come fly with us! Come fly with us! Come, and fly, with us!”

Ass palms their forehead and stands. “I hate all of youuuuu!”

Scruffy runs into scene, panting. “Did I miss it? Patrick knocked me out,”

The teens look between each other and Courtney offers them a pat of condolence on their shoulder as they pout. “Aw…”

---

SCRUFFY: “I’m not too worried about getting eliminated- I mean, half the cast of TDWT didn’t sing and they made it out just fine! I’m just bummed I missed the opening number…”

---

“Buckle up, fruitcakes!” Chef’s voice rings over the PA system. “We are now beginning our descent into Mexico.”

The teens ooh and ah as they take their seats, buckling themselves in as the plane begins to descend. 

“Mexico is like, so exotic,” Staci says. “I hope I get to work on my tan- I’ve been doing a lot of indoors-y studying for college.”

“I hope we get to eat,” Michela says. 

The entirety of economy class nods and murmurs in agreement, and then falls silent. Albert fidgets with the zipper on his windbreaker while the hum of the engines gently vibrates the cabin. 

Julia is leaning against the rough metal walls, grumbling to herself while watching Patrick glare at Scruffy. 

---

JULIA: “Things have been pretty awkward with Scruffy lately. I mean, they got worse after Patrick and I… whatever. I figured that things would go back to normal when we broke up but there’s still this wall between us! It’s driving me insane,”

---

Julia sighs and turns to her right, ignoring the scuffle on the other side of her. She watches Albert play with his zipper, squinting. “Hey, I know you,”

He looks up. “Hm?”

“You’re that guy. The investigator person,” Julia crosses her arms and then points. “You got McLean arrested.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I did,” he says, looking around. 

“I hope you’re taking notes for next time, cause I’d have preferred it if you kept him in jail,” Ass shouts. 

“Hey, that was the court. Blame the legal system, not me,” Albert shrugs. “I did my part.”

“Did you?” 

He seems to shrink into himself, avoiding eye contact. 

---

Albert sits in the confessional for a few moments, tapping the camera and looking confused before he blinks. 

ALBERT: “Wait, this thing is always on? Great. Well,” he sighs. “...I guess all I have to say is that... I did really try. All that research, all that legal evidence- and it all meant nothing!”

---

Julia rolls her eyes and leans back, ignoring Ass tearing into Albert. The blonde crosses her arms as her eyes drift across the cabin before meeting Scruffy’s, and she quickly turns away. 

“T-Minus two minutes to landing!” Chef’s voice bellows over the speakers. “Brace yourselves!”

The teens duck and cover, tightening their seatbelts and covering their heads as the plane shakes and bumps, screeching down the tarmac. 

When it finally comes to a stop and the Seatbelts On sign weakly flickers out, the contestants groan and begin standing. 

“I’m already over this,” Julia sighs, unbuckling herself. 

“Hey, let’s look at the bright side,” Sha-Mod announces merrily. “At least it’ll be warm! That’s something to look forward to!”

“Speak for yourself,” Mal grumbles, slathering on a coat of sunscreen to maintain her sickly complexion. 

The teens line up at the plane door as a staircase is rolled over for their exit. Most are silent, but a few are chatting merrily about the food and the weather. The door finally opens and the teens file out, just to be met with a freezing cold breeze and a cloud of dust from the rough landing. 

“Jesus Christ-” Ass starts, ignoring Frollo’s gasp of offense. “Did you take a wrong turn and land us in the arctic?”

“Great going, Chris! Can’t even find a whole country!” Mal snaps.

Chris walks up, chuckling to himself. “Oh, this is Mexico, alright- welcome to the city of Teotihuacan!” 

As the dust begins to clear, the contestants are met with a massive archaeological wonder of the world, an ancient city spanning around them for as far as their eyes can see. A few ooh and ah. 

“Known for its rich history and ideal real estate- located in this lovely sub-valley- this long-gone capital of archaeological interest is rich with culture, religion, and my personal favorite- pyramids!” Chris chuckles. 

“Okay, that’s very nice, but that doesn’t explain the weather,” Courtney says softly, shivering. 

“Oh, yeah. We maaaaaay have had a part in that,” the host explains, gesturing to the thick, dark clouds overhead. “See, one of the many theories about the collapse of Teotihuacan suggests a volcanic winter might’ve caused some... civil unrest.”

“I’m feeling unrested, alright,” Patrick grumbles. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy,” Chris says. “The worst is yet to come. This region of Mexico is known for its high volcanic activity- and in a tribute to the last season of World Tour, I thought our challenge today would combine the first and last episodes of the Total Drama season.”

Scruffy raises an eyebrow. “So… we’re going to-”

“Your first leg of the challenge will consist of navigating the tunnels under the Pyramid of the Sun, the largest pyramid in Teotihuacan. In our Egypt challenge, we gave contestants the choice of going over or under, but we’re not technically allowed to let you climb the ruins,” Chris shrugs. “So under it is. In the tunnel system below the pyramid, you’ll discover a handful of obsidian objects that you might’ve found in the city some thousands of years ago. Once you’re out, I’ll be waiting to give you instructions for your next task. Ready?”

The teens look between each other nervously. 

“Go!”

They set off, almost immediately fracturing off into groups. Courtney and Bonnie lead, followed by Sha-Mod and Joner, followed by Michela and Max. Albert catches up to the latter two, wheezing. “Mind if I join?”

Michela shrugs, much to Max’s annoyance. 

---

MAX: “There’s something off about that guy. I don’t trust him,”

---

MICHELA: “Everyone’s been giving Albert a hard time lately, and he seems sweet… what’s the harm in helping him out?”

---

Julia runs behind the three, raising an eyebrow at the odd interaction, but she quickly shrugs it off and speeds up. As the blonde ducks into the tunnels leading under the pyramid, a familiar head of green hair pops out of nowhere. “Hey, Jules!”

Julia coughs awkwardly. “Oh, um- hi. Can I help you?”

“Not really- but I can help you. I’ve been studying pyramid architecture just in case something like this would happen. Wanna team?” Scruffy asks. “I’ll get you some good obsidian!”

She relaxes a little and smiles. “Yeah, sure. That’d be cool with me,”

---

JULIA: “Okay, maybe I’ve been overthinking things a little. Scruffy doesn’t seem mad… unless it’s some kind of trick. But they wouldn’t do that to me… would they?”

---

Austin skips and frolics through the tunnels, just ahead of Patrick, who’s trying not to snap as Frollo goes on about unholy pagan religion. Behind them, Kelly and Staci walk casually through tunnels, chatting merrily. 

“I don’t know, I mean, she’s cute and all but I’m not sure if I want to risk my scholarship chasing some girl,” Staci says, twirling a strand of hair around their finger. “What if I get distracted?”

“If anyone can find a good balance, it’s you,” Kelly comments reassuringly, patting Staci’s shoulder. “Who knows- maybe she’ll motivate you!”

Staci nods. “That’s a totally fair point. Next time I find a phone on this show, I’ll call,”

Kelly beams and then looks aside with a cautious expression as Staci chats on. 

---

KELLY: “I’m happy for them, I really am, but sometimes… I just wish I had something to myself, too,”

---

“God, it’s dark in here,” Julia says, only her eyes visible in the darkest stretch of the tunnels. “You know where we are, right, Scruffy?” no response. “...Scruffy?”

Julia continues walking forward before colliding with someone else and sending them both tumbling to the ground. She huffs. “Watch it!”

“Sorry, it’s hard to see,” Courtney’s voice rings out through the darkness. “Julia? Is that you?”

“In the flesh,” she grumbles. 

“Have you seen Bonnie? We got mixed up and I lost them,”

“I haven’t seen anyone since Scruffy and I got split up,”

“I’m here too!” a voice rings out. Courtney and Julia both scream as Mal appears out of nowhere, the light from her phone illuminating her face in the darkness. “And look what I found.”

She holds up an obsidian blade and laughs maniacally. Courtney and Julia look at each other nervously, prompting Mal to roll her eyes. “Oh, quit being such babies. I’m not going to hurt you,” she pauses to smile. “Yet.”

---

“Courtney! Courtney?” Bonnie yells into the tunnels, their own echo bouncing back. 

As they sigh and sit on the ground, taking a breather, they notice a figure across the hall and jump with a start. “Jesus, Max, you scared the crap out of me,”

“Lost?” he asks plainly. Bonnie nods. “Where’s Michela?”

“With that guy, I’m assuming,” he says sharply. Bonnie raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push- not that they have time to, because seconds later Scruffy comes running down the hall, shouting Julia’s name. Without looking, they trip on Bonnie’s outstretched leg and fall face-first into the dirt and dust layering the floor. 

“Hey, Scruff,” Bonnie says as they sit up and brush themselves off. “Lost?”

“No, I know exactly where we are- but Julia wandered off while I was getting this,” they say, holding up a shiny obsidian necklace. “I figured it might get us an advantage in the next part of the challenge.”

“Sure. Well, I haven’t seen anyone but Max for an hour at this point,” 

“What about me?”

Max shrieks as a voice comes from the dirt beside him. Phillip rises, a layer of grime falling from his body. “I was trying to bury myself. I figured this challenge was hopeless since no one wanted to team with me…”

“Oh, brother,” Bonnie mumbles under their breath. 

---

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Albert thinks aloud, walking the tunnels with a sulking Michela at his side. “He’s probably already waiting outside.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I still feel weird leaving him, though,”

“Leaving who?” Patrick asks, emerging from the darkness with Sha-Mod and Frollo behind him. 

“Um… you’ve got a tail,” Albert points at the two. Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“Yes. I can’t seem to shake them off,” he sighs. “This one lost his buddy and the other one thinks this place is cursed.”

“Unholy ground,” Frollo mutters. “Unclean… foul.”

“You see what I have to deal with?”

A sudden, loud whooping noise coming from behind the group echoes against the walls, getting closer by the second. Frollo goes pale. “Witches!” he screams, and then runs past Patrick, straight into a wall. 

The impact makes the tunnel tremor a bit, sending bits of dirt and dust from the ceiling- along with an obsidian figurine depicting a serpent. It unlodges itself from the roof and falls on Patrick’s head with a large thump. He mumbles nonsense and passes out on the ground. 

“Well,” Michela picks up the artifact. “It’s something, right?”

The whooping noise comes closer before bursting into their section of the hall- but it’s only Austin, running past them into the dark. “I can smell the way out, baby!”

Sha-Mod and Albert make brief eye contact, and then shrug, the gang following him out and leaving Patrick unconscious on the floor for a few moments before Michela runs back to grab him. 

---

Chris sits outside the pyramid, sipping from a Thermos and enjoying the volcanic weather. 

“It’s your fault, not mine!” a voice shouts. 

Chris perks up. “And here come the first contestants,”

Julia, Courtney, and Mal walk out of the tunnels, bickering, with Ass shortly behind. A very meek and slightly terrified Joner scampers out after them, hanging at the back of the group. 

“Ladies- and others,” Chris nods. “Find me anything good?”

Mal holds up her blade with a big grin. 

“Niiiiice,” the host grins, rubbing his chin. “As the first group out of the tunnels, you are officially team number one- oh, and here come team number two!”

Bonnie, Max, Scruffy, and Phillip emerge from the tunnels, coated in dust and debris. Kelly and Staci trail behind them, still chatting. 

Scruffy immediately lights up when they see Julia, and dashes over to her. “I’m so glad you made it out! Here- I found this for you,” they say, holding up the necklace they found. 

“Sickening,” Ass mumbles. Courtney stomps on their foot and they yelp. 

“Nice find, Scruffy,” Chris comments. “One more team to go!”

After a long, drawn out period of waiting, the final team- lead by Austin- come running out, panting. Patrick is currently conscious, but has a large bump on his head and is sucking his thumb while Michela carries him like a baby (much to her annoyance). 

“Michela, Albert, Patrick, Austin, Sha-Mod, and Frollo-” Chris counts. “You’re team number three!”

Michela drops Patrick in the dirt the second she sees Max, and runs over to him. “I’m glad you got out okay, I couldn’t have lived with myself if I knew you were still down there,”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would’ve gone back?”

“Of course!”

Max thinks for a moment, and then smiles. Chris clears his throat. “Okay, enough of that. It’s time to choose your team names! This season, whoever found your obsidian artifact will be naming the team- so that means Mal, Scruffy, and… whoever.” he chuckles. 

“Michela picked up the artifact, so she should get to choose the team name. It’s only fair,” Albert posits. 

“But Frollo hit the wall, which dislodged it,” Sha-Mod rubs his chin, thinking aloud. 

“Hello! Are we forgetting that thing nearly gave me a concussion!” Patrick shouts from the ground. He is ignored. 

“But it was Austin who made Frollo run into the wall, so…” Michela says. “Austin?”

The five of them turn to Austin, who’s busy practicing karate moves on the dirt a few feet away. When he notices everyone staring, he shrugs. “Easy one, baby. Team Mojo!”

---

AUSTIN: "No, I don't need the money, baby- but a free two-star trip around the world? Parties and birds in the four corners of the globe? Sign me up, baby!"

---

The five sigh. “I don’t know what else I was expecting,” Michela murmurs. 

A few feet away, Ass and Julia watch the discussion, the former shaking their head before turning back to Mal. “You better choose something good,”

“I still think it should be Team Amazon, as a callback,” Courtney says, raising a finger and looking at Joner. “I mean, we have a very similar demographic.”

“Nuh-uh,” Mal puts her hands on her hips. “I already chose the name. Team Yaoi!”

The other teammates groan and give pained expressions to each other. Ass palms their forehead.

“Okay, so after a democratic vote, we’ll have our answer,” Scruffy says. “All in favor of Phillip’s submission?”

Phillip crosses his arms. “You have to say the full thing,”

“Okay, fine- all in favor of The Bleeding Hearts Against Social Justice Warriors?”

Phillip enthusiastically raises a hand, earning blank stares from everyone else. When he realizes his hand is alone, he sighs and starts digging another hole to bury himself in. 

“All in favor of Max’s submission- Team... uh, Psychological Torture?”

Not even Max raises his hand. Scruffy sighs. “Okay, Bonnie’s- Team I Want to go Home?”

Bonnie picks at their nails. 

“Okay, Staci’s- all in favor of Team Friendship?”

Staci and Kelly enthusiastically wave their hands and squeal, sweeping the majority vote. Scruffy bangs an invisible gavel and grins. “Team Friendship it is!”

Max turns to Bonnie. “We probably should’ve had a plan to prevent this,”

“Tell me about it,” they sigh. 

“Alright, campers! Team Yaoi, Team Mojo, and Team Friendship!” Chris says, barely holding back a laugh. “Now that you’ve been paired up, it’s time for your penultimate challenge- that’s right, we’re going hiking- on an active volcano!”

The teens gasp as Chris chuckles to himself. “Unlike the original World Tour, you aren’t getting any advantages- your only goal is to not be the schmucks to get last place. All will be explained- NEXT TIME! On Total Takes: World Tour!”