#no idea how to call this hill but i will die on it

[anythinggoesbutme]

Downhill Into You

Nash Hawthorne x Libby Grambs

Warnings: Fluff, light physical comedy (minor falls), mutual pining, excessive Hawthorne sibling chaos, slow-burn romance, secondhand embarrassment via Max and Jameson. No major triggers.

Synopsis:While on a winter trip to True North Lodge, Libby lets Nash teach her how to ski. She’s clumsy, he’s charming, and when she falls—straight into him—it sparks more than just laughter. With the Hawthornes causing mayhem in the background, Libby and Nash find themselves inching closer… one awkward wipeout at a time.

Word Count: 1,165

The snow at True North Lodge was the kind that sparkled like magic—soft, powdery, fresh. Libby had admired it from the giant lodge windows for the last two days while wrapped in a blanket beside Max, sipping hot cocoa and watching the Hawthorne brothers risk their lives on skis.

Xander had built a ramp out of snow and was trying to launch himself over a tree stump. Grayson was gliding down steep terrain like a man in a cologne commercial. Jameson? He kept throwing himself off the steepest paths and yelling “I’m one with the mountain!” as Avery shouted after him to please not die today.

So yeah, skiing had seemed like a spectator sport.

But now here she was: on the slope, skis strapped to her boots, staring down a hill that was technically for beginners but looked steep enough to qualify as a death wish.

“I’m gonna die,” she said, tightening her scarf.

“You ain’t gonna die,” Nash replied, amusement curling in his voice. “This hill’s for kids.”

“Exactly. Kids have flexible bones.”

Nash laughed—really laughed, the sound curling warm through the cold. He was so easygoing it was almost infuriating.

Nash, in a gray thermal and navy ski jacket, looked like the embodiment of winter comfort. He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat—too windy, he claimed—but somehow, even with ski goggles pushed up on his head, beanie low on his brow, his cheeks red from the cold he still looked exactly like himself: calm, capable, and completely unfazed by the idea of flinging himself down a mountain.

Libby, meanwhile, was trying not to cry.

“You remember the pizza thing?” he asked.

“Pointy skis in front, wide in back. Yes. The tragic triangle of shame.”

He grinned. “That’s the one. Keep your weight centered, bend your knees a bit. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Libby muttered. “You were born on a horse and probably skied out of the womb.”

Nash chuckled. “I was raised with a view of the slopes. Me and the boys used to sled down the back pasture when it iced over. Broke my arm once, but I landed on Jameson, so really, he broke it for me.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look. “You guys are a danger to yourselves.”

“That’s what Grayson says. Usually right before joining in.”

Libby turned to glance uphill. She could see Max and Avery up on the balcony of the lodge, wrapped in blankets, cheering—or maybe laughing, she couldn’t tell. Xander was building what appeared to be a snow rollercoaster and narrating it like a science documentary. Farther down the slope, Grayson was skiing backwards with all the grace of a movie spy, while Jameson was making snow angels mid-slope, yelling something about “becoming one with nature.”

And here she was, about to die on a beginner run.

“I don’t know about this,” she said, peering down the hill. “I’m not exactly… coordinated.”

“You’re braver than you think,” Nash said, tone shifting gently. “You’ve faced worse than this, Libby. And if you fall, I’ll be there to catch you.”

She glanced up at him. That grin again, small and sure. He believed in her. She didn’t know why, but he did. And maybe—maybe she wanted to believe in her, too.

“Okay,” she said, heart thudding. “Here goes.”

She pushed off.

At first, it felt manageable. She was moving! Actually skiing! Her knees wobbled, but she kept her balance, skis in their sad little pizza shape. Nash skied just ahead of her, looking back to coach her through each turn.

“You’re doin’ it!” he called.

“I am, aren’t I?” she yelled back, laughing.

Then her left ski caught on something—a patch of ice maybe—and her center of gravity shifted.

“Oh no—oh no no no—”

She didn’t fall away from him. She fell toward him.

Nash barely had time to react before she collided with him. They both went down in a tangle of limbs and skis, landing in a soft drift of snow, her on top of him.

“Oof,” Nash grunted, but he was already laughing.

Libby blinked down at him, stunned, her hands pressed against his chest. His beanie was crooked, his goggles half hanging off his face, and snow was sprinkled across his beard and lashes like powdered sugar.

“I crushed you,” she gasped.

“I’ve had worse landin’’,” he said, still breathless. “Though this one’s definitely the warmest.”

She let out a stunned laugh, cheeks burning. “I can’t believe I tackled you.”

“You didn’t tackle me. You… gently body-slammed me.” He grinned. “Real graceful.”

Libby groaned and flopped onto her back beside him in the snow, staring up at the sky. “This is humiliating.”

“This is skiing’,” he said. “I’ve wiped out worse just trying to race Grayson. Once landed in a snowdrift and didn’t find my ski for two hours.”

She turned her head. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“I am making you feel better. See? You’re laughing.”

She was. And she hated that he was right.

A moment later, Nash propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her.

“You alright?”

“I think so. My pride is bruised, but nothing else.”

He offered his hand, and she took it, letting him help her up. They stood close together, snow clinging to their coats, skis still attached, arms brushing. Nash’s hand lingered at the small of her back a moment too long before letting go.

From up the hill, Jameson’s voice echoed: “Hey, did Libby just crash into Nash?”

“I told you!” Xander shouted from the lodge balcony. “They’re falling for each other—literally!”

Libby groaned and buried her face in her gloves. “Please bury me in the snow and let the mountain take me.”

Nash just laughed. “Ignore ‘em. You did good, Sunshine.”

She peeked up at him. “You call everyone that?”

“Nope.” He winked. “Just you.”

Her heart did something stupid and warm.

Back uphill, Avery waved from her blanket cocoon. Max was filming them and making exaggerated swooning noises.

“Tell me that’s not going on the group chat,” Libby called.

Max grinned. “Too late! Caption: ‘The moment she fell for him.’”

“You’re all evil,” Libby muttered.

Nash adjusted her scarf gently, fingers brushing her jaw. “Ignore the peanut gallery. Wanna give it another go?”

She stared at the slope. It still looked steep. Still looked like a bad idea. But then she looked at him.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s try again.”

This time, he stayed right beside her, their skis gliding in sync. He talked her through each curve, each shift in weight, each gentle stop. She fell once more—into the snow this time, not into him—but he was there before she even had time to flinch, holding out his hand with that easy, warm smile.

And as they stood there, snow dusting their shoulders, Libby realized something:

It didn’t matter how many times she fell.

Not when she had Nash Hawthorne beside her—steady, kind, and just maybe… waiting to fall, too.

[veikkoalen]

the inability of the fandom to find a balance between diminishing the role of the human willpower and diminishing the capabilities of extradimensional gods strikes again

[thepromisedbride]

i don’t talk about bridgerton on here but just to clarify. i will not be having ANY eloise hate on this account. i will bite.

[striife]

Old news by now, but I forgot to ever comment on this and I remembered I wanted to, since it's about me.

I think it's funny that following someone and reading their posts can be referred to as "creepy" simply because I was critical of them.

I also made it pretty clear how exactly their "inquiry of even a small thing" was harmful, and it's wild to justify disrespecting creators because they are old enough not to cry about it. but whatever, that's not what this post is about.

This post is about who I am. Hilariously, they claim to have received intelligence from the tumblr spy network that this is a new blog. Good job, Sherlock. You've cracked that case. But I will defend my honor to the point that I don't care enough about them specifically to go through the effort of creating new blogs just for them.

Contrary to their belief, they are not the "threat" they called themselves 💀. They are just one of the louder tar pits on this site who have shitty opinions, and I made this blog recently for the purpose of DA Fandom content, meta posts and the court of my own personal public opinion for those tar pits. All of them.

So, for the spies that don't exist, and the record:

Hello, my name is Jack. This is a side blog because my main is drama-free and my followers have come to expect that from my content. I don't want to disrupt their peace with my inexhaustible drive to let people know how terrible their opinions are.

So, if you just want peace in your life, this isn't the Fandom blog for you. But if you want to see pretty edits, beautiful art, meaningful meta, and reasonable takes on discourse for once in this godforsaken place, then I'm your man.

[foldingfittedsheets]

When deciding who to work for there is a sliding scale of employers that goes from lil mom and pop shops up to corporate monoliths. I have worked at both ends of the spectrum and I can pretty definitively say that tiny businesses are hands down the most insane employers.

The sweet spot is a place that has like 10-20 stores; that’s the best possible work environment. They’ll be polished enough to have protocols that make work structured, but not so bogged down with bureaucracy that nothing can ever get done.

This story is not from that sweet spot. This story is from my time working at Oil and Vinegar. Now, like many little franchise stores, the idea was solid. There was on tap imported olive oil and vinegar and it was really delicious. Top shelf. Unfortunately, each location was like the Wild West because owners varied wildly.

My owner was the human embodiment of Mr. Krabbs. His eyes were just constant dollar signs. Throughout my training he informed me of the price of every single piece of equipment I touched and how much it cost to replace it.

He had cameras set up to watch us, and an app on his phone to access the live feed. He’d call us to ask what we were doing when he’d just checked a camera to make sure we were being honest.

Now, the trouble was he had two locations. His location further south did amazing. It was way more centrally located and got three times the foot traffic. The one I worked in was in the snottiest mall possible in Arizona and consequently the rent was through the roof.

It was not going well for my store. We didn’t get as much traffic, so there was only so much I could do in a day. I could dust, sweep, and wait for customers. I read a lot and was frank when he called to interrogate me. I always asked for additional tasks but he never had any. What could I do to prop up a failing business?

But this man was convinced there was some Secret Reason that the store I was in was doing worse. He crunched numbers, looked at staff, and eventually hit upon the most insane possible solution.

We used too much toilet paper.

We were probably stealing toilet paper! Bleeding him dry one single ply square at a time! How dare we need to use the bathroom?! His south location used half as much toilet paper as we did, we must be thieving little monsters!!!!

Friends. The south location was populated entirely by men. My location had three people on staff who had to sit to pee. It was so blindly transparently the source of the discrepancy but this man was convinced we were making off with toilet paper to bankrupt him.

So he implemented what he believed to be an entirely reasonable response to this base treachery. We were allowed to have one roll of toilet paper. At any given time, one roll was permitted to us. This was so transparently unhinged that we protested but he insisted. If we were low on toilet paper we needed to call him to drop off a roll that he brought from his home. Smiling jovially, he assured us he lived so close by that it would be no problem!

When we needed to call him often for more he started tearing his hair out. What were we using toilet paper for?! Why wasn’t his genius plan to stop our scandalous waste working??!

Finally, the manager, the only man on staff had to pull the owner aside and be like, “Look, man, their bladders are smaller. They need to wipe every time they pee. They need to pee even more on their period. Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Yes. It was. The manager was fired unrelated reasons and denounced as a traitor. The toilet paper ration lasted until I quit and probably until the store closed six months later.

[bootycallin]

bush enthusiast vi… mhm mhm 🫡 cw: nsfw utc. wlw. swearing. cunnilingus. pet names (cupcake, babe, etc.). unshaven reader if u couldn’t tell. this woman’s a munch and i’m dying on that hill. not proofread.

to say vi was surprised was an understatement.

inside, she was almost distraught. first you were making out on your couch, then her hand slipped under your shirt and that’s when it started to get heated. she was kissing down the valley of your breasts, feeling you up, all the way down to your stomach and right before she could reach her heaven between your legs—

“vi, wait,” you stopped her. your hand, previously cradling the back of her head, grasped slightly at her hair, tugging ever so slightly at the strands.

she looks up at you with the most confused gaze. you’ve never stopped her from going down on you before. had she gone too quick? had she made you uncomfortable, hurt you? there were a million questions running through her head. but, only one came out.

“what’s wrong, cupcake?” she asked, palms pressing into your thighs. she was in between your legs, calves thrown over her broad shoulders. she never tried to deny it was her favorite position. she could die with a smile if it meant being buried between your legs.

“you… don’t want me to…?” her breath was right on your pelvis as she looked up at you, almost like a confused puppy. “i mean, not gonna make you, you just— never say no, yknow?”

“i know, i—“ you blush a bit at being called out like that. she wasn’t lying, you never said no to her eating you out. not her fault her tongue game was diabolical, to say the least.

“it’s just…” you paused, caressing the back of her head slightly as you wonder how to phrase it, unsure of how she would react. until you said to hell with it… you’ve been dating for long enough. surely she would understand, right?

“i haven’t shaved,” you whispered, almost so quiet she couldn’t hear it.

she blinks up at you a few times, the silence stretching out between you. you can’t look at her, embarrassment growing.

“so-“

“so what?”

she cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, squeezing your thighs a little tighter.

“you think i care about that, babe?” she chuckled. it wasn’t a mocking sound, but it was genuinely amused. like the mere idea of her not pleasuring you because you haven’t shaved was ridiculous. because, to be fair, it was.

“come on. i spent years in prison. you think i shaved back then?” she hooked a thumb under the hem of your underwear, not letting you protest as she shuffles your thighs a bit so she can pull them off and be met with your already wet cunt—just waiting for her. she kisses your clit, open-mouthed and messy and needy. her nose is pressed against the hair you tried to hide, shamelessly, as she licks a long stripe from your swollen nub and down your slit, briefly licking your slick entrance. she pulls away only for a second, just to speak, breath hot against your exposed cunt:

“you’re fuckin’ crazy if you think a little hair’s gonna stop me from eating this pretty fucking pussy.”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[rottingghosty]

Child of Time | DC X DP

Thanks for almost 100 followers LMAO originally I had a gala idea for when I hit 50 followers and then I disliked it so here's this instead. it's not up to my standards but what can i do when i'm on like 2 hours of sleep. (_　_)。゜zｚＺ

i like the idea of constantine being absolutely disgusting to look and feel to danny

☁️☁️☁️☁️

“I know what Clockwork really wants, he wants to me to kill my motherfucking self. That’s why he fucks with me. That’s why he gave me a fucked up ass life!” Danny shouted as he closed the flap of his tent to give himself a semblance of privacy because he’d been kidnapped by a cult who said that he’d be their priest because he’s the child of Time.

The only time that he knows is the time when he fucking decks Clockwork next time he sees the old bastard.

“But jokes on him, I ain’t going to give that motherfucker the satisfaction.”

Danny took off the cloak that the cultists forced him into and threw it on the chair in his tent, his head throbbed and it reminded him of the fact he’s had that headache for a while now. It’s probably because he hadn’t gone ghost like he usually does, he didn’t want to risk it when these cultists were keeping an eye on him. It really annoyed him.

He took a deep breath as he calmed himself, well calmed himself as good as he could when he has very much unregistered anger issues because he had been in the middle of a project when he had been taken. If he came back to the room ransacked because the Bat brood couldn't keep things clean he's going to fucking snap.

He was a teenage vigilante, he was bound to get anger issues later considering the fact that the GIW was still around and even Danny couldn't go as ghost as often as he wished and was only lucky when Gotham's abiment ecto was high enough to mask it.

The height of his anger was when one John Constantine walked into Danny's life and instantly it was on sight whenever the two interacted because John's soul was DISGUSTING and he'd die (again) on that hill. Especially when the man summoned Danny one time and Danny still gets sick whenever he thinks about the missing parts of John's soul in his magic, of the gaps that dig their claws in Danny's very being. How it felt like he was digging through sludge that dragged him down everytime.

The menace of Danny's major problems walked in, instantly Danny's nose crinkled in disgust at the smell of cigarettes as he tuck a strand behind his ear.

"John?"

"Kid, you need to stop allowing this to happen. I didn't need Wonder Woman on my arse because your ghostly father was pestering her about you being taken."

Danny supressed the urge to laugh rather hysterically because he doesn't need people to remind him that Clockwork is basically his dad in the ghost aspect of things because he basically called dibs.

"Why didn't you leave?"

"Got taken as human, in front of many people. In Gotham. Tell your batty paramour I'm fine."

John choked on his cigarette as he protested about Batman being his paramour but Danny knew that they were AT LEAST tumbling in bed because why else did Danny have the attention of the Bat Brood and it WASN'T because he was prime adoption bait no matter what his classmates said. Nor was it the fact that he accidentally punched Red Hood one time because the revnant decided to sneak up on him one day when he was walking home. Didn't even hear what the man said, just fucking bolted.

"Let's just go, you little brat. I can't believe I let your sister talk me into being your knight." John mumbled as Danny stood next to John while the man grabbed the back of Danny's shirt like he was-

"Are you fucking scruffing me?"

“Have been for the past few years mate.”

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

[grimeshound]

HWANG INHO NSFW HCS …

cw: 18+, age gap, daddy kink (inho being fatherly …), intox kink, somno, dirty talk, general filth.

a/n: i’m so sorry this came out way too long & messy ,, long & messy…?!?! , may have some typos. i was writing an inho fic but while writing & coming up with possible ideas, i may have gone a little overboard with the hcs… whoops. anyways head full of inho

—-

• has mastered the art of juggling praising and degrading down to a T. when he has you pinned down fucking you stupid, expect to be hearing the filthiest remarks against your ear.

“that’s my pretty girl, so fucking dirty.”

“just a dumb little fleshlight for me to fill, hmm? so, so good. all for me.”

• he calls you his baby, his sweet girl, his angel, & of course, sweetheart.

• possessive is inho’s middle name. but really, is this shocking news?

• inho never would’ve thought himself to have a daddy kink. not like he wasn’t open to the idea, moreso he never thought he’d get the chance to try it. but ever since you came into his life, you gave him the perfect opportunity.

• he took notice of how much his fatherly nature had you wrapped around his finger. you couldn’t help it, really. the way he’s so protective of you, so patient and caring. the day he called himself daddy in bed, you came so hard you could’ve sworn you were on the brink of blacking out.

“my pretty girl just needed daddy to fuck her right, huh? it’s okay, baby. i’ve got you.” he’d murmur, low groans escaping past parted lips as his thrusts turn sloppier, more frantic and messy at the sound of your moans.

• forced intox kink … i will die on this hill. something about seeing you all dumb & drunk, mind clouded after taking a swig of alcohol gets him hot and bothered.

• somnophiliac. he’ll try his best to be gentle at first to not wake you up, but he can’t help getting lost in the pleasure, pounding himself deeper and deeper until your eyes flutter open.

• the times he uses your mouth, you’re woken up by the sensation of being choked, your airway getting tighter and tighter. tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you frantically grip onto him, gasping for air. he’ll just shush you, hands still pressed firmly against both sides of your head as he fucks your throat.

“shh, it’s okay, baby. s’just daddy… go back to bed, angel.”

• on the topic of choking, inho can’t get enough of it. wrapping his hand around your neck during sex, the choked moans that come from you never fails to make his cock twitch. it drives him up a wall.

• he’d never say it outright, but your age gap makes him so fucking hard. just talking about it with him could serve as foreplay, really. he tries to be sneaky with it, mentioning it in passing.

• he mentions how his age is getting to him, or how young and pretty you are, how he’s “practically old enough to be your father,”. you’d say it’s sick, the only problem being you find it equally as hot.

• for someone of his age, he fucks like a madman. you may be the younger one, but sometimes you find yourself huffing trying to keep up with him. he does most of the work, tells you to just “sit pretty and take it.”, but the times when he’s all tired out and still hard? he’ll lay back on the bed, dark eyes fixed on you as he motions for you to ride him. “get yourself off on daddy’s cock, pretty girl.”

and really, how could you turn that offer down?

[anifever]

Gang w/ a Sandy!Reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The Outsiders x Fem!Reader

୨୧ : HC’s of the gang with a reader who’s like Sandy Olsson from Grease

A/N : This doesn’t mean specifically being Australian, blonde, white, blah blah- just her personality and stuff 😭 anyways I watch grease at least once a month

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🎙️ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Darry

୨ He thinks you’re precious

୨ Probably not the type of person he thought he’d end up with, but he doesn’t care

୨ On the contrary, could’ve been a high school sweetheart situation where he played football and you did cheer teehee

୨ Anyways, no matter when he first met you happened to be, he was mainly worried about how you’d handle the boys LMAO

୨ Tells the guys off whenever they tease you about something

୨ You kind of remind him of his mom which is comforting (not in a weird way, go away Sigmund Freud)

୨ That being said, you become somewhat of a mother figure over the group

୨ Ponyboy looks up to you a lot, Johnny loves how nice you are, and Soda thinks talking to you is refreshing

୨ Overall, he’s happy that you also bring them so much comfort

୨ Him wearing a light blue button-up shirt to match one of your lil’ pastel blue dresses 😋😋

୨ Fussing when they all come back from a rumble- you would’ve been extremely against the idea in the first place

୨ Getting sick when you see the blood all over him

୨ Him assuring you he’s fine but still freaking out, but you take a breather and try to help clean him up nonetheless

୨ You’re really good at helping him relax wether it’s massaging his shoulders or cracking a joke to try and lighten the mood

୨ He’s overall really protective over you

୨ If you ever asked to go watch a rumble, which would be unrealistic anyways, he’d immediately refuse and die on that hill

୨ He also really likes that you’re still able to stand your ground and speak your mind

୨ He ALSO likes that you have manners, it’s the bare minimum but it makes him love you more

Two-Bit

୨ Says the NASTIEST stuff to you just to see your reactions

୨ Has definitely pulled the thing he did with Marcia where he playfully offers her tobacco

୨ You were at a party either he or your friend dragged you along to or something and he offered to get you a beer but you said you didn’t drink

୨ He then offered you a cig and you hastily declined and he was just like “You’re real pure, ain’t ya baby?”

୨ Some clip of Elvis performing came on the TV once and you got all flustered/uncomfortable and he got giggly about it

୨ Anyways, his little sister thinks you’re an angel

୨ She’s always talking about your perfectly styled hair, painted nails, pretty outfits, etc

୨ He responds pretty coolly when she does it with a lil’ grin, but he’s so proud of himself on the inside

୨ Imagine having tea parties with her and him just watching from the doorway with a lovey dovey smile ARGGAHAHAGAG

୨ If someone dares to call you stuff like “wet blanket” or a “goody goody” he will be coming for them HARD

୨ The insults would be so creative

୨ He’s probably convinced you to drink just once and you threw up immediately after

୨ Never again.

Steve

୨ Absolutely thought you were a prude at first

୨ Even after he got to know you better, he still teased you about it

୨ One-sided enemies to lovers 😇😇

୨ You coming into the DX and him just mumbling under his breath while Soda rings you up

୨ Then proceeds to gossip about you after you leave; not without you giving them both a big smile and filling the tip jar first

୨ “Ain’t ever seen a girl that cheery. She apparently hasn’t even kissed anybody, y’know that? 🙄” and Soda’s just like “Man, who cares..”

୨ Soda slowly notices how much he talks about you and realizes what’s happening

୨ He brought it up and Steve was like “NUH-UH”

୨ Even with that, it was extremely obvious

୨ He constantly stares at you whenever you come into the store, he sees you at school, or just anywhere in general

୨ Anyways yada yada he finally asked you out after some subtle flirting that slowly became more obvious

୨ EVERYBODY is surprised

୨ An innocent, friendly soc with a greaser mechanic who does backflips off of cars; not a common pairing

୨ If you ever happened to swear ONCE, he’d have a field day

୨ A “damn,” “hell,” or “shit” slips out and it’s like someone died- he’ll never let it go

୨ He’s the type to tease you then get pissed when someone else joins in

୨ He’s “Only I’m allowed to do that” in the flesh

Dallas

୨ Caught off guard at first

୨ Deadass didn’t believe anyone could be as big of a goody-two-shoes as you are

୨ Fs teases you but you slowly grow on him- he sees the innocence as a challenge (not surprising)

୨ Found out you didn’t even have pierced ears and was like ?????

୨ Dare I say he’s a Kenickie variant

୨ Then again, the scene where Danny’s like “I don’t do parents” when Sandy asks him to come over is so him too

୨ Knocked on your window in the middle of the night and saw your nightgown and started chuckling about it, and you then proceeded to try and shut him up because you were horrified of your parents hearing him

୨ Going to Buck’s with him and either staying in his room or just sitting uncomfortably in a corner

୨ You might watch a pool game but all the smoke and alcohol would overwhelm you

୨ Unfortunately, he’s the type to pull the thing Danny did at the drive in, in which you’d ofc react the same way Sandy did

୨ You calling Buck’s car a “sin wagon” would be so accurate

୨ He tries to make it up to you by showing up to your front door (much to your parents dismay..) and giving you his Christopher again along with some flowers that he definitely didn’t pick from some rando’s garden

୨ I’m lying. He did.

୨ He also takes you on a real date afterwards, which is saying something

୨ Like Steve, he’s also the type of person to get mad when another person thinks they can make fun of you

୨ You’re so understanding and forgiving that he’s kinda confused a lot of the time LMAO

୨ Luckily for him, your good reputation probably gets him out of a lot of trouble

Soda

୨ Oh my god he’s so nice about it

୨ He’s head over heels

୨ Obviously he goofs off with the boys, but he’s overall the nicest/most open minded

୨ You two are so smiley all the time and it makes everyone SICK

୨ Gets a kick out of you not understanding sexual jokes or innuendos

୨ You guys look so good together it’s insane

୨ You’re so calming compared to the stress of being in between Darry and Pony’s arguments constantly

୨ He also loves how bubbly and kind you are to everyone because of it

୨ Going to drag races with him simply because he likes them and you like seeing him happy (the scene where Sandy watches Danny race reference⁉️)

୨ He is not the brightest in the head but you’re extremely patient with him

୨ He’s also extremely protective over you

୨ Like imagine you’re visiting him at the DX and some other soc’s come by and start teasing you to his face when you head inside for a second

୨ He proceeds to get one of the hoses off the pump and start spraying them with gas 😋🤍

୨ Before they can get out, he just keeps spraying them in the face or something which makes them drive away

୨ He just laughs to himself and puts the nozzle up as you come back outside and you’re like “???? Babe what happened?” when you see the trail of gas and all he replies with is “Nothing sweetheart!! 🤗”

୨ He knows Steve’s gonna complain about having to help clean up the mess later but it was worth it to him

Johnny

୨ Probably the most chill with it??

୨ He thinks it’s sweet

୨ Also thinks you’re somewhat of a breath of fresh air from the guys, along with soc’s in general too

୨ Definitely thought it was kinda odd you didn’t drink or smoke or anything, but thought it was nice to meet someone who didn’t for a change

୨ You guys take walks through town from time to time and it’s a huge contrast

୨ A denim-clad boy covered in a bunch scars with a preppy looking girl who radiates happiness

୨ You help him get a better outlook on life with how positive you are

୨ Loveslovesloves all the pastel clothes you wear

୨ When he met you for the first time he couldn’t believe how nice you were

୨ Watching a movie either at the drive-in or Curtis house and some form of nude scene coming on, you covering your eyes, and him just grinning at your reaction

୨ Doesn’t hesitate to talk back to Dallas if he says something bad about you

୨ You never try to force him out of his comfort zone or anything and he appreciates that

୨ He said something about “a weed” to Dal and you had no clue what they meant

୨ “Hey Dal, you got a weed?”

୨ “Huh?”

୨ “Uh, I asked if he had a weed.”

୨ “..A what? What’s that mean?”

୨ Dallas chimes in from the bg and is like “Yo.. Johnny, man, is she kiddin’?”

Pony

୨ The main problem he has with it is the fact you don’t smoke and don’t like it in general

୨ He def tries to cut down for you/at least not do it in front of you though

୨ Started when he lit a cigarette while you guys were walking together and you started coughing like a maniac while he was just like 🤨

୨ Since he’s the youngest out of them all, he isn’t super used to hanging out with girls so it doesn’t phase him

୨ He thinks it’s different than most people for sure, but he knows what it’s like to feel that way so he relates

୨ He admires how nice you are to everybody

୨ Especially to greasers

୨ You’re so soft-spoken that it makes him giggle and kick his feet sometimes

୨ You’re a good student so you probably help him with work a lot

୨ Steve probably said something mean about you once and he got all sassy and made a remark to him

୨ “Heard you’re dating some priss now, ‘s that right, Pone?” and he’s like “Why don’t you go stick you and your big nose in someone else’s business if it’s that important?”

୨ Safe to say Steve kept his thoughts on you to himself after that

୨ Another one who thinks the way you dress (and look in general) is gorgeous, he’s left gobsmacked every time he sees you

୨ He’s always admiring you and has probably drawn you at least once

୨ His sass sometimes comes out on you when you don’t know something, but it’s jokingly

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[traflawgar]

Hello! I have no idea if your inbox is open (I looked over the pinned post twice and it says nothing about it being open or closed so I’m just assuming it’s open) but could I please ask for hcs of law finding out his crewmate/crush can’t die after watching her take a bullet to the heart and die momentarily in front of him, only for her to just sit up again like “guh! Did I die again?!” And law just freaks out more cause he thought she was just a good sharp shooter, what you mean you can’t die?!! (If it’s too confusing just think of her having Deadpool’s powers, she can self heal too fast to actually stay dead)

Law x reader. ANGST.

TAGS: death but like not really, Law thinks reader died. blood, I guess?

divider by @/uzmacchiato.

NOTES--I want to say I really liked this request. I'm not sure if the result is exactly what you had in mind, but I really like how it turned out. Though I'm not sure if this qualifies as headcanons anymore lmao.

Law is no stranger to dreams—or, rather, nightmares— of you dying. He has spent countless nights tossing and turning, devising different ways to save you right before a fatal wound. Just to ease his mind and heart. On his worst nights, he’d be damned to losing you over and over again in his mind.

The scene unfolding in front of him feels so familiar that it takes him a second to react.

It’s a second too late. Enough for the bullet to pierce through you.

His hands mirror yours as they come up to hold his chest, as if he, too, has been hit. The ache spreading through his body almost convinces him he has. The blood leaking through your fingers—yours, not his. yours—brings him back. His body stumbles to reach you as you fall to the ground. His knees give out before he’s even by your side.

“Fuck, not a–” Your words go unheard. 

Crawling to you, Law opens his mouth to call your name. He’s not sure if any sound comes out—the blood rushing in his ears has swallowed every noise in the battlefield—but your head turns to him nevertheless. Glossy eyes find his. The shadow of a smile crosses your lips. Your hand reaches out. Bloodstained and trembling, it falls onto his lap.

You’re gone in an instant.

And all he can do is stare down at your face.

This is not how it’s supposed to happen.

Law’s hand shoots up to his mouth. It’s trembling. He can’t stop the trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

Wide eyes, unable to shed tears, search your face.

How could he have frozen when you needed him most?

Desperate, he gasps for air. His throat feels tight, his own body punishing him for letting this happen.

He was supposed to–

“That fucking asshole! This was my favorite shirt!”

Law blinks once, then twice. Grounds the hill of his hands against his eyes. For a second, he wonders if he’s finally gone mad. He has to have. He saw you die in front of him. He knows he did. And yet… the fog of death is gone from your eyes, replaced by the gleam he’s grown used to. And you’re complaining about something he can’t hear, something probably stupid.

You blink and look up. Alarm crosses your face as you take in the devastation in his. The flurry of words is out before you realize he’s not listening.

His hand hasn’t stopped trembling. It leaves his face and reaches out to you. Trembling fingers grip your shirt. Law pulls you in, wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly against his chest. It’s only then that tears begin pouring from his eyes. All at once, the rush in his ears is gone, and the sounds around him return full force. Your voice might as well have been an angel's calling, with how heavenly it sounded.

Once he manages to calm down, he uses his devil fruit powers to take you both to a quieter and safer place. Still, he doesn’t let go of you—probably won’t for a while—as he demands an explanation for the heartache he has just endured.

“I ate the Life Life Fruit, and now I sorta can’t die.” You begin. Law looks down at you expectantly. You are not getting off the hook so easily. “Basically, my body can self-heal almost any wound really fast. I’m not sure how it works exactly, but my best guess is that my brain and body redirect all energy to healing the wound… which would explain why I seem dead for a minute.”

You’re silent for a while. Law’s voice cracks when he finally speaks up, the sound breaks your heart. You’ve never seen your captain so vulnerable.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before.”

He nods curtly. He wants to glare at you, pulls you closer instead.

You wonder if he’ll ever let go, and hope he never will.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Now I have to ask- WHY do you hate Pacific Rim?

Okay, fair warning, this is about as bitter and salty and small-minded as day-old caviar. But. My bitter, salty (probably fishy) opinion:

Pacific Rim is only a good movie because it's a well-written story about robots punching monsters.

That's it. That's all there is to the movie.

I started out merely disappointed by Pacific Rim. We went gaga for the preview materials that promised these unique well-rounded character pairs and trios with these idiosyncratic robots from all these different Pacific nations... And then the movie itself is about some bland white American guy who pilots a robot named a racial slur, the second most fleshed-out team is bland white Australian guys, and the Chinese team is there, kind of, in the background, but don't worry they're going to die first. The "character-driven story" turned out to be "various characters take turns punching aliens" but, sure, whatever, I love the MCU so why not.

The day I went from "Pacific Rim is overrated" to "Pacific Rim is the worst thing that has ever happened to human civilization, I'm extremely normal about this" was the day I saw a Tumblr post suggesting we replace the Bechdel test with the Mako Mori test. Because Mako Mori has her own plot and doesn't kiss North Carolina at the end, making her a whole new type of feminist icon.

To which I was like:

We are talking about the same movie here, right? The Pacific Rim that can't even pass the Bechdel test? The Pacific Rim that's all about might-makes-right, the Pacific Rim that has ONE speaking role for ONE female character in its (from IMDB) 50-person cast? The Pacific Rim that repeatedly puts its only female character in danger and has her rescued by first Idris Elba then North Carolina? THAT Pacific Rim?

Is there a different Mako Mori I haven't met? Because the one I've seen a) has a character arc driven by deciding whether to obey her father or follow her heart, which is as inoffensive and stale as an unblessed communion wafer, b) does nothing that Ellen Ripley didn't do 30 years earlier, but with about 5% of the character depth Ripley got, and c) stands there in silence looking sad as two men punch each other over the question of her virtue.

Any post assuming this movie invented the idea of "small Asian woman kicks monster ass" needs to learn its damn history. Especially the ones acting like her being physically small is somehow a feminist bonus. There's something embarrassingly ahistorical about the whole thing.

And look. I get how we got here. I know how easily Tumblr backs you into a rhetorical corner of "calling a story Good can never mean merely 'enjoyable'; calling a story Good must mean 'virtuous'". Until next thing you know you're arguing that actually, shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is a net good for all of society, because gay divorced middle-aged tyrants who use supplemental oxygen and murdered their exes in a custody dispute over the one kid (out of two) they actually care about deserve to see themselves in sci fi too! You only end up in that corner because half the time you're arguing against someone who says that shipping Obi-Wan/Darth Vader is literally the same thing as supporting father-son incest, so your real reasons for shipping them (1. foe yay, 2. old man yaoi) seem wildly insufficient.

Much of what I see about Pacific Rim seems neck-deep in the "it's not allowed to be a Good Movie unless it single-handedly dismantles the patriarchy" fallacy. There's nothing progressive about shipping two dudes best known for chopping off each other's body parts with laser swords. And there's nothing progressive about a movie having its only female character hug the male protagonist at the end instead of kissing him. You're allowed to like a thing just because it's well-made, without acting like a bog-standard normatively-broey action flick somehow invented a new form of feminism. Anyway, "Pacific Rim is a perfectly fine movie" is the hill I will die upon, heretical though it may be.

[thealchemistbae]

Signs as Unpopular Opinions 💭

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

💭: ARIES thinks everyone's too soft. Like sorry you need 12 business days and a TED talk to make a decision. Aries would simply just do it and cause mild chaos but at least something HAPPENED.

💭: TAURUS will literally fight you over the idea that brunch is elite. They want steak at 5pm, in sweats, no social interaction required.

💭: GEMINI believes liking attention doesn't make you fake; it makes you self-aware and marketable. If you can't flirt, gossip, and network all at once, wyd????

💭: CANCER will unironically tell you that cutting people off is an act of radical self-love. You were a bad vibe, Goodbye forever.

💭: LEO is fully convinced that "main character syndrome" was created by side characters who are jealous. If you're not living delusionally like a Leo, wyd.

💭: VIRGO believes being organized is a love language and if you can't alphabetize your own trauma, they literally don't trust you.

💭: LIBRA honestly feels closure is optional. If they leave you on read, consider that the closure.

💭: SCORPIO is like "If I lurk, that's MY hobby. You post your life; I'm just tuning in like it's Netflix."

💭: SAGITTARIUS will scream about how commitment isn't scary. being bored is. They'd rather ghost you than sit through one dry convo.

💭: CAPRICORN will die on the hill that hustle culture is only toxic if you're losing. Winners just call it Tuesday.

💭: AQUARIUS feels deep in their soul that being different is not a personality trait unless you're actually interesting, which they obviously are.

💭: PISCES genuinely believes that staying delulu protects their peace and honestly, they might be onto something.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

[multifandomfanficss]

Don’t Stop My Heart

Tyler Owens x Reader

Prompt: You and Tyler take a road trip up to Iowa to catch some of the last tornadoes of the season, but he takes the teasing a little too far.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of car crashes, swerving, shitty ex boyfriends. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Hello! I didn’t proofread this one as many times as I usually do. I’m coming off a 4 and a half month writers block so I really just wanted to write and post while I was excited to do it. My job has been draining me as of late, so I’m trying to write when I get the impulse. I have so many Tyler ideas and no time to write them. Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

It was still fairly early, the sun was still rising. Last night you’d planned an impromptu trip up north to Iowa. It was about a 7 hour trip from Oklahoma, so you were on the road before 6. You were hoping to get there around noon. You didn’t love getting up that early, but Tyler promised he’d drive you and you could sleep in the truck. Tornado season was pretty much over aside from an isolated storm or two, but Iowa had been having very unusual storm activity all week. Tyler couldn’t resist hitting a couple more tornadoes in late August when the season was supposed to be pretty much over with.

You stayed awake for a little bit. You wanted to watch as you crossed into Missouri.

“Missouri welcomes you.” Tyler reads out loud.

“Yes! Finally!” You giggle.

“I didn’t realize you were such a big fan of Missouri.” Tyler comments.

“Oh, I’m not.” You pause, looking out your window.

“First you’re hypin’ her up, now you’re gonna disappoint her.” He jokes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure Missouri’s fine, but I’m more excited about that.” You point to a Hardee’s down the street.

“Really? We’re crossin’ state lines and you’re gonna make me take you to Hardee’s? You can get Carl’s Jr. anytime you want back home. That’s basically the same thing.” He argues.

“Take that back! You’re just saying that because you’re a Texas boy! You’ve never had the luxury of Hardee’s.” You joke.

“If Carl’s Jr. is better, I’m not letting you pick where we eat for the rest of the trip.” Tyler puts on his turn signal and sighs.

“How is that fair? I’ve never eaten at this location. What if it sucks?” You laugh.

“You picked your Hardee’s hill and now you’re gonna die on it. Now keep your trap closed and tell me what’s good on the menu.” Tyler makes a pretend threatening face towards you as he pulls into the drive thru.

“How am I supposed to not talk and at the same time tell you what’s good?” You tease back.

“Hi welcome to Hardee’s, may I take your order?” The drive thru speaker cuts you off. Tyler shushes you and you giggle.

After getting your food you start unwrapping the straws and putting them in both drinks.

“Whatever score we give this we need to give it extra points to account for how good the curly fries would be if they were serving lunch.” You try to bargain, taking a bite.

“No, you can’t just change the rules after we already got our food, that’s cheating. Just because you’re from the north, doesn’t mean you can cheat me.” He argues. He continues driving, leaving behind the paved roads of the small town.

“You’re acting like I’m Canadian!” You giggle.

“Well, Upper Midwest is basically Canada. There’s literally a town in Iowa called Toronto!” He smirks, taking the last bite of his food, continuing to drive through the middle of nowhere Missouri, back onto the gravel roads through the soybean fields.

“Shut up!” You playfully hit his arm. He jokingly swerves and your stomach flips. You gasp air. “Tyler, knock it off.”

“You’re the one who hit me.” He pleas innocent.

“I didn’t hit you that hard.” You defend.

“I thought you were gonna sleep on the drive.” He says, smirking.

“I might later, I’m not tired.” You answer, falling for his bit. He does a big fake yawn.

“Well if you’re not tired, I might take a little nap.” He lightly swerves again.

“Tyler, this isn’t funny!” You plead.

“What? Oh. Do you mind watching the road? We woke up so early and I’m pretty tired.” He jokes before swerving again. He’s taking the joke way too far. Once was one thing, twice was too much. You start hyperventilating.

“Tyler, STOP!” You yell, tears starting to come to your eyes.

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” He has a concerned look on his face. He knew he had taken it too far.

“It’s not funny.” You cry.

“You’re right, it’s not funny. I would never-a done it if I’d known it would make you feel unsafe. I do it all the time on chases and that don’t seem to bother you. I didn’t realize-“

“That’s different! The roads and the fields when there’s no storms are different! We’re on an actual road! What- what if there were other people?! What if you hit somebody?! What if a sherif saw?!” You say, obviously still panicking. Tyler decides to pull over.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I was way outta line, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no cars or tractors around. We’re safe.” His voice is soft. “Just breathe, Darlin’. Just you and me.” He takes your hand, rubbing small circles in it. “I feel bad. I wanted a reaction outta you, but not like this. I never want you to feel unsafe with me.”

“I know.” You were still struggling to breathe. Tyler places your hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of his breathing. He hopes you can sync yours with his own.

“Take it easy, sweetheart. You’re okay. Feel me breathing? We’re both okay.” He places a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry… it’s not you. When I was in high school I had a crazy ex boyfriend who used to swerve in town just to scare me because he knew I was afraid of car crashes. He almost killed us a couple times, I think. I guess no matter how much time’s passed, dumb high school bullshit still affects me into my adult years.”

“Hey, that’s not okay. It’s not dumb bullshit. It’s trauma.” You lean over the console to be closer to him and he wraps his arms around you. “I would never put you in danger like that for the sake of a joke.” You could tell his blood was boiling on the inside, but he was trying to keep himself calm. He didn’t want to upset you more. He knew this was about you feeling better, not him.

“We gotta get going if we wanna try to make it by 1.” You wipe your tears.

“I don’t care how long we’re pulled over. Hell, we can even turn around if you’re not up to anymore. I don’t care about the chase. I care about you.” He moves your hair out of your face. “I can call the rest of the team and tell them to turn around right now or go without us.”

“What happened to Mr. If You Feel It, Chase It?” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. He looks into your eyes. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him so serious.

“The only feeling that matters is the one I get when I’m with you.“

Tears start creeping up again. These tears aren’t bad, though.

“Tyler, I’m in love with you.” It just slips out, like the easiest confession you’ve ever made in your life. You both knew there was something there, but neither one of you were willing to say it. It had always been heavy flirting, awkward mornings after cuddling in the only bed left at the motel, a drunk kiss or two.

After a moment of staring in silence Tyler kisses you. Everything happened in slow motion, but in truth it was probably just the adrenaline slowing everything down. Tyler wasted no time in kissing you. It was the quickest decision he’s ever made. You don’t know how long the kiss was. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. You’d swear off oxygen for the rest of your life if it meant this moment never had to end. You’d been pinning after your best friend for so long and finally the moment was here.

“I’m so glad you said something because you’re one of the best navigators I know and I really didn’t wanna risk losing you from the team by telling you I was in love with you.” Tyler laughs.

“Is that the only reason you didn’t tell me?” You ask.

“No, I was scared. Losing you from the team would be a bummer, but I couldn’t lose you from my life. We see a lot of loss in this business. Whenever I thought about it, the thing I couldn’t stand to lose most was you.” He runs his fingers through your hair, moving to cup your cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It was nice to finally say it. You’d waited a long time to tell him.

“Let’s get back on the road. This time just don’t stop my heart.” You give a small laugh.

“You’re safe with me.”

“I know. You’re not like those other guys, Ty.”

You hold hands and rest on his other arm as he drives. He’s lucky he’s good at driving with one hand because he’s happy to see about 30 minutes later you’ve finally fallen asleep. Today was going to be a long day, but Tyler knew forcing the team to wake up so early was worth it. He may have had to bribe Boone 20 bucks to drive the other car up with Lily, but at least he didn’t have a third wheel sitting in the back seat. Tyler didn’t get a lot of alone time with you. Now he had 7 hours of it. It was worth it.

[redbayly]

Zutara Shipping is Canon

Let me explain myself.

I was enjoying an afternoon walk (as I mercifully live in a decent area to go for walks to clear my head) and I started thinking about the Ember Island Players episode when it struck me.

Shipping Zutara is canon.

Now, don't get me wrong, this isn't about if Zutara itself is canon or not (it's totally canon and I will die on my hill of willful self-delusion), but about shipping it.

I'm sure most Zutara shippers still get a little thrill whenever we rewatch the show and our majestic bounty-hunter June, captain of the Zutara ship, calls Katara Zuko's girlfriend.

But, as I said, this is about Ember Island Players.

It never truly occurred to me before that, in canon, Zutara shipping is just a thing. Like, an actual, accepted aspect of the world.

When Puon-Tim wrote "The Boy in the Iceberg," he just outright included a Zutara subplot. And as annoyingly melodramatic as it was, it was still there. He even went out of his way to discredit the idea of Katara and Aang being together. And, even though the play is Fire Nation propaganda (which has since confused me since the wiki says that Puon-Tim is from the Earth Kingdom; though that feels like a retcon), it doesn't seem to show a Zutara romance in a negative way.

And it could've gone in that direction. As propaganda, it would have been only too easy to portray Katara as an evil seductress who corrupted Prince Zuko and convinced him to betray his country. But it doesn't. The Zutara scene is embarrassingly saccharine and schmaltzy, but it's not shown as being bad - except for the episode trying to frame it that way because it hurts Aang's feelings.

And, because of how popular the play seems to be, we can reasonably assume that there were audience members who left the theater as die-hard Zutara fans. Even if they were cheering for Zuko's death - because, y'know, Fire Nation - there weren't any boos at the Zutara scene. Like, some of those folks who cheered Zuko's death also probably regarded Zutara as a tragic love story. There were probably even a few who quietly whispered to each other that they hoped Prince Zuko would run off with Katara and have a happy ending instead of fighting for the throne and dying, as shown in the play.

And with how the war actually ended, Zutara shipping probably only got more popular as Zuko started reforming stuff and being an actually stable ruler as opposed to his psycho dad and sister.

So, with this in mind, Puon-Tim is the ultimate Zutara shipper. Zutara shipping is canon.

I don't really know what else to say.

Any thoughts?