#none of them know what is actually going on

[edisacornball]

I hate to say this, because it's a really soul-crushing answer, but there isn't going to be a clear enemy, especially if people are trying to claim that all of a demographic is the enemy. This is an all or none fallacy. If an organization or person is trying to convince you that all the people of one demographic are your enemy, it's a way of creating alienation, isolation, and dehumanization. This is how soliders justify that it's okay to kill "the enemy" in a war.

The enemy isn't an entire demographic. Think of the other times in your life when you've been convinced that an entire demographic thinks or feels or believes in one way. Were there any times you were forced to confront that that wasn't actually the case? Okay, now also think about a time you met a stranger who immediately formed opinions about you just based on traits about you that you have no control over. How did that feel? Were they right and that's actually who you are? Or was it just easier for them to dismiss you that way?

It's hard. It's really, really, really hard. Part of the whole way our brains work is that we're trained to look for patterns and shortcut work whenever we can. Sometimes that means making quick, easy assumptions. But sometimes, we have to take the time, effort, and work to recognize that sometimes we built our pattern recognition from really faulty sources. Like Hollywood. Or a racist upbringing. Sometimes, we grow up not knowing that the ideas around us can really hurt the people around us, and it's really hard to recognize how deeply that can work into our own psyche.

The hard pill to swallow is that other humans are not your enemy. Stop going for the easy answer. It's easy to hate a gender, a race, a religion and say anyone associated with it is the "enemy." Don't be so naive as to believe that the enemy is a tangible being, a supervillain wrapped in an easy package to defeat. The difference between stories and life isn't "reality," it's complexity. Stories are based in truth, absolutely, but a shrunk down and simplified truth, able to fit an entire lifetime inside, what, less than 500 pages? Life is so much more complicated, and that's what people are trying to mean when they say "stories aren't real."

The "enemy" isn't a race, a religion, a nation, an age, or even a gender. It's so much more intangible and insidious than that. Because it's just... belief. Belief that some are better than others. Belief that anyone is deserving of pain. Belief that some people should be prevented from building happy, stable lives. Belief that exists a concept such as a person not doing "enough" with their life. And the hardest part of accepting that as the enemy... is accepting that you're going to see it in yourself a lot. And it's probably actively hurting you.

TL;DR: The enemy is hate.

garden variety conservative transphobia is going to get worse but radical feminism is also going to get worse. if youre a cis women terfs are going to try to recruit you and make you believe that the reason your rights are at stake is because of trans people. they're going to tell you that all men are your violent oppressors and they're going to include trans women in that category. they're gonna tell you about women who are gender traitors and joined the enemy and they're going to point to trans men. don't believe them. trans people are not your enemy, we have no power over you, and we desperately need your support and your solidarity.

be aware of radfem pipelines and dog whistles too. be skeptical of anyone that talks about the divine feminine or correlates birthing, menstruating, or female reproductive organs with womanhood. be especially skeptical of people who use those biological things as reasons to why women are more spiritual, or more in tune with nature, or just that they're better than men (read: anyone they decide is a man)

radical feminism is an expected reactionary outcome from cis women who are being oppressed by conservatives, especially when all they practice is ciscentric, liberal, white feminism. they feel the need to be radicalized but don't have the experience and information to pinpoint the true source of their suffering. trans people are not your enemy, AMAB people are not your enemy, anyone who identifies as a man is not your enemy. we're all being crushed under the same stone

[modanisgf]

— INTRO (END OF THE WORLD) , KIM MINJI

— KIM MINJI AS YOUR GIRLFRIEND !

✎ WARNING(S) — none tbh!!

✎ WORD COUNT — <1k

a/n: hi guys i HATE this but i wanna post smth. im so tired 😭😭💔 divider creds: @/plutism

nwjns masterlist

• MINJI who loves when you take her clothes, she actually giggles whenever she sees you walking around with them on. you once did a live in her hoodie to which she was texting you the entire time about how pretty you looked. (you had to end the live early and go over to her dorm).

“what is minji laughing like that about?” hanni asks, a look of disgust on her face.

“y/n went live in a hoodie of hers.” hyein responds, groaning as she bangs her head on the table.

“she’s been giggling all evening.” haerin says.

“i just wanna watch princess and the frog..” dani says disappointedly, making her members laugh.

• MINJI whose love language is gift giving. she likes to leave little gifts at your apartment while you’re away, always smiling whenever she gets a thank you text hours later from you.

you walked into your apartment after a long day at work, flopping onto your couch when you noticed a small box sitting on your coffee table. the sight made you groan, you knew it was minji again.

she had been giving you so many gifts recently that you didn’t even want to open it. you carefully unwrapped the box (minji insisted on wrapping it even if her wrapping was horrible) and opened it up to find a small journal. inside were tons of polaroid pictures of you and minji, the sight making you smile. there were photos from you first date, and even all the way back to when you met while trainees. it filled you with a sense of nostalgia, picking up your phone to text minji.

• MINJI who loves to kiss your face, whether it’s your forehead or your temple she’ll always make sure to give you a kiss whenever she sees you.

you lay your head on minji’s shoulder as you both watched the sunset, you felt so safe in her presence. minji kept her eyes on you even with the sight in front of her, nothing else could top your beautiful face in her mind. she wanted to kiss you so bad, the temptation getting to her as she gave you a small nudge.

“huh?” you ask, jumping a bit as minji held your chin and gave a small kiss to your forehead.

“sorry, you looked really good..” minji mumbles, making you blush.

you give a small kiss to her forehead as well, the smile on her face making you giggle.

“you’re so cute.”

• MINJI who gets jealous easily, especially seeing you with other idols.

you were currently doing a special performance with sana of twice, the two of you doing a cover of taste by sabrina carpenter. it was a very sudden and laat minute performance, so the look on minji’s face when she saw you on stage with your favorite idol was nothing but jealousy.

she knew it was just a performance and she shouldn’t care, but with the way you talked about sana before you guys got together she couldn’t help but feel jealous. your voices mixed well together as-well, the loud cheers in the audience making minji more annoyed.

minji was taken out of her trance by hanni, the shorter girl giving her older member a glare.

“there’s no way you’re seriously jealous of them right now.” hanni says, suppressing a giggle.

“oh shut up.” minji groans, nudging hanni the side making the younger girl giggle.

“you’re gonna get us on dispatch minji, brighten up.” hanni says to which minji rolls her eyes.

“that girl loves you y’know. sana isn’t gonna scoop her up, she knows about you two.” hanni says, to which minji visibly relaxes at.

“oh.” minji mumbles, she felt stupid.

“got all jealous for nothing.” hanni says, giggling again making minji push her.

“i hate you so much.” minji deadpans, ignoring the way her anger only made hanni laugh more.

• MINJI who loves spending time with you, regardless of your busy schedules.

when you and minji finally got a second to yourself, you chose to watch a movie together. you lay there in minji’s lap, eyes on the tv as she held you close.

the silence was comforting so much that you fell asleep about thirty minutes into the movie, making your girlfriend laugh.

minji ran her hands through your hair once more before relaxing back into the couch, it was a rare occurrence that you two got to spend the night together. she fell asleep only minutes later after you, her hands hugging your sides as she went in a deep sleep.

[userautumn]

Please. Tommys helicopter crashing while him and Buck are still broken up? That would be such great drama.

You know what I want? I want Buck to get mad. He has yet to actually get mad at a love interest. He's been hurt and confused, but I want him to get angry. I want him to go out and fuck like he's getting revenge on Tommy, even though he's the one who got left behind again, and I want him to convince himself he's absolutely fine. Eddie can see it, of course. Bobby and Maddie and all the people who love him can see that he's not fine, but I want Buck to pretend he is like he'll die if he doesn't. He deletes Tommy's name from his contacts and dumps all his stuff in the trash and erases his existence from his life like he's nothing more than yesterday's news.

I want this to continue through the rest of the season, long enough that both the characters and the audience start to think that maybe Buck is fine after all. Maybe this whole thing with Tommy was just a mistake, a hiccup. Maybe Tommy was right and saw writing on the wall that Buck didn't. Maybe he was smart by getting out when he did because Buck doesn't cry. He doesn't vent to Eddie, or show up on his doorstep like a kicked puppy. He lives fast and vibrant, and shows up to work covered in hickeys and lipstick and other people's cologne, and if Tommy really was as transformative of a love as he believed he was, shouldn't he be devastated?

Anyway.

Fast forward to the season finale. Athena has been following a case of corporate corruption where an auto and aeronautics manufacturer has been exposed for using faulty parts in their vehicles that have resulted in auto collisions and deaths across the country. None of this really concerns or interests Buck at all, if he's being honest. He fixes his own car for the most part (Tommy showed him how) and that which he can't do, he takes to his usual mom-and-pop mechanic for them to work on. Which is to say that, his life consists of sex and work, so news reports of [Same Company] being responsible for a Cessna crashing in Northern California don't really filter through.

Not until the 118 is called to a helicopter crash just outside of Los Angeles.

Even then, Buck doesn't think about Tommy. Why would he? Tommy Kinard is barely even a memory at this point, just an idea on the edge of his brain, an almost that was quickly buried. Helicopters crash all the time, so he has no reason to believe there's anything out of the ordinary about this one. But then when they're en route, Maddie's voice comes over the radio, tight with emotion and forcibly professional in a way that makes him immediately nauseous: Captain Nash, please be advised that the helicopter in question is one of our own. It's an LAFD chopper. Then, Hen and Eddie and Chimney and Bobby all turn to look at him, and Buck has nowhere to run from their gaze. Even if he did, he couldn't, because he feels paralyzed. Bobby's voice asking if there are any survivors, and Maddie's voice saying she's unsure get lost to the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears. Every repressed emotion, every memory, every bit of desperate longing and grief and love and anger comes rushing back in full force and all Buck can do is sit there while the engine weaves through Los Angeles traffic.

Tommy is fine, of course. He codes on the way to the hospital (Buck performing CPR on his boyfriend while begging him to stay alive is my drug), but once all is said and done, once he's come out of surgery with a little more metal in his body than he went in there with, he's okay. Buck isn't, not by a mile. He's full of too many emotions that he doesn't know how to sort through, chief among them being love, followed closely by anger, and then, guilt, of all things. But after Tommy opens his eyes, after Buck breaks down spectacularly, and after they finally confess that they love each other, Buck makes Tommy look him in the eyes:

"You don't get to run from this. Not again. I mean it. If you get scared, you talk to me. If you need to slow down, you talk to me. You don't make decisions for me, for us, and expect me to be okay with it. That's not how this works."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Tommy. I can't -"

"I mean it too. I promise. Okay?"

"Okay."

Anyways. Yeah. That's how I would do it.

[impactrueno]

Beetlejuice clearly wasn't interested in Lydia when they met, so when do you think he actually fell for her? Was he so impressed by Lydia defeating him that he developed a little crush?

i think this might be the biggest thing i've been turning around in my head since the sequel dropped. how did bro get to this point. i need to know. you weren't like this where we left off, what happened during that huge time gap????

this is where canon ends and conjecture begins, you just have to theorize and fill in the gaps yourself with whatever makes the most sense to you, which is what i've been trying to do this whole time. so please bear with me here.

i don't know how much i want share or save for my comics because i don't know how much he would actually reveal about this but whatever we ball

edit: ok so i scrolled back up to this after finishing writing this and as it turns out i have no self control and i ended up sharing everything that crossed my mind. craziest stream of consciousness i've ever written down. strap on and keep your limbs inside the ride at all times. whatever. we BALL.

let's review their first encounter from his point of view:

you're hired to scare the deetzes, right? so you do just that. excellently you might add. just when you're about to terrorize their teenage daughter, barbara banishes you and the party is over. what fucking losers right? you get the sense that adam and barbara care about this girl so you make some remark about her and it pisses them off. haha. also whoa where did this place come from? damn adam, who could've guessed he had it in him. you forget about everything else and dance your way to dante's inferno room.

after spending a respectably tasteful evening with those ladies, you're chill now. relaxing under your little sun lamp to work on your tan.

someone walks in looking for adam and barbara. don't they know they're dead?

"are you a ghost too?"

"i'm the ghost with the most, babe."

hold on a sec, who's even—

...well hey. it's the girl.

the girl who can see ghosts, and she's talking to you.

target acquired. this one's your ticket out of this hellhole.

"you look like somebody i can relate to," you tell her. relate how? doesn't matter. you're ensnaring her with your affable demeanor like you always do, make people feel like you're pals with them first and foremost. she seems like a nice girl, so this should be easy. you tell her upfront that you want to get out of there and you need her help to do so.

"i want to get in," she says.

whoa there.

what? she wants to get in? she says that in response to you saying that you wanted out. she really has no idea what it's like on the other side, huh. but shit, that kinda stops you in your tracks a bit. this girl wants to die. this young? that's not right. makes no sense.

"...why?"

she just looks at you and says nothing. jesus. ok maybe it's none of your business so let's back it up. you're losing control of the conversation and you're on a mission here. you figure if she helps you get out, you might as well talk her off that ledge or show her how shitty it is on the other side or somethin'. frankly, you can't afford to care right now. you're not entirely sure why she thinks things would be better on the side you're so desperate to get out of, but alright. doesn't matter, right now you gotta get her to summon you. so you begin your little game of charades.

after she correctly guesses your name and almost says it a third time, she recognizes you as the snake that terrorized her family. god fucking dammit. you're losing her. you're getting impatient. your affable act is over. "nah...i want to talk to barbara," she says and now she's REALLY getting on your nerves because fuck barbara, fuck adam, you're SO CLOSE to getting out and you're not gonna let this go now, go go GO GO SAY IIIIIIITTTTTTT

adam and barbara walk in because of course they do. womp womp

ok well that didn't work, but you're not gonna give up so easily. sooner or later another opportunity will come and soon you will be free.

wait why are they moving the model— where are they taking it—

ooohhhhh. business meeting. get a load of these yuppies, trying to turn winter river into a town-sized Ripley's Believe it or Not. a talking marcel marceau statue? and you thought you were a con man. no wonder the deetz girl wants to die, it's bleak as hell here too. but if you get out...you can fix that. hell, you can fix anything.

these bozos are here to see some ghosts, but the girl says they're not going to show up unless the fleshbags stop making a mockery out of the whole thing and that maybe they can all live happy together in the house. ain't that sweet.

of course no one's taking her seriously. she's a kid, what does she know, right? they'd rather listen to the most obnoxious guy in the room (besides yourself) who has no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but somehow, he's got his hands on the handbook.

the girl panics, then immediately says completely deadpan "wait, what am i even worried about, otho, you can't even change a tire" and you're surprised they didn't hear how hard you cackled at that.

despite all that, they seem to have started a séance with their old wedding clothes. bad news for the maitlands. they're about to be dead-dead. the girl cries for them to stop, and these guys are just sitting there scared shitless. you're hearing everything. you knew a new opportunity would arise, so you wait, because this is the part where people remember how good at your job you are. they always do.

she knows you can help. you're the only one who can help. so here she comes. those wedding clothes give you an idea. plan B is now in motion.

well well well.

look who came crawling back.

she asks for your help, and you're happy to oblige, under one condition of course. after all, you don't do anything for free, and she's the only one who can help you with your problem. how serendipitous.

once again, you lay it on her, straight up. you want out. and a way to do it (thanks adam and barbara for the reminder) is through marriage with a fleshbag. you need to get married. a green card marriage, if you will.

she's immediately disgusted by the idea. you don't take that personally, of course, because it doesn't matter. she's just a kid and it's not a real marriage. she just happens to be unlucky enough to be the only one around who can assist you with this, the poor girl. it's a marriage of convenience—or rather, inconvenience—and you're not planning on sticking around because you will get the hell out of there as soon as you can. so there shouldn't be a problem, right? besides, does she know how many women would kill to be in that position? she gets to brag about it to her friends, what's not to like? it's a totally even deal.

the clock is ticking and the maitlands aren't getting any younger. she agrees to the deal. you win, at last.

she already knows what to do, so you sit there patiently with a shit-eating grin on your face, awaiting the three little B words. gloating.

Beetlejuice........Beetlejuice...........Beetlejuice.

it's showtime.

this is your favorite part. you love a dramatic entrance. you decide to show the deetzes and their greedy friends the circus they so wanted to turn this town into. horrible as you are, you're also pretty damn good at calling out other people's horribleness, and you do love an ironic karmic way of dealing with someone. for example tubby here thinks he can escape, but not before you change his sleek black suit into a tacky white leisure suit. the horror! this is why you're a professional at this.

you effortlessly end the exorcism and the maitlands are saved. a little pruney right now but they'll be fine. everything is taken care of, you have fulfilled your end of the deal like you promised. only one thing left to do.

"shall we?"

there's really no need to make a whole show out of this, but you're a showman first and foremost and as a 𝒥𝓊𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓊𝓂 you'll be damned if you're not gonna let yourself have a little fun with this. everyone looks terrified. this is why you're a professional at this.

witnesses and reverend in place, you can finally begin the ceremony. you're having fun, yes, but let's try to pick up the pace a bit, okay? the closer you get to your goal, the more impatient you get. the girl isn't finding any of this very funny at all and she protests. the maitlands butt in and are now kind of twisting your arm a bit, but you deal with them harmlessly, until they get on your last nerve so you send adam to the model and barbara to saturn. all of this after you honorably fulfilled your end of the bargain and saved the day. jesus christ, are you the only one with some integrity around here or what.

you forget the stupid ring. shit. you're pretty sure you have it on you somewhere, ever since you chopped up delores into pieces for poisoning you. you kept her ring finger as a trophy and as a reminder to never get married again, and yet here you are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. finally, you find the ring (still on her severed finger) and hastily tell your new bride-to-be that delores meant nothing to you. in case she even cares. she doesn't seem to. not even a chuckle? oh well.

almost done with the ceremony. almost there. you're holding the girl's hand with an iron grip to keep her in place as you're about to put that ring on her finger. "i now pronounce you, man and—"

a tiny car crashes against your foot and it catches on fire. you scream. a fucking sandworm crashes into the room through the ceiling. everyone screams. you scream LOUDER.

you're sent back to the afterlife waiting room.

not your first rodeo with a sandworm, but that doesn't make the experience any less shitty. the real annoying part is being in the waiting room again. this could take ages. you're number 9,998,383,750,000 and they're serving number 3 right now. you trick the guy next to you and steal his ticket (number 4) but he's not too pleased about that, so that didn't work.

a long time sitting here it is, then.

movie ends, credits roll.

for reference, that was 1988. winona ryder was 15 when they were filming in 1987 so while lydia doesn't have a confirmed age, i think we can safely assume that she was the same age as winona at the time.

36 years later, it's 2024. or 34 years later, it's 2022. we don't know the exact year because while bob's in memoriam credits scene says 2024 and all the interviews talk about how 36 years have passed in universe as well, there's this other one tiny detail.

jeremy's death passport says he died on march 11, 1999. jane butterfield says he died "23 years ago," putting the movie in 2022. they did film it in 2022 so the math is mathing correctly there. given that the in memoriam scene was more of a joke and jeremy's passport is a canon prop in the movie, i'd say 2022 is the canon year the movie is set in. (small sidenote; the passport also has the roman numerals DCLXVI which is 666. cute detail i loved it)

in the sequel, beetlejuice says lydia has been ignoring him for 30 years. i always thought that was curious because outside of this claim, they always specify how many years exactly have passed since. he doesn't say 34 or 36, he says 30. and for his degree of obsession (and the fact that he remembers exactly how many times he's watched The Exorcist) i think he would be counting even the days so i think he did really mean 30 years. so this would mean at least 4 years passed between getting sent back to the waiting room and the beginning of his stalking.

AND NOW that we established all that, we are finally getting to the answer to the question, "when and how did this all start?"

so okay, he spent a while in the waiting room. a lot of time to think. probably replaying the events at the deetzes' in his head over and over, how he got here, where he fucked up, what's he gonna do once he gets out. cursing the maitlands for ruining his plan when he was soooo fucking close. wondering what ever happened to lydia deetz.

lydia deetz, the young girl who told him she wanted to die.

...

is she alright?

i don't think he's capable of feeling guilt, but we can probably argue that he's not entirely heartless. what she said about how she wanted to "get in" must've stuck with him from the way he reacted when she dropped that bomb. she never showed up in the waiting room so he knows she didn't follow through with that. still, he used a vulnerable young girl for his own selfish gain. ironically enough, he knows exactly how that feels, because he also got tricked into marriage and got used for someone else's gain. the difference being that he dealt with that shit with an axe.

much much much to think about for mr. juice.

after years of ruminating in that waiting room, he's finally out and back to the regular day to day afterlife. definitely gets chewed out by juno, maybe forced to do community service or labor or what have you, he basically just needs to clean up his act now. this freelancing shit is becoming more trouble than it's worth anyway.

he's still wondering about lydia deetz. should he check in on her? maybe he should, he's too curious now.

at this point, lydia is now about 19-21 and in college. maybe he manages to sneak into the model one time she's back home for the holidays or something. and oh my god would you look at that, what a beautiful young woman she's grown into. she's radiant. she's happy. she's no longer that gloomy suicidal kid he met in the attic. seems like what she said about the deetzes and the maitlands sharing the house did come true after all.

that's nice. very sweet. good to know.

maybe he wonders if she remembers him and tries to get her attention somehow, give her a little scare for old times sake or whatever. for a brief moment it seems like she saw something and her expression changes, but she shrugs it off and continues on chatting with her two sets of parents. no such luck.

oh well. curiosity sated! and beetlejuice goes back home and doesn't return.

until the next time he returns.

and he keeps coming back to check in on her, telling himself he's just making sure that she hasn't killed herself or something. and he's not above admitting that with every year that passes, she keeps getting more beautiful. and to think they almost got married, huh.

he constantly tries to get her to notice him somehow, and sometimes she almost does, but ultimately he never really succeeds beyond making her do a double take. very rarely she does catch a glimpse of him. he's seen her mutter to herself that she's just seeing things and she seems a bit frightened every time this happens, but there's nothing to fear, honey, it's just good ol' beetlejuice. he won't lie, he gets a bit of a rush every time and it makes his dead heart beat faintly. he's gotten this far, he can't just stop now. in his mind, this has become their little private game of cat and mouse, where the mouse ignores the cat. but aren't they cute? he thinks they're cute. this is not creepy at all!

before he realizes, he's already learned everything about her. he knows about richard and even watched their wedding from afar like a loser. he knows she gave birth to a healthy baby girl named astrid. he knows they have a blast on halloween. halloween is lydia's favorite holiday, and his too. sometimes he can't help but see the three of them happy together and think it could've totally been him. even if he and richard are nothing alike (in fact could not be more opposite) and the circumstances of their unholy wedding were nothing short of grim and a farce. but in his mind, he's starting to convince himself otherwise.

maybe it's his jealousy speaking, but lydia doesn't seem to be that happy with richard despite everything. even though richard is like, the perfect guy. then one day his suspicions are proven correct: neither of them knows why it happened, but after having a long and emotional talk (that he watched with a bucket of popcorn) they decide to get a divorce. he pumps his fist, feeling victorious for some reason. sure he's a little sadistic at times, but why is this giving him so much glee?

the divorce is hard on lydia's kid, who was always more attached to her father, but they still spend a lot of time together. sometimes the three of them, since richard and lydia kept things amicable after the divorce. lydia tries to move on and see other people, but each relationship fails before it even starts. mostly because she keeps holding back and so fails to connect with anyone else, but also sometimes because, well, he can't help himself but to scare them away from her from time to time. it's fun. in his mind, he's just being protective of her, as a gentleman should for a lady.

then richard dies. fell into a piranha infested river from the looks of it (he saw him at immigration one day, don't ask what he was doing around there, force of habit after constantly making sure lydia hasn't killed herself yet.) it's devastating for both lydia and astrid, straining their relationship even more for the next few years as they both try to cope with the loss. the shock proves to be too much for lydia, so she goes to a survivors retreat to work through her trauma, both from richard's death and "unresolved feelings."

then lydia, at her most vulnerable, meets rory.

beetlejuice was able to clock him immediately. a textbook manipulative opportunist, he himself knows the tactics very well. swoop in to "help" someone in a vulnerable position, pull the wool over their eyes and begin taking control so you can get what you want out of that person.

he wouldn't admit it, but this really irks beetlejuice. you know when you see someone who reminds you of the worst parts of yourself, so you despise them? yeah. he's been there, and he's also been him.

but rory is somehow even worse than beetlejuice. see, rory is her manager, and boy does he manage to get on his nerves. he takes her phone. he controls what medication she takes. he blames and guilt trips her about every mishap that HE causes, making himself look like her benevolent savior and making her feel like she would be lost without him, confusing her with his psychobabble. on top of all that, he's forcing her to do this hacky show called Ghost House where she "hunts ghosts" or whatever. the houses he's been helping newly-deads with in his day job as a bio-exorcist (now with a fleet of employees,) she's "hunting" those ghosts now. it's so dumb. it never works. beetlejuice doesn't even know what the hell she's doing, she's phoning it in most of the time and she knows she's become a sellout. what happened to that "strange and unusual" girl who stood up for her ghost friends when those suits wanted to profit off of them back in winter river?

he needs to bring that back. he's the only one who can.

in his mind, beetlejuice has already rewritten the events that transpired. in his mind, lydia has been his wife this entire time, it's just, y'know, one of those open long distance relationships and she doesn't always remember him, but that's okay. in his mind, they share a psychic bond that allows her to sense his presence or see him in her dreams from time to time. he's got nothing to be jealous about, because other men can't compare. no one else can match what they have.

sure, part of him knows he's lying to himself a little bit. but he's already clung to this idea; these past 30 years wouldn't make sense otherwise. he's in love with lydia deetz. this isn't insane of him to say at all. and if it is, well, you know what they say, love makes you do batshit crazy things.

it's not that complicated, no matter what they say you'll never meet another me it's not that difficult to get my head around i'll never meet another you

the end

don't trick me into writing a fanfic again

[rasairui]

@crimsaph I hope you don't mind me showing off your tags but yeah

This is an infuriating mindset a lot of fellow TME people have and it's just. So obviously glaringly selfish that it somehow loops back around into being difficult for me to articulate. Just how self absorbed do you have to be to get hit with a stray bullet and go "wow the entire firing squad is actually targeting ME!" it's maddening. Like I definitely didn't have my current knowledge regarding intercommunity issues and transness in general when that experience happened, but I remember thinking. "Wow. That was really fucked up and scary. What if he had been right? Would every day be like this if I actually was a trans woman?" As soon as somebody knows what I actually am, that scrutiny goes away. I do not have to lie about a core part of myself to get those people off my ass. Not everybody gets that reprieve. And then I see years of tme people trying to claim that transmisogyny hurts EVERYONE, actually, while steamrolling the actual targets. It's just like guys who only bring up men's mental health when a feminist gets too upset about something. None of these people would write an essay about how straight people are actively oppressed by homophobia because other straight people accuse them of being gay and that it's the gays who somehow wield fruit powers to oppress the straights, actually. Because that's fucking stupid. But apparently it's impossible to extend that type of common sense to trans women.

Idk I just have no patience for trans men/masculine people who refuse to acknowledge transmisogyny. Like. The worst experience I ever had with transphobia was when I was mistaken for a trans women. In a culinary program, I was cutting bell peppers, and one of the other students, a really big dude in a student leadership position, walks in and accusatory goes "so are you trying to be a woman, or something?" And I'm like. Well I'm trying to small dice these peppers. And I tell him I'm not a she and he says something to the effect of "Yeah I know that much." He makes some comment abt how whatever I'm doing doesn't make sense and he doesn't get it and when I tell him he doesn't have to, that he just has to respect it, he says "I don't have to do shit!" And gets real mad! Like actual threats mad! Tells me he could bash my skull in and to meet him outside for a fight and yeah it was fucking scary! The entire interaction I'm reminding myself that I'm the one currently holding a knife, if he tries anything.

Fast forward a few days later and my period is kicking my ass. Just absolutely destroying me. I'm in the dish pit, and I am visibly struggling, I'm nauseous, I'm in pain and bracing myself against walls. I'm not walking straight. And the same student leadership guy who was so aggressive with me when he thought I was transfem?

He tells me I look like I'm going to pass out. He says it's obvious I'm in pain, I shouldn't be in class, I can go sit down and if nobody can replace me he'll do the dishes himself.

Like. Do you get it yet. It's not just that he felt comfortable openly threatening me in a room full of other people when he thought I was a trans woman. It's that he did a complete 180 and was not only willing to support me, but actually pick up my slack once he knew I wasn't "that kind" of transgender. As soon as one of our classmates confirmed to him that I wasn't the wrong type of trans person I suddenly became someone who actually deserved care and compassion in his eyes. The "bigots think we're all the same and hate all of is equally" rhetoric isn't fucking true. It's just peddled to deny the privilege we have over other members of our community so it's easier to ignore how inhospitable supposedly trans-centric spaces are for TMA people.

[scoopsahoy]

alr i have kind of a wild request so ignore me if you dont wanna write it. you and eddie go to a house party thrown by steve (before they really knew each other) and you're dressed really provacatively. yall argue, he calls you a whore/slut, and you slap him and that awakens a new kink he didn't know he had, and yall fuck

ぺ  word count ⋰ 2.4k

✰  tw ⋰ none :)

❍  cw ⋰ possessive eddie, swearing, sex + fingering, handjob, face sitting, masturbation, oral (female receiving), top!reader, dirty talk

៚  a/n ⋰ i am ✨ovulating✨ at the moment so i'm a bit feral and horny rn, maybe this will quench that thirst

✐  masterlist

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The second Eddie laid his eyes on you tonight, he felt rage bubble up in his chest. He wasn't a jealous guy by any means, but this... He couldn't help it. Seeing you in that short, tight dress with heels that accentuated your calves — your tits on full display, smushed together and jiggling with every step. It was too much for him to handle.

You wore the dress for him, knowing it would drive him up the wall with desire. But when you looked over at him, all you saw was angry jealousy. You were talking to Steve Harrington, who had a reputation of sleeping around at his parties.

You had zero intention of being the next notch on his belt, but you decided to play into Eddie's jealousy and make it worth your while.

He was protective of you. After all, you were the only girl in Hawkins who loved the Freak. And after finding you, he never intended on letting you go.

Just then, another guy with a reputation of being a bit of a man whore walked up and started a conversation with both of you. When you went to take another sip of the god-awful keg beer in your solo cup, you must've tipped it back too far and a few drops of it landed on your chest. You wiped them up, licking the beer off of your hand.

And you could've sworn you saw smoke blow out of both of Eddie's ears at this. This was the final straw, and he charged over to you, grabbing your bicep.

"Hey, babe," you said innocently.

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

"Sure." You handed your cup to Steve. "Want the rest?"

Before he could respond, you were being dragged away by Eddie, who pulled you all the way upstairs to Steve's room (unintentionally) and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" You kept the innocent tone.

"What's up? What's up? Seriously?"

"What? What's wrong, babe?"

"You know what's wrong."

"Enlighten me." You did know what was wrong. You knew completely. He let his jealousy get the better of him and couldn't handle the thought of other men lusting over you. He walked over to you, getting in your face.

In a low, deep voice, he said, "You show up to this party in that... dress. Showing every possible square inch of yourself."

"For you."

"No, no, no. Not for me. Not just for me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Your tone was coy, fighting back a grin. "I think I'm actually dressed pretty modestly."

"Drop the act, Y/N." You rolled your eyes.

"What, I thought you liked public teasing."

"Yeah, when you're not surrounded by guys who would fuck the living daylights out of you."

"I think you're overestimating their abilities."

"You know both Steve and that other guy would fuck anything that moves, and you sit there, dripping beer on your tits and fake flirting with them."

"God, Eddie, I'm sorry. You normally go for this shit. How was I supposed to know it was any different?"

You turned to walk away from him.

"Because you're not usually dressed like a whore."

Without even a second to let that simmer, you were turning back around to face him, and your hand smacked him across the face so hard he froze, his head turned to the side.

You didn't even realize you were doing that before you could stop yourself. It was like instinct took over and you couldn't control yourself.

Neither of you moved for a few seconds. You were breathing heavily, both with rage and surprise.

He raised a hand to his cheek, flexing his jaw. His skin was red and hot, and the look in his eyes changed.

"Well, I guess... I probably deserved that."

"You think?"

Something out of the bottom corner of your vision caught your eye. You looked down to see a quickly growing tent in his pants.

"Eddie-"

"That was, uh... kinda hot."

"What?"

"I think... I liked that."

"What, getting slapped?"

He nodded. "It felt kind of good."

"You're joking."

A few seconds of silence passed before he grabbed your face and slammed your lips together. You immediately kissed back and he began backing you up towards the bed, dropping you down onto it.

"What's the word?" he asked, beckoning your safe word out of you.

"Zeppelin."

He smiled. "Good girl. Want me to fuck you on Harrington's bed, hm?"

"Yes," you moaned, his fingers wrapping lightly around your throat.

Without another word, he dropped to his knees on the floor, grabbing you by the thighs and yanking you towards him. Your ass was practically hanging off the bed, the only thing separating his mouth and your pussy being your underwear.

That didn't last long though, as they slid off your legs easily. He shoved them into his pocket, not intending to give them back for the night. The thought of you going commando at a party right after sex only made him harder, if that was even possible.

"What do you want?" he asked, his breath on your wet skin making you squirm.

"Eddie, please," you muttered, looking down at him.

"Uh-uh, you have to say it. 'Please' won't get you what you want."

"God, Eddie. I want your face buried in me."

"In where?"

"In my pussy. Please."

He didn't comply. He loved to tease you. Make you crumble under him. Instead of doing what you were asking for, he decided to finger you as slowly as humanly possible.

The initial touch was a bit of a relief, but his lack of speed could've made you cry.

"I don't think so."

"Ugh, please."

"I already told you, please isn't gonna get you anything. We're gonna try something new."

Admittedly, this is not where you'd prefer to branch out and try new things. But he moved you off the bed, instead taking your place laying down. He was on his back, his head on the pillow. He motioned for you to come over to him and mount him.

You complied, but he moved you up even further. You were straddling his face, looking down at him.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

Without answering you, he wrapped his arms around your hips from behind and pulled your body down, finally latching onto your clit with his mouth.

You gripped the headboard and gasped, immediate relief from the teasing making you feel warm.

"Fuck," you whispered, one hand reaching down to place itself on top of his. As you ground into his face, you couldn't help but feel like you were suffocating him. You tried to move backwards a little bit and give his nose more room, but his grip on you was strong, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

You reached behind you and cupped his crotch with your hand and he groaned into you. Your head was thrown back, your back arched and your hips desperately swaying into his tongue.

"Fuck, Eddie, I'm not gonna last much longer."

He tried his damndest to hold you still, but for some reason this position was much more intense than normal oral. So when you finally came — hard — you were glad there was music blasting outside.

You tried to cover your mouth with your hand, but he reached up and pulled it away, wanting to hear your whines and moans. Watching you from this angle was driving him insane. He'd never seen how much you really move when you cum, as you were normally on your back. But right now you could move freely, and you couldn't control yourself.

When he finally stopped his tongue, he scooched you down to sit in his lap. He sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close.

He kissed you roughly, smearing your lipgloss all over your faces.

"Baby," he whispered, looking up at you.

"Hm?"

"I want you to be on top tonight."

"But I'm never on top."

"I know. But I want you to be dominant this time."

"Eddie, I'm not dominant. You know that."

"When you slapped me... I liked it. I want you to do it again."

You furrowed your brows. "You... want me to hurt you?" He nodded. "That was in the heat of the moment. I don't think I could do it again if I tried."

"Then I want you to choke me, like I do to you." You gently placed your fingers around his neck, your fingertips pressing lightly. "Just like that. But harder." You squeezed the sides of his throat. His eyes lit up and he smiled. "There you go."

You also smiled a bit and pushed him down so he was laying on his back again. You crawled down between his legs, unbuckling his belt. Seeing you on top of him, undoing his clothes for him almost made him want to flip you over and fuck you as hard as he could. But the idea of you on top of him, fucking him, almost made him feel like he was going to combust.

Your hand around his girth broke him out of his imagination, a soft moan slipping out of his mouth.

"Y'know, the tables have turned a bit, here," you said seductively.

"Mhm."

"I'm used to you teasing me. But I don't usually get to do the teasing." You swiped your thumb over his swollen tip, which made him jump. "You like to go slow when you tease me. Painfully slow." You calmly and casually stroked him, keeping your speed at a minimum. "Now you get to see how it feels."

He was a puddle under you. Normally when you gave him handjobs, you would use both hands, as that's what it took to completely engulf him. But right now, you were only using one. And it was driving him insane. You could see his stomach muscles tensing, rippling at the lack of motion.

"Y/N, please."

"Ah-ah-ah. What was it you said to me earlier? 'Please' won't get you what you want." He chuckled at this, silently cursing himself for saying that. "You want me to fuck you?"

You weren't sure where you mustered up this confidence. Maybe it was seeing him writhing under you, you finally understood what it was like from his perspective.

Having someone whimpering and begging at your actions, pleading for more. Needing more from you.

"Yes."

"How bad?"

"So fucking bad."

You slowly licked a single stripe up from the base to the tip of his cock, making him thrust his hips gently.

You giggled to yourself, adjusting your position again so your hips were on top of his. His dick was pinned between his stomach and your wet pussy. You ground against it, sliding him through your folds.

His hands were on your thighs, his nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Tell me how much you want it," you whispered, reaching down and pushing his hair off his face.

"I need it so bad, baby."

"How bad?"

"So bad that if you don't fuck me right now I'm gonna flip you over and do it myself."

Without another word, you sunk down onto him, both of you sighing of relief. You threw your head back and got used to him inside of you, not used to having to make the next move.

You braced yourself on his abdomen, your hands pressing into his skin.

You got your rhythm down pretty quickly, figuring out how to maneuver your hips and not your whole body. And not long after, your hand found his throat, pressing against the sides.

His eyes rolled back into his head, the slight lack of oxygen at your control feeling ridiculously good. He couldn't believe he hadn't asked you to do this before.

He was beginning to give into the urge of thrusting, and when you noticed, you stopped your movements and stopped choking you.

"What happened?" he whined. That tone was an insane turn-on, how desperately, frantically he needed you.

"No moving," you commanded, which was something he would say to you when he would eat you out. "Keep your hips completely still or I stop."

"God, you're good at this."

You began moving again, and it didn't take long for him to get close. Normally he lasted for a while, but being dominated made him feel like he was going to bust after only about three minutes.

"Y/N, I'm getting close."

"Not yet."

"What?"

"No cumming yet. You have to wait."

The roles were reversed. He loved edging you, forcing you to hold off your orgasm until he said you could cum. And you understood why. Holding someone's orgasm in your hands, forbidding them to reach it until you allowed it was doing something to you.

"I can't- I can't wait," he choked, really squeezing your skin.

"Too bad, you have to." You reached down and began masturbating, getting yourself there so he could too. You squeezed his neck as you felt the familiar sensation building in your belly. "I'm getting close too, I'll tell you when."

He screwed his eyes shut tightly, throwing his head back. He looked heavenly in this position, putty in your hands. He was mumbling 'fuck, fuck, fuck' to himself, taking everything in him to hold his cum in.

"Eddie," you squealed. "Cum."

You'd never heard him scream when he came, but this ripped through him. He was incapable of being quiet like he normally was. His grunts and groans were animalistic and caveman-like. You'd never heard sounds like this come from him. Maybe it was the oxygen being cut off, or the position.

He couldn't resist thrusting his hips up as you came, which worked out perfectly because you could barely move as you trembled.

Tears fell down your cheeks and you moaned so loudly it hurt your throat.

When he stopped moving, you laid your chest against him, his cock still inside of you. You breathed in sync, neither of you opening your eyes. Eventually, he wrapped his hands around your back and held you close.

He planted a kiss to the top of your head and smirked.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. We should've done this forever ago."

"Yeah," was all you could muster.

It took you guys a moment to move, but when you finally did, you pulled your dress back down to cover your thighs.

"Can I have my underwear back?" you asked.

"I think I'll keep 'em. Make it a reminder not to flirt with other guys."

"But if I never teased you, this would've never happened."

He laughed. "Very true. Maybe I'll allow it sometimes."

[nam-the-nacho]

Mit2uba's Trauma: An Analogy

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Tw: I will be discussing the abuse Mitsuba has suffered from his environment, nothing that isn't in the manga, but I want to give a heads up. Additionally, I'm fortunate to have not gone though any severe traumatic experience myself, and am instead using my general knowledge, meaning if anything is incorrect here, please point it out!

(Also manga spoilers obviously)

I'm not pretending this hasn't ever been discussed, however I have yet to see an analogy of the consequences of Mitsuba's creation and (practically nonexistent) upbringing.

I'm going to divide this post into sections, but they won't really be organized, maybe chapters is a better definition. This thing is l o n g, so without further ado:

1: Mitsuba being paralleled to a puppet:

This is done quite often, although not in the same ways. Besides the psychological aspects of being Tsukasa's "puppet", as in being forced to do as he says and overall being under his control, but there are physical correlations too.

Tsukasa referring to Mitsuba as a "Thing"

Mitsuba lets Tsukasa hold him. This is much more then a surface-level fact considering Mitsuba usually rejects contact/uses it as an excuse to blame others. This is easily explained by "Mitsuba is simply scared of Tsukasa, he can't tell him no", except Mitsuba doesn't look scared when being held, he just looks, expressionless.

More then that, he completely trusts Tsukasa with his body weight, leaning into his touch and allowing himself to be comforted by it. This obviously occasionally backfires horribly

While Mitsuba being punched is framed in a humorous manner, the implications and weight of it are very heavy. It's all fun and games until you remember this is how Mitsuba is being raised, and it's all he's ever known. If Mitsuba doesn't want to do what Tsukasa tells him too, he gets punched. If he talks back, he gets kicked out of the broadcasting room (we'll get back to this later). If he asks to be Tsukasa's friend, he gets fireworks shoved down his mouth.

And the results of this... well:

This one in particular is interesting to me:

"It's just Mitsuba being surprised because Kou suddenly raised his voice". But that's not what's being illustrated. Upon hearing "brace yourself" even from someone like Kou, who wasn't planning on actively trying to hurt Mitsuba, he literally stiffens, pales, and begins to tremble and sweat, dropping the piece of chalk he was holding (those things break way to easily, yk he was serious). It's not shock or surprise being drawn, it's just genuine fear.

This could very well be me overthinking, but Mitsuba falls in what is almost a doll-like manner, arms and legs completely stiff.

2: Social rejection and trivial treatment:

The Mitsuba chapter (ch. 40) was worse then I remembered.

Mitsuba runs away from the broadcasting room in search of a better, safer place to stay. Only to understand he has none.

What's worse is that these are the characters we see being far kinder to the rest of the cast. We see Yako, Hanako and weirdo super-natural teacher together in his living quarters, watching tv together, but when Mitsuba approaches them...

(Tsuchigomori eventually does stay with him, but his opinion of him doesn't really change.)

"This guy's a pain, I'm out of here"

Tsuchigomori doesn't know Mitsuba, the only time we see them meet was when Tsuchigomori refers to him as emergency rations (above), and when he answered Mitsuba who asked him a question (answer starting with "You seriously don't know?" (YES SIR HOW WOULD HE KNOW HE'S LIKE ONE MONTH OLD)).

He probably heard he's a prankster from Hanako, which is why he wants nothing to do with him.

The point is despite Mitsuba needing to run from the closest thing he considers a "home", not a single supernatural actually understands his situation. Hanako borderline hates him, Nene barley understands he's a different Mitsuba, and Kou tends to accidently frame it as Mitsuba's CHOICE to stay with Tsukasa in the broadcasting room.

This is sadly something that can happen in reality, children trying to escape their less-desirable homes can often find themselves, sickeningly, returning after not finding somewhere or someone to take them seriously.

The most deranged part of this is that as a result of nobody properly digesting that he needs help, Mitsuba himself frequently convinces himself that everything is normal.

The implication that every time Mitsuba fights with Tsukasa he needs to just fend for himself until enough time has passed for Tsukasa to forget is sad. He's an outcast between the wonders for replacing the old No.3, despite his only other choice being death, which they don't know.

Sakura is probably the closest thing Mitsuba has to family, being in a similar situation to him, but it's incorrect to say she truly deeply cares about him. She's fond of Mitsuba, but never goes out of her way to help him when Tsukasa hurts him, and seems to have put her personal safety and goals as a higher priority then him (this isn't Sakura slander, I love my queen).

Natsuhiko treats him like a pet more then a human, and sometimes hits on him, which is just gross. Despite this Mitsuba genuinely appreciates him and sees him as an older brother. It's cruel to see this one-sided ordeal.

We don't actually know Mitsuba's true opinion of Tsukasa. In an almost realistic manner, his opinion is constantly contradictory. Mitsuba is scared of Tsukasa, but at the same time he only feels 'safe' when he's around.

Also, contrary to Sousuke, Mitsuba is more scared of Tsukasa then thunder, which could either mean that Sousuke's phobia of thunder was memory-correlated, or that Mitsuba is SO scared of Tsukasa that thunder is nothing in comparison.

Mitsuba freezing after hearing Tsukasa's voice

vs:

We know Mitsuba is aware that Tsukasa is not treating him okay, but by the time we learn this (pp arc), Mitsuba has half convinced himself that Tsukasa is doing everything he's doing to help him, and that "nobody else can help him anyways". Genuinely Mitsuba is one of the most subtle-yet-obvious victims portrayed in media I've even seen.

3: Ok-yeah-that's-not-okay moments

Do I really need to add anything.

I will anyways. Mitsuba is a dramatic by nature, unrelated to any of the emotional damage he's suffered. The fact that Tsukasa can make him stop crying just by demanding it really shows how bad he messed up Mitsuba. The ability to stop crying on command out of fear..... somebody save him.

Stay away!

Can't add to many pictures because of the tumbler limitations, but in every one of these scenes Mitsuba totally freezes, only regaining control and suddenly snapping once someone (aka Kou) does anything intimidating to him.

Going in-depth about the similarities between Kou and Tsukasa is an entirely different ordeal, but in short summery:

There's a carefully built connection between Tsukasa and Kou, that deserves a post of it's own.

4: Symptoms of trauma:

Trust issues are heavily associated with a problematic childhood, so it's not very surprising that Mitsuba struggles to trust anyone besides Tsukasa, even if he doesn't want to.

Very commonly appearing alongside trauma, self destructive behaviors are a tragically common coping habit. I don't think I need to add any pictures for this one, as practically every other sentence Mitsuba says have some 'Just let me pass away' coding to it.

Lack of memories is a symptom that appears in very severe cases, and while it isn't completely accurate to Mitsuba it's an interesting addition considering Mitsuba has no memories.

5: Character design:

Mitsuba has lots of chains and locks in his wonder form, a lock on his neck (which has multiple interpretations), one preventing his heart from beating, which could be a clever metaphor for Mitsuba further constricting his humanity by "choosing" to become a wonder, but most interesting:

What looks to be the remains of a leg shackle.

Mitsuba in a box labeled as fragile.

6: This definitely isn't a metaphor for an eating disorder:

"I'm always hungry, no matter how much I eat" -M

"You starved yourself from all this moping around, just because you didn't want to eat something different?" -K

Can we talk about how the fandom collectively just skipped over the huge reveal that Mitsuba STARVES HIMSELF. Because I feel like that really wasn't talked about. As if this guy doesn't have enough going on, he now has to deal with constant starvation, dehumanization at new never-seen-before-pace, and the loss of his will to exist in the first place.

He is both metaphorically and physically falling apart, constantly in physical pain. When he isn't in physical pain it's because he's experiencing gut-wrenching psychological torment as he can't stop eating live beings. I don't blame this guy.

The only person who knew of this was Tsukasa, until he "told" Kou. Told is in quotation marks because it was never really Mitsuba trusting Kou enough to open up about the hell he's enduring, as mentioned before Mitsuba doesn't exactly know how to trust. The fact was forced out of him due to a dire situation, but Kou could not have reacted in a worse way:

Pro tip: If your reaction to learning that your best buddy is suffering from a complicated relationship with food, is shoving said food into their mouth violently, you might need therapy just as much as they do.

Kou is still unaware that Mitsuba's diet contains living things too, but if we're being honest that doesn't really put Kou in the right here. Like, man, I know you're freaking out because your friend just asked you to end him, but please take out your anger on something that isn't him.

And don't act surprised when this is his reaction:

This is arguably the a result of post traumatic stress disorder. Mitsuba didn't just escape, he hid in the nearest corner, making himself as small as possible, hid his head and trembled. The reason I'm calling this out as PTSD is because the only other time he panicked like this was right after Tsukasa shoved the bird heart down his throat.

So for both situations it's:

Tsukasa force feeds Mitsuba -> Mitsuba loses control (starts attacking everything)

Kou force feeds Mitsuba -> Mitsuba bites Kou

And the results are the same. He reacted the same way because mentally it was the same situation to him, It doesn't matter what the intentions were, Kou triggered an event(s (considering he's eaten multiple supernatural and is absolutely repulsed by it)) that Mitsuba had no intention of revisiting.

Summery:

Mitsuba's trauma is often overshadowed by more obvious displays of mental scarring, like with the Yugi twins and Kou, and is often represented with irony or humor, including by the creators themselves.

Even without everything he's gone though, Mitsuba was always a hopeless character. He just existed one day. He doesn't have anything, anyone. He's never been told he's loved, he's never felt sunlight, he never got to play, he's never had anyone tuck him into bed, or read him a story. He was robbed of his childhood, and any connections besides the few who remember him for someone that he isn't.

He doesn't even know what snow is, yet he knows how blood tastes like

This entire post wasn't even scratching the tip of the iceberg in terms of how much grave emotional turmoil Mitsuba has faced. And will face. Yeah I don't know how well his trust issues will cope with Natsuhiko leaving him to die. If he lives.

The idea of this long rant was to point out that Mitsuba's trauma and mental struggles are just as, if not more, relevant then his physical ones. And they do affect him, and they do have consequences. And they will most certainly come back 20x worse later on in the plot. I would say to prepare mentally, but I know tbhk fans can handle just about anything.

Thank you for reading!

ヾ(≧▽≦*)

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[hearts4werka]

NNN day 10 | Newborn Miracle

summary: the time has finally come, you and chris are going to become parents. Both of you are filled with joy and nervousness at the same time since this is a big step both of you have to make now and you’re ready more than ever for the adventures that lay ahead of you.

warnings: none, just child birth but besides it’s just chris becoming a proud father

authors note: this idea is so adorable I love the concept of babydad!chris and I need more people to write about it, so this is your sign to go do that rn 🫵 luv yall silk and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The sun had now began to rise, casting a golden color across the sky as I sat nervously in the passenger seat of Chris’s car, my hand clutching the hospital bag like it was a lifeline. Today was the day we had waited for, the day our lives would change forever. After months of preparing ourselves, endless conversations and debates about baby names and painting the nursery a soft shade of orange we were about to meet our little one. Chris was driving with a focused gaze I hadn’t seen before, his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Every so often he would spare glances at me, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice being a mix of joy and disbelief at whats going to happen today. I turned to him, my heart racing as I speak. “I think so. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” I replied, feeling butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The thought of actually becoming a parent was almost hard to believe . When we finally arrived at the hospital, the adrenaline kicked in.

We rushed through the automatic doors, our hearts pounding all together. The bright lights and the familiar smell of sanitary welcomed us as we checked in and were hushed towards the maternity section. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation but not just ours but from families around us, each with their own maternity story. After what felt like forever, it was time for me to be called in. Chris held my hand tightly as we walked together into the delivery room. My heart raced as I settled onto the hospital bed and feeling the cool sheets under me.

Nurses huddled around while preparing equipment for the delivery while Chris stood by my side, whispering soft words of motivation. Hours passed with the soft rhythm of contractions guiding us through the whole experience. Chris was never far from me and his presence felt like a warm blanket of comfort. He kept running his hands through my hair, his calming voice reminding me that we were in this together. “You’re doing amazing,” he softly whispered, his faith in me growing by the second. Finally, after what felt like an ongoing battle of will and strength, the moment arrived.

I could feel the overwhelming urge to push, and with each contraction, I used every ounce of strength I had left. In those intense moments, Chris’s eyes became my own. “You’ve got this, ma,” he reassured me, and I leaned into that support. With one final push and an intense surge of energy I didn’t know I had, we heard the most beautiful sound-our baby’s first ever cry. It was like music to our ears.

Suddenly, everything else faded away around us, the pain, the noise, the world outside. In that instant, all that mattered was the life that had just entered into our world. The doctor gently handed our baby to me, and my heart twisted with joy. I looked down and there they were, our little bundle of happiness in soft white blankets. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he came closer with his eyes wide, filled with emotion all kinds of emotions. “Can I hold them?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement. “Of course,” I smiled, shifting so he could take our baby.

Chris cradled our little one against his chest, and I watched as he radiated with pure love. He kissed their tiny forehead, an expression of shock shadowing his face. “You did it. You brought us this miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion coming straight from the heart. Chris looked down at our baby as if they were the most precious treasure in the world. “I want to do skin-to-skin,” he said and I could see the excitement radiating from him. The nurses smiled approvingly and helped him gently remove his shirt, placing our baby against his bare chest.

The warmth of the moment hugged us as Chris’s skin touched our child’s delicate body. He looked at me, letting the little one into his now vulnerable heart. “Can you believe this?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Our little one squirmed, their little hand reaching for where Chris’s heartbeat lies. I could see a connection forming, a bond that would last a lifetime. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the two of the most important people in my life together.

It was a moment of pure beauty, one I will cherish forever. Chris looked at me and grinned, as his face radiated with joy. “We’re parents,” he said, still star struck, “and this is just the beginning.” In that room surrounded by the warmth of new beginnings, we held each other close, both over the moon and overwhelmed by all of it. Our family was here, and we were ready for the wonderful adventure ahead.

@hearts4werka

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[mayfly-maycry]

The devil sighed. “Unfortunately for you, they are named as such because of my liking for them, not my ability to make them. Fortunately for you, I have just begun to crave one and I do know whose is the best.”

They then instructed you in how to make another summoning circle — rather similar to the one that had summoned them, but slightly different — and repeating the ritual with the new circle summoned another demon. Or at least, you assumed by circumstances it was another demon — he just looked like a French man.

Upon his summoning, the devil walked up behind you. “Yes, François, good of you to come. I need two of the usual, stat.”

The French demon gave a bow. “Right away, sir,” before striding out of the room. You and the devil followed him as he made his way to your kitchen, informed you that he would have to borrow it, and set to work. You sat on one of the stools at the counter and watched, fascinated, as he drew small sigils in the air to summon ingredients — top-tier if the fancy labels were anything to go off of — and mixed them in your banged-up metal mixing bowls. The devil sat beside you.

“You’ve never tasted devil food cake until you’ve tasted François’s. I believe the turn of phrase in English is ‘so good it should be a sin,’ but usually Heaven gets all the good bakers; lucky for me this one made his way down to my end of the afterlife.”

You had no idea how one was supposed to have a conversation with the devil, from the Bible, but you figured you could give it your best shot. “What exactly did he do to… ‘make his way down to your end of the afterlife,’ as you put it? Or is that rude to ask?”

The devil chuckled. “Hardly; the man grew up with a love of baking but none of the supplies, so he’d sneak into the bakery at night to borrow their ovens, plus their ingredients. Trespassing and theft. They did end up hiring him eventually, though, so it was all forgiven in the end.”

“Well, a sin is a sin I guess, even under such innocent circumstances...” The Christian afterlife was notoriously unfair in the old books, but you had held some kind of hope that it had maybe… caught up with the times.

“Oh, he also murdered his wife. I’m no judge, but I think that’s what pushed him down the stairs to my door.”

“Huh. You don’t say…” you said, reeling a bit. Yep, that would do it. Maybe there was still hope for the afterlife.

You and the devil continued your chatter, François joining you after the cakes went in the oven, speaking mostly in short responses to his lord’s jibes, but occasionally tossing out baking advice that had you itching for somewhere to write it down.

Eventually the oven timer went off. Except, it wasn’t your usual timer. As François opened the oven and pulled out the cakes, you noticed the oven wasn’t actually on; instead, two small portals floated near the top and bottom, presumably leading to the fires of Hell itself based on what you could see. You waited in anticipation as the cakes settled, the smell almost making you drool.

Finally, Françoise got out a knife and cut a single large slice out of one of the cakes, placed it on a single plate, and placed that in front of the devil with a single fork. The devil licked their lips with what, despite the cliche you could only call a devilish grin, and picked up the fork. They cut out a bite with a careful yet practiced motion, then placed it in their mouth. Th devil held the fork there for a moment, eyes closed, savoring the flavor before slowly chewing and finally allowing the moment to end when they swallowed.

The look of sheer bliss on their face was almost enough to actually make you drool. But as the devil continued to eat, François simply stood watching, making no move to get a second or even third plate. You looked almost desperately between the cakes on the stove and the piece on the devil’s plate. Just when you couldn’t take it anymore and were about to get up and serve yourself, the devil set down their fork and spoke.

“Ahh, that was delicious. The best one yet, I think. Did you change something in the recipe, François?”

“Hardly, sir. Perhaps it was the oven. Or maybe, as they say, good company makes the food taste better.”

The devil nodded. “Right you are, François. And I am a generous devil; this deserves a reward. The second cake is for our generous host. François, prepare it appropriately. And another slice for me as well.”

“Right away, sir,” François said with a smile, taking the devil’s plate and cutting a slice from each cake. He placed one in front of the devil and one in front of you. Finally. Finally you could taste it.

Reverently, you picked up your fork and took a bite. It was just as the devil had said: so good it should be a sin.

"What made you summon me, mortal?" "I want you to make me one of your cakes" "…you summoned the devil so he could make you chocolate cake?" "It's named after you, isn't it? Yours should be the best"

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) ̨ give me a chance ! ୨୧ 一 황현진 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ hyunjin is tired of you not giving him a chance  ヾ

bestfriend!hyunjin・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ mean dom hyune, unprotected sex, degradation ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can i rq mean dom hyune x his slutty best friend reader idk the plot but ... yeah smut 😃

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3 !!!

hyunjin supported everything you did; of course, as his best friend of many years, he supported all your doings. even if that meant listening to you go on and on about your latest fuck with a random dude in a bar — or the random man from tinder that you invited back to your home to fuck , or any of the random men you fuck weekly … yeah he listened to all of it — even if he dreamed of being one of the guys you fucked, maybe being the only guy you fucked.

“when i tell you he was big, hyunjin he was huge.” he sat barely listening to you talk as you laid on his bed , legs swinging off the side of his bed. “i feel like there’s a but to this?” he heard you sigh. “he couldn’t for the life of me make me cum.” you had no problem getting the guy; you just had trouble finding the right guy, a guy who get you there. “it’s like if you’re gonna have a big dick at least use it right, i thought all guys with big dicks knew to use them.”

maybe it was the slight buzz he had from the soju that was sitting on the nightstand; or maybe it was because your boobs we’re about to slip from your tank top, but it was like his mouth moved before his brain could even register what to say. “just because a guy has a big dick doesn’t mean he knows how to use it.” he said. “you’ve fucked about 10 guys with quote big dicks and none of them made you cum, i thought you would’ve figured it out already.”

“you’re saying that like you know someone with a big dick and can use it.” your tank top strap falling down your shoulders, you smirked. “oh i do.” he said, hand coming up to your shoulder strap — the tension in the room suddenly changing and his eyes darkening as he grabbed the strap. “but you’re too busy slutting yourself out to random dudes to notice.” he yanked down the strap, your boobs finally free from the shirt. “hyune!”

you tried to cover your bust, but he was quick to slap your hands away. “finally get to see those tits you love showing other dudes.” you should've pushed him away, you were his best friend, it was highly inappropriate. but as he pushed you back , climbing on top of you and you actually got a feel of his hard cock — you quickly forgot about that and allowed him to pull all your clothes off.

“giving your body to just anyone who looks your way.” he slapped your bare cunt. “not even looking my way once.” he growled, grabbing the base of his cock, stroking himself. “messy fucking pussy, you just get wet for any guy don’t you?” you moaned as he used the pad of his thumb rubbing little circles on your bud. “ju-just you.”

“just me?” he smirked, rubbing his cock up and down your slit. “you mean you weren’t even wet when you were fucking them?” he teased you by pushing his tip into your hole. “just left them use you as a cum dump?” he pushed the rest of his cock inside you. “fuck!” both of you moaned out. “fuck you’re tight , clearly they weren’t that big , your little pussy is quivering right now, struggling to take my fat cock.” he groaned , slowly moving his hips. “this is what a real big cock is supposed to feel like.”

you weren’t gonna lie, he definitely was the biggest yet, his cock was stretching you out. “s-so big.” he chuckled condescendingly. “i know.” he cursed as he pulled out. “im about to ruin this pussy for anyone else.” he slammed back inside forcing his cock all the way in. “fucking slut.” he hissed , moving his hips , pulling your shirt down letting your boobs bounce freely. “tired of listening to how you slut yourself out.” he groaned. “you wanna be a slut , gonna fuck you like one.”

his hand coming up to your throat, squeezing as his cock bullied your sweet spot. “fuck fuck fuck!” you screamed. “to-too much hyune.” he didn’t slow down though, his thrust were relentless. “take it slut.” he cursed. “if you can take all those random dudes' cocks you can take mine.”

you were a mess; tears streaming down your face, the way his hips snapped against yours, his hands slapping your clit. “you’re crying? my dick is making you go dumb?” babbling nonsense as you felt your orgasm approaching. “fuck your pussy is squeezing me, you gonna cum slut?” you nodded. “cum. cum all over my cock.” your legs shook as you came, but he didn’t stop. “im not done.” he groaned. “you came but i didn't and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

“gonna use this pussy as my own personal cumdump.”

©️LUVYENI

[fancyfeathers]

Love the mother daughter pair, but not gonna lie, fascinated by the thought of bruce blackmailing reader, and then having to properly try and woo her back essentially. If he really wants a seemingly loving family, he has to know he needs to coax his wife and the mother of his daughter into a better mood and viewpoint. No matter how much blackmail he has, she can start gaining just as much now that she's in his life, and I doubt the daughter will start trusting him properly with the tension between him and her mother. How would bruce coax the mother back? And would Talia actually have an easier time establishing a connection? Could see Bruce feeling jealous of Talia if that was the case. Idk just the tangent my mind ran on, even if that's not the case still love the work

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The blackmail is practically all there is he does that truly hurts him, and that’s only if she does not agree to his proposal when states his intent of gaining custody of their daughter. But after that comes to pass everything would be perfect for a normal couple, news about their engagement spreads like fire, and the wedding will probably be the social event of the century given how they were engaged once before and now it’s back on. The most perfect white wedding and Bruce treating his darling like the perfect husband.

Their daughter does not know the details of what happened, one moment it’s her and her mama having a perfect life together, traveling the world and being each other’s best friend, and then the next all of that is over, her father is back in her mother’s life and now she has siblings and none of them feel like the family she had with her mama, it feels suffocating and her mama doesn’t seem as bright as she once did.She clings to her mama every single day and is only separated when her attention is dragged away forcefully from her daughter and one of her brothers of father comes right to the littlest one’s side.

His wife does not push any of them away, she lets her husband hold her in the morning hours when they have just woken up and press kisses onto her face, she lets Dick call her mom as he runs up to hug her, she lets Jason help her daughter with her homework even though she asked her for help, she lets Tim take her daughter out to the park even if it’s their mother-daughter day they have, or used to have, every week, she lets Damian sit down by her and lay against her while she reads to her daughter. She will never be happy but she will fake it, she does not want to make a scene and have her daughter see and realize something is wrong and do something herself. She wants her daughter to be happy and have a future, go to university, leave Gotham and go back to what is left of the life they had, parents make sacrifices for their children and she is willing to do everything for her. She plays the game of pretend, acts like the perfect wife and mother and stepmother, stays calm and bites back all the internal rage she has building up inside her.

Honestly it is after every she has been through just for her daughter’s sake is when Talia starts to think a bit more highly of her, she understands the strength it takes to make sacrifices for one’s child. She also knows how possessive and protective they all are of her and her daughter, so meeting her discreetly is the best option. Like at a charity gala and someone accidentally spills something on her dress and has to go to the bathroom to clean up and-

“Hello again.”

She nearly screamed when she turned on the bathroom light and saw Talia’s reflection in the mirror. Talia helps her clean up and change into a new dress all while talking to her about what she has found out. She went from viewing her as Bruce’s house pet, because it was clear their marriage was not equal, to seeing a mother who is willing to sacrifice and do whatever it takes to take care of her daughter.

But it is during this the question arises and the answer is terrifying…

“What are you going to do if your daughter is just as trapped as you are? What if all you did for her was in vein?”

“I-I….”

“You are far too soft, you will never get what you desire for your daughter while you stay docile, playing the role of a perfect housewife, a house pet…”

“Talia…”

“I should be off now, but do take care of my Damian, he adores you as his stepmother.”

She leaves her alone in the bathroom and she just cries, feeling like a failure of a mother and she she can barely look her daughter in the eye again.

She just lays awake at night with the thoughts of the life she grew up with, she had a golden childhood and all she wanted was that happiness for her own daughter.

After that there is no chance of anyone winning her over, but she will not act out either, she just feels dead inside, like a complete failure of a mother. Her daughter clearly notices something is wrong and while her mother will stay perfectly compliant, her daughter is a completely different story.

The moment she sees her mom loose that shine in her eyes like she had when raising her on her own she knows this is all of their faults, they took her and her mom away from their life they loved and now there is nothing left of the mother who used to teach her to dance at parties, or attend her piano recitals and sat in the front row to applaud the loudest and despite the busy schedule of meetings she had she never missed one, or when her mom who could not help but boast about her daughter’s latest achievements…

Remember she is still her father’s daughter and has a level of determination that should not be tired under pressure.

[ghostieblr]

he knows

When people ask him what changed his mind, why he's back in Beacon Hills instead of at the fancy FBI job he earned through merit and luck, he just smiles and laughs it up. Insists this is how it just worked out. That the job was good, and being in the field was surprisingly easy for him, but the remote research work landed on his lap once and he realized he'd much rather do that. Working the field was great, but being able to actually spend time with his old man gives him more joy.

The old ladies call him a good man, tell him he's such a good son, and share their own turmoils with him. The old men sneer at his choice until he lets slip just how much he makes, and then they're singing praises, too.

After a couple of weeks, the noise dies down. He is no longer the novelty, the townspeople ready to move on to the next new, shiny thing that catches their attention.

What doesn't die down is whatever is spreading inside him. The burn under his skin is licking up towards his heart, coming out through his pores, charring him to immobility as the sun dips down and comes back up.

After week three, he's unable to move from the bed, and none of their research is bringing about any clues. No one knows why this is happening to him, and they have all accepted this.

That he is going to die. There's no coming back, no cure for this sudden illness that has taken him. None of the books that Deaton provides, that Lydia translates and pours her time into, have a single clue.

It's not as painful, if he's honest. Not now. It was at the beginning, the heat sudden and startling, the pain that comes with it bright and unending. But he's been with it for a while now, gotten used to the constant warmth. A false sense of security.

The only thing left for him is to stop feeling altogether. At the rate his body is shutting down, it's not too far, now. Another day or two, maybe three if he's unlucky.

He's said his goodbyes. Told his father to keep on living, to not only honor the memory of mom, but his, too. There's grief laced in each of their interactions, each word spoken with a weight that brings tears to Stiles' eyes and a tremble that rocks his father's body. It's an ugly sight, and it so happens to be his last. Nearly his last.

His dad's a strong man, he'll survive. He's enlisted the help of Lydia to do so. Asked her to be the child he'll not get to be for him. Through teary eyes she had agreed, and he's watched the two of them get closer in their quest of trying to heal him, and then grieve him. She's like the daughter he never had, and she is good for him. Stops him from drinking alcohol and makes him healthy food, even when he refuses to listen, and Stiles can do nothing but lay on his bed as the voices float up from the kitchen.

Scott and him never did resolve their differences. Scott's been a part of his life enough to warrant him a last goodbye, and despite everything that has happened, Scott promised to him to be there for his dad. He promised many things, but has delivered none, and has only been by to see him on day one — when Stiles had allowed Lydia to bring in the McCall Pack to help him cure himself.

It's as if Stiles being dead was an accepted outcome for him, and Scott has grieved him to the point of utter indifference since. If he's grieving in silence that's another thing, but for now, Stiles isn't dead. People do come in and see him.

Lydia, of course. His dad. Jackson flew from London to come see him, and he hasn't left since, feet set like stone in Beacon Hills, despite the final acceptance of their failure. Isaac came with Jackson, and it's so silly, he thinks, that being on the verge of death can bring together people you would never see in one place by choice.

Kira has stopped by multiple times, as have Malia, Liam, Mason, Jordan, and surprisingly, Hayden. She insisted he's a hero, and cried while hugging him.

Scott hasn't come again. And, honestly, it's not as bothersome to Stiles as someone else not coming in to see him.

Cora has face-timed him, and Peter was there, he knows. The two of them were there, and when he'd asked about Derek, Cora had snapped out, "He's an idiot," while Peter had calmly told Stiles, "He's determined."

Stiles is smart enough to put together the fact that Derek has been pursuing his own leads to find the cure, but he'd hoped that once the finality of his situation reached him, he'd see Derek one last time.

He wouldn't burden Derek with the knowledge of his own feelings. Wouldn't confess like in the fairytales, and hope for a true love's miracle. Stiles is honest to himself these days, and he'd rather go with unconfessed feelings than burden Derek, because somewhere in their interactions, Stiles has developed a pure hatred for anything that could even remotely hurt Derek.

He supposes this is love, and how ironic is it, that this is the most intense feeling he's ever had, and he can't even speak aloud about it?

So he lounges in his bed, waiting for the light to take him. Each time he closes his eyes he knows he's closer to never opening them again, and tonight, as he hears Lydia turn the pages of a book, and Jackson walking outside in the hallway, and his dad sobbing in his own room, and Isaac cooking, he just wishes tonight's the night. He cannot have the people he care about clinging onto false hope.

He closes his eyes, and behind his eyelids, he sees his family. He sees his mom, beckoning him; his parents, smiling, as he runs towards them for a family hug; Lydia, when she told him she loves him in the Jeep, and the night when he came back, declaring that he's not supposed to leave her, ever; Jackson and Isaac laughing at his expense, but not in a mean way, instead enjoying each other's company like the friends they've become these days; Derek, as the last time Stiles saw him, smiling softly at him while he rambled on about the way he convinced the FBI to let him join the mission that saved Derek's ass.

He remembers, with immense clarity, the moment he realized he's in love with Derek. The heartbreak of saying goodbye to him, of watching his brows furrow at the clear lie of, "You should go," and hesitant step forward he'd taken before realizing it.

He'd said, "You should go or Cora will leave," and left the, "I want her to," unsaid.

He sleeps, and wishes to dream about a world where Derek didn't leave and things happened differently. Where somehow, they found their way to each other, and Stiles never got ill like this.

Instead, he dreams about a purple light guiding him to a tunnel that simply looks white, like that is all there is.

He follows.

He doesn't wake up, again.

At least, that's what he thinks — until his eyes open and he's face-to-face with —

"Derek?"

*

The whole place is white. The only splash of color exists on Stiles himself, his clothes rumpled with sleep, and on Derek, whose jeweled eyes are shimmering with unshed tears and sparkling joy.

"Derek, what the hell did you do?!"

Derek doesn't deem that a question worthy of replying. Instead the werewolf picks him up and hugs him so tight Stiles worries about not being able to breathe, and then realizes, with a startling clarity, that he is not in pain.

Still in embrace, he asks, a little choked up, "Why am I not in pain?"

Derek takes an exaggerated sniff before reluctantly pulling back and fixing him with a look that screams of resplendent joy, but also like he's waiting for a reprimand. He says, "This is Bardo."

Stiles stills. "Bardo," he repeats. He's dived into enough books to hear what Derek is leaving unsaid. Bardo is where spirits go after dying. It's an in-between space for spirits with unfinished business, one that opens only on a land with a Nemeton on it. Beacon Hills fits the criteria for it, and Stiles the criteria for having wishes he didn't get in his life, but he doesn't... He doesn't fit the other criteria. "Derek Nobody Will Tell Me What Your Middle Name Is Hale, that place — which apparently is this place, what the hell — is for supernatural spirits. Me?" He laughs, humorless and frantic. "I am not a supernatural creature. I'm just a human who used to run with a Pack."

Derek's worry melts away into nothing, as if Stiles would miss the fact that for Derek to be here, he has to be dead.

"Don't think I don't understand that you're dead, too! Deliberately!"

There. That is the face of a chastised puppy. "But it worked?" Stiles squints his eyes and motions for Derek to go on, who sighs but complies with the command. "The illness that took you was a Supernatural fever, last recorded with a Spark centuries ago. I tracked down the journal —"

"Wait, hold on, Spark? Where have I heard that word..." The Vet clinic, years ago. The Kanima in the club. The mountain ash line that never should have formed because there was much too less of it to complete the circle. As the realization hits, he closes his eyes and rests his fists against them. He isn't ashamed to let out a scream of rage as well.

When he lets his arms fall back down to his side, Derek takes one of them and starts rubbing comforting circles on the back of his hand. "You are one," he says softly, like he's trying not to spook Stiles with the declaration. Like Stiles' world didn't just shift irrevocably as he put the pieces together. "I don't really understand why your powers never unlocked, because traditionally speaking they should have kicked in your teen years. With the added clusterfuck of those years they definitely should have. They did not."

Again, he laughs humorlessly, and gives Derek a "duh" look. "Our lives have rarely dared to be traditional." He thinks back to all the awful things that have happened over the years to him, but mostly, as Derek put it, in those years. The Nogitsune was definitely the worst thing to happen to him, and holy shit. "Do you think it chose me because of my power? Rather than her?"

Derek doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, "I think that is why you survived. Because of your Spark."

Oh. That... makes sense. Sort of. But that is the past, and they're in the present, and they're in fucking Bardo of all places. "Derek, I think I really need an explanation. Like right now. Including why you thought killing yourself was the best fucking idea."

Derek winces, but he also looks determined once Stiles' glare eases off of him. And they're still holding hands, which he realizes with a warmth he actually enjoys feeling. "When I got the call, I had an inkling... So I followed my instincts and ended up at probably our oldest vault."

"You knew what I am." He doesn't even feel angry. Somehow, Derek knowing a thing about him that nobody else does (and he is not counting Deaton as a factor here at all, that cryptic asshole), it feels nice.

Derek uses his free hand to tap at his chest, once, twice. "Instincts," he says, with the same effect as saying, "Werewolf," like he once used to, as if that was the answer to everything. "This illness confirmed it for me. I found a journal at the vault that belonged to that Spark, and in it, he detailed how the illness felt, how it spread, and how within weeks he could do nothing but lay on his cot." Derek swallows, his voice turning rough with choked up emotions. "Stiles, just reading it was so awful. I can't imagine..."

Derek Hale doesn't cry. He feels deeply, and he cares even deeper, but he doesn't cry, not in front of people.

But Stiles is not most people, and he is aware enough to know that he is, for some reason, one of the people who is most important to Derek. So as Derek breaks down at the idea of Stiles' suffering, Stiles reaches forward and brings his arms around Derek.

"I'm here," he assures, over and over again, until the words are stronger than Derek's shaking. "I'm right here," he says one last time, and stays close to the man he loves most for an indeterminate amount of time, silently not-breathing together.

Stiles breaks the silence with, "I love you, you know?" He had promised to not say it to Derek. To not burden him. But here they are, in Bardo. Together. A Pack of two who would do all that is possible and all that is not to protect the other. Derek deserves to know he is loved.

The way Derek's arms tighten around him says he doesn't know. And when Derek pulls back, just a little to stare at Stiles like this is unbelievable, Stiles pulls him back in by grabbing his hands and putting one on his chest, the other on his face. He kisses the inner palm of the latter, and smiles brightly. "Never thought I'd say it. Especially once I was on my deathbed. Still hate that you chose to die with me, but I'm hoping you have a plan, and you deserve to know. You're amazing and I love you, Derek Hale."

The smile he gets is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and Derek presses forward until their foreheads are resting against each other's. "Samuel," he says.

"Derek Samuel Hale? Samuel like Sam and Dean's grandpa?"

Derek does a snort-chortle thing, then says in the small space between them, "Shut up, Stiles."

"Shutting up."

The silence stretches, and they stay together, seizing the moment. Who knew Bardo could be peaceful? Except...

"Our escape plan? See, I'd love to explore you biblically anywhere and everywhere, but I would much rather do it on —"

"Stiles."

Derek's look of scandalized horror makes Stiles laugh until he's being hauled off in his strong, muscled arms like a sack of potatoes and starts walking. "I don't know why I love you too."

"This is just sexy. I don't think you know what you're doing to me."

"I can still smell your arousal, Stiles. I know."

"You know loads of things. What else do you know?" He says it in a simpering, sexy voice, and then giggles as Derek stumbles a step before balancing himself.

"I know how to escape. We need a bed, yes? So stop distracting me and let me do my thing."

Stiles is just glad he is already in Derek's arms, because otherwise he would have swooned and fallen into them.

The escape plan is easy and a let down, if he's being completely honest. What they need are:

A Spark's Belief ✅️

An Alpha's Roar ✅️ (When did Derek become an Alpha again?)

An Anchor on The Other Side ✅️ (Peter)

An Incantation That Derek Has Memorized ✅️

To Stand Where The Veil is Thinnest ✅️ (Derek's instincts strike yet again)

All in all, it is very anti-climactic, and very dirty as they end up materializing in a clearing near the Nemeton which is muddy. Peter looks one look at them and says, "Finally."

Stiles isn't sure if he meant it for them coming back or for Stiles and Derek finally confessing to each other. Either way, Peter hands them clean clothes and agrees to drive them back to Stiles' house, where apparently everyone is in a panic because "Stiles dissappeared."

"It's only been like, an hour or something," Stiles says, confused, as he changes into the clean t-shirt while Peter faces the other way and Derek stares, unabashed, much to Peter's verbal disgust.

Peter takes a break from chastising his nephew to say, "It's been 72 hours."

Huh.

"We should get going then," he says, and Peter sighs.

"If only you could ask my dear nephew to rein in his urges."

Stiles throws Derek a glare, who rolls his eyes but obliges. However the glare the turns into an appreciative look over Derek's abs, and Peter throws up his hands.

*

Acclimating to having magic is easy when he already has an anchor. Derek's presence is both wanted and needed, and despite Scott's insistence that another Alpha cannot stay in town, Derek stays as long as Stiles does.

Two weeks pass before Stiles calls back his boss and lets her know that he's now alright, and then he's promptly being shipped off to another state for a case. Everyone has already congratulated him on both being alive and doing something about his pining, so they throw a simple dinner on his last night in town and Stiles watches, with amusement and fondness, as all the people in his heart mingle with easy conversations and banter.

Peter chooses to stay in town to reconnect with Malia in person, while Cora deems it better to go back to her Pack in South America. Lydia and Jackson leave together for London, but Isaac decides to stay back.

When Stiles asks him why, he says, "Liam needs a good mentor. His control is weak. I can help him, plus, Derek needs a pack."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Liam is Scott's beta," he says.

"None of them have a pack bond," Isaac fire backs, and oh.

Derek must have heard the conversation, too, because he comes over and claps Isaac on the back, proud and all smiley, and Stiles can't help but lean in to kiss it. To taste the constant joy off of Derek's face, to give him his own in return. The action is met with Derek's soft moan and a ring of disgusted groaning from the others, including his dad's.

Stiles laughs after he pulls back, and looks around at the lot of them. There's tragedy woven into all of their lives, but there's also happiness.

Who knew getting ill would lead to this? To re-founding a family?

Maybe Derek knew, the bastard. Loveable bastard, though.

[sambargestuff]

I actually campaign for the NDP. Like, I knock on doors and talk to people about the election, the local candidate, the world. You know, stuff. I've been doing this for around 35 yrs (I started young and I'm old). My riding is traditionally NDP with the occasional red Liberal.

Let me tell you what I've seen in the last few elections.

Increasingly, working class people are turning to the Conservative Party. They aren't served by the current economic realities of Canada and they're looking for a party that will deliver them without actually making life too much different. See, they hate being screwed over themselves but they don't have any class loyalty and they're not really into changing the world. They just want a bigger piece of the pie. Social progress scares them and they like a party that confirms that they are right in what they believe about trans folk and indigenous people. They don't trust women and they don't trust people of colour. They don't know about Gaza and, this may be hard to accept, they don't care. Someone has been whispering in their ear about Trudeau. Online, I presume; where the stupid lie to each other, to keep each other perpetually angry.

Now, I don't support Trudeau/Liberals, so I can totally talk about that they've done wrong (don't even get me started on electoral reform) but I can't talk to these people because they live in a different reality from me. Their arguments usually go something like: Trudeau is a crook because of masks, vaccines, and the carbon tax. I mean, sure, he's a slimy trust fund baby but none of those things were criminal, actually. You can disagree with policy decisions but the vitriol is way out of proportion

Jagmeet Singh and the NDP have no chance with most of them because (1) he has brown skin and wears a turban (although they rarely say that part out loud, sometimes they do) and (2) he has supported the Liberal gov't in their minority. When you point out the progressive changes under the minority gov't prompted by the NDP, they don't care. I've talked to seniors who benefit from Pharmacare and young families that benefit from the national childcare program and they don't care.

Mostly, it's the men who don't care. And, like what just happened in the US, the white men are going to vote Conservative.

I don't know if ABC is the way to go. I'll vote NDP because they do have a good chance of winning here. But if I lived in a riding where they had no chance, I might plug my nose and vote Liberal to make sure the Cons have one fewer MP in Parliament. I'm just glad I don't have to make that choice.

Then, I'd spend the next 4 yrs developing the NDP in my riding, talking to people about what matters to them and how to achieve it, and calling my Liberal MP every time I feel like it to tell them what I think. I'd write letters to the editor and attend municipal townhalls to discuss local issues. I'd canvass door to door between elections to talk to people about legislative changes, etc. I'd join groups that interest me and make connections there too. When the next election comes around, I'd canvass for the candidate that I believed in.

Democracy doesn't happen on voting day alone. The rich know this and that's why they're paying bots to whisper in the ears of gullible, angry people.

I hate the idea of voting for the liberals strategically instead of the ndp but I am actually terrified of what would happen if pp won next year

~~~~

[botchedsundoll]

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; christmas hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none! pure fluff

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; ho ho ho merry christmas idc if its nov its christmas time… do ppl drink on christmas? we do so idek? icl this is all like stuff i made up bcos i don’t celebrate christmas like this but wtv we roll #wesołychświąt

C. OLIVEIRA

do not let this man near the kitchen. everything that can go wrong goes WRONG

ask him to take something out the oven, he drops it. ask him to stir something in the bowl he stirs too vigorously and it goes flying all over the counters

he’s a pain. he’s distracting. constantly getting infront of you with the mistletoe, thinking he’s slick by trying to sneak in kisses. constantly sneaking bites of food whenever he thinks you’re not looking (you are, and you smack his hands away with a spoon)

one thing he’s actually good at and enjoys is cookie decorating. he’ll make little gingerbread men of you two and make them so damn detailed. makes one for jill too, though with less care and her face ends up a bit… strange

he’s THAT person which is always ringing everyone, friends and family, wishing them a merry christmas and sends them stupid gifs slavic babcias love so much (if u dont know what i mean then☹️)

LOVES the whole aspect of the christmas tree yet hates putting it together, it pisses him off to no end and half way through ends up calling you over to help him… definitely picks you up so that you can put the star on top

if he gets an ugly christmas sweater you best believe he’s wearing it for the full day, no shame

L. KENNEDY

depends which leon we’re talking about

younger leon puts in more effort, older leon genuinely can’t be fucked to do much

walks around with a trash bag when everyone’s opening presents so there’s no mess on the floor

your guys’ house is literally the christmas function. every year. mostly due to you inviting everyone round and deciding to host it, much to leon’s annoyance but he doesn’t mind THAT much since he loves you!!

definitely the best gift giver. for some damn reason he just knows what everyone wants, genuinely no explanation for it. he just does

he’s such a sweetheart, constantly asking you if you need help with anything in the kitchen or whether you need him to pop to the store for anything

he 100% sang carols when he was younger. just imagine 7 year old leon, hair gelled back, button up shirt, stood infront of the tv singing carols (lets pretend he didn’t have all that trauma okay)… get him to sing again, he might cave once he’s drunk enough with chris

on the topic of chris, something ALWAYS happens when the pair have had a few and aren’t sober any longer. something always gets broken for some reason

one year, they randomly got up and started dancing. leon went flying into the christmas tree and took it down with him.

i hc him as having a rather large sweet tooth, so he’s always down for some cookie decorating! it’s rather sloppy and they end up looking questionable most of the time, but he ends up eating half of them before he’s even fully finished decorating so that’s not much of a problem anyways

C. REDFIELD

santa. need i say more?

nag him constantly to wear a santa outfit or atleast a santa hat. he will cave eventually

DEFINITELY gets a wallet for christmas every damn year without fail, yet doesn’t even use the damn wallets

him in the kitchen helping you out is definitely… something. he doesn’t know how to measure - what the fuck is a cup?

you asked him to help you out and stuff the turkey. he walked out the kitchen.

gets claire shitty gifts on purpose but then gives her her ACTUAL gift. they’re siblings after all, he can’t help it, old habits die hard

hates decorating the outside of the house. it’s his nightmare. all the stupid lights, just no

goes CRAZY on your gift. it’s like a little reward for all the effort you go through every year, and it’s always something you wanted badly and doesn’t fail to put a smile on your face

he’s not necessarily a fan of sweet things, but hot chocolate? that’s a completely different story entirely, you end up having to send him to buy milk since he drank the whole damn carton and there’s none left by the time you get around to actually preparing for dinner

like leon, sits there with a trash bag. he gives such dad vibes i can’t stop imagining it

him and leon ultimate christmas duo after a few drinks. all of a sudden chris is in the biggest christmas spirit ever and can’t get last christmas out his head

best thing is? he’s not even too big on christmas. he actually celebrates it just because of you, what a sweetheart

[feefivefoe]

Ok, hear me out!

Damian, entering the library and seeing reader painting: Ah, I didn’t know you painted, brother! I have a love for art, too! What’re you painting?

Reader, not looking away from their canvas: Oh, just a fantasy I’ve been having since you guys kidnapped me.

The painting is Reader holding a bloody axe, going Shining-style on Bruce while surrounded by the corpses of the family.

Damian, not sure if he should be concerned that his brother harbors such violent thoughts or flattered that Reader painted a portrait of him and the family together.

How would the family react to this and what would happen as a result?

Well, if I remember correctly, there are a lot of canons where Jason did actually try to kill Damian. None of this family knows how to express their emotions properly.

Damian probably takes it as a good sign. You're including your family in your art! Art is something so close and personal to the person who creates it, so if you painted them, you must harbor a similar amount of passion for having them in your life!

Bruce, in my opinion, is self aware enough to know clinically that it isn't healthy, but it doesn't concern him too much? He's confident that you wouldn't actually be able to hurt any of them, and any weapons in the house are far out of your reach in case you decide your own skin would be an easier target. There's technically knives in the kitchen, but best of luck sneaking past Alfred to get them-

In the back of his mind, Dick knows it's not the best, but actively chooses to ignore it. Aw! You're painting your brothers! They should hang this in the main hall so everyone can see how much you love them- okay, Bruce said no, but he would love to have it outside his room!!! That way you can see it every time he has (makes) you spend time with him!

Tim sat there while you painted it, actively giving notes on how corpses sit. You kicked him out after half an hour of "well typically Dick slumps like this when unconscious, so after rigor m-" stfu Tim and be disturbed like a normal person.

Jason is the only other one not okay with it. He's kinda hurt bc you two used to be close. Listen, he KNOWS the situation isn't great, but it's fucking better than you being out and about in this shithole city, okay? ...So can you just paint over him and leave the others in-

[fuck-customers]

Stop fucking arguing with me and shut up for a goddamn second and you'd realize that I'm actually not denying what you're saying and I'm just asking for 1 tiny piece of fucking information to get you what you want!

Sometimes expired sale signs get left up after the sale ends. Mistakes happen. Sometimes the person taking them down misses 1 or 2. We can honor the sale sign price for customers, BUT in order to know that this was just a mistake on our part, we need to see proof that the old sign was left up. Either in the form of a picture, bringing the physical sign to the register, or having a coworker confirm the sign.

If you have any reading/listening comprehension at all, you will understand that none of those options are a "no." Just simply an additional step that is needed.

So I'm ringing some shit up for this woman and she's like "wait those are supposed to be 50% off" so I say "unfortunately they're coming out at 40% off, but if you want to take a picture of the sale sign, I can honor it or I can ask my coworker to check it. I just need to double-check that the old sign is still up and then I can honor the price."

She 100% did not listen to anything I said and was unnecessarily aggressive, saying "you want me to get the sign? I'll get the sign if you want. Or do we need a manager?" but with the same tone of "you wanna go? You wanna fucking fight?"

And I'm like bitch....chill. Yes, please take a picture and I can adjust the price. That's literally what I said. Why are you getting so fucking hostile?

Posted by admin Rodney