#today was so hard and long and gross for many reasons

[hasufin]

Okay, so I'm gonna start with bread.

Bread, on the face of it, is absolutely ridiculous.

We make bread by:

Harvesting the seeds of a desert grass which has been modified almost beyond recognition and is grown in wildly different environments than the one for which it evolved.

Then we remove the chaff from that seed, take the result of that and grind it into a very fine powder; a process which takes enormous amounts of manual labor or a considerable industrial base. In fact, just turning the harvested grain into flour has long been considered a specialized profession (Miller) and having a mill was one of the most important signifiers of civilization.

Then you take that powdered grain - flour - and mix it with some combination of water, fats, salt, maybe eggs or milk, and some powdered yeast or a leavening agent.

You take that combination and - especially if you're working with powdered yeast - you have to do this complicated process of resting and working it so it develops special protein chains which can trap the gas from the yeast, and of course giving it time to build up the gases. This results in a sort of spongy mass.

Then you heat that spongy mass in an oven to set it so it holds that shape. Right now those ovens are very common, but historically they were themselves expensive beasts which only existed communally: you had special bakeries, people didn't typically bake their own bread.

Isn't that just nuts? There's no way we could have come up with that. How the heck did it happen?

Well... lets strip away each layer of technology.

First, let's get rid of chemical leavening. Most chemical leavening agents - the common baking soda, and baking powder (baking soda with acid), not to mention potash, sodium carbonate, and ammonia salts (!!!) were the products largely of Victorian-era dumbassery with chemicals. It was an era when they were just basically fucking around with chemicals to see what they could get. Yes, a lot of them died. Eventually they settled on some specific options which were marketable and reasonably safe.

So largely we can ignore all that. I mean, it's important, but historically the last 150 years was just yesterday. So no chemical leavening.

But what about yeast? Well... funny thing. We've been using yeast for a very, very long time. But the modern instant yeast we use today wasn't invented until WWII. As with many other modern foodstuffs (separate rant warning!) it was developed to make it easier for the USA to export violence.

This doesn't mean we ignore yeast, though. Yeast is important. Prior to the invention of instant yeast, there were a number of ways people acquired the stuff. A popular method was getting barm - the foamy gross stuff that floats on top of beer while it's being brewed - from the local brewery. Everywhere had a brewery. Or, you know, people brewed beer at home (hence the term alewife). They also transported dried chunks of unbaked dough, and there was such a thing as sourdough starter. There were many options, though none so convenient as instant yeast.

The general consensus is that yeast was simply the result of unbaked flatbread dough being left out too long - sometimes it would result in mold, but other times you'd get a sort of yeast-risen bread, and ancient people - maybe Egyptians, but maybe Sumerians - ran with that. It's equally possible that they made beer first and only later bread; it's hard to say. We do know that by the time of the Hebrews, raised bread was the norm: the point of matzah is they didn't have time to let it rise; therefore we can conclude that by the Middle Kingdom era, risen bread was definitely the norm because unrisen bread was seen as unusual and a hardship.

Now, thing is, that's interesting, and tells us a bit about the development of bread, but we can also now strip that away: we had breads before we had yeast, and in fact didn't wholly abandon them even once yeast was available. So now we've taken away yeast.

OKay, so flour. Now, hearkening back, I mentioned that milling is a THING. In the USA, colonial-era expansion is largely recorded by the building of mills. Where possible these mills were powered by water, but when that was unavailable they used beasts of burden. I understand this wasn't much different in other parts of the world, excepting that due to British colonial law they used rather more wooden machinery than metal. But the principle remains, and has a long history. Today our mills operate with electric motors, and the burrs are generally metal; while they look different they work in very much the same way. Before using such machinery, grain was milled by hand. Milling stones came in a variety of forms, from the simple two-stone method we know of from the Egyptians, to the stone disk grinders you can buy today if you suddenly develop a deep need to punish yourself. So milling grain is nothing new.

But what we also know is, people didn't always mill their grain, even when the technology exists. Roman citizens, for example, received a monthly allotment of grain, which was often just literally a sack of grain. Most Romans would take that to the baker and exchange it baked bread; but the poorest Romans would not, because of course the baker would not give you the same amount of bread as they could make with that grain (since they were taking the grain to the miller, and putting in the effort to make it into bread). Thereby if you needed every bit of grain you got, you kept it your sack of grain and cooked it yourself. We'll come back to that, because it's significant that most people until the 19th century didn't have ovens.

Okay, let's talk ovens. The modern oven is heated by electricity or natural gas. Previously they ran on coal gas - a nasty, sooty stuff which would suffocate you (hence the old trope of committing suicide by sticking your head in the oven). Prior to THAT ovens could be cast iron deals heated by coal or charcoal. Going back a bit farther you had basically these enclosed fireplaces which you'd heat up by building a fire in them until they were nice and hot, then removing the coals and putting in whatever you were baking. Those were interesting deals. They were large and took a significant effort to build and operate. It was typical to only have one per village, and they'd normally heat them in the morning and let them cool over the day (with, I think, occasional reheating but I'm not sure). Old recipes differentiate between a "quick" [hot] and a "slow" [not as hot] oven, rather than specific temperatures. The thing about these ovens is, they're big and expensive. You pretty much had one per community, and in many communities it was considered as "communal" even if it technically belonged to the baker - this includes the origins of baked beans, since those could be prepared on Saturday and would cook overnight in the cooling oven, thus avoiding the proscription of work on the Sabbath.

Now, in some other circumstances they had "cooking kettles", which we would today call Dutch Ovens. These served well enough, but in most of history even that item, being a considerable quantity of iron, was beyond the means of most people.

So what to do? Okay, this is where I get to sidestep something like 6000 years of development to get to pancakes. Because the answer is waybread. Waybread is not an invention of Tolkien (lembas is, but that's just magical waybread)

Waybread would have been a familiar thing even into the earlier part of the 20th century. It was a staple for anyone in the wilderness - it was normal for anyone trekking across uninhabited terrain to bring with them little more than a blanket, a knife or ax, and a sack of flour (accounts seldom mention other accoutrements, but we can safely assume they also carried a canteen and likely a few other typical items which were beneath notice of historical chroniclers). They trusted they would be able to make a fire, and acquire sufficient water. With that and flour, they could make a paste or dough, and bake it on a flat stone, split piece of wood, wrapped in a leaf, or even just by burying in the ashes of their fire. All of these are well-attested methods, and common throughout history. Indeed, these were made even when not trekking across the wilderness - while the mythology incorrectly holds that hoecakes were made in the field (who would dare build a fire where it might destroy the crops?), and they may or may not have used the same hoes as used to work the fields, slaves in the American South certainly did cook their ration of corn meal in such a fashion, often with only perhaps some salt and water, and held directly over the fire in whatever would serve for a cooking utensil.

In the British isles, there is an old story claiming that King Alfred once let a peasant's oatcakes burn, as he was sheltering in the peasant's home while fighting an invasion; oatcakes being the same as waybread but using oats; and this in the 9th century.

And here we get to an important point about waybread - it does not even to be made using flour! Any grain or meal which will stick together with some amount of liquid will do the trick. Meaning that while you could not simply mix water and seeds, you could do just about anything past that - even wild grains, removed from their husks and pounded between two rocks, would suffice. And in fact, that is believed to have been the famous iceman Ötzi's last meal: a rough waybread, flavored with wild onions and other herbs he may have picked while traveling, consumed a few hours before his untimely demise.

And here we get to my point: a pancake is a very broad thing; it's any sort of grain (and arguably not merely grain! Potato pancakes are a thing) which holds together and is cooked directly over heat. We have been consuming pancakes as far back a we know, far into prehistory. It is a contender as one of the first cooked foods - very possibly predating anything like a stew - cooking vessels being in short supply in the stone age, and our best guess there is they dropped hot rocks into leather buckets with water and grain, or into stomachs of game animals, also filled with grains; but these awkward options quite possibly came after crudely milled grains cooked on a flat rock by a fire; accompanied perhaps by roasted meat.

And for this reason, every culture has something which is like a pancake. some use leavening, some do not. Some use wheat, others use rice, oats, barley, or maize. But it's about as universal a foodstuff as we have ever found. If you were to sit down with a fowl roasted over a fire, and eat it with some simple flatbread, you would be enjoying a meal which would be familiar to every human who has ever lived.

European pancakes

[itspileofgoodthings]

I don’t mean to be cheesy but. I think this is a beautiful life. 😭😭😭😭

[thebearer]

omg the part in that one blurb where reader makes a joke about being able to skip a meal and then carmy’s just like tf did you just say is so important to me as someone that has a long (and uneasy) history with body image and healthy eating habits

i was wondering if you had blurb/general thoughts/ideas on how carmy would react to the reader having a harder than usual time with body image for whatever reason

maybe they make one too many jokes or little comments about feeling insecure and carmy’s just not having it lol

carmen, with every ounce of love i have in my heart for him, would not be good with handling that. simply because he understands not liking yourself (like the idea of it, he can't fathom why you don't) but he grew up where food was kind of an act of love. he'd never hear an "i'm sorry" ever in his life, but his mom would very much so be the type to say "i have dinner ready for you" and that was as much as an apology as he'd get.

the first time you're kinda not eating, carmen's like trying to joke with you. "the food not good? don't like it?"

and you assure him that's not it. "i just... i'm not really hungry."

carmen's confused bc you've been together all day and you only had an iced coffee in the morning. "no way." he shook his head. "you haven't eaten all day. if you don't like it, baby, it won't hurt my feelings, i promise. nothin' you can say that a chef in new york didn't say, they said worse too. just tell me what you want and-"

"-carmen, it's ok. it's really good, i'm just not really hungry." you smile. "i need to not eat today anyways. my jeans are so tight-"

"-what?" carmen thinks you're joking at first, brows creasing with a small grin. until he sees your face. "you're-you're being serious?"

"well, kinda..." you mutter.

"that's... don't say that." carmen shook his head. "please, don't-don't do that, that's insane."

your face falls at his tone, you know he doesn't mean to be so hard about it, but you can't help but feel worse, like carmen's mad at you. in a way he is, but not out of anger, out of love. out of not wanting you to hurt yourself like that.

"i just... i feel gross, and i'm starting to look it-"

"- i think you look beautiful." carmen mutters. he sounds hurt, genuinely hurt by what you're saying, like you said them to him. "i don't... i don't like that you do that to yourself." he admitted after a moment. he'd been going to therapy, working on channeling his emotions out when he felt them instead of bottling them in, leading him to an anxiety attack.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, unsure of what else to say.

"no, it's not... i don't want you to apologize or- or feel bad, i just... i felt like i should say it." carmen's eyes lifted to yours. "that you don't need to do that."

you can't help the way your chest rushes with heat, anxiously picking up the spoon in front of you. you're not sure what to say, most of the time, most guys kinda brush it off. act like it's nothing or ignore it- some agreeing. no one ever got... hurt by it like this. like you were hurting them too.

maybe it was the guilt. maybe it was the fact that carmen looked so sad. whatever it was, you weren't sure, but you were fucking hungry- and the pasta was good.

you hesitantly took a bite, ignoring carmen's eyes tracking you. "it is really good." you hum, trying to break the obvious tension in the room.

"you don't have to eat it, i-i don't want you to feel pressured to." carmen shook his head. "but i'll make you something else? could i make you something else? whatever you want."

you blushed, looking down. you knew what he meant. he was trying to help in the only way he knew how to, by cooking. "carmen-" you sigh.

"no, it's... it's not good to not eat, ya know?" carmen looked up at you. "you have to eat but-but if you don't want pasta, i get it. i'll make you whatever if that's what you want." he looked at you pointedly. "but don't ever think you need to do anything like that f'me. i think you're perfect no matter what. love you no matter what. you know that, told you i'd still love you even if you were a worm."

you snorted lightly, his reference to the tiktok trend you'd done on him a while ago. "thanks, bear." you mutter, grabbing his hand lightly. "i-i would like, if it's not too much and you have all the stuff, that greek goddess salad sydney was testing the other day? i've been craving it."

"heard." carmen nodded, standing towards the fridge.

"if it's not too much trouble-"

"-c'mon." carmen scoffed, looking at you sweetly. "it'll take me fifteen minutes max. sit down f'me, alright. i got it."

[eternallyordinary]

“He Belongs to You” - Part 12

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Series Masterlist<3

Summary: You need an escape. Homelander thinks otherwise.

Warnings: violence, vomit, graphic gore, language, knife, gun, death, blood, possessive nature, age gap relationship, harassment if i forgot anything pls Imk <3)

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“Fuck him!” Lindsay declares, snorting a line of coke.

You’re not entirely sure why you’re here—pregaming in an NYU dorm with coke and Svedka for a party.

Who the fuck even drinks Svedka anymore?

Lindsay does.

“I know it’s gross, but it’s so low calorie. Gets you drunker quicker too.”

You met Lindsay years ago at summer camp—one of those church retreats where the counselors hit on you, the music swells during worship, and suddenly everyone’s crying, though no one really knows why.

She had always been a lot, but she was always the life of the party. Something you couldn’t help but be jealous of as an awkward 14 year old girl.

You two grew up in neighboring towns and remained close. But when everything happened with your sexual assault? She disappeared. Radio silence.

You weren’t naive—you knew she had seen the tweets, heard the rumors. Yet she never checked in.

But then you made it big. ‘America’s Got Powers’ put you on the map long before the Seven.

And what do ya know?

Suddenly, she was back around.

One of many coming back like a revolving door.

She reached out 3 separate times to remind you she went to NYU. You always ignored her messages. Yet for some reason, when she invited you to this party, you thought “fuck it”.

And here you were, confiding in her about your one-week age-gap mess of a relationship with a man who made you feel like a fucking idiot.

Lindsay wipes her nose with the back of her hand, blinking rapidly as the coke hits.

“No, seriously. Fuck him,” she repeats, flopping onto the bed, legs crossed. “Who does he think he is, treating you like that? Like, hello? You’re you. He should be begging to keep you.”

You force a smile, swirling the cheap vodka around in your solo cup.

You don’t know why you told her anything.

Maybe you just need someone, anyone, to listen.

“Yeah,” you say, noncommittal.

Lindsay rolls onto her stomach, kicking her feet up behind her. “Wait, so how old is he again?”

You hesitate, then answer, “Like… older.”

Her eyes go wide, lips parting in amusement. “Like forty?”

You shake your head.

She gasps. “Fifty?”

“Jesus, no,” you scoff. “Not that old.”

She smirks. “But, like, old enough that it’s sketchy?”

You don’t answer, just take a slow sip of your drink. It burns, cheap and harsh, but you welcome it.

“Oh my God,” Lindsay drags the words out, laughing. “You’re being so weird about this. Who is this guy?”

She doesn’t know that the man you’re talking about isn’t just some guy.

He’s not just some older asshole who love-bombed you for a week and then humiliated you in front of an entire room.

He’s not just another man who made you feel small.

He’s Homelander.

The Homelander.

The most powerful man in the fucking world.

And he looked you in the eye today and made you feel like… nothing.

Not even a day after you gave him the most sacred part of yourself.

Fuck.

Now you feel sick.

“Just… someone I met,” you say vaguely, swirling your drink again. Hopefully the nausea is hidden on your face.

Lindsay raises an eyebrow.

“Okay… mysterious. But what did he do, exactly? Like, why are we hating him?”

You hesitate. How do you even explain it?

How do you explain that a man who could crush you with the flick of his wrist, who could level entire cities, spent the past week treating you like you were the most important thing in the world—then simply shut off like a switch was flipped?

That he turned cold, indifferent.

Like you were an inconvenience.

Like you disgusted him.

You swallow hard.

“I told him something really personal, and… I don’t know. He just, like, flipped on me. Acted like I was annoying him, like I was some dumb little kid wasting his time.”

Lindsay makes a face, sitting up.

“Wait, hold on, you told him something personal? Like, you overshared?”

Your heart clenches at the way she says it.

Overshared.

Like you were the problem.

Like this was your fault.

“…I don’t know. I guess?” you say, voice quieter.

Lindsay exhales dramatically, shaking her head.

“Ugh, that’s what did it then. Men hate that shit, babe. Like, it’s one thing to be hot and sexy and all that, but the second you start trauma dumping? They check out.”

You stare at her, something inside you fracturing.

She takes another bump of coke off the back of her hand.

“Like, don’t get me wrong, I love you,” she adds quickly. “But guys don’t wanna deal with that emotional shit. You gotta keep it fun, light. Make sense?”

No.

It doesn’t make sense.

You feel sick again.

Is that what it was?

Did you fuck it up?

Did you ruin everything by trusting him?

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing a laugh. “Yeah… I guess.”

Lindsay nods, pleased with herself, before grabbing a tube of lip gloss from her bag and tossing it your way.

“Here. Put some on. You look sad, and sad is, like, not the vibe tonight.”

You catch the gloss, staring down at it.

Sad isn’t the vibe.

Got it.

The dorm room door swung open, and a girl with wet hair wearing an oversized NYU hoodie steps inside, earbuds still in. She barely glances up at first, shuffling through her bag—until she sees you.

Her eyes go wide with excitement.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, nearly dropping her Stanley. “It’s you!”

You barely have time to react before she rushes closer, eyes scanning your face like she’s making sure it’s real.

“You’re dating Homelander,” she practically squeals, clutching her chest.

Your stomach drops.

Lindsay, who was idly scrolling through her phone, suddenly froze.

Her head snapped toward you, eyes wide with shock, lips parting in disbelief.

“Wait. What?”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Lindsay blinked, then let out a stunned, disbelieving laugh.

“You’re telling me the guy who ghosted you—the one you were just whining about—is Homelander?”

She let out another laugh, sharper this time, shaking her head.

“Jesus Christ, no wonder you were being so fucking weird.”

You swallow hard, shifting in your seat.

Lindsay didn’t give you a chance to respond before reaching for the half-empty Svedka bottle.

“No wonder you’re so mopey. That man could ruin a girl.” She giggles, pouring a shot into a plastic cup before sliding it toward you.

“C’mon, take one with me,” she urges, nudging it closer. “You need this.”

You hesitate.

“Don’t be lameeeee,” she presses, drawing out the word.

“You’re literally heartbroken over Homelander. If that’s not a reason to drink, I don’t know what is.”

With a sigh, you pick up the cup, the cheap vodka fumes already stinging your nose.

Lindsay raises hers. “To bad decisions.”

You clink cups and throw it back—instantly regretting it as the burn claws down your throat.

You gag, wincing as Lindsay howls with laughter.

“Jesus,” you cough, setting the cup down hard.

Lindsay smirks.

“Let’s get fucking drunkkkkkkkkkkk!”

—

Wow.

It actually feels good to be out.

Loud music. Rooftop views. The energy of a hundred people all drinking, dancing, living.

For the first time all day, your mind wasn’t suffocating under the weight of him.

Maybe Lindsay was right. Maybe you did need this.

And here in this sweaty, drunken crowd, you’re the center of attention.

Everyone knows who you are.

“Holy shit, you’re actually here,” some girl gushes, gripping your arm like you’re a long time friend.

Lindsay grins, looping an arm around your waist, squeezing a little too tight. “Told you, bitches.”

“Dude, what?” another girl jumps in, eyes wide. “You’re, like, famous.”

The attention makes your head spin—not in a bad way, though.

You kinda like it.

And Lindsay definitely liked it.

She was drinking it up, acting like she personally invited Beyoncé herself.

“I can’t believe we used to go to church camp together,” she laughs, shaking her head.

Like, what the fuck? We were crying over Bible verses and now? You’re literally a superhero.”

“Yeah,” you muse, sipping your drink. “Crazy.”

And it is crazy.

People whispering about you, sneaking glances, pretending not to stare.

And maybe it was the vodka, maybe it was the rush of validation, but you didn’t mind.

Not one bit.

Lindsay leans in, her voice sweet but sharp. You can feel her energy shifting.

“Must be nice, huh? Not having to work for anything. Just getting powers and boom—famous.”

Your stomach tensed.

Before you can respond, a guy appears beside you, smiling as he hands you another drink.

“Word on the street is you’re the most important person here.”

He’s cute—dark curls, sharp jaw, confidence dripping from every movement.

You take the drink, tilting your head at him.

“And who are you?”

He smirks, leaning against the railing.

“Someone very interested in how strong you actually are.”

You laugh, warmth buzzing under your skin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Oh, I would,” he grins. “I mean, I feel like I should get a little demonstration at least. Maybe we can arm wrestle? I’ll go easy.”

You roll your eyes playfully, taking a sip of your drink. “Oh, please. Your arm would fall off.”

“Damn,” he whistles, shaking his head. “That’s cold. You just gonna talk yourself up like that with no proof?”

“I don’t need to show proof,” you tease. “Also, how do I know this is safe to drink?”

He laughs, eyes glinting under the string lights. “Fair point. Here, I’ll take the first sip.”

He takes a drink out of the cup he gave you. You can never be too careful, as you know from experience…

“Thanks. Cheers, stranger.”

The guy leans in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel intimate.

“So… what’s the catch?”

You raise an eyebrow. “The catch?”

“Yeah.” He gestures to your drink, to the party.

“You’re here. Not at some fancy event, not on a yacht, not flying through the fucking sky.” He smirks.

“Seems like you’re trying to forget something.”

You take another sip, letting the alcohol burn away the thing you’re trying to forget.

“Maybe I just like a good party.”

He studied you for a moment, then grinned.

“Touché.”

“Okay, lovebirds,” Lindsay interrupts, voice dripping with amusement. “Should we get another round, or are you two just gonna eye fuck all night?”

You blush, but he just laughs in response.

“I mean, I’m cool with either option,” he says.

Lindsay gags. “Jesus, gross.”

You roll your eyes, but you were also smiling.

Maybe this is what you needed.

A stupid, reckless night.

A guy who didn’t make you feel small.

Someone who actually saw you.

Even if it was just for the night.

—

Homelander was spiraling.

Hours had passed since the meeting finished.

He told himself you’d be back.

He waited.

And waited.

You just needed time to cool off.

You’d go cry in your room, maybe sulk a little, maybe even try to be stubborn—but then you’d come back. Right?

But you haven’t yet.

His patience had burned out hours ago.

His nerves were shot, his brain buzzing, every muscle in his body completely wired.

He had flown to every floor of the tower.

Searched the common areas, your room, even fucking security footage.

Nothing.

Nada.

You weren’t here.

You weren’t anywhere.

He storms into Ashley’s office so fast, the glass door nearly shatters from the force.

Ashley practically jumps out of her chair, fumbling with a pen as her eyes go wide.

“H—Homelander! What, uh—what’s up?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t slow down. Just walks straight to her desk, planting his hands down so hard the metal dents.

“Where is she?”

Ashley blinks. “Who—”

Homelander’s head snaps up, eyes glowing faintly, voice sharp as a blade.

“Ashley, for fuck sake. Don’t make me ask again.”

She knows who he’s talking about.

Of course she does.

He had spent the last week parading you around like his personal prize, barely letting you out of his sight.

If he was this angry right now, there was only one reason why.

You.

She swallows hard, adjusting her wig.

“Uhm… I—well, I haven’t seen her?”

“Track her chip.”

“Her—her chip?”

“Yes, her fucking chip Ashley.”

Ashley hesitates.

“I—uh, sir, I don’t think we should—”

The look he gives her nearly stops her heart.

She scrambles, hands shaking as she pulls up the system.

Her fingers fumble over the keyboard, typing too fast. Messing up, having to start over.

Homelander stares at the screen, his foot tapping against the floor.

Finally, Ashley sucks in a sharp breath, eyes on your pin.

“Okay—uh—it says she’s on…. a rooftop. NYU?”

The words barely left her mouth before Homelander was gone.

The force of his departure sends papers flying, rattles the windows. Ashley is left gaping at the empty space where he had just stood.

And for the first time in years, Homelander isn’t just pissed.

He’s fucking desperate.

—

The night settles into a comfortable haze—blurry, warm, buzzing.

Fuck.

You’re definitely drunk.

Not falling-over, slurring-your-words wasted, but just drunk enough that your body feels light. Everything around you feels good.

Lindsay found another group to talk to, probably tired of you soaking up all the attention.

Which left you alone with him.

Eli.

And he’s so fucking easy to talk to.

He leans against the rooftop railing beside you, sleeves rolled up, his grin lazy and cocky.

He has that look—like he always knows what to say, always knows how to keep a girl entertained.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the way he was looking at you—but for the first time in hours, you weren’t thinking about him.

You were just… here.

Present.

Flirting with a guy your own age, who actually wants to be around you.

“So, tell me,” Eli says, turning to face you fully. “Do you guys actually live in that creepy tower full-time?”

You laugh, swirling your drink. “It’s not creepy.”

“Oh, no, you’re right,” he teases. “It’s totally normal for a bunch of freakishly powerful people to share a high-rise like some twisted reality show.”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

Eli places a hand on his chest, feigning offense.

“Me? Jealous? Never. I just think it’s wild— you could be anywhere in the world right now, and you’re here. At some shitty rooftop party. Talking to me.”

You hum, tilting your head.

“Maybe I like shitty rooftop parties.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And the me part?”

You smile. “Still deciding.”

Eli laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, fair. But really. What’s the deal?” He gestures to you, to the party. “This doesn’t exactly seem like your scene.”

You hesitate.

What was the deal?

Why are you here?

Because Lindsay invited you?

Because you want to feel normal?

Because you’re trying to distract yourself from the fact you gave your virginity to someone who ignored you hours later?

Or—

Because some small, pathetic part of you wants to punish him?

Look at you, playing his own game.

“I just need a night off,” you finally say, taking another sip of your drink.

Eli studies you for a moment. “Bad day?”

You exhale a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Well,” he says, shifting closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel intimate, “whoever pissed you off is a fucking idiot.”

Finally.

That’s what you wanted to hear all day.

That he was the idiot. That he fucked up.

Because you kept saying those same things to yourself.

You smile, lifting your drink toward him.

“Eli, you might be onto something.”

—

From the shadows of a neighboring rooftop, Homelander watches.

He stands still as a statue, arms crossed over his chest. His cape barely stirring in the night breeze.

The city below alive with movement—horns blaring, lights flashing—but all he sees? All he hears?

You.

Laughing.

Flirting.

With some curly haired fuck.

Some nobody.

Some pathetic, insignificant piece of shit who thinks he’s good enough to stand in front of you. To touch your arm when he makes you laugh. To drink in the way your lips curve around your cup. Probably imagining those lips around his cock.

Fuck.

Homelander wanted to scream.

He continues to observe, vision locked onto every tiny detail.

The way Eli leans in just a little too close.

The way his eyes darken every time you smile at him.

The way he wants you.

And all Homelander wants is to rip him in half.

But he doesn’t move. Not yet.

Because you aren’t kissing him.

You’re just talking.

“Breathe,” he tells himself.

But he can’t shake this feeling.

Jealousy.

A slow, seething jealousy that burns through him like a fucking disease.

He can’t take it anymore.

As soon as he sees Eli stepping away to grab a drink, Homelander steps off the ledge.

Literally and figuratively.

It takes less than five seconds to reach him.

Poor Eli doesn’t even get a chance to see what hit him.

Homelander grabs him, yanking him into the shadows behind a cluster of rooftop vents.

Eli barely has time to gasp before Homelander clamps a hand over his mouth.

There’s no dramatic speech. No warning.

Just a squeeze.

Simple.

Easy.

The crunch of his skull collapsing, drowned out by the bass of the music.

His body goes limp instantly, eyes wide, blood dribbling from his nose.

Homelander lets him drop like a sack of garbage, his skull caving in from the force of his grip.

One problem solved.

Then—

A noise.

Laughter.

Homelander turns his head, eyes flashing as he spots them.

Lindsay.

The reason you’re at this cesspool in the first place.

This is all her fault.

She’s locked between two guys, her arms around their necks, tongue shoved down one’s throat while the other gropes at her sides.

Too wrapped up in their pathetic little display to even notice him.

Too busy slobbering over each other to realize what’s coming.

And that?

That pisses Homelander off even more.

In a blur, he crosses the rooftop, grabbing all three of them by their throats.

Squeeze.

This is too easy.

Three sickening pops crack through the air like firecrackers, and then they were just… gone.

Poof.

Gone before their brains could even process what happened.

Homelander let their bodies slump to the ground, stepping over them without a second glance.

They were in his way.

That was all they were.

And now, there was nothing between the two of you.

And there never would be again.

—

You have no idea death is in the air.

Too drunk, too blissfully unaware to notice the blood dripping from Homelanders gloves, or the tiny specks of red staining the hem of his suit.

And by the time he finds you, you’re standing in the middle of a cheering circle of people, chugging from a beer bong like it’s some type of Olympic sport.

“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

Your head tilts back, beer pouring down your throat, dribbling down your chin. Your eyes glassy as you barely managed to keep up.

Homelander’s nostrils flare.

What the fuck was this?

Why are you out here, acting like some messy college girl? Making a fucking fool of yourself?

He takes a slow breath, reigning himself in.

And then—

Someone notices him.

“Oh, shit,” one guy yelps, eyes going wide. “Holy fuck, is that—”

The whole party paused.

And then, in unison—

“Holy shit, it’s Homelander!”

Drinks drop, whispers spread.

But you?

You just finish your beer, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, turn—and smile.

“You’re mean,” you slur, pointing a wobbly finger at him.

Homelander exhales sharply through his nose.

You stumble, and before you can tip over, his arms are around you.

“Ohhh, look at you,” you giggle, pressing a hand against his chest. “So strong. So scary.”

You have no fucking idea.

No idea what he had just done.

No idea that the guy you had been batting your pretty little lashes at was lying dead just feet away.

Homelander sighs, shifting his grip so you wouldn’t slip from his arms.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice soft. “Let’s get you home.”

You pout, leaning into him, your forehead pressing against his shoulder.

“You were so mean to me,” you whine, voice muffled against his suit.

His guilt was instant.

God. That guilt again.

He runs a hand over your hair, smoothing it gently.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

You sniffle.

He feels like shit.

This was his fault.

But he can fix it.

And he will.

—

Homelander lands softly on the balcony of your apartment, cradling you against his chest. You barely notice—you’re too far gone. Your body limp, your head lolling against his shoulder as pitiful little whimpers slip from your lips.

He hates seeing you like this.

Drunk. Sloppy. Crying.

And the worst part?

He did this to you.

If he hadn’t been such a fucking asshole, if he hadn’t played his stupid little power game, you wouldn’t have ended up at some shitty rooftop party trying to drink yourself numb.

He carries you inside, barely needing to nudge the door open before stepping into the familiar space of your apartment.

You stir slightly as he lowers you onto the couch, groaning softly as you curl into yourself.

“I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your voice cracking as you tried to push yourself up. “I don’t feel good.”

Homelander crouches beside you, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice unusually gentle. “Just relax.”

But you can’t.

Instead, your whole body jerks as a gag rips from your throat.

Homelander barely has time to react before you vomit.

His eyes widen slightly as you heave onto the floor beside the couch, your whole body shaking.

And instead of feeling disgusted, instead of sneering down at you like he would anyone else—he just wants to help.

This was his fault, after all.

He exhales slowly, forcing himself to focus. “Alright, okay,” he murmurs, reaching for you before you can slump over. “I’ve got you.”

You can’t stop crying now, feeling weak and miserable. Tears slipping down your cheeks as you hiccup through the nausea.

“I—I don’t feel good,” you choke out again, voice small and broken.

God, you sound so helpless.

And that kills him.

“Shhh, I know,” he whispers, carefully gathering your hair, holding it back as you dry-heave again.

You continue to sob, quiet and breathy, barely able to catch your breath between shaky little gasps.

He hates how small you look. How mortal you look in this moment.

His arms tighten around you as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says. “I’m right here.”

You sniffle, curling into him.

“Why were you so mean to me?”

Homelander closes his eyes briefly, inhaling through his nose.

What is he supposed to say?

Because he’s an idiot?

Because he let himself listen to Sage instead of following his gut?

Because he thought he needed to prove something?

He sighs, adjusting his hold on you.

“Sometimes I’m just mean and scary,” his voice low. “But I’m going to be better for you. I’m sorry.”

And he means it.

You whine softly, fisting his suit as if you’re scared he’s going to leave again.

You sniffle, blinking up at him with glassy, tear-filled eyes.

“I knew…” your lower lip wobbling as you inhale a shuddered breath. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Wait.

What?

His eyes widen slightly, heart lurching as your words sink in.

That’s what you thought?

That’s what had been running through your head all fucking day?

Not that he was trying to prove he wasn’t weak.

Not that he was caught up in his own bullshit.

You thought he had thrown you away because of that.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because fuck, what is there to even say?

You aren’t done, though. You let out a shaky breath, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“And after last night,” your voice cracked, “you just… you threw me away like I was used up. Like you got what you wanted, and I was just… nothing.”

Homelander’s heart ached.

You had given him everything.

You had let him have you in a way no one else ever had.

And the very next day?

He shut you out.

And now you were sobbing in his arms, so fucking drunk you probably won’t even remember this in the morning.

There’s no point in explaining. Not now. Not when you’re already slipping in and out of awareness, barely able to keep your eyes open. So instead, he exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before carefully lifting you into his arms.

“That’s not why, baby,” his voice steady. “I promise.”

Homelander picks you up, tucking you into bed. He smoothes your hair back from your damp forehead.

You let out a tiny, content sigh, your eyes barely fluttering open as you gaze up at him, glassy and unfocused.

“You take such good care of me,” you slur, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do,” he whispers, smoothing your hair back again. “I always will.”

He’ll fix this.

But for now?

For now, he’ll just stay.

—

The Next Morning

You wake up, feeling like death.

Your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and your stomach is churning like it’s trying to process the poison you drowned yourself in last night.

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as you bury your face into the pillow.

Never drinking again.

Then—

Something shifts beside you.

You’re not alone.

Slowly, you crack your eyes open—and immediately, your stomach drops.

Homelander sits on the edge of the bed. One leg crossed over the other, arms resting lazily on his knee.

Watching you.

He changed into a fresh suit, looking painfully well-rested. Almost like he hadn’t spent the entire night taking care of your sloppy, disgusting, pathetic drunk ass.

Like he hadn’t listened to you sob and say things you’d rather fucking die than repeat now.

Your face burns.

“Oh my God,” you croak, voice hoarse. You squeeze your eyes shut again, turning away from him.

“Kill me.”

Homelander lets out a low chuckle, the bed dipping slightly as he reaches for something on the nightstand.

“You’re fine, baby,” he reassures. “Here. Drink this.”

A cold glass of water presses against your hand, and you crack one eye open, reluctantly taking it.

You sit up slowly, wincing as your head throbs. You barely manage a sip before setting it back down, groaning as you flop against the pillows.

Homelander hums. “Little too much fun last night?”

You wince.

Fun.

Right.

You rack your brain, trying to piece everything together.

The party.

The drinking.

Lindsay being a bitch.

That guy—Eli?—flirting with you.

The balcony.

The couch.

“You were so mean to me.”

Fuck.

Oh God.

You remember.

Not all of it—not perfectly—but enough.

Enough to make your skin crawl, to make mortification settle deep in your bones.

You had sobbed in front of him.

Had blurted out the most humiliating, pathetic thing possible.

And he heard every word.

You swallow thickly, staring at the ceiling.

“I said some stupid shit last night, didn’t I?”

Homelander is quiet for a moment, and then—

“No. You didn’t.”

You turn your head toward him, brows knitting together. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.” His voice steady, calm. “You weren’t stupid. You’re never stupid.”

You turn away again, covering your face with one hand. “Jesus Christ.”

Homelander sighs. You feel the mattress shift as he leans back, his arm resting along the back of the bedframe.

“You really thought that, huh?” His voice soft now. “That I was disgusted by you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You don’t want to talk about this.

Really don’t want to relive it.

But the silence stretches between you, so thick and heavy. Eventually, you force yourself to nod.

Homelander let’s out a slow breath.

You feel the weight of his gaze, feel the intensity of it, but you refuse to look at him.

“That’s not why,” he said finally. “Not even close.”

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into the sheets.

You lick your lips, forcing yourself to ask. “Then what was it?”

Another pause.

Then—

“Me being a fucking idiot.”

You blink.

That… isn’t what you were expecting.

Slowly, cautiously, you turn your head toward him.

He looks at you, something almost sheepish flickering behind his eyes.

“I got in my head,” he admits, exhaling sharply. “Told myself I needed to prove something. That I was getting too soft. That you were making me weak.” His jaw clenches slightly. “So I shut you out.”

You stare at him, lips slightly parted, processing.

He pushed you away on purpose.

Not because of what you told him.

Not because of your past.

But because he thought you had too much power over him.

Something flickers in your chest—

Anger, frustration, relief. A mess of emotions you can’t untangle.

“I really thought you regretted it,” you admit quietly. “Like, the whole thing. Like I was just—some stupid kid you wanted nothing to do with.”

Homelander’s expression darkens instantly.

“No.” His voice firm, unwavering. He shifts closer, his hand coming to rest on your leg, warm and grounding.

“Never.”

You let out a slow breath, staring down at his hand.

You want to believe him.

And maybe, just maybe… you do.

For a long moment, neither of you say anything.

Then, you break the silence.

“…Can you get me ibuprofen?”

Homelander laughs, low and warm. “Yeah, baby,” he brushes his thumb over your knee before standing, “I can do that.”

You spend most of the morning curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, nursing the worst hangover of your life.

The ibuprofen helped, but the exhaustion clings to you like a fog.

Homelander left an hour ago—some bullshit PR event. Kissing hands, shaking babies. Whatever the hell they made him do to keep up appearances.

“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” he had murmured before leaving, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You weren’t sure how you felt about any of it.

Last night. This morning.

The way he had stayed.

The way he had taken care of you.

Your brain still too fuzzy, too slow to process it all.

So instead, you flip through the channels.

You stop on some local NYC news segment—one of those lifestyle pieces about the hottest new restaurants in the city.

“—a modern twist on French cuisine, featuring a highly curated tasting menu—”

Your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, your mind drifting, barely listening—

Then, suddenly—

“We interrupt this program for breaking news.”

The screen flickers. A news anchor appears, his face grave, standing in front of a police barricade.

“Authorities are investigating a brutal quadruple homicide after four NYU students were found dead early this morning on a Manhattan rooftop—”

Your heart stops.

The breath in your lungs frozen.

The image on the screen cuts to crime scene tape stretching across a rooftop entrance. A blurred-out section of pavement. Cops milling around.

A grainy, low-quality photo of the victims.

Lindsay.

Eli.

And the two guys she had been with.

Your hands turn ice cold.

“Police have not yet identified a suspect, but they are urging anyone with information to come forward.”

Your heartbeat pounds against your ribs. A slow, sickening dread creeping into your chest.

You don’t need to call the hotline.

You don’t need to hear the details.

You already know.

It was him.

And then, before you can even breathe—

The apartment door opens.

“Miss me?”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡

tags: @lilyalone @raginginkedslut

[peachbubbless]

An SBR request! Could we have Johnny bring around a reader with Keratosis Pilaris? Aka strawberry skin, they look similar to bug bites! Btw I absolutely love your writing, I’m falling for characters I hadn’t even paid full attention to before!

YOUR MIND - astounding. The things you’ve done for the Johnny Joestar community 🙏 I have KP myself and suddenly love it a lot more! I'm so glad you enjoy my writing my love, hope you enjoy this one too, it’s such a fun premise! <333

Strawberry skin – Johnny Joestar x Reader

Sexual themes | Word count - 1676 | Day 2 SBR fanfic Week

It hadn’t been a plan.

Not at first.

After the Steel Ball Run ended, after the winners were named and the dead were not, it turned out no one really knew what to do with themselves.

You hadn’t expected to survive, much less to have to figure out what came after. You’d ridden halfway across a continent for a reason that didn’t even make sense anymore. Salvation, maybe. Or spite. Some days it was hard to tell the difference.

But when it was over, your name wasn’t in the papers. There was no parade. No epilogue written in gold.

Just bruises, half-healed wounds you still didn’t like to talk about, and a quiet life with Johnny Joestar.

“You don’t have to go back,” he’d said, not quite looking at you.

“There’s room at the ranch. I could use the help.”

You knew what he meant. You both did. It wasn’t about chores. It wasn’t even about the room.

It was about not being alone.

He hadn’t wanted to ask. You hadn’t wanted to say yes.

But here you were.

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere you were living on Joestar land, sleeping in the old guest room, and pretending it wasn’t strange that your post-trauma coping strategy included shovelling horse shit and arguing about who made worse coffee.

You weren’t together-together. Not officially.

But there were looks. Drinks together. Moments that lasted too long and silences that said more than anyone was willing to put into words. Something had started in the desert, and it hadn’t stopped growing. Not yet.

The morning was already warm by the time you started on the stables.

The air smelled like leather, grass and dust, the kind that clung to your skin no matter how many times you washed. The sky stretched overhead in that cloudless, uncaring way that reminded you of your race days - only now, the only thing trying to kill you was hay fever.

You had your sleeves rolled up and your pants cuffed at the knee. Not for fashion. Just because it was hot, and the horses didn’t care what your legs looked like.

You were halfway through mucking the second stall when you heard the slow crunch of gravel behind you.

“You get bit up bad or somethin’?”

You turned.

Johnny was leaning against the fence, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in that classic Joestar way. He wasn’t wearing the hat today. His hair was tousled like he’d run a hand through it and then given up halfway. There was a glass of lemonade sweating in one hand and a twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth.

He nodded toward your legs.

“Legs’re lookin’ a little rough.”

You blinked. Followed his gaze.

Right.

The keratosis. Strawberry skin.

The skin below your knees prickled under his stare. Pale, red-flecked, raised along the surface. The sun wasn’t helping.

You dropped the pitchfork, wiped your hands on your legs as if that would help, and shrugged like it didn’t matter.

“It’s not bug bites. I have a skin condition.”

Johnny didn’t answer. Just kept looking.

“Keratosis Pilaris,” you added, like it was a spell that might end the conversation. “It’s not contagious. Just… ugly.”

Still nothing. Just the breeze. Just him, watching.

You tried to brush it off with a laugh that didn’t quite land.

“You can say it’s gross. I’m used to it.”

Johnny tilted his head. Sipped his lemonade. And then, slowly:

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

Pause.

“I was gonna say something worse.”

Your brow lifted. “Worse than gross?”

He stared at you for a beat too long. Then looked away, like he needed to physically reset himself to say it out loud.

“I’ve only ever told one person this before,” he muttered. “And that was Gyro. Which I regret every goddamn day.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

“I have a bug bite fetish.”

You froze.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a thing,” Johnny said defensively. “A real thing. Don’t look at me like that.”

You were absolutely looking at him like that.

He kept talking. Too fast. Clearly spiralling.

“It’s not like - not in a weird way. Or not weirder than the stuff people are into now. It’s just - there’s something about it. The texture. The way it looks. And you’ve got that- look.”

You raised both eyebrows.

“Bug bite look?”

“Okay, that sounds worse out loud, I’m realising that now.”

You stared. For a long moment.

Then:

“You’re a fucking weirdo.”

Johnny grinned, all teeth.

“Takes one to move in with me.”

Your face burned hotter than the sun overhead. You rolled your eyes and went back to the pitchfork, jabbing it into the hay a little harder than necessary.

“You need therapy.”

“I had therapy. He quit when I started talking about corpses.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Well, neither is watching you stomp around in barn muck and somehow making it hot.”

Your hands stilled on the pitchfork.

Then, slowly, you looked over your shoulder.

“You wanna touch it?”

You didn’t look at him. Just kept working the pitchfork like you hadn’t just flipped the entire balance of power in the barn. Straw and whatever-the-hell-else shifted under your boots while the silence behind you stretched dangerously.

“You serious?” Johnny said, a beat late and a little too casual to be real.

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned on the handle like you had all day and zero intention of making this easy for him.

“Well,” you said slowly. “You’ve been staring at my legs like they owe you money.”

“I haven’t.”

“Johnny.”

“Okay but like - respectfully.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. He was standing there, lemonade in hand, mouth slightly open like his brain had completely shut itself off from the rest of his body.

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I could be,” he offered. “But you just keep… existing. Like that.”

You gestured vaguely to the pitchfork, to the sweat, to the literal shit you were knee-deep in.

“Like what? Covered in dust and horse piss?”

“Like someone I absolutely should not be thinking about in this setting.”

“You need help.”

“I need to look - respectfully.”

“You are not looking respectfully.”

Johnny didn’t respond. Just sipped his lemonade in the world’s most suspicious silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “You thinking about it?”

“I’m trying not to,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m failing.”

You couldn’t help it - you grinned.

“It’s just skin, Joestar.”

“No. That’s like - fuckin’ - limited edition.”

You nearly dropped the pitchfork.

“Limited - what? Are you mad?!”

“I’m just saying!” he blurted, face pink. “You’ve got that… deluxe model skin!”

You wheezed.

“You are so goddamn weird.”

“You offered!” he reminded you, voice cracking halfway through the sentence like his vocal cords had just tried to file a protest.

You tilted your head, still grinning.

“So…?”

He stood there. Glass still in hand. Eyes firmly planted somewhere below your knees like they were trying to manifest a deeper meaning from your skin texture.

“I want to,” he admitted, and he sounded uncomfortably sincere about it.

“But?”

“I don’t wanna get slammed in the jaw while you’re holding that pitchfork.”

You stepped closer. Just enough for your foot to bump lightly against his boot.

“Then don’t be weird about it.”

“It’s already weird.”

“Okay, but like - don’t be gross about it.”

Johnny looked you dead in the eye.

“I make no promises.” 

Johnny looked like you’d handed him something delicate, forbidden, and weirdly exciting.

“I’m gonna… just - yeah,” he mumbled, reaching out like your shin was booby-trapped.

You didn’t move. You also didn’t help.

He finally touched it - just a light brush of fingers along the skin, slow and cautious, like you might retract your leg and kick him in the jaw at any moment.

“Huh,” he breathed.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“It’s… soft,” he said, surprised like you were some kind of rare terrain.

“Wow. Crazy how skin works.”

“No, but like - textured. In a cool way.”

“You’re describing me like a countertop.”

His lips twitched.

“A countertop…” he repeated, like he was testing the flavour of the word.

Then he looked up at you, slow and unmistakably up to something.

“You’re giving me ideas.”

You pointed the pitchfork at his chest without missing a beat.

“Finish that thought and I’ll brain you with this.”

Johnny grinned. “You say that like it’s not still on the table.”

You groaned.

He was still touching your leg gently, like he was scared he’d be banned if he pressed too hard. You permitted it. Just for a second.

Then you stepped back, and his hand dropped like you’d unplugged him.

“Okay,” you said. “Enough leg fondling in the barn.”

“You’re cutting me off?”

“I’m cutting you off before you start talking about getting a second helping.”

Johnny squinted, obviously trying to think of something clever and failing miserably.

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“You were about to say something unholy. I could see it building.”

“I was gonna say ‘compliments to the chef,’ actually.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, already turning away. “I am not letting you simp for my legs in a room full of hay and horse shit.”

“That’s fair,” he said, recovering instantly. “But just for the record, I was being so respectful.”

You gave him a flat look over your shoulder.

“You looked like you were about for my leg in marriage.”

“Was gonna ask real nice, too.”

“Save it.”

“So, not never,” he called after you. “Just… not while you’re holding a pitchfork?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Cool, cool, cool. Hypothetically, if I brought you a drink and washed my hands-”

“Johnny.”

“Okay! Just checking. Later, then.”

“-I’ll clean the countertop.”

You stopped in the doorway.

“Clean it with what, your drooling mouth?”

Johnny didn’t miss a beat.

“Good idea. I did call you a countertop, didn’t I?”

[princess-glassred]

Todays been awful so fuck it, IT fandom unpopular opinions! (And they're actually unpopular for once!).

-As much as I hate to say this, I think getting mad at people for not liking Mike Hanlon is shifting the blame from who's really at fault for this and that's Andi Muschietti. Yeah it sucks that Mike is always forgotten by this fandom but this fandom is dominated of fans of the movie and the movie and book are totally different. If some 13 year old has only seen the IT movies I don't blame them for not caring about Mike because he got dicked over by Andi's racial bias. And don't say "well they should watch the mini series or book to appreciate him then" as if being in a fandom is supposed to require homework. A lot of people only like IT 2017 and that's fine, and they're not less of a fan for that. It's okay to not like certain members of the losers, as long as your reasons are valid.

-I wish fanfiction would potray Sonia and Eddie's relationship (and honestly Sonia/Myra) with more depth. I am NOT saying Sonia isn't abusive, she absolutely is, but i have seen A LOT of ridiculous portrayals of Sonia and it bugs me. Even good fic writers often pigeon hole her relationship with Eddie to just being him secretly hating every thing about her with no complicated feelings at all. As someone who grew up in an abusive household, majority of abusive relationships aren't like that. That's why abusive relationships are so sinister in the first place, they're hard to get out of because you convince yourself you love your abuser. Most kids, especially heavily manipulated ones like Eddie, would struggle with feeling pure hatred for their mother. And that's interesting! I wanna see that portrayed in Eddie's character, especially since he struggles with his own identity and feelings about himself quite a lot already. If you cannot handle a portrayal of an abusive relationship being more than just two dimensional awfullness 24/7, i don't think you should be reading something as heavy as IT.

-Similarly, the way people talk about Sonia, Myra, and to a lesser extent Belch is really gross. IT actually condemns fatphobia in the narrative by having Henry attack ben, and i see people complain all the time about how ben lost wait as an adult but suddenly when it's Myra, Sonia and Belch you can fat shame to your hearts content. I have seen so many posts from people, either roleplay accounts or otherwise, calling these three fat bitches or hogs or even fanfics that deliberatly use Sonia's weight as short hand for her being terrible instesd of letting her actions speak for herself. Fat shaming isn't suddenly cool when it happens to someone you hate. Molly Ranson is a real person and that is her real body, there are probably people in this fandom who even LOOK like Sonia out there. This also applies to insulting the appearance of any other actor btw.

-I think Ben Hanscom in the it 2017 continuity is honestly kind of a creep. He kisses Bev while she's unconcious depsite not actually knowing if it'll pull her out of the deadlights (he didn't even have a reason to think it would work at all), he holds onto her yearbook signature in his wallet for 27 years even tho he literally forgot everything, spends most of IT chapter 2 coping and seething that Bev isn't attracted to him, and never says anything to defend her from Richie spreading slutty rumors about her. The only time he defends her from slut accusations is when its henry and shes there to see him do it. If Henry did any of this you guys would be all over him, but because it's Ben and they play sappy music over it it's suddenly cute and whimsical.

-I also think Richie gets away with a lot of shit that if it was done by any of the antagonists the fandom would rip 'em to shreds. People give me shit all the time for sympathizing with Henry Bowers becaude he's racist and mysoginistic but Richie says many mysoginistic and racist things across adaptations and nobody cares. Of course he spreads rumors about Bevs promiscuity, but in the book he does quite a few racist impressions and bits like when he says "You know the worst part about getting AIDS? Trying to explain to your mother that you got it from a Haitian girl.". Hell, at least Henry is 12, practically groomed into it, and so mushy brained from the pills he can't think straight, what's richies excuse? I don't even care that Richie is gay, does being in the closet justify anything? Did being attracted to Henry absolve Patrick of the fact he killed a baby? No? The same goes for Richie. Ofc you can still like him, but i don't like it when richie fans act like he's all pure and ignore his worse moments just to grand stand.

-It 2017 is actually just as ewwy towards minors as the book. Just because you removed a gang bang scene doesn't mean you aren't still weird with minors. Mr. Muschietti still thought it was appropriate to make a scene where young Bev is forced to flirt with a pedo pharmacist, another where she gets kissed unconscious, and one where her friends oggle her in a bra. Yeah it's cool you got rid of the sewer stuff but WHY ADD ALL OF THAT IN.

-The whole "omg what if the ritual was going to work but richie had to sacrifice eddie as his token instead and thats why it didnt work" is kinda dumb. it implies that the native americans who created the god damn artifact couldn't do the ritual right but these random white guys could all along. The movie straight up says the ritual has never worked and Mike saying he believed it would work because of their connection is treated like it's wrong. Maybe Eddie was Richies token but I don't think that's why they defeated IT and I also don't think it would have worked to begin with.

[thewailingbells]

Can I request Bubba Sawyer not really understanding what his female S/O period is. All he knows is that he saw blood on the sheets and thinks there's an emergency. Maybe he gets very protective when Y/N explains the whole thing.

A Bit of Blood

AN: Sorry this took so long! I had a very busy month but everything has finally started to calm down.

Warnings: This entire fic is about periods, so if that grosses you out, don’t read!

The sun is brightly shown through the thin curtains, gently nudging you awake. The persistent morning light became too much to bear. You let out an annoyed groan and rolled over on your side. You sought refuge from the persistent morning sun in your lover’s chest. Today was a rare day in the Sawyer household; it was quiet and calm. From the limited amount of time you had spent with the family, you concluded that they knew very little about those two concepts.

Nubbins was out in town taking photographs for his collection, Drayton was at the gas station working hard to get everything set up for the week, and Chop-Top was still in Vietnam.

That left only you and Bubba at home. He slept soundly in bed beside you. Despite his imposing size, there was a gentle calmness about him as he slept. You couldn't help but admire your big, gentle, manly lover, asleep and vulnerable, whose features softened in repose rather than the stern, concerned look he usually expresses.

Bubba’s eyes fluttered open. A smile appeared on his face when he realized you were right in front of him. He let out a squeal of happiness and pulled you into his chest. You giggled and hugged him back, enjoying his tight embrace. Despite the lovely moment you were having, Bubba was a morning person. Once he woke up, he was filled with energy. Bubba said something you couldn’t quite understand before wiggling out of your grasp. You sighed and rolled over to lay on your stomach.

Bubba began to follow his usual routine. Pull the blankets down, get out of bed, pull the blankets back up to cover you, and give you a kiss. Except this time, he let out an animalistic squeal. You quickly shot up in bed and turned to face him.

“Bubba! What’s wrong? What happened.”

He continued to make concerned noises. Bubba pointed to the bed. You jumped out of the bed to see what was wrong with it. Your heart sank. There was blood. Bubba began to cry. He gently patted the bottom of your butt, and you could only assume there was a blood mark there too.

You looked at him with loving eyes. You grabbed his rough hands with your soft ones. “Bubba, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

He shook his head. You obviously weren’t okay! You are bleeding! That means you are hurt! Bubba started sobbing. “I’m sorry I hurt you I didn’t mean it I want to help you but I don’t know how to do that and I don’t want you to die so please don’t die,” he said. While the words weren’t exactly spoken in proper English, you were able to get the gist of what he was trying to say.

You squeezed his hands. “Listen to me. I am not going to die. This is normal for me. I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded. You smiled at him and sat down on the bloodstained bed. If you bleed more, it doesn’t matter; the sheets are already ruined. Bubba stayed standing up. He was too concerned to sit.

You used the most gentle tone you could. “Bubba. As you know, I am a woman. That means I have a different body than you. You’ve seen me naked many times. Whether we were showering together, having sex, or you just walked in on me changing, remember how I told you not to cum inside me?"

He nodded. Of course he remembered, but that didn’t explain why you were bleeding! There is no time to waste! If he waits too long to tend to the wound, you could bleed out. Despite his inner thoughts, he stayed put and listened. Bubba played with his bracelet to calm himself.

“There was a reason why I told you that. Bubba. If you cum inside me, I have a baby. Once a month, when I don’t have a baby, I bleed out of my vagina.”

Before you can continue, Bubba is pulling down his pants. You quickly stopped him. “Bubba! That doesn’t mean I want a baby! We’re too young for that.”

He whines. “The baby will stop the bleeding you need a baby now!”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t work like that. Not exactly, at least. The bleeding does hurt, but I would rather bleed than have a baby. Usually I just have cramps, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, mood swings, and a few other things.”

Bubba started crying again. You have to go through all of that? Once a month? He loves you! He doesn’t want you to be in pain. Bubba pats your head gently.

You were about to say something but were interrupted by a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You quickly hunched over and grabbed your stomach.

You felt a pair of strong arms pick you up and place you on the bed. “Bubba. I’m fine, real-“

“Nu uh,” Bubba said. You tried to sit up, but he pushed you down onto your back.

He grabbed the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them off you. He took your top off as well. Bubba looked into your eyes for a brief moment before gently taking off your underwear.

You groaned. “Sweetie, what are you doing? I’m going to bleed on the sheets more than I already have. It’s gonna make a mess.”

Bubba climbed into bed next to you. He made shushing sounds to shut you up. His rough, calloused hand began to gently rub your uterus. He continued to make sad sounds, like those of an injured puppy.

You felt disgusting. Like an animal free bleeding all over the place you slept.

“Bubba, isn’t this gross to you?”

He shook his head. Figures: After chopping up animals and people, blood must start to mean nothing to you.

“I’m going to need feminine products, Bubba. I can’t spend a whole week in bed because I’m bleeding.”

Your love whined. There was something about this that he liked. It was domestic, in an odd sense. You were sprawled out in the bed naked. Yet there were no feelings of sexual desire. Only a desire to nurture.

“Rest,” Bubba said. “I will take care of you. We can get you everything you want later. I love you so much please feel better.”

“Thank you,” you said weakly. This was certainly something you thought you would never do. To anyone else, their girlfriend bleeding all over their bed would make them want to vomit. Not for Bubba though, he loved everything about you, and he would be with you through everything. Everything.

[tmntxthings]

∑一 Gasoline・゜・。

author’s note: so I started this months ago and came back today and somehow finished it? it’s now 4 am and idk what I’ve written but we posting it babyyyyyyy

song: reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine, ben kessler

warnings: cursing, narcissism, over-dramatics, cringe, sarcasm, flirting, confessions, unedited

—————————————————————————

Okay, I’ll admit. I’m not the best when it comes to..following the rules? Heeding caution? Listening to anyone??? Yeah not the greatest in that department.

But! I’m practically flying high in all others. Better brother, better turtle, cooler weapon, and not to mention handsome as fuuuck. So handsome in fact, I know I’ve snagged your attention. Heh. Call it what you will, intuition or gut-feeling, I know I’ve been occupying your mind.

But the thing is, you won’t admit it. No matter how much I prod, tease, or blatantly ask. It’s always “Leo, no.” “Leo, stop!” “Leo, shut up!!” And never “Yes, I think about you endlessly Leo, you’re right, and super handsome, be my one and only turtle”

…

Yeah…

It’s never ever that. And maybe that’s the reason why I can’t let this go. Because I know I’m right. If I wasn’t why would you keep coming around? Why would you spare glances my way? Why would you wear blue? It was all so infuriating to see these little details only to be denied again and again.

Raph says I’m getting a little obsessed. Donnie doesn’t give two fucks. And Mikey says something even worse, that I’m in love. Barf. Gross. Me? Love? Hell no. I collect admirers. I flirt with everyone. Unabashedly. Why would I fall in love with someone who is so clearly in denial that they are in love with me??? All I’m doing is getting them to admit the truth, and then they’ll be another tally mark. Another addition to the ever growing list of admirers I have.

It comes with the title of being the Face Man and all of that. Perks of being me I guess!

And so I was up to my usual antics.

“Keys Y/n, keys babe!” You scoffed pushing my hands away. “Keep your grabby mitts away, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive.”

“I curbed one time Y/n. Once! Give a turtle some slack here!!” I’m practically begging at this point. Because I have a plan. A genius plan to get you to finally admit the truth. It’s going to be epic.

“I think you’re also forgetting the three times you purposely ran into trash cans. You almost backed into another vehicle. And don’t get me started on how many times you accidentally forgot the keys in the car!”

…Okay so maybe there are a few more reasons as to why I shouldn’t be driving. But no matter! I’m a master manipulator. I can sway those around me like a pro. Plus since ya have feelings for me, I’m sure you actually really do just wanna hand over those keys. You’re just like playing a little hard to get is all.

“Whaaaa?? Are you sure that wasn’t Angelo? Pretty sure that was totally him and not me.” A big cheesy smile lights up my face trying to turn that frown of yours upside down. “Plus in any case I’ve got super rad portal powers to snab the forgotten keys!”

“Leo. No.”

And the actual begging and groaning and bemoaning ensues. I don’t throw temper tantrums that often. Only when necessary. After many ‘pleases’ and promises to drive extra careful. I finally get my long awaited—

“Leo, I said noooooooooo!”

A hard flick resonates against the space right above the middle of my eyes. Dramatically I flinch backwards crying out in faux pain. My hands going up, one covering the space that has just been so grievously wounded. “Oh c’mon that didn’t hurt…”

“Did it?”

Peeking through my three fingers I see the wisps of concern on your features and it’s at this moment where my all-of-the-sudden-plan enacts. As you draw closer out of worry it’s just too easy to create a small portal with my other hand that is behind my back. Don’t ask how the dagger got in my palm. Sometimes being a ninja just has its perks.

And just like that the keys to your car are securely in my hand and I bolt before you can realize you’ve been…hand-pocketed? Pick-pocketed? Whatever the case!

As I gloat from the driver’s side window, with the locks safely on so you couldn’t just rip open the door and strangle me like you were threatening to do right now. I make a show of raising the volume in your car and celebrating more with a little dance in the drivers seat. It’s not until you shake your head and the flames extinguish from your eyes do I dare to unlock the passenger door for you to get in.

You do slam the door close though. “Dramatic much?”

I can’t help but tease. I love winning. I love rubbing it in everyone’s face. And it makes my bones sing to see you get so riled up all over little ol’ me. You glower, somehow holding your tongue, perhaps giving me the silent treatment as you take over the music.

Driver gets veto power though. So I skip a bunch of songs you choose until I feel the flames start to rise again and I worry we (or rather I) may never even make it out of your driveway before I turn into roasted turtle. And that can’t be tasty.

So I let this particular song play. Humming along since I don’t know the words as I start to pull out and drive on the road. You stay silent for the most part and that just won’t do so I may or may not get a little too close to a curb for comfort on your side of the vehicle.

“God damnit Leo if you curb!!” You hiss as you clutch the handle on the car door. “Whoopsie!” I laugh getting back to the middle of the lane easily enough. “Where did you want to go so badly anyways?” You grump. But at least you’re talking now! “It’s a surprise!” I sing-song.

Now initially, my plan to force your admission of feelings was to continue to drive really recklessly and maybe almost die in a car crash or something like in the movies. And while you think I’m about to die you just have to tell me that you are helplessly in love and like magic. Confession secured.

But now thinking about it more seriously there are plenty of unknown factors like, what if I do actually kill myself in the process. Or ya know, you get hurt? Or I just wreck the car and we both are totally fine?! I don’t see myself surviving much longer after that if that ends up being the case. So I have nothing. Zilch. Nada. No back up plan was really made.

So I just drive.

And as previously mentioned, I’m not the best driver…

So you are on edge the entire time and constantly telling me to “Watch out!” “Don’t curb!” “Don’t hit that dude crossing the street!” “Red means stop!” “Yellow means slooow!”

Thankfully I know what green means. Aka turtle. Aka go ninja go ninja go. I’m proud of that one. Anywho, the drive winds up and down the backstreets of New York until even I don’t know where the fuck we are.

I pull over, parallel parking. Miraculously it’s one of the few tricks I can do with a car and you breath out a very unnecessary sigh of relief. “So this is the surprise?” You are looking around the low rise buildings with slight curiosity but more confusion than anything.

Nothing here is really special. No shops. No bright sparkly lights. It’s actually pretty grim because a few of the streetlights are out making the dark night even darker. It’s probably the least romantic place in the world. Definitely holds no sentimental value for an awe-inspiring confession.

My head hits the steering wheel as I close my eyes and say “Yup!” As bright and false as possible. I feel like a jerk and even worse than that a failure. I’m greeted with silence and I don’t open my eyes to check your face. I’m sure it’s turning into disappointment right now.

“Leo, everything okay?”

My head turns slightly, if only because your voice sounds a little different. I mean you usually are quite serious, but it’s also one filled with… care? “Just thinking.” And that is not a lie, just a very vague statement.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I mull it over. What am I even thinking? Driving around in the middle of the night. Being chaotic. Being a nuisance. Being with you. Dragging you along. Trying to get you to say something you’ll never say in a million years. And turtles sadly don’t live that long.

“Y/n, do you like me?”

I don’t dare take my eyes off of you now. Truthfully I feel like spewing out nonsense to cover up my mistake. I just had to open my big fat mouth. To actually say shit I actually mean. Or in this case something I really want to know. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you tilt your head as if you hadn’t even considered that a possibility. Liking me.

I’m instantly filling up the silence. “Like better than Mikey right? Pretty sure I don’t have to sweat over Donnie. And Raph may be second place but I’m definitely number one right?”

This way it’s easy. This way it’s safe. This way no one gets hurt. This way I don’t get hurt. This way I can play it off.

“I do like you.”

My thoughts empty and I straighten up. Swallowing back the spit that’s suddenly filling up my entire mouth. “Right duh, of course you do. Everyone does!” I laugh, smiling big as if nothing you just said affected me. Like I totally won’t be thinking about this even later tonight back at the lair. Overthinking it. Surely you meant it as a friend… but a turtle can hope?

“Even though you are so annoying.” You tack on, but your smile is too much. It’s genuine. It’s not plastered on like mine. It doesn’t hide anything.

Oh shit.

I just continue on, blabbering complete and utter nonsense at this point. Because part of me can’t believe it. That you really said it. That you do like me. That this surely isn’t possible, that you’re about to laugh and say that this was all some funny joke.

“Do you like me?”

And where there was nonstop chatter, it turns to silence. I avoid your stare now. In fact I turn my whole face away because I can feel my red marks heating up. Which is never a good sign. Blushing will only end in embarrassment. More than I can handle.

“Whaaaat? Me? Like you?”

I leave it open ended. To be inferred that I couldn’t possibly. But I think I just continue shooting or maybe slicing myself in the foot. Over and over and over again. Because in the window I can see you’re still looking my way. And your lips are pursed together in a small know-it-all smile. I whip my head back around, forgetting all about the embarrassing heat that covers my face.

“Y-yeah. I do.”

And then you lean forward.

Time slows.

And I feel your lips on mine.

And my eyes are so wide. I don’t know what to do but just stare. I don’t move. I don’t breath. Your eyes are closed and your lips are soft if only a little chapped. You pull away slightly, and I can feel your breath fan over my face.

“Good.” Is all you say. And I nod like a dumb pile of rocks is all I have for brains. “Now how about I drive?” Again I’m nodding.

The only thing that breaks the trance is the warning beep from your display signaling that I’ve just wasted all of the gas left in your tank.

…

Whoops!

—————————————————————————

[bellaxgiornata]

hiya! i’m asking both you and @pastafossa this question (because you’re my favorite daredevil writers). as someone who was very sunburnt today, july 4th, do you think matt can feel himself get a sunburn? and would he wear sunscreen to counteract it? when we were young, my sister had bad sensory issues and wouldn’t wear sunscreen. so i’m just wondering what matt’s reaction to all that would be. hope you had a great 4th of july!!

First off thank you so much!! 😭❤ There are so many wonderful DD writers so hearing that means a lot!! And @pastafossa is amazing (TRT is the reason I even started writing for Matt)!

I'm so sorry this took me so long to respond to, I've had the answer in my brain since I first read this, but finding a moment uninterrupted by children to sit and respond has been hard to do! (Also sorry to hear about your sunburn that day, that sounds awful!)

As usual I answered below the cut because this got long!

To answer your first question, I absolutely believe Matt can feel a sunburn. I mean, when I've had bad sunburns I can feel them aching and burning throughout the day on my own skin and I don't remotely have the senses that Matt does. And showering with a sunburn? I'm sure you know how much that sucks 😆 To Matt I imagine a sunburn would be constantly irritating and painful, but considering how injured he probably often is just walking around day to day, I'm sure the pain would be nothing new to him. He'd probably try to just suck it up or consider it something he deserved to suffer through. But yes, I absolutely think he could feel it and that it would be nonstop miserable for him--especially a really, really bad sunburn.

As for Matt wearing sunscreen, I could absolutely see him wearing it, BUT I will add that I don't really picture Matt as the type of individual that goes out in the sun long enough to get burnt in the city. I'm sure he did as a kid on occasion though, but not so much as an adult. He doesn't seem to have a lot of recreational hobbies or leisure time for lengthy outdoor daytime activities because he's too busy with the firm or too busy being the Devil or too busy being half dead in his apartment. Though if he did go out for a day in the sun, he'd probably be dragged by someone else (like a significant other or Fog) and they would most likely force him to wear some. And yes, most definitely I could see sunscreen absolutely bothering him, but I believe some might be more bearable to him than others.

I think it was last month that I was researching different types of sunscreens (don't ask, weird thing to research, I know) and there are literally so many different types nowadays that I imagine he'd be able to find one that wasn't too awful for him to wear. It currently eludes me whether it was the mineral or chemical ones that are less irritating on skin--especially if you sweat and it gets in your eyes--but I imagine there'd be a go-to type he'd use. Something that didn't have too much of a strong scent and that absorbed fairly well into his skin. Because anything that left a sort of greasy layer on him I'm sure would be distracting and feel disgusting to him. And having to reapply it would certainly just add to that gross feeling. More than likely he'd still end up taking a long shower after his outdoor activities to try to get it all off of his skin as soon as he could, too.

This was such a fun question though, so thank you!! I don't know if you read FFTD but in a waaaaay later installment in the future I plan to look at Matt sitting on a beach in a somewhat realistic view of him (from how I picture things) dealing with the situation with his senses. So basically having to wear sunscreen, dealing with sand on his skin (OMG he'd so hate sand 🤣😭) and possibly some other things. It's just always so fun to explore how he'd react to things with his senses!

[willel]

THEORY : The Upside Down Kept Will Alive

I had to go on a long drive today and in the meanwhile, I was listening to someone react to Stranger Things for the first time. Man, it was such a treat because the guy was a science nerd, X-men nerd, AND a d&d nerd. He understood almost all the references and was even able to connect dots I didn't notice before because of his creds.

He doesn't have anything to do with this post, but as he was theory crafting and going through the series, I started theory crafting as well. Crazy theories. Theories that might not make sense. SO HERE WE ARE!

#1: The Upside Down SAVED Will

"What the hell are you talking about??" You might be saying to yourself now. Hear me out. Many people assume the tentacle entrapping Will at the end of the season was in fact killing him. Or potentially, just nesting eggs inside him to hatch later.

But I propose a different theory based on these scenes that are back to back

As you know, Will and Sara (and El) are paralleled with one another as we dive slowly into Hopper's backstory and grief about his child. Part of the reason Hopper tried so hard to find Will and get him back is not just because of his sense of justice, but also because he did not want Joyce to experience the same grief. It was like he was saving his daughter which he was unable to do in reality.

The first time Hopper lays eyes on Will tied up like that, he sees Sara with a ventilator attached o her. By thee time a person needs a ventilator, that means they are unable to breathe on their own or aren't getting enough oxygen.

So my stretch theory is : tube was in fact, NOT going straight to Will's stomach and laying slugs. My theory is that Tube was in Will's lungs, helping him breath and stay alive.

We don't know how long Will was strung up there or stopped breathing.... he wasn't breathing when they finally pulled him down. So.... what if the vines were sustaining his life?

The slug is still a mystery to me. Will could've gotten it at any point during his stay in the Upside Down. It's too bad I can't peek into my Upside Down bts book thing and see if they mentioned any extra details about this.

I'd also like to mention again that this is the only other instance we've seen a vine inserted into somebody's body. Usually, those vines just ensnare people and choke them out. This happened in season 2 to Hopper. It happened to Mike briefly as well. It happened to Nancy, Robin, and Steve in season 4. All incidents of choking and squeezing, no inserting into the body.

The only other instance of vine insertion (it makes me feel gross saying that) is Vecna.

It seems that by sticking the vines into his body, he is able to boost his powers beyond his normal limits. Maybe they increase his connection to the real world. Maybe they also keep him alive?

Well, there you have it. My crack theory for today. I feel like it's not that strange of a theory and that I've had similar musings before. But I literally have 8000 posts on this blog sooooo

[itsheccincheebs]

The calm before the storm...

You’re about to call it a night, not because you’re all that tired but because Kaminari, in his increasingly desperate bid to kickstart his high school romance once and for all with the remaining time he has left, has started trying to goad some of his classmates into playing some childish American game of spin the bottle. Much to your horror, some of them are starting to warm up to the idea.

And frankly, you’re not about to run the risk of locking lips with that whole mess. So you make a show of stretching and yawning and you’re just about to get up when the front door opens.

Midoriya walks in, looking adorable in a fluffy cable knit sweater and you slowly settle back down to admire the rosiness of his freckled cheeks and the sparkle of those large doe eyes that somehow retain that youthful, boyish glimmer despite already nearing his 18th birthday. It’s taking every atom of your very being to not rush over and plant a fat one right on those pink lips.

To your left, Shinsou does a spit take (gross) and almost chokes on his tea. “Oh my god,” he wheezes while thumping his chest. He’s doing this weird coughing laugh and you curl your lip, moving away slightly. “You’re so whipped, holy shit.” You freeze as he gives you a look that says all his dreams came true at once. “That’s your type? I never would’ve guessed.”

You stomp down hard on his foot while ignoring the sinking feeling of dread. He’s definitely going to blackmail you about this later, the bastard.

Shouto appears right after holding a small paper bag, which he hands over. “I remember you saying you liked these,” he offers as explanation and when you take a peek, you smile at the paw print candies stashed inside.

“You keep doting on her and people are gonna get the wrong idea,” Shinsou interrupts before you can thank Shouto for the gift.

“Like what?”

“Shouto, I thought you had detention,” you cut in, derailing the conversation entirely. You’re so done with Shinsou today and he’s starting to get on your nerves. “Aizawa still let you go out?”

For some odd reason, Shouto’s face colors, just the faintest line of pink across the bridge of his nose. He glances at a spot over your shoulder and scratches his neck. “I…had today booked since last week. He didn’t keep me too long.”

You blink. This is very uncharacteristic behavior from your best friend. You’d almost think he was…

“Sho — ah, Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya pipes up from behind you, sending your heart into overdrive. From this close, you can see he’s wearing lip balm for the weather, making his lips look so soft and just a bit shiny. You want to scream. He has no business looking that cute, what the fuck — “Do you want to come up to my room later and start on that essay for Mic-sensei? I’m having a bit of trouble with it and I could use some help.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. As the resident English expert, you’ve already finished that essay. Wouldn’t it be the perfect opportunity to…perhaps help Midoriya with said essay? You try to catch Shouto’s eye so he could do you a solid and be your wingman, but alas, your best friend has many strengths, but picking up social cues isn’t one of them.

“Yeah, I’m just going to take a shower first. I’ll be up later,” Shouto answers, shrugging off his coat and missing your sullen glower completely.

“Shut down,” mutters Shinsou under his breath.

You round on him, having just about enough of his shenanigans. “You are just asking to get your ass kicked today,” you hiss, swearing when he catches your oncoming fist. “It’s like you don’t know when to shut the hell up.”

Shinsou barks out a laugh, mocking grin on full display and snagging your other fist. “Not my fault your game’s so weak,” he retaliates. “Watching you was starting to get painful.”

With a snarl, you shove him off the couch, but he takes you down with him and you land hard on your elbow. “Asshole!” you snap, eyes watering from the pain. What follows feels like the world’s most aggressive wrestling match, with Kaminari and Sero sliding in to do some improv sports commentary on the side and several spectators cheering you on.

Eventually, Shinsou gains the upper hand because the guy’s got at least forty pounds of pure muscle on you and you’re tapping out before long. “Good match. Just no biting next time,” he pants, trying to ruffle your hair.

You duck away with a grunt, out of breath and sour-faced. “Whatever. Hope it gets infected,” you add just to be spiteful.

Midoriya’s long gone, and so is Shouto, the traitor. You straighten up with a stretch, twisting from side to side when you spot something lying on the arm of the couch. “Oh…Shouto forgot his coat,” you mumble. When you pick it up, you pause at the faint whiff of cologne that wafts from it. The hell…? Since when does Shouto wear cologne?

---

Oh good golly gosh, y'all are not ready for the shitshow that's comin'. I don't do Hurt No Comfort cuz I'm too chickenshit, but there's definitely a lot of whump in this future one-shot. So hold onto yer butts.

[reblogalanaartdream]

If you want to see animation flim but can’t afford it and you’re in a hard place

Or live in part of the world that flim will never air?

Ok I get it go pirate that movie 🍿

If it’s a Disney Disney animated movie

Yeah go pirate that flim they can afford a lost and they’re not always known for treating their creators and animators well (( find ways to go support their creators and animators and artists wherever you can please))

But if you can afford to pay to see your animated movies and you want them to do well and you know maybe keep on going you better NOT be the asshat who pirates that animated flim

You go watch it in theatres and buy the dvds for it

Do NOT be a cheap if you can afford it

Because unlike Disney

Animated companies like Sony; Studio Ghibli and Dreamworks had to work sooo long and soo hard

Against Disney just to get to where they are today

Heck once Pixar was against Disney but then being as 3d animation costs a hold lot more to make than 2d and requires a hold lot more people to make they nearly went bust but the Disney bought them and Disney had less competition

Also dreamworks started being as Disney didn’t want to invest money into 3D animation after how much it cost to pay 3d animation & animators for treasure planet movie and their piss off the animators so bad they got together a team of their own and started dreamworks animation team away from Disney to compete with them

Also if you’re saying oh but dreamworks a big animated movie company now

Let me remind you of the movie

Rise of the guardians

The one with the Jack Frost character so many of you like to ship with Disney’s frozen Elsa character

Do you know even though it was such great well received movie it couldn’t get it’s story continued

In fact it’s 2nd movie got canceled

As you see here it didn’t make it to getting more movies 🍿

Because not enough people went to go see it

It was the most pirated movie when it came out

It didn’t make the gross it needed to prove people would watch it’s story to continue so it got canceled

Shrek

Kun fu panda

How to train your dragon those movies got the funding it needed for their stories to continue but never rise of the guardians

Dreamworks isn’t Disney they cannot afford to keep doing stories that will not make profit

Disney can afford to lose to dreamworks

But Studio Ghibli and dreamworks can’t lose to Disney

So when studio ghibli and dreamworks make an animated film and you can afford to go see it and to get the dvds please don’t pirate it

There’s a hold team of animators / writers and artists working on their movies who you are stealing work from when you pirate animated films

Plus someone needs to go against Disney

Disney needs to be taken down a few pegs

Because Disney has taken awards it didn’t deserve to get when they should’ve gone to studio ghibli and dreamworks as well

Heck man I know Sofie from howl’s moving castle

And Branch & poppy from trolls

Would want you to be more supportive of animated films (( within reason))

I just don’t want what happened to rise of the guardians to happened to any other animated flim that isn’t Disney one

Don’t let Disney keep on winning it doesn’t deserve it

Look I get it if you cannot afford or movie not available where you are I’m not attacking you

I’m mad at those who can afford it that pirate

Animated films (( wish they did it more to Disney films to be honest; because Disney can afford it let’s be honest here; plus Disney has a lot of dark history on not treating their writers/ animators/ artists/ actors all that great that people seem to ignore because oh it’s *Disney* witch isn’t ok for Disney to keep getting away with))

Look if you can’t afford it or it’s not available to you or you don’t have the time or just waiting for the dvd

Of it to come out cool

But please if you can afford it please go see the movie and not pirate it (or get it when it’s on dvd)

Just don’t do Disney a favour by stealing from studio ghibli / dreamworks thank you

[siri-ike]

Bellyache

Mutant Mayhem fanfic

Mikey's been acting strange all morning. He wouldn't even look at breakfast. Usually, he'd be the one encouraging them to eat something, not the other way around. 'Maybe he's just not hungry,' Leo had foolishly suggested. 'What if he's pregnant?' Raph revealed how dumbfounded he was during yesterday's sex ed seminar. And don't think they hadn't noticed the 'private conversation' with dad. And going back to bed?! Mikey loves being awake. 'Maybe he's just tired.' Leo continues giving reasons not to listen to him. Leo and Raph eventually aggreed he must be sick. But Donnie knows, he remembers, they have never once been sick before. 'Cept Tetnus, they've all gotten Tetnus before, but that doesn't count 'cause that's an infection. Even at school miss Przybyl said he probably has food poisoning from the cafeteria chicken yesterday just because a lot of other kids did, but Donnie has personally witnessed the horrors of Mikeys usual diet like that time he ate an entire brick because he liked the color of it, or the fact he's eaten every single piece of confetti he's ever found in the sewer. And he's fine, gross, but fine. There is only one explanation. Clearly their brother had been replaced by an imposter, perhaps a shapeshifter, or a robot, maybe it's a really good rubber mask, an illusion, a hologram, a clone, whatever it is, it's deffinetly not Mikey.

When school was over, the boys had their various after-school clubs and activities. Raph and Leo still went to their needlework and poetry. But if 'Mikey' was gonna miss Potions to do who-knows-what at home, then Donnie can miss Cryptozoology one week. With notice ofcorse, he left Mr Dib a message this morning. This would give him time to investigate the charlatan alone.

When Donnie got home, he was met with a slew of questions such as 'learn anything new today?', 'you're home early, was medicine club canceled?', 'Are you feeling OK?' And 'How was therapy?'. Therapy was bogus Miss Przybyl probably thinks he's paranoid, he's 'feeling' like his brothers been replaced and no one else is doing anything about it, (obviously he can't tell dad that, he could be infected) Tuesday is Cryptozoology, Pharmacology is on Thursdays (although splinter managing to remember all the clubs they have and when would be unreasonable), and Donnie's certainly about to learn something: what the shell happened to Mikey.

It didn't take much to gain access to the Mimic. They do share a bedroom. Mikey was still acting weird. Bowls of snacks sat untouched along with a bag of half melted ice. He's lying on his side, which Donnie knows from personal experience is not comfortable when you have a huge shell pulling you backwards. His phone is also at almost full battery. He couldn't possibly have been sleeping this whole time. He's a ball of constant energy. Pull yourself together Donnatello, it's not the real Mikey, remember. Donnie places one hand on Mikeys carapace. It's oddly moist, but it is rather humid in here today.

"Mike... Mikey... Michel..."

Nothing. Donnie moves his hand over to Mikeys head. He's definitely breathing. He smells awful, but that's just his usual sewer-reptile stink. It's completely different from his has-tetanus stink (a smell he has emitted far too many times for Donnies liking). It's hard to tell how long Donnies been standing there, but it must have been quite a while. His default mode is stealth, so it's no surprise he hadn't heard Splinter come in.

"Is Mikey gonna be OK?" Donnies voice shakes with worry. Stop it. Worry doesn't help. Your brother isn't hurt. It's a bodysnatcher, or a, a... he couldn't hide a sniffle, Splinter took his hand and led him down the ladder from Mikeys bed/cubby area. "He doesn't act like this."

Splinter places his free hand on Donnies cheek, wiping a tear from his eye. He looks as though he wants to say something, anything to comfort his crying child, but he can't bring himself to lie. "Let's talk in the kitchen."

Donny stares into his tea as his father says something. He does hear it. Everything sounds like words. They just dissappear as soon as they come through. It's like trying to figure out what the wind is saying.

"DONNATELLO" the wind really wants his attention. Donnie looks up dazed. "Did you eat anything today?" What? He's not that food avoidant. Of course, he ate today. Sure, he'll skip a meal every now and then, but that's only because food is usually, like, super gross. "Yes," He scoffs. "What did you have for lunch?" Splinter didn't hesitate, like that would have been the next question no matter what Donnie had said. He hesitates for a moment. What did he eat? "K- Carrots?" Donny squints trying to remember. "And raisins. That's what we had at school." Donnie admits. "Is that what they were serving at school or did Leo bring carrots and raisins to wherever you were during lunch?" Darn, he knows him too well. Donnie doesn't answer, the guilty look on his face says enough.

The upside to not eating all day is dad will make him his favorite meal: a bowl of rice and some mystery sauce (Mikeys secret recipe) with a side of rasins (the best fruit by far). It might not be worth the loss of his entire mind. Thinking Tetnus was no big deal when it's taken over a month to heal each time. Sure, that's a lot less time than it takes humans, but it's still more than a combined nine monthes they've spent recovering from Tetnus. "I'm sorry." He mumbles to dad cuddled next to him on the couch. "It's not your fault." Splinter tightens his grasp around his smallest son. "We all have our struggles."

Next

[thespk]

Drawing my friends and family as animal crossing villagers! Drawing one for every 35 of the villager species!

20/35 complete

(these were made mid 2023)

(Please do not repost without permission/credit)

Funny teacher stories below (Tw for blood, pet death and home issues)

Small story:

Mrs Brenner was my chemistry teach for 6 years, she helped me out a lot when I was in a bad place and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be alive without her help. She is still one of my favourite people even after we lost touch. Here are some golden moments with her:

Walked into class looked me dead in the eye and asked 'so Lucky how is your Godless life today!' (after the previous day when I asked her if she believed in a god and I told her I did not).

She used to randomly shout in the middle of class 'they don't call me anal for nothing'. Anal being short for anally retentive meaning highly concerned with small details, but she often did not explain that second part. Hence why her alternative name is Anal.

She would make hot chocolate in beakers over Bunsen Burners as a reward.

She found me crying in the hall the day after my cat died and she took me to her class, took all the sweets from the staff room and let me have as many as I wanted (she also let me miss my first period class until I calmed down).

She would let me stay with her in her class until 8pm some nights while she prepped her classes and marked tests because I couldn't handle going home (for multiple reasons).

She took a look at my work on one of the first classes I had with her and genuinely asked me 'are you dyslexic?'. My first learned language was not English so I told her that... Turns out I had autism the whole time and that's why I struggled with both language for such a long time.

She used to work as a stool sample analyser, and loved telling us about how nothing can gross her out because she worked with frozen poop all day for years.

She is holding a comb because what inspired her to become a scientist was that when she was a teenager she was combing her hair with a wet comb and noticed the running water began to curve around her comb when she went to wet it again. (It was the static electricity from her hair causing the water to pull towards it)

She used to stop teaching mid sentence to whisper to the class what teacher she thought was walking up the hall way and would then stand and make us all watch the door to see if she was right. She was always right and explained all the different ways the other teachers would walk.

She had chronic health issues, specifically issues around her blood not clotting. One time she fell through a glass door in the middle of doing the dishes at home and due to her lack of blood clotting her rubber gloves filled with blood... She told us this because she thought it was hilarious that her daughters were terrified.

She would roast teachers and students everyday.

She changed my school attendance record for me when I was going through a hard time and was late or couldn't make it into school.

She would let me borrow deodorant and dry shampoo when I was struggling at home.

She always made sure I was eating.

I drew and doodles on every piece of paper and school book so she gave me a special book to doodle in to stop me drawing on my work.

She knew I was very particular about my notes and would print me out extra sheets so I could make them perfect.

She asked the physics teacher to give me an extra class because I didn't understand the root of a theory (and was therefore struggling to apply it).

I love her so much and I hope she is doing well ❤️

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina... I need to rant 😠 lmfao

As a life-long Chiefs fan and KC native all I can say is this T*ylor shit is fucking annoying. I know you talk to a LOT of people in the fandom, so you may not remember, but I'm a fellow Sw*ftie hater (maybe that's too harsh but idgaf) and I didn't think it was possible to get more annoyed with this woman than I've been since I stopped being a fan in 2018. Boy, was I WRONG. I'm a die-hard Chiefs fan. I loved my team even when we sucked and couldn't make it to the playoffs (before Patrick Mahomes), so to see EVERYONE make the game on Sunday about her is beyond frustrating. People (Sw*fties) are seriously saying she's the only reason we won. Like we haven't won multiple AFC championships and two Super Bowls in the past three years. Maybe I'm just taking it too seriously, but when our boys played a kick ass game on Sunday after such a shitty season opener (that we lost), it was so nice to see that we're getting our mojo back but I literally can't look at any post, tweet, article, tv segment, etc that doesn't make the game about her.

God, please don't let her be around for the rest of the season 🙏🏻

Also, I'm not saying they're not hooking up, but this is 100% for PR. I've personally never seen them pan to a celebrity so many times during the game. I've never seen "candid" photos of Travis Kelce, Patrick Mahomes, or any of the other popular Chiefs' players leaving Arrowhead Stadium after a game like we just got with Travis & T*ylor, or "candid" photos & videos of any of the popular players driving through the city, which is so sus. And then what really sealed the deal for me was that T*ylor announced earlier today that her concert film will be shown internationally. She was also named as an entertainer of the year for entertainment weekly and is on the cover. Not to mention, she has a new re-recording coming out in a month and continues to announce new versions of the 1989 re-recording. "Someone" must not be happy enough that she's already broke records with the Speak Now sales, is selling the most number of albums overall, but she must be aiming to break those Speak Now records with the 1989 re-recording sales bc she's releasing new versions quite often. I mean, how greedy can one person be. Like you haven't sold enough albums? You don't have enough publicity? You don't have enough money? It's just gross to me.

Also, I personally just found her reactions over the top for someone who isn't even a fan, especially whatever that head shake thing is at the end. But maybe that's just because I find everything she does annoying and cringe.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CxmAHqjrACL/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

Plus, the stats around Travis and the Chiefs have skyrocketed. So they're absolutely getting a lot out of this as well as the NFL like someone mentioned earlier.

I'll attach an article but here are some numbers:

Travis' jersey sales went up almost 400%

Stubhub ticket sales for Chiefs' home games increased threefold in just 24 hrs

Travis gained 325k new ig followers - more than he gained after winning the last Super Bowl

Sunday's Chiefs' game was the most watched NFL game on any network last week

It was also the most watched game among girls and women 12 to 49 yrs old

https://www.axios.com/2023/09/26/taylor-swift-travis-kelce-merch-sales-up-chiefs-kansas-city

And yes, I know I know a lot about her for someone who doesn't like her. But she's inescapable even when I have muted everything related to her... And now she's taking over my everything related to my favorite football team and my city 🤢 Where's Pete Davidson when you need him? 😂

Ok, sorry for that rant. I know I probably sound ridiculous, but I prefer my life T*ylor free just like I prefer my life Ol*via free, and I thought you might understand 😂 Anyways, feel free not to post if you don't want to discuss her anymore.

I hope you're having a good night, Gina. Lots of love.

She really is a horrendous actress. Everything she did at that game was so embarrassingly fake. But clearly people want to believe it because it’s everywhere.

That’s bananas how much his stats already went up and just shows why it’s worth it to do this kind of nonsense, even to someone who’s already really famous.

I’m not interested in football at all, but I’m so sorry she’s contaminating your safe space. 😩

[timeoverload]

Today felt like it was never going to end. It didn't start very well. I woke up at 2:30 again this morning because I was having another coughing fit. I drank too much water before bed last night and I didn't prop myself up. I should know better by now but laying flat is a lot more comfortable. It's so hard to get comfortable in this bed as it is. I really need to get my acid reflux under control but that's probably not going to happen until I start eating a more balanced diet. It took me 45 minutes to stop coughing so that was annoying. I was so mad because I was sleeping really well until that happened. I think I fell back asleep around 3:30. I had some weird dreams about being at work in the dark again. I woke up at 5:30 which is later than I like to get up. I only had 20 minutes to lay in bed before I had to start moving so that sucked. I don't like having to move right away so that made me grumpy.

Unfortunately I felt like a zombie all day. I wanted to go home so bad. I felt disoriented and hungover but I haven't had alcohol in a long time. Caffeine didn't help at all. I was trying to avoid having lengthy conversations with people because my brain wasn't working. I am still feeling out of it but I feel better than I did this morning.

I also wanted to go home because my rib is bothering me and my back hurts. I have nothing to relieve my pain and I should be used to it by now. My rib was clicking more today and I think I irritated it when I was coughing this morning. It is feeling more tender in that area. It's hard to tell exactly where the popping sensation is coming from. I know it is most likely somewhere between my 8th and 12th rib. Ribs 8-10 are more susceptible to damage because they aren't connected to the sternum. They are connected to each other by cartilage. I don't think my rib got messed up initially by coughing because I don't remember having this issue after my last asthma attack. I think it's from lifting heavy pans and pushing and pulling carts all day. I also remember I was carrying a pan in decontam one day and accidentally running into the sink with it and jabbing myself in the side of my gut so maybe that has something to with it. I felt like I got the wind knocked out of me when I did that. I also have arthritis and I probably have vitamin deficiencies and that's taking a toll on my body so I'm more prone to injury. I just feel so beat up and sometimes I feel like I am rotting. I am glad I'm not having any other breathing issues so I don't feel like this is an emergency. I know that it's not dislocated completely otherwise I would be in a lot more pain. I don't notice it as much when I am resting. I am still planning on getting it checked out and I hope I can wait until Friday.

I still don't think I should be working but I am afraid to call in for some reason. I might tomorrow if I feel bad still. I always feel so guilty about it and I'm afraid I am going to get in trouble or something. I hate that I have more health issues than everyone else because it's embarrassing. I don't want to use my PTO. I know that I won't have enough left to cover my day off on the 25th if I do that because I would want to take more than 1 sick day. I don't want to use FMLA because it makes me feel trapped there. I don't know what to do. I just want to take care of myself. I don't want to be tough anymore.

It was a really busy day for me as usual. I don't even remember how many cases I had. I haven't been paying attention to that as much because I just expect there to be a lot to do all the time now. The days just blend together. Nothing too crazy happened. I had to stay 20 minutes late so I wasn't thrilled about that.

I ate breakfast but I didn't eat lunch because the cafeteria smelled like cat food since they were serving salmon. I picked up food on my way home but I got way more than I should have and I couldn't finish it. I feel so gross now.

The heat is also unbearable. My car didn't start to cool down until I was almost home. I hate this weather and I don't want to be outside at all.

I don't have much else to talk about. I am so sleepy and I need to relax now. I already got ready for bed so I don't have anything else I need to do so that's good. I'm going to try not to stay up late. I hope I feel more alive tomorrow and that it's a better day.

I hope everyone else has a good day tomorrow. Thanks for listening. 💖💖💖