#twerp verse

[communisticbones]

Vincent is an average twink, that no one understands. 😫

William, Adam, and Porter always getting on his ass. 😔

[spiderman2-99]

Remind me to never try to watch Universe-199999 again. Why are there several idiots shocking up the whole space-time continuum in vastly different ways? Why are two of the same person in a relationship? How the shock did one random woman make a new universe?

My God, I’m going to get a stroke if I don’t get a brain aneurysm first.

[iamselfmade]

Ever since the little “Soong family reunion,” the android had been gallivanting around Federation space. And, at first, he was gloating in his accomplishments; he had successfully confiscated his brother’s emotion chip, and although he still didn’t feel whole, at least the knowledge of Data’s impasse ensured him that neither of them would ever truly be perfect. However, after his many attempts at integrating himself into other organisations, such as the Rigellian Hunters, Suliban Nomads, and Nausicaan Outlaws, Lore had discovered that even those species had their prejudices toward artificial lifeforms ⸺ they were just as terrible as humans. This realisation made him feel an excruciating loneliness, which brought him to the conclusion to cease his illegal enterprises and roam the galaxy on his own, wishing, hoping he would find a place, a planet, where he could pursue his dreams and live among kindred spirits; individuals who would understand him, because they were like him, lost and forgotten…

   The Romulan Warbird he had commandeered from a Nausicaan Outlaw after he had double-crossed the idiot, was on auto-pilot until its sensors intercepted a distress call from a moon not far away from his current position. Curiosity, an intrinsic characteristic in every Soong-type android, compelled him to investigate, and he tapped the coordinates into the console, altering the Warbird’s trajectory.

   When the vessel arrived at its destination, Lore scanned the moon’s desolate surface for life signs. There was one, but how peculiar, it was half-humanoid, half-artificial. A cyborg? A Borg?

   Lore beamed down to the surface of the moon, and one glance at the lifeform confirmed his suspicions; a lonesome Borg. A smug grin was conjured to his synthetic countenance; he was going to derive great pleasure from taunting one of the Federation’s greatest foes. However, his resolution wavered when he advanced and realised that the Borg was… Wait. Were those tears? Was that Borg crying?

   Awkwardly, the android became stationary and whistled to garner the boy’s attention. Perhaps he could deal with the kid and salvage the ship? But then another thought struck him: what if this boy had been abandoned by the Collective? Discarded by his family, just like him? But what if it wasn’t? What if this was a trap?

   ‘D’you need a ride?’ he asked promptly, throwing all caution to the wind. ‘Because it doesn’t look like you’re going to get anywhere with that piece of scrap,’ he pointed out, gesturing to the crashed shuttle, which was clearly Borg in design. ‘My name’s Lore. What’s yours? Do Borg even have names?’

@spacetimewriter (Lore, cont. from here)

Funny. He had been so upset he hadn’t even noticed when this new stranger approached. He didn’t notice until the man whistled.

The man, an android, looked so much like Data it made Hugh’s heart ache even more and his face twisted up all over again. He sniffled and choked back a sob that escaped his throat in such a small hiccup. He missed Data. He missed Geordi. He missed Geordi so much! And Beverly!! Oh, he missed her warm smile. How she smelled how Hugh imagined a mom might smell. Floral, in a soft and gentle way.

But this wasn’t Data. He said his name was Lore and asked if he needed a ride. Was that an offer?

“My name is Hugh,” he answered, voice tight with emotion. It sounded so strange to his own ears. Strangled, like it was being forced through the vocal implant by a fist in his lungs. “I’m stuck. I’m not Borg anymore and the Collective-” He cut himself off as fresh tears began to fall. “The Collective doesn’t want me anymore.”

No one did.

“I’m stuck,” he repeated. “I’m stuck.”

He did need a ride off the moon. He just wished it was the Enterprise taking him back. The Enterprise was warm, comfortable, he’d even be okay being trapped in the brig for awhile. At least he had company. Guards, but they counted. This was the closest thing to homesick he’d likely experience. Rejected by two homes, now. If he could call them homes.

He hugged himself. “I don’t know what to do.”

[iobartach]

Rumor Has It that you are jealous of Spiderman from earth 1999999999 since he broke the multiverse and it was fine after that.

Send “Rumor Has It…” And a rumor about my muse and see how they respond.

"The kid had help!" Granted, the circumstances that surrounded that dimension's particular brush with disaster had been classified as touch and go at various points. But, aside from the sky cracking open, normality was eventually restored, with little intervention required on his side.

"If anything, I'm annoyed at the sheer stupidity he exhibited. It could've ended badly."

[rip-quizilla]

There Will Be No Tenderness (Band Politics)

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 8: Band Politics

A/N: This is a two-part story. Both parts can be read as one-shots, but together they create one complete narrative. Part 2 will be posted for Day 12: Ow! and while this post does not contain any mature content, part 2 will be a strictly 18+ smutty story.

WC: 985

Tags: Eddie Munson X Henderson!Reader, backup singer!Reader, female!Reader, enemies to lovers, bratty reader, arguing counts as foreplay, strong language

Summary: You've been stepping on Eddie's toes ever since you joined Corroded Coffin, and he's finally had enough.

Divider was created by @strangergraphics

Eddie wouldn’t call you an enemy. 

He might call you an adversary. A rival. He’d most certainly call you a pain in his ass. 

He told himself he had the power to kick you to the curb if he finally decided he’d had enough. All it would take was one ‘you’re out!’ from him, and you’d be gone. That’s what he had to tell himself. 

Because he knew the rest of the band loved you too much to let him simply kick you out without consulting them first. 

He hated it. Hated how quickly you’d gotten on their good sides.  

His word used to be law around here- the most argumentative band member had always been Gareth. At the most, he’d grumble a bit when Eddie disagreed with him but he’d never contradict him. 

Then you came along.

When Eddie had mentioned to Dustin that they were looking for someone to do some backup vocals on a track, he’d laughed when the twerp suggested his older sister since she “had a background in musical theater”. He’d still been laughing when you showed up to one of their practices asking them to give you a shot. The laughter had only stopped when you’d suggested they play Flash of the Blade, and you’d known every word. Hit every note. Given him fucking goosebumps. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d assimilated into the band’s culture without any discord. If you’d been just as agreeable as the rest- but you had a lot of opinions, and they always seemed to contradict Eddie’s.

“We were a little flat on the second verse,” he would say, to which you would reply, “I thought we were perfect!”

“You came in too early on the chorus.” he would tell you, and you would bite back, “I was on time, you were late.”

Then you’d had the gall to suggest staying in the band as a permanent member- in front of the entire band- without consulting him first. 

The guys had all been so happy to agree- fuck yes! They’d exclaimed. About time! They’d cheered. Nobody asked Eddie if he thought it was a good idea. Which he didn’t. 

You were too argumentative. Too quick to disagree with him even though this was his fucking band. You were insubordinate. Fucking mutinous. 

The last straw was that gig in Bloomington. 

The band had been asked to play a college party. Eddie hadn’t established any kind of uniform for the performance- he wasn’t a drill sergeant. He’d simply told the band to dress casual.

And then you had shown up in an outfit that was so slutty, it looked like it jumped out of a porno. 

A black skirt made of pleated black pleather, just long enough to skim the bottom of your ass. A tiny black baby tee that was so ripped, he could see the black lacy bra you wore underneath. Black combat boots with platform heels. Lipstick red as fresh blood. 

“Absolutely not.” Eddie had declared, turning his back on you within seconds of laying eyes on your ensemble. 

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, incredulously. Already arguing, Eddie noted. Not surprised. 

“I’m wearing exactly what you told us to wear!”

“I’d hardly call that casual.” he countered.

“This is my casual.”

“Yeah, for casual Fridays at the brothel you look like you came from!” 

“Haven’t you heard the phrase sex sells? Eddie, rockstars put girls in bikinis onstage all the time, why is this any different?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. Of course you didn’t get it. “If we resort to selling sex, it’s like we’re openly admitting that we think our music isn’t good! It’s saying that we don’t think our music is worth paying attention to, so hey! Let’s put some tits and ass up on the stage, that’ll get people’s attention!”

“Oh, and I’m the tits and ass?’

“You said it, sweetheart, not me.”

“Fuck you!” you spat. 

“Yeah, right back atcha.”

He half expected you to walk away, but he should have known better by now. 

“Why don’t you like me?” you asked, blunt and demanding as you took a step closer to him. 

Eddie blanched. “I like you just fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“God, you always have to argue, huh?”

You scoffed. “I do when you’re wrong. Or lying to me, which you’re doing right now because you most definitely do not like me.” 

“God, you’re infuriating.” Eddie raked his fingers through his hair, searching for somewhere more private to hash this out before you caused a scene in the middle of this party house. Spying a nearby bathroom, he grabbed your wrist and hauled you to it before closing the door and locking it behind him. 

“Fine. You wanna hear it?” Eddie seethed. “No, I don’t like you. You’ve never agreed with me, not once. You always have something to say, and-”

“Are you saying I’m not entitled to an opin- mmph!”

Eddie silenced you with a hand to your mouth, launching your eyes from angry slits to saucers. 

“No. For once in your goddamn life, you’re going to listen to me without arguing.”

You made no motion to move him off you. You simply watched him, eyes wide and waiting. 

“Everyone likes you. They used to listen to me, but now they also listen to you. That would be fine with me if you would just fucking agree with me once in a while. Don’t just oppose me outright every time.”

Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth. You were silent, eyes still wide as they followed his hand when it left your skin. Your breathing was heavy, cheeks heated and body language shifted- where there was usually brash confidence, Eddie now saw coy submission. 

This would have seemed out of place, but the look in your eye told Eddie all he needed to know.

“You… liked that… didn’t you?”

Read the sequel, Love Me Mercilessly (Day 12: Ow!)

[paper-mario-wiki]

what's ur favorite erb?

i dont have "favorite" as much as i have "the ones i watch every now and again".

"Blackbeard vs Al Capone" i might just like the way EpicLloyd speaks as Capone, but i also cant help but be utterly entranced by a shouting match between to middle aged men who want the other one to be scared. Favorite verse: Capone 1 (of 2)

"Wonder Woman vs Stevie Wonder" although this one still has the signature simple and cheesy bar structure that ERB is known for, this is PEAK in terms of performers. nicepeter and epiclloyd (the main guys) are great, but after the first 30 videos it became very easy to detect their individual deliveries and cadences. t-pain is pretty iconic in his performance of stevie wonder. Favorite verse: Stevie 2 (of 3)

"Stephen King vs Edgar Allan Poe" watzky was unfortunately cursed by god to forever look like a little twerp, but he works with it really well and it fits very well for the real-life twerp that was Edgar Allan Poe. and zach sherwin is always a charismatic force to be reckoned with, his uniquely clever writing style and flow shining. Favorite verse: Stephen King 2 (of 2)

"Steven Spielberg vs Alfred Hitchcock" this one's just good fun. its a little battle royale among a bunch of really famous pop directors. i know that the character-appropriate cgi background is a staple of post-season-one ERB, but i really appreciate these ones specifically for some reason. Favorite verse: Alfred Hitchcock

"Kryptonite" this isnt an ERB and is in fact a completely unrelated normal rap song but i was listening to this one today. my oldest brother listened to a lot of rap when i was young and this one was one of his favorites. i remember listening to it all the time when he would drive me to blockbuster to rent gamecube games. i didnt listen to it for a few decades, but i looked it up on youtube a few weeks ago on a whim and i really liked it a lot. it's all about smoking weed which i love doing, and the chorus is really catchy, plus the instrumental is one of my favorites. Favorite verse: Big Boi 1 (verse 3)

"The Joker vs Pennwise" both rappers somehow look like different versions of matpat in heavy makeup, and joker works in a natural "we live in a society" which i like. i think that's all i got for this one. Favorite verse: Joker 3 (of 3, because this is the one with the we live in a society bar, but all of his bars were actually really solid)

"Tony Hawk vs Wayne Gretzky" another one for the "zach sherwin is one of the best thing ERB has" pile. he delivers in a quaint (if a bit cartoonish) canadian accent a scathing comparison between the actual real-life achievements and significance and skill between the two actual athletes. which i think is very spiritually fulfilling considering the name of the series. Favorite verse: Wayne Gretzky 2 (of 2)

"James Bond vs Austin Powers" might unfortunate austin only gets 1 verse because it's far and away the best part of this one. aside from a clever pussy eating joke near the end between the two feuding bonds. Favorite verse: Austin Powers

"Nice Peter vs EpicLLOYD 2" this is an actual real-life catharsis event between the main two artists behind ERB who seemingly put very real and deep-seated creative and personal frustrations they have with each other into their verses, plus a very real burnout over this series that they put all their money on being The Big One, creating a legitimately tense feeling in watching their performances. for reference, Peter rips on how Lloyd is an alcoholic and is unwilling to let the channel grow or change, and Lloyd talks about how Peter is obsessive and manipulative, referencing a real life issue involving a friend they fucked over in the separate video he appeared in. Favorite verse: Lloyd 1 (of ??? this one is almost a duet at times really)

"Babe Ruth vs Lance Armstrong" this one is specifically here because babe's second verse goes extremely hard in an almost uncharacteristic way for a series with very middling raps in general. Favorite verse: Babe Ruth 2 (of 2)

i could keep going i think but i just scrolled to the top of the list and my face flushed with embarrassment at how long its getting so im gonna end it there. you get the idea.

[blorboazula]

Thank you got calling out the bullshit about w@nd@ and the gargoyle that's supposedly her son. I haaate that the show and fandom is getting overtaken by them. Like we have QWOC and older queer women and yall want to drool over the whitewashed abuser and her white boy mini me? People once again gushing for m/m crap with that twerp and his bf when we might not even get a kiss from the canon f/f couple due to censorship? Ugh. Not even touching people villainixong Agatha immediately again.

So, I try to not be as vocal as I can be about how much I don't like Wanda and her stans, but here we go. I won't even tag her and such so don't come at me (or come, if you want). Little rant:

Yeah, like, I really, really don't like the way I'm seeing way too many people talking about him as if he's the main character of the show.

Like, yeah, sure, be excited about a character you like. I was jumping in joy when Carol showed up in the post credit scene of Ms. Marvel. I was talking about it on Twitter a lot but I also talked about the other stuff. I used to have a MCU side-blog and the majority of my posts weren't about that one thing. (Even if lots of my theories involved her since 1. The Marvels a movie I've been waiting and 2. she was one of the main characters in the direct sequel to Ms. Marvel). I still enjoyed the show for who the show was about even if my favorite character of the 'verse showed up + the series was very much connected to it.

(In the same vein, you don't need to consume every media with characters you like. I didn't watch WandaVision even if Monica was there.)

Agatha is the main character of the show, it's in the fucking name of the show. Sure, it's a trilogy and whatever (or so I heard), this part isn't about fucking Wanda, for fucks sake. It's Agatha All Along, not Wanda & Her Spontaneous Creations All Along.

But I knew it was going to happen. I've seen people tearing apart every non-Teen-is-Billy theory to shreds as if those were personally offensive. I'm sorry some people liked the theory that Teen was, somehow, the protagonist's kid. You know, because the protagonist is the character in which the story revolves around and the protagonist is the most important character because she's the FUCKING PROTAGONIST.

Queer representation is important, yup, and they fucked it up before (Loki anyone?). And the one in Eternals is almost a blink and you'll miss. But even if I'm not a lesbian/sapphic myself, I'm here like "come on, let the lesbians have this for ONCE". It was going so well, the jokes about lesbian witches and their emotional support emo twink, it was going so well.

I knew the moment that we had the identity reveal, the Wanda stans would be even louder and ruin the enjoyment of the others. I genuinely liked Teen and I still think that he was a pretty nice character before that fucking episode end – even if I wouldn't be surprised that he was manipulating them all this time, an evil little bitch like his mom (and that would be fun if it wasn't 1. for the twisted morals & 2. the fact that I ended up really liking Agatha).

About how they talk about Agatha: only Wanda is allowed to be mean, bitchy, evil, cruel and blame it all on her trauma. Every other villain? They're just evil. It's the kind of thing Ms. Volunteer-to-be-Experimented-on-by-HYDRA believes, considering her bullshit line to Strange.

Like, Wanda stans are really the fucking worse.

[batsandbugs]

Bruce Wayne's Headache Classification System Chapter 4

IKEA Verse

AN: I'm so sorry for disappearing for months again, things have been very hectic for me, but I finally got this done so at least I'm starting off the new year strong. No promises as to when the next one comes out. I hope y'all enjoyed this fun little look at the girls. I wish I included them in the first story, but I wasn't thinking at the time. I choose Steph for the POV because I felt her internal snide commentary could help balance Cass's more quiet reserve. There was an alternative ending for this that had Marinette using her powers more, but I decided to go with something softer and mushy. It felt in line with where Marinette would be comfortable showing the depths of her powers and continuing to drive the Batfam insane by not finding out how her powers work.

Chapter 4: Interlude - The Stalking of Daminette, a Treatise by Steph and Cass

Slate grey skies hang heavy over Gotham promising rain. The city isn’t any less busy for it, especially not during the day when most sane people agree, on average, it’s safer to conduct one’s business. Steph thinks that’s boring of them, but eh, she parkours over rooftops and punches goons as a night job, so maybe she’s the crazy one.

Wait. Weather. Grey Skies. Rain on the horizon and all that jazz.

Not the best of circumstances for a stakeout, but they’ve survived worse.

The rooftop they posted themselves on is comfy at least. No bird’s nests, piles of beer bottles, or scattered needles. Not too high they can’t observe the streets below. But not too low to the ground for people to notice they’re hanging out up here. Which is, strictly speaking, not exactly legal.

Also, they don’t want Damian to spot them.

Steph sighs, peering down at the coffee shop she knows Damian is sitting at, but she can’t see. She pops an M&M in her mouth and nudges Cass. “Pass me the binoculars?”

Cass lowers the equipment with a blank face stare. Well, blank face to anyone who wasn’t siblings with her. Steph is familiar with her pseudo-adopted sister’s micro-expressions. This one read clear as day, ‘why didn’t you bring your own?’ 

Steph blows out a frustrated pout, “I forgot, okay? Damian slipped out of the manor all wily and suspiciously and we followed him on a whim. I didn’t think to grab them. Couldn’t figure we’d pull a stakeout on our own little brother.” 

Cass signs, “I had mine with me.”

“Yeah, well we don’t all hide stakeout equipment on us at all times like over-paranoid busybodies!”

“You had snacks on you.”

Without a trace of guilt, Steph grabs another M&M and places it in her mouth. “Snacks are not surveillance equipment. They’re a normal thing to keep in your bag.”

“Your bag also contains mace, a taser, and smoke pellets too.”

“It’s Gotham, sis. That’s just best practice.”   

Cass rolls her eyes, but hands over the binoculars. 

“Yay! Thanks.” Steph places them to her eyes. It takes a second to adjust before she focuses on the cafe down the street. Damian sits at an outdoor table, alone, sipping a drink out of one of those tiny white teacups.

Pshh, what a pretentious little twerp.

“Wonder who he’s meeting?”

“IKEA girl?” Cass says aloud softly since Steph’s looking down the street and can’t read her hands.

Steph grins wildly, searching blindly for another M&M with one hand, holding the binoculars steady with the other. “Oh, I hope so. Timmy’s frantic rambling over her is the most entertained I’ve been all year. And Jay’s spittin’ steam over her little trick on him.” 

“Dick’s worried.” 

Steph waves a hand clutching three pieces of candy with a careless air. “Dick’s always worried, Cass. He’s a serial worrier. He doesn’t know how to do anything but worry.” 

Steph pops the chocolate into her mouth, watching Damian peer up from his phone and scan the street with keen eyes. She’s, like, seventy-two percent sure he doesn’t know they’re watching him. After all, they’re halfway down the street, fifteen stories up, lying belly down on the roof of an office building. But it is Damian. The League and Bruce trained him. Steph’s still convinced the little brat has the psychic power to know when he’s followed. 

“No info.” 

Steph sighs at the short-remark reminder of her family’s tendencies to stick their noses fucking everywhere. “Yeah, well maybe she has decent cyber security for her life. More people need to do it these days.”

Silence. 

Groaning, Steph grabs another few M&Ms out of pure stress. “You went looking too, didn’t you?” 

“Little brother.” 

Good lord, this family. They’re lucky she loves them so much.

“Yeah, yeah, I care about the brat too, doesn’t mean he needs his hand held constantly. He can make his own choices. Including hanging out with people, regardless of if his extremely invasive family managed to compile a dossier on her entire life.” 

“You said we follow.” 

Steph scoffs through a mouth of chocolate, “Yeah, ‘cause he was actin’ sus, just because I think we should leave her alone doesn’t mean I don’t think we should annoy him by stalking his date.” She focuses back on Damian. “Plus,” she mutters. “I don’t want to deal with Bruce bitchin’ about that car chase we pulled with the Volkov Family gang members, so this seemed like the better option.”

It wasn’t their fault the stupid goons running point from the pet shop’s back room decided to run on them.

“We helped,” says Cass resolutely.

“I don’t think B will see it that way.” Steph readjusts the binoculars and notices Damian’s attention sharpening. He looks out onto the sidewalk, eyes focusing on a person drawing closer. “Oh, oh, oh I think she’s here!”

There, approaching the café, in the cutest little yellow dress, a woman approaches and pauses by Damian’s table. Thanks to the high-tech binoculars she can view every emotion flickering across Damian’s face as his newest acquaintance greets him. He places down his cup and vacates his seat, pulling out the opposite chair and allowing the young woman to sit, before retaking his own.

Steph whistles lowly.

“Hmm…” prompts Cass.

“I- I don’t think the others are joking. He- he just pulled out her chair for her.” They are all capable of manners. Alfred made sure of that. Even for those in the family who’d joined later. (The disparity between the manners the Drakes’ taught Tim and the actual behavior expected of a Wayne was night and day and not in a good way. Meanwhile, people like Cass or Damian needed teaching ground up how to interact with people without pulling weapons on them. Quite frankly so did the rest of them, but Alfred was unafraid and whipped them all (metaphorically) into shape.)

So, yeah, manners.

Something they all could do.

But not necessarily likely to be performed by all.

Especially Damian.

Damian is like a feral raccoon who wields a bowie knife when it comes to Untested People. Short. Prickly. Rude in the way where you know you’re getting insulted, but the conversation already turned the corner and you stand there, shell-shocked, that this kid verbally bested you six ways to Sunday.

Of course, Damian isn’t much of a kid nowadays.

Standing as tall as Bruce and starting to shake off the lankiness of his teen years, Damian was growing into, as a posher person might say, 'a fine young man’. Steph still remembers him as that little feral kid, who only smiled when besting others or petting furry creatures. But no, now he’s smiling at other things. Adult things. Things that happened to include pretty French girls.

“She’s dangerous,” says Cass.

Steph pulls down her binoculars to find Cass peering at the seated couple with her phone, camera mode engaged, and zoomed in to see their interactions.

“Why didn’t you use that in the first place?!” Steph asks, annoyed. Reaching towards the candy wrapper her fingers find empty plastic. Damn it.  

 Cass narrows her eyes at her screen, ignoring the question. Steph huffs. Rude.

“What do you mean dangerous?” Replacing the binoculars, she focuses back on the couple. If she didn’t know who Damian was, her eyes would slip over them as another pair of lovebirds, eking out a final moment of good weather before Gotham’s stormy ways crushed the vibe. “She’s a little slip of nothing.”

“So am I.”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but you were trained to fight since birth. She looks like the human embodiment of sunshine.” And the woman does. From this angle, she sees both their faces while they talk. The girl, Marinette, has sleek black hair possessing a blueish shine. Striking bright blue eyes and a smile that lit her face like the summer sun contribute to the overall impression this was a very normal, very friendly person.

“Looks are deceiving.”

“Of course, they can, and I’m not sayin’ she’s not sus, but…” she gestures down. “Look at them! This is the most normal I remember Damian acting in his life. Would he do that, could he really do that if he thought she was dangerous?”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me! I’m serious! Sure, she might have powers, so what? Lots of people are magical and metas these days. Doesn’t mean she’s inherently dangerous.”

“No info.”

“Good security.”

“Something to hide.”

“A healthy sense of caution.”

Cass snorts. “She moved to Gotham.”

Steph pauses. And yeah, when you consider where the girl came from (Paris! Freaking Paris) and what she was studying… Moving to Gotham for a fashion degree sounds like moving to Las Vegas to join a nunnery.

“Yeah, okay that’s weird, I fully admit that. But maybe she has, like, I dunno? A danger kink or somethin’?” Steph shrugs. “Which, you know, is kinda good 'cause I think the demon brat has one too, so they’re like a match made for each other.”

Cass shoots her a highly unimpressed look.

“What!? At least I’m trying to think of somethin’ plausible, instead of jumpin’ to the doomsday scenario like the rest of you paranoid weirdos.” She turns back to her binoculars and her long-distance observing. “Listen, doin’ the whole overbearing intrusive family routine maybe isn’t the best way to act the first time Damian has, voluntarily, shown interest in a person more than complimentin’ their fightin’ skills.”

She places the binoculars back up to her eyes and watches Damian and Marinette chat. Damian’s smile hasn’t disappeared yet. In fact, it’s grown even larger. Marinette says something, her accent strong enough to throw Steph off on the exact words, and Damian throws back his head in laughter.

It’s a normal human reaction, laughing with such abandon. But it’s so not for Damian, that Steph’s mouth drops open in shock.

“Please tell me you took a picture of that?” she asks. Dick is so bound to freak the fuck out when he sees this.

“Mh hmm,” Cass hums in agreement.

They probably spend another thirty minutes watching the young couple. Cass takes pictures, and Steph makes commentary whenever Damian or Marinette looks sickeningly sweet. Cass sends the photos over to Steph’s phone, and in turn, she sends them to Dick. Most people would probably find it mind-numbingly boring, but both of them spend hours casing joints and running point of stakeouts before, so less than an hour is easy. But as the top of the hour approaches, the grey skies grow darker, and rumbling thunder appears.

Steph watches Damian blink as if shocked the weather suddenly turned bad.

Shit. Bruce would so kill him for that lack of awareness. “He’s in so deep,” she mutters.

“No covering. Will get wet,” Cass warns about their own situation.

Steph sighs, placing down her binoculars. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Damn it, I wanted to keep watching them.”

Cass tucks the phone into her pocket with a sly smile and signs, “I took plenty of photos. We should go and find cover. Can’t head home yet because we took the bikes.”

“Yeah,” Steph mutters. Quickly though, she grabs the binoculars again and looks back at Damian and Marinette. The couple grabs their umbrellas – smart of them, too bad Steph didn’t think of those when she impulsively decided to follow Damian – and head off down the street. Together.

The date, apparently, isn’t over yet.

“Do we wanna trail them?” she asks Cass. “Any chance you stored umbrellas in that bag of yours?” Half joking, half serious. What? You never know.

Cass shakes her head though. “No, but I do have ponchos. Do you want to follow them? They’ll be heading inside. Damian will surely spot us.”

Steph snorts, highly doubting it. “He’s so damn distracted at the moment, I’m pretty sure an alien invasion could happen down the street and he wouldn’t notice unless little-miss-sunshine started screamin’.” She grins, wide and mischievous. “Pass me a poncho sis. We’re not giving up this hunt yet.”

Despite the high-quality ponchos, they still end up quite soaked. That’s the tradeoff for having an unnoticed trail high above their intended targets. Sharp stabs of water bite at their faces, as they race across the rooftops. Steph’s shirt clings stuck to her body, damp and humid between the poncho and her chest. Damn, a shower is gonna feel soooo good later.

For any normal person, the weather would make it impossible to follow the young couple. Not to mention the distance from the ground. But Steph and Cass were trained by the best hunters in the world, following their prey was simple – if very wet and uncomfortable – matter.

Rain pours from the sky even faster, thunderous noise drowning out all other sounds, and quickly empties the streets below. The typically numb Gotham populace seeking shelter from the crappy weather. Eventually, Marinette and Damian duck into an older building, the overhead awning buckled in from the rain collecting on top. The windows are dimly lit, and a cracked and faded sign flickers reading:

MAGNUS ANTIQUES ~ EST. 1902

Cass and Steph cross over the street with a quick grapple line. Both wouldn’t dare under normal circumstances; it’s the middle of the day and they aren’t even in domino masks. The slip in procedure would hardly endanger them with nobody around, heavy clouds turning the early afternoon dark as dusk, and the rain pouring thick sheets, obscuring even the highest tech cameras. They land on a building next door, and carefully climb down the siding, landing in the alleyway, behind the antique store.

A young man, in his mid-twenties, slouches against the brick wall a few feet down the alley huddled under another old and tattered awning that barely keeps him dry as he vapes. The shop’s back door sits propped open with a crate, and it takes all of a second while the man leans against the old brick façade with his eyes closed enjoying his few minutes of damp peace for Steph and Cass to slip quietly inside through the back door.

Score!

An old, musty smell hits them as they creep through the back entrance. Piles of boxes line the walls, old antiques half-boxed, or laid on shelves. The store is dark and stale. All of old Gotham oozes an aura of grime and darkness to it, like no matter how hard you scrub the walls and floors will never be clean, the shadows grow thicker in corners, and the cold lingers even in the depths of summer. But that might just be the fault of an old store with even older objects inside. Steph’s never put much stock on that old fairy tale of Gotham being cursed and all.

Under a worktable sits a box – of what she could generously call towels but would more accurately call rags – and they wriggle out of the rain-soaked ponchos. Steph stuffs the soaked ponchos in the box and pulls out a handful of the least questionable-looking rags. Handing one to Cass, Steph does her best to sop up the worst of the water.

“I’m gonna get blisters later,” Steph whines softly, her toes wriggling in soaked-through socks.

“You always have blisters, all of us do,” signs Cass, drying the front of her shirt.

“No, we have calluses, we haven’t formed blisters since we were teeny tiny baby vigilantes who didn’t know shit and our bodies thought they had the right to strike about their living conditions.” Steph tries to wrangle the water out of her hair. “We wear waterproof suits though, so my feet don’t get regularly soaked.”

“Well, sorry for not having pocket rainboots too,” Cass signs sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“How unprepared,” Steph shoots back, gaining another eye roll in return.

Steph pulls her hair into a ponytail and wrings out her shirt and feels slightly more human now they’re back on dry land. Cass, with her pixie cut, vigorously scrubs her hair with a towel before it flops out, mostly dry. Lucky.

Quietly, both of them creep out of the back workroom. A glistening crystal doorknob attached to an old wood door sends Steph cringing when it creaks open into the store proper. Dim lighting flickers above, a high wine pitch of electricity crackles in the old wires. Tall shelves chock full of nick-nacks and blasts-from-the-pasts cast the store in even deeper shadows. Heavy rain pounds the building’s walls, mixing with the hum of electricity. Barely any light pierces through the charcoal clouds, which traps the store in an evening aesthetic rather than the middle of the afternoon.

Steph turns to Cass, signing, “Spilt up? Or stick together?”

Cass shakes her head. “Stick together, two chances to spot us are worse than one moving target.” Steph nods in agreement.

The store is quiet, minus the rain and a faint sound of classical music drifting from the front. Steph pads softly over wooden floorboards, which look like they’ll creak if you look at them wrong, and Cass follows behind, silent as a mouse. Rows of shelves stretch from front to back, ladened down with objects, Furniture and old clothes pile up on the sides. It is a chaotic, yet organized mess. None of it’s her style, but she’s sure Tim would enjoy it in here.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they creep from aisle to aisle listening for the low drawl of Damian’s pretentious voice. The store’s chaos turns what should be a straightforward search into a winding maze, but eventually right before they turn a corner, Damian’s distinctive scoff rings through the air and stops Steph and Cass in their tracks before giving the game away.

Ducking into one of those separated booths – the kind most antique stores were made of, creating tiny stores within one big one – a genuine score, because Magnus Antiques only sported a few. Fully cluttered with racks of mothball-smelling vintage clothing, the booth made for a perfect hiding spot, while also allowing them full-view access. Steph swipes a dull scarf off the table and ties it over her head, helping to disguise her distinctive blonde hair, as she hides halfway into a rack of big, dull winter clothing. Cass, using her smaller size and an all-black outfit, gracefully climbs an antique dresser and camouflages with an elaborate black feathered bouquet.

Truly, masters of stealth.

Damian and Marinette walk into view; fully focused on the shelves before them, and completely oblivious to the stalker duo creeping in on their date.

“I can call us a car. We do not need to linger until the storm passes,” Damian says with that highly entitled vibe he always gives off, despite Steph knowing Damian’s pretentiousness is mostly a font these days.

“Oh, come on Damian,” chides Marinette, crouching low to look at the bottom shelf. Her accented lilting voice is soft but carries in the quiet store. “It’s just a little bit of bad weather. There’s no reason to call a person to drive through it, we don’t want anyone hurt in an accident. We can wait it out here.”

Damian’s face contorts, “Here?” Eyeing the shelf full of porcelain dolls with dread – which, you know, totally fair. They were creepy as fuck.

But Marinette rolls her eyes and shifts through the pile on her side. “Yes, here. It’s like a treasure hunt, you never know what you’ll  find.” She pushes a large black blanket off a cardboard box and smiles wide. “Ooh, see, a whole box full of ribbons and trim.” She fully falls to the floor and starts pulling rolls out of the box.

“Careful, we are likely to find germs.” Damian swipes a finger across the shelf and pulls it away covered in dust. He grimaces. “Or tetanus.”

Marinette giggles, like actually giggles, and not out of politeness either. She genuinely finds Damian’s offbeat, dry-as-a-bone, humor funny. Steph, safely out of sight, rolls her eyes. Oh, good lord, they’re perfectly horrible for each other.

“Says the man willing to climb into a box store air vent shaft at the drop of a hat.” Steph watches as Marinette sets aside a number of trims to buy.

Damian places a hand against his chest, offended. “That was tactical. This is stubborn desperation.”

“We were on the run, sounds a bit like desperation to me.”

“On the run? We were hunting our prey.”

Marinette’s face turns questioning, “Oh I’m sorry, did you not get chased by Jason with a nerf gun through half the store and the back areas? Was I not barely outrunning Dick before I took out the store’s electricity? We won by luck and the skin of our teeth. That does not sound like apex predators to me.”

Damian turns to the shelf he’s standing on, and, with a mutter, Steph barely makes out, says, “We could have taken them.”

“Sure, in a fight,” says Marinette without skipping a beat. And oh, isn’t that interesting. Steph knows the boys don’t tone down their personalities and skills the same way Bruce does (he doesn’t so much as tone down, as does a complete one-eighty, but it works for B, so Steph ain’t hatin’) when out of costume, but even they wouldn’t be so stupid as to act completely like their vigilante selves. It’s still, you know, not a lot, and Marinette probably saw more than most due to the game’s competitive nature. So, for her to say she could take them in a fight, with certainty, means she thinks quite highly of her own skills.

She could totally be overestimating herself.

Or… the rest of the family could be right, and Marinette is very dangerous indeed.

“… but we weren’t trying to take them in a fight, we were trying to outlast them. And anyway, it’s a moot point, we won, they lost, and now they hate me.”

Well, at least she was perceptive, Steph would give her that.

“They don’t hate you,” Damian shoots back.

Marinette rises from the floor holding an old roll of ribbon, bright emerald green, the lettering faded and worn on the cardboard spool. She lets out an inelegant snort, “Fine, Dick is suspicious, Tim is frustrated, and Jason hates me.” 

Oh, she’s very perceptive.

Damian pauses for a second, then tilts his head and smiles thinly. “Yes, it is quite likely Todd does hate you. But he should blame me, not you. I told you what to say. He’s directing his anger all wrong.”  

Steph blinks. That was… a shocking amount of self-reflection from the demon spawn. All directed towards this tiny little slip of a woman who looked like she could barely harm a fly, much less impress the likes of Damian Wayne. At this point, Steph has to believe this girl is magical because this shit is just unreal.

“Perhaps, but what I said obviously scared him-”

“That’s what we were trying to accomplish,” Damian mutters, mulishly.

“And one day I will learn the context of it, so I can properly apologize.” Steph watches Marinette’s eyes; focused and regretful. “I know I do not have their trust, and I do not have the right, but when I do, I will.”

Damian’s face flickers through emotions faster than a roulette wheel, eventually settling on a variation of soft and amazed Steph’s only seen on a besotted movie protagonist. And barely makes out his words. “I have no doubt you will earn those secrets. Your heart is big enough, and your will strong enough to melt my family’s own.”

Oh.

Oh.  

Steph's mouth falls open in complete shock. Damn… just, damn.

This isn’t just a crush.

This is full-on, head-over-heels, besotted beyond belief, in love.

Damian is implying Marinette is important enough to earn the details of Jason’s death, to know why he was so scared of his family being hurt and dying and him unable to help (yeah, Jason ranted to her about Marinette’s little speech; yeah, it was harsh, but what else could you expect from Damian, he doesn’t do shit by halves). All of that implies she’ll learn of their identities, the biggest secret their family kept under lock and key. Only a handful of Justice League members and assorted friends (and enemies) knew of their full identities.

This is a girl Damian met two and a half days ago.

Steph, nearly so lost in her own shock and incredulity, almost misses Marinette’s reaction.

Face flushed and eyes tilted down, Marinette’s smile conveys embarrassment, joy, and a hint of sadness all at once. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re very sweet?”

Sheepishness seeps into Damian’s face and body, as he raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, a move making him look exactly like Dick. “Most people say the exact opposite, or they are in the middle of cussing me out.”

He’s not wrong.

Marinette's smile grows wider, “Well, I’m-”

“Not most people.” Damian and her finish together with a look building the foundation of an inside joke.

“No, all the more I learn of you,” Damian says, tone fond. “I find you are definitely not most people.”

“I aim to impress,” Marinette says, with a sly and besotted smile, and Steph doesn’t know if she will pass out from the sweetness or vomit, and at this point, it could go fifty-fifty. The woman looks over Damian’s shoulder. “Looks like the rain stopped.” Steph vaguely sees weak rays of light coming from the store’s front. The kind indicating the Gotham sun, a rare and noteworthy presence, has burst through the clouds to shine upon rain-soaked streets. “I should probably head back to my apartment before it starts again; I have a commission project to work on.”

Damian readjusts himself, folding away the soft, besotted emotions until he looks more like himself again. “And I need to return home as well, my father’s back from his business trip and will wish to speak with me.” He winces, “He is most likely already speaking with my brothers, which means I need to run interference before they blow the entire situation out of proportion.”

Marinette smirks, unrepentant and teasing, and for the first time Steph understands why Jason kept ranting ‘she’s just as demented as he is’, “To be fair, we did set Tim on fire, and break the store multiple times.”

Damian smirks right back, and “First off you broke-”

“We, don’t forget your part with the display and tying up a security guard.”

“-second, we set fire around him, he wasn’t hurt. No one got hurt. Except for their pride.” He pauses, and amends, “Well, perhaps that unpleasant woman at the end had an aneurysm with her screaming, but that’s hardly our fault, so it shouldn’t count.”  

Both of them laugh until it fades into a contented silence. Then, Marinette places a dainty hand on Damian’s arm, and says, “This was fun. We could… do it again sometime?” For the first time, uncertainty crosses the young woman’s face.

Damian’s face, on the other hand, is as eager as Steph has ever seen it. Wow, what must his head and chest feel like with all these new intense emotions bandying about? “Uh, o-of course, yes, this was fun. We’ll… text?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Marinette leans down and picks up the small pile of trimmings and ribbon she found in the box earlier. The spool of emerald ribbon balanced on top.

“You took the bus in? I can walk you to the stop?” Oh, kid; if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Marinette tilts her head, “Didn’t you ride in on a motorcycle? Shouldn’t you take advantage of the break in the rain?”

Damian shrugs off the offer, “I drive in far worse than a little rain regularly..” 

“Don’t compromise your safety for my own, I can take care of myself perfectly fine,” Marinette says. 

“I’m sure you can, but I want to,” insists Damian. “I parked near the bus stop’s location, it will be no trouble.”

“Alright then, maybe on the way you can tell me more about that art store you mentioned was down my way, I’m looking for a new set of brushes; mine became damaged in the move.” They walk down the aisle and swiftly out of view and hearing range.

Steph doesn’t move, and neither does Cass until Marinette pays for her purchases, and they hear the door to the shop open and close with a creak and a chiming of bells. A second more passes by, before Steph slips out of the clothes rack, and Cass descends the dresser, and they stand in silence for a moment.

“Whelp,” Steph says, popping the p. “That was certainly something. I don’t quite have the words for it yet, cause my brain’s still rebooting. How about you Cassie?”

Cass shakes her head, then pauses, contemplation playing across her features. “I still think she’s dangerous. Her body has the grace of a fighter, with years of practical experience moving quickly and efficiently. But I don’t think she uses her magic, whatever it may be, to influence Damian.” Cass smiles, now looking like a cat holding a canary between her lips. “That’s all due to him being very, very in love.”

“Great, so I wasn’t the only one seeing literal hearts in Damian’s eyes, cool, cool, cool.” She stretches her arms high above her head, spine popping brutally, as she tries to get feeling back in her limbs after observing the two lovebirds for long. “Well, I’m not in the mood to deal with Bruce and his game of twenty questions, so what say we go eat? How ‘bout the new Italian place that opened near my apartment, worse case it starts raining again and we head back there, we covered and hid the bikes well enough.”

Cass nods and they leave the store, passing by an ancient old man seated at the front desk totally absorbed in a creaking leather tome. Summer sun barely peaking through gaps in the clouds. It hasn’t truly stopped raining yet. The sky drizzles a small smattering of rain, and fog mists up from the pavement. It’s a pleasant change from the chaotic, faint oppressive feel of the antique shop.

Steph’s brain turns over the interactions she witnessed between Damian and Marinette. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. People meet, flirt, and fall in love all the time. But it just is because it’s, well, Damian. Even as a little kid he always seemed so removed, he really wasn’t, but he was good at pretending. Steph never pictured him falling in love, not because he wasn’t capable of it, but because she always thought he’d be too prickly for anyone to break through his walls. And certainly not a civilian who had no clue about their double lives.

Steph hopes everyone comes out on the other side, lives, and emotions relatively intact, and in the meantime, she plans to wring this situation for all the blackmail material it’s worth.

[thyla]

@machine-slays-dragons​ asked for a steddie fic rec. thought it might be easier to do a post and share. on request there will be no vampire!eddie fics on this list. and also i’m fairly new to steddie so i’m sure a lot of these fics have been read by lots of people. But I will try to stay clear of adding very popular ones to this list. so anz, hopefully there’s at least one fic on this list you haven’t read!! this isn’t even close to everything i’ve read just ones i’ve recently read. so here’s a short fic rec! Also! it’ll be a mixture of fics i’ve read on here and also fics i’ve read over on ao3.

Eddie’s Memory Log or read it here (starting here because I just finished this fic and it’s amazing 😘 go read!) 38,523 words

The only reason Steve volunteers to keep a journal to track Eddie Munson’s skim-milk memories, is because of the twerps. They have school, they can’t commute to the government-protected hospital that’s all the way in the city. That, and they gave Steve this well-rehearsed, tearjerker performance about how grateful they would be. About how grateful Eddie would be. Pfft like shit on a stick, he’ll be grateful. The dude doesn’t even remember how old he is, how the hell is supposed to be grateful for Steve Harrington jotting down notes in binder? But those kids have been through Spielberg-level disaster shit. Steve has too, but they’re just kids. So he’ll do it. He’ll do it for them and only them.

never been kissed (26,726 words)

Someone should... definitely check on how his brain is doing, after Eddie’s confession. Virginity is bullshit anyway, right? Robin told him about it, how it’s a completely made-up societal construct that invalidates a lot of queer people’s sexual experiences, and how toxic it can be to straight relationships too, so he can take her lesson to heart and be normal about it. Totally. “That’s so fucking hot,” he blurts out. Okay Harrington, way to be normal about it!Or, Steve is experienced, and Eddie is a virgin.

in breakable heaven (23,724 words)

"Dustin…” Nancy asks slowly. “Do they know we know?”

“No?” Dustin tries, but the way his voice goes up an octave or two betrays him.

“Dustin.” The girls say in unison.

“Okay, yes, they know you know!” Dustin finally gives in, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. It’s been one long summer and he just wants this thing to be over with already.

"Wait." Robin says. "They don't know that we know they know."

OR: Steve and Eddie are trying to hide their budding relationship, but their friends keep finding out anyway. Things take a turn for the worse when their friends try to mess with them to get revenge (based on Friends s5ep14 The One Where Everyone Finds Out)

slowly learning that life is okay series (35,112 words)

Under a much different circumstance, Eddie would have loved to have Steve’s eyes looking over him like that, would love to have that determination focused on him, but Eddie is very much dying, he knows it, so he smiles at Steve’s misplaced confidence instead, “High expectations, Stevie. Where’d you learn to swing like that anyway?”

“I’ll tell you,” Steve’s voice is a bit shaky, his tone wavering, even as he puts on a brave face, “but you have to stay alive, Munson.”

If he had more strength, he’d consider testing his luck one last time, tease Steve by asking if he swings for Eddie’s team, but- he’s tired.

Dying young. What a fucking nightmare.

Or, what if the Party defeats Vecna in time, and Eddie lives?

There id a Light That Never Goes Out series (73,886 words)

It’s not even the nightmares most of the time. At this point, Steve would totally settle for some up close and personal time in his brainpan with the Upside Down if it meant he could actually fucking sleep.

Crimson and Clover verse (20,685 words)

“There’s no immediate supernatural danger to our universe currently, not at this exact moment. I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. I’m just trying to get a little buzzed and have a good night, okay? Not everyone has to be perpetually horny all the time.” “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore!” Robin says, mock-hurt.

Or, Steve has a bisexual identity crisis and Eddie just wants to make him feel good.

or or or I saw a post about Eddie having a black hankie in his back pocket which in gay hankie code in the eighties meant that you were into S&M.

don’t ruin this on me (2,298 words)

Steve had always loved making his partners feel good. Watching people cum just from his mouth, their legs clamped around his ears–it was his favourite thing.

Or it was, before Eddie Munson ruined it for him. Ruined him..

(Or: Eddie sets out to Destroy Steve in the best way.)

Seems to Satisfy (5,348 words)

“I can’t like… get hard. At all. Since, uhhh -” he trailed off awkwardly.

There was silence, for a second. Steve’s fingers dug into his thighs.

“You… what?” said Eddie, finally.

love is like ghosts (7,780 words)

They stand at the base of a short flight of stairs leading up to the old university library. From everything Steve’s read, it’s one of the most haunted places in Indiana… within a tank of gas’ drive… that would let them in after hours.

“It’s the witching hour,” Eddie says spookily. He’s come up behind Steve, pressing close and wiggling his fingers on Steve’s shoulders.

Steve huffs a laugh and starts double checking his pockets for his share of the gear. Something to focus on that’s not the way Eddie’s breath ruffles his hair and skims over his cheek, raising goosebumps in its wake.

It’s not like he doesn’t like the attention, the closeness, the physicality of Eddie. He does. Probably too much. Especially since they’re just friends. Steve knows he’s not special to be on the receiving end, it’s how Eddie is with everyone.

the lathe (82,547 words)

"This time, do it right. This time Eddie won’t bleed out in his arms, in anyone’s arms. This time, Steve will do it right."

— or, steve relives the day they try to kill vecna over and over, and eddie just can't seem to stop dying. steve finds this totally unacceptable.

flight risk (81,321 words)

Eddie Munson is famous for giving his bodyguards the slip. Enter Steve Harrington. Has this bratty rock star finally met a babysitter that can keep up with him?

Rock My World (23,160 words)

After a lot of nagging from Dustin, Steve agrees to take him to see Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, play at the Hideout. He finds himself focused on more than just the music…

—

Or, Steve has a hell of a revelation.

In Your Eyes series (48,965 words)

It was decided then and there in the Buckley residence’s lounge, on their weird Persian carpet while staring up at the off-white ceiling and Robin giggling at his side. He was going to rock Steve Harrington’s platonic world, man. And nothing was going to get in his way.

Or... Eddie notices Steve struggles with touch and in trying to help his new friend, develops feelings along the way.

i don’t ask much (i just want you) (8,224 words)

"The fuck are you doing, Harrington?"

"Getting comfortable." Is the only response Eddie receives before Steve's head lands on his shoulder, half on his chest as he scoots up in the bed. Eddie freezes, mid air guitar solo, and frowns.

"Personal space, dude." He's so proud of his voice for not cracking when he says it, "Heard of it?"

Steve snorts and takes a puff, smoke clouding around his mouth before he blows it away, lips pursed in the air. "Don't think you're one to talk about personal space but I'll move if you want."

the affliction of the feelings (27,203 words)

“Hold on,” Robin interrupts. “Hold on, is this— are you, like. Do you know what masochism is?”

“I know I act like it sometimes, Robin, but I’m not actually fucking twelve,” Steve says.

OR: Eddie has a black hanky in his back pocket.

Steve and Eddie: Alternative ‘First’ meeting (read here on tumblr)

The Shire is NOT on Fire (54,148 words)

The kids convince Steve to take them all to a Renaissance Faire and LARP event. Steve has more fun than he admits. And then Steve has a LOT more fun than he admits.

November Paramedic (read here on tumblr) or on ao3 (25,662 words)

Eddie has had his fair share of fantasies, but none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

That's when the "sexy men at work"-calendar got added to his porn stash and orgasms as he knew them changed forever. All the men in the calendar are hot, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic. He's got this look in his eyes, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in it.

And everything is fine. Everything is great. Eddie's been single forever and he has no idea where he's headed in life, but he's fine.

At least until he's collateral damage in a bar fight after a gig, and none other than his sexy November-paramedic arrives to treat his wounds.

[toweroftickles]

HEY i know about that jorge guitierrez fic thing you're doing and i'm really excited for more content of my main fandommm (not enough tk content so many lees and it doesn't help i'm too shy to make a blog on this whole site) but if you don't mind me asking, I wanna see more content (excuse my greed :'>) , choose one; book of life hcs for the 3 main characters/maya and the Three + zatz hcs/anything el tigre nobody remembers it P.S- if you don't thats understandable, i just love the way you write especially the way you format hcs

INTO THE GUTIERREZ-VERSE (Tickle Experiment NMTX-AZ04)

- Plane of existence entirely dominated by Mesoamerican culture and mythology. - Plenty of colorful characters make for a wide variety of subjects. - This file was temporarily lost and shoved into the back of a desk drawer. Still, its late submission is not excusable.

El Tigre/Manny Rivera

Ticklishness Rating: 8/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Feet, Ribs

Superpowers are tied to his luchador suit. Removing belt buckle eliminates the threat of violent payback and makes it much easier to apprehend him.

Usually giggles through gritted teeth, hissing and snickering, until he can't take it any more and eventually breaks out into belly laughs. Demands (often rudely) that the tickling stop; never will say "please" about it. Definitely a kicker.

A resilient kid who does not yield under tickle torture. Hates it but will never give up information or surrender to an unworthy foe.

Getting tickled unlocks his supervillain side. Will proudly switch into his El Tigre identity to dish out vicious payback.

El Tigre Claws show potential to be one of the greatest tickle tools ever devised. Chains can extend to nigh-impossible lengths for long-range assault. Claws are ideal sharpness for varying pressure application. Immediately requesting resources from superiors to engineer duplicates.

Zoe Aves/Black Cuervo once attempted to force him into being her boyfriend by subjecting him to a sadistic feather-tickling machine, but Frida rescued him.

Add. Notes: El Tigre Belt metamorphosis affects nociceptors - increased pain tolerance, endurance - but seemingly causes no change in ordinary neural clusters. In short, ticklishness is not affected. Superhero costume irrelevant outside of claws' tickle potential.

Frida Suarez

Ticklishness Rating: 9/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Sides, Armpits

A loud squealer who can't control her nasally giggles. Jackhammer laughter: too fast and loud and has difficulty stopping for air. Snorts constantly. (This is kind of annoying.)

No superpowers or exceptional combat abilities. Quite easy to apprehend and administer tests.

All the same, punches and kicks and bounces around like Tazmanian Devil.

A relentless twerp. Loves teasing Manny about how ticklish he is and using this as leverage against him, seemingly unconcerned about the inevitable reckoning to come. Was noticeably eager when offered the chance to "help."

As a tickler: Immediately descends into high-pitched blabbering gibberish and constant teases. Squeezes harshly with her nails and implements noodly finger wagging – inelegant, clumsy, rough technique.

A constant victim of her big sisters.

Manolo Sanchez

Has more or less grown out of it...no longer ticklish except slightly, in one spot underneath ribs.

As the smaller and weaker of the two boys, he was frequently pinned down and tickled into submission by Joaquin (with assistance from Maria) during childhood. Eventually developed quite a bit of tenacity as a result.

Add. Notes: These characters are not literally wooden puppets. They are merely represented with toys as their story is narrated to a group of children. This caused some initial confusion amongst superiors.

Maria Posada

Ticklishness Rating: 7/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Sides, Feet

Unusual Ticklish Spots: Shoulder Blades

Fond of soft physical contact as an element of romance and intimacy. Loves massages. Gets goosebumps when scratched down her back or lightly touched on her sides.

Has a very sweet snicker that usually has to push its way out from between her sealed lips.

The most gentle 'ler one could ask for. Her fingers are fluttery, delicate, and slow. Giggles a lot whenever she gets to tickle someone.

Used to love torturing Manolo with Joaquin when they were kids (and getting held down & tickled back). After their marriage, she was disappointed to learn that her methods no longer affected him much.

Naughtier than she looks. Asking her "are you ticklish?" will prompt her to smugly reply "Why, are you?" and immediately start poking.

La Muerte

Ticklishness Rating: 8/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Balls of Feet, Tummy, Hips

Unusual Ticklish Spots: Wrists

Two sisters (La Noche and Lady Micte). Prolonged and highly-strategic tickle wars were common as they grew up together. Two death-centric sisters usually operated as a joint unit against La Noche.

Remarkable height (approx. 11 ft) - plenty of surface area to test.

Loves to laugh but has no tolerance for being tickled against her will. Sneaking up on her will result in a hard palm slap across the cheek. (Xibalba, her lover, can attest to this.)

Getting to her feet is tricky since the train of her dress is covered in lit candles. Be wary and take time.

Responds most strongly to squeezing and pinching.

Despite supposedly being made of sugar candy, her skin is similar in texture to a mortal human’s, barring segments of granular crystalline exoskeleton on outer extremities (ex.: knuckles and metatarsals, dorsal ridges of feet, shoulders, etc.). These areas showed no notable sensitivity.

Do not get on her bad side. A relentlessly wicked tickler with a penchant for teasing and mockery.

La Noche /// Lady Micte. Notable test subject candidates. According to La Muerte, Noche is the most ticklish sister, followed by her, then Lady Micte.

Princess Maya

Ticklishness Rating: 8/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Toes, Belly, Thighs

Impulse reaction to being tickled is to whine and pout. After years of torment by the Jaguar Triplets, she's developed a bitterness about the subject. To her, tickling is not funny or cute; it is an unfair war crime.

Devised many tactical battle plans over the years, but despite attempts, was never able to overpower her older brothers.

Even Zatz has been warned to keep his hands off her tender spots.

Cannot handle raspberries.

Very defensive - the type of person who curls into a ball and shrinks away. Experience renders her unable to fight back, so she'll usually just stomp off in a sour mood rather than retaliate.

Struggles immensely with body paint, which is kind of a problem considering the Teca culture. Also surprisingly weak to feathers.

The only sort of tickling that does not upset her comes from being licked by her massive jaguar, Chiapa.

Chimi (El Monstro Blanco)

Ticklishness Rating: 9/10

Most Ticklish Spots: Arches, Armpits

Possesses a deep-voiced, breathy chuckle that rumbles from deep within the throat. Seasoned with the occasional shrill bat-squeak.

Will kick, scream, and beg for mercy. She is highly embarrassed by this.

Subject displays complete lack of respect for personal space/boundaries due to feral upbringing. Often pokes and prods at new friends like an inquisitive monkey...climbing around, pulling on extremities, sniffing, playing with hair...this usually results in unintentional tickling.

Heightened animal-like olfactory perception allows her to locate and identify ticklish spots with pinpoint accuracy. Would be a very effective asset to research if she displayed any interest in the activity.

Cruel and brutal when taking revenge. Hisses and snarls and claws hard enough to cause scratch marks on her target.

Zatz (Prince of Bats)

Ticklishness Rating: *data inconclusive*

Extremely skilled at maintaining a stony face. Difficult to gauge the effectiveness of tickling on him. Not sure what (if anything) would cause him to crack.

Only tried to tickle Maya once. Has not done it since because she guilted him to death.

Conclusions:

Reincarnation and life beyond death are both ever-present forces in this world. Ramifications unknown. Potential for studying how traits carry from once life cycle to the next. Return to Miracle City soon. Get one of those claw weapons.

[mercystrikes]

             YOU COULDN’T LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE. COULD YOU, YOU LITTLE TWERP? / an  independent  &  heavily  headcanon  based  johnny lawrence  from  karate kid.  multi  -  verse,  expanding  across  multiple  fandoms.   minors  dni.    active,  but  slow  reply.                

[iamselfmade]

@spacetimewriter (Lore)

By the time he’d been fully rejected by the Collective, the Enterprise was long gone. The Collective returned him to the moon, left there with the wreckage of the crash that almost killed him. Somehow, he’d managed to get a distress signal up and running and, terribly sad, stood amongst the wreckage.

He could still see the footprints of his friends in the snow. His heart twisted and ached at the thought of the Enterprise, of Geordi and Beverly and Picard, and how he wished they would respond again.

They were gone. Off doing who knew what, whatever it was they got into. Based off of the memories downloaded from Picard upon his assimilation, a whole lot of shenanigans.

Hugh was cold. He was sad. And he was so utterly, terribly, painfully alone. The only living creature on a moon that orbited a similarly empty planet.

Someone who was so permanently altered by his rescue the Collective refused to take him back. What was so wrong with him that he’d be so unwanted? And why did it upset him so much that he was considered unworthy? What was this strange burning in his eye?

His face crumpled. Something like an internal dictionary told him he was beginning to cry.

[theinsanecrayonbox]

FOP: A New wish ep 5-8

and we're back at it again. another week, more episodes

spoilers: i think i found my favorite episode of this series. you'll understand why when you get to it XD

Episode 5: Fearless

for some reason my OnDemand doesn't have this available on it's own. however, it seems to be paired with ep4 (as it should be) so we can still see it. it's just weird that every other episode is on there single and together...weird

anywhos, onto the episode proper. the title card is giving me big reff vibes; i can't quite recall which previous title card it's evoking, but i feel like we've done this one before.

did Wanda's "squirt' sound like a mangled "twerp" or was that just me?

"Gregory" huh? i can get behind that. and Hazel is a horror buff?? i love you child. and Jasmine's seen IT?

did they censor Jasmine saying "fraidy cat"??

haha you can use TMNT because Paramount owns them too. they're Disney self reffing XD

ok, wishing your friend was fearless, good plot...think we've semi-done this before...and it didn't work this way last time in Emotion Commotion. but holy wow this is some imagery; we are so into the creepy. i love it

oh oh new geography! Annapolis...can't figure out where it is on that map though (Michigan maybe? Italy if it's not USA??)...also yes muppet stand-in is funny

sweet friendly pep talk, and fear fighting montage. good story telling

child possession??? by an eldritch entity of fear??? dang...this is getting deep and epic. A+ writers

"Don't want another of those going rogue" with an ominous stare at the camera...uh, guys what did you do? what did you do??? O.o!!

overall, very good episode! mundane problem that was complicated by magic but in the end was solved without it and allows our MC to grow naturally as a person. A++

Episode 6: The Wellsington Hotellsington

this one was a Spongebob episode plot right? this title card though evokes Hail to the Chief to me but obviously no connection

Winn Harper's our new Trixie? (a popular potential romantic intertest...and are they nb?) and Dev is certainly Remy/Tad and Chad

oh this plot is actually A Wish Too Far; Hazel's making big rich claims and gonna magic to make it seem that way until it goes wrong. eh, stock, but reasonable. actually makes even more sense since she is the new kid so not everyone knows about her, verses Timmy who'd known his classmates for longer so you'd think they'd've known his family's financial standing.

and why's Jasmine buying this, didn't she go to Hazel's apartment last episode? wasn't on screen, didn't happen i guess)

oh she does remember, but she's an easily convinced ditz. it's ok

mega points for emu

oh and now her wish is backfiring on her, as it usually does

evil doppelganger Hazel speaking backwards???? what the...we are not shying from the weird and creepy are we?? (Shinning reference?) i love this writing team

dawww see Hazel you impressed them all on your own, don't need the frilly fancy stuff.

though you have earned yourself a sworn mortal enemy in Dev. delicious

and we end on creepy doppelganger?? what are you guys doing...and will you do more

overall, another pretty good episode. not anything spectacular sure, but we're still developing our supporting cast and the story status quo. so it's good

Episode 7: 1500 Minutes of Fame

the title almost sounds like it'd fit the previous episode too...but nice city skyline cutout *saves that for later refferance*

awww they're a friend trio now, yay

oh it's Most Wanted's plot...well base plot. Hazel wants to be popular. you'd think Cosmo and Wanda would remember how poorly that can go...

why is Father Time here? he had nothing to do with this type of wish last time. also he looks completely different from his prior appearance but then again that was in Timmy's Secret Wish and that wasn't good so we can let that slide. but being popular falls under "15 minutes of fame" huh? uhhu. well...to be fair i could see a rules restructuring after Tim's deal in Most Wanted and all his tampering with the Time Scooter (and in Timmy's Secret Wish too i guess) could've made it so Father Time has final approval of time-based wishes...maybe if that'd been the ruling from the start we wouldn't have 5 different timelines caused by Timmy in the first place

he's far too gleeful about how monkey's paw this gonna screw her over. he's gotta be djinn

that's squirrel!Timmy!!! as the school mascot??!! what??? also that's Big Problem adult!Timmy again...huh...

i wonder if Bev is a Ubetcha...

and yes being most wanted includes being wanted for not positive reasons

why would you send her to a Hollywood school? because she's famous maybe? i mean that makes sense...because Dimmadelphia isn't in California like Dimmsdale, where one could argue that the Hollywood school was just a district over this they'd share students. i just answered my own question...carry on show

who's higher than Father Time on the magical hierarchy when it comes to time magic? who would you get in trouble with my dude?

pffffft ok Nick of Time. 1) love the pun on the name. 2) love the meta puns in the dialog (ranks up there with Zim experimenting on a child also named Nic).

act New Yorky to make New York minutes? uh...ok...i mean, that is a logical idea a kid would come up with to problem solve, so for that reason it makes sense. also, it again highlights that she's a West coast/Midwestern kid and not an East coast/New Englander (yes there's a difference between NE and NY, just like i know there's a difference between West and Midwest). so...montage of stereotypes i guess

"I am a child and recognize all these references" pfffft i am laughing

and musical number with 2d animations...FLAPPY BOB???? and more TMNT references

and the wish just runs out, the day is saved. this was a fun magical shenanigans story, so good job team.

Episode 8: 28 Puddings Later

are...are we getting a zombie outbreak? i know we had some body horror in another episode, and then all the other creepy stuff in this week's episodes, but...really? O.o why are children's media doing zombie plagues a bunch lately...and why am i complaining about that??? even the title card is a zombie pudding apocalypse!! i am SO down for this episode!

it's picture day...and pudding...oh boy, stock plot of trying to stay clean in coming

Dev steals all the pudding?? oh heckie no! go stop him Hazel!! ah it's through bribery...boo on Dale

Timmy is the janitor i guess?

ah making pudding that available will ruin the market value, and devalue it. economics 101. but also people doing nuts and addicted and thus zombies i guess

and we are spooky. heeheehee

why isn't Wanda more chocolate crazy?

zomr there are children zombies swarming another student. what even is this; i love it

broccoli pudding?? but no Yugopotamians? boo

but anywhos, i think this might've been my favorite episode (and oh look it's episode 8 even, heehee). it was just so silly and fully magically induced and fixed, but it was fun. children being pudding zombies, that's just...yeah XDDD

[devilatelier]

I also think that in my verse, Inuyasha kinda recognized the way Naraku went wrong, and understands that in some ways they were very similar. It was only the choices they made that sent them in vastly different directions.  Inuyasha chose to open up and love again, both romantically and platonically, and Naraku chose power.

Inuyasha empathizes with Yasu’s upbringing, being so similar to his own. But also that Yasu is repeating that pattern, and that he could choose wrong. So Inuyasha kinda brothers him a bit.

Yeah at first it’s like, having another Naraku running around is the last thing that he needs. But then the lil twerp grew on him.

[strangledeggs]

The Best Albums Of 2018

If you want to see a full review of any specific album on this list, or are wondering why a particular album did or didn’t make the top 10, or are wondering why an album you like from the year in question isn’t on this list at all, send me an ask about it and I’ll try and respond!

The Top 10

Room 25 by Noname

Invasion Of Privacy by Cardi B

A Laughing Death In Meatspace by Tropical Fuck Storm

Wide Awake! by Parquet Courts

Whack World by Tierra Whack

Superorganism by Superorganism

Transangelic Exodus by Ezra Furman

Be The Cowboy by Mitski

Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides by SOPHIE

Três by Thiago Nassif

The Rest

Care For Me by Saba

Conexão EP by Amber Mark

DAYTONA by Pusha T

Dirty Computer by Janelle Monae

Ephorize by CupcakKe

Foreign Ororo by Riton + Kah-Lo

Guatemaya by Doctor Nativo

Hive Mind by The Internet

I Can Feel You Creep Into My Private Life by tUnE-yArDs

Interstate Gospels by The Pistol Annies

Queen by Nicki Minaj

Quite A Life by Lyrics Born

Record by Tracey Thorn

Snares Like A Haircut by No Age

Streams Of Thought Vol. 1 by Black Thought

Tantabara by Tal National

Temet by Imarhan

The Terror End Of Beauty by Harriet Tubman

DROGAS WAVE by Lupe Fiasco

There’s A Riot Going On by Yo La Tengo

Things Have Changed by Bettye LaVette

Twerp Verse by Speedy Ortiz

Twin Fantasy by Car Seat Headrest

Un Autre Blanc by Salif Keita

What A Time To Be Alive by Superchunk

What Happens When I Try To Relax by Open Mike Eagle

Your Queen Is A Reptile by Sons Of Kemet

Coming off of a previous year I described as lackluster, this is more like it. 38 albums in total, but more importantly, I had a particularly difficult time picking the top 10 for this year. The top 3-4 proved especially difficult – I was pretty certain after a while that Noname’s “Room 25”, perhaps the peak of what one can accomplish with the “personal is political” mantra, was going to take the top spot, but was I prepared to admit that Cardi B’s pop triumph “Invasion Of Privacy” was better than Parquet Courts’ best album yet? And so, apparently, was Tropical Fuck Storm’s unrelenting “A Laughing Death In Meatspace”? It hurt me to rank some of these things the way I did, but because of this, I’m fairly confident that you could pull any of the top 10 albums at random and have a great time regardless. Just make sure to watch the videos for Tierra Whack’s album, too, since they’re a whole work of art in themselves (it’s 15 minutes of your life for one of the most creative hip-hop visual spectacles of the century so far, come on, just do it).

What’s more, typing out the rest of the list made me realize what an awesome year this was simply by how many I realized I was sad to have to leave out of the top 10. Let me tell you, in any number of weaker years (like the last, or perhaps the next one, as you’ll see), contributions by Speedy Ortiz, Superchunk, Open Mike Eagle, Harriet Tubman, No Age, The Pistol Annies, Saba, Amber Mark and more would have made it into that upper tier. It’s a true testament to the strength of this year’s releases that they didn’t; I would strongly recommend checking out much of the second-tier list as well if you’re looking for the outstanding accomplishments in hip-hop, country, indie rock, desert rock and believe it or not, avant-garde jazz (Sons Of Kemet deserve a shout-out here, too, for their unique brass band approach).

One strange quirk I’ve noticed about this year is that it features several artists who seem either to have peaked here, releasing a lesser follow-up in the next few years, or who have yet to release a follow-up at all. Parquet Courts, No Age, Noname, Nicki Minaj, Pusha T, The Internet, Cardi B, Tierra Whack, Mitski, Superorganism and sadly even Tropical Fuck Storm and the aforementioned Sons Of Kemet all fall into these categories to varying extents. Hopefully I’ll be proven wrong in some way on at least a few of those soon, but even if they don’t bounce back, many of those artists can rest easy knowing they’ve created at least one masterpiece, which is more than most can say.

Speaking specifically to a few trends I noticed from the previous year, I will acknowledge that “mainstream”-leaning pop remains under-represented here, though I think this may just be my general bias as a critic to ignore most of it or even to recognize that the stuff that makes it on to my radar as interesting enough to write about is still too inconsistent to make a year-end list in terms of quality. Then again, I put Cardi B, breakout pop-star of the year, at #2, so you can’t complain too much there. Second, I should clarify that while I said in the previous year’s essay that I was ready to re-listen to Mount Eerie’s follow-up grieving-process album “Now Only”, I ultimately felt that it couldn’t hold its own against the other albums I selected for this year’s list. Which, again, is just an indication of how good 2018 was; nothing against “Now Only”, it’s still a very good album and you should listen to it if you...enjoyed(?) “A Crow Looked At Me”.

Finally, I’m glad to see a bit more music from outside the “western” pop sphere sneaking onto this year’s list as well. Thiago Nassif’s Tom Zé-like “Três” made the very end of the top 10, but you’ll find Guatemala’s Doctor Nativo, Nigeria’s Kah-Lo, Niger’s Tal National, Algeria’s Imarhan and Mali’s Salif Keita elsewhere on the list, each of which is worth checking out and each of which brings their own unique sound to the table. And on a sadder note, it’s still hard for me to believe SOPHIE is no longer with us after releasing such a final masterwork as “Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides”. We truly lost a once-in-a-generation talent with her.

[girlreviews]

Review #46: Graceland, Paul Simon

It makes sense to do Graceland next, right? Ha. You might think I’m gonna fucking rip on it after that last post but I did say I loved it, and I do.

Here’s the thing: I think Paul Simon is a twerp. I could write a white paper on his ego and pretentiousness. That ego and pretentiousness would factor into whatever section that covered the controversy surrounding the production and creation of Graceland. That’s a nuanced discussion. He’s still a twerp.

However, he’s a twerp that made a damn near perfect album on this occasion. I’m going to have to keep myself in check or this review will itself turn into a white paper. Simon recorded some of the album with South African musicians including The Boyoyo Boys and Ladysmith Black Mambazo in Johannesburg, and remaining parts in the US with other guest artists like Linda Ronstadt and The Everly Brothers (!!). Unlike his previous work, since he had always been a singer-songwriter type, the music came first and the lyrics came last. This, is SO fascinating to me, because the lyrics are two things in Graceland:

One: Completely disconnected from the sound of the music behind them compared to the lyrical content, which I have always thought just somehow works. Songs about Memphis, songs about New York City, but sung over South African street music.

Two: Absolutely stunning. Masterful. Some of the best to ever be written and sung. I will have a lot of trouble not quoting entire verses. And I don’t always feel this way about Paul Simon. Sometimes I think he misses in a big way. He just didn’t on this record.

I’m going to start with Graceland itself. Make no mistake: this song brought my ass to Tennessee. It did. I listened to this record more in the year preceding my decision to move back to the US more than any other. So much so that I got banned from playing it in my office (true!). Consciously or not, when the time came for me to decide what the fuck to do with my life, I was hearing “I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee, for reasons I cannot explain, there’s some part of me that wants to see Graceland”. I actually have never been to Graceland. Well I have, I’ve been to the parking lot and the gift shop. But that’s it. I’m not paying that much money to look at some weirdos weird lair. You’re never going to get me to care about Elvis like that. Anyway, I digress. This song breaks your heart. Knowing your love doesn’t love you anymore. Everyone seeing directly inside your totally deconstructed heart and soul looking at the ruins of your future. What do you do to recover from that but hit the fucking road? Accompanying those soul crushing lyrics is a guitar riff that feels like how tears feel. It sounds like you’re in a bath tub and you go under for a minute. It’s under water. And that’s exactly right. It hurts so good.

Next! Oh my god, I want to say my favorite but this is one of those where they’re all my damn favorite. I Know What I Know. Firstly, this is the wittiest Paul Simon has ever been:

“She looked me over and I guess she thought I was alright

Alright in a sort of a limited way for an off night”

But he then describes her as moving so easily “all he could think of was sunlight”, and that’s pretty fucking special. I can’t lie. You could be a twerp but with talk like that, if you were a little funny, and you could sing pretty songs, yeah maybe plenty of women would give you the time of day. Maybe the ego makes sense. This song also reminds me of a former boss, who was actually from South Africa. He just sung the last words of each line, because they were really pronounced “moooooney”, “fuuuuuunny”, and it was annoying as hell. Probably because he was a real racist piece of shit, and one day when I really just told him I had nothing left in me and thought I might kill myself, mans looked me dead in the eye and told me to “pick a different thought and just keep showing up for work”. Money. Funny.

Moving on, there’s this chaotic accordion in Gumboots. I don’t really know how to single out any of the lyrics, but I’ll pick “I said hey señorita, that’s astute I said, why don’t we get together and call ourselves an institute”(the fuck???? Come on! I want to be mad at it, but it’s just the right damn side of the line where he’s not high on its own supply, it just is really that good). It’s a vocal performance for sure. It’s witty again. It’s conversational. It’s confusing. It’s unresolved. There’s joyful happy percussion and trumpets backing that up. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense and yet it works perfectly.

I can’t get into every other song because they’re all amazing. But a poor boy is “empty as a pocket” in Diamonds of the Souls of Her Shoes. There’s a “roly-poly little bat faced girl” in You Can Call Me Al. In Crazy Love, Vol. II, “the fire in your life” is “all over the evening news”. I really can’t cope with it all.

Here’s my two stories. They’re good ones, too. Like I said, I really got to know this record in 2012, when I found it in the charity shop across from my shitty apartment at my shitty job that ruled my shitty life. I found so many good ones there (Joni!). I listened to it non-stop. Got banned from listening to it. Did it anyway, etc. Wouldn’t you know, it was the 25th anniversary of it being released? Paul Simon toured that year, with all of the original musicians. I saw it. My life was a disaster, and I was miserable all told. The people largely responsible for the misery bought tickets for everyone but me, knowing how much I loved it. But I was given VIP passes by my former housemate who worked for Columbia Records, because yeah! Sometimes you catch a break! I know in spite of all of the misery and pain of that time that felt all consuming, there was a sunny day in Hyde Park where I saw this album performed from start to finish by the original musicians. I wore a cute leopard print dress and have a picture from that day with my very dear friend Sophie, and I can see in my eyes that I was happy. He threw in some other classics too. Even some Simon and Garfunkel. I got drunk. I was in the moment. I was the roly-poly little bat-faced girl. Whatever that means. For me it means I was happy.

Fast forward a year, I moved to Tennessee. Fast forward a few more years from there. I’m married to a man who works for a nice couple who happen to be South African. One Saturday I stop in to see him at work, and he says “Hey girlreviews, I need to introduce you to someone”. That someone was a tall, slender, aging white man that I recognized from a documentary I had watched some months ago. He had a lovely South African accent. My husband tells me, “he worked on Graceland”. I didn’t know what to say, but I shook his hand and told him how much I loved the record and how special it was. I was so overwhelmed I don’t even recall his name without rewatching the documentary, or what role he played in the making of the album.

Brb, crying about that guitar sound for the 87546490075734643th time. If you’ve never heard a guitar under water, all you have to do is get in your car, put on Graceland and head to Memphis. Only the putting on Graceland part is actually required.