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eyecookie · 5 months

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Tell us more lore for the dark enchantress cookie members and it normal peeps >_>

Okay Okay Okay!!

Will start tagging the Dark Enchantress cookie members post as 'FamilyCookies' because thats what me and the other au owner called it!

Tws: Eating Disorder mention (just the name), Ableism, Fatphobia, Bullying, Self Harm, Religious Trauma.

Nothing of the tws happend between the family and its just mentions of the past.

Warning: i am not intersex, so i apologize if anything i say here is wrong, or me not knowing the specific names of anything because my memory is short, don't feel afraid to correct me.

The members are: Dark Enchantress, Pomegranate (Moms) Licorice, Red Velvet, Strawberry Crepe, Poison Mushroom, Dark Choco, Affogato, Purple Yam, Black Raisin and Chess Choco (Children)

Under the read more/Keep reading there is the lore

Dark Enchantress and Pomegranate are dating, They are a healthy couple.

All the childrens are adopted, their plan wasn't to have many kids, but in every orphanage they went, they fell in love with two kid and didn't have the heart to leave them, also they won't ever separate the twins.

Dark Enchantress, 56 Years old, Sleeps with Pomegranate.

Dark Enchantress works almost all day but tries to make time for its family, she have anxiety and takes meds for it.

Pomegranate, 48 years old, Sleeps with Dark Enchantress.

Pomegranate stays at home taking care of their children, She works hard to take care of the house and still gets time to watch TV.

Licorice, 25 years old, Sleeps in Purple Yam bed and roommate with Black Raisin.

Licorice is a guy who likes to tease his siblings, but he isn't as mean as Purple Yam or Strawberry Crepe, He used to sleep on the Basement due to space issues, But changed with Affogato (will explain on Affogato session) and basically sleeps on Purple yam room because Purple Yam is always out, Licorice is a transboy and have Anorexia nervosa.

Red Velvet, 27 years old, Roommate with Dark Choco.

Red Velvet was adopted when he was a teenager, he was 15, He was put to adoption because he lost his arm and his family didn't wanted it to "ruin their image", he have a older brother but don't know him, Dark Enchantress worked hard to get him a prosthetic arm, But Strawberry Crepe stole it and changed it to look like a claw, because, Crepe words "if you like animals so much you should look like them for comfort", Red Velvet got money to fix things Crepe messed up on it but never changed the claw part, He works as a veterinarian, Pet rescuer and anything he can to take care of pets, he sometimes brings to Black Raisin job(Will see on Black Raisin part) a dog to make the kids happy, Red Velvet likes to watch movies with Dark Choco, Red Velvet have selective mutism, he can talk to all his family but only if he is alone or feels like it.

Strawberry Crepe, 14 years old, Roommate with Poison Mushroom.

Strawberry Crepe is a annoying kid, mean(They love their family but won't tell you), And a Tumblr kid, they love to do things that would make people angry on the internet, They have Autism and ADHD, They like anything computer relate, like gaming, Hacking and etc, They are intersex and Close To Male but won't let you know anything else but that, They LOVE the cult because they think the cult is cool and because they created a "cultsona", Would send you Death threats.

Poison Mushroom, 12 years old, Roommate with Strawberry Crepe.

Poison Mushroom is a kind kid, they will obey everything they are commanded to, It's dangerous to them but they never leaves the side of their family, their favorites are Strawberry Crepe and Licorice, They have a speech problem, they speak like they just learned words (because they did), and randomly their tone gets higher, thet also have a mental age delay, They are 12 but acts like 7, They have Autism and are intersex Close To Male.

Tiny context: There is a thing that the legendaries in Cookie Run Kindom are gods and after a while they make some kids in the normal world, some people don't belive some exist, other don't believe in all, you got it.

Dark Choco, 22 years old, Roommates with Red Velvet.

Dark Choco is a shy guy, Nobody know whos his father or when he appeared, He was always fat when younger, so he suffered bullying a lot, Everyone said they expect a son of a god to be stronger, so Dark Choco stopped believing in the existence of Dark Cacao, Dark Choco suffers from Depression and had did self harm before, Now he is better because his family don't hate him, even if he doubts himself, They always there, he have some problems with Purple Yam (will see on Purple Yam part) and Affogato (will see on Affogato part), but beside that everything is fine, His hobbies are plushie collecting and watching movies with Red Velvet, He loves everyone but the people he always go to talk when sad is Red Velvet and Dark Enchantress, Dark Choco hates talking about his feelings so Red Velvet and Dark Enchantress either encorages him or makes him forget the feeling.

Affogato, 24 years old, sleeps in a basement.

Affogato is basically obsessed with Dark Cacao, he was roommate with Dark Choco but because of that, He got moved to the basement, Things are weird between them until today, but to not cause conflict between family, Affogato avoid Dark Choco, He is loud about things he likes and complaining that "no nobody on that house have some fashion sense", They have NPD and insomnia.

Purple Yam, 28 years old, Roommate with Black Raisin but don't sleep a lot on the room anymore.

Purple Yam is married to a cult members, That is Milk, not officially married but they say they are, Purple Yam have extremely bad angry issues, making him be angry at Dark Choco because Milk talked about how Dark Choco look like Dark Cacao, Purple yam is alone impulsive and sometimes it get in the way of his relationships, He meet Milk because he runned away from his home angry and got lost in the woods, and as milks travels through the woods a lot he found Purple yam and took him, Purple Yam once beated the shit of a guy and took his kid(Dino Sour) because the Dad screamed at Dine Sour, Honestly Purple Yam is the last favorite children but he is still loved a lot.

Black Raisin, 32 years old, Roommate with Purple Yam and Licorice.

Black Raisin is a very caring person, She works in a orphanage with hungry kids, Red Velvet helps brings animals sometimes to make the kids happy, She trains everyday to look strong so the kids feel safer, She herself didn't had a good experience with orphanages when she was young so now she tries to make the kids have a better chance then her, She reads books at night.

Chess Choco, 12 years old, sleeps together.

Chess Choco are literally inseparable, you can try but you won't be able to, Dark Pawn is Extremely introvert and White Pawn is extremely extrovert, They are both intersex, White Pawn is extremely clingy to Black pawn, They love to read together and bother their siblings.

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janetbrown711 · 1 year

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These Hands of Mine are Clumsy, Not Clever

Pigsy and kids go apartment shopping in the snooty part of town and Pigsy hates just about every second of it. He then shows the kids a thing or two around the restaurant until Tang shows up and shows him a thing or two too

tw for Tw for internalized/external fatphobia, microaggressions, and extreme self deprecation.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Ao3 Link

Being a demon in a highly human populated city was difficult, even under regular circumstances.

Being a demon in an uppity rich people neighborhood with two orphans who did not look like they belonged to him was a whole other kind of difficult.

He could practically feel the eyes on him the moment he set foot outside of the subway behind Mei and MK, who were none the wiser. Pigsy was no stranger to stares and so just tried to keep his eyes low, hands in jacket pockets, and mind focused on their destination, while also making sure Mei and MK were on track too.

It had been two days since the adoption, and the second time they had really ever gone “out”, and the first time they set foot in a wealthier part of town. He always had a distaste for the upper crust of Megapolis, but he knew now for the kids’ sake, he was going to have to learn to get used to all the looks. After all, his only other option would be making his glamor suddenly twenty million times stronger and just wear a human disguise 24/7, and– yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen.

A part of him wished Tang was here– sure, he had a bit of social anxiety with everyone except him, for some reason, but him being a human would probably cut all the gawking in half.

Nono– that was a stupid thought– you don’t just ask customers to go apartment shopping with you– that’s weird. And he clearly has some kind of anxiety-! Pigsy could never ask him to go out with him to go out with the kids and him and face all that judgment and stuff. He never asked for this!

Pigsy was a grown ass man, he could handle this himself.

After a couple twists and turns, as well as accidentally taking a wrong turn and having to walk back three blocks and make a left instead of a right, they arrived at the truly massive apartment complex that was nothing like his part of town in the slightest.

The building had that kind of futuristic architecture to it that wasn’t exactly unfamiliar– gentrification had been growing in Megapolis for years– but this building you could tell wasn’t overpriced and poorly made. No, it was curved and classy and if he tilted his head it could kind of look like a crystal chandelier.

He didn’t do that for long, of course, and ushered MK and Mei inside, receiving strange looks from the massive security desk.

“Can I help… you?” A guard asked from behind his desk.

“I’ve an appointment, bud,” Pigsy rolled his eyes and showed him the printed out email. The guard looked it over, then looked Pigsy over, before silently pointing to his right with his thumb as an audible click rang out.

Something told Pigsy he wasn’t going to be getting anymore conversation out of that guy and so took the hint and opened the door for Mei and MK and they went into the main lobby.

Though ‘lobby’ did not feel like the proper word for Pigsy– it was more like an airport terminal. It was truly gigantic with a lot of benches and shops and rich people services, including a spa.

“Mr. Piggy, can we look at candy?” Mei pulled on his sleeve and pointed to a candy stand.

“We’re gonna be late for our appointment and I need you two to not get lost,” Pigsy shook his head and looked over the print-out he’d shown the guard. The chef, however, made a fatal mistake when he glanced at the kids a second and saw them putting on their best puppy dog faces.

“Gah– maybe after– we really can’t be late,” Pigsy rubbed his forehead.

“I’ll take it!” Mei grinned widely and Pigsy wondered when oh when did he become so soft.

Eventually he figured out their guide’s office was on the seventh floor, so they had to locate an elevator and take that up. And christ– even the elevators were fancy. They all had benches and a guy to specifically push the buttons and most were made of glass so you could look down at everyone in that rich person’s version of a marketplace.

When they stepped out of the elevator, the secretary behind the desk labeled “Rent and Housing Affairs”, didn’t even try to hide her gawking, staring at Pigsy with wide eyes.

Great.

“Um...Hi.” He said curtly, causing the lady to snap out of her disturbed trance. “I have an appointment with Zhao Fen. Name’s Zhu Bajie.”

“R-right, yes, let me just…” She glanced at Pigsy again before shaking her head and focusing on her computer screen. While they waited, Mei and MK wandered over to the fish tank in one of the walls and watched them.

“Ah– um– are those children..?” The secretary glanced at Pigsy again.

“...With me?” He asked, which made her laugh awkwardly. Pigsy rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, they’re my kids– what’s this gotta do with my appointment?”

“O-oh, well I have to report any unaccompanied minors and– just– nevermind,” She smiled a bit before typing more.

“Ah, yes, I see your name right here and– Aha-! Miss Zhao is expecting you, so you can just head on back– third door on your right,,” She said, hitting a buzzer and yet another door clicked.

“C’mon Mei, Mk,” Pigsy called for them and they scurried back and down three doors on their right, where Pigsy knocked on the door labeled, “Miss Zhao Fen – Head Leasing Agent”.

“Come on in,” A voice called from behind, and after taking a long breath, Pigsy did.

Immediately upon seeing Pigsy though, Miss Zhao Fen nearly choked on her coffee and had to spend a solid minute clearing her throat.

“Y-you’re… Zhu Bajie?” She asked, looking him up and down like all the other fifty billion strangers he’d met.

“Yes,” Pigsy said, and before she could even ask he pulled out the email and his ID, both of which she took from his hand and looked over.

“Right– Zhu meaning Pig,” She shook her head as she looked at the papers.

“Hmm… Well I suppose everything appears to be in order. You may sit,” She said, gesturing to the four seats across from her desk. Mei and MK had no trouble at all, but Pigsy felt the sides of the seat squeeze his hips again and all he could think to himself was if this place was really so high and mighty why on earth couldn’t they just get more comfortable chairs.

His question was slightly answered when he could see the corner of her mouth flickering as she examined her screen.

Shocking, truly.

“Mr… Zhu, tell me, how exactly did you hear about this building?” Zhao Fen asked.

“Recommended,” He stated, and the kids gave him funny looks that he replied with a small shrug.

“By whom?” She looked at the demon.

“A friend and a lawyer.”

The head leasing agent typed a few more things into her computer, clicked a few things, typed more things before asking: “Mr. Zhu, are you sure this neighborhood is right for… your kind?”

Pigsy’s eye twitched. “Why yes, I am sure.”

“‘Your kind’? What’s Mr. Piggy’s ‘kind’?” Mei tilted her head and the agent was reminded of MK and Mei’s presence.

“Well– I’m of course referring to your salary. Monthly rent averages about 50k a month, and I just don’t think–”

“I have the evidence of income– it was in all those emails, so how's about you skip your little lecture and give the dang tour already, hm? Pigsy snapped.

The lady huffed and typed more things, making Pigsy bite his tongue.

Him and his goddamned temper…

“Says here you’re just looking for a three bedroom two bath?” She asked, and he nodded. With a huff, she typed more things, and then dug through a drawer for a ring of keys.

“Alright, let’s do this,” She said, walking out of her office and holding open the door for them. Mei and MK thanked her as they walked out while Pigsy gave a single nod.

She led them out of the office section and into an unfortunately not glass elevator, where she hit the button for the 75th floor and it took them up at dizzying speeds that made their ears pop and the chef grab the handle. Once it halted, she quickly walked down and led them to apartment 7512 and unlocked it.

And holy fucking shit– this place was like the goddamn Ritz– marble flooring and everything.

“This here is the foyer, that to your left is a Bluthner Grand Piano. Down this way is the Grand Hallway which has a door on your left to the library/office–” She said, taking them down and showing them the massive collection of shelves and books within.

“It comes with your standard copies of Journey to the West, Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and Dream of the Red Chamber but also some more western classics as well. The rest is up for you to decide, of course,” She said, and upon hearing Journey to the West, MK immediately ran to the shelves and started looking for it.

“Should… we..?” She looked at the boy strangely.

“It’ll keep him busy,” Pigsy shrugged.

“Alright then,” She said, stepping out and Pigsy and Mei followed since MK was content to curl up on one of the couches and read.

“From here we enter the open concept living room, kitchen, and dining area– all with state of the art technology, including automated curtains in case you don’t want all the light from the wall-to-floor windows getting in. There’s also a gas fireplace, a 108 inch TV, and if we go to the kitchen you’ll see two gas stoves, plenty of cabinet space and the latest Whirlpool fridge,” She said, casually pointing to each thing as Pigsy went to inspect the kitchen and Mei the living space, which included her flopping on each individual couch and pile of blankets set out.

Pigsy almost laughed as he examined the stainless steel stove– this place completely lacked character unlike back home. The marble and shine on every single surface rang out a song of consumerism, and how they would be replaced in two years tops under most owners without a doubt.

But goddamn was it nice.

“Woah-! Mr. Piggy! If you stand like this and look down at the ground it feels like you’re falling!” Mei had her forehead pressed against the glass and was laughing.

Miss Zhao gave Pigsy a look.

“Kid– maybe back away from there, we don’t want you getting sick,” Pigsy urged, which Mei groaned at but obeyed– now sporting a big red splotch on her forehead that made the chef laugh a little again.

She then proceeded to show the pig demon the bedrooms, which were way too big in his opinion– especially the master’s suite, which was probably the size of his current apartment and then some.

Mei really liked them though– she even called MK and they explored the walk-in closets and built-in shelves and how the two other bedrooms were connected to each other via a bathroom so they could hang out whenever (as if they couldn’t do that regularly but whatever). They flopped onto beds to test their bounce, did a race to crawl underneath them and end on the other side, and other kids stuff, and during most of it MK was still holding volume one of Journey to the West.

Pigsy couldn’t deny the place was nice– but he just felt so alien here.

Of course, he was alien here– this whole building probably didn’t have any demons whatsoever in all ninety five floors, unless they worked in the mail room or something.

He felt a bit like how MK did– finding something familiar and latching onto it; only difference was that he didn’t have something to latch onto, except maybe that oven and fridge.

“So what do you think, Mr. Zhu?” The agent suddenly asked for his opinion.

“Ah, you know it’s certainly nice and all– but a little big, isn’t it?” He scratched his head.

“This is amongst the smallest suites we offer here, Mr. Zhu. If you want smaller, you can look in your own neighborhood,” She tsked and wrote something down on a notepad.

“Woah! Mr. Piggy–! I can totally fit under the sink all twisty like!” MK called out from the other room.

“Can you get out though?” Pigsy was about to step in but MK slid right out with a big grin and thumbs up, to which Mei made him do it again and Pigsy relaxed a little.

“You know, Mr. Zhu, I think those children of… yours seem to really like this place. I can show off a few more if you’d like, but this is the only one of this size that will be pre-furnished, especially with that 1870 Bluthner piano,” She said.

Now, Pigsy wasn’t an idiot, he knew when he was being upsold and manipulated.

But at the same time, he really, really didn’t want to have to look over any more places, and the kids did look and sound kind of happy..?

And god– he really, really didn’t want to go furniture shopping…

“I’ll think about it,” He decided.

“Let’s continue then, shall we?”

The group proceeded to tour five more apartments, each stranger and bigger than the last and by the sixth, everyone was just about done. The entire time Pigsy half wished he just chose the first one and got this over with, but he knew it was better to compare and blahblahblah, he was a responsible adult.

Pigsy said he’d think about the offers before selecting anything and the trio was finally, finally free of that awful building and the stench of rich people. They made their way down the streets with haste and for once in his life, Pigsy was happy to reach the filthy subway, and happily paid for his and the kids fares and sat on the bench to wait for their train. However, after a bit of waiting Mei tapped his arm.

“Yeah kid?”

“...You forgot to go back to the stand for the candy,” Mei said, kicking the ground.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry– I forgot– I was just so sick of that place and–” He face palmed. “I’ll… I’ll make it up somehow.”

“No, it’s fine, Mr. Piggy– I shouldn’t’ve said anything,” Mei apologized, taking a step back.

“Kid–” Pigsy would’ve said more, but the rush and roar of their subway train snagged his thoughts and he focused on preparing them to get on.

“Great Job, Pigsy. Day three and you’re already breaking promises!”

The subway ride was pretty miserable for Pigsy now, who was kicking himself for forgetting something so simple, though MK and Mei were managing to mess around as they always did, reading the weird advertisements and maps and PSA’s plastered everywhere. He was happy they could bounce stuff off like that, but it kind of made Pigsy hate himself more for holding onto it.

When the train stopped, Pigsy was relieved to be back in his familiarly dirty and smelly part of town where the neighbors knew and didn’t give a shit about him. He took a deep breath of the cigarette stained air to really embrace his return home and felt himself finally relax after six hours in that hell hole.

“What’re we gonna do now, Mr. Piggy?” Mei asked, and Pigsy realized he didn’t have a clue. The day had started so early but felt like an eternity– there was still plenty of daylight to burn. As they got closer to the apartment Pigsy got an idea though.

“How’d you two like a proper tour of Pigsy’s Noodles? I can show you some of the food stuff and– shoot, I got delivery day tomorrow… Well that’s a problem for Wednesday. What’d ya say?” Pigsy asked.

“Can I touch the grill?” Mei asked with stars in her eyes.

“Uh– maybe when it's off?” Pigsy wasn’t sure what the safe answer to that was.

Mei gave an excited “ous” with an arm pump for extra measure as they walked across the street and around the alley where Pigsy unlocked the backdoor to the restaurant and flicked on the light switch, which caused the light to buzz at just the right frequency to bug Pigsy– and apparently MK too (he really should get that fixed).

“Alright, well– right over here is where we keep our ‘dry stock’-- things like bags of rice, dried chillies, flour– basically anything with a real long shelf life,” Pigsy said, and MK and Mei smacked the bags of rice with a giggle before MK raised his hand.

“What’s ‘shelf life’?”

“Ah– um– how long something can last before it gets mold and stuff,” Pigsy summed up.

“Oh, I know that,” MK made a face and shook his head.

pigsy was going to continue but Mk raised his hand again.

“Do we have to eat any of the food when it gets all moldy and stuff?”

“What-?! No– not even a little– kid, what makes you ask?”

“O-oh I didn’t eat mold like– a lot– it's just sometimes when my mom was mad at me for not eating and stuff– I-i’m fine-! It was just a punishment–! My fault really,” MK shook off the concerned look and laughed.

“Kid–” Pigsy closed his eyes and thought very carefully about what he was going to say next. “That’s…. that’s not okay– and it’s not normal, and it’s certainly not your fault. That– that’s practically poison for christ’s sake– I–” Pigsy took a breath, finding it hard to look at MK’s confused dark eyes.

“Just… again, you really don’t have to worry about that anymore, so… don’t. Please.”

Pigsy knew he could’ve phrased it better, especially as he saw MK being very much not swayed by his pathetic attempt at a heart-to-heart. He tried to talk again, but he just knew he’d fuck it up again. With a heavy sigh, he continued the tour.

He showed them where the “dry stock” was, where everything was kept and what stuff they were allowed to get down and stuff they should ask him about first, then he started to show them the kitchen, where Mei immediately put her hands on the grill, but it was fine because it was off anyways. He showed them pots and pans, and then he showed them the register, and said maybe in a year or two they could work it themselves, which they ‘ooo’-ed and ‘ahhh’-ed at.

Pigsy was good in his restaurant. He knew what he was doing when it came to cooking and noodles and cleaning and stuff.

But as he watched Mei and MK mess around and push random buttons on the turned off register, Pigsy couldn’t help but think about how he was terrible with people.

A part of him blamed his father and his bullshit parenting style, but another part of him knew he was an asshole anyways– getting into fights, smoking, picking way too many battles– he was dogshit at emotions, except for anger and self hatred.

He wasn’t built for this– he wasn’t built for any of this– God– everytime he looked at these kids he felt like he learned something even more fucked up than the previous time and he was just so helpless in all of it– and god– his instincts just wanted him to be worse– to yell and get impatient and roll his eyes– it was probably because he was a demon. He knew the stereotypes, and dammit, it fit almost every bill.

The kids didn’t need a demonic caretaker. They needed someone who could walk them down the street or take them to the park or something and not be met with stares or suspicion– someone who was good and nice on instinct– someone who had patience and could talk well– someone like–

A knock at the window snapped him out of his head, and his heart nearly stopped when he noticed–

“Mr. Tang!” MK waved from the register and the man waved back with a laugh.

Moving quickly with embarrassment, Pigsy stepped out from behind the counter and unlocked the door for his esteemed regular.

“We aren’t open, you know,” The chef said as he opened the door.

“Ah, you’re always open for me Pigsy,” Tang winked and stepped in. “Also– wow, you’ve got to tell me who your repair guys are because this is just– wow,” the customer looked around and whistled.

“Would if I could,” Pigsy shrugged and locked the door behind him.

“What do you mean by that?” Tang raised an eyebrow and laughed in that adorable way he did.

“Two days ago the place was just magically fixed up– literally don’t have a clue as to why or how,” The chef said and the kids “mhm”-ed in agreement.

“Ooo, maybe a fox spirit came in the night and fixed this place up for you,” Tang wiggled his fingers in a manner that made the kids laugh.

“Yeah, because I know fox spirits,” Pigsy rolled his eyes and went back behind the counter to start boiling water as Tang took his seat at the bar.

“Ooo– You gonna order something? Whatcha gonna get? I can punch the numbers in!” MK said excitedly.

“Hey– I wanna take Mr. Tang’s order!” Mei protested.

“Neither of you are going to take his order– he always wants the same thing and he never pays for it,” Pigsy teased his only customer.

Mei gasped. “But Mr. Piggy, you said everyone has to pay for their food.”

“I’m an exception, kiddo,” Tang smirked as he pulled his laptop from his bag and Pigsy started up the grill.

“What? Why?” MK asked. Pigsy felt his heart stop, and so forced himself to start slicing peppers while he waited for the pot to boil so he didn’t have to look at Tang.

Why?

Because Tang was cute. Because he came in looking as thin as a noodle. Because he smiled so stupidly at Pigsy at the register. Because he was so embarrassed he was short on change he looked like he was going to cry. Because he looked so happy when Pigsy said he’d give him the first one free. Because the stranger kept coming in short on change. Because Pigsy ‘forgot’ to ring it a few times. Because after a while he stopped pretending to even try to pay. Because Pigsy liked poking fun at the fact he never charged him. Because he was special. Because he was Tang.

“Because Mr. Pigsy here is very nice,” The customer said, and Pigsy nearly sliced his finger off in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder at Tang, who was smiling at him so warmly it made Pigsy’s face turn as red as the peppers he was cutting.

He quickly looked away and got back to slicing.

“Besides, I have like– no money and a man’s gotta eat,” Tang joked and Mei laughed.

“You picked the right place then because there’s no noodles like Pigsy’s Noodles,” MK said with a cheeky grin.

“Oh? That a new slogan?” Tang perked up in surprise.

“What’s a slogan?” MK tilted his head and Pigsy chuckled.

“Well look at that– you’re practically head of advertising,” Tang winked at the kid and got to typing on his laptop.

“Mr. Piggy, what does that mean?” MK turned to the chef.

“Means you’re smart and creative and stuff, kid– it’s a compliment,” Pigsy said, still not looking back as he started grilling the vegetables.

“Oh,” MK blinked, looking back at Tang. “...Thanks.”

“No problem, MK,” Tang smiled again.

MK smiled right back and got back to his important job of pushing buttons on the register, while Mei crept behind Pigsy and watched him work.

“You interested in cooking, kid?” Pigsy asked as he started to stir the noodles.

“I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen at home– this is cool,” Mei said, trying to peer into the far too tall pot.

“It is cool,” Pigsy nodded to himself, before asking, “Do you… want a stool or something?”

Mei nodded excitedly and Pigsy told her where it was in the cleaning supplies and the girl immediately scurried off to fetch it, returning in a flash and immediately sticking her head directly over the pot.

“Wow, that’s a lotta steam,” She said, having to lean back and blink it out of her eyes.

“Yeah– uh– hot water… does that,” Pigsy again fucked up talking like human being. Mei giggled a little and watched as Pigsy stirred and added salt before going to the sink to strain them.

Then he added the sauces, vegetables, and spices and in no time at all, Tang’s noodles were ready and Pigsy handed them off to his regular, all while Mei cheered and ‘ooo’-ed him on.

“You okay, Pigsy? You seem a little off today,” Tang said in a hushed tone, taking the bowl and accidentally brushing the chef’s fingers.

“I… went apartment shopping in the upper east side,” Pigsy said, quickly pulling his fingers away and handing Tang chopsticks.

Tang sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that can’t have been easy.”

“Y-yeah,” Pigsy couldn’t look at him again.

Tang furrowed his brow. “Do… you need to talk about it?”

“Wh-what? No, please– This is standard procedure– I knew what I was getting myself into– I’m fine. Really,” he tried to assure, but he was aware he sounded like a big idiot.

“Hey MK, Mei– how’d you two like to sit in a booth and color out these Journey to the West coloring pages, huh?” Tang suddenly switched gears and pulled out coloring sheets and a box of crayons from his bag.

“Would I?!” MK leapt from the register and dashed around the corner, immediately taking the papers and going to go color, and Mei followed in her friend's steps.

“What are you doing?” Pigsy whispered.

“A favor. Now tell me what’s going on,” His customer pleaded with him but Pigsy shook his head and started cleaning things up.

“Like I said, it’s nothing I’m not used to,” He half lied.

“You know that doesn’t make anything any easier, right?” Tang said, finally starting to eat his food.

“O-of course I know that–” Pigsy flustered. “I-i just– it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“...It’s not just you having been uptown, is it?” Tang asked.

Pigsy sighed as he scooped up the leftover bits of chili and tossed them into the trash. “I… maybe– but again, I–”

“I knew it,” Tang interrupted him. “Do you wanna talk somewhere more private?”

“Well– who’d watch them?” Pigsy crossed his arms.

“Psh, they have coloring pages and it’s not like they’re four or anything– they’ll be fine,” Tang brushed it off. “C’mon– let’s talk in the back.”

Pigsy would’ve protested more, except that Tang already walked over with his bowl and chopsticks still in hand.

Oh boy…

Pigsy followed him to the back “office” – which was really just a folding table and two chairs with a crap laptop and corkboard and when Pigsy hesitated to sit, Tang patted the chair next to him, making Pigsy feel wildly embarrassed.

“So what’s the matter?” Tang asked as he continued to eat.

“You know this area is supposed to be for employees only,” Pigsy gave him a look.

“You’re trying to deflect and it will not work my dear Pig Man,” Tang smirked and Pigsy gave him yet another look.

“Look– you can judge me all that you want but we’re at least friends, aren’t we? And friends care about when other friends are going through something so– just– tell me what’s wrong,” Tang said with such a genuine tone that it made Pigsy actually want to talk to him, which was insane to say the least.

“I… just… I’m not…” Pigsy took a deep breath in and out.

“I’m not good at this, Tang. I-i don’t know why I even agreed to this– I’m not a human, or a dragon, or fucking royalty– I’m just some fat pathetic lowlife of a demon with anger issues. I don’t even know what to say to them half of the time–! and they’ve just– they’ve been through so much Tang, especially that MK and I just–” Pigsy ran his fingers against his head. “I don’t think I cando this.”

“Pigsy, you aren’t some lowlife–”

Pigsy huffed in contempt.

“You’re a good person, Pigsy– that’s why you did this. You have a big heart deep in there and you care for the little guy,” Tang set down his chopsticks and put his hand closer to the chef on the table.

“Tang… I learned your name three days ago… a-and there’s just so much you and the kids and no one else knows about me, and I just– I hurt people, Tang. It’s my instinct to snap or yell or get frustrated and they don’t need that,” Pigsy looked away.

“Pigsy–”

“You don’t know me, Tang. Y-you’re just some freeloader who hasn’t been here long enough to know just how much pain I’ve caused those I care about– I mean– christ, you don’t even know about Sandy– a-and–” Pigsy realized what he said and his face fell.

“God– I did it again-! I mean– Jesus, Tang-! Look at me! I-i’m a fucking mess-! A mess you barely even know–” Pigsy felt a tight lump start to form in his throat.

“Pigsy–”

“A-and that’s a good thing, Tang… you shouldn’t know me– those kids shouldn’t know me– Nobody should– god I’m such a mess,” Pigsy whispered that last part to himself.

Tang sat in that confession for a moment, before inching his hand closer.

“Well what if I want to know you, hm? What if I want to know the kind noodle shop owner who’s given me free food for a year without even knowing my name?”

“Tang–”

“No Pigsy– what if I want to know the absolute saint of a pig man who risked life and limb for kids he didn’t even know and had no obligation to protect? What if I want to know the man who took in those two kids just so they wouldn’t be separated? Hm? Have you ever considered that I should have a say or could have a want in this? I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions,” Tang protested further.

“Tang, you don’t–”

“No– don’t you try and deny it– those are good things Pigsy and you did them because you are good,” Tang placed a hand on Pigsy’s shoulder that caused the demon to look at him.

“But you don’t–”

“But I do, Pigsy. I do know that because bad people wouldn’t do any of those things– hell, even just decent people wouldn’t. Even if your instincts are to fight or curse or yell, you do it for the right people and the right reasons, and if you didn’t in the past, who gives a shit because you do now, and now is all I or anyone else should care about,” Tang’s hand traveled down his arm until he reached the chef’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“They don’t deserve someone with a past like mine, Tang. They deserve someone who’s always been sweet and kind and good and– and someone like you,” Pigsy looked away.

“You think I’m... sweet?” Tang blinked, and Pigsy realized what he just said.

“I… um… y-yeah. I-i guess I do,” He shrugged a little, which made him also realize he was holding Tang’s hand. More importantly, he realized he wasn’t letting go either.

“I think you’re sweet too, Pigsy– a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” Tang smiled that stupid little smile he always had as he gave Pigsy’s hand another squeeze.

“I– um– Th-thanks… but I’m still– I’m just in so over my head, you know? I still don’t think I can do this alone,” He practically whispered.

“But you aren’t alone– you have me,” Tang’s hand moved back to his shoulder, before his eyes widened, making him pull away and spout– “i-if you want me to help– o-of course, I’m not like– intruding, I’m just saying– I-i–”

Pigsy suddenly laughed and now it was his turn to place a hand on Tang’s shoulder.

“I’d like that, Tang. I’d like that a lot.”

“Thanks,” Tang sighed a breath of relief as he looked back at Pigsy. “Again, you really are a big softie in there, you just gotta let yourself see it.”

“Yeah, I guess you might be a little right,” Pigsy laughed weakly with a playful shrug, and Tang rolled his eyes and laughed too.

“You know I’m right– and hey, if someone as ‘sweet’ as me can like someone as ‘awful’ as you, you really can’t be all that bad, can you?” Tang pointed out.

Pigsy had to think about that for a moment.

“Eh. You’re just different– an angel among men,” Pigsy half-joked.

“You think I’m an angel?” Tang laughed, his face flushing ever so slightly.

“Ah– well– you know–” Pigsy tried to wave off the emotion, but Tang placed a delicate hand on his cheek, which instantly got ten degrees warmer. It was made even worse when Pigsy instinctively placed his hand atop Tang’s, despite his heart pounding a mile a minute.

Suddenly, his regular was leaning really close, looking at Pigsy’s deep, dark eyes with a million emotions at once, and the chef knew he was looking back with a similar gaze. When neither one broke, Tang closed his eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly and as Pigsy closed his eyes and returned the lean, he soon knew the taste of perfection.

Tang leaned back for a second, looking the chef in the eyes to comment, “I think you’re pretty angelic yourself,” before Pigsy smiled and kissed the customer right back.

Heaven.

This was what heaven felt like.

“Mr. Piggy– look at what I drew for– what are you doing?” The small voice of MK made the two men practically fall out of their chairs and they stumbled to their feet, their faces hot and red with embarrassment.

“A-ah well, me and Mr. Tang here w-were just discussing–”

“--We were discussing some ingredient improvements for the rice noodles– it was a little dry,” Tang finished his sentence. Pigsy looked at him worried for a second before Tang shook his head slightly and Pigsy relaxed.

“Oh– well– uh– I drew you-! I-if you wanna see it– haha…” MK suddenly got embarrassed until Pigsy opened his hand, and the boy handed it over.

On the plain backside of the coloring sheet was a fairly impressive drawing of the chef’s battle three days ago with the tiger demons, though with the added detail of having a staff, a cape, and looking much cooler than he probably did.

“I love it, kiddo,” Pigsy smiled and gave the kid a thumbs up.

“R-really?!” MK beamed.

The chef chuckled. “Of course, kid. Would I lie to you?”

MK shook his head.

“Good, glad you know that,” Pigsy winked. “Mind if I put it up back here? Might help bring some life to all the paperwork I gotta do.”

“Wow– okay!” MK flapped his hands a little, which made Pigsy ruffle his hair before finding a thumb tack and adding it to the corkboard.

“See? Even the kid thinks you’re a hero,” Tang whispered with a smirk as he grabbed his noodles and started eating once more.

That… was true. Despite his fuck ups, MK still clearly looked up to him. Pigsy would have to be heartless to try and leave now– hell, the kid would probably just blame himself and Pigsy wasn’t going to let that happen.

No, like the drawing showed, he cared for these kids, and yeah, he had bad habits and tendencies, but he did good things too… Maybe. Look– he was going to work on it so… yeah.

These kids didn’t deserve the bad, but they did deserve the good, and Pigsy would provide that for them in a heartbeat, and that was a Pigsy guarantee.

Wait…Holy fucking shit— did he and Tang just kiss—???

#lego monkie kid #lmk #freenoodles #pigsy lmk #tang lmk #mk lmk #mei dragon #mei lmk #dadsy #Pigsy needs a hug #i love some old gay men who are gay and old #they literally deserve the world #as do young mk and mei

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notstinky · 8 months

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TIMING: August 29th, 2014, 2017, 2023 LOCATION: Toronto, Ontario (2014, 2017) & Wicked's Rest, Maine (2023) SUMMARY: It's Thea's birthday and she's hungry. (POTW: Once in a Blue Moon) CONTENT WARNINGS: Vomit tw, teeth trauma tw, child death tw, some implicit fatphobia

2014

Cynthia had never seen so much junk food piled up in one place. There were family sized bags of Lay’s chips, plates full of cookies, a tray of brownies, two boxes of garlic bread from the pizza place Cynthia’s dad liked accompanied by a pepperoni pizza from the same place. Someone brought char siu bao, Cynthia’s favourite--probably her aunt. Plates and plates of noodles and fried rice weighed their poor, plastic picnic table down, bending it worryingly in centerfold. She’d happily, though politely, filled her first plate; taking a small assortment of everything offered and doing her best not to dribble saliva everywhere when she asked who brought what so she could remember to thank her family accordingly. The first plate was always strategy; sampling the waters to see what was good before the full, filling second plate and if she was daring, a third. It was her birthday, after all. Maybe it was a third plate kind of day.

Cynthia reached down to pull a plump pork bun into her plate when she heard someone grumble from behind her. Instantly, she recognised the sound: it was a deep rumble that summoned itself from the dark pits of the lungs, an animal sound that no one else could recreate. “Nainai.” Cynthia twisted, smiling at her grandmother.

Her grandmother, her father’s mother, was a thin woman with pale skin that stretched over her face in thick folds. Age had turned her spine down, forcing her into a hunch she resented and twisted her clear voice into a growling like an angry dog. She wasn’t often a pleasant woman, but her love for her children and their children wasn’t a topic that ever needed to be debated; birthday and Chinese New Year envelopes of cash were always stuffed full. She reached down and took the skin around Cynthia’s hip and squeezed.

Cynthia’s smile faltered. “Nainai,” she said, continuing in broken Mandarin; a child’s voice even though she was certifiably a teenager now, “are you having fun?”

“You are,” her grandmother responded, turning her pinch into a poke. “You’re too old for this now.”

Cynthia frowned, the used plate in her hand wobbled as pain erupted from her grandmother’s prodding fingers. The bun slipped from her hand and joined its friends on the plate. “Too old?”

Her grandmother pulled the plate from her hands. “Once is enough.” And then she was gone, dissolved into the bodies of her family and their friends.

Cynthia didn’t know what to do, her stomach wasn’t satisfied. During the night, she thought it was eating her from the inside, trying to feed itself on her paltry flesh.

—

2023

Thea had a system, a technique. There was a method to wrapping hardware-store-chain around a tree, slipping inside, and then pulling it tight around her. Most of the time, it worked. Sometimes, she didn’t do it right. One time she ripped the tree out from the ground, roots and all. Bit by bit, she was perfecting her strategy. Having her body snap into a new shape every month wasn’t something she could get used to and it would never be something she liked, but there was peace to be found in the mundane actions of a practiced routine.

She’d tried everything: crates, rooms, basements, handcuffs, gorging herself on meats prior to the turn, sleeping pills, a cave, a roof, asking really nicely, crying, prayer, looking up cures online, cages, making herself look like an idiot by asking for cures in person, some restraints that definitely seemed like they were for kinky sex stuff. Nothing worked but her technique made it easier. If she went deep into the woods, found the thickest tree, kept a bag with a change of clothes nearby (scented strongly with oranges so she could find it through the stench of leaves and dirt) she could manage something. She’d still eat something, she’d still hope that something wasn’t human, she’d still hurt, but she could go home and crawl into bed and forget about it.

“Happy birthday to me.” Thea pulled her dirty green backpack closer, unzipping the top pocket and pulling out a single cupcake contained in a plastic box. At the store, she thought a candle would have been overkill but now she missed the drama of blowing one out and she could certainly use the wish. Sugar filled her nose, followed by the punch of strawberry jam; her sense of smell turned even the greatest delicacies into a nightmare of sensations. Sugar was too sweet, it made her teeth ache just thinking about it; fruits were tart; spice was a fire shoved into her nostrils. If it wasn’t her birthday, she wouldn’t have gotten it but traditions were traditions and nothing brough Thea more peace.

Her tongue darted out, lapping up the whipped cream and pulling it into her drooling mouth. The fat melted against her tongue as sugar coated her teeth. All the delicate air that had been whipped into it disappeared as it went down her throat, cooling her esophagus. She unclenched her jaw, eager for another bite when she heard it.

Snap.

Probably just an animal.

Crunch. Heartbeats that went quickly: thump-thump-thump. Laughter.

Thea paled and from the row of trunks in front of her, three heads popped out, each of their gazes snapping on to her. Laughter died from their lips and smiles turned thin. Thea thought she might laugh instead, the three of them looked like something out of an outdoor equipment catalogue: a handsome, tall man with the sort of square jaw that seemed to only exist in fiction; a more attractive, tastefully not-as-tall-as-the-man woman with her blonde hair tied up into a ponytail that betrayed none of the effort of hiking; and a child with soft blonde hair that fell around his head in tiny waves and big, watery brown eyes; each of them wore blue hiking gear, and both of the adults carried big bags while the man wheeled around a cooler. The child ran at the woman’s legs, clutching her calf tightly. They looked like the sort of people that people missed; the sort of people that made sensational headlines, tacky true crime documentaries, conspiracy theory youtube videos.

Thea hadn’t smelled anyone on her way up but it was hard to pick scents out from the cacophony of them that she got constantly. She hadn’t heard them either, not until they were right here, and she wasn’t very good at picking sounds out from the barrage of little nature noises.

Thea balked. “I--um…”

The man spoke up first: “Hello,” he said. “Can we help you?”

“It’s uh…” Thea wasn’t a good liar on the best of her days, on the worst of them she could give a puddle a run for its money. Instantly, cool sweat pooled in the small of her back and her palms felt sticky. “I’m, uh…” She remembered an episode of The Simpsons where Lisa lived in a tree so they wouldn’t cut it down. “Environment conservation,” she said.

The man nodded slowly. “Are they going to cut that tree down?” He didn’t seem to believe her, Thea could tell because she heard his heartbeat quicken and she smelled sharp sweat--though, that could have just been her.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “That’s exactly it!”

“Okay.” The woman pushed the man forward, stabbing her hiking stick into the dirt as she moved along.

Above, the sky darkened. The sweat that concentrated on her back now pushed out from every pore, running down her body in thick rivulets. “Uh,” she called out, “wait.”

The woman didn’t want to stop but the man turned to her, using his body to block the child and the woman.

“It, uh, It isn’t safe here,” she said, “bears.”

The man tapped a can on his belt: “bear mace” it read. Of course, they seemed like they had all the bells and whistles of a responsible camper.

“N-no, I’m serious.” Thea tried again. “Like, super serious! It’s really dangerous! You have to go back. You have to go the other way.”

The man nodded slowly again, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you here then?”

She didn’t have a good answer for that.

They turned to leave once more and Thea jerked against her chain, her cupcake slipped from her hands and sunk into the dirt. “No!” she shrieked, wincing at the shrillness of her voice. The family continued to move. Above, the burning edge of the sunset was dissolving into blue. Thea lurched against the chain again and the metal gouged into her flesh, slicing her clothes and pinching her muscles. “No! I’m serious! Go the other way! Go back!”

They continued to push through the trees. Above the crackle of leaves under their perfect hiking boots and the pulse raging in Thea’s ears, she heard the woman say: “we should pitch the tent before it gets dark.”

And the man: “I don’t want to be anywhere near the girl.”

The woman: “It’s getting dark, we don’t have a choice.”

“No!” Thea howled, twisting and pulling on the chains; her technique was too good, she couldn’t get out. She writhed against the tree, bark scraped her back, digging in like the claws of an animal. The chains seem to tighten with each motion; they squeezed against her bones and her body erupted with aches and sharp stabbing pains. “Go back!”

Above, the sky turned black and the moon hung above, bright and beautiful and demanding.

—

2017

“Fuck.”

Cynthia’s life was thoroughly ruined and it had been her own, stupid, hands that had done it. She’d been talking to Leslie about the recent total solar eclipse, which she could tell Leslie wasn’t really interested in hearing about—she did that thing where she absently picked dirt under her nails and flicked it away, the same thing she did in math class—but Thea couldn’t stop the excited drool of words that spilled from her mouth. She’d ordered only one pizza when she’d meant to order two. One pizza for four people wasn’t so bad until you remember that this was a pack of ravenous teenage girls; the sort that deliberately packed and ate dainty lunches at school so they wouldn’t get comments. Leslie ate a bag of chips for lunch. Zainab had water and an apple. Jalisa had leftovers from last night’s dinner but she only ate half of it.

Due to an ill timed volleyball meet, Cynthia hadn’t eaten anything at all.

One pizza wasn’t enough. To make matters worse, she’d tipped the pizza delivery man ten cents when she thought the machine was doing percentages. Fuck. He probably thought she was an asshole. She was an asshole. Fuck.

The pizza box trembled with the earthquake that was Cynthia’s body. She thought about throwing herself down on the floor, subjecting herself to the mercy of her friends, who were crowded around the tiny coffee table trying to play Catan.

“You can’t do that,” Jalisa said, gesturing at the hex-tile board.

“Why not?” Zainab blinked. “I think that’s a legal move.”

“Nuh-uh, ‘cause I was gonna go there. So, you can’t.”

“What are you talking about? This is a competitive game, we’re competing.”

“I thought it was cooperative.” Jalisa grinned sharply; trap set.

“You’re so dumb.” Leslie piped in now. She was, as per usual, winning. “Why would you think that? We literally have our own pieces. There’s only one winner.”

Jalisa's trap snapped shut; her joke executed: “So,” she said, grinning like a hyena. “...we’re not cooperating to let me win?”

“Where did the gray man go?” Zainab asked. “There’s supposed to be a gray man.”

“Why do we play these?” Jalisa nudged the table with her knee, undoing the delicate work of Leslie’s road, which she would, as per usual, be awarded ‘the longest road’ for. “No one’s good at them ‘cept Leslie and you and Cindy argue about rules for like two hours.”

“Because,” Zainab sighed, “Cindy likes them, and it’s her birthday so just—“

“Cindy!” Leslie rose, holding her hands out to help with the pizza and the jostling cups of garlic dip and box of brownies.

Cynthia set everything down on the table, right on top of the Catan pieces, knocking them out of place. “Pizza!” she exclaimed, anxiety tying her stomach up like roller skates, which her skin coincidentally felt like it was being trampled with. She flicked open the box, sending more game pieces to the ground, and let the aroma of cheese and the only topping they could all agree on, green bell peppers, waft into the air. Half was done up with chilli flakes while the other was speckled with mushrooms. Zainab fetched plates while Jalisa carefully peeled open the containers of garlic sauce.

The twenty dollars her dad had given her to order food for today, which she had deposited into her bank account on the way to school so she wouldn’t have to carry cash, wasn’t really enough for the grand idea of cheap pizza and brownies that Cynthia had. But now that she was sixteen she could get a job, and she’d have real money to order better, bigger pizzas instead of the allowance her dad gave her and the odd burst of money her mother did when she remembered that she existed and then felt guilty about forgetting her but only for as long as it took her to transfer money.

Each of her friends took a polite and sensible singular slice except Cynthia, who took the plate Zainab offered her and walked it back into the cabinet where it belonged.

“You’re not going to eat, Cindy?” Leslie called out, picking at the bell peppers even though she said they were okay and she liked them. Cynthia’s stomach churned; she knew Leslie was a picky eater, she could eat more hot sauce than any normal human but she didn’t like vegetables. She’d fucked up and people who fucked up needed to be the ones who made sacrifices.

“I’m not hungry.” Cynthia’s stomach scraped against her body, howling. “I ate a lot when I came home.”

—

2023

Thea heaved, a cold, pale, naked and sweaty lump on the ground. She groaned, clawing at her bloated abdomen. Thea twisted, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Once her body sensed a state of up-rightness, Thea curled into herself as bloody globs of saliva dripped from her open mouth. Something twisted up her throat and she gagged, spilling two small, hard circles into the mud below. She gagged again, reaching a filthy, blood-crusted finger down her gullet. She pulled and tugged and felt something slither out of her mouth. Tendrils still hung from her lips as she looked down.

Two tiny molars and a long string of blonde hair.

Her stomach growled and the desire to have a burger flooded her mind.

#i meant to post this sooner but sadkjfhaksdjfh #pretend i did this on her birthday #writing #s1 #solo #hunger #vomit tw #teeth trauma tw #the last paragraph was hard to write but i powered through for the art askdjhaskdjfskdjfh #child death tw

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pesbianlanic · 1 year

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may 2023 reading

books in bold are especially recommended!

Bad Gays: A Homosexual History by Huw Lemmey & Ben Miller - 4/5. when they say bad, they mean bad. a fascinating analysis of some queer collaborators in/perpetrators of violence, colonialism, imperialism, and fascism.

The Devourers by Indra Das - 5/5. this book is chilling, visceral, consuming, enchanting, intoxicating. i have never read anything like it before, and i’m so glad that i read it.

Wilder Girls by Rory Power - 3/5. i enjoyed reading this, but i also think this book had a lot of wasted potential. there were elements (survival, body horror, queer romance) that didn’t feel fully fleshed out.

Selected Poems of Emily Dickinson, Fall River Press leatherbound edition - 2/5. Emily Dickinson’s poetry always gets a 5/5 from me. this edition is over-edited - leaving out her unique capitalization and dashes, rearranging and replacing words, and leaving out entire stanzas in some cases. do not fall for the pretty cover. i will be seeking out a better edition.

Midnight Sun by Stephenie Meyer - 4/5. two questions: for the love of dogs, why wasn’t the twilight saga set in a college town? and where was this characterization of bella in the original books? anyway, i actually enjoyed this. Meyer’s prose has improved a lot, and she clearly has had time to think about the story.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman - 4/5. crying. a beautiful, charming, sad-in-a-good-way story.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini - 5/5. a classic that deserves to be a classic.

Dark Tales by Shirley Jackson - 5/5. she was a master of creating terror through unease, dread, and anticipation of the unknown. my favorites were “paranoia,” “the beautiful stranger,” and “a visit” (aka “the lovely house”)!

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath - 3/5. lovely prose, but depressing. tw / cw: suicide, questionable ‘50s mental health treatments, racism, fatphobia, and sexism of the not like other girls variety.

#books #jules tries to read books again #the devourers #a man called ove #the kite runner #midnight sun

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biromantica · 9 months

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Venting...TW eating disorder, misogyny, SA, stalking, fatphobia, cyberbullying. It's extremely triggering please don't read it.

I'm so fucking sick of being fat and undesirable I truly feel like men are not interested in me romantically purely because they want to smash the fat girl in secret but socially find her repulsive as a dating partner. Manipulated and raped by these scumbag men i dont even like and then blocked immediately after so they hold no accountability. I've been blocked hundreds of times now after all these fuck boy ass men online AND IRL rizz me up and lie and tell me how special I am and push my boundaries to finally conquer my closed ass heart and block me before calling me disgusting names and telling me to unalive myself. I used to be so confident over my body and physical attraction but it's been so bogged down by social media and random men encounters... especially because I've been putting myself out there for streaming and it pulls dozens of psychopathic trolls that comment the most inhumane fatphobic shit in my DMs and Comments. And often, these horrible comments get upvoted and left at the top of my content to remind me that I'm an unattractive piece of shit loser and I should just kill myself. Like I just want to be cute on the internet and wear my silly little goth clothes and draw my silly little league of legends fanart while making friends with equally girly nerds but men ruin everything for me. Everywhere I go, there's a man around the corner to put me down. I can't even exist without being DMed death/rape threats, and then I go outside to the IRL and men stalk me, harass me, cat call me, and sexually abuse me. I try and take a break from promoting and walk my dog and literally every single day this past couple weeks, there has been at least one man harassing me. The more weight I lose from the stress and eating disorder the more I'm sexually harassed and now i'm at a point where I'm ready to just stop eating entirely so I can die unbothered and in peace. I mean that's never gonna happen because I fucking love BBQ chicken and almonds so anyone who snuck in to read this know that I'm just venting.

Tldr; cishet men won't stop sexualizing/degrading me and it's making me wanna file a restraining order against the entirety of Man. Their opinion on my body is a fucking L but hearing it so many times enforces my ED and the idea I'm unlovable. Like I've already lost 30lbs in 4 months which is crazy, but it'll never be enough. And now I started selling my body because i fucking hate myself and if men won't stop raping me then I might as well profit from it. And no, I'm not getting therapy.

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aph-oklahoma-46 · 4 years

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I’m back, fuckers!

Have a short lil thing. Tw for body positivity issues and fatphobia. Emily=Oklahoma, Heni=Kansas, Miles=Missouri, Angel=Texas, Alex=Louisiana

“What’s wrong?”

Emily looked up at the sound of Heni’s voice. Heni had peeled her head around the door to Emily’s room and was watching her with a look of concern.

Emily sat up from where she lay on her floor. “Nothing’s wrong. Why would anything be wrong?” She adjusted her leotard and leggings. The frustration was more evident in her voice than she had wanted it to be.

Heni stepped into the room and over to Emily as they spoke, “You’re worried. Is it the recital?” They sat on the bed and patted a spot next to them for Emily to join. “Angel said you’ve been practicing more than usual for this one.”

“I always practice more before big recitals, he knows that. That’s all this is: a big recital. I’ve been dancing for years! Why would I be worried about this one dance?” She sat next to Heni.

“I don’t know. Why are you worried about this one?” Heni asked. Emily had been practicing a lot more than usual for this particular recital. By now, Heni wouldn’t be surprised if she could do then steps in her sleep. But according to Angel, she’d also been spending less time with him and Nonose in favor of dancing, and she’d seemed more critical than normal of her own performance in rehearsals. None of that was normal.

Heni wrapped their arms around their girlfriend and rested their chin on her shoulder, before saying, “Love, you know this dance by heart. You’re going to do amazing at the recital and people are going to love it. What has got you so worked up over this?”

Emily sighed. “I know I’ll do good… but I have to do perfect. I can’t mess up during the recital because I’m not-,” she cut herself off before her voice could waver. Emily took a breath to steady herself and wrapped her arms around her stomach, over Heni’s.

“I’m not a ‘ballerina’ ballerina. I’m not little and pretty and thin and… I have to do better than good. I have to be just as good as the other dancers, because otherwise, I’m just the fat ballerina. The other girls can slip up every now and then and it’s fine, because ‘everyone makes mistakes,’ or they aren’t as experienced. But If I mess up, it’ll be because I’m not ‘built for it.’” Emily paused and covered her face as she rested her elbows on her knees. Feeling Heni’s hand rubbing up and down her back, she again tried to steady her breathing.

Next to her, Heni had been listening quietly. It’s better for Emily to be able to get out everything she needs to say before Heni offers advise or comfort, based on the situation. As Emily finished speaking, Heni stayed silent and stroked her back to help her calm down. They were confused; Emily had talked about things like this in the past, both about dancing and in other parts of life. She was chubby, and she had been given grief over it before. Still, Heni hadn’t heard Emily worry over her figure or weight in a long time, least of all in regard to dancing. What had happened that had brought up old fears?

“Em, why are you worried about this now? I thought your coach was supportive about stuff like this. That’s why you guys picked them, because they were good with kids who aren’t skinny, white, cis girls… Did someone say something to you?” Heni bristled at their own question. Emily was (in their mind) the sweetest person alive, and they couldn’t understand anyone going out of their way to make someone like her feel bad about themselves.

Emily peeked up from where she hid her face in her hands and muttered, “It’s stupid, I know it is. There was just some girl that made a comment about… I don’t even know, being top-heavy? I didn’t hear it, Jamal told me after practice. I guess this girl’s been saying stuff like that about a few people in our group.” She sat back up and leaned on Heni. “I’m sorry. Stuff like this usually doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t know why this has me so upset.”

Heni reached up to undo the bun Emily had put her hair in. “Maybe it’s because it was said about something you like doing? So, what if some asshole on the street or in the store thinks you’re to big to be pretty? You’ve already got a badass girlfriend who thinks you’re awesome in every way.” They smiled at the giggle they got for kissing Emily’s nose. “And your friends… brothers… bro-friends think you’re awesome and like to give Angel and Alex gray hairs with you. But this chick implied you couldn’t dance as well, or that you had to be even better at dancing than most other people, because you’re fat. Which is stupid, because you’re already like, way better than anybody I’ve ever seen.”

“You only watch me dance, you dork, you wouldn’t know if I’m better than anybody else because I’m your only yardstick!”

“Well, I’m still right! You are the best I’ve seen. So, I’ll go with you to your next class and I’ll sock this bitch in the eye. Just point her out, I do it.”

Emily giggled again and shook her head. “You can get in fights with the other dancers, Heni, you’ll get in trouble.”

“I am trouble! My middle name is ‘Trouble!’”

“I thought Miles’ middle name was ‘Trouble?’”

“Fuck Miles. But seriously, you’ve got more talent in your pinky than whoever this girl is has in her whole body. And Jamal probably does, too, whoever that is. You are going to be the best dancer on that stage next week, and when it’s over, I’m gonna give you a ton kisses to prove it.”

Emily craned her head back to smile up at Heni, who had finished one decent braid in her hair and had started a second. “How many kisses?”

“So many… like, five.”

“That’s not a lot of kisses, you dork!”

The two giggled as Heni leaned down and kissed Emily’s forehead repeatedly. When they stopped, they finished braiding Emily’s hair and the two laid down together on the cover of the bed, Heni wrapping one arm over Emily’s shoulder. After a minute, Heni pressed their foreheads together.

“Do you feel better?”

They felt Emily nod.

“Yeah, a little.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“Gross, you could at least shut the door!”

“Fuck OFF, Miles!!”

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awheckery · 3 years

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so. uh.

cut for frank discussion of chronic illness and the serious failures of the american healthcare system. tw for fatphobia and gaslighting.

Last July, I got sick. It wasn’t too bad at first: some fatigue, body aches and a slightly elevated temp, until suddenly it was bad and I wound up in the ER. It took three rounds of steroids, a round of antibiotics and a more powerful inhaler to get my feet back under me, but I never fully recovered.

I didn’t talk about it here, except for answering an ask in October and blaming my lack of creative output on depression. It really, really wasn’t depression; it was my health progressively collapsing, one system after another until the avalanche of symptoms that flattened me just after New Year’s.

For the last four months, I’ve spiked a fever over 100°F nearly every single day. My joints hurt. My knuckles are knobbly and swollen, and occasionally my fingers are so painful and weak I’ve had to literally tape my pen to my hand at work. I get rashes at random that itch so badly I claw myself bloody. I overheat and have hot flashes in temperate rooms. The skin on my face and neck and shoulders turns red and hot to the touch, like I’m burning for hours with no immediately discernible provocation.

Some days, I wake up and I don’t have the strength to get out of bed. Some days I can’t wake up at all. I’ve slept through deafening alarms for hours, long enough for my phone battery to run out and die. I can only stand up for ten minutes a day without being hobbled by the effort, and every extra minute beyond that I pay for in hours spent bedbound by exhaustion and pain.

I keep losing words. I’ll arrive at the middle of a sentence and stumble to a halt, because the word I need isn’t there. It’s not true aphasia, and it’s not all the time. I comprehend written and verbal communication perfectly well, but I can’t get my own thoughts out without tripping over them.

I am, to quote a friend attending school to be a nurse practitioner, “a textbook case for SLE,” and I agree, but somehow I can’t pay a doctor to treat me seriously.

In January, I was referred to a rheumatologist after the bloodwork my PCP ordered indicated I had autoimmune activity of some kind.

To date, that’s my only test for anything that’s come out definitively positive for any kind of disease state at all. Ever. I tested negative for celiac disease on a technicality nine years ago, despite how specifically and intensely sick gluten makes me, so I was dismayed but not too surprised when follow-up bloodwork for lupus came back just barely inside the range of “normal.” Despite that, I wasn’t prepared to be jerked around as much as I have been.

The first rheumatologist I saw, back at the end of January, had barely been in the exam room for thirty seconds when I could see he’d already made up his mind about me. He was dismissive and perfunctory and condescending when he told me that “plenty of perfectly healthy people have positive ANA results,” and he referred me back to my PCP for an exercise program and antidepressants to treat my “fibromyalgia.”

Putting aside that I’m not a “perfectly healthy person,” I’m a Fat Lady living in America, and I’ve experienced medical fatphobia for decades at this point. You learn the key words and phrases pretty quickly, and “exercise program” has never not been a euphemism for “weight loss.” (Which is heavily ironic in this particular situation, because before I was Fat, I walked 2-3 miles a day for funsies and spent 15-20 hours in the gym every week. I only stopped because I somehow shredded both my ACLs in one summer. I’d love to get back to that if a rheumatologist could help me figure out how to be active and uninjured at the same time.)

I was frustrated after that first appointment, enough to request a referral to one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. Why not go to the best, right? There was a five month wait for an appointment, but I am stubborn, and I made use of the time by documenting every bullshit symptom my body threw at me. I have a daily symptom journal, full of subjective entries like my pain and fatigue levels, as well as objective entries like daily temperature changes and photos of my rashes and my burning face and my goddamn mouth ulcers.

I thought I had enough logged to be impossible to ignore, and then I saw the second rheumatologist three weeks ago, and the first sentence out of her mouth was the beginning of an interrogation on my blood pressure, and whether I was taking medication or if I was on a fucking exercise program for it. I tried to get the appointment back on track by sharing my symptom diary, and she turned back to my just-under-the-wire test results, and told me, “many healthy people have positive ANA results, it doesn’t mean anything without other positive test results for specific conditions.”

I said, “Healthy people don’t run a fever for months.”

And then she told me that a "fever is not associated with any of the conditions a rheumatologist treats." I was so startled by the confidence and authority with which she stated the lie that I was unable to speak to rouse a defense or contribute anything else for the rest of the appointment. After an insultingly brief examination, in which I never took my face mask off and she declined to look at any of my photos, she said that she “didn’t see anything that could be rheumatologically wrong with me.”

I asked her what she thought could be wrong with me, and she grudgingly admitted it’s possible, though rare to have an autoimmune disease and test negative for everything, so she would order more tests and refer me to appropriate specialists for my various symptoms. She ordered a referral to an infectious disease specialist for my fevers, and a referral to a dermatologist for my “rosacea” (that she’s assuming I have, because I would like to again note she did not see it, at no point did she actually look at my face or a photo of it), and a referral to an ENT for a salivary gland biopsy for my dry mouth, and a referral to a neurologist for my “stroke-like” memory and speech problems.

It was, all told, an unbearably shitty appointment. I cried in my car for an hour in the hospital parking garage so I wouldn’t do anything impulsive like lying down in traffic, and then I went home, cried some more, and went to bed for three days.

On the fourth day, I woke up enraged. It’s one thing to be blown off by a doctor when you’re just reporting symptoms without proof, it’s a wholly different thing for a doctor to ignore your proof and lie about diagnostic criteria to your face.

It’s hard enough not to think you’re crazy when your test results come back negative over and over; it’s that much harder after being told that your major concrete measurable symptom is diagnostically irrelevant, when it really, really isn’t.

(for the record, just going off the symptoms I can concretely prove I’ve experienced in the last week alone, I land a 16 on this chart, which is the most up-to-date, widely agreed-upon diagnostic criteria)

I have decided, for the moment, to play ball. I don’t have the energy to jump through all the hoops this rheumatologist wants, but I'm angry enough to drag myself through them. Tomorrow I’m supposed to see the infectious diseases specialist. On Wednesday I see the dermatologist. In two weeks I see the ENT, and I’ve got a neurology appointment tentatively scheduled for December.

I’m going to be blisteringly forthright with all of these doctors about why I’m there, and that I’m looking to exclude diagnoses other than the lupus I pretty obviously have. (Except with the ENT. Apparently they treat allergies, and I’d like to be able to go outside long enough to walk a dog, someday.)

I’m supposed to see this rheumatologist again at the end of November. Depending on how this week’s appointments go, I’m aiming to either move up my appointment with her when one becomes available, or just send a firm yet diplomatic email asking why the diagnostic criteria apply to everyone but me.

If anybody else has gotten through this fucking nightmare successfully, I’m open to suggestions, it’s not like it can get worse at this point.

#long post #sufferpunk life #chronic illness #chronic pain #sle #lupus #aka why I've gotten nothing interesting or creative done since last year #fml

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booksforthegays · 2 years

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"The Awkward Truth" by Lee Winter

Description: Ambitious ice queen and corporate lawyer Felicity Simmons has spent her life focused on one thing: scuttling up the career ladder. She’s achingly close to taking charge of a media empire for her boss when she’s sent to investigate a South Bronx charity that helps homeless people’s pets. Has the charity made off with her boss’s generous donation? And who on earth is that gorgeous soft-butch veterinarian who looks as if she could toss a Shetland pony over one shoulder? Not that Felicity has any interest in some opinionated Amazon or her adorable fleabag of a dog. Felicity is quite sure she will not be distracted, thank you very much. She has a minor mystery to solve, a mentor to impress, and her life’s dream to fulfill. Even if a distraction might be exactly what she needs.

Representation: The main character is bisexual and has a lesbian love interest.

Genre: Romance Length: 289 TW(s): Explicit sexual content, use of slurs, homophobia, homelessness, fatphobia, racism, alcohol use, mention of animal abuse, mention of disownment

#f/f #lesbian #bisexual #romance #lgbt books #wlw #wlw books #new

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saphinc · 4 years

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write more plus size muses challenge ( from a writer with two chins & counting ) !! tw ; eating disorder , body image , fatphobia mention.

there are a million reasons someone is overweight. some of us don’t know , or care. we don’t have to explain it or justify it. neither does your character.

but they can. and sometimes it’s really important. i have struggled with my size my whole life , but i attribute most of it to an eating disorder. but that’s for me , not you.

we don’t need to eat double the portion size to feel satisfied , nor do we need to eat more often. our hunger works like yours does.

stop writing fat characters who are constantly snacking or asking every other character for their leftovers. it’s fucking rude. we don’t do that.

if anything , i am more likely to eat less or avoid eating altogether when around others.

also stop writing fat characters that are constantly dieting. stop writing fat characters who lose weight to be liked ( or for any other reason for themselves ). we don’t have to change ourselves , just the people around us.

plus size bodies are unique and beautiful. we can be tall or short or hairy or lanky.

our weight isn’t all in the hips and ass. mine’s in my torso. it can be in your chest , your face , stomach, legs, thighs. most of the time , it’s everywhere , spread out.

i have stretch marks, but those only showed up when i rapidly gained weight . most of my life i didn’t have them despite being fat from a young age.

my thighs and upper arms jiggle. a lot.

we don’t all hate our bodies & we’re not all bullied for ��them. we make fun of ourselves too. i love my jiggly arms.

that being said , we are treated differently. all the time. sometimes i think people are scared i’ll crush them by just standing there & talking ? or they think i’ll breathe the fat plague in their space ?

shopping is really hard. most stores don’t cater to fat bodies at all , especially in women’s. i mostly shop in the men’s section or in exclusively plus size stores. our options are super limited. that’s not our fault.

the word fat isn’t offensive. but don’t call me it or describe me as it. we do use it to describe ourselves. and not in a negative way !

speaking of ? did i mention we don’t all hate our bodies and want to change them?

edit your language. eradicate the idea that skinny is beautiful. every size is beautiful , asshole. i’m really cute. being fat and being beautiful are not mutually exclusive.

don’t say “you’re not fat” to a fat person like it’s a compliment. i am fat and that’s okay. stop treating fatness like a character flaw.

we fall in love just like you. we don’t have to settle for an individual who makes us feel like crap just to not be lonely. i know it’s hard to believe but there are actually people out there who don’t judge character by weight.

it’s not cute to have fat as your “type” because not one of us is the same, our bodies are so different and our only similarity , really , is we’re bigger than average. we’re not a fetish.

there’s no fat clique. i have friends who are plus size and ones that are skinny. i knew really popular assholes in high school who were fat. i knew soft-spoken ones and edgy ones and stoners. we’re not all friends. not all of our friends share our size.

same with our families. stop assuming we come from fat families. being overweight can be / is genetic as well as due to lifestyle choices. both of my brothers are skinny. my mom is bigger than me , my dad is average. my grandparents are small , my cousin is a little smaller than me & my aunt used to be big but ended up losing a lot of weight due to a physical illness.

boobs sag. gravity pulls them down before anything else. mine bounce , fall , pop out of my shirt , whatever the fuck they want. they crush each other when i lie on my side and spread in big blobs when i’m on my back. they’re super annoying and i love them.

it is possible to balance items on our chests. it’s very useful. sometimes i’ll prop my boob up to have a bigger table when i’m carrying something. sometimes i’ll rest my container of applesauce on it while i’m lying down. my dog likes to use them for pillows.

i can’t see through them. it takes some work. i can’t lay flat with a bra on and watch tv at the same time. i can’t see through my stomach when i’m looking down either.

that doesn’t mean it’s harder for us or takes longer for us to use the bathroom or shower. we just have to learn to do some of it blindly or move faster ( because yes , of course we wash under our fat?? )

i do not sleep with a bra on. i was told at a young age that i should though. i don’t know if there’s any merit to that tip or if it was invented to make skinny people at sleepovers more comfortable.

we can ( and do ) wear sports bras. same with spandex, tights, and crop tops. we can wear whatever we want just like you. it’s just not as easy for us to find these items in our size , in stores.

being fat isn’t a disability.

we don’t get special treatment in gym class or different expectations , because guess what ? we’re not unhealthy. stop babying us when it comes to physical activity. we know our own limits and we’ll tell you if we’re close to them.

we can run. we can do yoga and stretch without cracking or breaking something. we can & and do have sex. we’re not always in pain either , for the love of god!!

there are things we can’t do. the most obvious place for me is at carnivals ? i still go to them, but i don’t go on rides. most don’t support fat people. same with clothes. most of them don’t come in our size. our options are limited.

we don’t sweat more than the average person? weight isn’t an indicator of how much you perspire.

on that note , i don’t give a damn what health blogs and magazines tell you. those are written by skinny people who hate us and think we’re gross. we are each individually responsible for a so called obesity epidemic , according to them. they’ll do whatever to convince you of this.

i’m not “glorifying obesity” either. i’m telling you that i exist and i’m not disgusting because my body looks like this.

don’t forget to be intersectional when considering writing plus size characters. familiarize yourself with harmful stereotypes and misconceptions. i’m a cis white woman. i have it a lot easier than plus size poc, and plus size trans ppl.

#rph #my guide.#plus size muses.#i thought abt putting this under a read more but #if i'm fat irl why not be fat #on ur dash #feel free to add on if u know the feel !#mine.

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gaynoctgar · 4 years

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Prompto’s Brotherhood Arc is Fatphobic 2, Electric Boogaloo: Haley’s Back and She is Pissed

This essay is going to be an even deeper dive into the fatphobia that permeates Prompto’s character arc, and is going to handle the issue with more grace and nuance than I did the first time. This is also going to explore the effects the arc had on me as a player, and on other players who share my experiences. It is going to be very organized, long, and methodical (word count: ~5300). It’s a bit of a doozy, but it is something I feel it is very important. I have been wanting to elaborate on my previous Prompto essay for a long time, and for reasons I will detail below, I feel that I am ready to do this now.

Consider this a sequel to my earlier essay, and I will be referencing it throughout.

Stand back everyone; Haley’s about to get mean and personal.

Under the cut for safety and length, please avoid if the subject is triggering to you! Take care of yourselves!

Thank you all so, so much for hearing what I have to say.

TW: fatphobia, eating disorders (both in terms of Prompto and of the author)

Intro

All right everyone, buckle in. Last time I think I was a little bit too nice about this. Last time I think I let a little too much go. But I’m a full three years older now and I’ve seen a few more things. And now I think it’s time that I really just let loose and criticize the fuck out of Square for something they have consistently done wrong, and that is the way they have handled issues with weight in regards to one Prompto Argentum.

Many of you may know that Prompto is one of my favorite characters in anything ever. This very sideblog, in fact, used to be named for him (old url was promptoisbi). It’s because of this that I hate that he’s so consistently shit on by the narrative, but right now we are talking about the out-of-universe insidiousness of the fatphobia that completely permeates this story.

The first essay is right here but the TL;DR version of that is essentially “the way that Prompto’s weight loss in Brotherhood is portrayed as a moral and positive good and in fact necessary for him to be a protagonist is immensely fatphobic. Because the game refuses to problematize this, I am going to, and I’m going to contextualize that with my own experiences to help explain why this is so fucked.” At that time, I was recovering from long-term anorexia, and I think that permeated a lot of what I wrote. I don’t regret this, and I still think the essay is pretty solid. But I’m not a woman who won’t admit her own limitations, and one of mine at the time was that a lot of my fatphobia was internalized. Now that I am healing, now that I have talked to other people with experiences that mirror my own (notably @chubbyargentum), I think I am in a better place to articulate what upsets me.

The rest of the essay will be divided into six parts, themed as follows:

A redux of my central criticism in the first essay, that the narrative treats Prompto’s weight loss as a positive, moral good. In fact, it’s necessary for him to be seen as a protagonist.

Detailing that Prompto’s weight loss was directly motivated by another character, and this other character does not apologize to Prompto at all for his previous behavior. We are in fact supposed to believe that him saying what he said was a good thing.

Evidence that Prompto still legitimately has an eating disorder from his trauma. This goes unexamined by the story, and in fact seems to be actively encouraged by other characters, notably Ignis and Noct. This isn’t to bash the characters, but the way they are written.

Points 1 and 3 combined produce a genuinely triggering experience for players like me; this is where I detail some of my own history with weight and eating problems.

Anticipating pushback, I propose two alternative scenarios that avoid the problems outlined in parts 1-4: one where Prompto doesn’t lose weight, and one where he does but it’s handled a lot more sensitively.

A personal look at what (and who) actually motivated me to do a Part 2 to my essay.

Followed by a TL;DR conclusion if you want to jump right to the heart of things. I know this is a long essay, and I don’t apologize, but I do want to make it accessible to those who might have a harder time reading something so long.

Time to knock down these points, one by one:

Part 1: Equating Weight Loss to Morality

Prompto’s episode in Brotherhood, “Dogged Runner,” serves as our introduction both to Prompto as a character, and pulls double-duty to show us how he becomes involved in the life of a prince. Gladio and Ignis’ episodes did not have to do this double work because they are in Noct’s life by occupation, but Prompto, being a commoner, needs this introduction. Unfortunately, this episode is not twice as long to handle the double workload it gave itself, and the plot clearly suffers for it. For those who don’t remember, Prompto seems to be a child who more or less raises himself--a shy boy who is in the same grade as Noctis. He is quite obviously overweight, and the episode in fact chooses to focus the bulk of its attention on that rather than how he met Noctis (this will be explored in Part 2, below). This is what I take issue with.

Due to....an encounter, we’ll call it, with his royal classmate, Prompto becomes motivated to “improve himself to become someone worthy of a prince,” as described in Episode Prompto. Right off the bat, this description is implying that in order to be worthy of Noctis’ companionship--even independently of Noctis’ own actions, which will be problematized in the next section--he must be different than the way he is.

This...doesn’t make sense. We already saw that Prompto was a kind and generous soul, if rather shy. He took in “Tiny” of his own accord; he fixed her up and fed her and made sure she was healthy, solely out of the goodness of his heart. What else could this literal child need to “improve” about himself to make friends with Noctis? Well...the episode focuses on this in a way I would almost argue is objectifying. We see in excruciating detail how this literal child (I feel the need to mention again that Prompto is 12 years old and doesn’t seem to have consistent parents) approaches the world with a black-and-white mentality….that is, he seems to focus exclusively on eating salads and running an excessive amount (we’ll get to this more in Part 3). Further objectification occurs when we are shown repeatedly that a minor is taking “progress shots” of himself in his underwear.

A bit of a tangent, but the way that last one is drawn...y’all did remember Prompto was 14/15 at that time, right? Extra H points for Square, right there.

So yeah, once all of this happens, Prompto is finally deemed by the narrative to be acceptable enough to enter the life of a prince. Basically, if you’re fat, get a goddamn eating disorder and you can be a protagonist!

And I’m actually gonna take a second right now to address the more common, and generous, interpretation/criticism I am anticipating. I know what SE was trying to do here. They were trying to show us that Prompto’s “self-esteem” was the problem. That he needed to gain more confidence, and losing the weight didn’t actually solve that problem. I know this is the intent because the hotel scene exists. But...answer me this. Why is losing weight treated as an analogue for Prompto’s internal character growth? Why is losing weight an analogue for literally anything? If the issue was Prompto’s insecurity and shyness, there are a dozen other ways to show that. I can think of one right now: maybe have Noctis try to make friends and Prompto runs away because he gets nervous and tongue-tied and that’s the source of their lingering awkwardness. There you go, much better episode.

Part 2: Noctis is a dick

And I say this as a Noct stan. Y’all know I love him. With all my heart, I do. But...I don’t think he starts the game as a good person, in this respect at least. I do think he becomes one. And I think that his growth and maturation over the course of the game is absolutely a treat to watch.

I’m gonna immediately qualify this by saying I do not think Noct is a dick on purpose. Noctis is, in fact, unfailingly kind in most situations and this is one of his greater strengths. I just think he is just as much a victim of internalized fatphobia as Prompto is, despite not having the experience of being fat. I think two things contribute to this: biases that went unchecked by any of his caretakers, and genuine social difficulty brought about by his upbringing.

But now it’s time to get to….the incident. The reason these two know each other. After Prompto takes care of Pryna, she runs to deliver her letter to Noctis and eventually returns to Luna, as was her original mission. Luna, noticing Prompto’s name on a bandana tied around Pryna’s leg, tasks Gentiana to help her find this kind soul so she can thank him. Luna does, and Prompto receives a letter that soon becomes his prized possession. The princess operated on the assumption that Prompto and Noctis were friends, seeing as Prompto encountered Pryna, and asked that he remain “ever at [Noctis’] side.” Prompto takes these words to heart, and resolves to introduce himself to his royal classmate.

Here’s where the problems begin. We know that Prompto is shy because we have seen him before. He kinda kept to himself, away from the other kids, content to take his pictures. To Square’s credit, I was really expecting Prompto to be a target of bullying because of his weight and he wasn’t….yet. This actually makes his interaction with Noctis a lot worse, however. We all know what happens next: Prompto does try to introduce himself to the loner prince (who, by his own admission later, was also kinda shy), and he happens to trip. Noct goes to help him out because he’s kind at heart, and a confused Prompto thinks that Noctis means that he wants to see the camera. Noct is baffled and says something along the lines of “I meant you, dummy!” and goes to help Prompto up.

Honestly, end the scene here. They become friends because Noct is unexpectedly kind to someone he didn’t even know, and that sticks with Prompto, and they’re childhood best friends. Right? RIGHT?

If Square had had a modicum of decency, yes, this would have been how the scene closed. But then Noct had to open his fucking mouth. When trying to help Prompto up, he remarks that the poor boy is “heavy,” something that quickly and immediately impacts Prompto. Noct, also being 12, seems none the wiser and jovially heads off to meet Ignis. But Prompto? Prompto is….affected by this. He decides then and there that he has to not be heavy anymore if he wants to be Noct’s friend.

“But Haley!” I can hear y’all saying, “Isn’t it Prompto’s fault for internalizing a harmless comment in such a way? Why are you so angry at Noct because Prompto took it too seriously?” Or alternatively “Noctis was also a child, he didn’t mean it!!”

Well, it’s all about how the narrative treats the situation. I mentioned this before in Part 1, but the reason I’m mad at both Noctis and Square is because the narrative treats him as though he is in the right at all times. If the issue really was with Prompto as a character, then we wouldn’t have been shown his journey in such excruciating detail. We wouldn’t have been subjected to the downright harmful avenues he goes down in pursuit of this goal (see Part 3 for elaboration). We would have just seen Prompto trying to work on becoming more outgoing--maybe talking to his neighbors more often, for example.

One small scene in particular gets me here: we do see Noct return to the place where they met and he seems to be baffled by the fact that Prompto will not talk to him. We in fact know this to be the case because in the hotel scene, Noct explicitly says Prompto “should have said something sooner” in terms of starting their friendship. Now, this pisses me off for two reasons:

That this wasn’t addressed in Brotherhood itself. We see that Noct kinda wants to approach Prom again but doesn’t seem to know how. If we are assuming he messed up on accident, this would have been a great time for Ignis to tell him so, maybe motivate Noct to apologize.

That Prompto doesn’t immediately call Noct out for this line, or say something along the lines of “Well you kinda straight up insulted me when we first met.”

So, because neither of these scenarios is the case, I have to assume that Square wants us to think that Noct was correct to insult Prompto, and that him losing the weight is a good thing, in a narrative sense.

Finally, it’s straight up out-of-character for Noct to be this way. Not the misspeaking part, that is perfectly in-character. It’s the fact that this bias of his goes unchecked by Ignis or Gladio, and he is never made to apologize for hurting another person’s feelings. Part of growing up is realizing that sometimes your actions can hurt other people, even if you don’t intend for them to. The fact that the intent wasn’t there doesn’t mean the hurt wasn’t real. Since Square is so convinced that Noct needed to “mature” in this story...I am immensely disappointed that the opportunity wasn’t taken here for him to learn. And even more disappointed because I am pretty sure this is intentional. Every single one of Square’s fat characters is used as a side character or comic relief. In order for Prompto to be a protagonist, he had to lose weight, and to have Noctis--the central protagonist--be the character to directly motivate that is a slap in the face.

Part 3: Don’t Recover, Buddy!/ It’s actually good that you have “obesophobia”

So I know I put the trigger warning at the top of this, but I’m doing it again, because now I’m gonna talk about eating disorders. So this is your last chance to back out if that stuff is legitimately triggering, which I understand.

I’m gonna say it right now: Prompto has anorexia

[several people are typing…. .jpg]

I don’t think this is subtle, and I do think this is intentional, so let me break it down. Prompto exhibits a lot of the symptoms, and yes I am speaking from personal experience. He’s exhibited all of these from the moment Noct made that comment when they were kids, and, notably, only from that point on (hence why I wrote Part 2 the way that I did):

Prompto has an obsession with fixing meals. He’ll be the one that helps Ignis the most often. In Prompto’s case, this is a sign that he loves preparing the food, not so much partaking: classic hiding of symptoms. There is also the fact that most of the salads are his favorite meals, which yes, is a deliberate callback, but I don’t think it’s a good one.

Prompto runs a genuinely stupid amount. I think that exercise is well and good--I’m something of an exercise buff myself--but it’s the way that Prompto does it, to the point of exhaustion, that is a problem.

Despite being borderline underweight, Prompto legitimately still seems to think that he is still fat. This is supported by his reactions to multiple dialogues, which I’ll get to in a second, and the “obesophobia” thing on his character profile which….yeah I shouldn’t even have to explain that one. Prompto is legitimately afraid that he will gain weight--specifically, that he will be fat again.

The fact that according to that same profile, Prompto’s photography habit started when he took progress photos of himself!! So he’s also got some legit body dysmorphia going on.

These are the ones that are most obvious to me, anyway.

“Now okay, Haley,” y’all are furiously typing, “so what that Prompto has anorexia? That’s a relatable character flaw!”

Well….one, no it isn’t. A disorder of any kind is not a character flaw. I’d be willing to let that slide if the following were not also true: other characters seem to reinforce these behaviors of Prompto’s, and I am looking directly at Ignis and Noct. Let’s start with Ignis. I’m sure we have all gotten the random dialogue of

Prompto: All right, let’s hit up the Crow’s Nest! Ignis, for no fucking reason: If you wish to put on weight? Certainly. Prompto, defeated: Yeah, I know…

Every time I get this dialogue I want to yell and also want the option to kick Ignis out of the party. Also the fact that no one steps up on Prompto’s behalf (notably, you know, his goddamn best friend!!) is a bit of an Issue too. Another one involves Ignis, but I have only gotten it once, so I can’t remember it exactly, but Ignis says something to the effect that he can make “whatever [Prompto] wants” for dinner and Prompto says “Yeah, it’s the wanting that’s the problem.” That’s...that’s horrifying and y’all should be concerned for your friend.

To turn my attention back to Noct, objectively the most important person to Prompto, we need go no further than “Why is your face so fat?” in selfies.

This one legitimately made me mad. Prompto panics and retaliates with “What?? I’m not fat!!” (notably, he said “I” and not “my face,” which is a bit of a slip), and Noctis is supposed to be his best friend. I was somewhat okay with Noct being passive in the earlier incidents, because maybe he wanted to spare Prompto the group drama that would ensue, but Noct directly engaging in it actively pissed me off. I also want to say this isn’t me bashing on the characters in the slightest, I am simply calling attention to the way they are written. Because they are not called out by anyone else, because this behavior is treated as acceptable, I have to assume the narrative wants me to agree with them.

The only conclusion I can gather from this is that not only are the bros aware of Prompto’s disorder, but they actively encourage it. Which would only further Prompto’s assumption that they only will love and accept him if he looks a certain way. No wonder the poor kid was so freaked out about his barcode!

Part 4: This shit is triggering to players

The subtitle for this section should be “Haley talks about how deeply “Dogged Runner” affected her in a PTSD kind of way” because that’s what I’m going to be doing. Second trigger warning for eating disorders and weight talk, because that’s what this is gonna be. This also is not going to be nice. I have strong language for Square:

Here’s where I come clean about why this issue matters so fucking much to me, and why I am now freely and openly saying “fuck you” to Square every chance I get. When I first saw Brotherhood, I was at a stage in my life where I was not coping well with my body image. I had my first brush with anorexia in high school, but it was coming back because I was in a new place, and I felt like that was the only thing in my life that I could control. So I had been eating less and falling back into the habit, except...this time I had my support system. So I thought. I went into the anime wanting to learn more about the characters I had come to love, and I walked out of it thoroughly triggered and horrified that Square would stoop to such shoddy, lazy, and harmful storytelling.

I had...a moment, here. I won’t detail the breakdown too much but I was genuinely not okay. To see behaviors that I had ferociously clawed my way out of, and was violently resisting once more, portrayed not only as not unhealthy, but as desirable for people like me...it genuinely felt personal. And, I imagine I wasn’t the only player who felt that way. In fact, because I have talked to other people like me, I know this is the case.

Let me take you on a trip, for a moment. Humor me. Imagine you’re in your early 20s, and you’ve put a lot of ugly, horrible coping methods behind you. Imagine your best friend in the entire world, @nonbinary-recipehs, recommends this game they are playing, and you play it together and start to consume its media. Imagine the horror and dread that settles on the both of you watching this episode, which rings so similarly to the times you passed out from lack of food, from over-exercising, from over-straining yourself to be this idealized version of thinness. Imagine seeing that the outcome of this episode isn’t Prompto getting the support he needs from his friends, but that the narrative legitimizes his suffering. In fact, this brutal suffering and rapid loss of weight was necessary to justify this character’s relevance to the narrative! Imagine how that must make you feel. Maybe those coping methods that were so horrible actually weren’t. It worked for Prompto, maybe it’ll work for you!!

Perhaps that little thought experiment will help you understand what this whole situation can feel like to players like me, to people who have struggled with internalized fatphobia and with eating disorders, who have been called heavy, who have been made to feel as though their worth is in their thinness. Fuck you, Square. Fuck you for not having an ounce of consideration for how this might possibly look. Fuck you for not considering people like me as complete people. Fuck you for making me watch a character I love suffer, not to tragedy, but to an illness that could have been avoided if anyone had shown him even an ounce of respect or care or decency or decorum--

…

I did warn y’all I was angry, this time.

Part 5: Two Alternative Scenarios that would Avoid All This

“So Haley,” you’re saying, somehow having read past the rant in the previous section, “if Square did it so horribly, how would you have done it?”

That, my dear reader, is an excellent question. In fact, I’ve got two solutions, which I will explain and elaborate upon below:

The first is rather simple: Prompto doesn’t actually lose the weight and becomes a canonical fat character. Absolutely nothing else would change about the story or Prompto’s character except for the following:

Noctis would become curious as to why this new friend of his was avoiding him. He then has the opportunity to open up to Ignis or Gladio and reflect on what he said, and realize that he actually hurt Prompto’s feelings. This motivates him to apologize, and the two become Actual Childhood Friends.

Prompto just Has This Body Type Now and nobody says dick about it, that’s just the Way He Looks

You could explore internalized fatphobia I suppose but I don’t actually trust Square to do this sensitively. You know who I do trust? Liam ( @chubbyargentum ), who writes the Nighttime Sunshine AU and fic.

All of the previously mentioned fatphobic comments are completely removed because all the bros love and support him.

Prompto isn’t the comic relief because of his size, he just happens to be both. Yes, there is a difference, and no, I am not going to derail the essay by explaining that.

Prompto would still absolutely kick ass, take names, shoot people, love chocobos...all the shit he does in canon. But now, you have a character who didn’t have to be completely humiliated to get to this point. Now you just...have a guy who happens to be friends with the prince, because he is kind and caring.

But okay, let’s take another approach. Let’s say Prompto does still lose weight. How, then, do we accomplish this without being fatphobic or debasing Prompto’s character like canon did?

That leads me to solution 2: Prompto does lose weight, but it’s incidental. Let me explain what I mean here:

Let’s have a situation in which the apology does still happen as I outlined in the first solution. Childhood friends is a thing.

As such, Prompto becomes...increasingly curious at all the cool training Noct does.

Noct is….embarrassed about this, I think. Because Prompto doesn’t like Understand What It All Means...and they’re still pretty young. Noct doesn’t want him to understand.

But Prompto? He wants to be able to Do Cool Shit, especially if it means defending his best bro who also happens to be the prince. And he doesn’t want Noct to do any of this alone. He asks to train with Noct, no special treatment (except for like the fact that he legit can’t do magic).

Gladio...allows this, begrudgingly. Then, permanently, when he notices Noct tries harder as a result of showing off.

Prompto starts to learn how to take care of himself from Gladio, and from Ignis, who has...gathered that Prompto doesn’t exactly have parents, and becomes invested in helping him learn how to cook healthy meals for himself. Who knows? Maybe the healthy eating will rub off on Noct!

The result is that, over time, Prompto does lose some weight...and starts to bulk up as Puberty Happens. However. This is all incidental. Prompto never set out to lose weight because he hated himself or felt unworthy, like in canon. He set out to become strong and train with his best bro. This is absolutely critical.

With this solution, Prompto does lose weight, but doesn’t become the borderline underweight young man with an eating disorder we all know and love. Instead, he’s been brought up around healthier traditions, which makes him immensely more suited for the role of Crownsguard when that time comes. In fact, he might have entered it at age 18 just like Gladio and Ignis did, despite Noct’s protests. Another thing I like about this solution is that it shows how Prompto is friends with Ignis and Gladio; how those relationships developed independently of Noctis, and why these four really are the family unit the game wants me to think they are.

And with these two solutions, I believe I have laid out some much stronger backstories for our beloved boy that avoid all of the...unfortunate implications of his canon backstory. I only wish that Square had thought about their implications just a little bit more, and done Prompto some true justice.

Part 6: What motivated this essay, and the power of shared experience

This isn’t really a proper conclusion, that’ll be in TL;DR, but I would be remiss to not include what actually motivated me to write this massive essay, and also share it with all of you. The sharing part, I think, is super critical. When you inhabit marginalized identities, and in this case I specifically mean having a fat body, it can be...difficult to share and discuss your experiences. Harder, still, to be public about them, and to criticize media that perpetuates these harmful ideas. But here I am, doing that. Here’s why that is.

About a month ago, I met @chubbyargentum, who is called Liam. I was cruising through the promptis tag, as you do, and found his Nighttime Sunshine AU, and his blog is filled with excellent art for it as well. The premise of this AU, on its face, is very simple: it’s a story where Prompto and Noctis did not actually become friends in high school, and two very important things are different: Prompto is still fat, and Noctis is a closeted trans man. While I can’t speak to the trans experience, I can indeed speak to the experience of inhabiting a fat body. And this AU….spoke to me. I don’t want to spoil too much but there is a rather emotional scene that just...confronts everything I wanted Square to confront about this that they never did. He approaches the topic with so much sensitivity and nuance, something that is so rarely seen in fandom.

I’ve talked with Liam every day since, and my brain has consistently been enlarged. A lot of things I let slide before...felt so egregious to me that I had to say them. I’ve been confronting my own internalized prejudices towards certain kinds of bodies all the time, and I am learning every day. He’s become a very dear friend of mine, and I care deeply about him.

This also came at I guess you could say the “first climax” of my journey with weight loss, which I had never had success with despite the trauma I described in Part 4. I’ve lost...a significant amount of weight since March, and I think the reason I’ve had so much success is 1) the support of my friends (notably @nonbinary-recipehs, @pocket-prompto, and @chubbyargentum), and 2) not feeling like I hated myself anymore. I approached it as a journey to become more strong, not less fat. As I outlined in Part 4...Prompto’s Brotherhood episode and character backstory were and are legitimately triggering to me, and, I imagine, to many others. Liam had the confidence to put the content in the world that he wished to see, and this essay is helping me do the same.

Having other people who share your marginalized experiences and validate them...well, I’m sure many of you know. It’s a feeling like no other. And I’ve never really had this feeling explicitly about the experience of being fat until now. Now, I understand that my anger is in fact, righteous. And I am not afraid to say so. The power of shared experience motivated this essay and, in fact, everything that I do on this blog. I have come away from this AU with the bravery to say aloud what I have always known to be true.

So thank you, Liam. Thank you, big brain group. And thank you, readers, for listening to an experience that may or may not mirror your own, and for opening up your heart enough to hear the roughly 5000 words before this point. Thank you for making the effort to understand, and the effort to learn and grow.

TL;DR

I did promise to provide an easily digestible version of the…(checks word count) ~5000 words before this point, so here we go. The central thesis of this essay is something like “the way Prompto’s weight loss arc was portrayed in Brotherhood is horrendously fatphobic for a number of reasons.” I then broke it down into six major pieces: the first four being the fact that weight loss is treated as moral by the narrative, the uncharacteristically dickish actions of Noctis, the fact that Prompto’s disorder is encouraged by other characters, and the out-of-universe triggering effects the story has. In the fifth piece, I outlined two alternative scenarios: one where Prompto doesn’t lose weight at all and remains fat, and one where he does lose weight but healthily so and fleshes out his character. In the final piece, I explained the motivation behind writing this essay, namely interacting with other fat fans like @chubbyargentum. I explained all of these points in great detail, being careful to stress that my issue with this isn’t any of the individual characters, but the bias that motivates the writing.

So...what now? Well, I’m not really sure. But this was something I really had to put into the world. I think it is important and necessary to speak up and criticize media that harms you. And you know what? Final Fantasy XV is still my favorite game. It is because I love it so much that I was motivated to write this, and by sharing it, I hope to contribute to a greater discussion about fatphobia in gaming, and in life.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #tw fatphobia #tw eating disorders #prompto argentum #please be respectful with this one #i feel like this is an unpopular opinion #but it is incredibly necessary that i say this #because it is something i believe #and because I don't want square to continue to get away with it #thank you for read #haley.exe #haley writes ffxv #haley has opinions #i'm preparing for so much hate

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alias-b · 4 years

Text

sins of my youth. 002

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello all~ Down the rabbit hole. TW: Teenagers can be the worst. Bullying. Fatphobia. Slut shaming. Cruel boys being cruel boys.

Chapter 2: A Million Dead Stars

All Evie had to do was wait patiently. For Heather to pop out back and for Billy to swoop in and make his bold move.

The goofy grin Heather walked back in with did not disappoint. Not at all.

“Hey, you.” Curls bounced when Evie cocked her head and Heather plopped down with a drink. They tapped red plastic cups.

“So, I just had an...amazing conversation.”

“Yeah...?" Evie sang softer. "Pray tell."

“Just...wow. Billy Hargrove. Him too, huh?”

“We knew it would happen. He was being way too cool around us at lunch when the guy has been nothing but shitty toward me since moving here. He gave me a ride home, it was obvious. And so…?”

“Where to start?” Heather put her arm up on the couch and took a long drink, laughing. Pretty in pink girl. “First he brought up Jane Austen. Said they were studying it in English which was a total bluff.”

“We’re not.” Evie confirmed. “He’s in my second period.”

"You gave up choir for that specific period with Bowers." Heather recalled more so to herself.

"No, I just," Evie scrambled, "I just didn't want to do choir anymore. The teacher played favorites. Got sick of it."

Another longer drink and she went on.

"So, continue..."

“He brought up Pride and Prejudice. Which, okay, but Emma is way better.”

“You’re wrong, but I still love you.” Evie curled up to face her friend. Heather laughed and took her hand, leaned her head on the couch to gather herself in a fit of giggles.

“He said Mr. Dancy.”

“No?” Evie died there. "And I hoped he might learn something."

“Yes!” Heather smacked at her. Music pumped behind them. Teens roaming and making a mess of the nice mansion. "I felt bad because...I snorted about it. In his face."

“You know, I’ll give Billy a point. Go on.”

“Museums. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, I love you...but I’d soon jump into a pit of alligators before going to a museum for a date. Bowling or mini golf please.” Heather was chuckling. “Ballpark hot dogs are way better than cheeseburgers. Popcorn over cheese fries and a damn milkshake? Slushies or nothing. I’m lactose intolerant. He was trying to bore me to death or poison me, Eve.”

Evie broke to laugh again, barely able to speak.

“I know! That’s why I suggested all of that.”

“You bitch.” Heather was giggling still into her shoulder. Hands clasped. They broke to drink. “Oh! And campy action adventure movies or rom-coms only for Heather Holloway. I don’t get why you even go for horror, you wouldn’t hurt a fly and you squirm.”

“He bombed.” Evie covered her eyes, wiped a tear aside. “I almost pity him.”

“What’s funny is you like all that stuff. I’m not sure if he was faking it well, but he seemed kinda into most of it.”

“I’ve been running out of ideas when your followers scramble. Sue me, Heath.” Evie pushed up. “I definitely need another drink.”

“Fine, fine. Hey,” Heather laced their pinkies together, “teen boys are the worst. Thanks for bouncing another off me. Billy’s cute and all, but hell, I have too much on my plate for a boy right now.”

“Got that right.” Evie weaved between dancing crowds to the punch bowl. Passed some guy puking into a vase and another group cheering on an arm wrestling match. Spooned herself a full cup. Was mid gulp when she turned to a pair of scathing blue eyes. Oh, Billy.

“You fucking-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Hargrove, and walk that a-way.” She gulped again and passed him.

“You think that shit’s funny?” Billy had a fistful of her jacket collar. Snarling like a mad dog. "She laughed at me."

The humiliation of it seemed to make Billy the angriest.

Evie felt that resonate bitterly because he sounded wounded and oblivious to what life threw her way.

“Funny? Only after the first ten boys.” She shrugged. “Now it’s just sad. I’m not stupid.”

“I’d say jerking me around is pretty stupid.” Billy was clearly smashed. Smelling of beer and weed. Eyes red to hell. “Maybe you’re so fucking single and miserable, you make sure your friend stays that way too, huh.”

Billy knew a nerve was plucked at that by the way she stilled to go colder. Brown eyes molten at him.

“You don’t know me. You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? I think we both know which one of us is miserable. Go show off for the school all you want, you don't fool everyone with those pretty blue eyes.” Evie shoved off him. Wondered if she caught that same frayed nerve.

"Hey, we got a problem here?" A Hawkins football player towered. Couple of his buddies from other schools that weren't Ridgemont made a barricade between Billy and Evie.

"I'm talking to Fenny, dickweed. You mind?" Billy spat. Evie huffed and rolled her eyes.

"You're talking to the girl who kicked Brock Tannen's ass. Show some respect." Another meathead joined in. Evie hid amusement because this was an odd change over the year.

"Guys, stand down, you really don't have to do this for me." It was...weird. Frankly, Billy looked like he was about to take on all of them.

The boy in front gave Billy's shoulder a comical brush and they went off like a herd of happy buffalo.

"The fuck, are you teen royalty somehow?" Hargrove made a face at her tired expression.

"No, just some lucky idol they keep around. I still get stepped on in the hallway and I pass everyone's love notes for them." Evie sipped. "I don't care that you like Heather, I care that you pretended to be something close to kind with me to get at her."

"Don't worry, I'm not interesting in being kind to you again." It came out nastier than he meant it too. Alcohol did that to his old man as well. Disgust welled and Billy had nowhere to put it so it flowed out. "No one here gives a shit about what you have to say, Fenny. Don't count on them trying either just because you're some freak they keep around for one sick story. They're all gonna laugh at you."

Evie blinked a few times. Saw Billy's shoulders sink while they stared into each other, both searching long and hard. Finished her drink in one swig and tossed the cup at his shoes.

“You fucking insecure asshole, check a mirror in five years and let me know if you like what you see. Not like you even do now, I bet, so enjoy denial. And stay away from me, Hargrove.” She went down the hallway beyond a spiral staircase and almost ran into a huge chest. As if this night couldn't get any worse.

Fuck.

Brock Tannen. Poster boy of rich asshole quarterback from their main rival school. Chestnut hair and chiseled good looks covered evil.

“Fat Fenny. Oh, sorry. Old habit. Evie. Missed you around these parts.” He nursed a can of beer and leaned into the wall. “Go psycho on anyone lately?”

“The year isn’t over.” She moved to pass him.

“Look.” He jolted in front of her. “Admittedly, I was a real shithead. I know that now. My folks even got someone for me to talk to. I'm working through all my shit. But, I was an ass to you.”

“We knew this.” Evie tried to go the other way, but his shoulder blocked her. She caught sight of his chain. A silver playboy bunny charm he loved to show off.

“Listen, the year is almost up. I want you to know I don’t hold it against you. You went through some shit at home too. Truce?” No response. A beat before his chin lifted. “You never went crying to your slut mother about me. My dad said she sucks the mailman off.”

"Don't say shit about my mother." Evie was on her toes. Hands clenching.

"Didn't cry to daddy either, oh...my bad. You can't." Brock's laughter rang sirens around her head. He was begging her to go off again. "Why didn't you tell mommy about me? We almost had fun."

“You didn’t get far with me if that’s what you mean, you think I’d give you my tears? Just embarrassed that you bat at fat chicks and get turned down. Eat shit, Tannen.” She got around him, staggered away.

“Maybe I’ll convince you. I just want to be friends. It’s going to be a new year soon.” His voice lingered along the hallways. "Just messing with you cause I like you is all." More chuckles followed.

Guys like Tannen secretly wanted her. Unobtainable and strange girls who didn’t conform to stupid high school stereotypes, it really pissed people off. Exotic, which was truly the worst word. Evie was easy to fetishize.

Billy got over Heather because Evie passed him moments later with his tongue down some Ridgemont girl’s throat.

The boy was all mouth and hands. Sucked face like a fucking giant squid attacking a ship at sea.

"Ick. Fucking Cthulhu." She got away from that, drank more to forget.

Heather pulled her friend into the dancing. Lights blasting all directions. Music pulsed. Couple more drinks and they were stumbling to Heather’s place. Sneaking up the stairs to fall into a queen sized bed.

“Can’t believe we didn’t wake my parents.” Heather rolled to her front, smudged the pillow with makeup. Evie was on her side snickering. “Hey, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Brown eyes blinked. Heather nuzzled her pillow and breathed even, searching.

“You changed last year. After, what happened at home… I know you miss your dad.” Delicate fingertips ran over Evie's arm. Slipped away.

“He left.”

Evie remembered coming home from school. He was just gone. Clothes and all. Mona crying at the table. Pictures down. Like he never existed.

And her mother never really explained why. Just said they had problems and her dad wanted to be with someone else. He never called. Mona cried that day and hasn’t cried since. Evie couldn’t even remember the last thing she said to him.

People vanish. They have that power.

“After...what happened with Tannen. You got all distant with me. I just worry about you a lot.” Heather’s fingers curled into Evie’s sleeve. “Kids are cruel, I don’t understand why. Why they're so mean...”

“Some people don’t know where to put it when they hate themselves.”

“I don't think I hate myself. Sometimes I hate that myself isn't enough, you know? Enough to please my parents all the time and enough to help other people out."

"You're more than enough for me, Heather." Evie heard a sniffle.

"D-Do you hate yourself?” An airy tone slurred.

“I don’t know.” Evie sighed. “I’m fine, Heath, I’m happy. I dealt with it.”

“Happy or pretending to be?” Heather mused, pulling at her hair scrunchie to relieve brown locks. “I just don’t see you a lot, like you’re always with someone else. You never wanted to hang out over the summer.”

“I’m just busy with stuff, it’s nothing.” Evie peered at the walls plastered in their friendship. Felt every smiling version of herself in those old photographs wince at her lies. Stars exploding in total silence.

“You’re going to leave Hawkins and sing your songs for people on a stage. You’re going to be world famous and I’ll get to point and say, that’s my best friend.” Heather grinned. “Keep breaking that shell. I can help you.”

“I’ll try.” Evie scoffed. “You’re so drunk.”

“I am…” Heather hummed. “Just talk to me, okay? I want you to be so happy again. Like we used to be when we’d go to the park. Play on swing sets.”

“I won’t shut you out.” She replied as Heather settled, started to snore. “Goodnight, Heath.”

“M’night.”

** ** **

Billy was still raging into that night. Stumbled out of a bedroom pulling his tee back on, rooting around for his jacket. Most kids were starting to pass out on floors and couches.

“Hey, this belong to you?” Brock plucked up leather so Billy snatched it. “Good to see you, Hargrove. You know, they say Hawkins would have finished out the basketball season with the title if you stayed on the team.”

“They played favorites. Got sick of it.” Billy passed him, lightning a cigarette.

“Come outside, sit with the guys.” Brock cocked his head, square jaw setting when he smiled.

“Hey, B.” Tommy was stoned out of his mind. Looked at Billy like he was trying to find him in a haystack. Not with Carol so they must have had some fight.

Billy eyed the clear covered pool. Lights played up to touch his face before he plopped into a metal chair. Boys from Hawkins and other schools gathered around a glass table, drinking and shooting the shit. A joint was passed. Mostly rich, sporty types.

“Hargrove. Hear you’re the Hawkins Keg King. What the hell happened with Harrington?” Brock faked interest, hands clasped.

“Crashed and burned, man.” Tommy chortled, smacking Billy’s arm.

“Who?” Just play dumb.

“Don’t play coy, man, we all know you beat the shit out of him. Knocked the pretty boy down a few pegs.” Brock only grinned there. “So, you’re in the circle now.”

“Oooh, do I get a medal?” Billy flicked his smoke aside and swiped Tommy’s beer to drink.

“I like this guy, Hagan.”

“We can trust him.” Tommy winked, sitting back.

“You’re not going to hunt me for sport, are you?” Billy inhaled sharper, unworried. Laughter erupted.

“It’s funny you say that,” Brock took the floor, “because we are going to let you in on the deepest secret between the high schools. Something that brings all the boys together. Hawkins. Ridgemont. Hill Valley. Bates. We have this little tradition we do between Homecoming and Prom.”

“Skirt Safari.” Brock’s right hand man chuckled, sucking the joint down. Few boys echoed it with laughter.

“The hell is that?” Billy drank, shaking his hair out.

“Some of us guys throw this big dance party. Rent out a nice place in town, pour some good money into a pool.” Brock shrugged. “You take a girl and we vote.”

“Vote?” Billy puffed. More cruel smiles.

“Yeah, on which girl is the ugliest beast.” Hyena cackling followed. Billy just stared with his brow raised.

“Ah...What the fuck is this? Are you joking?”

“Open season, man.” Another boy chimed in.

“Walk with me, Hargrove, you have something special about you.” Brock got up, swiped the joint to finish it. Billy looked irritated and followed. Fresh air cleared his head. Behind them, teens chattered. “I think you’ll fit right in here. You live on Cherry Lane, right?”

“What’s it to you?” Billy chucked the beer aside.

“Next to that Fenny girl. Kinda cute in her new little outfits if you like something extra to grab onto.” Brock shrugged. Turned from Billy to eye the sky clearing up.

“Didn’t she beat your ass last year?” A sly grin crossed.

“Ah, you heard. Rumors have been exaggerated. Just like you and Harrington I’m sure. Getting booted from the team over a tiff.”

“I left on my own, fuck them.”

“Fenny had a thing for me and I said no because I was with someone, so she got emotional. Girls are like that. They get attached and upset when we don't give them what they need.” Brock stuffed his hands into his pockets. “She’s untouched, you know, so I heard. Flaunting her shit now and not letting us grab the goods. Asking for it man, but too afraid to follow through. I hate that teasing shit. They say the bookworms are wild in the sack. Bet you that musical girl can sing too.”

“You obsessed with her now and her little outfits?” That earned Billy a brief heated expression. The boy was more observant than he was given credit for.

“I just wanted to raise a challenge for you. Get Fenny to go to Skirt Safari as your date. New Years Eve, we’ll give you the address. Kiss her before the clock strikes twelve. She won’t earn you the win, but I’ll bet you money that you can’t get the famous ice queen to go.”

“Man, this is so fucking stupid.” Billy clearly didn’t fit with this crowd of uppity shits. Heels spun to go.

“Is three hundred dollars stupid?” Brock watched Billy skid. Blue eyes shifting to see him again. “Ah, I have your attention.”

“Cash?” Billy could use it. Three hundred would go far for him. Brock Tannen knew that immediately about him.

“I can show it to you if you like.” Brock displayed his teeth, almost glowing and sharp. “Show us that Hargrove charm and break the unbreakable. If you're the Keg King. Prove it. Let us see you in action.”

“I take her to the shitty party and you give me three hundred bucks?" Billy asked carefully, eyes darting. "She doesn't have to find out about this vote shit you guys do?”

“No, not a word from us. I'll even pay your end of the pool as a token. Just an innocent kiss before the ball drops. You don't have to screw her, unless she's your thing. Easy enough?” Brock held out his hand. Billy eyed the campy bunny chain around Tannen’s neck, huffed out his nose.

Took the offer with a hard expression.

“Deal.”

** ** **

Evie rubbed her eyes the next morning and said bye to Heather, raking fingers through curls as she was dropped off. Jacket pulled close while she fumbled for keys and Heather drove off.

Not even a second after, a blue Camaro was pulling up next door.

It was annoying how great Billy looked even with a hangover after a hard night of partying. He stunk of beer and smoke and his hair was ratted, but glowy as always. Evie groaned when he spotted her and got the key in the door.

“Hey, Evie.” Was that her name he just used? “Hey, wait up.” Boots clicked to hurry toward her house. A stronger hand yanked the front door closed and Billy held his ground there. "Wait a second, I'm trying to talk to you."

“Aren’t we both too hungover for this?” Already on the defensive. Makeup smeared around her eyes. She turned, applying some chapstick and sighed out. "What?"

“Look.” Billy pushed his hands into his back pockets, eyes flicking away and back. “It was a dick move. The whole Heather thing.”

“Yeah.” She waited for him to go on.

“And I’m…” Sorry? “It was shitty.” He craned down toward her. "The stuff I said, I was fucking wasted."

"And you're..." She tried to spell the word out with her eyes. Billy blinked innocently.

"An asshole."

Evie flattened.

"Yes, but not what I was...ah, look, it doesn't matter. I was drunk and I jabbed too. And I am...sorry." A shrug before she tried the door again.

Billy pulled it shut once more like this was a game, earning a sigh of irritation.

"I'm still talking at you. I was...I am...a shithead." He couldn't wrap his squid tongue around a fucking apology. Christ.

Evie looked expectantly, leaning in as if more should come.

Billy sucked at this so he decided to jump right in.

“I wanted to make it up to you. There’s this dance up in the city. Real bar. Real drinks. New Years Eve bash. Go with me.” It sounded like an order.

“Go with you?” She blinked in shock. Grew pointed. “Ah, no, Billy.” Evie got her front door open again and pushed by him. Wondered if he was used to rejection in any form. So, she pushed pride aside. “But, Heather thinks you’re cute okay. Just ask her. It’s fine.”

She got around the door and hid half behind it. Billy’s hand went flat to stop it from shutting.

“I don’t want to ask Heather, I’m asking you.” He shrugged with big eyes. Bet ladies fell for it. Evie searched him, beyond confused. She hated confusion. It was too much. “You’re single, it’s this or some lame ass high school party.”

He noted she opened her mouth and decided not to protest the single part. The hesitation was odd.

"I...I happen to like lame ass high school parties." She stammered out.

"Oh, sure." He winked.

"Y-Yeah, I just love them actually because kids our age are very stupid. It's better than public television."

"Right. Right." He sounded not convinced.

"And, you're Billy Hargrove so any girl will jump at the chance, just ask-"

“I’m asking you, Angel. Deal with it.” He lowered his tone and got closer. Flashed a darling smile then bit his lip. Slid that tongue over it. "Don't make me beg. You know I will."

“You...I… Look, I’m...flattered but, I can’t. I, uh, have a thing.” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry.” The door shut.

Billy gave this growl low in his throat.

“We have time, Fenny, I’m fine asking again.” His voice picked up. Silence. "All you gotta do is nod that pretty head of yours."

Billy knew she heard it. He turned and dropped the grin when he spotted Max there on the sidewalk, skateboard in hand. Watching.

"Are you asking Evie out?" She narrowed on him.

"Mind your fucking business, shitbird." Billy stepped off the porch. "She's going to a party with me."

"Sounded like she just said no to you."

Billy swerved to get angry. Remembered a nail bat crashing between his legs. Shut his mouth.

"Whatever." A puff.

"She's nice," Max trailed after him, "you should, you know...ask her to something if you... She's cool. Cooler than you."

He slowed, eyebrow raising.

"Doesn't matter."

"It's Saturday." Max explained, red hair catching the sunlight to flame up.

"I know what day it is, Max, leave me alone." Billy was going up toward their house.

"She probably said no because you stink so bad."

"What the fuck?" He wheeled around again, chest puffing.

Max smirked at him and Billy found himself matching it. Bold little shit.

"I know what I said. And it's Saturday, that means she'll probably be helping her mom at that salon later. You should shower and show up. Girls like spontaneous stuff, it's thoughtful and you suck at that."

Billy scrunched at her.

"Since when do you care about...?"

"About what?" She shuffled there on the grass. Peered at Neil's car in the driveway. "We're family now whether we like it or not. Which means I'm stuck looking out for you. Right, Billy?" Max dropped her skateboard, popping it up with one foot. "I like Evie and I don't want my brother being a jerk to her. Or anyone."

Billy scoffed, near amused.

"Right." He grumbled. Went up and paused to turn once more. "Max."

"Yeah?" She readied to ride off.

"Watch the board around my damn car, will you?" Billy heard her snort. "I got shit to do now, stay out of the way."

"Take a shower and show up. Try asking instead of telling. See what happens." Max rode off with a clatter of wheels on concrete. He only shook his head again. Smiled to himself without thinking before he went in.

Billy decided to take the advise on all accounts. She'd go with him.

Certainty crept the more he looked at himself in the mirror and applied his aftershave. Maybe he forced the feeling so often, it was second nature. Fuck, looking at his reflection was never this difficult. Evie's words rang harder this morning.

He didn't blame her for once.

All these false fronts Billy showed the world. Old photographs flashing like a million dead stars. That was all we ever saw of them. Somewhere else, Evie heard those same stars dying too. Decayed and twinkling too pretty even still. It sounded almost like a cruel fate.

A tongue swept over his lips before he tried something new. Eyes averting to speak quietly like someone might hear. Fingers twisting the silver ring about his middle finger.

"Sorry."

He resumed fixing his curls. Polished up that Hargrove charm until it shined bright.

What Evangeline Fenny didn't know couldn't possibly hurt her, Billy reasoned.

Right?

~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, chat with me if you have time! Tried to push another chp out quick. Imma pass out now XOXO TAGGED: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #SOMY #writing #mine #Angel Fenny #billy x Angel

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