#we were arguing about the usefulness of reading this sort of book

[xiangqiankua]

word of the day: 閹 yān / noun: eunuch, verb: to castrate or neuter A friend and I were looking at a book in which the author describes a character as 懨懨 yān yān / weak and weary, sickly. “但是，現在的他，看起來才像是活的。儘管是懨懨的。” He protested that the more common phrase is 病懨懨, because if you simply say yān yān in conversation one may assume it’s 閹 and not 懨. However, to use 閹 you still have to say something like 他看起來被閹了 (I asked why can’t you just say 他很娘, apparently this is equally effective), so I personally don’t see how 他看起來懨懨的 can be confused in this way, but hey, I’m not the native speaker here.

#he also told me if i want to actually use these words i read in books in conversation my tones need to be PERFECT #we were arguing about the usefulness of reading this sort of book #personally i don't care if it's useful for speaking because reading for fun is a thing people do #chinese #mandarin #traditional characters

[wifelinkmtg]

TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT

So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"

The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?

And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?

INTRODUCING: THE DITCH

There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.

And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?

So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.

Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?

There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.

Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.

There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.

Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.

And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.

There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...

SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]

We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?

Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)

In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.

So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.

Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:

Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?

Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU

There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.

The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.

There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.

A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.

Do you get it now?

ENDNOTES

It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.

I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.

I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.

#phyrexia #not defining the ditch except by implication #thanks to all the very smart vorthoi on the flavor text discord server for helping me work through my thoughts on fascism and phyrexia #this is technically the march of the machine review also #or as much of one as i care to do

[vaspider]

In defense of retellings & reimaginings

I'm not going to respond to the post that sparked this, because honestly, I don't really feel like getting in an argument, and because it's only vaguely even about the particular story that the other post discussed. The post in question objected to retellings of the Rape of Persephone which changed important elements of the story -- specifically, Persephone's level of agency, whether she was kidnapped, whether she ate seeds out of hunger, and so on. It is permissible, according to this thesis, to 'fill in empty spaces,' but not to change story elements, because 'those were important to the original tellers.' (These are acknowledged paraphrases, and I will launch you into the sun if you nitpick this paragraph.)

I understand why to the person writing that, that perspective is important, and why they -- especially as a self-described devotee of Persephone -- feel like they should proscribe boundaries around the myth. It's a perfectly valid perspective to use when sorting -- for example -- which things you choose to read. If you choose not to read anything which changes the elements which you feel are important, I applaud you.

However, the idea that one should only 'color in missing pieces,' especially when dealing with stories as old, multi-sourced, and fractional as ancient myths, and doing so with the argument that you shouldn't change things because those base elements were important to the people who originally crafted the stories, misses -- in my opinion -- the fundamental reason we tell stories and create myths in the first place.

Forgive me as I get super fucking nerdy about this. I've spent the last several years of my life wrestling with the concept of myths as storytelling devices, universality of myths, and why myths are even important at all as part of writing on something like a dozen books (a bunch of which aren't out yet) for a game centered around mythology. A lot of the stuff I've written has had to wrestle with exactly this concept -- that there is a Sacred Canon which cannot be disrupted, and that any disregard of [specific story elements] is an inexcusable betrayal.

Myths are stories we tell ourselves to understand who we are and what's important to us as individuals, as social groups, and as a society. The elements we utilize or change, those things we choose to include and exclude when telling and retelling a story, tell us what's important to us.

I could sit down and argue over the specific details which change over the -- at minimum -- 1700 years where Persephone/Kore/Proserpina was actively worshiped in Greek and Roman mystery cults, but I actually don't think those variations in specific are very important. What I think is important, however, is both the duration of her cults -- at minimum from 1500 BCE to 200CE -- and the concept that myths are stories we tell ourselves to understand who we are and what's important to us.

The idea that there was one, or even a small handful, of things that were most important to even a large swath of the people who 'originally' told the store of the Rape of Persephone or any other 'foundational' myth of what is broadly considered 'Western Culture,' when those myths were told and retold in active cultic worship for 1700 years... that seems kind of absurd to me on its face. Do we have the same broad cultural values as the original tellers of Beowulf, which is only (heh) between 1k-1.3k years old? How different are our marital traditions, our family traditions, and even our language? We can, at best, make broad statements, and of inclusive necessity, those statements must be broad enough as to lose incredible amounts of specificity. In order to make definitive, specific statements, we must leave out large swaths of the people to whom this story, or any like it, was important.

To move away from the specific story brought up by the poster whose words spun this off, because it really isn't about that story in particular, let's use The Matter of Britain/Arthuriana as our framing for the rest of this discussion. If you ask a random nerd on Tumblr, they'd probably cite a handful of story elements as essential -- though of course which ones they find most essential undoubtedly vary from nerd to nerd -- from the concept that Camelot Always Falls to Gawain and the Green Knight, Percival and the grail, Lancelot and Guinevere...

... but Lancelot/Guinevere and Percival are from Chrétien de Troyes in the 12th century, some ~500 years after Taliesin's first verses. Lancelot doesn't appear as a main character at all before de Troyes, and we can only potentially link him to characters from an 11th century story (Culhwch and Olwen) for which we don't have any extant manuscripts before the 15th century. Gawain's various roles in his numerous appearances are... conflicting characterizations at best.

The point here is not just that 'the things you think are essential parts of the story are not necessarily original,' or that 'there are a lot of different versions of this story over the centuries,' but also 'what you think of as essential is going to come back to that first thesis statement above.' What you find important about The Matter of Britain, and which story elements you think can be altered, filed off or filled in, will depend on what that story needs to tell you about yourself and what's important to you.

Does creating a new incarnation of Arthur in which she is a diasporic lesbian in outer space ruin a story originally about Welsh national identity and chivalric love? Does that disrespect the original stories? How about if Arthur is a 13th century Italian Jew? Does it disrespect the original stories if the author draws deliberate parallels between the seduction of Igerne and the story of David and Bathsheba?

Well. That depends on what's important to you.

Insisting that the core elements of a myth -- whichever elements you believe those to be -- must remain static essentially means 'I want this myth to stagnate and die.' Maybe it's because I am Jewish, and we constantly re-evaluate every word in Torah, over and over again, every single year, or maybe it's because I spend way, way too much time thinking about what's valuable in stories specifically because I write words about these concepts for money, but I don't find these arguments compelling at all, especially not when it comes to core, 'mainstream' mythologies. These are tools in the common toolbox, and everybody has access to them.

More important to me than the idea that these core elements of any given story must remain constant is, to paraphrase Dolly Parton, that a story knows what it is and does it on purpose. Should authors present retellings or reimaginings of the Rape of Persephone or The Matter of Britain which significantly alter historically-known story elements as 'uncovered' myths or present them as 'the real and original' story? Absolutely not. If someone handed me a book in which the new Grail was a limited edition Macklemore Taco Bell Baja Blast cup and told me this comes directly from recently-discovered 6th century writings of Taliesin, I would bonk them on the head with my hardcover The Once & Future King. Of course that's not the case, right?

But the concept of canon, historically, in these foundational myths has not been anything like our concept of canon today. Canon should function like a properly-fitted corset, in that it should support, not constrict, the breath in the story's lungs. If it does otherwise, authors should feel free to discard it in part or in whole.

Concepts of familial duty and the obligation of marriage don't necessarily resonate with modern audiences the way that the concept of self-determination, subversion of unreasonable and unjustified authority, and consent do. That is not what we, as a general society, value now. If the latter values are the values important to the author -- the story that the author needs to tell in order to express who they are individually and culturally and what values are important to them* -- then of course they should retell the story with those changed values. That is the point of myths, and always has been.

Common threads remain -- many of us move away from family support regardless of the consent involved in our relationships, and life can be terrifying when you're suddenly out of the immediate reach and support of your family -- because no matter how different some values are, essential human elements remain in every story. It's scary to be away from your mother for the first time. It's scary to live with someone new, in a new place. It's intimidating to find out that other people think you have a Purpose in life that you need to fulfill. It's hard to negotiate between the needs of your birth family and your chosen family.

None of this, to be clear, is to say that any particular person should feel that they need to read, enjoy, or appreciate any particular retelling, or that it's cool, hip and groovy to misrepresent your reworking of a myth as a 'new secret truth which has always been there.' If you're reworking a myth, be truthful about it, and if somebody told you 'hey did you know that it really -- ' and you ran with that and find out later you were wrong, well, correct the record. It's okay to not want to read or to not enjoy a retelling in which Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere negotiate a triad and live happily ever after; it's not really okay to say 'you can't do that because you changed a story element which I feel is non-negotiable.' It's okay to say 'I don't think this works because -- ' because part of writing a story is that people are going to have opinions on it. It's kind of weird to say 'you're only allowed to color inside these lines.'

That's not true, and it never has been. Greek myths are not from a closed culture. Roman myths are not sacrosanct. There are plenty of stories which outsiders should leave the hell alone, but Greek and Roman myths are simply not on that list. There is just no world in which you can make an argument that the stories of the Greek and Roman Empires are somehow not open season to the entire English-speaking world. They are the public-est of domain.

You don't have to like what people do with it, but that doesn't make people wrong for writing it, and they certainly don't have to color within the lines you or anyone else draws. Critique how they tell the story, but they haven't committed some sort of cultural treachery by telling the stories which are important to them rather than the stories important to someone 2500 years dead.

****

*These are not the only reasons to tell a story and I am not in any way saying that an author is only permitted to retell a story to express their own values. There are as many reasons to tell a story as there are stories, and I don't really think any reason to create fiction is more or less valid than any other. I am discussing, specifically, the concept of myths as conveyors of essential cultural truths.

[clockwayswrites]

Not So Imaginary

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6Parts 7-8 WC: 1177

“I brought you some more books to read,” Jason said as he entered the room.

After Danny had shown that they were clearly a person (a kid at that) and answered a few questions, they had been moved to an actual room on the Watchtower. Jason was pretty sure part of it was how he refused to leave the cell until Danny was moved, but he didn’t really care as long as it got his friend safe.

Danny looked up with a grin. They were pretty solid today, sitting cross-leg on the bed with feet and everything.

“You’re back,” the artificial voice spoke out from the tablet like device in Danny’s hands. It was a version of something called a SGD, Bruce had said, and was used by people who had trouble with verbal sounds. They didn’t know if Danny would always need it or if they’re vocal cords would come back as they continued to solidify.

“I am. B said I could stay a whole three hours today too as long as I ate a snack while I was here,” Jason said, holding up one of the bags he had.

Three hours still wasn’t a lot, but it was better than the one it had been the rest of the week. It took a lot of begging, but B finally agreed that Jason was well enough for a test to see how it went. Danny was still draining life force from Jason, and only Jason, which made certain Leaguers nervous about letting the two of them close. Jason had done everything he could to let it happen: he’d begged and argued, he’d eating everything Alfie wanted him to, he rested whenever Bruce wanted him too which was all the time, and he even agreed to stay benched for as long as it took.

That last one had really helped convince Bruce and Dick that Jason wouldn’t back down from helping his friend.

“Good. I am happy. What do you have?”

“You liked the Hardy Boys, right? I have a few more of those and I found you some science mags you might like,” Jason said as he flopped onto the bed next to Danny. He could feel the odd tingle travel up his arm as he leaned into Danny.

“Thank you,” Danny said with a wide smile. The tone of the electronic voice didn’t match the brightness of that smile, but it was alright. Jason could also feel how happy Danny was.

“You’re doing okay?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause as Danny found the right words. They were pretty quick already with preset phrases, but odder things still took longer than regular talking would. “WW took me to observation deck. We watched stars. She told me stories of stars from her home.”

“Yeah?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice from hitching around the word. He couldn’t bug Danny with that yet. “You like her? Wonder Woman?”

“Yes.” The reply was quick, but Danny was watching Jason with furrowed brows. They pushed a sense of question through their bond.

“I’m fine. Just thinking through some shit,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “But Wonder Woman is really cool. She’s my favorite too.”

Danny set the tablet aside so that they could run their fingers through Jason’s hair. It felt odd, what with not all of the fingers always being all of the way solid, but a good sort of odd. It seems Jason couldn’t just Danny’s concern aside.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

Danny let out what for anyone else would have been a sigh and gave a little nod. They shorted through the bag of books Jason had brought and found a Hardy Boy’s to hand over to Jason.

“What me to read to you?” Jason waited for the nod. Apparently it was really important to let Danny choose things right then, or so the adults said. “Okay, move over a bit, yeah? You’re hogging all the bed.”

Danny placed their hand to their chest, face screwing up in an affronted expression. It didn’t work though when Jason could feel the amusement through their bond.

“Yeah yeah, I’m a brute, now shove over,” Jason said with a laugh. He worked his way up until he was lounging against the head of the bed.

Danny didn’t move.

“You’re a brat,” Jason accused.

Danny gave a silent laugh, humor bumbling up in their bond, before they flopped over right onto Jason’s chest. Jason let a huff of a sigh, but ran his fingers through Danny’s hair like he knew they liked before he opened the book to start read about another adventure of the Hardy Boys.

It was easier to feel the drain like this, when they were so close to each other and touching. Jason had tried to avoid spelling that out too much to Bruce. He got that his dad was just worried, but he was afraid if B knew he’d tried to keep Danny away.

As it was Bruce was trying to send Danny away.

Jason brushed the thought aside, focusing on doing his best to give the characters good voices for Danny. At least it was a distraction from all the rest of Jason’s thoughts. Two chapters later the stopped to ask, “Want a break or do you want another chapter?”

Danny rolled over and off Jason’s chest to flop onto the pillow next to him and Jason froze. His shock must have been clear because Danny scrambled up off the bed until they were floating above Jason.

“No! It’s a good thing. Just… you’re getting some of your color back,” Jason explained. He should really stop staring. He should take Danny to a mirror to see or something, but it was just that… Danny was beautiful right then. He found himself reaching up to brush his finger tips of the bright freckles that were scattered across Danny’s cheeks and nose like a galaxy of stars.

Bright teal eyes blinked back at him.

Jason cleared his throat. “Right, sorry, let’s go let you look.”

Danny floated to the side, landing on their feet as Jason stood, and followed behind behind to the small attached bathroom. Jason guided Danny in front of the mirror. White was spreading into their hair now.

For a moment Jason was worried that Danny was frozen in shock, then the other leaned in close to the mirror, touching the surface before bringing their hand up to their own face. Suddenly Danny was moving, spinning weightlessly around Jason as they gave a soundless whoop.

“I know,” Jason said with a grin of his own. “Look at you! You’re really coming together now! I knew you could do it. I knew that you could come back.”

Slowly, Danny drifted back down so that the tips of their toes brushed against the floor. They rested their forehead against Jason’s.

He didn’t need words to understand what Danny was trying to say.

“Don’t have to thank me, stardust. I’ll always come for you just like you’ll always come for me.”

--- AN: Oh ho, is Jason starting to realize he has a crush? And what isn't he telling Danny? Hopefully this part is good, the weather is giving me such a migraine/making me super dizzy so my eyes are crossing some! (Yes, I'm resting, on the couch with a cat!)

I really should have made an update post for this... this supposed ficlet just keeps going! 7K now! Aaaah well. Anywho, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #dead on main #not so imaginary

[strangebiology]

John Oliver just did an episode on body donation, which was very well-reported as usual.

It cites some older news including this amazing series on body brokers by Reuters. Some thoughts on anonymity being an issue:

It is shocking that there is no regulation on what it means to donate your body to "science," although, I'm not sure exactly who can say what that definition is or should be. Also, plenty of people would be happy to have their bodies used in a museum, but you CAN'T, because body donations are shuffled around and anonymized. We wouldn't have any issue with consent if we let people who WANT to be on display be on display.

When I read The Red Market, an amazing book about the trade in human body parts, it really highlighted the issues with mandated anonymity. WHY does a deceased heart, kidney, or blood donor need to be anonymous? That policy has led to horrific abuse of donors all over the world (egregious examples are given in China and India), living and dead, and the recipients have no idea because of that mandate. Mandated anonymity is a shield against regulation, public understanding, and accountability.

I wonder if people believe in anonymizing things because they think that makes the death not real. I've noticed people selling all sorts of human and animal remains with no description as to where they came from, and no one asks, and no one complains. I understand; sometimes some information is lost to time, or a business owner maybe can't take the time to verify the exact origins of things. Fine.

But take for example all these human fetuses for sale on Facebook. I'm not here to argue about that, although it's odd, and I understand both sides of the controversy regarding selling them. When I saw those posts, no one bats an eye.

Then when someone offered to sell her own aborted fetus (context: this person went in for an abortion but was told the fetus was dead anyway) people freaked out. In the same group where they're buying the fetuses of strangers. So...it's only ok to sell body parts when the person whose body it came from did not consent? That's our standard?

The same goes for animal body parts. "Hey, buy these dead rats!" Fine and dandy. "Buy these dead rats! Here is some context about their lives and/or deaths--" Disgusting! How dare you! Those were living things!

Death is disgusting and horrifying and I'm NOT saying that everyone has to think about it all the time or look at dead bodies or even understand it. What I am saying is that when we complain about transparency and enact policies that make it impossible to actually understand who these body parts are coming from, or to track them, that breeds an industry where abuse of consent is hard to avoid.

Lastly, the end of the Last Week Tonight show showed what happens when you let donors be known. It's beautiful.

#human remains law #human remains #dead people #death #human skeletons #Youtube

[hotchfiles]

hotch "representing the bau" hotchner x activist!reader who won't stand for bullshit

not like actual conflict cause we know hotch is a very principled guy

more like

"shit i can't shitpost about overthrowing the government anymore cause my boyfriend is the government" vibes

you have no idea how deeply i feel about this i've actually posted about this because i'm very much against all cops and he's a literal fed ! but

you met in the most conventional of ways, which makes the whole thing even funnier to the outside person. a bar. you noticed him the moment he walked in, too downright gorgeous to be ignored, you stare at him completely shamelessly and get a few shy awkward smiles in return while he sips on his first drinks and talks to his companion, who you later learned was rossi.

he will find it later on that you're not really up for games, but it takes him by surprise when you approach him, card in hand with your phone number and the red stain of your red lips on the other side. he's immediately smitten, being flirted with so openly at his age does wonders for his ego and he makes sure to text you as soon as he gets back to his apartment.

the texting back and forth goes for hours, a lot of flirting, you're much more outspoken than he is, but still you find him hilarious, you will be telling your friends he's the funny one between you two (none of them will believe you, but you like having this only to yourself as well).

you talk movies, plays, music, favorite drinks and by 2am he asks you on a date. it's perfect from the get go. he's flattering, compliments your choice of clothes, says he likes the lipstick (the same you used on the card he is keeping safe on his wallet), takes you to a nice restaurant.

you tell him since you made the very first move, he would have to be the one to kiss you, he argues he sent you the first text so you should be the one to do it, in the end none of you know who took the first move, you're just sure you were the one to unlock your apartment door, stumbling along with him as you two passionately kissed.

it's not common for this to happen for him, he's too much of a gentleman, sleeping with someone on the first date isn't the gentlemanly thing to do, you're not attached to those norms so even if he tried to argue, your lips glued to his neck as you worked on his belt took his mind off of it.

it's not until the next morning that he really notices your place: the types of books you had, some revolutionary art pieces and it's then he realizes he has no idea what you do for a living. neither did he tell you he was a fbi agent. you two talked long hours and career wasn't even a topic (that may be why you caught his heart so fast).

you were a journalist, a writer, quite proficient and known for your progressive ideals and less than civil protests, so when you both realize the differences and the conflict it might bring, the first instinct was to pull away. forget the whole thing. it was only one date after all.

it's a matter of days for the realization that being apart won't happen, your thoughts are filled with him and his voice and the way he touched you and aaron can possibly detail every curve of your body and the way you smelled as if he was still in bed with you.

there's a mutual agreement of public discretion, you can't have your readers knowing you're falling for a fed, nor does the media needs any more reasons to write about the fbi.

his team knows though, and so does strauss, she had to be warned of the possibility of your name popping up in some lists. she reads half of your writings after that, highlighting stuff you should not be writing about (you won't listen to her on it) and the compromise you make is to keep all of your opposition material completely professional, no tweets, no tiktoks, nothing of the sort with jokes about overthrowing the government.

"did you... did you just cite and use one of stalin's books as resource here?" he asks, he's in your bed, blue boxer shorts and white t-shirt on, completely comfortable with you already, his reading glasses sit on top of nose like an old man and he furrows his brows, looking up at you. aaron's interested in what you write, he truly reads whatever you hand him just to learn more about you, he's not the one to try to censure any of it.

"well yeah... his writings are the easiest to comprehend on the topic." you shrug, not understanding the tone of his question at first.

"honey... you can't just... do you know how many... forget it. your editor will love it." his poor attempts to talk you down failing each time he looked over and saw your expectant eyes as his opinion is important to you. you smile at his defeat, taking the papers from his hand and throwing somewhere else in the room, his glasses go to the bedside table and soon you're kissing any of his worries away.

#lari writes sometimes #THIS GOT TO ME OKAY #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario

[turnersverse]

with the exception of you i dislike everyone in the room.

a/n: this is my first fic and i have no idea what i'm doing so please bear with! please feel free to leave any feedback bc the last time i wrote was over a year ago sooooo ...

you discover alex's true feelings for you after finding his notebook he is always writing in but never shows anyone

friends to lovers, alex and reader have been friends for about 10 years !

you'd been in the studio all day with the band, even though you weren't apart of it you would often help with some of the guitar parts, seeing as you played it yourself. the monkeys already had about 4 songs for their new record, and you had a feeling this album could boost them to worldwide fame.

you were sat next to jamie, who was plucking at random strings on his guitar, his face scrunched up in concentration as he worked out in his brain the arrangement of notes. matt and nick were stood behind alex, who was hunched over his notebook that he wrote anything to do with the monkey's music in.

"al, mate, we need the lyrics. i don't know what i'm doing over here." jamie said, still looking at his guitar.

"just write a riff or something, i dunno." alex mumbled, before adding. "and can you two stop breathing down my neck? all i'm going to be able to write is how nick o'malley's annoyingly hot breath was gliding over the back of my head."

matt and nick just laughed as alex glared at them, nick starting to purposefully blow air at alex.

"right, stop it now." alex frowned, standing up from his seat. "i'm going for a smoke." and with that he left the room.

"he's got loads of songs in that stupid little book, he just doesn't want us to see them. i have a theory that he's just gonna start a solo project." matt said, sitting down on the sofa next to you. nick still hovered by alex's previous seat, looking between the notebook and the other three.

"no, nick, you can't." you said, knowing what nick was planning on doing.

matt caught on quickly, "i mean, it wouldn't hurt. al's not gonna know..."

"yeah but if he doesn't want us to see them, he'll have a good reason for it." you argued. jamie sighed and stood up, walking to the door.

"i'll go speak to him." the guitarist said before leaving the room.

you sat back, more comfortably, on the sofa. "why don't one of you write something? 'r u mine' is fairly based on the drums."

matt just scoffed, "yeah, i'll write summat, and then alex will come up with some lyrics that won't fit it at all." this had happened just the other day with jamie, who had written 'the best riff of his life' (as he'd called it) before alex showed the rest of the band the lyrics to a song he'd called 'mad sounds', which was much slower than what jamie had come up with.

"lets just have a peak.." nick said, inching closer to the notebook.

"nick, no." you said firmly.

"nick, yes!" matt said, a stupid grin on his face. the drummer looked at his mate, and a look was exchanged between the two. before you could even register their plan, matt had pinned your arms behind your back as nick grabbed the notebook.

you gasped in shock, looking between the two lads. matt was laughing whilst nick flicked through the book, until he stopped. you watched as his eyes scanned the page, before he spoke up. "hey, this is really good."

"let us see then." matt said, and nick handed the notebook to matt. you glanced over, although you knew your best mate would be fuming if he found out, the anticipation had got to you. scribbled at the top of the page were the words 'stop the world i wanna get off with you'. you read through the lyrics, finding that the song was obviously some sort of love song.

"that is really good." you said quietly, a few lyrics sticking out to you. a few phrases you'd heard before. matt hummed, and started tapping the floor with his foot. he flicked to the next page, where alex had written the guitar part.

"oh yeah." matt nodded, "this is similar to the tune we did the other day. 'why'd you only call me when you're high?'"

nick nodded, "yeah i noticed that. dunno who the lyrics are about but its pretty good." as he mentioned the lyrics, matt glanced at him, a certain look in his eyes.

you caught that, confusion written on your face. alex was your best mate, if something was going on, he'd tell you. but you felt like you were missing something here.

just as nick was about to say something, alex and jamie walked back into the room. you, matt and nick all looked between each other and alex, your eyes saying 'uh oh'. alex glanced at matts lap and saw the book.

"what the fuck?" he stormed over to matt and snatched his precious notebook up.

"alex, its good!" matt said, raising his arms up in defence.

"i dont want to do that one." he said angrily.

"why not?" you added in, looking at alex.

alex sighed, looking at you before sitting in the seat he had been in before. "lets just do something else."

"no, lets do this." nick said, his hands now on his hips.

"i wanna see." jamie said, walking to alex and picking up the notebook. alex didnt stop him, he just sat watching jamie's reaction.

after a few moments, jamie looked up with a smile, "this is really good."

"thanks." alex mumbled.

"we could do it. we could do a bit of.." matt stood up and went to his drums, picking up his drumsticks and drumming a bit of a beat. "we could do a bit of that."

alex nodded in approval, "yeah. i wrote the guitar as well. its on the next page."

matt smiled, now knowing that alex had given in as jamie flicked to the next page and looked at the guitar part. "yeahhhhh." he said, nodding his head. he put the notebook down and picked up his guitar, strumming the parts he remembered. everyone in the room collectively nodded, as nick picked up his bass and started playing stuff that would go along with the main guitar.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

the band finished up in the studio 3 hours later, with a demo recorded for the album. alex had offered for you to go round his for tea, and you had gladly accepted. this was something the two of you did often; you would get together and order some sort of takeaway and spend most of the night talking. this had been a sort of tradition ever since alex bought his first house, and you and him spent the first night in there talking until the sun rose.

alex put out his cigarette before unlocking his car as you finished locking up the building. you got into the passenger side, flicking the radio on when alex started the car.

'starman' by david bowie was playing, a song you had always been fond of. you hummed along the the melodies as alex sat in a comfortable silence.

"i was thinking of covering summat for the album." alex spoke up, his accent prominent in his words.

"yeah?" you glance over at him, knowing he probably had an idea of what he wanted to cover by the tone of his voice.

"i was thinking that poem, the one you really like."

"what, 'i wanna be yours'?"

alex nodded. "yeah. thought it would be nice."

you nodded, a small smile on your face. "if you could pull it off. whats all this about though, with the new song and that? a new lover maybe?" you said, wiggling your eyebrows at alex.

"what? no!" he said, looking at you and then back at the road. "stop wiggling your eyebrows at me, you knob."

you just laugh in response, shaking your head as you turned your attention to the road. after a few moments, alex spoke up again.

"did you like the song though? i thought the lyrics were a bit.. i dunno.. cheesy."

"i think it's really good, al. it's similar to the stuff you wrote for 'suck it and see', in a way." you commented, holding back the other thoughts you had.

"yeah, i havent been feeling very.. romantic, lets say, since me and alexa broke up." alex said quietly, knowing that for the past 10 years, there probably hadn't been a single day he hadn't felt that way.

the two settled into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the journey back to alex's house. when they arrived, alex unlocked the door and you went straight to his living room, grabbing 'your' blanket from the back of the settee before settling in the corner of his l-shaped sofa, where you always sat. alex came back into the room with two cans: a can of carling and a pre-mix malibu and pineapple. he passed the latter to you, a quiet 'thank you' leaving your lips.

"chinese or pizza?" alex said, holding up the menus he had also collected from the kitchen.

you hummed, thinking for a moment. "pizza. usual order?"

alex nodded, reaching for his phone to order the food. you got comfy in your seat, pulling the blanket over your legs. you took the tv remote off the coffee table and flicked through the channels, not really reading what was on as something else plagued your mind.

"alright, cheers mate." alex said as he ended the call. "pizza will be here in 45 minutes."

you nodded, your eyes still focused on the tv screen. alex came and sat down next to you, pulling some of the blanket on to his lap and watching you try to find something to watch.

"that sounds good." he said to a true crime series you had stopped your scrolling to read the description of. you clicked on it and placed the remote back down on the coffee table, now concentrating on the series.

alex watched you for a few moments before watching the tv as well. he felt as if something was off with you. usually you would rest your head on his shoulder. he also felt like you'd been a lot quieter today, which you never are.

"are you okay?" he spoke up, watching you turn to look at him.

"uh, yeah." you said quickly, turning your attention back to the screen.

sighing, alex reached for the remote and paused the series. "no you're not. whats up?"

you pull your legs up to your chest, avoiding eye contact. "nothing, its just.." you trail off.

"just..?" alex said, waiting for you to continue.

you sigh, just deciding to spit it out. "the new song.. the lyrics."

alex felt his heart drop, knowing that you knew. "yeah?"

"'with the exception of you i dislike everyone in the room'. you said that to me. at the 'suck it and see' release party." you say, quietly.

"y/n.." alex said, praying silently for you to look at him. "i'm sorry."

you look up at him, confusion written all over your face. "why are you sorry?"

"i dunno, i'm sorry for letting my silly old heart feel like this. i understand if you don't feel the same. but every word in that song is true. the meaning of it all.. and i've always felt this way. thats not the only one as well. so many songs have been inspired by you, and how i feel for you. i'm so, so sorry if you don't reciprocate these feelings, but i can't hide them anymore." alex said, and you could see it all in his eyes. the desperation for you to feel the same, the fear of rejection, the look of love.

you didn't know what to do. you knew you felt the same, and it scared you. it scared you that you'd always loved alex, but could never bring yourself to do anything about it. you never dreamed he would feel the same until today.

"please say something." alex said quietly, watching you.

"i feel the same way." was all you could say at first. you watched as the look in alex's eyes completely changed, how it softened.

"it scares me alex, because i dont want to lose you. i can't lose you. you're my best friend, but i've always felt more. i've always longed to be the one you write songs about. the one you kiss goodnight and wake up beside every morning. but i'm so, so scared. i'm scared i'll ruin it all and i'll lose you. i'm scared of love." you say quietly. the next thing you knew, alexs arms were around your waist, pulling you to his chest.

you clutched onto him, relishing in the feeling of being in his arms. "don't feel like that. don't be scared. you'll never lose me." alex said softly.

you look up at him, watching as his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, your breath stolen away as he closed the gap between you and met your lips with his. and in that moment, you knew that had been where you were wrong. as your lips fit alex's perfectly like a puzzle. you knew you were made for each other, soulmates both platonically and romantically.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

another little a/n: i didn't really know where i was going with this, and i'm sorry if the endings shit😪

p.s if you noticed the miles reference ily

#alex turner x reader #alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fic #am era

[coochiequeens]

Because large-scale organising is “almost impossible” in China, women are turning to “all kinds of alternative ways to maintain feminism in their daily lives and even develop and transfer feminism to others,” she says. These may take the form of book clubs or exercise meet-ups. Some of her friends in China organise hikes. “They say that we are feminists, we are hiking together, so when we are hiking we talk about feminism.“ - Lü Pin

To find evidence that China’s feminist movement is gaining momentum – despite strict government censorship and repression – check bookshelves, nightstands and digital libraries. There, you might find a copy of one of Chizuko Ueno’s books. The 74-year-old Japanese feminist and author of Feminism from Scratch and Patriarchy and Capitalism has sold more than a million books in China, according to Beijing Open Book, which tracks sales. Of these, 200,000 were sold in January and February alone.

Ueno, a professor of sociology at the University of Tokyo, was little known outside in China outside academia until she delivered a 2019 matriculation speech at the university in which she railed against its sexist admissions policies, sexual “abuse” by male students against their female peers, and the pressure women felt to downplay their academic achievements.

The speech went viral in Japan, then China.

“Feminist thought does not insist that women should behave like men or the weak should become the powerful,” she said. “Rather, feminism asks that the weak be treated with dignity as they are.”

In the past two years, 11 of her books have been translated into simplified Chinese and four more will be published this year. In December, two of her books were among the top 20 foreign nonfiction bestsellers in China. While activism and protests have been stifled by the government, the rapid rise in Ueno’s popularity shows that women are still looking for ways to learn more about feminist thought, albeit at a private, individual level.

Talk to young Chinese academics, writers and podcasters about what women are reading and Ueno’s name often comes up. “We like-like her,” says Shiye Fu, the host of popular feminist podcast Stochastic Volatility.

“In China we need some sort of feminist role model to lead us and enable us to see how far women can go,” she says. “She taught us that as a woman, you have to fight every day, and to fight is to survive.”

When asked by the Guardian about her popularity in China, Ueno says her message resonates with this generation of Chinese women because, while they have grown up with adequate resources and been taught to believe they will have more opportunities, “patriarchy and sexism put the burden to be feminine on them as a wife and mother”.

Ueno, who found her voice during the student power movements of the 1960s, has long argued that marriage restricts women’s autonomy, something she learned watching her own parents. She described her father as “a complete sexist”. It’s stance that resonates with women in China, who are rebelling against the expectation that they take a husband.

Ueno’s most popular book, with 65,000 reviews on Douban, is simply titled Misogyny. One review reads: “It still takes a little courage to type this. I have always been shy about discussing gender issues in a Chinese environment, because if I am not careful, I will easily attract the label of … ‘feminist cancer’.”

“Now it’s a hard time,” says Lü Pin, a prominent Chinese feminist who now lives in the US. In 2015 she happened to be in New York when Chinese authorities arrested five of her peers – who were detained for 37 days and became known as the “Feminist Five” – and came to Lü’s apartment in Beijing. She narrowly avoided arrest. “Our movement is increasingly being regarded as illegal, even criminal, in China.”

China’s feminist movement has grown enormously in the past few years, especially among young women online, says Lü, where it was stoked by the #MeToo movements around the world and given oxygen on social media. “But that’s just part of the story,” she says. Feminism is also facing much stricter censorship – the word “feminism” is among those censored online, as is China’s #MeToo hashtag, #WoYeShi.

“When we already have so many people joining our community, the government regards that as a threat to its rule,” Lü says. “So the question is: what is the future of the movement?”

Because large-scale organising is “almost impossible” in China, women are turning to “all kinds of alternative ways to maintain feminism in their daily lives and even develop and transfer feminism to others,” she says. These may take the form of book clubs or exercise meet-ups. Some of her friends in China organise hikes. “They say that we are feminists, we are hiking together, so when we are hiking we talk about feminism.

“Nobody can change the micro level.”

‘The first step’

In 2001, when Lü was a journalist starting out on her journey into feminism, she founded a book club with a group of friends. She was struggling to find books on the subject, so she and her friends pooled their resources. “We were feminists, journalists, scholars, so we decided let’s organise a group and read, talk, discuss monthly,” she says. They met in people’s homes, or the park, or their offices. It lasted eight years and the members are still among her best friends.

Before the book club, “I felt lonely when I was pursuing feminism. So I need friends, I need a community. And that was the first community I had.” “I got friendship, I deepened my understanding of feminism,” Lü says. “It’s interesting, perhaps the first step of feminist movements is always literature in many countries, especially in China.”

Lü first read Ueno’s academic work as a young scholar, when few people in China knew her name. Ueno’s books are for people who are starting out on their pursuit of feminism, Lü says, and the author is good at explaining feminist issues in ways that are easy to understand.

Like many Ting Guo discovered Ueno after the Tokyo University speech. Guo, an assistant professor in the department of cultural and religious studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, still uses it in lectures.

Ueno’s popularity is part of a larger phenomenon, Guo says. “We cannot really directly describe what we want to say, using the word that we want to use, because of the censorship, because of the larger atmosphere. So people need to try to borrow words, mirror that experience in other social situations, in other political situations, in other contexts, in order to precisely describe their own experience, their own feelings and their own thoughts.”

There are so many people who are new to the feminist movement, says Lü, “and they are all looking for resources, but due to censorship, it’s so hard for Chinese scholars, for Chinese feminists, to publish their work.”

Ueno “is a foreigner, that is one of her advantages, and she also comes from [an] east Asian context”, which means that the patriarchal system she describes is similar to China’s. Lü says the reason books by Chinese feminists aren’t on bestseller lists is because of censorship.

Na Zhong, a novelist who translated Sally Rooney’s novels into simplified Chinese, feels that Chinese feminism is, at least when it comes to literature, gaining momentum. The biggest sign of this, both despite and because of censorship, is “the sheer number of women writers that are being translated into Chinese” – among whom Ueno is the “biggest star”.

“Young women are discovering their voices, and I’m really happy for my generation,” she says. “We’re just getting started.”

By Helen R Sullivan

This is the third story in a three-part series on feminism and literature in China.

#China #Japan #Chizuko Ueno #Books for women #Feminism from Scratch #Patriarchy and Capitalism #Misogyny #Feminist Five #Lü Pin #WoYeShi

[moonlight-prose]

✧ MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ✧

a/n: this fic is without a doubt probably the filthiest thing i've ever written. i had to pause when i was writing cause i felt like i was getting too unhinged. but it's marc spector so are we really surprised i wrote my filthiest thing with him? a massive thank you to @sunflowersteves for beta reading it for me (and screaming with me).

day five - guided masturbation + intercrural sex | kinktober 2023

summary: "in fact you were used to sleep evading you, but something about falling asleep in their bed made things better."

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: marc spector x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, sleep deprivation, exhaustion, intercrural sex, guided masturbation, cumplay sort of, minor dirty talk.

The alarm clock on the side of the bed was taunting you—laughing at how you couldn’t fall asleep. Part of you wanted to chuck it into the other room and be done with it, but you knew Steven had to get up the next morning. He couldn’t risk being late for work again. Which meant you were stuck, staring at the red glowing numbers in the dark—watching them flip higher every minute.

You had been fighting sleep for an hour yet nothing seemed to be helping. No amount of counting sheep, tossing and turning, or even trying to read one of Steven’s history books helped you. So there you were. Stuck in an exhausted haze, waiting for your body to eventually shut down.

This wasn’t abnormal by any means. In fact you were used to sleep evading you, but something about falling asleep in their bed made things better. When you were here, you found that your body melted into the soft sheets—your mind finally settling down. Tonight however seemed to be the exception.

“Dammit,” you sighed, twisting over to your side and trying to force your eyes to stay shut.

A groan sounded behind you—thick with sleep. It caused you to freeze, your body stiffening for fear of waking up Steven. That is until an arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you back towards the hard body behind you—the warm breath you knew now hitting the back of your neck. His nose nudging into your hair. The sensation was soft, achingly familiar, and you fell into his hold without any fight. Already knowing he was seeking you out in his sleep.

That is until—

“You keep tossing and turning and I’ll have to tie you down,” he joked, sighing against your neck.

The voice was so clearly American, meaning you hadn’t disturbed Steven, but instead woken up the man who might be able to help you sleep.

“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling his palm slide along your stomach. “I couldn’t sleep. Brain’s too wired.”

He mumbled something too low for you to hear—his body shifting even closer, the warmth seeping into your skin. “Should have said something baby.”

You sighed, body shivering, when his hand skated lower, dipping beneath the oversized shirt you wore. “Didn’t—oh—want to wake up Steven.”

The grin against your neck was prominent as his fingers trailed along your now wet panties. “Steven’s asleep.”

“I didn’t know—”

He slipped under the fabric, fingers sliding through your slick and groaning at the feel of it. “Fuck you’re soaked.”

Something shifted in the air, sparking to life as he circled your clit and suddenly you didn’t want to sleep. Instead you allowed the feeling he brought out to consume you—wrapping you up in its hold so tight you’d never be able to escape. Yet you didn’t want to. You wanted to drown in the sensations—allow your entire self to be nothing but this.

He grunted, shifting behind you as he shoved down his sweats—the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your lower back sending shivers down your spine. Your mouth went dry, heart racing as he maneuvered you, his hand cupping your breast in his palm. Rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Alright baby,” he said—the rasp evident in his voice. “Wanna try something?”

You nodded frantically, willing to do whatever he asked of you. Marc often took control when it came to sex, but you weren’t one to argue. You trusted him, felt safe within his hold, and that was all you needed. All you wanted.

His hand slipped down, grasping yours and leading it down to your throbbing clit. Just the slight touch of your fingers had a moan tumbling from your lips—your body alight with that burning flame that threatened to consume you. Something about following his lead only heightened every single touch. Turning you into a pliable version of yourself. Someone he could mold.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, grinding back against him as he held your hand still, barely brushing where you needed it most. “Marc I need—”

Teeth scraped your ear, his hand shifting your hips back. “I know what you need. I’ve got you baby.”

His cock slid between your thighs and you could feel your pussy gush, coating your skin in slick as he fitted himself closer. A soft grunt echoed in your ear when he thrusted forward, his hand pushing yours down finally. He guided you towards your clit, letting you gather up the wetness that practically leaked from you—swirling it around the aching nub.

“That’s it,” he grunted, shifting forward and sliding between your thighs with ease. “Touch yourself for me.”

You moaned raggedly, fingers gripping the sheets as you followed his lead, rubbing figure eights along your clit as his cock continued to fuck the soft meat of your thighs. The sounds that reverberated through his chest right into yours made your body shake. A new kind of high building with every swipe of your fingers.

“M-Marc I’m—” You gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, fuck—”

“Yeah?”

Something pulled tight in your stomach, spreading throughout your body and nearly sending you over the edge, but Marc had other ideas. Rolling onto his back, he dragged you with him until you lay on top of him. Your body pressing him down into the mattress. A yelp escaped you, but it was quick to shift into a moan when he wrapped his legs around your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Other hand,” he panted into your ear, gripping both of your hands now and leading them to your aching cunt. “That’s it.”

“Oh—fuck—” you garbled, bucking into your touch when he sunk two of your fingers into your entrance, keeping the pace as he gripped your wrist.

He thrusted up, the head of his cock peeking out—precum dripping along the top of your thigh. Heat spilled through your body, curling tightly around your nerves and nearly setting you aflame as he continued. Bringing you even higher than you expected. Moans tore from your throat, echoing off the walls of the flat, which only seemed to spur him on further. A throaty groan was pressed to your neck, his lips sliding along the sticky skin damp with sweat—his tongue licking up the salty taste.

“Gonna cum,” he grunted, plunging two of his own fingers into your cunt. “Wanna feel you.”

His name was a ragged sob on your lips, your eyes rolling back when his fingers curled perfectly, nudging along the spongy part of your walls. He sped up, fucking your thighs as if he was buried inside of you until you felt it. The hot sensation of his cum spurting along your thigh, coating your already wet pussy as he lost himself in bliss.

Your breath caught in your chest, eyes squeezing shut as you followed him, a searing heat burning through you. He continued to pump his fingers, drawing you even higher until a loud shout bounced off the walls. No doubt alerting Steven’s neighbors to what was happening. He smiled, kissing your jaw when you came down, practically melting into his hold and sinking against his body.

“That was…” You panted, reaching for his hand that trailed shapes along your stomach.

“You tired now?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he breathed, nipping at your jaw. “Go to sleep baby. I’ll clean you up.”

“But Steven—”

“Will wake up when his alarm goes off.”

You nodded, allowing your eyes to slip closed, sleep pulling you in softly. But not before you heard him mutter three words against your ear, his arms tightening around your torso.

#marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector smut #marc spector #moon knight fic #moon knight smut #my writing #kinktober 2023

[plutoslvr]

Okay so in my last Kevin post, I mentioned I have analysis' on how Kevin isn't a coward and how his trauma still affects him and you guys wanted to read it so here!

Why Kevin Day Isn’t a Coward: 

Essentially this comes down to 3 specific points in the fandom and even in the books since people are very adamant about the whole coward thing. The two things that people (in book and fandom-wise) use to argue that Kevin is a coward are: 

Kevin is still afraid/ doesn’t stand up to Riko 

That he left Jean behind in the nest.

Starting off with the first point. Kevin is still afraid and doesn’t stand up to Riko for the majority of the books. Firstly, we need to understand that Kevin has been abused from an extremely young age in the Nest and was conditioned into thinking that kind of behaviour was normal. And by that I mean specifically Riko’s abuse but before that, it was Coach Moriyama that abused both of them. 

He was stuck in the Nest for over a decade where his only role was “property” the entire time. That was all he would ever be to them and additionally to that, he wasn’t even allowed to be better than Riko. His entire life from the very start has been about exy but it was only after his mothers death where it became life or death. 

During tfc when Neil finds out how Kevin’s hand really broke Wymack says “But the day Kevin stops playing forever is the day he dies. He has nothing else. He wasn't raised to have anything else. Do you understand? We cannot lose to the Ravens this year. Kevin won't survive it."

He wasn’t raised to have anything else, exy is quite literally his everything, and without it, he has nothing and nobody. In this same scene, Wymack says, “Kevin doesn't talk about his time at Evermore, but I could tell it wasn't the first time Riko or Moriyama laid a hand on him. It was just the first time Kevin was smart enough to pack his bags and walk away.”

We never find out in detail what exactly happened to Kevin in the Nest but in TRK when Neil goes there we can see how deluded and obsessed Riko is with Kevin.

Neil moved up alongside him and regretted it almost immediately. Postcards of faraway cities both foreign and domestic were taped to the walls. Beneath each one were scraps of paper. Kevin's now-familiar scrawl listed dates and explanations for the travels. Most of them were games. Some indicated photo shoots and interviews. Books lined the shelves built into the headboard and Neil knew from skimming the spines they were Kevin's. Kevin was majoring in history for reasons Neil couldn't understand; these dry titles were the sorts of things he would find fascinating. It gave Neil chills to see his space preserved like this. It was like Kevin had gone out on an errand, not that he'd transferred to another team entirely.

Riko is so sure that Kevin is going to come back to him because he’s instituted such fear into him, he doesn’t think Kevin has the strength to stand up to him. Which he does, but people don’t seem to realise you can’t undo over a decade's worth of trauma overnight. 

Anyway, during Neil’s time in the Nest, he’s treated very similarly to how Kevin would be considering he was in his place but also not as harsh because they had to send Neil back to the Foxes inevitably.

"I am going to love hurting you," Riko said, "like I loved hurting Kevin."

What follows this is Riko tying Neil down and torturing him with a switchblade. By the time Neil leaves the Nest he doesn’t remember anything from the experience- he was so traumatised by it that he doesn’t remember it at all. (It also kinda sucks how Neil gets more sympathy for being in the nest for 2 weeks than Kev did for being there for over a decade.)

Putting this into perspective, Kevin went through that for so much longer and doesn’t get nearly enough of the same sympathy Neil did. Neil returned and Kevin got punched for letting him go even though he tried persuading Neil not to. Kevin has always had Neil’s best interest at heart. 

Kevin shook his head and bulled on when Neil started to argue. "The master wants to salvage you. He's going to sign you to the Raven lineup in spring. So long as you keep quiet and keep your head down he won't tell the main family he's found you." "I'm not a Raven," Neil said. "I never will be." "Then run," Kevin insisted, low and frantic. "It's the only way you'll survive."

Kevin was willing to sacrifice the only chance he had to prove his autonomy to the Moriyamas if it meant Neil would be safe. Without Neil, they wouldn’t have enough players to qualify and they wouldn’t be able to play at all. (Again: “But the day Kevin stops playing forever is the day he dies. He has nothing else. He wasn't raised to have anything else. Do you understand? We cannot lose to the Ravens this year. Kevin won't survive it.")

Not to mention the whole “Kevin was silent for an endless minute, then said, "You should be Court." It was barely a whisper, but it cut Neil to the bone. It was a resentful goodbye to the bright future Kevin had wanted for Neil. Kevin recruited Neil because he believed in Neil's potential. He brought him to the Foxes intending to make a star athlete out of him. Despite his condescending attitude and his dismissals of Neil's best efforts Kevin honestly expected Neil to make the national team after graduation.

And even after that, he promised to teach Neil, because at the end of the day, Neil was still Neil and he never gave up on him once.

And Neil understood that being on the run for 8 years was more preferable to the Nest. 

“But all Neil had to do was look at Kevin to know he would have hated that life 

too.”

Sorry I kinda went off track there anyway we can also see how much Riko’s presence still affects Kevin especially in scenes like the Kathy Ferdinand show. 

“Any animosity Neil felt toward Kevin for forcing him onto this show evaporated. He couldn't be angry when Riko was here, not when Riko was to Kevin what Neil's father was to him. Petty anger had nothing on this full-fledged terror.”

Obviously, we all know what a dickhead Neil’s dad was to him so Neil comparing the fear of his father being similar to Kevin’s fear of Riko is so important because it just puts into perspective how afraid Kevin is here face-to-face with his abuser the first time since said abuser permanently disabled him.

But what I don’t think is that Kevin has been standing upto Riko since the start because right after this when they were backstage, Kevin physically stopped Riko from hurting Neil even if it meant getting hurt by Riko again.

A black look twisted Riko's expression into something ugly and unrecognizable. He reached for Neil, but Kevin caught his arm to stop him. Riko slammed his elbow back into Kevin's face without missing a beat.

This scene is probably the best to describe how downright afraid Kevin is of Riko but there are others when Kevin has multiple panic attacks at just the thought of Riko or being in the same vicinity as him and rightfully so! Riko abused him, manipulated him and then took away the only thing he had. And Kevin was just forced to think this was okay. 

And a lot of characters and fans see his fear as cowardice instead of a normal trauma response. This is also because Neil tends to speak out more against Riko than Kevin (You know I get it…) but unlike Neil, Kevin has had direct repercussions towards him for the “mistake” of talking back to Riko which of course makes him hesitant. 

He knows the Moriyamas could drag him back at any moment and he's terrified of that happening.

Which leads to the second bit of “Kevin doesn’t stand up to Riko.” when many times, he has.

The most prominent example is in TRK, just after the foxes lost their first match to the ravens.

“You have fallen so far, Kevin. You should have stayed down and saved us the trouble of forcing you back to your knees." "I'm satisfied," Kevin said. It was the last response any of the Foxes expected from him. They forgot about Riko in favor of gaping at Kevin. "Not with their score or performance, but with their spirit. I was right. There's more than enough here for me to work with."

Kevin chose the foxes over the ravens- over Riko. He doesn’t allow their loss to become something Riko can use against him but instead something to affirm his current standing with them. This is also the first game Andrew played without his meds meaning he’s crashed by the end of it.

Kevin distracted the Ravens from Andrew's unsteadiness by facing them.

Kevin willingly turned to talk to his ex-abuser and his team if it meant Andrew wouldn’t be under fire. Most people only see Kevin and Andrew as Andrew protecting Kevin but Kevin protected Andrew just as much.

And of course we have the whole tattoo removal and the last exy match against the foxes but I need everyone to understand that those are so so so important. Kevin spent the entire series save the last quarter of the last book viewing himself as Riko’s property. Riko refers to him as such and even without Riko near him, his control is still strong over Kevin.

So Kevin removing his tattoo and replacing it with something with a higher hierarchical structure than Riko’s status as king is so detrimental, it’s a turning point for him because he’s viewing himself as his own person now. And Kevin scoring the winning goal brings us full circle because the last time he did that with Riko, he ended up disabled and shunned.

This brings me to my second point about Kevin running away from the nest. Alot of people see Kevin escpaing from the nest and leaving behind Jean as an act of cowardice. This bit gets a bit complicated because in no way shape or form am I trying to compare trauma’s or anything like that.

But to continue on. The ravens had a very strict policy that we got to see during Neil's experience one of which being that no matter how injured they were, they were still expected to show up to practice. The more mistakes they made the more punishment they'd find themselves in. Not showing was practically a death wish.

Now Kevin having his hand fucking broken would mean thay either he doesn't practise and get punished or practise with his fucked up hand and further damage it. If he stayed I wholeheartedly believe he would've died.

He ran away to save his life and that will never be cowardice not once. He didn't go to Wymack immediately when he found out because he knew what kind of target he'd paint on Wymacks back.

"He was trying to protect him," Neil said. "If Coach knew Kevin was his son, he'd have tried to take him from Edgar Allan." Nicky grimaced. "They'd have never let Kevin go." 

He only left when he had no other option. He had nothing left, the one thing he did have was taken away from him, he had no purpose and for once Riko didn't care enough about him to pay attention. And he used that to run.

Leaving Jean behind was something he always regretted, but it was a game of survival. Jean was a gift to the Moriyamas, he was also property to them and couldn't leave. And if the roles were reversed I strongly believe Jean would've done the same thing.

Also Kevin finds a place for him layer with the trojans because he knew that being a fox wouldn't be good for him.

"He isn't safe with us," Kevin said. "I won't give him false hope."

Staying in the nest would've been suicide for Kevin. He's one of the biggest victims in the series but nobody talks about it enough I fear and there's so much to learn about him via context clues etc.

And the saddest thing in my opinion is that Kevin knew was it was like to be loved, he was raised by his mother for a few years before going to the Moriyamas. 

ANYWAY to conclude, I suck at essays and I hope I've worded everything well and what I'm trying to say gets across. Kevin is not a coward, never has been a coward and never will be. He's survived through such a damaging and abusive environment only to get moved to a separate environment where everyone just ridicules his defense tactics and he has no real sense of support. 

His reasons for what he does always stems from the fact the he doesn't want to go back to being under Riko and Coach Moriyamas "care" and that he's afraid. And most of the time it's things he can't shake from the nest.

Like when he pushes the foxes its so they're always at their best and so none of them get hurt or punished for mistakes. He pushed himself the hardest because he doesn't want to directly affect his teammates. 

Or the celebrity persona he was forced to develop.

Or how he makes sure everyone is staying healthy and that they don't force themselves to play when sick or injured because he knows what it's like to be forced to play like that day after day. 

AND IVE GONE OFF COURSE AGAIN yeah I kinda mashed together both analysis' of how Kevin's trauma from the nest affects him and how he's not a coward into one thing AND THIS IS SUPER LONG so if ur still here thank you very much for reading I really hope this makes sense

#kevin days defense lawyer right here #this is the longest thing ive ever posted on tumblr #aftg #kevin day #aftg kevin #neil josten #aftg neil #andrew minyard #matt boyd #aftg series #aftg andrew #andriel #kandreil #kevneil #kandrew #david wymack #riko moriyama #FUCK HIM #jean moreau

[oh-stars]

Eddie's Quest

Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 916 words | CW: implied bad Harrington parents, rec drug use | Rating: T

--

There isn’t much from Steve’s childhood that Eddie knows about and what he does know, hasn’t always been good. Steve just doesn’t share a lot in general though. He’s content in living in the present, which isn’t something Eddie really knows how to do. So when Steve does share something positive, something that he holds dear from his childhood, Eddie latches on.

Their anniversary is coming up, only a few weeks away, and Steve mentioned he misses the way a babysitter made this specific kind of cake. Black something. Steve couldn’t remember the name of it so now Eddie’s on a mission to try and figure it out. 

Eddie finds himself at Claudia Henderson’s doorstep on a Tuesday morning with flowers in his hand. When she opens the door, Eddie doesn’t even let her say hello before he’s giving them to her with a, “I need your help finding this really obscure recipe to make Steve happy and I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightmare because I can’t bake for shit. Will you please help?” 

Claudia coos at him. “Oh you’re the sweetest, Eddie! Of course, I’ll help! Come in, come in.” 

They end up pouring over all her cookbooks, and then Claudia starts a phone tree with Karen, Sue, and Joyce for their recipes. All five of them converge at the library, their personal cookbooks in hand, to take over one of the study rooms the library offers. “If we don’t have it,” Claudia told him as they settled in, “then the library will.” 

Eddie can’t even argue as they get to work. 

“Did he say what it tasted like?” Karen asks as she starts flipping through a book. Joyce had the brilliant idea of marking where all the dessert sections started in each book, so each woman was currently flipping away while Eddie tried to remember every detail Steve had mentioned. 

“He mentioned cherries,” Eddie groans, scrubbing at his face. “And it’s a cake.” 

“Could be topped with cherries,” Sue hums as she sorts through her books. 

“Or a cherry filling,” Claudia points out. 

“Steve has a sweet tooth,” Joyce adds after a while. “He likes rich flavors, so it’s probably on the sweeter side than a refreshing dessert.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I guess?” 

“You know,” Karen says as she taps her fingers against her book. “I think I remember a few of Steve’s nannies over the years. They were always at the school for pick up. Do you know which one has the recipe?” 

“Does she still live here?” Sue asks. “It would save us some time to just ask.” 

“No, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “He said his parents didn’t let him keep in touch and she moved away. He doesn’t know where.” 

The women share a knowing, quiet look amongst them. Eddie’s not sure he’s fluent in their silent mom language, but he knows a judgy look when he sees one. 

Eddie jumps up and paces the room, retracing every line of thinking that particular conversation followed. The problem is, they were high as fuck when Steve brought it up, sharing tidbits between big bites of the ice cream they’d found in their freezer. 

“You would have loved her,” Steve had said with a mouthful. He was laying on Eddie, legs hanging off the arm of the couch and propped against Eddie’s side so they could share the pint. “She liked to read a lot, always had books for me.”

“What kind of books?” Eddie asked. 

“Think ones.” Steve shrugged, eyes glazed over. “Fairy Tales, but the real gross stuff. So my dad wouldn’t get mad,” he added quickly. 

Gross fairy tales, Eddie thinks. He knows what Steve’s talking about, the original dark shit that they used to scare children into behaving from the grim–

“German!” Eddie screeches as he slams his hands on the table. To their credit, none of the mothers jump except for Joyce. “She was German!” 

Karen looks up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed in concentration. Claudia taps her fingers against her temple. Sue hums as she checks a few of the spines on the other stacks. Joyce leans back, crossing her arms as she stares off into space. 

“That has to help,” Eddie tries, quieter, “right?” 

“Maybe,” Karen says as she blinks back at the cookbook. She trades it for another. “And you’re sure it had cherries?” 

“Oh!” Joyce jumps up, hands flailing as she grabs for a book off Claudia’s stack. “I know it!” 

They all crowd around the book, heads tucked together as Joyce flies through the sections and slaps a finger against a chocolate cake. “Black Forest Cake,” she says, panting a little. 

Eddie moves the book to read the description. “This is it!” 

Their cheering gets them kicked out, but none of them seem to mind as they tote their cookbook stacks back to their cars. Claudia and Sue are already talking about commandeering Karen’s kitchen to bake it in a few days, since her kitchen is bigger, and they can all help – make a day of it with wine and gossip. He doesn’t care how it gets made, just that he can take it to Steve, to show him he listens and cares and loves him so much. He can’t wait to share this cake with him, to make it for him every year just because. His quest will be complete and he’ll get to live happily ever after with a very happy, well-fed prince. Best quest yet.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #ohstars posting challenge

[disasterarea-podcast]

So given the writer’s strike, some people are concerned about their shows and movies being postponed or canceled, and aside from the fact networks have already BEEN canceling shows for no reason for years (I still maintain a healthy anger about what Netflix did to Sense8), I thought I would suggest some books on disasters you might want to read if you’re into that sort of history. Which you are if you’re here, I imagine.

Note: I’m suggesting these books because most books on disasters don’t get a huge audience, and so I recommend them because this sort of writing can be hard on the writer and requires a bunch of research. We throw so much money at true crime, we can spare a few bucks for the stories of people who died in disasters.

Also, please check with these with your local small bookstore or library. Amazon can be great, but let’s lend a hand to those who need us more.

Recommended books:

“The Circus Fire,” by Stewart O’Nan - This is one my favorite books on a disaster, because the whole thing creates a very vivid image of the circus prior to the fire in Hartford in July of 1944. There’s one specific line in the book which always makes me pause because it’s so affecting, about how everyone who escaped being able to hear the sounds of the animals screaming as they died - except all of the animals were out of the tent by then.

“The Only Plane in the Sky,” by Garrett Graff - This, I highly recommend you get on audiobook. It’s an oral history of the events of 9/11 with a full cast, and it’s incredibly affecting to listen to.

“Ada Blackjack: A True Story of Survival in the Arctic,” by Jennifer Niven - Ada Blackjack was a badass: flawed and weak at times, but hardy and steady when necessary. Half of her story is how she survived, but half is how she was exploited following her rescue. Both stories need to be known.

“Alive,” by Piers Paul Read - If you’re watching “Yellowjackets,” this should be required reading. If you’ve seen the movie adaptation from the 90s, there is WAY more you don’t know. The story of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 is a tough read, but a worthy one.

“A Night to Remember,” by Walter Lord - This is to disaster nonfiction what “In Cold Blood” is to true crime. It’s not a long read, but it’s a great one. Lord had the advantage of writing the book while many of the Titanic survivors were still alive and could give a very good description of what they went through.

“Dying to Cross,” by Jorge Ramos - I recommend this not just because it is good, but because it is timely. Nineteen people died in an un-air-conditioned truck as they were attempting to make their way into the states from over the Mexican border. It’s a horrific story, and one that humanizes an issue for whom some people need to be faced with the humans involved and what they go through.

“Bath Massacre: America’s First School Bombing,” by Arnie Bernstein - Harold Schecter also wrote a very good book on the Bath school massacre called “Maniac,” but I have a preference for this version. It’s a good reminder that schools in the U.S. didn’t just become targets in the last twenty years or so.

“Into Thin Air,” by Jon Krakauer - I feel like this is a gimme, but it’s a fantastic book from someone who was actually on Mount Everest during the 1996 disaster and knew those involved very well. I happen to like Krakauer’s work anyway - I even like “Into the Wild” despite my feelings about McCandless and his legacy - but it’s understandably my favorite.

“And the Band Played On,” by Randy Shilts - The one thing I will say is that Shilts’ treatment of Gaetan Dugas is *rough* to say the least and outright wrong on some points, God knows. But it’s still an amazing book, and if you come out of it not wanting to dig up Reagan and punch him a bunch I’m impressed at your restraint.

“Triangle: The Fire That Changed America,” by David von Drehle - The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire is one of the disasters I am most interested in, and I would argue this is the definitive book on the subject. Also, if this book introduces you to both Clara Lemlich and Frances Perkins … I mean, talk about badass women.

“The Radium Girls,” by Kate Moore - Look, I’ll say this. If you know of the Radium Girls, this is a great book on their story. If you don’t know, go in blind and prepared to be horrified.

“Red Famine: Stalin’s War on Ukraine,” by Anne Applebaum - Ukraine has always been a target. During the Holodomor, they were victims of one of the worst genocides in history.

“Midnight in Chernobyl,” by Adam Higginbotham - Like the miniseries? This is a great source for more information for what happened at Chernobyl and all of the ass-covering involved.

"Boston Strong: A City's Triumph Over Tragedy," by Casey Sherman and Dave Wedge - If you’re interested in the Boston marathon bombing, I really thought this book did a good job of connecting the stories of the victims, the authorities searching for the killers, and the killers themselves.

“Show Me the Bodies: How We Let Grenfell Tower,” by Peter Apps - As I understand it, Apps did a lot of covering the Grenfell Tower fire for the British press, and it shows. He provides a mountain of information, and you will come out of reading this book absolutely LIVID about what authorities allowed to happen in Grenfell and so many other council estates in the UK.

“Dark Tide: The Great Molasses Flood of 1919,” by Stephen Puleo - I feel as though the molasses flood gets treated like a joke a lot of the time, but y’all, twenty people died. That area of Boston was *wrecked*. The photos of the devastation are terrifying. Puleo treats all of this with the proper respect it deserves.

“In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex,” by Nathaniel Philbrick - Forget the movie. Read the book.

“The Great Influenza,” by John M. Barry - Want to read about the 1918 flu epidemic? Want to be mad that a hundred years later we didn’t learn a damn thing?

Now, that’s just a start. If anyone wants, I can always post photos of my disaster book collection on Kindle and next to my recording desk. Or if there’s a specific disaster you’re interested in, I may know of a good book about it you can read.

But just remember if SAG and the directors’ guild joins the strike too - there is so much out there to occupy your time until they come back. Entertainment work is work, and it deserves to be supported financially and fairly as such. Rock on, WGA. ✊

[tangledinink]

Chapter Twenty-Five of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is now up! There's a certain theme in this chapter you'll never guess what it is. Read it on ao3 or below the cut.

[ prev ]

“Alright. So,”

Mikey stared up at his older brother curiously, leaning against Leo slightly, the two of them settled down on the couch. Donnie was perched on the arm of the opposite side, slumped slightly and tapping away at his phone-- but also clearly listening to their eldest brother, stood up before them in the Lair as if he was about to give a presentation.

“About the whole… turtle thing,”

Donnie immediately sighed, making a face, and Raph threw up his hands in protest.

“I ain’t even said anything yet!” He cried, exasperated, and Donnie shot him a dry look.

“Yes, and I already dislike it.”

“Aw, come on, Dee, give him a chance!” Mikey protested, picking his head up so he could offer Raph an encouraging little grin. He knew this wasn’t exactly, like, a favored topic of discussion in the household, but it wasn’t like they could just ignore it, either! At least not all the time.

“Okay, so, I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot lately, and don’t y’all kind of think that it might sort of be… safer?”

“No,” Donnie said.

“Donnie…!”

“He has a point!” Mikey protested, crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, we have shells when we’re all turtley. If Raph had been a turtle on our last ninja mission, his ribs wouldn’t have gotten all messed up!”

“Exactly!” Raph said, pointing, seeming very pleased that at least one of his brothers was offering some support. “Look, I know you guys don’t like it, and that’s… fine! I mean, I’m not askin’ ya to like it! I just think, maybe, it’s somethin’ we should consider for at least, like… ninja mission stuff?”

Leo wrinkled his nose, seeming unconvinced to say the least.

“I dunno,” he said. “I mean. Yeah, sure, I guess, arguably, they’re a bit more sturdy, but… we’re not really used to even walking in those bodies yet. Let alone fighting! I know adrenaline is a kickass drug and all, but doesn’t it kind of seem like more risk than it’s worth?”

“You still can’t walk?” Mikey questioned, giving Leo a curious look, his brows furrowed.

Leo paused, slowly turning his head to give Mikey a long stare, his expression strained.

“... Excuse me?”

Mikey frowned, tilting his head to the side. “I can help if you want! It’s not that hard once you get the hang of--”

“I’m sorry,” Donnie interrupted, his head snapping around. “Are you implying that you have been spending your free time willingly futzing around in a mutant turtle body just for the fun of it?”

Now it was Mikey’s turn to stare, his head bobbing around from brother to brother, trying to see if either of them were joking-- waiting for someone to say psyche.

Wait, were they for real?

“... None of you have checked yourself out in turtle form at all?” He gawked.

“No! Why would we?!” Leo cried, throwing up his hands.

“‘Cause! That’s, like, us!” Mikey argued, throwing his hands up in turn, imitating his brother. “You’re seriously telling me you’re not even a little bit curious!? You guys are all just ignoring it!? We find out that we have magick mutant animal forms, like, freakin’ animorphs, and you don’t even wanna bother seeing if we have any cool powers or turtle abilities or anything?!”

“Have you actually read the Animorph books? Because if you did I’m pretty sure--”

“That’s not the point!” Mikey interrupted Donnie with a whine. “When I’m a turtle, I can, like, go inside my shell! If some bad guy was trying to, like, stab me or something, I’d be totally screwed,” he argued, crossing his arms firmly over his chest with a pout. “But if I was a turtle, I could just pop into my shell and I’d be totally okay!”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing right now,” Leo muttered. “We find out that we’re secretly freakish mutant reptiles, and you think it’s a fun hobby--”

“I’m not saying that, Leo!” Mikey protested. “But what’s the point in just ignoring it? If you don’t check it out, you’re never gonna get used to it. Besides, Raph is right!”

“Thank you, Mikey,” Raph sighed. “You guys don’t have to do it all the time or anything! I just think… It might be a worthwhile option to explore. I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes kind of sweeping over them all, as if he were making sure they were all still here and uninjured and accounted for.

“Plus, it’s kind of cool once you get over the whole, like, world-shattering parts of it!” Mikey chirped, moving to grab at his bracelet. “Here, watch, lookit what I can do--”

Both twins immediately slapped hands over their eyes, loudly protesting in tandem.

“Don’t you dare--!”

“I am not looking and you cannot make me--”

“Hamato Michelangelo if you take off that fucking bracelet right now I will murder you--”

“I am OPTING OUT, thank you VERY MUCH, we are so not doing this today!!!” Mikey blinked in surprise, and then absolutely scowled, releasing his hold on the bracelet. Oh, so Donnie could go have a breakdown in the Hidden City in his turtle form, but he wasn’t allowed to show them his shell thing!? So unfair… 

“You guys are being babies!”

“Nope! Nope, not today! I’m out! Fuck this!” Leo responded, hopping up to his feet and making a hasty retreat towards the Lair stairs. “You play turtle all you want, I am not involved!”

“Agreed,” Donnie huffed, and he was right behind his twin.

And then there were two of them left in the Lair.

Mikey sulked, sinking back down onto the couch and pursing his lips. “Aw, come on…”

Raph watched the other two go, laughing kind of nervously before he hesitantly moved to join the other, sitting down beside him. “Sorry, big man,” he said, ruffling his hair gently. “You can still show Raph if you want?”

Mikey sighed. “Maybe later,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “I thought they’d at least be kind of okay with it by now! I mean, it’s been how long?”

“I think it’s just… a little harder for them than it is for you,” Raph said with a weak shrug, hesitating a bit, and Mikey frowned, turning his head slightly so he could catch Raph’s eyes.

“What about you?”

Raph laughed sort of nervously, looking to the side.

“Well. I mean. I don’t… like it. I mean. I ain’t you. But it’s… it’s… alright. I mean. I meant what I said! It might be good for us. Keep us safe ‘n all.”

Mikey raised a brow. “And…?”

Raph hesitated for a bit, and sighed. “I mean. Look, Mikey, it’s a little… scary. I’m a lot bigger than you guys! And… sharper!”

“Yeah, but you’re always bigger than us!” Mikey protested, leaning against his brother, burrowing up against him. 

“Yeah, I know,” Raph said. “And that was scary once, too. But it’s… It’s fine. I dealt with it,” he said, shrugging a little, frowning to himself. “So now I just gotta…” He broke off briefly, setting his expression for a moment. “Now I just gotta learn it again. That’s all.”

He sighed very softly. And Mikey frowned a little.

“I’m used to being big and scary. I’m used to people being afraid of me sometimes,” he said. “So. It’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” 

“Yeah, but…” Mikey began slowly, kind of shrugging a bit. “I mean. We’ve never been scared of you or anything. You know that, right? We don’t care if you’re bigger than us,” he pointed out. “We never have! And we don’t care if you’re spiky, either, I mean… all our turtle forms are weird.” 

Raph forced a small laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he said, sort of waving off his concerns. “That’s not… I mean. I dunno, Mikey, it’s just sorta complicated. I mean. There’s just kinda… there’s less things you can be when you’re big, you know?” He said slowly, resting his chin in his hand. “It’s… you know. It’s hard, sometimes. Being strong and careful at the same time. Even when people aren’t careful with you. And making sure you don’t hurt anyone and… all that.” His eyes looked a tiny bit far off for a moment, like he was remembering something. “And… you guys can kinda do whatever you want! You can be all… little or bouncy or feminine or cute or delicate or whatever the hell else, and you just… can’t really do that stuff when you’re big. Once you get big enough, you just kinda gotta… There’s just stuff you can’t do anymore.”

Mikey paused a moment.

This was… the first he was ever hearing of this.

Was this… really how Raph thought?

“Yeah, you can!” He protested, his brows twitching a bit, furrowing as he stared up at his brother. “Raph, of course you can be all that stuff! Why couldn’t you!?”

Raph scoffed, shooting the other this little half-hearted half-smile. “Well, I mean, I guess I technically can? It’s just not as simple as it is for you guys,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I mean, you guys can do half of that stuff without even trying! And no one would even bat an eye. But it’s just… It’s not really the same for me? It’s like…” he scoffed softly, seeming almost amused. “Raph can pick up the rest of ya, but none of you could pick up Raph! It’s a little different!”

Mikey pursed his lips, giving Raph a pointed scowl.

“Well, you’ve never let any of us try,” he argued. And Raph laughed.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’d hurt yourself!” He teased, and Mikey socked him in the arm without too much heat to it.

“You don’t know that! We’re way stronger than we look!” He insisted. “And all that other stuff! I mean-- you could totally do that stuff, Raph! Just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean you can’t be cute!!! What kind of--!? I mean!!! Raph!!!”

He jumped forward, grabbing onto his brother’s face so he could stretch and squish his cheeks angrily.

“You’re already cute all the time, idiot!!! You don’t have to be small to be cute!!! That’s stupid!!!”

Raphael scoffed, laughing loudly, trying to bat Mikey away, though Mikey was suddenly aware, in a way that he usually wasn’t, that he was taking care to temper his strength. He wasn’t just batting at Mikey the way Mikey would bat at him. Every movement he made was careful and deliberate and planned. He thought about every jab or swipe that he made at his siblings.

Mikey was almost ashamed that he had never thought about his before.

He was never gentle with Raph when he jumped on him or grabbed at him or climbed on his shoulders because it never felt like he had to be. Raph was over a foot taller than him. He probably had at least a hundred pounds on him. Mikey had always been the smallest, and while he certainly wasn’t weak by any means, Raph was a goddamn wall of muscle. An unstoppable force! He had never met anything that Raph couldn’t push and bend and sway if he tried hard enough. So every time they met an obstacle, they all just… looked at him and waited for him to take care of it.

He… Yeah.

He was big.

Mikey supposed he had always looked at his brother and came to that conclusion, and then never thought any further on the subject. He had always expected Raph to be big and strong and sturdy. He had never wondered if he wanted to be anything else. 

Why did he do that?...

Mikey let go of Raph, and he climbed back down off of him, sitting next to him on the couch instead of half on top of him. And he sighed deeply. 

“You’re not scary,” Mikey said after a second, blinking slowly as he slowly settled back down on the couch. “And you can do all that other stuff, if you want to. We would let you,” he pressed. And he frowned, and he kept quiet for a moment.

“... I’m sorry it feels harder,” he finally said, tilting his head to the side slightly. “And… we’re not always careful with you.”

Raph stared at him for just half a second, hesitating for only the slightest moment before laughing again and waving him off. “What are you talkin’ about? You don’t gotta apologize, none of ya’ did anything wrong! This is Raph’s thing. It ain’t your problem,” he insisted, but Mikey wasn’t so sure that that was exactly the case.

He would work on it. 

Because Mikey was suddenly so, so sure that this was something he wanted to fix. And something that he could do. 

This was still the something that he could give to them.

“Still,” Mikey finally said, shrugging a bit and taking a long breath before getting up to his feet. “Do you still wanna see me do the shell thing? It’s really cool!” He offered, wiggling his brows at his older brother, and he chuckled in reply, nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, big man, show me your thing,” he invited, and Mikey grinned.

---

“Raph!” Mikey chirped excitedly, spinning around on his heels so that his back was facing the older brother. “Here! Les’ play piggyback!”

“Okay!” Raph agreed easily, absolutely beaming at the invitation, wasting no time in scampering over to Mikey. Their trip to the zoo, which had so far been absolutely abound with all sorts of excitement, to Mikey’s absolute delight, had taken a short departure from the previous energy while their dad tried to calm a squabble between his other two brothers. This was a bit less to Mikey’s delight. He wasn’t really sure what they were carrying on about, ‘cause he hadn’t really be paying attention. Those two were always fighting about something. He thought maybe it was about hair? Whatever. The point was, just sitting here and listening to them whine was boring.

But playing piggybacks?! That was fun! They could make a game out of it or something--

“Jump on--”

Their dad paused from his current task in peacemaking, however, just long enough to grab Raph by the shoulder right as he was about to make good on his baby brother’s invitation and jump on top of Mikey’s back. Before it even began, the game came to a grinding halt.

“You’re too big for that, Red, you’ll hurt him,” Dad bit out quickly, sparing them the most momentary of glances. “Play a different game.”

And just like that, he was back to his previous duty, trying to talk the twins through their latest drama in between their protests and tears.

Mikey paused, blinking in surprise as he processed this. 

They couldn’t play piggyback? But…

“No fair…” He whimpered, his lower lip wobbling a little. He wanted to pretend he was a Jupiter Jim spaceship or something! And Raph could’ve been Jupiter Jim!

Raph hesitated visibly, glancing between their dad and Mikey, his brows furrowed. And after a minute, he sort of forced a smile, leaning over to grab Mikey and shake his arm a bit.

“That’s okay, Mikey! I don’t have to piggyback you,” he assured quickly. “You can just piggyback me, instead! Raph doesn’t mind. That way we can still play! Alright?”

And Mikey grinned.

---

Okay. Alright. You can do this. It’s not a big deal. You have this totally under control--

Donnie’s hand lingered over the bracelet on his wrist.

And then at the last second, he flinched away like he had just been bitten, a short, high-pitched whine escaping him as a full-body shiver ran up and down his body. Nope, nope, nope!!! He did not have it!!! It was a big deal, actually, ugh, no, no, no, just thinking about it felt gross. How the hell was he supposed to consider this when just the idea made his stomach flip!?

Donnie growled softly in annoyance, laying his head down on his desk with a solid thunk, glaring down at the polished surface as if it were personally responsible. 

God. It just felt so fucking alien.

Had they really spent the first five years of their lives like that? 

No matter how much evidence was piled up in front of him, Donnie still struggled to wrap his mind around such an idea. I mean, that was practically a third of his life! And he just forgot about it?! He had a near-photographic memory! How did something like that happen!?

Part of him wanted to not believe it at all. It would certainly be easier to be in denial.

But, much to his annoyance, far too many things just… made sense.

He had too many memories, some recently resurfaced and some long-ago explained away, to simply dismiss the idea. He felt pretty stupid thinking about it now, quite frankly. Yeah, of course normal kids don’t have memories of ‘playing pretend’ in sci-fi movie-magic high-def like that!!! Obviously!!! None of his other memories were like that, were they!? When they would pretend to be Jupiter Jim or Lou Jitsu or whatever when they were older, it was exactly that, wasn’t it? Just them-- just kids playing make-believe games.

And yet he had just accepted the easiest thing. The most logical, most reasonable thing was just to believe that memories were weird and leave it at that, and that their early childhood was probably kind of fucked up, but human the entire time, and go from there.

Because… of course it was. Obviously, it was. Anything else would have been insane!

It was still insane. Even if it was, apparently, the truth of the matter.

It had been so much easier to blame all the freaky things they did as kids on something else. He and Raph bit people like feral pomeranians as kids simply because they hadn’t had the chance to socialize with other children before, of course. Not because they were carnivorous reptiles, prone to bouts of hunting instincts taking over. And he and his siblings got so sleepy in the cold and adored their heated blankets simply because poor circulation ran in the family. Not because they were literally made of cold-blooded creatures! That would be crazy. And Leo and he’s penchant for communicating entirely in animalistic clicks and chirps throughout early childhood-- a habit that still lingered even now? It was a twin thing, obviously, and nothing else. Because that would be crazy!

Not them literally talking to each other in fucking turtle or anything!

‘Cause how the hell would that work?

How the hell else would Leo fucking squeaking at you make sense, dum-dum? He thought bitterly to himself. It had been years and years now since they had properly employed their ‘twin language,’ but Donnie was pretty sure that it had never been a proper language at all. It wasn’t like they had any words in it, or they ever discussed what certain noises meant beforehand, at least not that he could recall…

But they could still always understand what the other was saying regardless, couldn’t they?

Donnie groaned softly, lifting his head back up just so that he could rub at his temples. Christ, thinking about all of this was just giving him a migraine. He quietly asked the universe what he had ever done to it for them to make his life a fucking joke. What was this, a parody of some Marvel comic or something!?

He hated thinking about it.

But…

He reached for his wrist again.

He touched the little crystal, his fingertips just barely brushing the surface.

He quite nearly gagged, another horrid shudder running up his spine as he spiraled back into a retreat. Ugh, god, he couldn’t just not think about it, either! Every hair on his body was standing on end, and he grit his teeth, forcing himself to start reciting pi in his head instead. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. 

He ran his fingers across the seams of the compression sleeves on his arms, reminding himself that they were there before he quickly turned back to his computer, snapping open several files and syncing up his headphones with the bluetooth.

He smacked the play button, and whatever random EDM playlist he had queued up on Spotify immediately began blaring through his ears, drowning out everything else. 

Much better.

He sighed deeply, narrowing his eyes slightly as his gaze roamed over the screen. It was fine. He was fine! All he needed was a distraction for a little bit.

He had already made a decent amount of headway in trying to recreate Baron Draxum’s research, translating and decoding everything he could remember from the notes he had reviewed and documented in his lab. It was patchworked at best, but it was the only solid information he really had on the mutation project…

That, and himself.

Donnie set his jaw, scrolling his way through the data sheets he had compiled.

He had made some decent headway. But he could always make some more.

---

Quite frankly, Leo had felt, like… great recently? Which was pretty insane, given the general state of things, and also how fucking awful he had felt not the long ago. And, like, sure, things were still kind of rough and he wasn’t exactly tickled about the whole situation, but somehow, at the same time, everything was just…

So good.

He had really only been on T for a few weeks, so he was pretty much sure that nothing had actually changed yet and it was in his head, but he had literally never felt so fucking good about himself before. His brothers had taken the time to inform him of how fucking insufferable he and his ego had become, and Leo didn’t even care, because damn right he looked good and obviously everyone should know about it, too! He had started taking about eight million selfies every day because he wanted to document the process, Dee, it’s science, I’m coming for your brand, shouldn’t you be supportive of this kinda thing? 

But it was just, like… even if nothing had changed yet, at least not noticeably, it was… It was going to. It was an active work in progress and he was just so goddamn thrilled about it. And like, yes, okay, things were weird and kind of scary right now and he was spending a lot of time doing ninja training and trying to stop the actual literal end of the world, or whatever, and that was sort of a lot of pressure? But here was the thing-- and he would never admit it out loud--

But he sort of didn’t mind any of it.

Because yeah, all the ‘ninja training’ stuff was difficult and boring sometimes, but he got to do it with his family. 

And, like, yeah, some of the stakes here? Were a lot, and it was terrifying if he thought about it too hard.

But him and his siblings and his dad? They were all doing it together. 

If word that he was enjoying hanging out with his family ever got out, obviously his rep would be ruined, so he had to take it to his grave. But he was. He was, like… happy. Happier than he had been in a while, in between everything else, in between the worry about his dad and the concern for his siblings, sure, but he was also, like… 

Weirdly happy.

Was that bad?

Oddly enough, he was really, stupidly happy right now, and maybe he just didn’t…

Didn’t want to give that up…?

Leo frowned a bit, biting the insides of his cheeks as he spun his bracelet idly around on his wrist, his nose wrinkled up a bit. 

It was silly, really. It wasn’t as simple as “if you take it off, you’ll be miserable again.” Things were obviously different than they had been before, when they first got home, in a lot of ways! There was no formula, no clear cut-and-dry cause-and-effect, he didn’t know that that would happen, it was just… 

Well, what if he was?

What if he tried to do ‘turtle stuff,’ or whatever the fuck Raph had said exactly, and then everything was horrible again? What if everything just went back to the way it was? 

Right now, Leo was pretty sure that he, like, liked himself. Like, actually for real! Almost all of him, even! He could look at himself in the mirror again, he could shower without crying, he could post selfies on his instagram and stand to be filmed and looked at and wear make-up and nail polish without having a crisis-- all things that he loved to do! All things that he had missed so, so deeply when he had hated himself too much to enjoy any of it.

He hadn’t liked hating himself. And he didn’t wanna do it again.

But what if he took it off, and then he did?

What if he took it off, and then there was no solution this time? He couldn’t start T a second time. So what if he just got… stuck…? 

Leo groaned loudly, tilting his head back and burying his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes.

This is so stupid! Raph is right and you know it! And none of this shit even makes any sense! Why would you go back!? It wasn’t the turtle thing, it was-- it was everything, it’s not that simple, and even if it was, you still need to get over it…!

“Did something happen?”

Leo jerked in surprise at the sound of his father’s voice-- he hadn’t even heard him passing through the hallway, and yet now here he was leaning against the doorframe. Ahhh, stupid ninja father…!

Rapidly righting himself, Leo straightened his back and cleared his throat, attempting to wave his father off. “Oh, they just kicked Dean off of the Bachelorette, which is obviously messed up because he’s clearly the hottest one there? I mean, I know it’s all, like, the producers, or whatever, but come on--”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Dad said, nodding thoughtfully as he slowly made his way into the other’s room, leaving him the time to chase him away if he wanted to. (But Leo himself was surprised to find that he didn’t.) “And…?”

Dammit, usually Dad always fell for Bachelorette based lies. Leo hesitated a second, staring up at the ceiling and tugging at one of his own curls-- straightening it out and then letting it go, feeling it bounce up against his cheekbones.

(He loved his hair. He loved loving his hair. He had come so close to cutting it off, and if he had, he would have been fucking devastated now. What if he ended up hating it again? What if he did cut it off…? He didn’t want to cut off his hair!... He loved his hair…!)

“Do you think we’d be, like… better fighters as… turtles, or whatever?”

His dad hummed thoughtfully, sitting down at the edge of his bed and seeming to consider this for a moment. “Well. I don’t know about that. But I suppose there could be advantages,” he finally said. “Though there could be drawbacks, as well. Why do you ask?”

He sighed deeply.

“Well. Raph thinks-- I mean. Raph said that he thought maybe it’d be, like… safer, or whatever. And we’d get beat up less if we had, you know, shells and body armor and stuff? And…! I mean, he’s right, we probably would be, but I don’t… we’re not used to it, and, and it’s different, and it’s, you know, it’s not stealth, obviously, so I’m not--” 

He frowned deeply, wrinkling up his nose.

“I still don’t… like it. I guess is the problem, actually,” he admitted. 

Dad sighed thoughtfully.

“Well,” he finally said. “That is certainly understandable. I don’t like what I look like without the bracelet, either,” he admitted, looking slightly to the side, his eyes dancing away for just a moment before he managed to herd them back. “I do admit that being safer and less prone to injury does sound very nice to me…! But that is just me being selfish. And your father,” he laughed. “... I do not want any of you to get hurt. And I… I would like you to be safe. But no one will force you to be in any body that makes you unhappy, Blue. That’s not safe, either, and I suppose I can’t…” He sighed a bit, sounding almost frustrated. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to prioritize one over the other.”

Leo frowned a little, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“But you do think we’d be safer, don’t you?” He pressed.

Dad kind of floundered for a second. “I don’t want to tell you what--”

“Yeah, yeah, our bodies, our choice, you love us, other quotes from parenting books, blah blah blah. I get it, Dad,” Leo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Like, thanks, or whatever. But I want your actual, honest opinion, okay? Do you think we’d be safer if we were turtles when we fought and went on missions and stuff?”

It took his dad a little bit to respond, and Leo did his absolute best to his patient, only fidgeting a tiny bit.

“It is… not simple. I think there are situations where you’d be better served as humans, but I… I do think there are situations where you might be better off as turtles, too,” he finally admitted, and then gave a short, somewhat strained laugh. “Thank goodness you were all turtles when you were little. I think you may have all ended up with brain damage otherwise with how often you threw each other around…! I was always shocked by how resilient you were, even when you were tiny, but I was certainly grateful for it, as well!...”

Leo kind of screwed up his face for a moment, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, then how come you don’t fight without your bracelet? We don’t want you to get hurt either, you know.”

Dad seemed almost surprised for a moment, staring at Leo for a second, and then, to his quiet surprise, he laughed.

Leo scowled, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for his Dad to stop snickering.

“Okay, let me in on the joke already, Pops--”

“Blue,” he finally said, shaking his head a tiny bit. “I am not a turtle. You know that, don’t you…?”

Now it was Leo’s turn to stare at the other for a moment.

“You’re not!?”

“No!” Dad laughed. “I-- I’m sorry. I should not…! I suppose you would have no way of knowing, it just…!”

“Why the fuck aren’t you a turtle if we’re turtles!?” Leo cried. “Why wouldn’t I think you’re a turtle!? The rest of us are turtles!!! Obviously, you should also be a turtle!!! If you’re gonna do a bit, then commit to it!!!”

Dad just laughed, wiping a few tears from his face.

“If you’re not a turtle, then what the hell are you?!” Leo cried. And it took a second, but Dad’s laughter died back down.

And then the two of them were just sitting in silence. Leo looked at his dad. And his dad looking at his own feet.

Leo winced, immediately backpedaling.

“Sorry. Forget I said that. You don’t have to--”

“I’m a rat,” Dad said, before he could even finish his sentence. “I was mutated with a rat.”

Leo stayed quiet for a second, slowly processing this.

He hadn’t actually expected his dad to… answer him.

A rat. Their dad was… part-rat.

For a second, he just sat with this new information, turning it around in his mind a few times and considering it. And to his quiet surprise, all of a sudden, when he reached back through his memories, he could feel soft fur on his skin. And he could recall whiskers tickling his face; a sensation long forgotten, but suddenly paired quite definitively with the feeling of being wrapped up in his dad’s arms, back when he was still tiny, or having a good-night kiss pressed onto his forehead at bedtime as a toddler.

A rat. 

That… made sense, actually, now that he knew it.

That felt right.

But still, the next thing he said was, “Why the fuck are we turtles and you’re a rat?”  

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. “I could not tell you, my son.”

“Who the fuck was in charge of this!? Turtles and a rat? Seriously?! Wait, is this why you have eight million snacks hoarded away in your room!? And can always tell if we snuck snacks or didn’t brush our teeth and stuff!?”

“Well, I don’t think the rat thing was really planned--”

“Good! Because, uh, lowkey, I’m just saying? Kind of fucking racist!” Leo exclaimed, throwing up his arms, and Dad nearly choked this time on the absolute snort of laughter that erupted from him, bowing his head to cover his face with his hands, his shoulders absolutely trembling with barely contained hysterics.

“You know what, Blue?” He finally got himself together enough that he could bite out a reply through wheezy breaths. “You are absolutely right.”

--- 

“Daddy,”

Yoshi sighed softly at the sound of the quivering, sobbing cry of his youngest son, reluctantly pausing in his current task of attempting to clean up the kitchen area and turning to instead meet the child, running to him on toddling little legs and wiping the tears from his face.

“What’s the matter, my son?” He questioned, kneeling down to meet him. Mikey came crashing into him at full force, throwing himself into his chest, and Yoshi grunted softly at the impact, just barely managing to not lose his balance and remain upright.

“It’s n-not f-faiiirrrrrr…” Mikey wept miserably, grabbing fistfuls of his fur and curling up in his arms, hiccuping pitifully as he looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“What’s not fair? What happened?” He questioned, his brows furrowed slightly with concern at the absolute distress his child was in.

“I--” He broke off for a second to sob, snuffling loudly and huffing to try to catch his breath, needing a moment before he was able to continue. “I w-want a tail, too…!”

Yoshi blinked slowly.

“Orange, you have a tail.”

“No, I don’t!” Mikey shrieked in distress. 

“Yes, you do! You have a little tail right on your butt under your shell right here! I can see it!”

“That doesn’t count!” Mikey wailed, and Yoshi sighed softly.

“What do you mean it doesn’t count? It’s a tail!”

“But it’s little!” Mikey sobbed. “I w-want a long tail, like Donnie and Raph and you! It’s no fair!!! I can’t even see mine!”

Oh, for god’s sake…

“Orange, I cannot give you a different tail.”

“But it’s no fair!” Mikey shrieked. “I want a tail like your tail!!! It’s no fair!!! How’s come you get’ta have a long tail!?”

“Michalangelo, I have a rat tail because I am a rat.” He couldn’t believe he was explaining this. “And you have a turtle tail because you’re a turtle.”

“B-but Donnie and Raph are turtles and they have long tails!”

“Well, they are different types of turtles,” Yoshi said with a shrug. Mikey sobbed.

“B-but-- But I want one too!”

Yoshi resisted another sigh. 

“I know. I am very sorry, Mikey. I would give you my tail if I could,” he tried to soothe, and goodness, would he. He knew that his children took great joy in grabbing onto it and hanging on while he dragged them around, (one of Yoshi’s least favorite games, quite frankly,) but he despised the thing. It was annoying to lug around, always pulling at his lower back, and just a constant reminder of every way that he was wrong now. He didn’t think he would ever be able to quite adapt to having an additional limb.

There were many things he had grown used to by now, though he still didn’t like them. He had learned to tolerate the absolute power that scent ruled over his life now. He had reluctantly grown to accept the blurriness of his vision. He had adapted to the odd teeth in his mouth and how they grew, doing his best not to allow them to get out of hand and became painful (though he was not always the best at this,) and had grown to accept the whiskers on his face and how they twinged when they brushed something, the fur covering his body, the claws on his hands and feet and how his legs bent in a different way now.

But the tail? The tail he still couldn’t quite accept. It was just too different. Maybe with some more time, he would, but… He wasn’t exactly convinced.

Mikey continued to sob, and Yoshi huffed a bit, slowly easing himself back to his feet, keeping the toddler tucked up against his chest while he cried. He got the impression that it might take a bit before he was ready to accept this fact of his life and calm down again…

So he supposed he would just have to figure out how to finish cleaning the kitchen and carry a sobbing toddler at the same time. 

---

Raph was the biggest brother. The brother who was the biggest. It was his job to keep an eye on all his little siblings and make sure everyone was okay and following the rules, and he was pretty good at it, too, he thought. In addition to this, he was captain of the school’s football team-- he had been shocked when the votes were tallied up in his favor, because he was only a junior, after all, not a senior like the captain usually was, and were they sure!? But evidently, they were, and the honor had gone to him-- and Raph thought that he actually did a pretty okay job at that, too. It had been a really good season last year. They went to states and everything!

Not only was he captain of the football team, but he currently held the title of captain of the swim team, as well, and the basketball team, and the wrestling team. And quite frankly, he wasn’t sure why in the world he kept ending up in the captain’s chair? He had never really thought of himself as a leader before, and even now, he was hesitant to wear such a title…

But if he had learned one thing about leading people so far, it was that you had to lead by example.

And it wasn’t fair for him to ask Donnie or Leo to tolerate being in weird, alien mutant forms if he wasn’t willing to stomach it too.

Which he could do! He knew he could. He just…

Needed some practice. That was all.

He had been down here for about twenty minutes now, just lazing about in the Lair and trying to get used to being like this. He had spent quite a bit of time pacing and wandering around before he had finally ended up here, plopped down in the middle of the room on his stomach, his arms curled up under his head as he took quiet note of his tail and how it felt sliding back and forth behind him-- just trying to memorize the weight and the movement of it, listening to the soft noise of scales on concrete.

Shhhh shhhh.

He had just been starting to think, yeah, okay, this isn’t actually so bad when he heard telltale footsteps coming from the stairs.

And when Donnie looked over from the stairwell and saw him, he froze. And Raph froze, too. He certainly hadn’t expected Donnie to tear himself away from his projects to come down here. He had opted to take advantage of the open space in the Lair rather than the privacy of his own bedroom, fearing that he might knock stuff over or ruin them in his turtle form, but now he was suddenly kind of questioning that decision.

And for a long, pregnant moment, it was just quiet between them. And he stared at Donnie. And Donnie stared at him. And before Raph could figure out what the hell he was supposed to say, Donnie began moving again, finishing his descent down the stairs into the basement.

“I need a break from the Lab,” he muttered, sort of absently, almost nonchalant, kind of gesturing to the laptop that he had under his arm. “Is it cool if I hang out in here for a while?”

It took Raph a second to actually process what Donnie was saying and formulate a response. But then eventually, he nodded. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay, cool,” Donnie said, and after a moment of kind of looking around, seeming to consider things, he went over to the couch. Grabbing one of the many spare blankets that lived there, he carefully spread it out over top of Raph-- arranging it just enough so that he could kind of climb half on top of his brother, both of them curled up beneath the soft fabric, any sharp edges or points from Raphael’s shell covered well enough that Donnie could snuggle up against him. 

It was rare that Donnie was interested in anything even vaguely resembling cuddles. He hardly even liked people touching him. Certainly, he wouldn’t allow strangers to touch him. Or anyone that he didn’t completely trust. A majority of the time, it was just his family that could expect the possibility of any kind of physical closeness-- and only when he felt safe enough to allow for such things.

A comfortable, warm weight pressed up against Raphael’s back, soothing and pleasant. He could feel the familiar sensation even through his shell. Raph kept still for his little brother as he felt him get comfortable against him, snuggled up close and settling in to relax. 

“Is this okay?” Donnie asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Raph immediately responded. “This is okay.”

“Cool,” Donnie said.

Raph’s tail kept on waving from side to side behind him, though at a slightly quicker tempo now as he settled, allowing his eyes to slide shut.

Shhhshhhshhhshhhshhshhh.

---

Donnie stayed like that for about two hours, with Raph dozing in and out for much of it, before he finally took his leave. He had accomplished just about all he could from his laptop out here, and though he had, in fact, needed a break from the Lab, he didn’t wanna spend that much time away from it. 

His research called. 

He was pretty sure Raph was still asleep, so it was easy enough to very slowly, very quietly creep his way off of him, rearranging the blanket to ensure he was still covered up properly before making his way back up the Lair stairs. And while he knew that Leo had gotten home, (he had popped down at some point to grab something, and given him and their oldest brother a very odd look that Donnie couldn’t quite interpret,) he was somewhat surprised to find him camped out in the kitchen, bent over the island and reading something on his phone. His head popped up as soon as Donnie emerged from the basement-- and if he had been waiting for them.

“Finally finished with your cuddle sesh?” He teased in an almost sing-song tone, tilting his head to the side. Donnie huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Die,” he muttered in response, carefully closing the basement door behind him and beginning to make his way to the stairs. Leo was chasing him, however, much to his chagrin.

“Oh, come on! You barely ever want anyone to breathe in your direction. It’s an event whenever you’re in the mood to actually, like, cozy up to someone,” he pressed, pocketing his phone as he trailed after Donnie, hopping up the stairs right after him.

“Why would I want anyone to breathe in my direction?” Donnie scoffed, shooting the other a glare. “That sounds disgusting. And I’m allowed to have the occasional special exception and be in the mood, thank you very much,” he growled, hunching his shoulders slightly. “Besides, it was…”

He pursed his lips slightly.

“Mutually beneficial.” 

“Uh-huh…” Leo said slowly, quirking a brow slightly, looking Donnie up and down for a moment like he was trying to figure that out, and then seemingly deciding that it wasn’t the priority right now. “But so, like… it is a special occasion, then?”

Donnie frowned a bit, giving the other a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. Like,” Leo shrugged a bit, sort of crossing his arms over his chest. “Like. Yeah. You’re allowed to not wanna be touched and then have special exceptions when you do wanna be touched and, like, you’re down with cuddles, and all that, so, I mean…” He sort of trailed off for a second, his eyes wandering away, before they snapped back over once again. “But like. This is one of those times? When you, like… are down?”

Donnie blinked slowly.

“Leo, what the hell are you--”

“Can I hug you?” Leo bit out, cutting him off before he could get too far, and Donnie sighed deeply. Ah. That’s what this was, then. Jesus, why couldn’t he just open with that?

“Yeah, Leo, you can hug--”

He didn’t even get through the words before his brother was crashing into him all at once, nearly costing him his footing with how he jumped for him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him so tightly that Donnie was pretty sure his compression sleeves were jealous. They had to kind of grab the wall to catch their balance again, stumbling slightly. 

“Jesus, Nardo, could you--!?”

“You scared me so fucking bad,” Leo hissed out, his voice pinched tight and muffled for how he had buried his face in Donnie’s shoulder, absolutely clinging to him. 

Donnie blinked in surprise, taking a moment to process this, wondering if he had misheard the other. “What…?”

“Never, ever disappear like that ever again,” Leo continued, tightening his grip on him slightly, which Donnie hadn’t even thought was possible. “I was so fucking scared, you bitch. I thought something really bad might’ve-- and it was my fault, too. I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m really sorry I was such a dick then. I didn’t mean it. I was just upset and I know that we already did this but I couldn’t fucking touch you then and-- I didn’t--”

Oh.

So that’s what this was about.

“Leo, it’s okay--”

“Shut up,” Leo mumbled, his voice trembling a bit, and Donnie didn’t really have a good refute for that. So he looped his arms around Leo instead and hung onto him back. He didn’t usually do that. Hugs from his family members were overall acceptable, but he didn’t always enjoy hugging back, at least not for long, but… 

You know. Special exceptions and all that. In that same vein, he kind of wrinkled up his nose at the wetness against his neck, but he could tolerate it.

It was fine. He could tolerate it for this.

Even though they were still halfway up the stairs, the two of them eventually, slowly sank down until they were both sort of awkwardly bundled up together on the stairs, half on top of each other, half flopped down the slope. Donnie kind of had to stick out a leg so he could brace his foot against the wall and keep them from sliding, but that was okay. He didn’t really wanna try to move the two of them anywhere, even if this would be easier if they were literally anywhere else in the house.

“I’m really glad we’re twins again,” Leo sobbed, and Donnie nodded a tiny bit.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I-- I really w-want us to stay twins.”

“We’re going to, Nardo. Calm down.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Leo,” Donnie said, and actually? It kind of felt really good to get to say this next part out loud. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Are you?” 

Leo sobbed weakly in response, shaking his head a tiny bit. 

“Okay. Good. Then we’re gonna be okay,” Donnie mumbled, squeezing him slightly. Wait, was he actually tearing up a tiny bit…? God dammit. Leo knew he hated crying, this asshole…

“I’m sorry I was a bitch before.”

“Yeah. You were kind of a bitch,” Donnie agreed, laying his head down, allowing himself to rest his cheek against his twin brother’s curls. “But there were, admittedly… Extenuating circumstances. And I… suppose I am also sorry. For running away. And scaring you,” he muttered, sighing a little. “... I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Not currently planning on it,” Donnie mumbled, pressing himself closer to the other. 

“I love you.”

“Yeah, okay. I love you too.”

“... I like it when we’re twins,” Leo hummed. “‘Cause then we’re not fucking basic bitches. We’re twins.”

“Yes, we are, of course, obviously a cut above the average citizen,” Donnie agreed easily, trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

“Yeah,” Leo sniffled, hiccuping a bit, and then finally, slowly, his iron grip began to loosen a bit. And after a bit longer, the two untangled themselves slightly. Leo kind of scrubbed at his face with the sleeves of his hoodie, flushed bright red and still slightly teary-eyed.

“Hey,” Donnie finally said, after watching him for a moment, sort of raising a brow. “Are you… like… good…? Or…?”

Leo snorted softly, a watery little chuckle escaping him.

“I-- I’m actually, like… really good, lately? So… Yeah?” He laughed weakly, brushing some of his hair from his face. “I actually think I’m, like… Really good right now, which is, like, stupid, and weird, and probably doesn’t make sense? But… yeah.”

Donnie gave the other a look.

“This is good for you?”

“... Yeah?” Leo laughed. “I just. Fuck,” he sighed deeply, swiping away a few more tears. “I just. I just really wanted to hug you and shit. Like. Before? Uhm. But I knew you didn’t want to, and touching and shit has been weird for you lately, so… You know,” he kind of shrugged weakly. “... I just… waited.”

Donnie blinked slowly. And Leo scowled, rolling his eyes.

“Do not tell me I need a therapist right now, or I swear to god, I will unplug everything in your room while you sleep--”

Donnie raised his hands to sign.

‘You should really--’

“DO NOT SIGN IT AT ME EITHER, JESUS CHRIST--”

---

The cool mist that accompanied his ancestors anytime they manifested themselves into the physical world tickled at the curves of Michelangelo’s cheeks, soothing the sting of the hot tears sliding down his face. He hiccuped softly, watching as the Hamato Spirits twisted into the world before him; one by one curling from the open scroll like smoke until he was surrounded by them.

“Good afternoon, young Hamato,” Ghost-Sensei spoke, and somehow, his voice seemed gentler than it usually was. Mikey choked on another sob at this alone, drawing his knees up his chest and bowing his head down. “What troubles you?”

Mikey sniffled softly, wiping at his face a few times and drawing in a deep, shaking breath.

“I-- I think I fucked up really bad,” he croaked, and he hated how his voice shook. He took several more long, purposeful breaths, but it did little to soothe the tremble in him. He hated how little say he had over his own body. Over his own thoughts and feelings.

He was trying so hard. Why wasn’t this working?

“Our purpose is to listen and offer guidance, Michelangelo,” Ghost-Sensei reminded.

“I--” Mikey hesitated for just a moment, staring down at his own feet, tightening his grip on himself slightly. “I. I was-- I thought I-- I was g-getting better, but I--”

He hiccuped miserably.

“I got too excited and I-- I burned Sarah,” he whispered. “We were-- we were w-working on a project together, at school, earlier, and I, I was holding onto one of the papers we were sk-sketching on, and I-- I didn’t mean to! It just-- it just happened! I wasn’t trying to--”

“Does she know that the fire started because of you?”

Mikey sobbed, shaking his head a tiny bit. “N-no, I don’t th-think so--”

“Then it will be okay,” they said.

Mikey swallowed hard, his brows furrowing as he glanced up to them. 

“But I-- I hurt her--”

“It was a mistake,” Ghost-Sensei said. “Sometimes, mistakes may happen, and people may get hurt. It is very unfortunate. But it happens in life. And if you train,” they added, their voice pressing ever-so-slightly. “Then we can ensure that it does not happen again.”

Mikey swallowed hard.

He kept quiet for a second.

And then he nodded.

“This is why we train,” Ghost-Sensei explained gently. “There is great power in the Hamato bloodline. But that is not something that can be taken lightly. There is a reason for each and every one of the Hamato Clan traditions, Michelangelo. Even the ones that we may not always enjoy,” they sighed. “There is a good reason. The mystical energy you wield is very special. But if you cannot learn to control it,” they warned. “Then you are a danger. Not just to yourself. But to the people around you as well. Do you understand?”

Mikey took a few more long, shaking breaths. And he nodded again.

“Good,” Sensei said. “... It will be alright. We are your family, Michelangelo. We can help you. And none of this is your fault. You should have been taught all of this a long time ago. You have a great destiny,” they said, their tone almost fond. “... It’s a shame you have not been set up for success. But we can still change those things. And we can teach you everything you need to know.”

Wiping away the tears from his eyes, Mikey sniffled softly. 

“Okay,” he whispered. 

“But this needs to be your focus, Michelangelo,” Sensei continued. “Not anything else. This is not something that can share your mind with other things. There are many people depending on you now. You are the last descendant of the Hamato bloodline.”

Mikey faltered, frowning as his shoulders hunched slightly.

“No, but-- my brothers are--”

“They are not like you,” Sensei pressed. “They don’t understand the weight of this power like you do yet. And they don’t feel the world’s energy like you can, do they? You are the one who wears the mark of our clan in your spirit. And you are the one who must protect the world. The potential you have…! You can already do so many things that they would struggle to bear,” The spirit drew back slightly, his eyes sweeping over him a few times.

“But it’s different for you.”

Mikey stiffened as he felt a shiver curling up his spine under their eyes.

“The Hamato Clan will always be here to guide and support you. And you will always have your family to lean on,” they said. “But you have been given a great gift, Michelangelo.”

They dipped their head slightly, lowering themselves just enough so that they could catch Michelangelo’s eyes with their own. It seemed to cut right through him. There was ice in it. But the cold didn’t hurt to touch, somehow.

“To be a Hamato is a great sacrifice,” they whispered. “It is a difficult destiny to bear. We were not put on this earth for ourselves, or to live an easy life.”

Mikey took a breath in.

“But you have the chance to spare them from so much, Hamato Michelangelo. This is a beautiful gift you can give to them.”

And again, they said,

“Do you understand?”

And Mikey let the breath back out.

And he nodded.

[ next ]

#sorrywhatnowau #sorrywhatnowau fic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt au #rottmnt human au #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rise raph #rise mikey #rise michelangelo #rottmnt michelangelo #writing #fanfic #fidgetwing

[genderkoolaid]

It's honestly really validating to read your thoughts on butch identity. I kept myself from fully accepting I might be a gay trans man for a long time because being a butch woman was so integral to my identity (I wept after finishing Stone Butch Blues. It was like being seen for the first time) and I hated that it felt like there was no way I could be both. So I was sort of performing trans man comphet and trying to convince myself I liked women just so I wouldn't lose that word. There's so much gender nuance to being butch that I feel like gets lost when we only focus on the sexuality aspect of it.

"There's so much gender nuance to being butch that I feel like gets lost when we only focus on the sexuality aspect of it." Yes!!!!!!

I came out very young (elementary school) as a lesbian, and cut my long hair to a pixie in the same year. And then shortly after began realizing was I was trans as well. I spent essentially my entire life being visibly queer and visibly queer-masculine a lot of the time. And this affected so much, because I latched onto "butch" extremely young and that became my model for my gender. I never shaved largely because, due to reading about butches, I felt that it was part of my path, even though I also knew it distanced me from others. My sense of masculinity and masculine fashion has always been deeply butch, regardless of my gender. Its such a deep and integral part of me and has been my whole life. I truly feel that I can't not be butch. I don't relate to a lot of "female socialization" both due to being autistic and being visibly queer; I always knew that, while being categorized as "girl," I was also never going to be a "real girl," and everyone knew that. Becoming a butch adult felt more natural than puberty.

Which is why its so annoying that people center butchness on sexuality, and specifically romantic-sexual attraction to femmes!!!! Because while I have, in fact, dated femmes (arguably I dated too many cis femme women who I felt I had to walk on ice around to avoid scaring them with my butch gender), like I said, my butchness is a natural part of me. Being queer is a part of being butch, but the way we talk about butchness makes me feel like people can only view it existing in relation to romance (and femmes). And obviously because of radfeminism, trans men & mascs' unique relationships with butchness have been largely ignored in any way besides "I used to be butch, but now I'm a Normal Straight Man!" & also the general erasure of transmasculinity in lesbian history. Lesbian spaces have always been a haven for trans people, because for a long time in the West, your options were generally "move to a new town and go completely stealth for as long as possible" or "find your local lesbians and be a dyke within a community." There's a reason "butch" has always held so much gender nuance. Radclyffe Hall, who wrote the famous lesbian book The Well of Loneliness, has been argued to have been transmasculine- but the idea that butches may truly call into question the gender binary causes too much anxiety, so we have to constantly re-affirm that butches are above all else women. I'm a firm believer that butch4butch relationships have long been a way for gay trans men to indulge their desire for men within the context of lesbian identity (because all the trans guys are fucking each other and always have been).

Anyways. yeah. let butches exist beyond our sexuality. Understand that "butch" carries so much color and cannot be reduced down to a simple binary concept.

(Also anon, if you haven't, you should read this article about transmasculine comphet wrt gayness).

#please read The Transgender Craze Seducing Our [Sons] btw its so good #m. #ask box

[hairstevington]

Do I wanna know?

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Somewhere in the multiverse, there is a world where everyone has a choice - If you had the option of reading a list of everyone who's ever been in love with you, would you do it?

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Modern day AU sort of?? It's not based in realism, just go with it. Best friends to lovers, Robin & Steve & Eddie all live together because I said so, mutual pining, fluff, confession of feelings, lots of denial but they figure it out eventually

A/N: This idea came to me during my stats class, and then it became very difficult to continue focusing on my stats class. (I wrote it as soon as we were dismissed lol). Enjoy this cute little Steddie one shot! Ao3 link here :)

--------------------

“Dude, did you see what they just announced?” Steve asked as he played video games with Eddie.

“Yeah, it’s some wild shit,” Eddie replied. “How is it even possible?”

“I think it’s fake,” Robin called from the kitchen as she made them all pizza rolls. 

“Not fake,” Steve insisted. “I was reading about it on the internet and a bunch of people are saying it’s legit.”

“Well, if you read it on the internet, it must be true,” Robin remarked sarcastically. 

“Whatever,” Steve said. “I’m gonna get mine and find out.”

The deal was that, somehow, everyone had the option of getting a list of statistics about their lives. It was advertised with a variety of categories to look through - some of them could have been retrieved through bank statements and background checks, like the number of countries visited, money spent, etc. Other categories (let’s be real, the most intriguing categories), were far more mysterious.

Number of near-death experiences. Every book you’ve read, with a total word count. And, the most exciting of the bunch - How many people have been in love with you, and who.

“Don’t waste your money or your time,” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s bullshit. Probably just another way for the government to squeeze more money out of us.”

“Come on, it’s not some conspiracy, Eds,” Steve replied. “I’m just curious, that's all.”

“Oh, I bet,” Robin chimed in. “Just be honest and admit you want to know about the love thing. You and your ego, Dingus.” Steve smiled. He couldn’t argue with her.

“As if you’re not also dying to read yours,” he countered. 

“I’m pretty sure mine would just hurt my feelings,” Robin said with a sigh. “Robin Buckley - loved by her platonic soulmate Steve Harrington and Creepy Carl from band camp.” Eddie snickered.

“Carl wasn’t that creepy,” he said. 

“You’re only saying that because you were also kind of creepy in high school,” she replied. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Eddie responded with a shrug. “But I think I speak for all former creeps when I say we were just socially stunted and awkward. Most of us grew up to be half-decent people.”

“Way to humble brag,” Steve teased. 

“I’m bragging by saying I’m half-decent?” Eddie replied. Steve laughed and nodded. Meanwhile, Robin quickly scrolled through her phone until she stumbled across what she was looking for with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Creepy Carl’s most recent post is about how the patriarchy is a myth.” Steve laughed again and pushed Eddie playfully. Eddie flopped over on the couch and groaned.

“Dammit, Carl, I was rooting for you!” he joked. 

“We were all rooting for you, how dare you!” the three of them shouted in unison. 

That was, of course, a reference to America’s Next Top Model, which Robin showed the boys clips of one night during a rant about the toxicity and absolute batshit nature of early 2000s reality TV. That quote, for whatever reason, stuck. They had a lot of inside jokes like that.

This is how life had been for the three of them the last few years. They’d become best friends straight out of high school, then all moved in together. Life was comfortable and nice. 

-

Steve somehow convinced Robin that they would both get their lists together. Eddie, on the other hand, downright refused.

“I don’t need any of that shit,” he insisted. “It’s not gonna do me any good, and I’m perfectly fine staying in the dark.”

“Okay, I get it,” Steve said, holding his hands up. “You’re scared and lame, that’s totally okay.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, dickhead,” he replied. “This whole thing is stupid anyway. And - and it’s not like we can seriously trust whatever it says. It’s probably just…all lies, anyway.”

“Yeah, but they’re fun lies,” Robin countered. “It’s like hearing gossip about your own life.”

“Exactly!” Steve agreed. “It’s just for fun.”

“Have your fun, then,” Eddie said devilishly. “I’ll be in my room, not being an idiot.”

Robin and Steve put their names and date of birth into a search engine and, within five minutes, each had their respective documents in their inboxes. Steve opened his immediately and eagerly, skipping past all the boring shit until he found the good stuff. 

Number of people who have had crushes on Steve Harrington: 436.

Number of people who have been in love with Steve Harrington: 85.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking at the long list of names. He looked up from his phone to see Robin staring at the wall. “Why aren’t you reading?”

“I don’t think I can do it,” she said. “I’m chickening out.” Steve scoffed. 

“What? Robs, come on. You already ordered the damn thing.”

“Yeah, but -” She sighed. “But now it’s, like, real.”

“Do you want me to read yours for you?” he asked. She shook her head. 

“No, I think I’m just going to keep it unread for now,” she decided. Steve shrugged.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.” Robin scooted herself over on the couch so she could look at Steve’s phone screen. 

“Wait, they even have crushes on there?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Jeez, Harrington. That’s quite the list.” Steve smirked, realizing it very much did give him an ego boost. He continued scrolling to see even more categories.

Number of people Steve Harrington has had a crush on: 63.

Jesus, Steve thought to himself. That’s kind of embarrassing. In his defense, some of them were celebrities. He continued reading.

Number of people Steve Harrington has been in love with: 3.

Steve didn’t even have to read the list to know who was on it. He quickly clicked his phone off before Robin could see.

“Hey!” she said. “What was that for? It’s not like there are any secrets between us.”

“No, I just - I’ll read it later,” Steve said. 

Robin would usually be right. She was almost completely right. It’s just that Steve had one secret. And it wasn’t even really a secret, it was just something he kept to himself, because it didn’t really matter. 

Nancy Wheeler

Robin Buckley

Eddie Munson

He had barely admitted it to himself, honestly. It’s not like anything would happen. Him and Eddie were best friends, and if something was going to happen between them, it would have already happened. Now, they were too close, and living together. It was different. It didn’t matter. Besides, Robin was on his list, and he wasn’t running off to date her.

Steve put his phone away and didn’t check the list again for a couple days. 

-

“So, how’s the list?” Eddie asked one morning as he made a pot of coffee. “You haven’t said anything about it.” Steve shrugged.

“It’s like a million pages long,” Robin chimed in. Eddie clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“That’s not surprising,” he said. “It’s a shame Harrington isn’t much of a reader. It might take him years to get through.” Steve glared at Eddie, who grinned in response.

“Are you ever going to stop poking fun at me about that?” he wondered. 

“Aaaaabsolutely not,” Eddie replied. “Steve, The Hobbit is 310 pages. 310. Even one page a day you would have been done in a year, and you’re still not done.”

“Okay, listen,” Steve responded defensively. “It’s not my kind of book, alright?”

“He likes the ones with the pictures,” Robin teased. Eddie laughed and high-fived her. 

“Wooow, okay,” Steve replied. “I see how it is. I’m just gonna grab my cereal and go, then.”

“Nooo, don’t leave on our behalf,” Eddie said.

“We’re soorrrryyyyyy,” Robin added. Steve chuckled and shook his head. 

“Whatever,” he resigned. “I haven’t read the damn list. Not all of it, anyway.” Robin’s ears perked up.

“But you’ve read some of it, right?” she asked. “Spill!”

“Just the first ten names or so,” Steve said. He had gotten a glimpse when he skimmed over it the first time. “I think it’s in chronological order.”

“Anyone surprising?” Eddie wondered. Steve shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “Although it did confirm my suspicion that Katie Crystal was into me, after all.”

“I’m thinking maybe I should read mine,” Robin said quietly.

“Yeah, well duh,” Eddie replied. “You paid for it.”

“It’s just - it’s not a big deal, right?” Steve looked at Eddie to survey his reaction. Eddie just shrugged. “It’s like you said, Eds. We don’t even know if it’s accurate.”

Steve didn’t really know if all of it was accurate, but some of it sure as shit was.

“Exactly,” Eddie agreed. “So, Steve, there’s a chance that Katie Crystal actually hated your guts. Who’s to say?”

Steve rolled his eyes. Another few days passed. 

Robin flip-flopped between whether or not she wanted to read her list every few hours or so. Steve and Eddie placed their bets on how long it would take her to crack. 

Meanwhile, Steve counted his lucky stars that Eddie decided not to buy his list. It was clear that they were bros and nothing more, so Eddie finding out would have made everything incredibly weird.

This was for the best.

-

Things carried on as they usually did, until one day Steve was so bored, he decided to revisit the godforsaken document. Plus, he’d been on a few dates that ended in disaster, and reading about the hundreds of people that were into him was bound to put him in good spirits.

He had no idea just how right he was.

The names were all relatively normal. Steve tended to know when girls had a thing for him, especially back in high school. There were some names he didn’t recognize, which meant that there were total strangers crushing on him. He wondered how that was even possible. Like, at that point, they were just basing it on looks and vibes alone. 

Eh. Steve had crushes on people in the past over less. He kept reading.

He made his way down the list until he reached Eddie’s name. He read it again and again to make sure he was seeing it right. 

Eddie had said repeatedly that this thing could be total bullshit, though. Steve had to take it all with a grain of salt. Besides, crushes meant nothing. Hell, Steve was pretty sure Eddie had mentioned once that he thought Steve was hot when they first became friends. 

Steve made his way to the list of people who’d loved him. None of the names mattered except one. 

Eddie Munson. 

“Oh, shit,” Steve muttered. “Oh, shit!” He jumped up out of bed and paced the floor. He had no idea what to do with this information.

It could be bullshit. It could be nothing. 

Or maybe, Eddie had kept saying it was bullshit because he knew what Steve would find. 

“OH MY GOD.”

Robin came bursting into Steve’s room a few moments later. 

“What? What’s going on?” she said. She looked to see his phone on the floor and his hands in his hair. “Oh my god, you read it! What was it? What’s got you all freaked out?”

“I gotta - uhh - I gotta -” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence with Robin in the room. He had to find Eddie - that’s what he had to do. But his head was spinning too much to do so. 

“That’s it. I’m gonna read mine right now,” Robin decided. She swiftly left to go back to her room while Steve continued to pace. 

“Holy shit,” he said to himself. He thought about it for a few minutes, scrawled something on a piece of paper, and then walked down the hall to Eddie’s room.

Eddie opened the door a few inches, still wearing his sweatpants. He hadn’t left his room yet that day, but his guitar was lying on his bed, which meant he’d been practicing. 

“What’s up?” Eddie asked. 

“I finished the list,” Steve replied. Eddie’s jaw clenched just enough for Steve to notice, and then he shrugged. 

“And?” Steve continued to look at Eddie until he broke his composure. He sighed, then opened his door wider. “Come in,” he said. 

Steve had been in Eddie’s bedroom a million times. They’d watched movies in there and stayed up all night talking and smoked together and dear sweet lord I am so dumb for never noticing.

“Is it bullshit?” Steve asked. Eddie started spinning the ring on his middle finger anxiously, refusing to make eye contact.

“Uhh, is what bullshit?” Eddie replied. Steve put his hands on his hips and cocked his head. 

“Come on, you know what I’m talking about,” he said. “I just - is it bullshit? Tell me the truth.”

Eddie stared at him for a few long moments before gently shaking his head. 

“It’s not bullshit.”

Steve’s hands fell back to his sides, and he felt himself get lightheaded. 

“It’s -” he began, struggling to find the words. He cleared his throat. “Wow, I uh -”

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Eddie interjected. “Just so you know. I like what we have. We’re, ya know, we’re friends. Roommates.”

“Do you still -?” Steve started to ask. He noticed Eddie’s eyes flooded with fear, a sight he rarely saw. “I mean, do you still?”

“Steve, I -” Eddie began, his voice tired. “I really, uh. I don’t know what to say.” 

Steve dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he’d ripped from his notebook. He held it out for Eddie to take, and when Eddie didn’t reach for it, Steve stepped closer and stuffed the page right into Eddie’s hand. 

“Read it,” Steve encouraged.

“What is it?”

“It’s your list.” Eddie’s faced scrunched with confusion. “Yeah, I made it myself.” 

“I told you, I don’t wanna know,” he said, trying to give the paper back to Steve.

“Trust me, you do.”

Eddie sighed, then unfolded the paper and read it. 

People who are in love with Eddie Munson:

-Me

-(Steve Harrington)

Steve waited and watched Eddie’s eyes travel up and down the page, similar to the way Steve’s had when he read Eddie’s name on his own list. Finally, Eddie looked up. 

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft. Steve smiled and nodded. 

“Really.”

In that moment, they both knew this changed everything, and yet it changed nothing at all. They’d just skipped a bunch of steps of dating - blown past the getting-to-know-you stage straight into living together and doing all the domestic shit. 

Eddie and Steve each stepped toward the other until their hands met. 

“OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!”

Robin’s voice pierced through their intimate moment and completely obliterated it. The boys glanced at each other in confusion and then ran out to see what Robin was yelling about. 

She was already out the front door by the time they got to the kitchen. If this were a cartoon, she would have left behind a cloud of smoke. 

“What do you think that’s about?” Steve asked. Eddie felt his phone buzz and checked it to find Robin had texted a screenshot to the household group chat. He smirked.

“Vicki’s on her list,” Eddie said. Steve chuckled, happy that everyone managed to find their happy ending. 

“You know what that means?” Steve asked. 

“That you owe me 20 bucks?” Eddie teased.

“Well, that," Steve replied. "But is also means we’re alone in the apartment for a while." Eddie grinned and took Steve by the hand. 

“I like the way you think.”

They ran to Steve’s room together, and if the confession of love hadn’t already changed everything, sleeping together certainly did.

It was the good kind of change, though. The kind that moved mountains and cleared all the clouds from the sky. 

At last, the idiots were together. All it took was years of denial and one payment of $44.49.

----------------------

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[aurumacadicus]

i'm not sure if tumblr is lying to me or not about when you responded to my ask but i only just got the notification for it, so. if you're still doing the 1-161 stony ficlet challenge, can i request 123 if that one hasn't also been taken? ps i'm really loving the ones you've posted so far, they're great! <3

Thanks! It's been a lot of fun!

--

Steve grit his teeth as Tony carefully, casually prodded his thigh with the toe of his left foot again. They were fighting, and he couldn't tell if this was an olive branch or a deliberate attempt to make him lose his cool.

They didn't fight often. They argued a lot, of course. He and Tony both had very strong personalities, and they also had very strong opinions. More difficult still, Steve was from a different time, and while he'd made great strides in acclimating himself to the time (and while Tony had been very patient as he learned) some things he said and believed still had them butting heads sometimes.

Tony prodded his thigh again, and Steve sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He would not give Tony the satisfaction of reacting.

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention," Tony finally declared, prodding him again.

"We are fighting and I'm still mad at you," Steve answered curtly, looking back down at his book. He figured that was attention enough, with the mood he was in and their fight still hovering at the edges of their conversations.

The ball of Tony's foot stayed pressed to his thigh a moment longer before he slowly drew it back. "Oh. Sorry."

Steve slanted his gaze over at that, brows furrowing together at the tone of Tony's voice. It was the one he used when he knew he'd misstepped but didn't understand why. He looked genuinely upset before his emotional shutters came back down as he returned his gaze to his tablet. He pulled his feet in closer, tucking himself tighter into the corner of the couch.

Steve watched him, considering, then carefully asked, "We... are still fighting, aren't we?"

"Of course. Obviously," Tony scoffed, prodding at his screen a little harder than he usually might.

Steve waited a beat, but Tony didn't plow on like he usually did when he was angry. He'd had no problem shouting for hours yesterday, but Steve had no doubt he'd come up with new things to shout if he was still very upset. He cast around his mind for what Tony's sudden change in heart and remembered, frowning, that Colonel Rhodes had huffed out a frustrated, 'well, his parents never apologized to each other, at least not in front of him, so he thinks fights just stop eventually and you carry on as usual.'

Tony must have just been... ready for things to carry on as usual. Steve set his book in his lap and sighed again, tipping his head against the back of the couch. He'd been the second one to sit down on the couch. Tony must have thought that was an olive branch. And maybe it had been, he realized, turning to look at Tony again. Maybe, unconsciously, he'd been ready to end the fight, too. But not like Tony wanted, where they simply stopped talking about it and returned to life as normal.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, because he was. His ma always said it took two people to fight, after all.

Tony prodded at his tablet a couple more times, then turned his head a little, peering at him out of the corner of his eye. "...For what?" he finally asked, skeptical.

"For fighting," Steve answered simply. He'd learned early on that if he said too much, Tony would have more to read into.

Tony turned his head away, then looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "...I'm... sorry... too," he finally said, slowly, like he was waiting for Steve to spring some sort of trap after each word.

It hurt a little, Steve could admit to himself. But luckily, he'd learned that it wasn't his own shortcomings as a boyfriend that caused Tony to be suspicious of something he thought was a good thing; the lists of people who had hurt Tony in the past were all available online, after all. Not necessarily under that label, but Steve was pretty good at reading between the lines.

And it was a step in the right direction, Steve figured. Acknowledging their wrongs to each other was certainly better than just letting them go unsaid. They could have a discussion about it later, when the hurt wasn't so fresh and they had time to decompress.

Until then, Steve reached out to grab Tony's ankle and drag his leg back out, and Tony squawked as he was pulled across the cushions. "C'mere."

"Brute!" Tony howled, trying to claw his way back across the couch, but Steve's grip on his leg was immovable. "Stop fucking dragging me everywhere you want me, you neanderthal, I--"

"You what?" Steve asked, flipping him easily, and immediately dug his thumbs into Tony's arch, exactly where he knew Tony got sorest. Tony let out a moan, and Steve knew he had won, at least for the moment.

#aurumacadicus answers #daeshikoba #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony