#I can't even hang out with the other high risk people

[crippledanarchy]

Fuck I miss living with a bunch of people. I was never meant to spend this much time online or alone. I'm supposed to be caring for others, helping people I love and sharing meals and resources and stories and ideas.

[genderqueerdykes]

as someone who has been scarred for life by experiences at gay bars, i need people to understand it's beyond tacky to mock people who want queer spaces beyond queer bars- it's dangerous.

let me explain. i went to 2 of my local queer bars a lot last year, as much as i was able to despite being poor. i witnessed a fist fight that was so bloody that ended up with a transmisogynistic drag queen getting hit in the head with a metal baton. the sight caused me to uncontrollably throw up in the bathroom of the club because of how gruesome it was. they had to close down the club and forard people out the back door because of how out of hand this person got- he was screaming transmisogynstic slurs and phrases at the bouncers were were transfem.

i was also sexually assaulted at these places, i was repeatedly groped by several people who i was not interacting with in the first place who found me attractive and decided physically grabbing me on numerous occasions was the way to get my attention. being femme in a queer bar is dangerous even if the people groping you are gay men.

i am also a recovering addict who dealt with alcohol issues in the past and could be considered a recovering alcoholic. i don't want to be around alcohol. i don't want to smell it. it triggers awful memories and also sometimes makes me consider getting a drink, but i can't have one, because the medications i take will cause a fatal reaction- i don't want to be tempted to drink, because it will kill me.

it's not right to mock someone or call them childish or whatever for not wanting to go to a club. whenever alcohol is involved, people's inhibitions are gone and they will do whatever. this includes fighting. i witnessed several other fights. just because it's a queer bar doesn't mean there won't be fights. and it especialyl doesn't m ean that you won't get groped or assaulted because, like i said, since alcohol is involved and it's a bar, there's a high chance this can and will happen.

queer people are not inherently safe angels to be around by virtue of being queer. there are still transphobes in queer bars. tranny chasers come to these bars. homophobic lesbians show up and lesbophobic gay men show up. drag queens and performers bring their cishet friends and family to support their shows. these are not perfect havens. they are not safe. we should not force other queers to interact with inherently dangerous spaces if these are supposed to be our safe spaces.

also these spaces are not friendly to people with disabilities; wheelchair users have nowhere to go especially when it's very crowded. other mobility aids get kicked and knocked over. neurodivergent people can get overstimulated by the deafening music very quickly. photosensitive people can have seizures due to the strobing lights. people with emetophobia like me run the risk of running into those types of triggers. people who are overstimulated by intoxicated people have no choice but to deal with it. dancing is one of the only activities to do other than drink and not many disabled (or even abled) people can dance for extended periods of time comfortably.

not to mention these spaces are not geared toward aromantic or asexual people at all, either. there is a long list of reasons why bars should not be our primary venues of interaction with one another. they serve a specific purpose- for people who want to cruise- but for the rest of us, it's really crucial that we have spaces that provide meaningful interactions with other queers on other levels of our identities.

some people just want to hang out with other queers in a quiet environment and craft, or shop, or drink coffee, or read books together, or just about any other activity on planet earth, and that's not "lame" or "cringy" or bad in any way- these are extremely normal and necessary parts of human interaction that we all require and crave and it's normal to want to do healthy, domestic things with other queers. we need this in our lives.

please take it seriously when people attempt to create queer spaces that don't involve alcohol and bars. it's necessary for our survival and well being as a community.

[hairmetal666]

Steve has a problem. Not a big problem--not an Upside Down-sized problem--but still. A problem. In the form of Eddie Munson. And not the person Eddie Munson, who is second only to Robin in the hierarchy of Steve's heart, but his feelings in regard to one Eddie Munson. Namely, his enormous, devastating, gay crush on the guy.

And he knows, okay, he knows Eddie is gay, but that doesn't mean he wants Steve. Eddie is probably into other metalheads or dnd nerds. What could Steve, with his sports and his polo shirts, possibly have to offer?

He's coping, though. Or, at least, he thought he was until the Family Video phone rings and Jonathan invites them to the New Year's Eve party he and Argyle are throwing at their new apartment.

"We have to make a no-date pact." He tells Robin as soon as the phone is back in the cradle.

"Or you could just ask Eddie."

"You could just ask Nancy." He raises an eyebrow.

She lets out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay. No-date pact. I'm down."

It's just as easy to get Nancy and Eddie on board. Nancy just laughs and says "yeah, like I'd bring a date to the party my ex-boyfriend is hosting with his new boyfriend. How you do you even start to explain that dynamic?"

And Eddie snorts right in Steve's face (it's not cute, it's not), says, "Right, cause my dating pool in Hawkins, Indiana is just ripe with guys who want to ring in the New Year with me."

Steve wants to say that he would be that guy, happily, giddily, but he can't risk blowing up his second most important friendship like that, not when Eddie's never given a fraction of a hint that he wants Steve too.

But that's his problem solved, right? The four of them aren't bringing dates. Easy-peasy.

Unfortunately, Steve's life hasn't ever worked out like that, and the party turns out to not be only their little end of the world crew and a handful of people Jon knows from his grocery store job, but an actual motherfucking party.

It takes almost ten minutes for him and Robin to navigate through the sea of strangers to find Jon and Argyle handing out solo cups in the kitchen.

"Who are all these people?" He shouts over the pounding music, nothing like Steve's ever heard.

"Argyle got a job at the record store down the street," Jon yells.

"Co-workers." Argyle nods. "And a few of their friends."

"A few, right."

"The more the merrier. Right, my dude?"

"Sure." Steve takes a cup. "You seen Eddie around?"

"Living room, last time I looked." Jonathan answers.

"See you around?" Robin asks.

"At least meet up for the ball drop," Argyle answers.

They push their way into the cramped living room, and Steve searches for that familiar cloud of hair, the ripped black jeans. It takes a minute just for the sheer amount of bodies pressed into the small space, and when he sees him Eddie's--

He's standing against a wall, next to the stereo (of course), but there's someone with him. Someone who is tall and leanly muscled in a way that Steve isn't. Someone with long hair pushed back from his forehead. Someone with facial piercings in places Steve didn't even know you could pierce and tattoos and a chain hanging from his worn blue jeans and a bandana in his back pocket, just like Eddie.

And Eddie he's--he's gazing up at this dude with clear stars in his brown doe eyes, body angling towards the other man like he can't help but push more into his orbit.

Steve turns hard, Robin colliding with his side. "Steve, what the--oh."

"I hate New Year's Eve," Steve sighs, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. It's always been the kind of holiday that is high on expectation and low on follow-through.

"C'mon, I think I spotted Nance over by the bedroom."

He lets Robin guide him across the room, steadfastly not looking back at where Eddie is very obviously finding himself a date. It's okay, Steve reasons. It's okay because that was obviously the kind of guy Eddie would be into it. He knew he had, like, no chance. He shouldn't be disappointed. He shouldn't.

The evening slips away in the shove of people, in the solo cup that manages to always be full in his hand, and he tries as hard as he can to ignore the way Robin and Nancy start sharing the same space.

So much for the no-date pact. He would laugh if a sort of deep loneliness wasn't seeping into his bones.

There's a girl, though, across the room. She's in a short dress and glances at Steve from under hooded eyelids. He could make a move; could have someone to kiss at midnight; have someone just for the night. But then--his heart makes a pathetic patter--Eddie.

Eddie who is practically in that stranger's lap.

He goes out for a cigarette.

When he comes back inside, it's five minutes til midnight and Nancy and Robin are dancing slow and sweet to a song that is neither.

He's happy for them, almost incandescent with it, but the loneliness sinks deeper, reaches marrow, especially after he fails to find Eddie in the crowd.

Steve thinks it might be time to give the whole failed endeavor up for good, but Jonathan and Argyle, both in tiny 1987 novelty top hats, appear at his side.

"Stevie-boy!" Argyle bellows. He lifts Steve at the waist, twirling him, and Steve laughs despite himself.

"Keeping busy?" He asks.

Jonathan pounds him on the back, just a little too hard.

A guest yells from deep in the apartment, "one minute to midnight!" and the music turns off, the TV tuned to Dick Clark and turned up.

Nancy and Robin find their way over, Robin mouthing "sorry," on her way. He pulls her into a side-hug; he'll never begrudge her any happiness, even on his worst day.

From across the room, there's a crash, a short yelp, and then a familiar head of fuzzy brown curls makes its way to them.

"Sorry, sorry." Eddie apologizes as he shoves through the other guests.

"Hi, guys!" He beams at them, cheeks flushed. Steve looks away so he doesn't have to think about how beautiful Eddie is; about how he's not the one who made him blush so pretty.

The countdown on the screen reaches 30 seconds, and the party goers start chanting.

"What happened to--?" Steve can't help but asking.

"Psh, that dude? He's a punk. Plus, I couldn't imagine ringing in 1987 without you guys by my side."

Steve blushes and rolls his eyes. "Sap." He knocks his hip into Eddie's.

"You love it," Eddie wraps him in a loose hold.

The count is down to 10, the ball almost dropped, Jonathan and Argyle and Nancy and Robin making soft eyes at each other.

"What's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?" Eddie knocks his head gently against Steve's.

"It's nothing."

"You're pouting." Eddie mimics him with a poked out lip.

The count is down to 5.

"Fuck, I just--I wanted to have someone to kiss at midnight, you know?"

The ball drops, the year changes over, the room cheers. His coupled up friends cling to each other in soft, joyous kisses.

Eddie's eyes flick to their friends, to the guests, all kissing and embracing and celebrating, then back to Steve.

With two careful fingers, Eddie lifts Steve's chin, makes it so he can't look away.

"Fuck it," Eddie says. He leans forward, kisses Steve with soft authority.

And Steve just--he just fucking--crumbles into it. He makes a soft noise, curls his fists into Eddie's t-shirt.

Eddie's hands work their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Steve goes eagerly, crushes their bodies together.

They kiss and they kiss, and it's already so far from a friendly New Year's kiss, but then Eddie's tongue swipes into Steve's mouth, and the kiss breaks.

"Um," Eddie says.

Steve can't respond because all his focus is on not giving into the weakness in his knees and collapsing to the floor.

"I've wanted you to do that all night," Steve says.

"Oh." Eddie's face blossoms into a slow smile. "Me too. A lot longer than that, actually."

It's Steve's turn to smile, and he does, so hard it hurts his cheeks. "Me too."

Eddie presses their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Stevie."

Someone starts singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off-key, but they're quickly drowned out by a chorus of accompanying voices.

"Happy New Year, Ed."

Steve pulls him in for another kiss. 1987 is already shaping up to be the best year of his life.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

A) You are mean to Vaggie

B) Obligatory Complication: Emily is crushing impossibly hard on Vaggie and hangs out with Charlie as much as possible for vicarious enjoyment.

harold we have a problem?? ALL OF THEM ARE GAY AND NONE OF THEM HAVE CUSTODY OF THE BRAIN CELL!!!!

thing is tho i could totally see a version of Emily that latches onto Vaggie in some kind of emotional way

Emily's faith in heaven was shaken by Sera and the revelation of the exterminations...... Emily finds out her older sister and the head of the seraphim of heaven has known about Adam killing souls this whole time- was hiding it AND condoning it- which Emily HAS to take a stand against because it's wrong-

and then Emily finds out about Vaggie.

She sees how a lowly exorcist is living in hell now, has been for years, and is running a hotel to redeem sinners. She sees. Hope.

How frustrated was Emily at the end of season 1? The next extermination goes ahead in spite of Emily fighting against it, Sera won't listen, she's not allowed to even watch it happen, she's sitting across from Sera doing PAPERWORK while people die and then Pentious is there and presumably tells them how the fight went up until his death, probably mentions how Charlie and Vaggie worked together to prepare the hotel and were fighting in the thick of the battle- and then Lute comes back missing an arm and Adam is dead and the hotel is being rebuilt-

An angel fought alongside the sinners who she used to kill, she risked her life for them...

That could be such a point of hope for Emily to cling to.

Someone in heaven did think it was wrong. One of Adam's very own soldiers, even.

I could see her getting a bit desperate to know more about Vaggie. Wanting to find out what made her switch from killing souls to saving them, how long did it take, did anything help, why did she ever think it was okay in the first place

(Emily trying to understand Sera by proxy because it hurts less this way)

And of course Emily's easiest source of Vaggie Lore would be Charlie, Vaggie's girlfriend, the only part of the hotel running duo who is actually interested in talking about anything other than purely heaven-hell related business and who will stop glaring silently long enough to chat

Naturally, given Vaggie's bad history with heaven, Charlie would be RELIEVED to see how one high ranking angel seems to actually care about her girlfriend

So Charlie would answer the Vaggie questions eagerly, bc she loves talking Vaggie and wants her to have a powerful ally up in heaven and also maybe the whole Rosie thing showed her how helpful it is to talk with someone other than her gf about her gf and Emily is so nice and kind and they can trust her and she listens so intently and Charlie's so happy this one thing is working out and she can't stop smiling about it-

and meanwhile. Vaggie is just out of earshot. Grinding her TEETH

Romantic or not, in the same way that Charlie and Emily could bond over caring about the people under their protection so much, Emily might look at Vaggie and feel a need to get closer to her. To connect with the only other angel who really seems to GET it

heck, Vaggie being in hell running the hotel might even be a point of admiration and slight envy for Emily.

A seraphim can talk to the other high ranking angels, but what use does that feel like its serving, if they don't listen? Emily can shepherd Pentious around his new life in heaven but it's HEAVEN, what is THAT compared to helping a sinner carve out some kind of better life for themselves down in hell, where the help is really NEEDED? And while it makes sense Charlie would be down there doing that, she's princess of hell- Vaggie shows how angels could be doing it too. They could be making a real, tangible difference every day, instead of....

I could see the idea of Vaggie becoming something Emily thinks about a lot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Slightly longer chapter today.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is still when you finish the last of your tidying. Unlike weeks before, your day is not over. You creep to the bottom of the stairs and listen for any sign of life before you ascend. You haven't heard any comings or goings but you tend to zero in when you're focused.

You get to the top and pause again. As you pass the study, you hear nothing. You don't know exactly where Mr. Laufeyson retreated but you assume that would be most logical. You gently turn the door handle on the library door and ease the door on its hinges, keeping it from making a noise. 

You're met with the setting evening light as you enter, the drapes still wide open. You shut the door with a subtle click and cross the room, peering out onto the garden below. It's even more beautiful from up here. You lean on the window ledge as you admire how the shadows nestle around the hedges and pool at the feet of the grand marble statue at the very centre. In the dimming hue, the gazebo resembles the crumbling Coliseum. 

A muffled thump shakes you from your reverie. You quickly back up, tugging the curtains closed as you hide yourself away from the beauty. There is just as much to be admired within; from the gilt frames to the straight spines and polished table. Every piece is worthy of coveting.

You go to the door and flip the light switch. The room remains dim and you turn in confusion to the gray room. You hear footsteps from down the hall and low tones, though no words are clear enough to discern. From what you can glean, the conversation is not a friendly one.

You shrug off the conflict without and go to the middle of the room and peer up at the lifeless glass shade around the dangling bulb. You don't understand. You put your hands on your hips and squint. The little hanging chain with the crystal at its tail catches your eye. Aha. But you can't reach that high.

You glance around as the staircase groans. You go to the writing desk and grab the chair from behind it. You carry it over to the light and step onto the seat. Even up high, you're on your toes grabbing for the chain. You finally grasp the gem and tug, the light erupting from within the multicoloured cage. As your vision is tinted by the new rays, the door that adjoins with the study swings inward. You shift on the seat and face Mr. Laufeyson as you drop your arm.

You are not used to looking down on him. He is intimidating even from above. You bat your lashes and bend, gripping the back of the chair as you climb down and dust it off with your hand. You offer an apologetic nod and go to lift it. He is quicker than you as he takes it easily by the back and carries it without effort to the desk. He shoves it under and keeps a grasp on the backrest as he faces you, lifting his chin.

"I hired you to keep this house in order, though it seems you are intent on quite the opposite," he accuses.

Your brows wrinkle just a little. You didn't mean to. You only came to do your job. You want to say as much; his brother was already here and you didn't say a word. You were good.

"I know my brother let himself in," he continues, "he does tend to do as he pleases. He does too much and says much more," Laufeyson's brow arches thoughtfully, "I wonder what he said to you."

You put your hands behind you and clasp them tight to keep from squirming. As he stands behind the desk, you're reminded of an interrogation room, the likes of which you only ever saw on one of your father's crime dramas. You swallow and scrunch your lips.

"I'm asking, so speak," he urges.

"Nothing, Mr. Laufeyson. Well... er, he told me his name then asked for mine, but I didn't tell him. I swear. I didn't know what to say so I..." you falter, embarrassed and stare at the shelf behind him, "so I ran away. I said nothing at all."

He takes a heavy breath and lets it out through his nose, "nothing?"

"Nothing, Mr. Laufeyson," you avow.

"But why not?"

"Pardon?"

"Why not? He is a charming man, at least, many seem to believe so," he sniffs, "so why wouldn't you entertain him?"

You shake your head. You don't know what he wants to hear. You know less what to say.

"I'm not lying--"

"I'm not saying you are. I didn't ask it," he inserts, "why would you not say anything? Are you shy, hm? Perhaps you find him attractive? He is objectively within accepted beauty standards--"

"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you breathe, "I am not."

"So you are dutiful? A loyal servant? And you recalled exactly as I warned you," he says with a keen lilt, "you do listen so well, that it may be I have no right to doubt you."

You keep your lips straight, fighting for an ounce of composure. You can't tell if he does believe you or not.

"And yet," he slithers around the desk, "there are things I've said which you do not seem to have heard," he nears and stops before you, swiping his finger up and down, "your attire is... lacking."

You look down at the baggy shirt and brown slacks. You touch the rough wool and avert your gaze to the floor. 

"Mr. Laufeyson, I haven't had time to get anything new--"

"I didn't ask. I'm telling you. For the last time," he punctuates the last few words.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you appease and look at his collar, focusing on the knot of his tie, just by the lump in his throat.

"If my brother appears again in my absence, you will call me at once. Perhaps, you should review the current security in place as well," he states, "if there is a next time, I wouldn't want him to get further than the gate."

"I will add it to the list, Mr. Laufeyson."

He scoffs and steps around you, his sleeve brushing you, just a little. Enough to inspire a shiver. He continues his snakish path to the door and marks his departure with the snap of the door against the frame. You flinch and bite down on your cheeks. You didn't do anything wrong, though it seems, there is no right when it comes to Mr. Laufeyson.

🧹

On Tuesday, you arrive to an empty house. Mr. Laufeyson does not appear throughout the day. There is no evidence of his presence and your own has little enough effect. You continue down the list, reviewing the landscaping and the security, and a few smaller tasks.

There is one point that worries you. Mr. Laufeyson provided an email on the matter; a collection of upcoming obligations. His work, which was still mysterious to you, as many things about him are, and socials, underlined for emphasis. There was a whole set of to-dos for these.

A chef, Corissa, and staff to serve. Invitations to be sent to a list of contacts. The in-house preparations, a question mark beside a name, Ronnie? It isn’t for another two weeks but you should get things in order sooner than later.

In the desolation, you work easily through the goals you set yourself. The landscapers will remain, Corissa will be there not only for the party but to deliver the meal plan and prepped ingredients. And Ronnie, the decorator, will be there to ready the house for guests. You leave at your typical time feeling accomplished.

A similarly empty abode awaits you elsewhere. Your father is as he ever is. Smoking and grumbling. You bring him the supper you made ahead of the week and he snarls about his appetite and the feeding tube that’s been gone for over a week now. You eat beside him but he doesn’t do more than flip through the channels and complain about what the world is coming to.

Later, you find him dozing in the same spot. You tidy up around him, mindful not to bother him, and draw a blanket over him. He doesn’t stir but the ragged noise of his breathing rises and falls in the low din of the television. You leave that on but put the volume on low. He would not be happy if you tried to get him to bed.

Wednesday. A bad day. Your day off. You wake up and have your tea patiently. You have things to do but are in no hurry. You find your father away from his usual spot. He’s at the front door, watching across the street as a moving truck sits in front of the apartment building. He mutters about grimy people.

You sidle past him, telling him you're off to grab some groceries and a few bits and bobs, asking if he needs anything. It’s the same answer as always; smokes. You frown.

“Dad, you know I don’t like buying those–”

“Get outta here then,” his voice scratches, “I’ll pay that twerp Cody to go get me a carton.”

“It’s only… the doctor–”

“Fucking charlatan,” he growls.

You give up. You give a sheepish smile as your eyes drift to the open flap of the mailbox. You reach inside and retrieve a single envelope. You wave it at your father and promise you’ll be back in a few hours. He’s already walking away. The door slams in farewell.

You head off, past the bus stop and along the path behind the laundromat. There’s a thrift shop not far from the small convenience store where you get your staples. You walk with your head down as you tear open the envelope, the hospital’s stamp in the corner. You unfold it and the paper almost drops along with your heart.

You stagger and stop short. You stare at the bottom line; total. Six figures. That’s a lifetime of debt. How could you ever hope to pay it off? Yet, you wouldn’t trade your father for those red digits.

You shudder and look around. With no witnesses to your dismay, you tuck away the invoice in your back pocket and carry on. First, some work clothes, then a few canned goods and dairy to pad out what’s left in the cupboards.

You can manage the little things, even with that big thing weighing you down.

🧹

Thursday comes with a sort of trance. You spent the night sleepless as the invoice taunted you from the top drawer of your dresser. You still have to call and figure out a payment plan. The blurb at the bottom of the bill gives you hope you might be able to figure this out.

You don’t wake because you don’t sleep. You just get up and get on with the day. You dress in one of the outfits you budgeted out at the thrift store. Even that expense, if necessary, if it could be considered an investment for your job, knots in your stomach.

You tried to keep in mind the images you googled as you shopped and picked out professional pieces. Lamb gray slacks and a white blouse striped with light blue. You tuck the tails in and check yourself in the mirror. You can only see to your shoulders. You should’ve found a belt too. Maybe next time.

You slip your feet into a pair of flats, uncomfortable next to your usual sneakers, and grab the square leather bag you aired out overnight. You left your cleaning kit at Mr. Laufeyson’s since you won’t need it anywhere else. You put your lunch in your work bag, your phones, and your coin purse, along with the ledger. It still feels rather empty.

The bus putters uptown and drops you at your usual stop. You walk up to the iron gate and fish out your work phone to check the new code. As you punch in the six numbers, you hesitate. Another six figures nip at your thoughts. Even six days a week can’t balance the debt.

You break the threshold of Mr. Laufeyson’s paradise, a stark contrast to your own meagre retreat, and you fall into the pattern of your days there. You put the code into the back door and enter. You’re once more met by a vacant interior.

It’s a cleaning day. You wonder if maybe you should’ve brought a change of clothes but you don’t worry too long. You put your leather bag in the closet, you’ll bring it up with you after the clean is done. You take your kit, put on shoe covers and gloves, and head upstairs. The first floor was done on Monday and today will be the second.

You start at one end of the hall. You hum under your breath, not loud enough to be heard by anyone but yourself. You saw a pair of wireless earbuds yesterday but talked yourself out of the purchase. You couldn’t connect them to the flip and it didn’t feel right to use them with your work phone. Besides, you can’t spare the price.

You knock on each door before you enter. You’ve learned better of just barging in since Thor’s unexpected arrival. Your progress is slow and tedious, though it calms your nerves. The manual tasks that keep your hands busy keeps your mind less than.

You tap on the last door, awaiting an answer. You haven’t heard or seen Mr. Laufeyson. You thought there was a buzzing a few moments ago but it faded into the lull. With no answer, you enter. There isn’t much you do in the main bedroom, a quick dust, you make sure the bed is tidy, and clear away the clutter. You’ll return with the vacuum when you get to the floors.

There’s a fresh scent in the air. Jasmine? Something light? You’re not very good at discerning scent. You search for a source of the rich scent. Maybe an open window letting in the luxurious garden aromas. Nope, curtains drawn, windows firmly shut.

As you fold the corner of the sheet neatly at the top and cover it with the pillows, your elbow knocks against the night table. Something falls and you step back in surprise. Your tunnel vision slowly starts to recede. You look around for what you knocked over but can’t see anything out of place.

You finish putting the pillows in their place, the bed made, and get down to your knees. You lean forward on your hands, bringing your cheek almost to the floorboards as you peer first under the nightstand then beneath the bed. You see a small shape just underneath. You reach for it, grasping the watch as its glass face presses coolly to your palm.

As you rescind your arm, a click freezes you in place. The unknown fragrance grows strong and a dampness tinges the air. You blink and stare under the bed, across to the other side as the door against the opposite wall pushes inward. The en suite bathroom. Oh gosh.

You see a bare of bare feet and the pieces connect in your head. The buzzing, the scent, all of it. Mr. Laufeyson must have been in the shower and now he’s…

He sighs and groans, stopping in place as you can only see his feet. He cannot see you either. In that moment, you have a choice. To be honest and make him aware or to hide and pretend it isn’t happening. Your heart beats as you stay paralysed on the floor. 

The tail of a towel drops around his feet before he lifts it again. Oh. He’s… you can’t even think it!

You reach your arm out again, lowering down flat, and lift yourself over the floor as you slide seamlessly under the bed. You hold your breath as you struggle not to make a sound. Loki’s only sniffs and groans override anything that might give you away.

The closet rolls open and he clucks thoughtfully. Your eyes widen then you squeeze them shut as you cover your mouth. You can’t believe this is happening. What would he think if he found you there?

You watch his feet as he steps into a pair of briefs, then his pants. Anymore of him is obscured by the bed frame. You’re thankful for that. Fabric flutters as he buttons on a shirt. He nears the bed and you bite your lip. He sits to put on his socks, the mattress dipping under him.

When he gets up again, he wanders around, and you hear another wisp of fabric. He hums and nears the bed. He stops right beside you and taps the night table. You hear the drawer open and close. You squeeze the watch in your hand. 

Another deep breath as he strides away, “curse… must be…”

The door swings open and his footfalls march decisively down the hallway. You don’t move right away. You’re terrified to come out.

What if he comes back and catches you? Worse, what if he thinks you stole his watch? No, you were only trying to help. That never seems to turn out the way you intend, does it?

[scary-grace]

hi!! for the prompts: 8 & 28? :D i've only recently found ur shiggy fics and i love them all!! i can't wait to read more from you!! 💗

Hi there! Thank you so much for sending me this prompt. This one is set in an AU I've been kicking around for a little while, with the potential to turn into a longer fic one day -- Shigaraki x reader, no quirks/high school au, zombie apocalypse. I'm still taking prompts from this list if you or anyone else would like to send me another!

'shielding the other one with their body' + ‘feeling for each other in the dark’

“Don’t look.” Shigaraki stands squarely between you and whatever lies half in, half out of the classroom. You try to step around him, and he steps back in to block your view. “Hey. What did I just tell you? Don’t look.”

“Just because I’m a girl, you think I can’t –” Rage and stress make you incoherent enough as it is, but beneath it all is fear. Fear because you’ve come to a stop. Fear because you know they’re here somewhere, but you don’t know where, and in the bloodshed that’s unfolded in the halls of your high school since this morning, you’ve learned to fear silence as much as noise. “I can handle it. Let me see –”

“You think it’s because you’re a girl? I wish I hadn’t seen it,” Shigaraki snaps at you. “If I didn’t want to see it, you don’t want to, either.”

For some reason, that argument works on you. “Do you know who it was?”

Shigaraki glances over his shoulder. His jaw clenches, and he looks away fast. “A teacher, maybe. Whoever they were, there’s not enough left of them to reanimate.”

“Good.”

The words feel wrong even as they leave your mouth, but you mean them. With your survival looking increasingly unlikely, the best thing you can hope for is that you don’t come back after you’re killed. “Good,” Shigaraki says. “Let’s go.”

You nod, and inch past the doorway, careful of where you step, avoiding the smears of blood along with everything else. Shigaraki keeps blocking your view the entire way. You’ve been switching off who leads the way, and now it’s your turn. You hold your hand out behind you for the mirror you’ve been using to check around corners and Shigaraki passes it to you, his fingers brushing over yours in a way that would have made your heart skip a beat this morning. Now, with night falling soon, there’s no room left inside you for a stupid crush. All the space is take up by the knowledge of just how quickly things can go wrong.

It started in chemistry class. Everything was fine until chemistry class, even though it’s Valentine’s Day and Valentine’s Day is the worst day of the year for almost everybody. You and your friends did the traditional single-girl chocolate swap, but you brought another small box with you, in case you got up your nerve. And you did. Instead of leaving it in your backpack to be forgotten or in front of his locker to be stolen, you set it down at your lab partner’s seat before he got there.

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t a nice guy. He’s older than you, courtesy of being held back a year sometime in middle school, and while he has friends, every last one of them has a reputation just like his. When you were paired up with him for chem lab at the beginning of the year, most people felt sorry for you, and they said so. But you were determined to make the best of it, not to get off on the wrong foot, and so you were friendly. It took two months for him to start being friendly back.

Maybe that was why you risked the chocolate. You remembered a conversation early on, both of you complaining about couples hanging out in the hallways and blocking you from getting your shoes back, and he’d mentioned something about Valentine’s Day being even worse – everybody and their cat gets chocolate, and I just have to look at it. Writing is your best subject. You read between the lines. And you decided to bring him something way before you admitted you had a crush.

You weren’t sure how you were expecting him to react. Confusion, or interest – you hadn’t signed your name, and if someone gave you chocolate, you’d want to know who it was. But Shigaraki guessed right away that it was you, and when he turned to you, all you could see on his face was rage. It took you three minutes to get your bearings, to respond. Three minutes was enough to get you both sent to the principal’s office.

And it’s a good thing you were there, wasn’t it? In an office with a door that locked and a closed-circuit TV, so when you heard the first screams, you could look into and see exactly what was happening. Your school was devolving into a mess of blood and bodies, and while you refused to say the word, Shigaraki wasn’t shy about it. They’re zombies, he said. And then: We’re fucked.

You made up your mind right then that the two of you were going to survive – and that you were going to finish up the stupid fight you were having in chem class – but as the day’s worn on, it’s gotten harder to hide the truth. The two of you can sneak around the school. You can scavenge food and makeshift weapons. You can use the zombies’ sensitivity to sound to draw them away from wherever you’re trying to go. But you’re still trapped inside the school. You have no idea what conditions are like on the outside, because the school WiFi’s been shut down, and the building’s a dead zone on its best day. And you’re running out of places to go.

Right now you’re moving from the music room, where you spent the afternoon, up into the higher reaches of the building. Going up feels like a bad idea, except the upper levels have fire escapes, which means any room with a window has a way out. You can figure that out in the morning. It’s almost nightfall, and the power’s out. If you and Shigaraki don’t hurry up, you’ll be fumbling your way through a school full of zombies in the dark.

You check around the corner with the mirror. It looks like a straight shot to the stairs, except there’s a couple of zombies knocking around on the landing below your current floor, too clueless to climb up without something to draw their attention. You beckon Shigaraki forward to look into the mirror with you. “Too much open space,” he says, his chapped lips pressed to your ear. “There’s another staircase.”

“On the other end of the school. It’s too far.” You can’t face picking your way back through the sea of bloodstained classrooms the two of you have already crossed. “If we cross –”

“No.”

“If we cross the hall and throw something back the way we came, they’ll clear out and we can go along the wall. As long as we’re quiet –”

The instant the word leaves your mouth, a distant scream pierces the air, and your stomach clenches with horror. There was someone else alive in here – someone else, who’s about to be murdered, and whose cries for help have jarred the zombies on the landing into motion. “Fuck,” Shigaraki mumbles in your ear. “Your idea. Let’s go.”

In the thirty seconds or so it takes the zombies to fumble their way up the stairs to your floor, you and Shigaraki cross the hallway and glue yourselves to the opposite wall. You’ve figured out by now that the zombies don’t see too well. When they pass by, you hold ridiculously still, barely even breathing, and as soon as they round the corner, both of you bolt for the stairs. The stairs are covered in bookbags, backpacks, coats, water bottles, even phones – anything someone would have dropped as they ran for their lives.

You’re careful with where you step, worried not just about sound but about whatever you put weight on sliding out from underneath you. Shigaraki’s not as careful, and it costs him. He stumbles on the strap of a backpack, turns his ankle, curses as he kicks free. The thump of the backpack as it tumbles a few steps down the stairs makes you cringe, but there’s something even worse – a metal water bottle, rolling from the edge of one step. Shigaraki lunges for it, misses. You go for it, and you don’t miss.

But Shigaraki’s off-balance, and with his ankle turned, he can’t catch himself without making noise. A cascade of backpacks and water bottles tumbles down the stairs, jangling and clattering as they go, and you freeze. So does Shigaraki. If there are zombies on the upper floor, you’re both dead, but you don’t hear footsteps above you. What you do hear are the stumbling groans and thuds of zombies coming from every other direction.

You need them to keep going every other direction. You adjust your grip on the water bottle and throw it as hard as you can down the hall, listening to it clang against the tile floors. That should distract them at least a little. Long enough for you and Shigaraki to get to the upper floor. You reach out, offering to help him up the stairs, but he smacks your hand away and gets to his feet on his own.

The two of you can’t use the mirror to check what awaits you at the top of the stairs, but it’s quiet. Shigaraki’s taller, so he stands up straight, peering into the hallway. “Nothing,” he says, when he drops back down at your side. “All the doors are open. We can pick a room.”

The upper floor is weirdly quiet, weirdly empty, weirdly clear of bodies and blood. It’s like everyone got up and left at once. Every time you peer into a room, you expect a nightmare to leap out at you, but the only things moving through the hall are you and Shigaraki. It’s creeping Shigaraki out, too. “Where did they go?”

“We heard the fire alarm go off. People on the top floor would have evacuated down the stairwells.” You remember this morning’s screams, and the way the fire alarm howled for an hour before falling silent. “The zombies wouldn’t have had a reason to come here. How about this one?”

Shigaraki peers into the room you picked. “It’s tiny.”

“It’ll be easier to keep warm,” you say. He gives you a weird look. “The power’s out. The heat will be, too. This has a window and a fire escape.”

“The door doesn’t lock.” Shigaraki turns the handle this way and that. “We’ll barricade ourselves in.”

“We should check the classrooms first,” you say. “People leave their backpacks in a fire drill. Maybe somebody left some food.”

Your idea was to split up, to check the classrooms one at a time, but Shigaraki follows you, and the two of you pick over your dead classmates’ belongings mostly in silence. Shigaraki collects food and water, and you do the same, although you add in other things that might be useful. Portable chargers, assuming any of them are charged. Medicine – allergy pills, ibuprofen, band-aids. A spare pair of socks, a pencil pouch with tampons and panty liners, a toothbrush and toothpaste. The only things you don’t touch are the packages of chocolate your classmates left behind.

Shigaraki doesn’t ask questions until you’re back in your chosen room, the door barricaded and the spoils from your looting spread out on the floor between you. “What did you grab that for?”

“Stuff we’ll need. For when we get out of here.”

Shigaraki scoffs. “You think we’re getting out of here? They left us. They don’t care what happens to us. Once the military gets its shit together they’ll burn this place to the ground.”

“So we’ll get out before then,” you say. “Why did you grab all that food if you think we’re just going to die?”

“We might as well eat good until then.” Shigaraki pokes at a bag of chips, then grimaces. “These are gonna be loud.”

“Maybe that’s how we sort them. Quiet stuff first.” You start rearranging the supplies, and Shigaraki helps without arguing. Outside the window, the sun is setting fast. “We want to be ready to go in the morning.”

“Go where?” Shigaraki shakes his head. “Even if we make it down the fire escape, we’re just going to land in the bushes. Every zombie in the school will hear that.”

“The bushes are right by the student parking lot,” you say. Shigaraki looks up. “How fast can you hotwire a car?”

“Do you think I was in a gang or something?”

“Do you know how to or not?”

“I can do it.” Shigaraki glances out the window, grimaces. The room is so dark that you can barely make out his expression in the dark. “Let’s say we make it that far. Where do we even go?”

“Anywhere,” you say. “Anywhere’s better than here.”

Shigaraki could argue with you. You even know what he’d say – something about how a zombie outbreak would be even worse in a city, how there are plenty of places the two of you could go where you���d be fucked even worse than you are right now. But he doesn’t argue with you. Instead he slides an energy bar across the floor to you. It’s one of the ones you like, one he’s probably seen you eat dozens of times. You didn’t realize he paid attention to stuff like that.

You pay attention, too. You hand him a package of the cookies he always gets from the vending machine, and the two of you settle down to eat in silence.

You’re both night owls – you know that, courtesy of messaging him late about projects and getting an almost instantaneous response – but without light and with the need to save your phone batteries, both of you settle down early. The door’s firmly barricaded. The only other way out is the window and the fire escape, and zombies can’t climb, which means you and Shigaraki are as safe as it’s possible to be. It’s safe for you to fall asleep.

Your mind knows that, but your body doesn’t. Every inch of you is humming with adrenaline, your limbs shaky instead of sure, and no matter how safe your current hideout might be, you know the world outside isn’t. Shigaraki’s right. Where are you going to go, if the two of you manage to get out of here? The zombie virus always spreads, even in zombie movies with happy endings. How many high schools is it in now? How many towns? Even if you live to be a hundred, you’ll never forget what you saw here. What you heard. What you smelled. But you won’t live to be a hundred. You’ll die. Probably tomorrow.

Even though you picked the smallest room to hole up in, the cold still seeps in. Two people’s body heat isn’t enough, especially not when you’re sleeping on opposite sides of the room. But there’s no way you’re cuddling up to Shigaraki in the middle of the night. Given how he reacted to the chocolates you gave him, he’d probably kill you for suggesting it. Why did he react like that, anyway? You never got an answer.

A hand brushes across your shoulder and you startle so badly that your heart goes still in your chest. “Don’t do that.” Shigaraki’s voice is barely a rasp. “You’re cold, too. If you freeze to death I’m never getting out of here.”

“I thought we were dead anyway.” You feel Shigaraki inching closer to you across the tile floors and make what’s probably a stupid decision. “Why not? I guess you need somebody to throw to the zombies to slow them down.”

“Why, so I can make it another five feet on my own? Not worth it.” Shigaraki settles in beside you, until you’re lying back to back. You’re pretty sure that you have to get closer to share body heat with any effectiveness, but you’re not going to say a word. “It’s better to be on a team. I could do a lot worse.”

The urge to ask him about the chocolate boils up again, but it’s faint, transient. There’s something more important you need to ask. “Shigaraki, I need you to promise me something. If I get bitten –”

“I know. Put you out of your misery.” Shigaraki yawns. “I can do that.”

“No,” you say. “That’s not the kind of movie we’re in.”

“Then what? I’m supposed to drag you with me until there’s a cure?”

You grit your teeth. “I need you to promise me,” you try again. “If I get bitten – just let them eat me.”

Shigaraki coughs. “What?”

“Just let them eat me,” you say. You feel strangely calm. “If you kill me after I’m bitten, I’ll come back as one of them. The only way I won’t is if my body’s too damaged to reanimate. So don’t try to save me. Just let them finish it. Save yourself.”

The silence in the small room is deafening, broken up only by the sound of your breathing and the wind outside. Is what you asked of Shigaraki really that big of a deal? You’re not asking him to do it himself, just to let nature take its course. “No,” Shigaraki says after a silence so long that you thought he might have fallen asleep. “Fuck that.”

“Shigaraki –”

“I said it’s better to have a team. My team is you.” Shigaraki rolls over next to you, then yanks at your shoulder until you do the same, and you’re nose to nose in the dark. “I don’t abandon my teammates. We’re getting out of here. Tomorrow.”

His eyes are clear, locked on yours. You look away. “You’ve changed your tune.”

“You were the hopeful one all day. It’s my turn,” Shigaraki says. He yawns, turns his head to hide it in his elbow without lifting his hand off your shoulder. “Go to sleep before you get any other dumb ideas.”

There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep face to face with him. You roll over again, putting your back to him, and shut your eyes, ordering yourself not to open them until morning or until something important happens. And something important does happen – or at least, something that would have felt important this morning, before the end of the world. Some stretch of time later, Shigaraki’s arm falls deliberately over your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

[hotluncheddie]

I'm on that autistic Steve shit!!!! (sorry no hc of Eddie.... can only focus on Steve ❤️)..... my favorite favorite favorite autistic Steve hc is that he is so so charming so charismatic so cool but it's entirely an act..... like he learned it from books and movies and watching other people and like his emotional / social intelligence is thru the roof bc of that.... I think I saw it described in a fic once as "he knows exactly what people want to hear"..... and I think he does revel in being a chameleon and doing that but of course it's draining!!! my fav is him letting the mask down in front of Very Important people..... I'm writing a fic rn where when Steve tries to mask around hopper he's like "boy stop that you know you don't have to do that here"..... I get such such terminal Nothing Face after a long day and I like to think Steve does too and he's worried Eddie will find it off-putting the first time he shuts down and still wants to hang out with him..... but Eddie is so so endeared by it and is very gentle with him "you ran out of faces, huh baby? that's alright" .....

2jug2head “you ran out of faces, huh baby? That’s alright.” That honestly melted my heart. I had to curl up in a little ball to deal with that.

It’s !!!!! So !!!!!! Sweet !!!!!!!!!

and omg having Hopper be like that with Steve, letting him know in that blunt, simple Hopper way I'm !!!!!! thats so good !!!! I will love love love to read that fic when u finish it !!!! pls tag me if u post it !!!!

but yeah I really really hc Steve as being super high masking, very capable socially, very able to read people. he's used so much of his life to think about others and be what's best in any possible situation. he always wants to be perfect in his interactions with people, wants to 'win' at it. wants to be the best version of himself for every person that he meets. and he mostly does. he's good at it, he's smart and a lot of people follow the same sort of conversions, expect similar things. he’s been around enough people and been in enough situations to have scripts and reactions to most scenarios. he can recognise patterns well and so he does that, but with people, over and over and over. so much so that he doesn't even think about it now, doesn't really even realise what he doing.

he’s very capable, very good and smart socially, but it's to his detriment. it means no one really knows him. it means he doesn't really know himself.

it's like he's a little perfect puppet and when he's alone it feels like this freak monster comes out; with all these feelings and thoughts and emotions that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know if they're normal. and he doesn't know how to tell anyone about it either, how to express it or talk about in the right way.

because he's so so scared of being made fun of, or being alone; of being told off, or being weird. and sometimes it makes him so sad, because he doesn't always know how to stop - he's so quick to respond wth his scripts that he forgets to think about what he really thinks, really feels. and he can't stop.

to unmask, at times, most times, feels herculean - to show someone who you really are? that feels impossible. terrifying. to ask for time to think? to risk saying something wrong? being honest feels deeply unnatural somehow - to be honest about how he feels, what he thinks, what he needs. he just, he's never done that before...

so when he's navigating these people, these relationships he so so cares about. with Robin and Eddie and Dustin and Hopper, even.

this is the slew of feelings he has to wade through when trying to be close to them, to keep them, to do what they ask of him. this is what he has to work through. and sometimes, sometimes they act as if it's so easy. as if it is so easy to say the honest truth when asked 'what's up?' or 'what do you think?' or 'what do you want?'

that's not easy, its never been easy. and it makes him feel like a freak once he realises it should be.

-

yeah idk that got kind of sad, sorry. but like. this is where I imagine him, when you get to the good, lovely, cozy, wonderful parts. I just, I think this is the thing, my lovely wonderful high high high masking Steve - this is what he's going through to get to the good. and its hard.

[liyawritesss]

ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴜᴇʟ

-> synopsis: you've never dueled before, despite being in the presence of dueling legends. what happens when they decide to teach you? do you fold under the pressure, or do you show your teacher who's the real master of duel monsters?

-> pairing: yugi moto | jaden yuki | yusei fudo + black!gn!reader

-> from: yu-gi-oh! abridged, yu-gi-oh! gx, yu-gi-oh! 5ds

-> contains: can be read as either platonic or romantic, ot3 protags, 2nd person ('you', 'your', 'yours')

-> a/n: I've been rewatching yugioh and as always I fall in love with this show all over again - it was a pivotal show in my childhood that'll always hold a special place in my heart. this really came abt bc I was thinking of yusei....yeah he's my lil yeah yeah 🫶🏾 we got mad history. okay, anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

-> join my taglist!

-> tags: @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @asensitivecookie @moon-bo-young @flo-milli-shit-hoe @romiantic @shuinami @badass-dora-milaje @uranometrias @elvenxwarrior

yugi moto

-> yugi would jump at the opportunity to teach you how to duel. at this point, it stands as one of his love languages, so expect him to be a bit giddy about it.

-> one day after classes he brings you to the game shop and his grandpa can immediately tell from the smile on his face that it's you that has him this happy. after introducing you to him, yugi asks if his grandpa has any starter decks you can use to learn with. as grandpa moto goes to search for one, yugi takes the opportunity to point out certain cards on display, telling you about their mechanics and histories as if he's an expert on them. you note how animated he gets about them and it's honestly so cute how passionate he is; it even gets you pumped up a little.

-> grandpa moto hands off the started deck and the two of you retreat to the upstairs unit and to his room. once settled, he starts laying down the ground rules, showing you the basics with his own deck before starting up a practice duel. At certain points he'll show you different ways you can play strategies to get the best outcome, coaching you until you get the hang of it. yugi let's you make mistakes on your own but points them out so that you don't end up doing them again.

-> he's the kind of teacher to walk you through things carefully - not necessarily hold your hand the entire way, but he knows it can be intimidating to be thrown in on the deep end with no support, so he takes his time. it takes a couple days of coming over to his place and practicing with the spare deck until most of the rules and basics stick to your brain, and pretty soon, you gain the confidence to duel him without his guidance, and even in school during lunch or down time in front of people (youd been previously embarrased to do so bc of your amateurity)

-> honestly, seeing you grow comfortable with dueling and loving the game just as much as him makes him admire like you ten times more. the disappointment he feels when you beat him is quickly replaced, if it wasn't feigned all along, with a sense of pride that this is the very unique and special connection he has with you, and he definitely cherishes it.

jaden yuki

-> so like.....if you want to learn *seriously* how to duel, don't go to this guy. jaden's whole shtick is having fun and feeling the adrenaline that comes with dueling, the high that he gets is unlike any other and unique to him in his eyes, and so mainly, he's gonna focus on the more fun side of dueling instead of the actual logistics of it.

-> it did come as the consequence of a dare, so you can't really blame him for not taking it seriously at first. It was either that, or sneak into the obelisk blue dorm and take a dip in the obnoxiously large pool they have - and jaden was already in the hot seat and couldn't risk any more shenanigans at the moment.

-> that is to say, he's not necessarily a *bad* teacher. he's just not the kind of guy to be all....teacher-y about it. He's gonna make it fun and engaging, but you're gonna have to be the one asking the questions and taking the lead on your duel monsters learning.

-> for jaden, he's gonna lean more into the 'dive head first' kind of strategy. he'll wanna start a duel up right away, and while you don't necessarily understand what's going on, you trust jaden enough to follow his lead on things, and gradually, you pick up on certain things based on his own dueling strategy. the easier parts, such as setting traps and spells and basic summoning techniques, gravitate to you quickly, and jaden gets more excited the faster you pick it up, since it means the duel itself can pick up speed.

-> jaden does give you feedback though, and this is obviously after he's went wild and had his fun. I think he'd make jokes about your mistakes so you won't feel bad about them and to alleviate any pressure you may be feeling. after all, dueling is suppose to be fun (such a shocker compared to the world they live in). but over all, jaden makes sure you experience the fun that comes with dueling while still showing you the basics so that they stick.

-> the first time you beat jaden, he's honestly kind of dumbfounded...and so are you. neither of you realize what's happened after a few minutes, but when you do, of course jaden's initial response is for a rematch. you think it's because he wants to see if you can do it again, and while that's partially true...he also just wants to one up you and get that adrenaline rush again. it turns into a long-winded back and forth thing throughout the duration of your time at duel academy - you beating him, he beating you - until your last duel ends in a draw and you ultimately call a truce.

-> jaden thinks youre the only one who can match his energy during a duel and thats what really spurs him on. it's only natural that since he's the one that taught you, you'd have a more spontaneous style to the game, and that's what jaden seeks out during duels - someone to keep up with him and to keep the energy alive. believe it or not jaden gets a teeny hit jealous when you show that kind of energy to someone else in a duel. you find him pouting like a puppy and when you ask what's wrong, he just says "nothin'" because even he doesn't know why he acts like that, until Cyrus starts teasing him about potentially liking you....and it starts becoming a serious accusation the more Jaden refuses to respond to them.

yusei fudo

-> now don't hate me ... and don't hate him, but yusei is the kind of teacher who makes you work for it. hes not gonna give you the answer ir explain things to you right away, because to him it takes away the the whole point of learning how to duel *your* way. there's never gonna always be someone in your corner giving you a play by play for each turn, so you have to be able think fast and critically on your own to survive in a real duel.

-> it comes about as a sort of 'service exchange' - he needs help with some diagnostic software runs on his duel runner, and in exchange, he teaches you the fundamentals of dueling, as you've never actually learned even though you've been running with his crew for some time. so he deems it about time you learned (y'know, now that there isnt an imminent threat of world destruction to stop you).

-> he'll either tell you constantly "youre not suppose to do that" over and over again, or when you make a suspicious or an off move, he'll ask "why'd you do that?" and it lowkey frustrates you, because you're not being told exactly what's wrong so you can fix it. he doesn't let you get frustrated to the point where you get pissed off and want to stop, though - he'll ask you different questions to gage your thinking before showing you how it's done on his end. that mostly means you losing the practice duels, though, but you don't mind, as with each match, you learn a little more, until you can finally take him in a hand-to-hand duel without any guidance.

-> turbo dueling is a completely different beast though - one that damn near gets you in the hospital. Granted, you've only ridden Yusei's bike a handful of times in situations that were also life or death, so you're not completely experienced with it. of course, he's smart, and has you ride it around a couple of times to get the feel of it before having the speed world spellcard engage. though both of you quickly learn that with the added pressure of maintaining speed as well as focusing on driving and playing the game was too much....so you both agree that maybe turbo dueling isn't for you just yet.

-> yusei always makes time to have a duel with you if you ask him. given the amount of times he's had to duel for the sake of the world, it's definitely a change of pace just having a tabletop duel for fun. he's also always on the lookout for cards that could be useful for whatever kind of deck you intend to build for yourself, and even asks the twins about any new releases in the city that you might be interested in. akin to his silent caring personality, he'll also gift you a duel disk of your own, fitted to your arm size and adjustable as well.

-> you better believe this guy gets extremely excited when you win a duel, whether it be against him or anyone else. he may be a bit of a hard teacher, but it's all so rewarding in the end when you can stand on your own against an opponent; especially with those endearing acts of praise like a nice pat on the head, shoulder, or back and even a tight bear hug. the guys may tease him a bit for always having a smile on his face whenever he's in the stands watching you duel, but it falls on deaf ears to yusei, who's always gonna sport a neverending smile of pride

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[aziraphales-library]

Hello amazing people! I wonder if you have any recs for human aus where the boys are like teen or uni aged? Like cute young love story. Maybe spicy. Thank you! <3

Hi! Tags you'll want to take a look at are: #childhood friends, #high school au, #college au, and #university au. Here are some more to add...

Vignettes of a Life Together by Busy24_7 (E)

Crowley, botany student and professional worrier, is harboring a massive, secret crush on his new roommate. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is more clueless than he is given credit for. Will these two ever figure it out, or is Crowley doomed to a life of pining? A 5+1-style fic with a whole lot of fluff and intentionally minimal angst. Rated M for the first few chapters, but will be upgraded to E if Crowley ever gets his way…

The End is Where We Start From by Optimistic Starlight (E)

“Aziraphale, hello. It’s er, been a long time.” “Yes, dreadfully long. You look different.” He immediately coloured in evident embarrassment. “I mean, of course you look different, as do I of course, I didn’t mean bad different, that is to say…” Something inside of Crowley, something that had been in a deep freeze for several eons, was starting to thaw. It was letting little bits and pieces of familiarity break loose to float back into their rightful places in his soul. One of those pieces, those round, blue eyes, suddenly snapped into place, and he felt a corresponding wave of long-forgotten feeling wash through him. Aziraphale is anxious. Make Aziraphale happy. “Yeah,” he interrupted. “D’you wanna… get a coffee or something?” *** Crowley and Aziraphale meet by chance on the street. They've met before, in their youth, in a different life. Some difficult things have happened since then. Will they be able to find their way back to each other and to themselves?

Down to the River by CemeteryAngel725 (E)

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Crowley walked out of Azi’s life and broke both of their hearts. Since then, Azi has been living in suspended animation, working in the army/navy surplus booth he inherited from his dad and writing horror novels. Now Tony is back from the city, flush with success and wanting to catch up with Azi. Should Azi risk his heart and try to reclaim what they’ve lost? Or is it too late to start over? A Good Omens human AU inspired by Bruce Springsteen.

Against All Odds by GroovyNightStrawberry (E)

How can you just walk away from me? When all I can do is watch you leave 'Cos we've shared the laughter and the pain and even shared the tears You're the only one who really knew me at all Az is eleven, and his world is falling apart. His best friend is walking away from him, and Az can't find a way to make him stay. Thirty-five years later, there's a familiar face at Aziraphale's new job, and it threatens to break his heart all over again. Can they do it better this time?

Opposites Attract by Pal456 (M)

The Eastgate family hated the Crowley family. Hated them so much, that their children were not to spend any time together. That never stopped Aziraphale and Crowley being drawn to one another time and time again even though their families would pull them apart. As years go by, Aziraphale tries to do right by his parents in order to take over the family business one day, but it seems like the Almighty might have a different, ineffable, plan that brings the two together every chance they get.

One and the Same Fall by ElliottRook (E)

Aziraphale Fell is a UK student attending an American Catholic school on exchange, an escape from a strict, conservative family. Anthony Crowley is a juvenile delinquent on his last chance, sent to live with his uncle and attend a school that promises to shape him up. When they cross paths at St. Bernadette's, they nearly instantly become friends, and nobody likes it--not the teachers, not the old-money students, not Aziraphale's family--but it's the best thing that's ever happened to either of them. Hanging over their heads, though, is Crowley's plan to flee the moment he comes of age, and what will happen after they're no longer trapped in the same gilded cage.

- Mod D

[intuitively-her]

Why are people scared of you?

Pile 1-(The Hermit, 7 of swords, The Lovers rx, 8 of cups, The Devil, Temperance, 4 of cups rx, 4 of wands rx, 8 of pentacles rx, The Magician, 8 of wands) *angel number confirmation: 888

It's easy for you to detach from situations that don't serve you. You may prefer to be alone often. Sometimes you may even have more fun by yourself than when you're with others. People wish they could be like that. You're very much grounded and comfortable in your own skin. You are your own happiness! This really gets under people's skin. Mad ass bitches.🤣 You're very secretive and many wonder what you're hiding. People feel like they can't keep up with you. This could even be people that try to keep up with you to be all up in your business. But they're still blocked from knowing anyways. You're a powerful creator. You've built your creations from the ground up and made it to the top without the help of anyone else. You really had to get it out the mud BY YOURSELF. Lastly, many believe that you're a heart breaker. It's something about the way you look. You're a temptress.

*channeled song: way 2 sexy by drake

Pile 2-(5 of wands, 10 of swords, The Hanged Man, The Devil, The Star, The Magician, Queen of swords, Ace of swords, Justice)

You're not afraid of confrontation and being the bad guy when it's needed. I keep hearing "don't poke the bear". So you could actually be quiet and keep to yourself, but you'll flip the switch at any moment. That's really f*cking scary lmao. There's this strong aura of confidence around you. You walk with your head held high. Something about you makes people want to surrender. They feel super defeated against you. People would rather be with you than against you. You may have some sort of fame or following on a platform. For some of you, you run a business that contributes to this. People wish they could do it like you. Lastly, people are scared of you because you always get to the bottom of the truth. You always receive justice and come out on top in situations.

*channeled song: blow the whistle by too short

Pile 3-(6 of cups rx, The Hierophant rx, The World, Death, The Hermit, The Emperor, King of swords rx, 2 of pentacles rx, 10 wands rx, 6 of wands)

You're growing up and leaving behind dead weight. You've truly been evolving into a new person. Like a snake shedding it's skin. You're releasing a lot of your past burdens. Some people feel like you're gonna leave them behind. This could be family. These are people that were never supposed to join you on your journey anyway. You've been handling things on your own more and keeping your business to yourself. I'm getting a "f*ck it, ill just do it myself" type of energy from this pile. You're becoming your own savior. You've been taking a lot more risks as well. I keep getting something about "risk and reward". So maybe that has meaning to you.

*channeled song: rise up by andra day

Pile 4-(Queen of cups rx, 3 of swords, Queen of pentacles, Queen of wands rx, 4 of swords, Ace of cups, King of cups, Judgement, The High Priestess)

You can be very spiteful towards those that have done you wrong. People are often scared to go against you because they're afraid of what you might do in retaliation. You're very selfish with your time and you take your self-care seriously. You hold a lot of knowledge about many different subjects. I heard "old soul". You know exactly what you want and you demand it. That's actually very attractive to others. You seem to have a good judgement towards others, so you know who to associate yourself with and who not to. You can be a social butterfly at the same time tho. You know many people from many different crowds. You also have many people that come to your defense in situations, some unbeknownst to you.

*channeled song: no more (baby ima do right) by 3LW

[hurtspideyparker]

Peter Parker's Guilt Complex

Uncle Ben died because he didn't step up. If he isn't using his powers for good, then he's using them for bad. There is no neutrality for him, no stepping away from Spider-Man. We see this shown in Captain America Civil War:

"when you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen? they happen because of you"

Peter takes responsibility for the city of New York's safety all in his own back. Tony Stark validates him as a hero by having him fight alongside and against the Avengers, which fuels his belief that he's able to take on more than petty crime (when Tony doesn't provide anything more high-stakes, he takes his own risks. if bigger, badder things are out there and he isn't there to stop them? his fault.)

He can't step away, even for his own safety (his fault his fault his fault)

When he nearly dies in that collapsed building in homecoming it becomes glaringly obvious that there are no other heroes coming to save him. Even Peter Parker needs Spider-Man to save him; this only hammers in the idea that he can never rest as a hero, because then who else will save the city?

Peter drops his extracurriculars, stops hanging out with his friends. He becomes consumed with his hero identity (no breaks no time what if they need me what if there's danger what if I was having fun or doing homework while someone was dying?).

Then Peter becomes an Avenger, fights in a war, and loses people. Loses Tony. He's 16 and he just saved the world - so he takes a break. Goes to Europe with his class. Aunt May snuck the Spider-Man suit in his bag; the red and blue follow him like a ghost and he's haunted by expectations to save the world, to be the next Stark.

And Fury is there to remind him once again what a failure he is (step up, fight, no breaks. my fault my fault my fault). And for the first time in his career he considers that maybe the world is better without Spider-Man. Maybe he just makes things worse.

Beck is better. Beck will fix things. Peter chooses to be just a little selfish for once and hands over the Stark legacy to someone more qualified so he can go kiss a pretty girl.

It backfires; Peter's guilt nearly swallows him whole. Not only did he shit on everything great Tony thought he was, but now he's handed a super weapon to the latest villain hell bent on killing him and his friends (the people around me get hurt the people I care about the people that I put in danger my fault my fault my fault).

When his identity is revealed maybe a small part of him thinks he deserves this. The public may have the details wrong but in the end they're right, he's a fraud and a danger. He hurts the people he loves, lets them down and puts them in harm's way.

Ned and MJ can't get into MIT because of him, he tries to fix it. He messes up the spell, he tries to fix it. May dies and he can't fix it (my fault my fault my fault).

He lets them go. Blinded by his guilt he can no longer see the light and love he brought into people's lives, only the darkness he's stained them with. He cuts the strings and along with it goes some of the guilt that weighs him down, but where the guilt resided is now a gaping hole of loneliness, his chest as hollow as the apartment he now lives in.

On nights where he misses Ned's laughter, and MJ's witty comments, May's hugs, and working in Tony's lab, he still hears the voice in his head reminding him my fault my fault my fault. Though instead of guilt it only brings melancholy and resignation. This decision has to be the right one because the only person it's hurting is himself.

Peter Parker was a guilty man. So he gave up everything he had until there was nothing left to be guilty for.

Peter Parker is a selfless man.

[fleursbending]

hello!! i hope you're doing well and don't forget to take care of yourself!!

could i please request a lo'ak x fem metkayina reader with dialogue prompt 5?

thank you so much if you do!! make sure you're taking breaks, okay? <3

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐭. | Lo'ak Sully

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : while you were one of the most sought members of the clan for your intelligence, sometimes you tended to be as dense as a rock. or in other words, lo’ak proves time and time again - that he only wishes to be worthy of your love.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : lo'ak sully x fem!metkayina reader

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 : 5. "Would you acknowledge my feelings for you if I kissed you right now? You can't seem to take a damn hint, [name]."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : this was part of a writing event i did for reaching 100 followers, it's crazy to me that now we are on the way to 1000. i'm forever grateful of all the love and support you guys give me! an official permanent prompt list will be up soon where you can request whatever you'd like any time. "ˏˋ °•*⁀➷" indicates a flashback. anyways enjoy loverboy lo'ak <333.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dumb with love reader trope, reader is a dense mf, lo'ak is a lovesick fool, a lil angst but mostly fluff, minor cussing.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.4k words !!!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @eywas-heir @spicycloudsalad @missdreamofendless @prty-poisxn @scarlettwitch-4 @23victoria @avidreader3107 @purplehyacinthss @itssiaaax @neteyamoa @tsireyasgf @nijirozzz @useryourbut @yua-himari @sweetheartlizzie07 @grierpilots @reneehillary69 @fruitsalad1

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆, well almost everything it seems. The Metkayina clan admired you for your intelligence and quick thinking under pressure. Somehow you always found a way to alleviate high-tension situations and find solutions to ongoing issues in your community. 

Y/n was most well-known for her baskets, and while that may sound odd. It was her pride and joy. She’d found ways to intricately weave baskets of different sizes and durabilities. Being able to have more room for storage, or able to withhold more weight. It would give her an immense amount of comfort when people would praise her for such random yet useful interventions. 

For example, “the carrier” - an object weaved in the shape of the Na’vis shoulders so you can hang your clothes on them! A true miracle worker.

Don’t get Lo’ak wrong, he absolutely treasured those aspects of Y/n. But you were outright dumb sometimes, which was quite the contrasting statement. 

The poor Sully boy could hold a sign saying, “I don’t just see you, I thrive in your presence. I am the best version of myself when I am with you. I really like you!” Yet you’d still just nod and even fist-bump him, probably commenting on how sweet he is. 

Like God damn woman, take a hint! 

Were you just blind to love? Playing hard to get? Oblivious? Lo’ak truly did not know, and Kiri did not offer much help in that department either. 

The two girls were just starting to get close to one another, alongside Tsireya. And no one else wanted to be friends with the eldest Sully daughter. She was not risking a strain in a newly developed friendship just to help his ass feel better.

Maybe, he thought. Just maybe he wasn’t being obvious enough? From then on he decides to go the extra mile with his intentions.

Getting your food for you, walking you to places. Getting callouses and blisters on his hands just to learn your almost mystical weaving techniques just to take some of the workload off you.

Neteyam had witnessed these obvious advances and the shift in his demeanor, deciding to use this as ample opportunity to tease him.

He remarked, “Baby brother, that is what friends do.”

The younger had hissed, pushing the eldest in annoyance. 

Friends?! Is he fucking with me? Absolutely not. The boy had muttered to himself as he begrudgingly stomped out of the mauri. 

A new determination flickered in his eyes as he saw you in the distance, snickering at whatever girls talk about with Tsireya. 

Lo’ak would do whatever it takes and prove that he is worthy of your attention and love.

Instead of doing the normal thing, like asking your parents if he can court you. He figured, eh? Why not stir the pot in his own way? He’s an independent young man! He can handle this on his own.

His touches began to linger more, it felt like his scent had been roped to your skin. Always attentively wrapping an arm around your shoulders, or his large hand would basically engulf the entirety of your wrist. He’d guide you to little spots on the outskirts of Awa’atlu that he personally found great comfort in, even then the skin-to-skin contact would linger.

These were places you’ve lived amongst your entire life but always brushed by in passing. Your heart would grow twice the size, being able to witness the fondness twinkling in his eyes as he’d appreciate every single part of nature he came across.

It lit a spark deep within your bones, one you’d furiously try to stomp on to take out. 

Lo’ak did not help in that sense, considering he’d show how protective he was over you whenever a fellow boy of the clan would give you even an ounce of their attention. You’d nag at him to stop the act, saying you could handle it on your own.

The cherry on top? You’d pinch his cheek, and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

No, “Lo’ak you’re so handsome”. Or, “Lo’ak you take such great care of me, I like you too!”.

Day by day, he was becoming more fed up and frustrated. All he had to do back at home was slightly teasingly flirt with a girl for the heck of it, and they’d already be profusely blushing. 

But you had that sweet smile always gracing your face, and it wasn’t that he didn’t love it. Because frankly, he really does. 

It just felt like he was getting nowhere, prancing back and forth to try to encase himself in your heart. 

Lo’ak’s ego has never been shot down like this before, and it was dampening his mood. He just wanted to dote on you, be there for you. Not like he was now, but as a partner. Someone who could kiss you, cuddle you. He craved for you to ease his worries, to reciprocate his tumultuous feelings. 

To him, it felt like he was climbing up a tree that very soon he’d be pushed down from. He was praying to Eywa that all his efforts would be worth it in the end. 

If only he already knew Y/n returned all his feelings. To be fair, you weren’t the greatest at showing or even expressing it. In her eyes, she doesn’t perceive any of these motions Lo’ak is going through as anything more than platonic. 

Even Kiri is tired of this, because yeah. Maybe this friendship is willing to be strained and bent a bit because her dear brother is losing his literal marbles.

She can’t fault you though, you’ve told her time and time again. No boy had ever expressed such avid interest in you, you’ve always been an afterthought to them. They were almost always sent your way to collect your creations for their families. In their eyes, the Olo'eyktan's daughter was far more of a catch than she would ever be.

You were okay with that, to some degree it benefitted you. Although not this time.

His insecurities started to riddle him, eating up all the hopes and desires he had painted for the both of you. Can he not live up to whatever prior expectations you may already have going on in your pretty mind? Lo’ak can’t help but overthink because he feels like he is going nowhere.

Now, that wasn’t your intention at all. There was something about the boy that utterly terrified you, he was the first guy in her life that she actually considered a friend. That meant the entire world they orbited around to her. Lo’ak to her was new waves of entirely unexplored waters. It was a feeling that she hadn’t been able to delve into for eons.

Yn’s clan was isolated, in the middle of the ocean. Scattered amongst dozens of other villages alike the one she inhabits. Nothing remotely new had graced their presence for so long. 

How dare she not fall for the inquisitive and rebellious forest boy? Every day he gave her a taste of something so avant-garde to her already influential mind. Every day he gave her a new perspective and angle to a place she’s coexisted in her entire life. 

So while Lo’ak was concerned about his feelings being dismissed, Y/n was winded from even encountering them in the first place. 

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ˳೫˚

There was something amiss. 

It’s now midday, and there hasn’t been any sighting of Lo’ak. Y/n didn’t see him at breakfast, or at his mauri. He wasn’t at their usual meeting spot either. She remembers it like the back of her hand, the corner to turn to get to her own mauri. He’d always be standing there with a coy smirk, leaning against the structure pole closest to him. Not today, though.

You’d been looking for him all day, even asking his siblings. They all gave you the same answer. “Do we ever know what he is truly up to?” 

Yeah, they had a good point on that one.

Y/n couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling nibbling at her stomach though. She had looked to where their families Ilu’s were kept, his was still there. She swam in the ocean, diving to his favorite spots. Her eyes even caught sight of Payakan in the distance, and there was no cute boy from the forest by his side. 

You start to feel a great sense of loss. This was something you certainly were not used to and never wanted to be. Day in and day out, he was without a doubt always here. By your side.

There was a certain emptiness creeping under your bones, lapping at the crevices of your heart and situating there. Dread poured down on you like the rain kissing at your teal skin. 

For the first time in these last few months, you had never felt so alone. 

Y/n had never felt so utterly vexed, and no one around her was giving any fucks. 

(Stupid Lo’ak, teaching her curse words. Stupid Lo’ak, for making her care so damn fucking much.)

She stomped to her mauri, letting out a restless sigh as the rain ceased. Grabbing at her supplies she made it her own personal mission to situate at a part of the island not regularly inhabited. 

You missed him and the solace his presence brought you. His little snarky remarks or complaints about Ao’nung being a dickhead again. Or Lo’ak whining as you would mend his wounds, blisters scattered across his palms and fingertips. Work and effort he had put into helping you figure out the new invention that had been weighing on your mind. 

Just the little things that should be so minor, weren’t to you.

Now you can’t help but ponder on it, maybe he does feel the same way you do? That perhaps it wasn’t all so black and white. Rather instead, something far more complex and out of your vicinity. 

Another sigh fell from your lips at the thoughts that you continued to mull over. Leaning against the tree behind you, when suddenly the importance of this place hit you.

It was the first time you had witnessed Lo’ak, all alone.

 

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ˳೫

ˏˋ °•*⁀➷ No parents nearby were scouring his every move, siblings lingering to tease him and oddly make him feel even more like an outcast. Thank Eywa too, for there were no bullies there. 

It was just him and you now.

Y/n could tell he was dealing with utter turmoil, so you had adjusted your hold on the basket full of materials weighing heavily in your arms. Oddly enough it was filled with things to weave even more baskets, this time of varying sizes with colour in them. You wanted them to look more pretty, and eye-catching. 

She watched as his hands that were dug into the sand, moved to scribble whatever his heart had desired to draw. They came to a still, as your presence drew itself closer to his. 

Lo’ak was convinced you’d ignore him out of shameless disgust, just like everyone else does in this clan, and walk by without a word. But all you had given him was that smile, and he knew from then on your soul was too gentle for this cursed world.

You tilted your basket to him, showing the contents inside of it. “Would you like to learn how to make the best baskets in all of Metkayina?” She peered down at him, with such tender luminous eyes. 

How could he say no to that?

His mind was astray, and he didn’t really know how you knew that he needed a distraction. 

But with a nod of his head, as he straightened his posture, you let out a quiet noise - something akin to a cheer. Making yourself comfortable in front of him as you sat down, you took everything out and laid it on the sand with such care. 

There, he tuned in to another lesson. 

The whole time he pretended he didn’t know anything, Neytiri totally didn’t teach him how to weave or anything at a young age, not at all! He had good reasoning to do so because your voice sounded and felt so saccharine and cozy. It had reminded him of the fruits back at home.

Lo’ak also couldn’t help but admire how your worry lines would become evident and scrunch up when he’d make a little rookie mistake. Ever patient as you are, you’d glide your hand over his and ease him over the instructions once again.

For a boy who complained so much, not a peep came from his mouth as he learned from you. 

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ˳೫

A strange sense of deja vu washed over Lo’ak as he witnessed you leaning against an all too familiar tree. Y/n was mapping out the contents of her mind into the grains of sand closest to her. 

He’d been nestled in his own head the whole day, trying to understand the situation he had desperately wondered if he should pluck himself out of.

Lo’ak wondered then, had you admired him just as much as he was in this very moment? 

Taking a deep breath, he then stalked over to you.

The swooshing of the sand moving abruptly caught your attention, making Y/’s eyes dart up.

You call for Lo’ak, and it melts him to the core. He always loves the unintentional dip in your tone whenever you’d pronounce the last part of his name.

He didn’t know what burned in him then, but he felt it was now or never.

As he grabbed your arms and dragged you up, Y/n could only stumble into his chest with a faint “oomph”. The Sully boy leaned back, hands drastically moving to smooth your hair back which had fluttered everywhere due to his abrupt actions. 

He gazes at you then, unpacking everything that made you who you are for the hell of it. For the reason that he’s afraid. He’ll wither in tremendous sorrow if he doesn’t get some form of confirmation from you.

Lo’ak cannot keep playing himself with the what-ifs, he needed to hear what now.

"Would you acknowledge my feelings for you if I kissed you right now? You can't seem to take a damn hint, Y/n," Lo’ak uttered with a voice mellowed in affection. 

Her mouth opened, then closed, repeat. Gaping, reminiscent of the fish in the ocean a few steps away from both of them. With watchful eyes he saw as you suck your teeth in, nibbling nervously on your bottom lip.

Y/n hesitates, cautious but unable to fight against it. Your hands seek and grip his shoulders. A force so soft, so kind, so you. Lo’ak exhaled. 

“Your feelings for me?” Y/n croaked, sheer shock displayed on her features.

He could only laugh and shake his head in utter disbelief, his braids almost covering the eyes you worshipped upon. Oh my God, you truly are that clueless. 

Lo’ak looked at your hands that splayed on his shoulders, before tilting back up to peer down at you.

“My feelings for you… they are all-consuming. You surround me, like the tides of this very ocean,” He points out to the vast sea to the side of you two.

He continues, “and it hurts. I am in pain because I feel like I am drowning in it. And you aren’t there. I dream of you, I think of you, I act like! Like my brother for you. You do not witness my loss of breath, my all that I give! For, you.” 

He specifically targeted the fullness of his passion and annunciated in the last two words, hoping his point had finally gotten across to you. His face paints an exasperated expression, wounding you deeply. 

Your brain is as much of a mess as the fishing nets you and Kiri had tried to untangle this morning. The clarity that leaches onto you feels all too antagonizing. Y’n tries to reason, but he shakes his head again. Putting his hand over yours that still weighs on his shoulder. 

As if the entire weight of an Ikran pressed into him. It was daunting and petrifying. 

Treacherous at the seams. 

He gulps and lets the gates flood. “I know you are not dumb, far from it. Your mind is so fucking bright, that even I still get surprised by how you handle even the most mundane things. Even up to now, even if I’ve observed you hurdle through your daily activities constantly.” 

Y/n whispers his name again, lips pulled to a frown and Lo’ak wants the sand beneath him to swallow him whole. But he must know.

“I fear you are clueless though. Do you not see or feel how I do?” He voices his prior thoughts.

The nail to the coffin.

He had never sounded so desperate before. Lo’ak had always been a spitfire of sorts, and sure he had his moments. Although this time he was pleading, yearning, and aching. 

Somehow like a miracle, it was directed your way only.

You twist your head, gulping to try to muster up a source of confidence and understanding to power past this.

This is Lo’ak, the boy who barely left your side since finding each other. Your Lo’ak who you knew so well. Always there for him through thick and thin. The youngest son who looked up to his brother so fiercely, with a dad he could never seem to understand.

She looks up at him, properly and with conviction. “I do see, I do feel. I do, all for you,” Y/n begs to be heard, and his irises are blown.

He too never heard you so desperate.

Y/n embraces all that Lo’ak is, just like the very first time she laid her azure eyes on his. 

“I guess, I am just incapable of seeing the signs. I do not have any experience in this…area of things.” You shyly whisper at the end, cheeks flaming at what you hinted at.

Lo’aks eyebrows furrow. He’s trying to obtain some understanding as his thumb grazes the apple of your cheek before cupping the side of your face.

You see him. You really do.

“I am usually only sought out for my intelligence, not of anything else. Lo’ak, no one has ever seen me in the light you seem to.” Her eyes look wistful as if she’s been transferred back to past events.

For good measure, you add on, grumbling. “My parents aren’t excellent examples to learn from either.”

Lo’ak croons, “I’m sorry.”

You grin up at him, and this time something shined. Lo’ak did not know if it was his heart or the slight difference in your expression, but there was something new mingling in the air.

His thoughts become fried as you tilt your head further up, balancing on the tip of your toes. Lo’aks hand almost slips from its grasp on your face. However, now you’re really close. Lips hovering over his as you coo, “Please accept this apology for making you so infuriated.”

Not only did you whisk his thoughts away, but his very breath too. You kiss him, this time being the first one to take action. It almost ceases the boy's heart altogether, you took this leap for him. For the future of you both.

As you retract from him, a pleading whine fell from the boy in front of you as he raced to chase your lips.

Y/n giggles at his actions, admiring the boy in front of her.

By Eywa, you were indeed a clueless fool.

The eyes who looked into yours now were so unlatched, expressing everything else he couldn’t say in words. That was the same gaze he gave you the very first time you’d see each other at the start of the day, and all throughout until the end. Awaiting to repeat itself the following day.

“I’ll only accept your apology after you let me have a few more kisses.” He interrupts your intrusive thoughts, and you could only laugh bashfully as you sink back into the entirety of him.

“Alright, Lo’ak. Whatever you say goes, it seems.” You mutter against his lips, and as you’re brought into a second kiss. His hand settles at the back of your head, guiding you. 

Y/n can’t help but think, she wouldn’t mind learning about the ways of love with him. Whether that was through actions or words. Even a simple passing look. 

Just like he listened and learned your ways of the Metkayina clan. You’d do the same because now you see. Now you can finally observe what makes Lo’ak so incredible. 

It’s how he bestowed love so boundlessly.

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

[sonicboomseason3]

this is really fucked up, but one of the reasons why actors tend to not speak out on big political topics is because on some contracts, production companies will include clauses such as not being able to publicly contradict their political beliefs. this is enforced through either monetary penalties and non disparagement agreements, but they both serve the same purpose of having a legal precedent to publicly punish actors who do it

i was originally just gonna respond to this with an "ok" and nothing else but then i caught a good handful of people in my notes dickriding an actor who doesn't even know that they exist (and really only him because i haven't seen anyone doing the same for marsden or pally) so ykw how about i just take this opportunity to bring up a couple of other sketch things that keanu has done that show that he isn't nearly as cool as everyone wants to believe:

the party with netanyahu isn't actually the only time he's rubbed elbows with a prominent israeli - he actually trained with IOF special ops vet aaron cohen in order to play john wick (and on the off chance that anyone wants to dismiss cohen as some guy who was just in the IOF decades ago and left that shit behind, just take a look at his history here). cohen on his own is just an absolute piece of work and a cursory glance at his social media should tell you everything in case the past couple of sentences didn't

and since people want to play the fucking "keanu attended that party a decade ago!!1!" card with me (interestingly enough nobody's doing the same for marsden even though the thing with him was way back in like 2004) i'll go for something relatively recent: he's friends with killer cop toni mcbride. in 2020 mcbride shot and killed daniel hernandez and subsequently got sued by his family for it (guess whose movies they've requested that people boycott?). around the 0:10 mark of this video of the two of them meeting up, they make jokes about "shootin' newton," which is a chant lapd newton division cops came up with to reference the high amount of police shootings that happen there. also in case none of this is enough for you mcbride's a proud trump supporter so yeah she's just a full-on white supremacist and keanu not only decided to hang out with her for a day but also evidently knew enough about the lapd to know about "shootin' newton"

but back to anon's original point, am i supposed to care that he could potentially get fined for saying shit? this past week, hundreds of college students and faculty, most if not all of whom are significantly worse off than an a-list celebrity like keanu, have been brutalized and arrested for protesting the genocide on campuses. and somehow an actor with a net worth of $380 million can't say or do anything lest he run the risk of being fined or fired or whatever

[sunlitewhispers]

Marvus and his money headcanon

(Been surfing through the marvus tags and I've got some thoughts to share regarding this clown)

To start off, I personally think troll currency is more digital than physical. Like everyone uses a card to trade or get items (and its only due to the empresses restrictions on things when she removed the adults from the planet) but physical money is still real, it's just a fun thing that highbloods and high midbloods use to flaunt and to trade amongst each other.

To signify the value of the bills, they have a strip of color from the cast they were made for. For example, Teals =80, Cerulean =90, Indigo =100, etc.

(There were coins that were common amongst lowbloods and low midbloods, but that got discontinued when moving to cashless/digital. There is evidence preserving the old currency existence such as in museums showings of the old times and extremely old paintings in the clown churches.) (You can think that these coins are caegars or not)

With that out the way! On to Marvus and his money 💰

I imagine Marvus doesn't really care about money nor feels that it has a heavy connection to his identity compared to performing/entertaining. Marvus just knows that people wanna see him and lose their shit at his concerts and are willing to drop stacks to be there even with the risk of being culled.

With that, Marvus can be loose with his money, quite literally throwing it around to which some highbloods would critique the act as 'disrespectful' and 'rebellious' since money is one of the ways ancestors can provide to descendants and give them a clue to their existence. (If they want or have left a will if they died, regardless, the empire still sets them up with a small fund)

I dont know if philanthropy would be an actual thing or just be a thing highbloods (like Zebruh) say they do for approval points. But I imagine Marvus would be the type to do so in the most unconventional means.

He probably stopped his tour bus once to grab a grubshake or a handmade sandwich from a small cafe and threw a fat band on the counter saying, "Keep da change lol." Leaving the workers there in awe and fear cause damn he just weirdly blessed them, and damn they now gotta fight off his fans from stealing the marvy money. (If Marvus is there, his fans are certainly gonna be there too.)

Marvus definitely buys his crew lunch or, if he's hanging with someone, offers to pay for them when he's out and about. He stresses tf out of his accountant because he doesn't keep track of how much he spends in a day. You know his ass absolutely has a money gun to use at his concerts.

Bascially when you're Marvus, you're a baller who is a big spender.

When interacting with Marvus, depending on his quadrant, you're gonna see how he moves with his cash.

•♡ Matespirit ♡•

if you got this man in this quadrant, good luck on getting Marvus not to spoil the fuck out of you. Trust and believe he'll take any chance to drop some stacks on you. If you guys are out and you say or point out some items, you can bet that Marvus is buying them.

Oh, you think that clothing line is cute? Guess what? He's ordered the entire line to be sent to your place.

Big fan of video games? No problem! He is getting the newest console out on the market in your favorite color with your name on it.

Love sweets? Bam! He's gonna invite you over to his crib and have you watch a team of trolls bake the best desserts of Alternia.

Money ain't a thang to this man. It gives him a chance to show his love through the material means and show that he wants you to enjoy yourself and time with him. Small part of him uses money to be a temporary fix when he has to go on long tours. If he can't spend time with you on troll FaceTime or in real life, he'll send gifts to show that he's still alive and thinking about you.

However, if large displays of affections through money don't appeal to you or you start to feel overwhelmed by the purchases or think he's being disingenious in his affection, he'll pull it back.

He'll likely give you a card that's connected to his account so you can have the control to buy what you want without feeling like you have to ask him. (And such an act will give him a small piece of security to know you'll have the means to survive financially on Alternia, especially if you've expressed times of financial hardships to him)

Also doesn’t matter if it's public or private, He's gonna randomly place bills on your person, i.e., stuffing them in your pockets, slipping them in your shirt pocket, pinning them to your jacket. If you ask him why he's doing that (or wonder where he stores his cash)(btw he literally has no pants pockets) Marvus is gonna give you a saucy wink and smile all dumb and say "a mf gotta pay dem feez 4 havin a wicked mate lik u b ;0)" than he'll place a smacking wet kiss on your forehead and be all noisey about it while doing so.

•◇ Moirials ◇•

In this quadrant, his spending habit might look casual to outsiders, but with you, they'll be a tad more personal. Still be extra af like in matespiritship but he'll be spending money to clear his mind or yours.

Feeling stressed about some unfinished work? Don't worry. He'll reserve a spa service just for you.

Need to cry out some hard feelings? He's gonna get some matching pajamas and grab some emergency blankets to get that session on.

You know that one ring that SpongeBob and Patrick have to show off their friendship? He's gonna get something like that to represent your guy's moirallgience. Anything involving moirails, he will buy and send them to you.

You're definitely gonna be his merch tester and probably be brought to his trips to the galleries when he goes to buy art pieces. (Need your support and opinion when bidding for art pieces.)

Like with matespiritship, if you feel like he's being insincere or rather prefers more handmade gifts. He'll try to schedule days to create personal gifts. He might pay someone to tutor him about your interests just so you can rant without having to stop and explain what you're talking about.

Marvus will remember what your favorite snacks and favorite meals are for when you're hanging with the crew or just him. Compared to where he won't care about what someone orders, you don't gotta worry about an order mess up or reminding him. He got that locked in, unless you want something different, then just point him to it.

If there is a fucked up order for you, he will raise hell. Typically, he won't care if something he orders is messed up. He'll pay for another one. However, on behalf of his moirial, this mf gonna walk up to the counter like that meme saying they asked for no pickles. The first and hopefully (in his opinion) only time you'll ever see him asking for a refund.

A thing that'll be a routine of your relationship is him swinging by your place late af in the daytime to grab you and get some breakfast before he has to start his night.(Unless you spend the day at his hive than he'll order said breakfast and catch some more Zzzs with you.)

•♤ Kismeses ♤•

Now in this quadrant, compared to the other two, Marvus is a clown who's mischievous as hell. This bitches antics are gonna be up to 100 when it comes to him.

Honestly, you're gonna be on your toes for buying things. It'll become a back and forth of him randomly, not having money than to him having it though being really annoying and lazy with it.

If your someone who's well off, you better hide your wallet. Marvus will snag your card and make an excuse how he left his cash in his other pants/trailer/hive and buy the most stupidest shit under your name. (He'll troll cash app you back but do it so tediously that you hope your account crashes)

If he catches a single hint or a word, even a wrinkle of disgust on you, Marvus will make it the bane of your life.

You dislike the residue of his paint left on your face after a hate-makeout session? Marvus now has to buy this one face paint that is known for being messy. what? His manager told him, too. :0)

You think cowboy boots are clunky and tacky? Guess who's strolling up in some bedazzled purple lined boots that jingle when he walks.

You make a comment on how creepy troll beanie boos plushies are, he's gonna get a brand deal with them and send you a crate of his new designs. A note will be attached saying "4 my numba 1 fan ;0)~".

Similar to moirallgience, you will be a merch tester, yet you won't know if he's being serious or wanting to rile you up. Regardless, when you shit on the design he's showing you, that's how he'll know his fans will love it! Doesn't matter if it's the simplest design, an eyesore to the public, he'll promote it to the point that even your small-time friends will surely mention the product to you. Might even send a shout-out to you on Chitter for your 'help'.

Don't ask him for a bill if you want something from a vending machine. Marvus will pull the most crumpled weirdly stained bill you'll ever see in your lifetime and smile at you plainly like, "Here u go buddi dats all I can find on me atm lmao." Additionally to this, he will slowly count his bucks out if you all are in a line somewhere. (Marvus knows no one will rush him and if you complain, he'll pretend he lost count and start over)

To conclude this, watch out for when he's feeling more petty. He'll make a habit of sending you items in loud peculiar packaging that suggest to those handling it that there's something inappropriate in it when there really isn't.

•♧ Auspistice ♧•

With this one, Marvus doesn’t fit the vibe of where he might truly kill his kismeses. Nor does he seem to want to be in a situation to be aggravated enough to join in murdering someone (Going off his response to MSPA reader when the clown fight happened). However, Marvus may strive on not becoming active on those emotions. Close calls can exist.

A tiff among his roadies about best faygo flavors is a good way. His manager hassling him, and trying to change up his brand is close enough. Groupie sea dwellers trying to follow him back to his trailer and not taking a hint is a real close call.

If you mediate for Marvus a few times, he'll certainly be grateful (and a bit embarrassed) he'll grant you a gift card of some shop of your choice as thanks.

On the other hand, you've been around long enough to spot a murderous Marvus, then you're undeniably a part of his inner circle. With the exception of being his paid emotional bodyguard coach.

As business-like, it might seem in the beginning, you're a trustworthy and skillful individual in Marvus's eyes. He knows dealing with irritated trolls, particularly enraged highbloods, is not a fun nor easy task.

Other trolls may feel like this relationship is wandering into moirallgience territory.(which might be) Marvus won't really care about those opinions and possibly offer to meditate for you in the event he catches you in a tense position.

You’ll be called for his long tours when he has to do shows for sea dwellers and, without a doubt, be put through the ringer. It'll end with you guys munching on loads of the troll version of ice cream in silence.

At any point, you're too stressed to de-escalate a situation. He'll give you a paid vacation and make sure you don't come back until you are entirely stressed free.

He may tell you once he calms down that you should open a private business due to your and I quote "motherfckin dopeazz obzi-va-tional skilz."

Small note : Marvus has dealt with people trying to form a quad with him just for the fame/money, as we seen with Zebruh. So if he catches signs that what's happening, he's going to be acting distant and extremely scripted around you, then like ghost you. You'll be blacklisted from his concerts (unknowingly), and future clowns might keep a close eye on you if you hang at the churches.

Welp, that's all! Hopefully, this was entertaining to read! I do apologize if some parts feel rushed or that there were more details in some quads, I tried to keep them around the same length.

[thedreadvampy]

they took your stuff at the protests???

I don't necessarily know which protests you're talking about, but it does turn out that it's apparently legal for police to steal 70+ people's stuff in one go without warning or recourse and then refuse to return it (including communal property and anything that happened to be on site) unless its owners come in individually and provide ID and personal details tying them to a situation where arbitrary arrests were being made on spurious charges. I have heard that several people provided ID and details but were refused return of their property because they couldn't describe in perfect detail the contents of their bag. Several others had ID/tech or meds in their bags so had no choice but to go give their details.

Since you mention protesters, chat is that this is a valuable learning experience about weighing up risk. If cops try to block your access to your property en masse at an organised action or event, it may be a lower risk tactic to try and break their line and grab your bags than to back off and abandon them on the assumption they'll have to be returned, because cops are allowed to hold your stuff indefinitely hostage and can use this as leverage to get you to dob yourself in.

It's also a reminder that if you're in a high risk place where cops are likely to be reactive, even if you're just near something that might cause something to kick off, no identifying information should be kept off your person - phones, bank cards, ID, etc need to be in closed pockets, where they can't be separated from you and used to ID you. As a rule of thumb if it contains details you'd only give if questioned by the police (which you are obliged to give, ie full name, date of birth, place of birth, current address, nationality) or indications of those details it should either stay home or stay in a place where the only time people could have it is if you're already in custody.

Also don't bring stuff you can't afford to lose, is the other lesson here, and don't hang onto each other's stuff. So if possible don't put your good headphones in someone's bag, and also don't bring your only pair of glasses, your whole supply of vital meds, your work laptop or work phone, etc.

Given the way cops are acting lately this is probably good to hold in mind for any protests or encampments, as you mentioned, particularly anti-genocide ones, even if they're peaceful and legal. Cops are kicking off all over the place lately and it's better safe than sorry.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: The reblogs and my comments await your wrath.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your turn to present comes and you stand up at the board, your budget projected as the bulb nearly blinds you. You point to the numbers and the accompanying graphs, going over each as best as you can. Your life might be an utter and complete mess but you know numbers. Your job is simple as simple gets and you can go over this ad nauseam.

Still, your focus is splintered as you find yourself stalling here and there. Each time you meet Mr Hansen's sparkling blue eyes, you nearly swallow your own tongue. You can't help but think of what you did in his office. Of what Pete would say when found out. And he will because you've never been a good liar and this isn't a secret you can keep. You just don't know how to say it.

He won't care that you were in a bind, that you were disgusted by yourself, that you didn't want to do it. You still did it. You betrayed your marriage. Even if it is a bit rocky, you made a vow. Despite the friction, you love Pete. You wouldn't have stuck around this long otherwise. It's just a rocky patch. Or it was, until this.

Your eyes linger on Hansen as he leans back in his chair and lets his gaze drift towards his lap. You gulp and look to the board, pointing out the projection as you finish up. You wallow in a momentary silence before you retreat and reclaim your seat at the conference table. You were absolutely certain to be as far from him as possible, though that was easy as all the executives cluster together.

You keep your attention at the front of the room. These things are always dull. You're not high up enough to care about more than your own piece in the puzzle. You don't make the big decisions, you just show what's there. 

You sip from your cold coffee. You feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket. Not now. You ignore it and tap your fingers on the table.

You glance around and once more find Hansen’s attention on you. He should be more concerned with the marketing presentation going on. You hide any tinge of emotion; irritation, confusion, humiliation, a peer up at the front.

The meeting ends just as you catch yourself nodding off. You shuffle out with the rest of the bodies and find your desk, nearly keeling over as you sit. You got what, an hour's sleep. You don't know if you can make it through.

Your phone goes off again. Great, what is it now? You really can't handle anything else today. Your morning has already drained you of everything you have left.

Shit, it's the school. You get up and answer your phone, marching between desks to find a quiet place. You dip down towards an empty meeting room and shut yourself in. The secretary tells you Malik got sick in gym class. Today? You sigh and promise you'll be there as soon as you can.

You put your hand to your forehead and yawn as you hang up. If you have any more caffeine, you're going to explode. You just need to get through it. You always do. Not for you, for the kids. That's what it's about.

You turn and find the door open, a figure against the frame. You could like and say you're surprised but you know Mr. Hansen isn't the type to let you sink in shame. He wants to rub it in.

"You know, I didn't think witches were real but you got magic hands, toots--"

"Sir," you fight to keep your voice even, "I just got a call from my kids' school--"

"Ew, let's not with the kids," he flicks his fingers dismissively, "I'm talking about us."

"Us?" You frown, "sir, please, I have to--"

"That husband of yours, he's lucky. Is that from practice or are you just that desperate to get your hands on some prime meat?"

You give him a look, the kind you give when you're trying not to yell. As a point, you don't raise your voice. He gives a shiver as if shaking off a chill.

"I'm teasing. I'm just... let's turn this thing around, honey. You got your budget, I got... off. And now we can get along. So, let me be a nice guy and say, go, get your kid, be a good mommy, and be back bright and early tomorrow."

You stutter. You don't quite believe him. It feels like a test. A trap. He smirks and lets his hand wander down his stomach. He grips himself through his pants.

"Unless, you want more--"

"I really have to go," you squeeze your phone, "my son--"

"Alright, alright, ugh, boring," he sneers, "I don't wanna hear about the kids."

"Um, okay," you near him, "thank you, Mr. Hansen."

"Yeah yeah," he backs out of the doorway, "don't stress it." He steps aside as you go into the hallway, "unclench a little."

As you turn, you stumble, a sudden clap against your ass throwing you off balance. You steady yourself but don't look back as he retracts his hand. Your eyes are wide, your steps stiff and stunted as you tell yourself to just keep going.

Shit, this is a problem.

Your job is stressful enough. The last thing you ever wanted was to be Hansen’s next target. It’s not something you ever worried about. You’re too old, too flabby, and too worn out. When he realises that, he’ll be back to the likes of Kendra. You don’t know who you should pity more; yourself or her.

You don't have capacity right now. One thing at a time. Get Malik home, then you can figure out how exactly your life is going to implode.

🗄️

You get Malik on the couch, bundled up watching his favourite cartoons, as you sit and stare at your phone. You know that even if you called, Pete wouldn't pick up. He's too busy for you. Still, your anxiety eats away at you and makes you impatient. You can't even enjoy the time away from the office.

You make some soup once your son's stomach settles but yours is in worse shape. You don't have an appetite, you're restless and exhausted. You're in pieces.

You know you can't go back and change things. Hell, you couldn't have done anything different. You have a mortgage, insurance, and children to look after. You can't throw it all away on one man's ego.

Still, you did something wrong. Something unforgivable. If you think Pete hates you now, he's going to despise you. And you might just lose everything anyway.

You sit and bend over, holding your head. God, you're stupid and weak and awful. You chose this, a family, a man who doesn't care, and a job that gives you nothing but stress. You could've had a better life and never inflicted your mistake on anyone else.

"Mommy," Malik taps your shoulder, startling so you sit up too fast, nearly falling out of the chair, "mommy, the stove."

You look over at the pot boils over, hissing and bubbling. Great, now you've burnt the chicken noodle. You get up and quickly flip off the burner and move the pot to the next one.

"How about some vegetable soup, huh?" You offer, "sorry, Mal."

"Are you okay, mommy?" He pouts as he stands in his dinosaur pajamas.

"Yeah, yeah, mom's just tired," you answer, "go sit down. I'll clean this up. Then it should be time to go pick up Simone."

He mumbles and leaves you. You look at the burnt soup, curdled and filmy and black around the edges. Usually, you just want Pete home but tonight, you don't know what you're going to do when he gets in. You can be sure it'll be a sleepless night.

🗄️

You spend the evening avoiding your phone. It's easy. You sit and help Simone with her homework as Malik colours at the other side of the table. After dinner you get them washed up and in their pajamas in time for bed.

You can’t help but try to suck up every second. You don’t want to lose this. It can be hard, Pete’s long hours, your sore hips, the children’s antics. It can be utterly defeating but you don’t want to lose it all. Maybe you should’ve tried sooner to fix things, maybe if you did, Pete might believe you didn’t want to do what you did.

Once the kids are asleep, you're left to yourself but not really. You clean the kitchen and get lunches packed for the next day. You switch the laundry before you head up to bed but leave the light on as you lay down. 

It’s a mirror of the night before, except you’re not the one with your tail between your legs. Pete gets home as late as ever. You want to be mad that he's only there on weekends to see the kids. Yet, you don't see much of him then either.

He comes upstairs, pushing back his hair as he enters, blanching as he sees you awake. His face falls and he runs his fingers around his stubbly lips. You don't say anything as he loosens his tie and sighs.

"Please, I don't wanna argue tonight," he says as he sheds his blazer, "it's been a long day."

"Alright," you agree, fighting not to squirm as your stomach flips. "But… I wanna talk about something."

"Look, we're almost there. The hard part's almost over," he explains as he unbuttons his shirt, "we're about to hit oil with this thing."

"I know, but… there's something we need to talk about–"

He closes his eyes and hangs his head back as he peels off his shirt. He's in good shape still. You suppose making your own hours gives you a lot of time for the gym.

"Can I take a shower first?" He huffs.

"Sure," you murmur. He's trying to wait you out, hoping you fall asleep before he's done. "Take a shower."

His brows rise and fall and he turns away as he digs in his pocket. He pulls out his phone and plugs it in, leaving it face down on the dresser. He unclasps the gold chain around his wrist and puts it in the jewelry tray with his watch. You watch his hands.

"Where's your ring?" You ask as you focus on his fingers.

"Oh, uh, fuck," he sniffs, "must've left it in my gym bag again."

"Mmm," you him and don't comment further. 

You look down at your own band, twisting it on your finger as your inside rot with guilt. You have to face this. You have to be honest. As much as it hurts you. As much as it'll hurt you.

He moves around the room. He misses the hamper again, this time his underwear fall on the floor. You want to cry as more than just the weight of your confession crushes you. It’s all of it. The years of distance between you, the memory of good days far behind, what you’ll never have again.

The bathroom door shuts and you look up again. You get up, needing to walk off the excess energy. You pace in circles and wring your hands. You want to rehearse what you should say but you got nothing. 

You hear the subtle buzz and pause. You go back to the bed and take your phone off the night table. Nothing. Not even a notification for that dumb matching game you played once while waiting at the doctor's office.

You set it back down and go back to your aimless circling. You hear it again and again. It's annoying. Tweaking your already addled nerves. 

You look around and see Pete's phone, the edges limned in the glow of the overturned screen. You cross the room and flip it over to turn the volume down. You stop as the newest message pops across the top.

'Hey babe, can't wait for Saturday. Bikini or no suit at all?' 

You read it once, twice, several times before your shock fully sets in. What? Your heart drops as you put his phone back as you found it and back away. 

You sit on the bed and stare at the bathroom door. Things can always get worse, that's your bitter mantra. You swallow as your eyes brim with tears and your throat locks up. You listen to the showerhead buzz.

You were prepared to be the bad guy. To lay yourself bare and plead mercy. You psyched yourself up to face the music but you're unprepared for this. 

You get up and turn off the lamp. You get into bed and face away from the bathroom, just like most nights. You pull the blanket to your shoulders and close your eyes. You measure your breaths to keep from crying. Once you start, you won't be able to stop.

When Pete finishes, you're still awake. Sleep? That's a joke. You just lay there and listen to him move around. When he comes to bed, he doesn't try to talk to you or wake you up.

You open your eyes and see the glow of his phone outlining your silhouette against the wall. You gulp, careful not to give yourself away. He groans and he types away on his phone. Right beside you… like you don't exist. You're just an afterthought for him. Just like your vows. Just like the kids.

As low as you thought you were that morning, you’ve sunk even further. Would he even care if he knew? You’re so unlovable, he probably wouldn’t even believe another man would let you touch them.