#I can't tell if it's getting easier or not but I know that no matter how much I settle my peace by Friday it's all going to be undone

[captain-kit-adventuress]

Let me tell you some things about American plumbers probably almost none of you know, especially because I've seen people complaining that plumbers make "$42 an hour while I can't even make $15!"

[Note that much of this is state-specific, so ymmv, but most states have an interest in keeping it pretty similar to what I'm going to outline.]

First of all, you have to be licensed, and anything licensed takes forever and costs a fortune. You spend 7 years as an apprentice plumber, which means taking full-time classes on top of full-time work, for which you definitely do not get paid $42 an hour, and you're lucky if you get $20. You're on the hook for all of the tuition and books and whatever else, tools and whatnot, and we all know tuition and books are out of control, but have you seen what decent tools cost these days? This in addition to all of the regular school stuff like a computer, an internet connection, probably a mobile phone of some description, etc. Some you may have already and some you may not.

That's just the education part. Next, even after you've completed your 7 year apprenticeship under extremely strict and exacting standards, for which you get paid almost nothing and have tons of expenses just like any other student, you're still under some kind of supervision for another few years. So you've put in about 10 years into this already and you're nowhere near pulling in the kind of income that people say plumbers make.

But once you actually get into being licensed and bonded and the whole shebang, maybe you get a job with a company, because it's really hard to hang your own shingle, especially in the larger communities where nobody knows anybody else or the quality of their work. You'll work for a plumbing company like anyone else, and let me tell you, it's like any other company where profit matters most and it's for shareholders and not anyone else.

Now comes the part you probably have never heard about: many, many, many plumbers don't really have health insurance for most of their careers, and if they do, it's like the shittiest insurance possible and they have to pay for much of their healthcare out of pocket. Except that these are plumbers, they're constantly on hands and knees on hard, unyielding surfaces, bending, lifting...really physical, difficult work. How many of you actually know how much a toilet weighs? it's anywhere between 50-120 lbs depending on a variety of factors. All that, in addition to actually diagnosing whatever the problem is and knowing how to fix it. Do that for the next 20 years of your life and you're not going to have any knees left, you're going to have a bad back, probably most of your other joints are shot or on the fritz in some way, and this is if you were healthy to begin with and didn't have many health problems during your career. Depending on the collective bargaining agreement, sometimes the unions will cover your healthcare at close to 100% after that, but when it was easier to prevent a lot of it by having time off and the ability to afford care? None of that is covered.

Not only that, but most plumbers don't really get paid time off from work, either, depending on what the agreements are. I know it doesn't seem like plumbers ever work timely, but everyone thinks they have an emergency when the plumbing breaks, and you've got to triage the for-real emergencies alongside the "Timmy backed up the toilet again because he keeps flushing his toys and now there's water and poop and who knows what else everywhere." That's not including the emergency answering services where they're relaying that stuff 24/7/365.

How is that different from most of us today, you might wonder? Because they're literally knee-deep in your shit from morning 'til night. All of the weird stuff you do to screw up your toilets, your sinks, your showers, your fixtures, your pipes, they have to deal with all of it. All of the clogs, the gross hair masses, the half-eaten food from when the disposal stops working, the people who don't know not to flush things they shouldn't, the people who do know and don't care, the floods when the sump pump stops working or there's so much rain it just completely overwhelms it, the people who are sure they can "fix" it, the people who listened to youtube or tiktok and picked the wrong accounts for advice, and most of all, metric tonnes of your actual shit and vomit and whatever other bodily excretions you've got. That is all hazardous enough on its own, and if you think it's gross, I don't think plumbers feel any differently, but it is a part of their job and there's no getting around it. They are paid to deal with all of the stuff no one else wants to even think about. And after they've been exposed to your biohazards for 10 hours a day, they themselves have to pay for any care they need to make sure they don't die from it. You know how many people have dangerous mold in their bathrooms and don't know it? I bet a plumber can tell you.

Those are the conditions with unions trying to fight for them.

[As one more note, not everyone wants to leave home, and that's fine! Why does anyone assume there are no tradespeople in cities when that couldn't be further from the truth? Don't be arses about geography.]

tl;dr: plumbers don't make the money you think they do, they spend half their career earning next to nothing and then when they finally start catching up their bodies are so shot they can't enjoy it; in the middle they have to deal with everybody's grossness and basic repair illiteracy, and they pay for most of it themselves.

source: I was an external auditor for a lot of trade unions.

some of the worst classism is white collar middle class americans against blue collar & minimum wage workers. “why does that plumber make more than me” because he’s been perfecting his craft for 30 years and you send emails. “they’re in the trades bc they’re too dumb to do anything else” ok take that engine apart and put it back together real fast babe. “they’re boring bc they never left their home town” have you considered they financially couldn’t? I am not saying it is anyone’s job to educate, nor you need to respect people who do not respect you, but while you maybe never sympathize we need to learn to empathize. consider why (who) allowed for massive parts of country to be uneducated and how many impoverished areas of this country haven’t had a voice for a very long time. we are all victims of the rich. remember it is up vs down

[undomesticated-animal]

Honestly, body euphoria has done WONDERS for my ability to keep a physical self care routine, and I keep thinking back to Young Domi being so fucking OVERWHELMED by the thought of having to haul myself through the daily gauntlet of mirrors, lights, smells, self-shaming, and dysphoria inducing body modifictions made in a desperate bid to feel worthy of my skin. The idea that this could ever be anything but NEUTRAL AT BEST was laughable to me, so much so that I didn't even realize how terrified I felt by the possibility it could be real.

I can't go back and tell Past Domi all the things I understand now that I know would have mattered so much, but I can say them on the internet and maybe someone gets to learn them faster than I did.

Body euphoria isn't just for trans and intersex folks. And I mean this more than just "oh cis people should get gender ephoria too" (it's true!) because I also mean that the idea that body euphoria/dysphoria is neatly segmented up into little slices of life with no crossover is unrealistic and painful for everyone. Thinking that I was only allowed to care about my euphoria around gender actually made it REALLY hard to recognize I was having DYSphoria around my gender at all. After all, I avoided thinking about that in exactly the same ways I avoided thinking about the dysphoria around other aspects of my embodiment! I must just be bad at body positivity, "it's always easier to do for others than for myself 🤗 teehee" was a go to blow off for me when people asked me to confront how visibly uncomfortable I was in my body.

Because the thing is, it ISN'T easier to do for others than yourself. It really isn't. The part that's easier is avoiding the shame we feel about it. But once we confront the shame, loving your body is the easiest thing in the world. <- this is gonna be where Past Domi went "oh fuck this noise" and bounced but HEAR ME OUT

A body you cannot live with is a body you cannot care for, and a body you can't care for is a body you will almost always struggle to live with. This feedback loop is the CORNERSTONE of body dysphoria for a lot of people. It's a chicken and egg situation where it's nearly always going to be impossible to know what came first, but once either is present, the other will kick into gear to really hunker down in your psyche.

The feedback loop works the other direction too though. This is why people tell you to find the little things that make a tiny difference. They are (usually) not telling you that it'll be enough on its own, but every one of those you find uncovers new ones, and little by little you start feeling up to bigger pieces of self care because you've recovered enough to start putting int the front-loaded work for the worthwhile outcome

When that upwards feedback loop clicks? It's night and day. Like I genuinely don't know how to describe what it's like to just sort of.....wake up different. But it happens all the time, and it KEEPS happening. And you start to realize you're not "waking up different" you're just....getting to know yourself without feeling so uncomfortable with what you're learning that you shy away from yourself

I dunno man, I don't have a point here, but I've been processing old grief lately and the grief of how long I spent viciously hating myself and truly believing that's what neutrality feels like.....Little-Domi deserved better, and so do yall

[bidisasterevankinard]

Drinks loosen my tongue

Bucktommy/ T (for implied daddy kink. It's more like a pet name really)/ 568 words

For day 3 of @bucktommyfluffebruary

Buck is already in bed when the knock on the door interrupts his plans for going to the best adventure when you're an adult - sleep. With a frown, he gets back to the living room, trying to understand who can have a whole ass disaster to come to him at 1 am.

“Sal? Tommy? What?”

“Din don, parcel for you,” the older man says with exasperation, pushing his boyfriend in his hands. “He had way more than he should have and told me way more that I need to know about your ass or how deep your daddy issue goes. Have fun, baby boy. Keep daddy out of trouble. Bye,” with a finger gun and a wink Sal is gone, closing the door, before Buck can even react to the whole situation.

“Bye?” Buck says absentmindedly, trying to move his basically sleeping boyfriend.

“C’mon, Tommy, babe, help me there,” he shakes the body in his hands.

That’s when Tommy finally opens his eyes and smiles at him, “Ev’n, b’by, I’mm ‘ome,” he mumbles and kisses Buck on the cheek with gusto. Buck's pretty sure he was aiming for the lips.

“Miwed y’,” Tommy says and then hiccups, “n’d you ‘aked now,” he tries to take Buck’s sweats down, but succeeds only in almost pushing them both to the floor.

Buck pins him to the wall, “easier, tiger. All you're gonna get is cuddles. Maybe naked if you're gonna be good and let me get you to bed. Ok?”

Tommy nods, letting him take his boots and jacket down.

“C'mon, to the bedroom.”

Buck helps him and carefully makes it to the bed, where Tommy falls with loud ‘oof’. With a shake of his head Buck takes his jeans and shirt off, laying down near his smiling man, who already gets back to trying to get his sweats down.

“Now c-c-can d‘a’y have a treat?” Tommy says in his ear, but Buck pushes him off again.

“When he's sober enough for it,” Buck says, kissing Tommy’s nose, “and not hungover,” he turns away from Tommy, who snuggles closer to him, grinding his half hard cock in his ass.

“Ev’n, baaaaaa’y, please, d’a’y nee’s youuuuuuuu,”the grinding gets faster and Buck turns back to face Tommy.

“Can't you wait for the morning?”

Tommy shakes his head with a pout that can rival his own. “Pleeeease, just a tip, let d’a’y put just a tip in his ‘eautiful ‘oyfrien’?”

“Beautiful, huh?”

“The most ‘eautiful, in-cre’i’le, kin’, amazin’, w-w-won’erful,hot, sexy man of man ‘reams. I love yu so much, ‘a’y,” Tommy kisses his neck. “S-so lu’ky to ‘et you,” another kiss, “so lu’ky to ‘et you ‘ack after I ma’e a mi’take,” three more kisses, “I love you, Ev’n.”

Buck chuckles, “I love you too. And I would really appreciate you telling me all that sober, ok?”

Tommy enthusiastically nods.

“Can you wait for tomorrow before fuck me? I’m tired.”

“Noooooo, please, ‘a’y, d’a’y nee’s you nooooow. I pro’se you won’t feel a thin’.”

Buck raises his eyebrow, “Tommy, you have a nine inch dick. I will feel it no matter that.”

Tommy pouts on him with puppy eyes that are somehow even cuter when he is drunk.

“Ok,” he sighs, “let me get lube and d’a’y can put more than just a tip then.”

Before he can open his nightstand, he hears loud snores. Chuckling, he goes to sleep too.

[a-sip-of-sunshine]

Offerings

An important practice in hellenic Polytheism is the offerings. Many people already have an idea about what they are, so this post is more centered towards worshippers that stress around this concept since I'll be talking about how to handle it/how I handle it.

Offerings can range from a wide amount of things. A quick classification I can make up from the top of my head is: food offerings, other objects, and devotional acts.

When you first get introduced to hellenic Polytheism, food offerings appear as one of the main ways of building Kharis with the deities, since in general, that's what offerings do. The problem begins when we take libations and food as the better way to do offerings, putting them in some sort of subconscious pedestal over the other "methods".

Many followers can't afford to always do them to honor the gods, myself included. So, when all we see is an inability to offer things to our gods that way, it leads us to feel guilty and disappointed.

This is where I start to give tips from my own experience !

First, think of offerings as gifts. It is said to us that gifts don't always have to be something material to be significant. The same concept applies to offerings. I mentioned at the start that there were also other objects that could be given and devotional acts too. Intent is what matters. The gods don't care if you do offerings a certain way, but if the feelings are genuine from your part.

Other objects include jewelry/devotional jewelry, toys, books, etc. Basically, anything that isn't food. Devotional acts, as its name suggests, are activities that you can dedicate to your deities as long as it falls under their domain. Example: I have given Apollo a mouse fidget toy and also dedicate drawing, divination, dancing, etc.

It is as simple as that, trust me. It doesn't have to be elaborated. Now that gets me to the second point: check your resources.

You guys already know I struggled from following recon concepts and practices. You're totally free to follow them too if you can and want, but simply, some of us can't. Many sources for information about helpol come from a recon point of view, or simply others put things way more complicated/elaborated than they really are. Again, people are free to do them, but I'm focusing here on beginners/revivalists. Analyze your information and don't stay just with that. Search for easier ways to do things and overall avoid possible frustrations.

Getting back to my practice, I found out that libations didn't necessarily need to be poured out outside on the ground ! They could be poured down the sink or in a cup. Simple, right? This is mostly for those who still want to offer their gods food but in a more accessible manner. Another one is leaving the first or last bite of your food as an offering. (For Hestia, you leave both of those bites)

Note: Before applying these, know that rules still apply to Chthonic gods, not ingesting, eating, or drinking the offerings !

So now that you have both of those tips, I'll tell you one last thing: don't be afraid. It is also a shared sentiment that us helpols stress over our gods' images of us, our relationship with them, to treat them with respect and, overall, not fuck things up. Relax with your offerings, ease down. That constant worry also affects your feelings towards them, and we don't want that ! It is something that not only makes your deity happy, but you as well. The gods care about your happiness.

That's it for today ! If you want more of my rambles, feel free to interact with this post ♡ I wish you a good journey.

[intrigd-voyagr]

it's really just gonna be a cry every day kinda week

[sevenseasaurus]

so do the rest of you guys just simplify your dreams when explaining them to people or do I just remember a significantly weirder degree of depth than the average bear

[bitegore]

is there like a curse you get put under when you decide that you like cold weather better than hot weather to never ever shut the fuck up when someone expresses a different opinion on the subject, or is that just a choice you are all making

[maxisodenoth]

Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue

[thethingything]

I find it kind of interesting that we have a couple of delusions (and the hallucinations that come with those) that just kind of involve gruesome stuff happening to us, especially because they weren't as gruesome at first but have gotten more so over time.

the hallucinations are all somatic ones (sensations instead of visuals or audio) but they're stuff like I guess what our brain thinks it would feel like if our organs were decomposing, or being eaten by maggots, or just stuff with a similar vibe to that?

I can put up with it for the most part, but like I did nearly throw up on the bed because of it earlier and I'd really like to not experience that again

[cryolyst]

-

[malachitezmeyka]

I know it's useless to get mad at the dog, she's just a hyperactive little thing who doesn't know how to behave yet. She's left home alone for at least 6 hours every day and she's bored, I can't blame her for tearing apart her training pads or shitting all over the place. Even if I did, she must have done it hours ago, dogs don't get that actions that happened so long ago have consequences and all me yelling at her will result in is her being scared of me. I know all that, I do

So WHY am I still so angry at her?? Why does it feel satisfying to lash out and see her scurry away??? She doesn't deserve to be treated like that, she doesn't know any better. And I don't know how to teach her to know better, I don't have the patience for it. She deserves better than me

[travelingtwentysomething]

Eddie is impressed.

Eddie is half chubbed up.

Eddie realizes Steve is actually sort of intimidating.

Eddie doesn't like feeling like this guy is somehow looking down on him and his antics like he's some spoiled rich brat.

Like Eddie doesn't know the struggle.

Eddie hates Steve.

Steve continues to work for Eddie, ignoring all his moods like a mom ignoring a toddler's tantrum, happily anticipating his needs and being more competent than anyone in his position has any right to be.

Over the first few months After Steve, Eddie's mercurial moods swing wildly from "I'm going to make your life hell until you quit", to "damn this man is so incredibly sexy I want to make him quit his job so I can spoil him".

But at this point, Eddie is spoiled.

Steve gets absolutely everything right- he is perfect.

Eddie spills his coffee on his shirt in the car on his way to the Grammys, his stylist team is having a conniption in the back of the limo-

Steve calmly pulls his backpack into his lap, and out of it comes a tide pen, baby wipes, a portable steamer, and a battery powered blow-dryer. (Who even knew that was a thing?) And in the 20 minute wait in the limo line on the red carpet, Steve has him out of his dress shirt (that's tossed to the side unsalvageable) and the Gucci suit clean and pressed like nothing ever happened. And as an added touch- Steve pulled out a brush and some highlighter to put a dash of glitter on his collarbones, the cleavage above his pecs, and a little dot on each of his abs. So when Eddie steps out of the car he "looks like a wet dream instead of another boring rockstar in a designer suit".

At least that's what Rolling Stone said when the pictures got published all over their website to massive fanfare.

Eventually, Eddie can't help but catch himself smiling in the morning when he wakes up with his first thought being excitement to see Steve and get their day started. Instead of barking orders and tantrums, they somehow get to the point where they're joking with each other and even sharing actual conversations.

Steve becomes so integral to Eddie's brightened mood and new outlook on life, Eddie starts dreading Steve's days off. It's in his contract that any day Eddie isn't scheduled to work an event, a concert, or a studio day, Steve has the option to take a paid day off to catch up on his own life.

So Eddie becomes a workaholic.

If he's not on tour or in the studio, he's got some promo, photoshoot, or work social event scheduled. He's even taken up a modeling contract and become a brand ambassador for Gucci. When that still left a few days free here and there, he started looking into acting gigs.

He had never been so productive, and so astronomically famous.

Eddie's music was also coming easier, Steve was his muse.

Eddie was so inspired he's been cranking out songs so often, and in so many styles and genres, that his publishing deal had quadrupled in value and he's sold more number one hits to other artists over their first year together than Eddie had songs on Corroded Coffin's albums combined.

Steve is with him every step of the way. He never complains, he always has a smile on his face for Eddie, and he tells him all the time how much he seems to have grown in the last year, and how proud he is to watch it all happen for him.

Eddie feels like an asshole.

Eddie is unequivocally and unconditionally in love with Steve.

Eddie is Steve's boss.

No matter how much they act like friends (and occasionally engage in flirty banter) Steve is off limits, because Eddie may be a rotten asshole at his core, but he would never abuse his power like that.

But maybe he already has.

He has ruined Steve's life.

Eddie realizes a few days before their one year anniversary (Eddie is only calling it that in his head, he doesn't want to sound like a psychopath) he has isolated Steve from his own life so much that he hasn't asked for a day off in 6 months.

Steve never seems to take any time for himself anymore. He even has a room at Eddie's house because he spends about 5 nights a week there since Eddie tells him he doesn't want to deal with the chaos it puts his busy and tight schedule into when Steve gets waylaid by his commute in LA traffic.

Steve barely spends more than a few hours at a time away from Eddie, and he only sees his one friend- Chrissy's wife Robin- on nights he's not staying at Eddie's. Which means that commute comes with a side of exhaustion because he always comes back with bruises under his swollen eyes like he'd stayed up too late trying to catch up with his best friend and fit an entire week's worth of socializing squeezed into one or two nights a week.

Eddie wants to be a good person and let go of Steve so he can find a job with a healthier work-life balance, somewhere with a boss that doesn't treat him like a slave to his own whims and fancies, a boss that doesn't secretly hope that one day Steve will fall into his bed and into his arms like this isn't some 50 shades of bullshit arrangement.

Eddie is terrified to lose Steve.

To his horror, the day comes unexpectedly on their anniversary.

Steve gave him a speech about how Steve had loved being a part of Eddie's journey, how he had watched Eddie grow with awe, how he was inspired every day by Eddie's drive, and his art, and his kindness. Steve praised him for the way his attitude about life had taken a 180 turn from when they met a year ago. He thanked Eddie for taking Steve along for the ride, becoming his best friend, and respecting him above all else.

But Steve needed to go. Because he had reached his limit. He had done everything he could for Eddie, but it was time that Steve "joined the real world again and stopped living in a fantasy".

Steve would always be here for Eddie as a friend, but he had to go out and build a life for himself.

Eddie thanked Steve and told him he understood, that he valued Steve's friendship above everything, and that he would be getting the biggest bonus and one hell of a severance package.

Eddie went home to his empty house and drank until he blacked out.

When he woke up his kitchen and living room looked like someone had opened up a rage room and taken a bat to anything that wasn't nailed down. He looked in the corner of the room and saw a bat sticking out of the drywall next to the sliding glass door.

Okay, so he hadn't been robbed.

Then why did it feel like someone had stolen his heart straight out of his chest like a Mortal Kombat Finisher?

When Chrissy walked through his front door just as the afternoon was turning to evening and Eddie was on his third hair-of-the-dog, he didn't even uncurl himself from his fetal position on a couch afloat amongst a sea of glass and wood scraps from what was once a very expensive coffee table.

"Oh you poor, poor-" Chrissy crooned, "stupid fucking idiot." She slapped a pillow so hard down on his head that he was seeing Chrissy's identical twin floating above her for a minute or two.

Eddie sat up, indignant, ready to lay into Chrissy for the assault on his already wounded body and soul, but was thrown back down to the couch by another smack of the pillow, this time to his chest.

Seems like Chrissy really hadn't let herself go since playing herself through college on that softball scholarship.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Chrissy shrieked with fury Eddie had only seen from her once. (Her high school boyfriend, Jason, had gate crashed her wedding and tried to "object" when she was about to say her vows to Robin on the grounds that "Chrissy isn't gay, she's just confused by California's woke agenda and should come home to Indiana with him".)

Eddie threw himself over the back of the couch and landed ungracefully on the hardwood floor, groaning in pain, but happy to have put a couch between him and Chrissy's pillow. He popped his head over the back of the couch and had to duck back down quickly to avoid a rocket from Chrissy's throwing arm.

"Chrissy! What the hell is going on?" Eddie cried from his prone position behind the couch.

"Why don't YOU TELL ME, EDDIE?!" Chrissy screamed. "Steve showed up at mine and Robin's last night bawling his eyes out and he and Robin locked themselves up in our bedroom and I haven't heard anything from either of them for the last 12 hours except for the one time Robin came out to collect the 6 bags of food she ordered from the convenience store at 3 am, and all I could get out of her was that Steve had finally quit."

Eddie popped back up from behind the couch, only to receive a pillow to the dome, a crunch swiftly followed by a groan the only sound he was able to make as he fell back, nose gushing blood.

"Oh my God, Eddie, FUCK!" Chrissy jumped over the couch and landed on the other side and crouched down next to Eddie, he flinched when her hands came up to hover over his broken nose. "Shit, I'm sorry! Fuck, let's go to the kitchen, you need a towel and some ice." She grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, escorting him to a seat at the counter while she ran over to the fridge and grabbed a bag of frozen peas and a kitchen towel from the drawer next to the sink.

"Here-" Eddie snatched the bag of peas from her before she could get any closer to his broken nose. "Sorry, look, I came in here ready to calmly ask what happened, but I saw you drunk in your living room that looks like the suite at the Four Season's after CC's first Grammy and I thought that we were past all this. Eddie, you've been doing so much better for so long, what the hell happened last night?" Chrissy looked around at the devastation, landing back on Eddie and seeing it reflected in his eyes.

"Oh. Oh, you poor, poor-"

"—Stupid fucking idiot." Eddie groaned. He couldn't stand to see the understanding in Chrissy's eyes and so he folded his arms and laid his head down on the counter, cold peas pillowing his swollen eyes and nose.

"Wait. I'm confused. So you finally told him?" Chrissy asked.

"Told him what, Chris? That I'm in love with him? I didn't get the chance." Eddie hiccupped into his frozen peas, never lifting his head, curly hair acting as a curtain around his face, hiding his shame from his oldest friend and manager. "Steve quit. Said he needed to stop living in a fantasy, join the real world, and build a life for himself. But that he'd always be here for me as a friend-" Eddie couldn't stop the sob from escaping his chest.

Chrissy pulled him off the counter and into her arms.

Eddie cried like a baby.

When he calmed finally and could breath normally again, they had somehow migrated to the couch in his fully intact living room at the front of the house.

"Eddie, I don't want to alarm you. But I think you really are an idiot." Chrissy patted his shoulder fondly.

Eddie pulled away from her, appalled at her lack of empathy.

"Don't give me that look. Think for a second." Chrissy grabbed his hand and in both of her tiny ones. "Steve is at my place right now, devastated, just like you. He told you he needed to stop living in a fantasy, and build a life for himself. That he's always going to be your friend." Chrissy looked imploringly into Eddie's eyes, willing him to understand the conclusion she was slowly coming to.

"Yeah, that's what he said, Chris, you don't have to rub it in." Eddie scoffed uncharitably, ripping his hand back.

"No, Eddie." Chrissy hopped up onto her knees, excitement building as she got more sure of her theory, grabbing Eddie's hand again, "Steve is not okay. He is holed up with his best friend in the break up protocol- ice cream, junk food, and platonic cuddles in bed. He doesn't know that you see him as more than just a friend. And he is devastated that he is always going to be your friend, and he has to give up the fantasy, and go build a life for himself-" by now Chrissy was bouncing next to Eddie, her smile chasing away the clouds that had darkened his eyes, "—because he doesn't realize that you want to build a life with him."

"You don't think you're reaching a little here, Chris?" Eddie asked, though he couldn't help the glimmer of hope that had already taken root in his chest, chasing away the darkness that had been clawing its way deeper since Steve walked away from him last night.

"Eddie, if you don't get your ass off this couch and over to my place right now and go profess your undying love to Steve I'm going to beat your face in." Chrissy said with a sincerity that scared Eddie into standing immediately and looking for his keys.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my keys."

"We're taking my car."

"Well then let's fuckin go, I have to go get my heart back."

"Jesus that was cheesy."

"Shut up, I have six Grammys."

"Well four of those are from this year, so you better get Steve back or clearly you can kiss your songwriting career goodbye."

"Heeeeyyyyy."

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

[sparxemberflame]

Man.

[strikersin]

You know what never mind why am I trying to understand and help with other alter's neurosis.

What about me. What about my neurosis.

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[onskepa]

Hi how are you? If you want, could you tell us what your headcanons would be for what the Sully children's relationship would be like with a human/avatar mother who was mated with Jake and Neytiri? Thank you very much, have a great day!

I can see a lot of possible outcomes for this one! So here ya go! Enjoy!

P.S: Reader will not be given a name in this one, instead she will be called "small mama"

Pinnacle protection

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

Pinnacle motherhood

Right off the bat, the whole family loves their third mother, second mate. Jake sully couldn't ask for a better family, and better mates. Especially his little human mate. Neytiri will agree with him, while yes she has her children to hug, her little mate is just what she needs. Something small yet full of love just for her. 

Now like any trio, there is a balance between the parents. Jake is the head of the family, the brains with his clever ideas. Neytiri at times can be the brains but most muscle due to her skills in fighting and hunting. And their beloved human is the heart of the family. Keeping everyone together. 

And like any child, the sully kids will have favorites. And their favorite is their amazing human mother. She is the most fun, loving parent any child could ever ask for. Are they not getting their way with Jake or neytiri? To mama it is! And mama will always fold by the simple look of her kids. 

Another thing about their favorite mama, they all believe she has the power to read their minds. How else would it explain she knows their next move? 

Lo’ak and tuk can recall so many instances where they were barely forming an idea only for their mama to say “dont even think about it” or “it is not worth the trouble”. 

For neteyam, as he is the oldest he does try to be a good example for his mischievous siblings, along with holding so many responsibilities, but he can always count on his small mama for anything. Small mama consoles him, talking about anything neteyam has his mind about. 

Unlike Jake or neytiri who neteyam has to put up a strong warrior face, with a small mama he can revert back to being a baby with her. He feels safe and be a kid again with her. And small mama always called him her “little baby boy”. Neteyam won't admit it but he likes it when she calls him that. 

For kiri, she definitely adores her small mama. She is closer to her third parent than she is with neytiri. Not to be mean or anything. But with Jake, Kiri can talk about what odd things happen around her, ask her about her mother and stuff but with her small mama. Well, she can express far more with her, be free to say anything not be judged upon. Kiri can dare say small mama understands her more than anyone in the world.

With tuk, the baby of the family. Why, she loves to be the taller one, it makes her happy. Of course she would never tease her small mama that she is taller, but small mama would call her “tiny tuk”. A name tuk loves and will glady flex it for some reason. 

If tuk can't go somewhere with her older siblings, small mama would personally take her anywhere she wants to go. As long as it is safe. With small mama, everything is fun and never boring. Tuk loves the times where her hair is braided or she braids small mama’s hair. 

Now, if small mama would use her avatar, nothing much would change. Except that now the kids will demand piggy back rides. Tuk or lo’ak would be front of the line for that.  

Hunting would be easier and much more fun with jake and neytiri, running, riding their ikrans, less risk overall. 

Even with her avatar, she is still short compared to her two mates. She is smaller than Neytiri by 9 ½ inches. Not something she is super thrilled about. No matter what body, she is still small mama through and through. 

Small mama is forever grateful to live her best life with her family, loving them and saying her thanks to Eywa for blessing her to be the best of her two worlds. Through hardships, through trials, small mama has a mighty heart and a roar of an ikran. Yes sometimes she might be stressed or frustrated but life is not perfect. Small mama knows that all too well. But there is nothing better than what she has.