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megamindsecretlair · 2 days ago

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Sweet Escape, Part 2

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, mental health, power imbalance. Mentions of violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. Terry makes you breakfast, bringing a sense of normalcy to an otherwise chaotic life. Still shaken from the shenanigans of your stalker, you enjoy the break Terry offers you. But all too soon, you’re forced to adapt to an ever-changing schedule. Your label makes you go to a club to promote your new single.

Word Count: 7,152k

AO3 Link

A/N: Idk why I keep doing this to myself, LMFAO. But ya'll see that man show out with his gold chain? Lordt help me, I love that man. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You stood beside the door to your balcony staring at the brightening day. The cry last night was everything you needed to reset. Perhaps it had just been too long since the last time you did. That was okay. It was okay to cry.

You clenched your fists and felt your nails dig into your palms. It was a terrible grounding technique. But pain was good. Pain meant you were alive. And as long as you were alive, your stalker wouldn’t win. He wasn’t winning when you worked hard for this shit.

All the blood, sweat, tears, predatory producers, dickhead managers, trashy bitches with their “gossip” websites, all of it. You didn’t survive this shit to let an anonymous motherfucker get you down.

You took a deep breath. One day, you’d be able to open the balcony and actually feel the sun on your bones. You had to agree with Terry that it was too easy for someone to take a pot shot at you. Though the stalker seemed to only want to scare you so far. Killing you would kill his fantasy, wouldn’t it?

It was too morbid to think about on such a pretty Las Vegas day. It was nearing the end of your run here before you would travel to LA. You turned and pulled your robe tighter while walking to your bedroom door and flinging it open.

It smelled like home. Like warm biscuits, sizzling bacon, and fresh eggs. You followed the smell to the common kitchen and peeked around the corner. Terry stood in the kitchenette in a gray tank top and matching lounge pants.

Your eyes tracked the subtle vein in his arm and followed it to where it ended in his hand gripping the pan. Terry looked up at you and smirked. “I figured after what happened we could all use a little normal,” he said.

“This…is your normal?” You asked. You hopped onto the nearest barstool and leaned over the bartop to look at the spread. He actually did make biscuits. Fluffy ones with butter melting in the middle. You were tempted to grab one but something told you Terry didn’t play about his kitchen.

You grinned and glanced at Terry who lifted his eyes to yours. You peeked down at yourself and noticed that your girls were threatening to slip out. “I am so sorry,” you said. Though you flirted and harassed the man, you weren’t predatory about it. You truly didn’t mean to let them hang out. You fixed your robe and sat back in your seat like a proper lady.

“It’s all good. Biscuits look good, don’t they?” He asked, his lips dipping in the corners. He almost smiled. Hot damn. Terry brought his thumb to his mouth to lick it and he hummed. The sound vibrated in his chest and you couldn’t help thinking what the hell he was doing as a bodyguard. Bottle that sound and package it into a vibrator and there wouldn’t be a dry cooch in the house.

“Mhm,” you said absently. Maybe the cry hadn’t done its job. Now you were just stuffy and foggy and clearly off your damn marbles. You watched Terry as he finished with the bacon. He moved on to a bowl of eggs he had already cracked and watched his arms work as he whipped up the eggs.

“I really only know how to make scrambled eggs. An omelet if I’m feeling fancy. If you want something else –”

“No, no, this is…sweet of you. I can’t remember the last time someone actually cooked for me. It’s been mostly dining out,” you said.

“You don’t cook when you’re home?” Terry asked.

You had to turn away from Terry. He looked downright delicious and he was being sweet. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by eye fucking him.

“No, not really. There’s not usually enough time. When I have downtime, I’m usually writing a song or working out or preparing for the next tour. Gotta do something with this brain of mine,” you said.

Terry nodded. “Shame. Nothing better than some good food cooked with love,” he said. His voice grew hoarse around the word love. Did he have an ex-wife? Did someone break his heart? There was so much you suddenly wanted to know about your bodyguard. You wanted pieces of him that no one else got. You were hungry and greedy for it. Though you had no right to be.

“So you can’t make anything other than scrambled eggs, huh?” You asked.

Terry scooped out butter and placed it on the hot pan. It immediately sizzled and Terry’s bulging muscles worked back and forth to spread it around. He added the eggs and then turned to you. “I did say an omelet, too. Give me some credit,” he said.

“But only when you’re feeling fancy,” you said.

Terry chuckled. “You get me,” he said.

“So what makes you feel fancy?” You asked. Your eyes drifted to Terry’s every so often and it was bordering on creepy. So you hopped down from the stool and rummaged around in the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Terry asked.

“Setting the table,” you said. You grabbed two plates and placed it on the counter.

“This was my gesture for you. You’re not supposed to set the table,” he said.

“My grandma would roll in her grave if she knew I didn’t help some kind of way. You wouldn’t want to hurt poor Grammy Bean, would you?” You turned doe eyes to him and added in a cute pout, sticking out your bottom lip.

Terry chuckled, turning back to the eggs. “I suppose I can’t hurt poor Grammy Bean,” he relented. You grinned and continued setting the bar top with plates, two cups, and forks. By the time you were done, Terry had finished up the breakfast.

You stood behind him and handed him the plates one by one while he loaded up the eggs, bacon, and biscuits. He handed you the full plate and you set it down. “That was for you,” he said.

“Oh,” you said and giggled. “Thank you.” You rounded the edge of the bar top, suddenly feeling shy and girly. There was no reason for it. You just…fuck, how long had it been since someone did something for you just because? Not because you were paying them to do it? No hidden agenda?

Technically you were paying Terry too, but to guard you, not cook for you. It was unprompted and there was nothing you could do in return for him. There was nothing you could do to feel like you earned it.

Terry grabbed his own plate and joined you at the bartop. He sat down and spread his legs to accommodate the long length of them. Feet planted firmly on the ground. “Don’t be too harsh on me. I know it’s not the fancy restaurant stuff you eat,” he said.

You laughed. “Don’t believe the hype, Mr. Terry. I am a southern girl at heart. This is way more up my alley than that french reduction, tuna tartar, or whatever else they think people want to eat.”

Terry chuckled and waited until you took a bite of your food. You sighed in appreciation and smiled closed-lipped at him. “This is delicious, Terry,” you said.

Terry grinned, showing off his beautiful smile. It was gone just as quick and he nodded. “Good to hear,” he said.

What you wouldn’t pay or do to see him smile like that again. You ate beside Terry, soaking in the domesticity of it all. You were burning with questions. But you bit your tongue and just enjoyed the stillness. The peace. The quiet.

Terry finished in record time, wolfing down his meal like he had just come back from jail or something. He stood up and grabbed two more biscuits. You didn’t know where the fuck he put it all.

“Did Grammy Bean get you into singing?” Terry asked.

You smiled and nodded, thinking of your grandmother. “Yup. She had a piano that she let me toddle on until she buckled down and got me piano lessons. She was a mainstay in the jazz scene. She knew them all. I was always following after her, so she ended up getting me started with singing. Encouraged me to do it for me if I was going to do this professionally. She bought me my first audition dress,” you said.

Bless Grammy Bean, but whew, that dress was hideous. You were twelve at the time and she somehow transformed you into a little version of her. A blue and purple paisley dress with swirls and waves and too many clashing colors. Old lady shoes. If it weren’t for the studio rep who actually listened instead of laughing at you, you would’ve been sent home with tears to keep you company.

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Terry said.

“She really was,” you said softly, remembering the pain of losing the most important person in your corner all over again. “How about you? Any grandma stories?”

Terry wiped his hands on the paper towel beside his empty plate and then wiped his mouth. He missed a crumb in his mustache but you decided not to tell him. If anything, it made him more endearing. He followed the towel with his hand, swiping away the crumb anyway. Bastard.

“Yeah, my grandma was no joke. Me and my cousin Mike were terrors. Always running in and out of the house, always getting into trouble. One time, we had been play-fighting in the rain. We were covered in mud. When grandma saw us, she hosed us down, gave us a proper whuppin’ for tracking mud on her porch, and then made us clean off her porch before we could come inside,” Terry said, smiling at the memory.

You smiled with him and shook your head, trying to imagine Terry at such a young age. Was he an awkward teen? Probably not. He was probably born with “responsible" stamped on his forehead.

“Oh, she was really no joke,” you said.

Terry smiled and shook his head. “Not a one. She’s the one that got me into the Marines. She would tell me all her stories of the Air Force and how she was in charge of making sure the women who served were in bed by curfew. A lot of them tried sneaking out to meet up with boys. My grandma was there with a clipboard and her service weapon telling them to try her,” he said, chuckling to himself.

“Not the clipboard too,” you said, chuckling with him.

“They could either get checked off or checked out,” he said, pitching his voice to sound like an older lady. With his deep voice, the sound didn’t quite manage what he went for. You continued to laugh at his impression, waving your hands.

“I’m not trying–” you kept laughing, unable to apologize.

“It’s all good. She was a funny woman. She’d want us to laugh,” he said. He sobered and looked at you while you tried to catch your breath. Giggles escaped you as you calmed down yourself, finding yourself getting lost in his stormy eyes.

You cleared your throat and sucked on your bottom lip. You both opened your mouth at the same time and then giggled. “You go,” he said.

“No, please,” you said.

“Ladies first,” he said. You sighed and rolled your eyes just as the doorbell rang. You cursed under your breath. You almost forgot for a few moments that you weren’t a normal person.

Terry stood up from the bar stool and went to the door for you, checking to see who was there. But you already knew. In five, four, three…

“There you are! Didn’t you get my text?” Mirage asked, walking into the room.

Joya followed close behind with a shy, pained smile on her face. She clutched her calendar to her chest and you smiled. You nearly had a heart attack looking at Terry. There was no way in hell your sweet assistant could handle Terry’s muscles on full display.

“I did not. I was eating breakfast, forgive me. Remind me what we’re doing today?” You asked. Because at this point, Terry effectively made you forget for a morning that you were a singer.

Terry re-entered the room silently, moving around Mirage and headed towards the kitchen. He began to pack up the plates. “Let me help,” you said, hopping off the stool.

“I got it. Go be awesome,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and giggled. You followed Mirage and Joya into the living room and sat down on the huge, white pleather couch. Joya sat down in the armchair, faced away from Terry, and opened her calendar.

“I managed to push your LA costume fittings to eleven to let you sleep in. You have an interview with Essence at three. Here is the list of questions,” she said, sliding over a piece of paper to you. You looked them over. Nothing too bad, not much you hadn’t answered before.

“Okay, pretty light day,” you said.

“Jake called. He needs you at the club tonight, rather than tomorrow,” Mirage said.

“What? Why?” You asked.

“Lord AK flew in early and will be there and Jake needs you to hype up the single,” Mirage said. She cringed at your expression as you sighed and fell back against the couch.

“I was looking forward to staying in,” you said.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t push it. I tried telling Jake about what happened yesterday-”

You waved off her incoming apology. “It’s not you. I know Jake is only thinking dollar signs right now,” you said, thinking of your good for nothing agent.

“How long do I have to show my face at the club?” You asked.

“You can’t go to a club. There’s no way to secure your safety,” Terry chimed in from the kitchen.

“I have to. If I don’t, the single won’t get promoted. If the single doesn’t get promoted, it doesn’t sell. If it doesn’t sell, my ass is out of a job,” you said.

Terry’s jaw flexed as he took in the information you gave him. “There’s no way around it?” He asked.

“Ah, sorry. No,” Mirage chimed in for you.

“There’s going to be a lot of influencers there. Lots of cameras. I don’t know if you could have a bodyguard close by,” Mirage said.

“I can blend in,” Terry said.

You looked at Mirage and Joya before glancing guiltily at Terry. He caught on, a smirk stretching his lips. “Don’t think I can hang?”

“I mean…I wouldn’t call you a square…” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded his head. “I can blend in, princess,” he said.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he chuckled, returning to cleaning up the kitchen. You shook your head and turned back to your team. You went over a few more details for the day, the logistics of everything.

“Ugh, I didn’t pack club clothes,” you said.

“Already have you covered. After the interview, you’ll have a few choices the label is sending over,” Joya said. She consulted her calendar and thousands of tabs and sticky notes. You marveled at the way her mind worked.

You smacked your teeth thinking of the type of clothes your label wanted you in. “Oh ye of little faith, girl! I already told them nothing silver, nothing sparkly, and nothing that’ll have your ass hanging out,” Joya said.

“I love you,” you said and giggled.

“I love you too, miss lady. We have fifteen minutes to get on the road before we’re late for your fittings,” Joya said.

“Ugggghhhhh,” you groaned, sliding off the couch like a toddler.

Mirage laughed and shook her head. “It’ll be painless. Well…as long as it isn’t Francois,” Mirage said.

You shivered from the floor. “I’m convinced he pokes me so many times to see if my ass is real,” you said. You all laughed and for a brief moment, you pretended that you were sixteen again with a circle of good friends, having a movie night. But those days were long past and gone.

“Alright, alright, alright. I’m getting up. Fuck,” you said. You stood up from the floor and collected yourself. You squared your shoulders, threw your head back, and took a deep breath.

Movement to your right made you turn to Terry who had stopped cleaning to watch you. He nodded his head at you and you nodded back. Yeah, you had business to attend to.

The fitting was a breeze. Luckily Francois was nowhere to be found so you didn’t have to grab bandaids as you were done with the fitting. That was the secret part you loved about being a musician. Playing dress up. Seeing the mix of fabrics and clothes and getting to see the hidden seams to allow for quick costume changes on stage.

The interview went just as well, talking with Brandi Harper, a journalist for Essence. She was cool, down to earth, making the interview feel like a conversation rather than a Q&A. You had bonded over your love for anime, discussing the different shows you watched.

She did end up asking about the A’Kierra interview that you did and you had to fight everything in you not to drag A’Kierra’s nasty ass. You only ended up shrugging and dismissing it. Why give that clown more ammunition?

Now, you were back at the hotel, getting dolled up for the club. Terry sat on the couch watching everyone like a hawk. He only allowed one make up artist and one hair stylist and only after he did his little background investigation on the both of them. Your team was loyal. You told him as much. Yet he still looked at everyone like any one of them could snap.

Angie worked on your makeup while Nicky worked on your hair. “You gon’ sweat this out?” He asked.

“Probably, yeah,” you said with a grin. Nicky rolled his eyes but laughed with you as he switched tactics. He quickly abandoned what he was doing and then undid your hair from the ponytail.

“You gon’ stress me out, chile,” he said.

“I love you, Nicky,” you said.

Nicky harrumphed and you blew him a kiss while he started to braid your hair. “You lucky I stay ready, miss thing,” he said. He grumbled about you while he got to work, braiding quickly and efficiently. That was why you paid to bring Nicky wherever you went. No one had hands like him.

Joya entered the circus that was your hotel living room carrying a garment bag over her shoulder. Mirage was in the corner, on the phone with Jake setting up details about the club.

You snuck a glance at Terry who caught you looking. You rolled your bottom lip into your mouth and Angie groaned. You apologized to Angie who had to switch tactics as well. “Every time, girl?” She asked.

You giggled. “You’re right. I’m a bad client,” you said.

She sighed and shook her head. “You’re lucky I like you,” she said.

“Oh, it’s my lucky night then. I need to do some gambling before we leave Vegas,” you said. You let Angie remove the gloss from your lips and went with a lip stain instead. It was a darker red than what you were used to but some sneaks in the mirror had you feeling yourself.

You may be a homebody but deep, deep down in your crevices, you liked to party too. Liked to dance and move and sing your heart out. Get some drinks going and you were the life of the party.

Joya managed to get closer and tapped the bag. “Got what you needed,” she said.

“Thank you,” you told her. “Terry? Can I see you please?” You asked.

Terry was by your side in a second, crowding your space. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome. You pointed to Joya. “I had her get some outfits for you as well. If you’re going to blend, I need you to really blend. And I doubt you have a club outfit in that duffel you carry,” you said.

“I’m good, thanks though,” he said.

“And just what do you plan on wearing to blend in then?” You asked.

He spread his hands and you looked at the black T-shirt and jeans he usually wore. You giggled and shook your head, much to Angie’s and Nicky’s frustration. “You cannot go to a club like this wearing your uniform, soldier,” you said.

“It’s a club,” he said. “No one’s worried about me.”

“Sheeit,” Nicky whispered. Angie elbowed him and he cleared his throat, returning to braiding your hair. He was already halfway through your head.

You were tempted to lick your lips to keep from laughing at the adorable, confused expression on Terry’s face. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t make some kind of effort. Please, indulge me. Otherwise I’d have to go in by myself and without you there to guard me, who knows what could happen?”

Terry’s jaw flexed. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. He grabbed the clothes bag from Joya who looked like a deer caught in headlights. She lowered her eyes and tried to back away as nonchalant as possible. Poor tink. You understood though. Terry was intimidatingly sexy as hell.

“I wouldn’t dream of pulling anything,” you said.

He gave you a blank stare before disappearing to his side of the suite. You turned to Joya with a grateful smile.

In no time at all, Nicky had your head braided and put on a wig. He flat ironed it and then pulled it into a half up, half down style. “Oh, I like this,” you said, looking at yourself in the mirror he brought.

“I know, I know. I’m the greatest,” he said.

“We’re running behind, let’s wrap it up soon,” Mirage called out, returning to her call.

What was taking Terry so long? You wondered which outfit he chose or if he’d stick to his uniform. You had to get dressed yourself so you went into your bedroom with Angie and Nicky to help put on your club outfit and make sure you didn’t mess up your hair and makeup.

The jumpsuit was sheer and looked painted on when you got it on. The back was out but it made your ass look extra fat. Oh, you were so keeping this. It had a tropical flower design on it that looked fun and perfect for the club. Partnered with your hair and makeup, hell, you’d fuck you tonight.

You left your room and Terry stood up. You paused, your heels near skidding on the floor. Got. Damn. He chose to wear a navy dress shirt with gold flowers on it. He left it buttoned all the way to the top and his black jeans made him look extra delicious.

He smoothed the shirt and looked at himself like he couldn’t believe how he got here. You giggled to get over your initial shock. “Not bad, Mr. Terry. Not bad,” you said.

“Don’t look so bad yourself,” he said.

You smiled and followed your army of people out of the hotel, to the waiting car. Terry opened the door for you and helped you inside. He went around to the other side, climbing into the back with you.

“Oh, not driving tonight?” You asked.

“I gotta blend, right?” He asked.

If he did any more blending, people would think he was a famous movie star. He pulled on some shaded glasses, completing the look while a member of your security team got in the front seat. Mirage and Joya would be in the follow car.

Sometimes they were your best friends. And sometimes they were your best employees. The ride beyond to the club was short, really only going from one hotel to the next. But because you’d be spotted instantly, it was somehow easier to take the car than walk.

Paparazzi lined the entrance to the club and those flashing bulbs immediately turned to your car when it was your turn. You took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of vultures. There were some fans mixed in.

“Guess word got out that I’d be here,” you said with a rueful smile. “Wondered who leaked that.”

Jake was such a leech. But you kept him around because if nothing else, he could hustle a dollar from a beggar. And for an artist determined to do this shit right, you needed all the money you could scrounge up. After living paycheck to paycheck growing up, robbing Paul to pay Peter, you had plans. You didn’t ever want to go back to the poor little girl you were before.

“We can turn around,” Terry offered.

You sighed. “No. We really can’t,” you said. You took a deep breath and pulled on your metaphorical armor. You pictured it encasing you in the hardest known element. Not a chink or weak spot to exploit.

You pulled on your own shades because the flashing lights left you dizzy. Terry’s counterpart got out of the car and then swooped around to open the door for you. Terry got out by himself and quickly walked around the car, offering you his arm.

The paparazzi resembled a feeding frenzy at the zoo. They called your name endlessly, squawking with demands to turn here, look here, give us a smile, give us a pout, who’s your man, and on and on it went.

You posed and waved to them all, playing into your persona. You singled out a few fans and took pictures with them, signing some autographs. You blew kisses as you walked up the club’s doors and the bouncer let you in without any fuss.

The sudden darkness of the club’s interior foyer after all the flashing lights gave you whiplash. You swayed on your feet and Terry steadied you with a hand on your hip. “You okay?” He asked.

You shook your head to clear it. “I hate that shit,” you said. But you were fine. You’d live.

“We made it,” Mirage said, coming up from the side entrance. She wore a simple black party dress that fit her full figure well. She pulled her braids back into a ponytail and added on makeup. You hugged her and then Joya who peeked out from behind Mirage. She had changed as well, into a pair of dark jeans and a flirty shirt.

“You both look amazing!” You said.

“Not as good as you!” Joya said. You waved them off. They were too adorable. Linked arm in arm, you passed through the curtains and entered the club proper. Nothing was small in Vegas on the strip. The place was huge, a mass of people gyrating on the dance floor, hanging out by the bar, or trying to make moves on each other.

You made your way to the VIP section. The section was already bumping with multiple artists bopping their heads to the music. Groupies hung around the various rappers and singers, each all similarly dressed in baggy pants and jerseys or oversized coats.

“You’re here!” Another singer, Alexandra Crane, beamed and then wrapped her arms around you. You screamed with her. The cute little singer from Atlanta had become a friend during a concert you performed together. You were glad to see that she ditched the other two in her group.

“It is so good to see you!” You said. You introduced Mirage and Joya and true to form, Joya fangirled.

“Oh, and who’s this?” Alex asked.

“This is my-”

“I’m her toy for the evening,” Terry said, extending his hand to Alex. She shook it but gave you an exaggerated wink. You waved her off and let your eyes adjust to the dizzying array of spinning neon lights in the club.

The dance floor was full of uncoordinated people jumping up and down to the same four club remixes on repeat. Ugh. “Have you seen Lord AK?” You asked.

Alex shook her head. “Are you meeting up with him?” She asked.

You nodded and bent closer to be heard over the music. “We’re promoting ‘Down Bad’,” you told her.

She smiled and nodded her head. “Oh my god, I love that song!” She said.

You flopped onto the couch with Alex and caught up, leaving Terry to sit beside you and scan the club for potential threats. You relaxed as the night went on, going shot for shot with Alex and your girls.

As the night progressed, some fans dared to approach and ask for pictures. Terry tried to deter them but you went against his orders, taking pictures anyway. It was incredibly brave to even ask. You wouldn’t deny them a quick picture and wave.

The club finally changed the music to something you could actually shake your ass too. The alcohol warmed your belly and had you feeling yourself. You grabbed Alex’s hand and made your way to the dance floor.

Terry grabbed your hand as you reached the bottom step of the VIP section. “I can’t protect you around all of them,” he said.

“I wanna dance. You can join meee, boy toy,” you sang, crooking your finger. Terry tilted his head and if you could see his eyes, you were sure he would be judging you. Ah well. You hadn’t had fun in a long time. Your stalker preferred to catch you unawares. The mask had been the creepiest contact so far.

The fanboy letters and poems were what really creeped you out. You shivered just thinking about it. But that was the point. You didn’t want to think about your stalker. You wanted to have fun.

Terry let your hand go and then you squealed, getting onto the dance floor and immediately started shaking your ass to the Ying Yang Twins song. You let go. You just followed the rhythm of the music and danced with Alex, pretending you were just a girl in a club, quietly hoping some man would come holler at you for a second.

You danced in a circle so that it would make you face the VIP section. Terry’s profile was turned towards you, eyeing you as you danced. You put extra flair into your sexy dancing. Swaying your hips, shaking your ass, flirting with him with your body from across the room.

He watched it all. He didn’t even pay attention to those around him. Didn’t give the waitress a glance as she lingered, hovered, trying to grab his attention. He lifted his fingers to wave her off and she left with a huff. That only made you smile and roll your body to the music.

The DJ scratched the record, getting everyone’s attention. Everyone turned to the DJ in the middle of the club, up on stage surrounded by a paneled wall full of screens with colors dancing in the display.

“Ya’ll ready for some hot, new shit? Fresh off the tracks?” The DJ asked. The club screamed.

“Ya’ll ready or not, damn!” The DJ asked.

Behind him, Lord AK stepped out with a microphone. “Call me a simp, ‘cause that ass got me mesmerized…” he started rapping the opening lyrics to your song. You screamed, just as shocked as everyone else.

Why didn’t Mirage tell you this was part of the plan? You looked towards the VIP section but Mirage wasn’t there. Were you supposed to sing as well? Were you just there to witness? This mickey mouse shit was unprofessional as fuck.

Lord AK seemed to know what the hell was going on because he made a beeline through the crowd to you, serenading you with his rap, grinning widely. Gahh, he was so damn cute. If he didn’t have some deep seated fucking issues, that would be your man for real. But after the scare last year at a party, he had disappeared for counseling.

Fuck it. You grabbed the mic from him when it came time to your part, singing to him, flirting with him and the crowd. You involved them, making them think that they were the ones you were down bad for.

Mirage’s head bobbed in the crowd. She gave you a harried look, waving a microphone covertly. You pushed on Lord AK’s chest and sang while backing him away. You grabbed the microphone from Mirage just as Lord AK leaned in for a fake kiss. You tapped the microphone on his lips and he grinned, grabbing the microphone and began the breakdown of the song.

There was a call and response in the middle of the song, getting quicker as the lyrics turned nastier. You and Lord AK circled each other, getting closer and closer, until you reached the climax of the song where you belted out the final lyrics. The club exploded with cheers and whistles.

The DJ played another one of Lord AK’s songs. The idea was to get people focused on the music, not his hiatus. You felt bad for him, really. He was a talented rapper. People should already focus on the music and not that he was going through shit. Everybody was going through shit.

Mirage fought her way to you, grabbing your microphone and Lord AK’s. “Fuckin’ Jake sprung this shit on me. By the time I knew, he was already in place and I couldn’t find you and…”

“Babe, breathe,” you said. Mirage stopped mid sentence and took a deep breath.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill him,” she said, shaking her head and walking away.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Somethin’ told me this shit wasn’t right, ‘cause I almost didn’t find you out here,” Lord AK said.

You waved him off and hugged him, covertly taking a deep whiff of his cologne. He smelled heavenly, like a mix of spiced flowers and sandalwood. You should’ve been having his babies. You inwardly groaned at the loss of your fictional family as you pulled away.

“It is so good to see you. Need some familiar faces, for real,” you said.

His grin was wide and genuine, his eyes no longer cloudy now that he got rid of most of his entourage. That whole group had been toxic and you were glad to see him on the other side of it. Healthy looked good on him.

However, back in his presence, his luminance seemed to dim. He no longer really turned your head. You only had eyes for – him. Terry remained in the VIP section but there was some unknowable expression on his face. You didn’t know him well enough to decipher this particular look.

He was always so damn grumpy. “How long you here for?” You asked.

Lord AK shrugged his shoulders. “Enough to be seen. Then I’ma dip. This club is ass,” he said.

“True that. Don’t leave without me seeing you again,” you said.

“You’re gonna see me in LA, girl,” he said.

“And what that mean!” You tapped his shoulder and made your way back to the VIP section. Most of it had cleared out but there were still a few movers and shakers talking, their phones out recording everything.

The lights began to go crazy, turning the VIP section darker as the lights danced in time with the club remixes again. “Having fun?” Terry asked when you got up the stairs.

“Are you? Have you gotten up once?” You asked.

“Mhm. Just sitting here. Enjoying the free concert,” he said.

You giggled, looking away. You wanted so desperately to ask what he thought of the performance. The words to excuse the behavior were at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to make it clear that it was all an act for you and Lord AK. That you weren’t really into him, ya’ll just had good chemistry.

But there was nothing to really explain, was there? You didn’t owe Terry an explanation. You grabbed two shots and handed him one. “If this was what you call blending in, it’s so bad. You scream cop,” you said.

“I look good, what you mean?” He asked. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and you shook your head with a giggle.

“You gotta drink. You gotta dance. Those are the rules,” you said.

“I don’t drink,” he said.

“Like a you can’t handle your liquor thing or is this a health nut thing?” You asked.

Terry chuckled. “Health nut?” He asked.

“You know you can be addicted to working out, right?” You asked.

Terry shook his head. “I don’t drink on the job,” he said.

“This isn’t a job. You’re blending. Blending means going method,” you said. Terry sighed and grabbed the shot out of your hand. He knocked it back without a grimace and you matched him, tipping the shot glass back and grinning at him.

The DJ gave the club remix a break and turned on Post Malone’s “Rockstar”. You squealed and threw up your hands. “I love this song! Dance with me,” you said. You grabbed his hand and tried to pull him to standing. He remained firmly planted in his seat.

“I definitely don’t dance on duty,” he said.

The alcohol made you petulant. At least that was your excuse and you were sticking to it. You gave up trying to get him to stand so you took another shot for courage and then began dancing in the VIP section.

The neon blue and purple lights danced across the shades he still wore. You couldn’t see his pretty eyes and you pretended that he was a famous person. Someone who understood what it was like to feel lonely in the middle of a crowd. That image quickly disappeared though. You didn’t want a fantasy.

You wanted to remain yourself. You wanted Terry to remain Terry. The inflexible, professional, gorgeous man who took your safety seriously. The same man who let you peek behind the curtain of his control earlier today. The same man who made you feel in ways you hadn’t in a very long time.

You turned around and began dancing for him. Just for him. Rolling your ass in a slow circle to the song, bending down as you did so, making your knees do most of the work to entice Terry.

He adjusted himself in the seat, tilting his head at you. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice rough.

“Dancing with you since you won’t dance with me,” you said. You continued to dance, looking back at him every so often to make sure he was still looking. You grew more bold as you danced, now doing it just because. Just because he made you feel normal when so much of your life wasn’t.

You backed into his lap and mimicked bouncing on it. You grabbed his knees and ground your ass in lap, used him for support while you danced slower and slower. The thrumming beat matched the beat of your heart, turning you bolder.

You looked over your shoulder and bit your lip, still grinding in his lap. Terry took a deep breath but you weren’t making it easy for him. “You know you want to dance with me,” you said over your shoulder.

Terry leaned forward and grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto his lap. You yelped, feeling a third leg pushing at the fabric of his jeans. He placed his lips next to your ear and whispered, “Behave.”

You grinned and kept grinding and dancing on him, giving him a lap dance whether he wanted it or not. He didn’t stop you, only gripped your hips harder with his thick fingers. He slowly began to move with you, rubbing his bulge into your ass.

He moved one of his hands from your hips to trail a finger along your exposed, sweaty back. You gasped, feeling electricity pass from his fingers to your skin. You took back control by abruptly standing up, turning around, and climbing into his lap.

You continued your dance, wriggling in his lap. You bent backwards, stretched, and then rolled forward. Terry dragged a finger down your chest and you wished it was open in the front too. You liked his hands on you. You really, really liked his hands on you.

Your skin grew overheated, waves of heat rolling through your body. Terry gripped your ass and squeezed. You gasped and fell forward, knocked off your rhythm with just a firm grip. You ought to be ashamed you were that easy, but hell, who could blame you?

When he looked that good? Smelled that good? Felt so damn good?

Terry leaned forward and you steadied yourself on his shoulders. You braced for those full, lush lips to touch yours. Watched as if in slow motion as he leaned in. Your breathing was so rapid, your chest rose and fell.

Terry moved one of his hands to your face, bringing you closer by cupping your cheek. Your eyes drooped, too eager to get this over with yet wanting to savor every little second. His hand was hot against your cheek. His breath fanned across your face.

He bypassed your lips to bring his closer to your ear. “I don’t take advantage of drunk women,” he whispered. He licked your neck and you moaned, shivering as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water down your veins. “I like my women sober when they’re riding me.”

You gasped while he stood up and gently placed you on the couch. “Stay here. I’ll grab you some coffee.”

You stayed put while he disappeared to do just that. You stared after his retreating form, at a complete loss for words. You were hot and bothered. Your flabbers were ghasted. And you were so damn horny you thought you’d pass out.

Such a bastard. You fanned yourself as Terry returned with coffee and water, making you somehow drink both. He escorted you out of the club with a few stops to take pictures with fans. Despite whatever the hell he thought, you were not drunk.

He had you tucked into the car before you could say, “Cinderella”. There was nothing to talk about in the car. The interior was too tense. Too thick. Too cloying with the mix of cologne, perfume, sweat, and hairspray. You rode in silence back to your hotel, escorted to the room, and stood silently while Terry checked every nook and cranny of the room.

“Goodnight, Mr. Terry,” you sang lazily, heading to your bedroom doors. Terry crossed the living room to his side.

“Goodnight,” he said.

You stared at each other as you closed the doors at the same time. Finally alone, you turned and leaned your back against the door feeling like the biggest fucking loser on the planet.

Whew. Help yourself to some more treats! The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

Tag list: PLEASE. I love ya'll FRFR.

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

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hai7ani · 9 hours ago

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Haitani Rindou, Me and My Girlfriend Tokyo Revengers' Ending Special

Your birthday is cold. The wind is big and your jacket is not doing its job good enough. Orangey leaves fall from the trees and they land on your heads. Sweet potatoes have never tasted so sweet before, but he thinks your smile is sweeter.

Tokyo has been getting pretty cold these days, but Rindou is always warm.

"It's soooo cold." You hide your face into his much thicker jacket and mewl like a sweet little kitten seeking for warmth. He reels your body in closer to wrap his arms around your figure, tight. "Told'cha to wear the other jacket." He sways you both around lightly. Your paper bag from Chrome Hearts is heavy and he grabs it off your fingers.

"But I wanted to wear this one for today. You got it for me." You sneak a peek from his chest to look at his face. He rolls his eyes in faux annoyance as you smile cheekily.

Draken is not happy with what he's seeing.

"What the hell? Did this guy just skip the gang meeting to date? That's some lame shit." He clicks his tongue, irritated. A thick vein bulges from his forehead and he starts stomping towards you both, who're standing under a tree all cuddled up together and so, so cozy 一 it's such an eye-sore.

Emma stops him before he can get any closer. "Oh, leave them alone, would you? Let them date in peace. Haitani Ran attended the meeting anyway!" She scolds, hands on her hips. Senju drags along Hinata with sparkly eyes and a wide-open mouth. "Ehhh? She's so pretty! They look so good together."

"Hah? Ya tellin' me four eyes' got a girlfriend?!" Hakkai's strikingly blue eyes almost falls out of his sockets as he witness the scene before him: you're stepping on your tippy toes to place a smooch on Rindou's cheek sweetly, and he's actually smiling like a damn fool. Sanzu only snarls 一 a common reaction for a guy who's just broken up with his girlfriend, while Hanma is busy smirking as he lights up a cigarette. "He's got some balls showing up here all lovey-dovey." ...He'd just broken up with his girlfriend, too.

Mitsuya snickers, "they've been together for a very long time already, I'm surprised you lot just found out about this," while Souya and Nahoya seem normal about it. "Do you guys not follow his SoundCloud? He makes a lot of songs for her. He shared his link with us willingly, too."

Chifuyu pitches in. "Last week they visited the pet shop to get some cat supplies, and he pretended not to know me with his nose up high, but he made me give him a staff discount while she was busy playing with Peke J. Evil person, I say." Baji smacks the back of his head, "that's just you, dude. He said hi to me and Kazutora." The said man raises his hand as a confirmation.

Inui's face does not change. "Draken wasn't around so he doesn't know, but they both came by D&D the other day to make me check on his car. We don't fix cars, bruh, but he still left with his engine problem solved. No idea how, 'cause I didn't do shit. Goofy guy."

Kokonoi sighs. "It's been ages since they've been doing this, guys. Has no one ever realised the freaking hickeys on his neck? He's fuckin' cocky 'bout 'em too."

But as always, Draken is quick to get pissed off even with reason. He scoffs, "So what? We meet up just once a week to talk about the gang. Is it so hard to show up for just two hours every Sunday?"

...Mikey is always faster. He's already looming over you both (in his head he is) while the others are still busy busting their heads over you two.

"You." His voice is flat and his eyes are squinted, very annoyed. He looks like a grumpy child pissed that he didn't get a souvenir from his classmate. It doesn't help that he is much shorter than your boyfriend as well.

"What the hell are you doing here? If you wanna skip a meeting at least don't show up at our venue to show off. Are you asking for a beating?"

You poke your head out from his jacket just enough to take a quick look at Mikey who is standing behind you both, arms crossed while tapping his feet on the ground. Rindou turns his head and eyes the growing crowd who're slowly circling around you both.

Shion and Izana shrug simultaneously with their hands in the air when Rindou glares at them. 'We didn't say shit,' but his best friend mouths to him anyway, 'dumbass'. And for once, Kakucho is laughing.

From the corner of his eyes he can see Ran slowly approach you both, left behind by the crowd while sucking on a popsicle at this weather like the maniac he is. He quickly stands properly to fix on your clothing gently without letting you go from the confines of his jacket 一 to keep you warm like the loving boyfriend he is or to keep your face hidden like the petty boyfriend he is, you're not too sure.

He faces the crowd with you hiding behind his back, eyes wide as you listen.

"It's my girl's birthday today." He simply mutters, loud enough for the crowd to hear. No attitude, no eye roll 一 just five words, plain and simple.

"Huh?" The steam rising off of Mikey's head vanishes like a fire being put off by water, and Draken's expression significantly drops. He immediately coughs into his fist and bows a little when he sees you looking at him, pretty eyes folded into thin crescents as you pat on your boyfriend's back a little, whispering into his ear to ease up.

"What? I can't take you out to shop on your birthday now?" He says it to you with the expression of a sad little mistreated puppy and you try your best to shut him up while laughing. "Yes, yes you can. Now quiet, be nice to them." You say between giggles.

"Sorry. Happy birthday." Mikey immediately apologises, dazed. You snicker against Rindou's back and try your hardest to nod as a courtesy with your face half-hidden.

He still has something to say, though 一 like the big boy who doesn't like being misunderstood that he is 一 despite your best efforts on making him play nice and not be rude to his friends.

"I didn't come all the way here to show off, baka. We're waiting for this guy to celebrate together." He explains, one finger pointing to his nonchalant brother, as you both meet with Ran under the lamppost.

"And, dating isn't lame. Still being single is." His gaze switches to Emma who is playing with the buttons of her cardigan silently behind Draken, with a teasing smirk on his face.

"Asshole-"

"Bye. Don't follow us." He mocks the way Draken's mouth moves with a grin and you hit his arm while lightly bowing to the others as a goodbye.

"She looks so familiar." Takemichi whispers as he watch the three of you take off, and Hinata hums for him to continue. "I feel like I've seen her before."

Mikey looks at him with a soft smile on his face, as he takes a glance back at the rest who are still discussing about you two. They're all loud and boisterous, but they're having fun, and they're alive.

And suddenly the wires connect in his head.

Yeah, that's right. In the timeline before this, the timeline before that, and in all the timelines he's met with the Haitani Brothers, he's seen you too. You and Rindou side by side, and you're always together with Ran. You and him were never together before this because of your disapproval on their dangerous gang activities, but you are together now, in this timeline, where Ran and Rindou aren't just juvie kids and they're no longer cold-blooded murderers.

Mikey knows that too.

"Finally a happy timeline, right, Takemicchi?"

i'm extremely late to this but happy 2 years since tr ended and also not much tags cus idk what this is honestly. just read for fun LOL :p

#writing #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers #rindou x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

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mean-scarlet-deceiver · 10 hours ago

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Forever and Ever... Even in the 1920s-1960s

Started going down a long digression in the 2+4 essay. Gonna follow this breadcrumb trail over here instead...

One of my arguments is that Gordon actually behaves well and graciously way more often than he is usually given credit for (and starts doing this way earlier than often credited, too).

Along the way, I realized that his spots of bad behavior are not random. When he starts acting all Ass, it's almost always in the period of some sort of major change in his life:

The Three Railway Engines - *waves hand vaguely* all of it -> he's just transferred from the GNR to Sodor

Troublesome Engines - *waves hand again* y'know, all of it -> Thomas moved away :(

Henry the Green Engine - harrumphing about how Henry has let the side down in like three different ways directly after Henry's major reconstructive surgery -> the horrible wreck where Henry, his best friend, could have died, and instead was in hospital the rest of the damn winter

Gordon the Big Engine - "Mind you keep on the rails today!" and then, when he gets pushback, retreating to old friend "boasting" -> is he mother-henning Henry?? he's explicitly referencing the Kipper accident! I would not be too shocked to learn that Gordon gets twinges of unease that he never examines every so often whenever he sees Henry with a train

Percy the Small Engine - "Quack quack quack!" and trying to bully Duck (lol. lmao, even) -> Percy is gonna move away :(

Main Line Engines - getting on his high horse about "Branch Line Diesels" and then getting into a huge spat with Edward that results a brand-new beat-down of a dead horse named "Edward is Weak and Useless" -> We learn in "Wrong Road" that his fireman is new. Presumably his old fireman advanced to fill the role, leaving the vacancy... which means that Gordon recently lost his old driver to retirement.

You might be thinking "well yeah, stressors are stressful, most people's outbreaks of bad behavior have to do with some sort of Big Life Thing" - I certainly thought so, for a mo'. But this isn't true of the other major characters? James's worst behavior in the Wilbert books comes when he is slightly delayed sometimes during his work day and when Toby just, erm… exists. Thomas's worst behavior is because he… doesn't like his snowplough, and has a careless cleaner.

No, only Gordon's poor behavior can so consistently be linked to big changes. Indeed, not many RWS characters have been seen with quite as much of an interior life as we learn Gordon has in "Tenders for Henry." By that point, Gordon has matured enough that he doesn't express his feelings in this emotionally-stupid make-it-everyone's-problem sort of way. But we can see clearly that the end of steam seems to affect him more deeply than anyone else at Tidmouth.

So yeah, I think there's something real and insightful in the above pattern. Once again, my friends - Galloping Sausage with Feelings.

#he has so many feelings y'all #get him a therapist he needs better coping skills #the railway series #ttte #ttte gordon

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blissfullyecho · 3 days ago

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Hey echo!! I’ve been following you for a while on my old tumblr account and even bought your book and toolkit which has been a game changer! Was wondering if you have some tips on looksmaxxing for black women- I do agree that looking the prettiest does get you far in life. Also where can I preorder your book? Thank you for the advice you post- I love how you keep it real! I used to be one of the girls that believed in manifestation, affirmations and subs, but you brought me back to reality!

Looksmaxxing Tips

Source: I’m from Miami and currently live in LA.

Disclaimer: I already know I’ll get cancelled for this but this is for the girls who get it.

Hey! Aw you don’t have to be anon 🤍 thank you so much for your support!! Like truly that was very nice and I’m happy you’re still around after my hiatus. First things first, this post is going to get me in trouble but… I’ll do it lol. Remember that time I was cancelled for saying we should be shaving our underarms?

YOUR BODY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR FACE

You know it’s true. You know when you look like you take care of yourself, people treat you better. Yes, you NEED to make sure you’re at a healthy weight. Your face can be absolutely busted, but if you have a nice body, you get a pass. I’m half Hispanic, and my background and your background tends to get on the heavier side pretty quickly. There is so many scientific research about how we develop Type 2 Diabetes quicker and we’re globally at a higher weight. So this is the part when I’m gonna get cancelled: you have to be fit. You have to be in shape. You have to have muscle. You have to be tight and toned.

———- WORKOUTS I RECOMMEND

1. Pilates $$-$$$

2. Barre $$-$$$

3. Running/Sprinting/Walking/Stairmaster $-$$

4. Kickboxing $-$$

5. Solid Core, Barry’s, SoulCycle, Pelaton, etc. $$-$$$

6. Growing Anna Nas (YouTube. For some reason I can’t link YouTube links) $0

7. Pamela Rief (YouTube) $0

8. MadFit (Youtube) $0

——— MY DIET TIPS

1. I eat whatever I want, but I eat so in moderation. It’s so important that you don’t deprive yourself because this should be a lifestyle. I get lunch portions, kids meals, the smallest size of unhealthy foods (like I would get a small fry for example), etc. Ben & Jerry’s has the really tiny ice cream cups that I’ll get if I want something sweet. But food known to cause weight gain, I’ll still eat them but I won’t have normal portions of it because normal portions of those kinds of foods are literally 1,000+ calories.

2. I’m against drinking my calories unless it’s a meal replacement (like a smoothie)

3. I practice intermittent fasting. I’ve done 18:6, 16:8, 20:4, and 23:1. They are all great. I think it’s healthy to give your body a rest from eating throughout the day to allow it to digest. I eat from 12pm-6pm some days, but some days if I’m going out to dinner, I push it back to maybe 4pm-10pm. So many benefits to this, do your research.

4. I don’t eat carbs for dinner. Carbs are essential for energy. Why do I need energy at night? Protein, healthy fats, and veggies is what I stick to. I limit carbs to my smoothie and lunch. But my main dish is never a carb; I like fat and protein as my main dish with a SIDE of carbs like rice or a side pasta dish.

I don’t recommend Ozempic or other alternatives! You’ll get the Ariana Grande sunken in face and look absolutely insane. That’s the side effect that scares me the most, and it usually happens later on after being on Ozempic for it to take affect. I want to keep my face plump.

DON’T TOUCH YOUR FACE SURGICALLY

I’m always a fan of a good rhinoplasty, but make sure you come to LA for one. NYC has really good doctors too. Never, EVER get your surgeries done in Miami. Business is so shady in Miami that I don’t trust it. I’m not telling you to get a nose job— I’m saying that’s the only procedure I’m actually for and not against.

I used to get Botox and I stopped. The problem with Botox is that is prevents muscle movement, which will develop muscle atrophy. Meaning, your face muscles will lose shape and strength sooner than normal, and your face will start to sag. My credentials is that I have a nursing degree and I dated a plastic surgeon over the last year.

I’m sure you don’t need lip filler, but a little (like half a syringe) to make your lips go out further is a GAME CHANGER. Just make sure you dissolve filler each time you decide you want a touch-up.

Another trend is buccal fat removal— I don’t know WHY people are wanting the snatched face because it makes you look so horse-like and old. I’m only talking to those who don’t naturally have a snatched face. There’s a difference between looking puffy, and having face fat. Face fat is good, it keeps you looking youthful! So don’t get that done.

Stay away from all other fillers.

COME TO LA FOR BODY PLASTIC SURGERY

I’m the biggest advocate for breast augmentations. I got my boobs done because I wanted them to look more perfect. You just have to make sure you go to a good doctor. Don’t be cheap with it. But getting your boobs done just elevates your look but don’t get crazy. A perky C cup is fine, even a perfect D cup is fine. Get the boobies up and perky. Push-ups and other chest workouts are good to start doing but they’re not going to be total game-changers. If you like your boobs, great. But if you want that perfect body inside and outside of clothes, get the girls up. Give them some volume.

If you have extra flab or skin, go for the non surgical procedures!! I got Morpheus8 done on my inner thighs because I had a bit of loose skin from weight loss (it was like 50lb weight loss and I lost it fast) and my thighs are sucked in and cute now). But it depends on what they have but go to a medical spa ran by a plastic surgeon. Don’t go to the commercial med spas or anything.

Body Gua-Sha is really good to do as well to help shape you up a little. I do this after every morning shower.

GET A SPRAY TAN

Yes, you should get a spray tan. I know you don’t need one, but your skin tone would pop so much more if you got one and they hide so many imperfections on your skin. Everyone looks better tan— everyone. It’s giving summer vibes all year round and I’m here for it. My black friends get spray tans and I’ve seen the difference in real time. Skin just looks so much healthier and younger with a spray tan. But it has to be a spray tan, it has to be a little artificial to look good lol. I know people swear the sun is the best but when I go out in the sun, I turn grey!!!! I turn such a weird color but because I fake tan, I keep my golden color without looking moldy lol. It’s giving that SpongeBob episode when he had the suds. Try it once and tell me how it goes lol. I swear you’ll be obsessed. I actually want you to message me and lmk.

MAKEUP, LASH EXTENSIONS, MICROBLADING

Your lashes should be undetectable. Classic natural set with a wispy and individual mix ONLY. Lashes should only be used for a thicker lash line, NOT for length. If you get strip lashes, make sure they’re natural and WISPY. The more natural and effortless the better. You also look younger and classier too. I’m a fan of a natural looking micro blade, but keep your brows natural. Don’t fan them out or fluff them, but don’t have IG brows. You want to fool people into thinking you’re just naturally like this. Obviously when you go out, do the brows or lashes, but on a normal Wednesday 2pm, it’s not necessary. Makeup should always be glowing. Matte makes you look like a grandma. A subtle glow in the cheeks or nose just gives healthy. Matte gives chalky.

HAIR

Keep it SAFE with hair. Natural color, natural length, healthy hair. How you style it is up to you but make sure it goes with your face shape. Hair that’s too long can be too much and hair that’s too short can make you look a little older. I don’t know if you wear your natural hair or if you install, but if you install keep it at an appropriate length. Think VS model. If your hair is natural and you wear it out, scratch everything I just said :) but keep colors natural and your hair healthy!

—-

I’m running out of space to type, but I’ll say this. Your BEST template is a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Not the new ones lol that show was embarrassing. I’m talking about the OG VS. That’s if you want to be universally stunning. Everyone will turn heads at a VS Angel. You want to give classy, but you also want to give youthful and sexy. Look at paparazzi photos of them being off-duty. Gain style and look inspiration off of them. They got CANCELLED for not being inclusive and it hurt feelings. Now they aren’t making nearly as much money before and the brand is tainted because a few insecure women decided to be all emotional. See what happens when you listen to insecure toads?

I didn’t want this post to be something you can find on the internet because there’s so much about this on the internet, but I gave you some opinions based off things I see that I agree/don’t agree with.

🖤🍸Make sure to check out my book called The Luxe Girl’s Playbook to Life for a fresh perspective on reinventing yourself for 2025. You’ll receive immediate access after purchase.

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musashi · 1 day ago

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Hiiii, so this is a call for some help with a video I have in the works right now.

I am looking for a Latinx volunteer to... I guess sensitivity read and/or help me fine-tune a very specific part of a youtube video script. Preferably someone in the Ace Attorney fandom, but you do not need to be by any means--if there are any plot details you need me to explain to you to make my points clearer, my autistic ass will jump at the opportunity.

It's a misconception debunking video with a little 'character assassination' bit at the end where I plan on talking about unfortunate boxes, flanderizations, and stereotypes that some of the characters in my favourite visual novel often get lumped into. One of these characters is Diego Armando, a Latino (dark skinned Japanese in the original) man who is constantly held to higher scrutiny by the fandom than his lightskinned peers. He is frequently demonized, painted as a misogynistic scumbag, held in much worse faith than other culprits for his very understandable and sympathetic wrongdoing, and overall just treated incredibly harsh for things that other comparable characters get away with on account of them 'looking' white and having more anglicized names.

Since I am white myself I do not plan on speaking excessively about the experience when it is not my own but I think it is a huge fucking disservice to not focus on the fact that this fandom treatment all just stems from racism. It's the one part of my video where I don't plan on even entertaining "the other side" or explaining where the misinterpretation "comes from" I want to just. Make the point. That it's racism, with no rhyme or reason.

But I obviously don't feel qualified to just do that on my own so this is just me putting out feelers to ask if anyone would like to read over this part of my script for me, offer concrit (scalding concrit if you must, please, I want it to be as tight as possible) and basically just make sure my own white privilege doesn't gloss over, misrepresent, or miss anything. Basically just asking for help not fucking it up.

Again you do not have to be into AA to help me with this, I can tell you all about the character and what he does and doesn't do, his place in the story, and the things I hear about him in fandom and how they don't hold up on other comparable characters. Just know I will have to spoil the whole final game for you if you ever plan on getting into it haha. And, once again, please only volunteer if you are Latinx yourself.

I will, of course, give you full credit and thanks in my video and in the description, and link my viewers to any and all platforms if you'd like. Since I make no money off youtube and am horrendously broke myself, if you have any donation links posted anywhere I will boost the hell out of those too. That's about all I can offer for compensation OTL

Please contact me via ask if this is something you're interested in. You can also reply on this post and I can open DMs for you or get in touch with you via email or discord. I really, really, really want to include this in the video but I want to do it right.

Even if you're not someone who qualifies, if you are an AA blog or have lots of AA blogs following you, I'd appreciate a reblog to boost this! Thank you :3

#wordy wendy #pwaa #ace attorney #diego armando #prosecutor godot #aa godot #ace attorney godot #if you want to know what kind of stuff i make: i'm wendy rocket on youtube #not a lot there but character and fandom analysis is my passion

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amethystarachnid · 1 day ago

Note

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

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