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valeriianz · 4 months ago

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Summary: Part 2 of my Hard of Hearing!Dream. Part 1 here! Dream struggles with his new disability and Hob tries to help... along with Dream's new friend, Jessamy.

Square/Prompt: A1 - Why Did You Do It?

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: human AU, deaf!Dream, angst, happy ending, established relationship

Fill for @dreamlingbingo! (thank you @mallory-x for the read through!)

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When Dream turned 30, he celebrated it in a crowded bar that doubled as an art gallery, close to his apartment. It was his favorite bar, because it was an eclectic gallery first, with a bar open for events. Luckily, there was a local exhibit on the night of Dream’s birthday and he knew it would be the perfect place to celebrate. This way, he could appease his friends who wanted to go out and drink and celebrate, and Dream could stare at art and make a quick escape if need be. It gave a chance for everyone to focus on anything else but him after the initial round of shots.

Hob never took his focus off Dream, though. Even when they would float away to opposite sides of the room, Dream would turn his head and find Hob staring at him, smiling at being caught before turning his attention back to the person he was in conversation with.

At that point, it had been two and a half years since Dream had told Hob about his diagnosis… that he would go permanently deaf. In that time, he did indeed completely lose his hearing in his left ear, but his right was still working pretty well. He had just gotten used to tilting his head slightly to the left so people would understand to talk directly into his good ear.

And Hob was still here. Patient, sweet, loving Hob. Who Dream secretly had a crush on probably since they were first introduced. They’d moved in together last year, and while there were some bumps in the road, complications that arose with moving in with a lover, Dream was surprised to find that he was… happy.

He couldn’t stand it, sometimes, how happy Hob made him. Even his friends had noticed how he smiled more, seemed to have a more positive outlook on life and even on his disability. And it felt natural, like Hob just brought out all the good traits about Dream, like they had been lying dormant and just needed the confidence, the reassurance that he was allowed to feel this way. This happy.

And then, 45 days after Dream’s birthday party, he woke up to Hob shaking him awake, because he was sleeping through his alarm that was apparently blasting through his phone.

But Dream couldn’t hear him. Or the alarm.

He watched with horrifying realization, as Hob’s lips moved, hovering over him, but no words came out.

So much for five years.

Hob had clocked Dream’s blank stare relatively quick, his lips shaping the letters of Dream’s name with a hand on his face, Hob’s brows pinched up and–

Dream cried.

He felt foolish for it. He knew this would happen eventually. He just thought he’d have more time.

Dream speaks with his audiologist the next day, with Hob by his side. Dream had wondered about hearing aids while he still had a modicum of hearing, but had been hesitant. His insurance barely covered them and, while hearing aids may have helped in the past, after several tests, his audiologist confirmed with Dream that now, they wouldn’t even be able to pick up background noise. They wouldn’t help at all.

Dream and Hob had left the office with defeat hanging heavy in the air. Mostly from Dream.

He’s not proud of the person he had been in the week following his permanent hearing loss.

But in time (and therapy), Dream was able to move on. And it really wasn’t so bad, once Dream accepted that this was his life now.

If he closes his eyes, he thinks he can still hear Hob’s voice, especially with his lips pressed against his throat, behind his ear, murmuring sweetness into his skin and sending vibrations into his skull. It’s one of the most calming things Dream has ever experienced; laying in bed with Hob, in the absolute darkness and absolute silence, his remaining senses heightened, it’s both relaxing and unexpectedly erotic. To feel Hob completely surrounding him, grounding Dream, warm and solid and safe, it lights Dream up from the inside and reassures him that everything would be okay.

And in time, Dream comes to appreciate the silence. It’s nice, it’s peaceful. Living in a large city, with constant chatter, cars honking and sirens blazing, used to be a sensory nightmare; that creeping, prickling feeling of overstimulation has vanished and now it’s just… nothingness.

It was scary at first, Dream would be a fool to not admit it; watching the world continue around him, people living their lives, living his own life, all in absolute silence. Not being able to hear the beep of the microwave, indicating when his food was done, or water coming out of the faucet while he washed dishes, or the sizzle of oil in a pan while cooking… little things that Dream had never really perceived whilst hearing them every day. All of that sound just– gone. Like hitting the mute button on a movie.

Dream tries to convince himself that he doesn’t miss the mundane noises, he could barely hear them anyway… but he often feels lost without them. So learning to welcome the quiet was the only way Dream could stay sane.

Though going deaf after decades of being able to hear (albeit poorly) and speak gave Dream the advantage of continuing to communicate in spoken English. He still has an inner voice, can still read lips very well, and so the communication gap with his friends and even strangers isn’t as wide as Dream had feared.

It makes learning sign language difficult. Dream at first did not take the lessons very seriously, especially with Hob being the only person to practice with, in those early days. Hob did help, though; he fumbles and signs broken ASL and Dream fumbles back. But it had been so easy to fall back on the habit of using his voice. But as months turn into a full year, Dream learns by trial and error that he realistically can’t continue traversing through a hearing world without sign language.

The hardest challenge he’d run into, for example… Dream never thought he’d need to prove his deafness.

Of course people get confused when he can speak perfect English, out in public spaces like a cafe or a bookshop, only to then turn around and seemingly ignore everyone around him. It is a strange experience, for Dream, to go around communicating as usual, speaking when he can’t even hear his own voice and reading lips. But he can’t be constantly on the lookout for anybody trying to get his attention. Watching belatedly as someone he had been exchanging dialogue with, roll their eyes and walk away in a huff. Dream truthfully has no idea how he might come off to a complete stranger who can’t realize that he’s deaf. Rude, perhaps. Or uncaring.

It’s enough to convince Dream to get fake hearing aids… he feels ridiculous wearing them, like he’s giving in to a social construct that only exists in his own head. But, annoyingly, while wearing them, the way people communicate and treat him improves exponentially.

Funny, that.

Hob, of course, notices.

“When did you get these?” He touches the little device in Dream’s ear, his fingers turning into a caress. “I thought aids didn’t work for you?”

Hob speaks while he signs, they both do, to help make the hand motions stick. Though Hob often slips up and signs exact English, not proper American Sign Language, which he’s doing now. It doesn’t help in the learning process, but it’s a start, and Dream has no leg to stand on when it comes to corrections.

Dream swipes his index finger across his nose.

“Fake.”

Dream offers no more explanation, turning a page in the book he’s reading. They’re sitting on the couch, Hob properly facing the TV, and Dream lounging sideways, his legs draped over Hob’s lap.

Hob taps the edge of Dream’s book, getting his attention once more.

“You’d rather put a sign on you that announces to the world you're deaf?”

Dream sighs, knocking his head back.

“I know I shouldn’t have to…” Dream starts, his fingers fumbling, a new sign of nervousness he never thought he’d had before. “But it might make things easier.”

“Things?” Hob finger spells, his hands coming down, palms up, in a sign of confusion.

Dream moves a hand to his mouth.

“Communication,” and then to his ear, “understanding.”

Hob’s brows furrow and Dream slowly looks back to his book.

Dream wonders if they’re thinking the same thing. Remembering how difficult it became, living together, after Dream lost his hearing permanently. Hob would forget that Dream couldn’t hear, which was frustrating enough, but the slip-ups were near constant in the beginning.

They’d get into arguments over it, a flame that Dream wasn’t proud to admit he’d always fanned. He hated that his hackles were constantly rising, always on the offensive, like Dream was expecting Hob to take the bait and fight back. That would, of course, spiral into meaningless fights over something stupid like leaving the laundry in the dryer for too long, or forgetting to pick up a particular ingredient they needed for dinner at the grocery store.

Dream was ashamed to admit he didn’t help in the situations, often coping out by just– not looking at Hob so he couldn’t see his lips moving or his awkward signing. He’d turn around and stomp away and Hob would be left to chase after him, hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around so they could communicate.

It got easier… Hob was so patient with Dream. He never got so angry he would give up. He always apologized, even when Dream was just being dramatic.

Hob knows by now that Dream would never take the easy route. And sure enough, Dream ditches the fake hearing aids. With them on, people started treating him with gloves on, or stare at him nervously, wondering how to approach. It’s frustrating and annoying– how Dream can’t seem to find a middle ground.

It takes unloading to his new deaf friends about Hob; seeking advice for how to temper these unexpected feelings of disappointment and changes in Dream himself… they never used to fight, before Dream lost his hearing. This is unknown territory for the both of them.

Dream had discovered the community in his city, for deaf people. He’d found a meetup online, after his therapist suggested looking into attending the weekly meetups.

As always, Dream was at first skeptical. His sign language was still spotty at best, and he wasn’t a social guy even when he could hear so. He wasn’t hopeful.

Luckily the deaf community in his city is more than accepting of him, patient when he slips and signs exact English. And when Dream is done airing out his grievances, they encourage patience with Hob. That having a hearing partner is always going to be a struggle, but Hob is clearly coming from a place of compassion and wants to learn. That’s more than can be said for most people.

Dream feels foolish, all the sudden, for his actions against Hob, looking sideways at Jessamy. She was one of the founders of these d/Deaf meetings, and they clicked immediately. Unlike most of their peers in the group, she too had been born hearing and then lost it due to illness. Her and Dream were a lot alike, though she was older and had been wading through this new world for over two decades. She was fluent in ASL, and didn’t even speak while communicating.

“It’s considered rude to speak here, during these meetups,” she had explained during Dream’s first time with the group.

Jessamy becomes something like a confidant for Dream. She too has a hearing partner, Matthew. The amount she and Dream have in common is almost frightening. But in time Dream discovers it’s nice… to be seen. To be understood. She helps Dream comprehend the beauty of the silence even more. And that they can still attend hearing events just as before.

So with her encouragement, a few months down the line, Dream and Hob join her and Matthew at a music festival. Jessamy excitedly points out interpreters several of the bands have on stage, and Dream feels a bit of relief. He can also feel the vibrations all around him from the loud speakers, though it’s not as pronounced as they would be in a venue with wooden floors; the earth beneath their feet grounds the pulsating bass lines to something dull and unrecognizable.

Dream’s not quite fluent enough in ASL to understand every word the interpreters use, especially at the speed they’re going in to keep up with the song, but he gets the gist. And he has to admit it’s… fun, doing this. He hadn’t been to a concert or music festival in almost five years, and spending it with both Hob and his new friends is nice. It’s easy to stay within their safe space and not feel pressured to speak with strangers or awkwardly ignore them; everyone here minds their own business and in time, Dream loosens up.

After finding available, good seats for the next band they’d all agreed on, Hob and Dream set out to the nearest vendor to grab drinks and snacks for the four of them, while Jessamy and Matthew hold down the fort, so to speak.

While standing in line, Hob asks if Dream is enjoying himself. And, surprisingly, Dream is. He says as much with a smile and taking a playful nudge from Hob.

As the line shrinks and they come closer to the counter, Dream’s gaze moves from the short menu taped to the window to the man taking orders. His lips move sluggishly and hesitantly, speaking with an accent that makes it difficult for Dream to parse. But it doesn’t phase him, what everyone wants is on the menu and the transaction should be simple.

Now, Hob could just place the order for him– for all of them, but Dream had been determined, lately, to converse in transactions like this himself. It was good practice not only for Dream, but also whoever was taking his order as well. To learn patience and practice his communication skills. It was a little nerve wracking, but for the most part it was easy. If a cashier or barista or medical professional had trouble exchanging words with Dream, well, that’s what he carried a pen and pocketbook around for.

The person in front of them moves to the pickup counter and Dream sees the man behind the counter call out what must be a, “Next!” but the way his lips move, it looks more like, “Nect!”

Dream swallows and signs as he speaks, to– hopefully– indicate how this would potentially be a one-sided conversation.

“Two orders of fries, one mac and cheese, three shots of Bacardi, one shot of vodka, and a lemonade, please.”

The man barely looks at Dream while he types the order into an iPad. Dream nods, mostly to himself, and looks down as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet.

When he looks back up, the man is in the middle of saying something to him.

Dream’s brows wrinkle.

“Can you repeat that? I can’t hear you.”

After he speaks and signs, Dream offers up his card, assuming the man just told him the total.

But the man visibly sighs and leans forward a bit, his mouth opening widely.

Dream focuses but only manages to make out the words “fries,” “double,” and “which do you want?”

“Um…” Dream licks his bottom lip. “One more time? Slowly, please.”

With a truly agitated face now, the man moves his lips again, but as Dream studies them, hoping to fill in the words he missed, instead new words are added and Dream finds himself stumped.

“Fries, yes. And singles, for the shots,” he guesses.

The man types something into his iPad but looks again at Dream with a growing look of irritation in his gaze. Dream looks behind him and sees a line of customers, before facing the man again, once again catching him in mid speech.

“Hold on,” Dream grumbles, settling the card down and digging through his pocket for the pen and paper. “Clearly I am deaf and raising your voice is not helping–”

Dream nearly jumps as Hob steps up suddenly to the counter, almost getting in front of Dream.

They exchange a few words before finally Hob nods and hands the guy his own card.

Dream stands silent, his pocket notebook in his hand and blinking slowly at Hob, who gives him a sheepish smile over his shoulder before nodding again to the man and taking both their cards back as well as the receipt.

They walk to the pickup counter without exchanging a word, meanwhile something begins to burn the back of Dream’s neck, prickling down his arms and coiling in his stomach.

Dream tugs on Hob’s arm as they settle next to the mobile vendor.

“What just happened?” He doesn’t speak. Dream can’t find his voice right now.

Hob rubs the back of his neck, his gaze focused on something behind Dream.

“No french fries,” he signs without confidence. “Curly fries only.”

Dream blinks. The uncomfortable feeling in his gut tightening.

“Did you just order for me?”

Hob’s shoulders deflate, nodding.

Dream gapes like a fish for a few seconds, his eyes darting from Hob to the man that just took their order, and back.

“I don’t want curly fries. I hate curly fries. We could have gone to another vendor. You didn’t have to–”

Dream cuts himself off, balling his hands into fists and taking a long breath, closing his eyes, shaking his head.

Hob always did this.

It took a while for Dream to notice, how if they were together, Hob would finish a conversation for Dream. Would speed an uncomfortable situation along with an interjection or provide unnecessary context with a stranger “He’s deaf, sorry…” without consenting with Dream first.

When Dream realized Hob was doing this, he would go quiet, unsure whether or not to stop him or correct him in some way. Dream never knew exactly what to say. Did Hob think Dream was incapable of handling tricky conversations himself? Did he think Dream was a hassle?

When Dream opens his eyes Hob’s hands are out, placating, his eyes apologetic.

“Why do you do that?”

Hob blinks. “What?”

Dream’s heart rate is steadily rising, his fingers shaking slightly.

“Make my decisions for me.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” Hob starts, his own signing gone fumbly. “I thought I was helping.”

��Yes. That’s the problem…” Dream starts, finally speaking again and letting his hands fall to his sides, his brain struggling to interpret correctly.

“What do you mean?” Hob asks.

“You don’t need to rush me out of an uncomfortable situation,” Dream starts again, his hands gesticulating uselessly. “If I’m communicating with someone whom I can’t understand, we can figure it out. They will learn. They need to learn.”

Judging by the way Hob is nervously looking around, Dream’s volume is surely rising. But he finds he doesn’t care.

“I’m not this thing you need to handle with gloves. Let me see a problem through until the end. No matter how long it takes.”

Dream is breathing heavily, he realizes, sucking in a gulp of air.

“Of course not.” Hob finally speaks, forgetting to sign. “I'm sorry.”

Hob’s eyes are welling up with tears and it somehow makes Dream more agitated, more words stumbling from his mouth without his permission.

“Then stop treating me like a burden!”

Dream turns and walks away.

It’s foolish, and childish. And as Dream stomps away, his own vision becoming blurred with tears, he knows it’s not just this moment that’s made him snap. It’s the culmination of events from the past year of being fully disabled. He hates that he can’t hear. He hates this adjustment period. He wishes he’d been born deaf so at least this hurdle, this life change wouldn’t feel so mountainous.

Dream wipes his eyes shamefully as his pace picks up to a run, pushing past people blindly. Regret screams in his bones with every step he makes, with every inch he puts between Hob and him. His chest aches with the urge to turn around and apologize, but he shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t!

Dream’s shoes clumsily connect with the dirt underneath him, his face becoming hot and, as he rounds the corner of an unoccupied stall, Dream collapses to the ground and allows the tears he’d been fighting back to fall freely, a sob choking in his throat.

He grips his hair as he cries, his face stuck between his knees. The past year flashes before Dream’s eyes, all of the hardships, the doctors’ visits, the fights with Hob. He didn’t deserve Dream. All of his kindness and patience and for what? For Dream to snap on a dime and expect too much out of him all at once?

Dream groans loudly, agitated at himself for seeing the problem; him, and unsure how to change. He knows he has a right to his feelings, but communicating them was so difficult. He’s becoming impatient with himself, with his slow learning curve, with Hob’s complacency to stay in their safe little bubble and treat Dream like this breakable thing.

Dream couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but his sobs had stifled down to sniffles, and by the time he felt a hand gently land on his shoulder, Dream was doodling shapes in the dirt.

His head snaps up and finds Jessamy staring back at him, her brows creased in worry.

“Hey…” She’s bent over, her hair falling in her face. “What’s wrong?”

Dream ducks his head, shaking it, officially feeling foolish for running away. The regret he’d felt for leaving Hob starts up again and he suddenly feels so scared. At this rate, Hob would break up with him. Surely he was getting sick of Dream’s dramatics, him lashing out.

“Hob and I never fought…” Dream starts, his hands moving sluggishly. “... when I was hearing.”

Jessamy plops on the ground in front of Dream.

“It’s me,” Dream continues. “I’ve become so… sensitive, since going deaf. I feel like, sometimes, Hob treats me like a child. Like he wants to wrap me in bubble wrap. It’s so infuriating– I’m not some helpless thing that can’t figure things out!”

“No, you’re not…” Jessamy starts, reaching a hand out and giving Dream’s knee a shake.

“It is OK to feel like this. You’ve only been deaf for a year…” her brows come up encouragingly. “The transition is tough, but it will get easier, in time.”

Dream nods solemnly, tracing lines in the dirt again. Jessamy waves her hand to get his attention once more.

“And you’re not alone, you know.” She smiles gently. “You got me and Matty–” she huffs a laugh at the look Dream gives her. “... and the entire gang to support you.”

Dream knew she meant everyone at their d/Deaf meetups and offered her a small smile. She’s right, of course. Despite how withdrawn and antisocial Dream had been in the beginning, even now still creeping out of his shell, the people he’d surrounded himself with had been nothing but kind and accepting and willing to listen and connect in ways Dream hadn’t thought possible.

“Hob is still around, too,” Jessamy interrupts his thoughts, her brows lifting knowingly. “That man loves you so much; you should see the way he looks at you– it’s disgusting.”

Dream manages to crack a real, genuine smile at that, especially with the way Jessamy is fluttering her eyelashes and putting on a spot-on impression of Hob’s puppy dog eyes.

He pulls a hand through his hair and looks down again. Images of Hob’s easy smile flashing behind his eyes, his hands caressing Dream’s skin, his strong arms lifting him in a hug, his sweet lips tracing the lines of his jaw and ear, murmuring sweetness that Dream could no longer hear but feel instead. Could plainly see Hob’s devotion and affection in their everyday lives together, how he would always start the coffee in the mornings so Dream would wake up to the smell of it. How Hob would leave the hallway light on during the day so Dream would come home– late from work– and have something to see by. How he always offered to help with dinner prep, chopping veggies or stirring something, often using the excuse to crowd Dream against the counter and kiss Dream silly.

“That man would pull the moon down for you, I hope you know.”

He would, Dream realizes, swallowing thickly. And he would do the same for Hob.

Dream nods, wringing his fingers out as Jessamy continues on.

“Remember, this is a learning experience for him, too.”

Her painted nails move with perfect fluency, always slowly for Dream to understand. And as one thumb comes down from her forehead to meet the thumb on her other hand, Dream nods again, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her lips curl sweetly, gaze flicking sideways suddenly.

She nudges her head. “Speak of the devil…”

Dream looks too, and finds Hob approaching them.

He curses to himself, wiping his eyes with more urgency and catching the almost giggle that Jessamy makes.

“I’ll leave you two alone?”

Dream takes a steadying inhale, pushes his shoulders back, and makes a weak fist and nods it back and forth.

Jessamy stands just as Hob steps up to them, his eyes guarded yet hopeful. She makes a sign of texting before stepping around Hob with a clap to his shoulder.

Hob watches Jessamy leave before meeting Dream’s gaze again, but says nothing. His eyes never leave Dream as he crouches down and takes a seat next to him, leaning back against the wall.

Dream stares back, studying the lines of Hob’s face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which are shiny and puffy, like he’d been sobbing, too.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers, pushing a fist into his chest.

Hob sighs, his shoulders going with it. He speaks as he signs.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Dream shakes his head. “You’re always the one apologizing for my outbursts–”

“But you were right,” Hob interjects, his eyes pleading. “Dream, can I say something?”

Dream’s heart leaps into his throat, swallowing harshly. He nods.

“You need to tell me…” Hob’s gaze shoots up to the sky, as if searching for the words for his hands to convert. “... the first time, when I do something that makes you uncomfortable. So I can remedy it immediately.”

Dream takes a deep breath as Hob continues, his hands moving slowly but surely.

“Don’t let bad things fester and build. Talk to me.” His hand comes to his mouth in a motion similar to how Dream explained on the couch months ago. “Communicate. If you don’t correct me in the moment, I’m bound to repeat it.”

He takes Dream’s hands, his thumbs tracing circles over the knuckles.

“I want…” Hob awkwardly makes the simple motions with his hand still clasped with Dream’s, making him bite back a smile. “... to do this right.”

Dream takes another breath that rattles, his eyes prickling at the corners.

Hob’s eyes have gone watery, too, his smile lopsided.

“OK?”

Dream nods. “OK.”

Hob rises up on his knees just as Dream does, falling into each other. Dream squeezes his arms around Hob’s shoulders, tucking his nose into Hob’s hair and breathing in the scent of him, letting it envelop him and calm him.

Hob’s lips brush the skin behind Dream’s ear, pressing a kiss there, before he feels them move.

I love you.

#dreamling #dream/hob #dreamling bingo 2024 #sidenote: yes this is an american AU #because i know ASL and not BSL #yes im that simple lol #hoo! i made it!#my first fill letsagooo #this one kicked my ass sheesh #my writing

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mykmi · 3 months ago

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gym himbo

summary: some guy at the gym keeps fooling around and showing off every time he sees you around, so you two make a bet. genre: crack, fluff pairing: gym himbo!beomgyu x gn!reader warnings: none? tell me if there's anything!! a/n: this is just a small very light fluff, just for fun ;))) AND i am so grateful for all the responses to my latest post (headcanons) so i want to thank everyone for the support! i'm trying to catch up and post as much as i can, i hope i don't make you wait :((

the gym was unusually full - it's the first time you've gone to the gym this lately, almost 10 p.m. too many things were going on, so today you couldn't go any earlier. the squeaks of trainers, the sound of bars falling to the floor, and the frequent screams of some bodybuilders lifting extreme weights were filling the gym, but it was all muffled through your earphones.

you were on a break, scrolling through your phone and listening to a playlist nonstop. and suddenly, you hear a muffled voice near you and notice someone in the corner of your eye. you look up and see beomgyu, with his sleeveless t-shirt and long dark hair. he's grinning at you, waiting for your reaction probably, but you haven't heard any word.

“what?” you take out your earphone, breathing heavily. he leans in a bit closer and repeats:

“i've won the bet today, so i've won your number as a prize”, he smiles once again.

beomgyu's been hitting on you for two weeks now, and it's not like you turned him down. you were sometimes flirting and staring back at him, just for fun. he's been trying to show off and make some stupid jokes to get your attention every time he's seen you around. but you weren't sure about how serious he was, so you didn't want to actually give him the green light to ask you out on a date.

but now as there was a pretty obvious chemistry between you two, you couldn't deny that you also felt attracted to him. he was tall, broad, and handsome. moreover, he made you laugh so often like he knew exactly what to say. so you decided to spice things up and after the latest try of him getting your number you offered to make a bet - if beomgyu does the bench press with 30 lbs more than usual, you would give him your number.

beomgyu was standing still, waiting patiently.

“i didn't see it though”

he chucked at your response, and after a short pause, continued:

“then let's go and i'll show you”, he insisted and went to another section with many barbells. you followed him, greeting his gym buddies - taehyun and yeonjun, with whom you exchanged some jokes and news occasionally.

beomgyu used some sports chalk and started to get ready to lift the bar. and after a while, he laid down on a bench, breathing with his chest, and placed his hands on a barbell. taehyun went to insure him and positioned himself next to beomgyu's head.

and he did the bench press. three times, actually, just to shock you even more. you were in awe, to say the least. so little time has passed, how could he catch up so fast? beomgyu stood up, energized as hell, sweat dripping from his forehead, and came right to you.

“are you convinced now?”, he laughed at your surprised expression. you gulped and said:

“yes”, and he smiled, panting heavily. “so, can i get your number, please?” he babbled, almost not getting the words right.

“yes, you can”, you chuckled at his misty-eyed gaze. “give me your phone”

he rushed to the side, took his phone, unlocked it, opened the contacts, and handed the device to you. he watched you with the biggest grin on his face as you saved your own number in his phone and turned to his friends, silently throwing his fists to the air as a way of celebration. they quietly hyped him up.

“here, take it”, you give his phone back and smile at him.

as you were ready to leave, beomgyu blurted out:

“can we go on a date tomorrow?”

and that's where the fun started.

✉ thank you for reading ✉

#txt imagines #beomgyu #txt #tubatu #txt fluff #txt smut #yeonjun #soobin #taehyun #hueningkai #tomorrow x together #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x y/n #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt post

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theshadowsingersraven · 2 months ago

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I feel like E|riels genuinely don't realize how much their reputation precedes them and that enough people in the rest of the fandom (not just relegated to the Ship Wars) have had so many negative interactions on multiple different platforms with them, as well as them flat out refusing accountability and saying people are making fake accounts despite ones (especially on Twitter) existing for years and proudly proclaiming themselves as E|riels matters more than the Elain Week account saying "Everyone (except people who want to include Tamlin and/or Beron in their portrayal) is welcome!"

Because I remember people getting harassed on their own Tiktok videos about Gwynriel/Elucien regularly from the same 8 or so E|riel accounts. I remember self-proclaimed E|riels harassing the cosplayer who was hired to play Gwyn at Gauntlets and Gowns' event, body shaming her to the point where she had to make a video about it. I remember E|riels on Twitter insulting real people and calling them empty-headed, insane asylum escapees, and saying that users should try and claim mental instability in order to get their money back via health insurance claims for buying commissions of the "wrong ship". I remember E|riels on Reddit claiming that NSFW Elucien art should be considered depictions of SA, since Elain is "saying a clear "no" in canon to Lucien" and completely undermining the entire basis of fandom creativity and shipping. I remember those same E|riels excusing the harassment Gwynriel-related accounts with large followings get because they "don't defend E|riels" or something along those lines, shortly followed by more E|riels saying that the harassment and threats people have been getting on multiple platforms are "carefully coordinated to make E|riels look bad" and fake. I remember E|riels refusing to adhere to tag courtesy and understanding when they are not the target audience for something.

That is just my memory as someone who has been in this fandom for about two years now. Let alone the people who have been here from when the series first came out, or even any time before ACOSF.

E|riels are not operating with the clean slate they seem to believe they are. Cosplayers have had bad experiences with E|riels (even ones who make E|riel content!), for example. As well as fanfic authors, fanartists, average Tiktok users who make videos, Twitter users, Tumblr users, Reddit users, etc. Hell, I've even had my Tumblr account for upwards of 10 years, and it's never been wrongly deactivated by Tumblr before. Not until I started posting anti-E|riel content did my Tumblr ever get reported and then reinstated because Tumblr staff admitted they wrongfully terminated my blog.

So...how are they surprised or offended that people didn't feel comfortable participating in their Elain Week when so many of them are on thin ice as it is? How are they upset when people don't conveniently wipe their memory and trust their week that's already banning certain submissions (as if that alone isn't enough for people to not want to submit their art there? I don't even ship Tamlain but still recognize selectively banning ships is wrong) enough to participate? Saying people are welcome isn't enough when you're based in a community that regularly thrives on shaming and mistreating others, claiming they're the only "true" Elain stans. It's further not enough when people felt like their concerns were validated by the overwhelming amount of E|riel bias in the week's submissions.

If they don't like the fact that they're on thin ice, maybe they should actually do something to remedy that instead of fumbling every single chance they have to improve their god-awful fandom impression. Elaingate was their chance to prove they aren't as bad as the worst of them, and instead of standing for fandom integrity, creativity, and the right for all Elain appreciation and art to celebrated, even if it isn't how they would personally celebrate or appreciate her they doubled down and insisted on excluding others. And now they're playing the victims because they weren't the priority of Elain Day after they already had their preferred Elain Week? They weren't excluded, they just weren't the main concern because they weren't excluded from the Elain Week held this month. The concern was uplifting the people who were shamed or told they didn't care about DV or DV survivors because they felt that censorship for an entire community event based on a mod's needs is wrong and does not cater to the community enough, or because they're triggered by characters that aren't Tamlin or Beron and yet Elain Week didn't deem them worthy of the same "protection" that they "offer" to survivors triggered by Tamlin

They are why a second Elain Week exists. And the more and more they prove it necessary, the more and more I'm glad it exists for the people who want that safe space they were denied. To anyone hurt by elaingate, know that you are seen and there's a safe space in this hostile fandom for you and your art.

#elaingate #anti e/riel #antielriel #anti elriel #anti elriels #anti elriel shippers #anti ewriel #pro tamlin #pro elucien #pro elucien shippers #tamlain #pro tamlain

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kentocalls · 1 month ago

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gojo satoru | number one sfw. fluff. written for the wonderful @courtneedsleep happy birthday wonderful soul 🍰

It’s never a good idea indulging Satoru outside of the normal routine of class, cafeteria, cookies and sleep. Rinse and repeat, easy, simple, wonderful.

But today, today you are so disoriented when there’s a knock on your door and who other than the white haired blue eyed almost dragon plops down on your bed. Did your roommate let him in again?

The sun is barely bleeding through your drawn curtains. “Yoooo, awake yet?”

“It’s too early Satoru.” You grumble and hide under your pillow, maybe you’re imagining him and he’s not really here. But his laugh fills your room, that loud heheheheh, “Too early for what? Come on, we’ve got places to be.”

The way he lays his entire body on you, the way he’s making himself impossible to ignore.

“We?” Satoru maybe, you? You’re going to sleep. The round of exams is finally over, you deserve to not make an intelligent thought for at least 36 hours.

“Sleepyhead, let’s go.” He’s poking at your neck, trying to pull the pillow from your grip, and there’s one thing you’ve learned, giving into Satoru is easier than holding out. “Fine, ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes but not to snooze, chop chop, get ready.”

What’s got him so bossy? Sitting on your bed like that, acting like he’s at home, critiquing your choice of outfit but not telling you where exactly you’re going to be going. “It’s not even 7am Satoru, give me a hint.”

“Nope. Oh, wear that, I like that color.” Of course he adores the baby blue hoodie in your hand. But he’s rushing you and you don’t understand why, offers a “Well, someone has to be responsible.”

You have to laugh, it’s the only way to get through this morning.

🕶️

You step outside to find a giant SUV, you wonder how Satoru convinced Suguru to let him borrow his beloved vehicle. But hey, this means you can nap, “Our chariot awaits!”

“Y…you’re driving Satoru?”

He makes an exaggerated stab to his heart, “You wound me, you know that. I have not gotten us hurt in a vehicle for like months.”

“Right but you’re dangerous on a bicycle Satoru this is a mental death trap.”

He ignores you, opening the car like he were some butler, with a strict posture and a slight bow, “After you milady, sit back and relax.” He slides into the driver seat with a huge smile and confidence of a fifty year old, accident free, pays his insurance on time driver. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” The look he gives you as he pits his right arm around the passenger seat and leans to look back and reverse the SUV with one hand. You’re not blushing it’s just the rising sun heating up your cheeks. You try not to tense. He should not look this handsome reserving an SUV.

“No faith in me? I promise, I can drive this just fine.”

“Keep your eyes on the road Satoru.”

🕶️

He’s in a good mood for someone who shares your disdain of early mornings. It has you smiling and of course, even though his eyes are on the road, he notices. “Super duper excited about my awesome, spectacular. amazing surprise right?”

“It’s nice to see you smiling too Satoru.”

He hums, “Well it’s a special day, so I’m excited.”

A special day? The end of exams? “I planned this for a while you know, it’s going to be epic, it’s going to ruin all other days for you. Sorry not sorry.”

Do people really celebrate the end of exams? “Planned for a while?”

“You’ll see.”

“Can we get coffee?”

“Nope.”

“A bagel?”

“Nope, you’re fine.”

You last a whole ten minutes.

“Satoru, where are we going?”

“Wow, patience, patience..”

“Patience? And that too from Gojo Satoru’s lips? Wow. Did I pass out during my exams? Is this heaven?”

“It’s nice to know I would be in your version of Heaven, I’d be the best looking angel there.” You roll your eyes, decide to refrain from opening your mouth, least your best friends ego fill up the car and leave no room for anything else.

🕶️

In all the lushness California has to offer you, you’ve never been a forest girlie. You don’t do bugs. And this is exactly where Satoru brought you, to a forest? Bug central? “Umm…”

His eyes are shining bright, “Trust me, come on.”

He holds out his hand, drags you through winding trails and questionable dirt pathways. It is really really green in the forest, the air feels cooler, your eyes seem to relax in this space. There’s many places to look but then you hear water.

Is it possible? A waterfall in a forest?

Satoru looks at you with a huge grin, pulls out his phone, starts to walk backwards, “I wanna remember this.”

“You’re going to fall.”

“I’m willing to fall for you again, hey, eyes on me please.”

The pathway leads you to the most beautiful sight, a soft waterfall with shimmering water falling into a tranquil lake? Oasis? Some other term for calm body of water that escapes you because it’s still too early in the morning. Birds are singing, the air is crisp, there’s even a ray or two of the sunlight filtering through patches from the trees. It feels unreal.

“Satoru this is—“ he’s gone.

Oh my god, did he fall into the lake?

“Satoru?”

The silence and serenity that was peaceful before now feels too big and too scary. “Satoru!”

“Hey!” His stupid cute face and hand wave at you from behind a tree, you walk over ready to tell him it’s rude to leave you in a peaceful forest oasis when you spot….

“Is that my blanket?”

“Shh! Take in all of the sights please.”

It’s your blanket alright, the one you take when Satoru drags you to outdoor sports games. It’s surrounded by candles, some are hanging like in Harry Potter and you leave it to Satoru (the Architect) major ot figure out how to create such a magical ambience. There’s a picnic basket and two small stools, a bunch of wrapped gifts, those little black dustballs from the Ghibili movie you like and a birthday cake.

A birthday cake.

It’s your birthday. Oh shit, your birthday is today.

“Is…is this for us?”

“It’s for you, gosh are you still sleepy?” He tucks you under his arm and drags you over to the cozy nook he’s set up. “It’s perfect right?”

It is perfect. Private. Romantic.

“This is so sweet Satoru.”

“I told you today was a special day.” Has you sit down and puts on a party hat on himself and you.

“Happy birthday!”

“This is really, so sweet, Satoru—“

“It took me so long to set up, you’re happy like? You like it?”

“Satoru, it’s magical, I feel like a video game character.”

He chuckles, “Good. We’re also going to that beach board walk you wanna go to.” But isn’t that a two hour drive away?

“That’s so far, we don’t have to.”

“I want to, if you smile like this, I absolutely have to.” He…he can’t say stuff like that. This is Gojo Satoru, your best friend. The only person you’d share your fries with, the only person who always saves a seat for you, the only person you’d follow deep into the forest. He ca’t…

“Mmm, so worth it.” Why is he eating ice cream? Where did the ice cream come from. He follows your curious eyes and pulls a tub of your favorite flavor from the picnic basket. “Yesss, I love ice cream for breakfast.”

“Yeah, and seeing you smile like that, worth it.”

“Why thank you, dentists better hire me asap.”

“They should, best smile in the world, right here.”

Stop, it makes you blush so hard. “You’re in such a good mood on my birthday?”

“Can’t I be? You were born today, you breathed your first breath today, my best friend, my favorite person, alive today. It’s magical.”

“Your favorite person?”

“My absolute favorite.” He looks so serious, even with that goofy smile.

“I’d say you’re maybe…. one of my top five.”

“Hey!”

“Fine, for today, I’ll allow you to be my most favorite.”

“Oh you’ll allow it for one day? Then I’ll do everything to keep it this way.” How his hand finds yours and squeezes it, how you let him do that, who cares, it feels nice, his hand is warm. “Are candles in the forest okay?”

“They’re fake, I adore you but I won’t start a forest fire in your name. You’d lose your dentist modeling contract.”

“So considerate.”

“Aren’t I? Gosh, I’m such a catch.”

🕶️

“You really really don’t have to take me to the beach boardwalk, this is good enough.”

“Nah, I’m gonna spoil you today and you can’t stop me.”

It’s really the nicest thing someone has done for you, you two talk over exams and classes and eventually bicker about what the best ice cream flavor is. If it ends in you squishing Satoru’s cheeks until he gives in and declares vanilla the most basic flavor ever then so be it! Once back at the car you realize how high the sun has gotten, how quickly time passes when you’re with him.

“Hey come on, your day just started.” He reaches out to grab the picnic basket you stubbornly want to carry, he’s already holding the blanket and all the candles. “Let me, please. I’m going to be really nice to you today, okay? I gotta save my number one favorite person spot after all.”

“Hmm…Gojo Satoru not being annoying to me?” You make a dramatic gasp, “Are you an alien?” Your hands find his face as he leans into your touch, “Satoru? Satoru are you still in there?!”

He doesn’t roll his eyes as you expect, only shakes his slightly and looks at you like you’ve placed the first freshly baked chocolate croissant onto his plate. He looks at you not like a best friend should, or would. “Satoru?”

It’s a moment, you think there’s a moment where both of your breaths stop, eyes fall to each other’s lips and no one. Does. Anything.

🕶️

At the beach boardwalk you wish you’d gotten a leash for Satoru. Stupid long limbed handsome pole walk so fast, you latch onto his hand and don’t let go for the rest of the day. It’s fun. Satoru loves anything fast and you like how he screams when he gets scared. Such a fun day, if the stupid sun wasn’t blaring in your eyes, but Satoru has a solution for that too. He places his glasses on you, “I gotta be your number one favorite person after all.”

There’s a lot of junk food to be had. “I bet you can’t eat this pickle ice cream sandwich.”

“Bet I can.”

“Bet you can’t.”

“I bet I can and you’re going to have to do anything I say for a whole day Satoru.” He scoffs, he does what you say most of the time anyways. Only you haven’t noticed, or pretend not to. Satoru can’t tell anymore, doesn’t care, only interested in making your smile last the whole day.

The pickled ice cream sandwich is….an acquired taste. By the time you make it back from the line it’s melted and the bite you take is huge, if you can down it in three bites you win the bet but you pause after the first one. Satoru has such a sappy look on his face. You, green ice cream on the tip of your nose and corner of your lips.

His thumb reaches out before he can stop himself; he knows you have napkins in your hand but wipes at your bottom lip. “Mmm, it’s interesting.” As he licks at his thumb. You can almost imagine the slow motion and k-drama music playing in the background but chalk it up to, Satoru being….Satoru.

He wins at every game on the boardwalk, you have more than enough giant stuffed animals to carry and buckle up in the SUV. There are going to be fireworks at sunset, Satoru and you decide to watch from the parking lot.

You’re holding hands in that way couples do, interlaced and playful. Anyone walking by would consider you a couple, are you? Maybe? Or is he just being nice because it’s your birthday. But really, be honest with yourself.

Would Gojo Satoru wake up early for anyone else?

Would he create a magical forest breakfast for anyone else?

Would he drive two hours in California traffic for anyone else?

Are you really “just” a friend?

“Uh oh, hey, I wasn’t annoying at all today, why the frown?” Because you’re catching feels. He’s pulling at your hands and you let your body fall closer to his and this is simply a hug between friends. Nothing more. There’s no reason for your heart to beat as quickly as it does when he lays his head on top of yours. “Talk to me, was it the deep fried Oreo?”

“No.”

“Deep fried Poptart?”

“Deep fried ramen.” You shake your head, let your arms wrap around his waist and smell his stupid Wild Spice body spray. You hate how you know exactly which scent he buys.

“Nope.” You give him a squeeze.

“Deep fried Nutella?” He pulls you closer.

“Deep fried Twinkiees?”

“We should probably, really, eat a salad.” He only hums and you can feel the vibration in his chest.

“What if, and big if, what if I like you.”

He makes half a laugh, “Well, you should, I really like you too.”

🕶️

And ooh, do you do it? Do you pull back and look at him and tell him what exactly you mean by liking him. Because you like-like him, like wanna hold his hand all the time like him, like wanna always wear his hoodie and squish his face when he’s annoying like-like. Perhaps even kiss him silly when he has that beautiful smile on his face.

When you do poke your head up, when he does make space and looks down at you, a slight tilt to his head, eyes soft, curious, concerned. “Hi.” You squeak out.

“Well, hello.” He says back, softly. Eyes falling to your lips and back to your eyes. You could count his eyelashes up this close, but his lips look awfully pretty, awfully plush, awfully awfully soft.

“These are mine.” His hands toy with his sunglasses perched on the top of your head. He pulls them down over your eyes and back up, he does this a few times. He wants to see your eyes but you look so cute with his sunglasses on. Anything to distract himself from doing something stupid (like kissing you.)

“Nu uh, they’re mine now.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “Are they? I gave you so many other gifts.”

“I want them.”

“They’re one of a kind, no can do, they’re extra special, limited edition.” He’s teasing, half serious, his “stern” scowl twitching at the corners into a smile.

“I’m special, limited edition, one of a kind too. I think I need these for my dentist modeling career Satoru. Don’t you want me to be famous.”

“Hmmm….I rather keep you here, to myself.”

“I thought I was your favorite person, why don’t you want me to—“ He’s leaning in closer, so so so close. “to…”

“To what? Leave me? Why would I ever want that?”

“Why….why would I leave you?” Oh no, abort abort abort, you asked out loud. Abort, get away from his arms, get away from his face. It makes you stupid, but you can’t pull out of his hug. He grins, “Ohhh you like me."

“Shut up, I don’t.”

“Mmmm Hmmm, making me work extra hard to be your number one, but I’m already there.” Shush him, use your hands, shush him!

But Gojo Satoru licks the palm of your hand. Cackles at your shriek. “Oh you like me soooo much, how did I never notice?” He’s babbling, rambling, that ego is going to fill the entire parking lot.

You pull your hands away, naturally finding his cheeks, naturally the best way to shut him up would be with your own lips right?

Right?

#gojo satoru fic #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru fluff #sfw #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic #satoru is a wonderful handsome friend #it was love at first fight over a scantron ballet okay #he let you have the ballet but bought the last number 2 pencil #he was alone at YOUR library table so you had to sit next to him #he’s never left your side since #happy birthday court!!!#gojo satoru number one #april writes

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tgmsunmontue · 2 months ago

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Season to Taste - 17/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

While they travel together most people assume Vi and him are a couple, it helps a lot of the time. They end up sharing a room or bed as they move around. It does make hooking up difficult, but he either resorts to bathroom stalls, or going home with guys after letting Vi do her hard ass security routine where she insists on taking any guys photo before she lets Bradley leave with him. Annoying as fuck but he’s certain he dodges some real bullets because of it. On the rarer instances when he’s hooked up with a woman she’s done the same thing, although it had resulted in more than one awkward proposition for a threesome. He knows Vi doesn’t do casual, but she’s more than happy acting as his wingman, and telling him that in no uncertain terms she doesn’t find him at all attractive and never will.

Spending nearly every waking moment together for weeks and then months on end helps solidify their relationship. He’s never had a sibling, and while Vi has two sisters, they’re both quite a bit older though, so he can only think that this must be what it’s like. She knows him, has known him, for several years now and even though she never likens their relationship to that of siblings she definitely calls him cousin openly and consistently, treats him like he’s family in a way he can’t imagine having any other way without calling her sister. Cousin. Whatever.

… … …

He wakes up feeling the most well rested he has in ages, muscles pleasantly sore, blankets warm, air conditioning making the room cooler and he takes a moment to just burrow down further beneath the blankets and smiles to himself. This is what everyone wants him to do when they tell him he needs a vacation. If this is what it’s going to be like then he’s going to be much more easily persuaded. He stretches and reaches for his phone, surprised to see it’s after ten. He needs to ring Vi and check in and make sure the restaurant hasn’t fallen down, not that he doesn’t trust those he left in charge, but it’s his, and he’s been gone for a while and it doesn’t always sit right leaving it for so long. However he trusts Vi implicitly and she won’t hold back telling him if he needs to come home, no matter how much she thinks he needs a break.

“Come up for breath huh?”

“Hello to you too.”

“You’re having a sexcation, I’m surprised you’re awake.”

“Jake’s gone to see his family.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. I see how it is. You’re bored.”

“I’m…” he lets out a long calming breath, “I wanted to check in with you. See how it’s going in my absence?”

“I came back to a pile of ash and am busy filling in the insurance paperwork…”

“Vi…”

“Everything is fine. Everyone is fine. We created a well-oiled machine and it’s working exactly as it should. Calm down and enjoy you sexcation…”

“What if it’s… more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Bradley bites his lip, wonders if he should just blurt out that he’s already asked Jake to consider dating him, having a long distance relationship and trying something, no matter how crazy or difficult it might be. If he tells Vi he’s already done it, she’ll support him, without question. However if he asks her opinion then he’ll also get it, honest and brutal and he’s terrified it might not be supportive but he still wants to hear it.

“So, I met his sister yesterday. One of his sisters. She invited me to dinner to meet the rest of his family tomorrow night… I really like him.”

“Yeah. Of course you do. He’s your Cinderfella.”

“Cinderfella was a fairytale, Jake is… a cocky asshole who adds sauce to everything.”

“And yet you like him anyway.”

“I do. I do like him.”

“Yeah. I could tell. You going to actually do anything about it other than just… sex?”

“Do you think I should?”

“I’m not making that decision for you. But… He was learning Italian. Maybe on the off chance that he might one day meet you again. I mean. Slim to zero chances if you were actually Italian, but he was doing it anyway. He makes you laugh. His stupid sauce thing. You think it’s fucking cute and funny. It’s like he’s made you loosen up a bit and that’s… it’s good to see. I want you to be happy and more relaxed and if you have to be with a guy that adds sauce to everything to be happy then I will make sacrifices…”

“Wow. Big of you.”

“What is the worst he can say? No, right? Thanks but no thanks?”

“Yeah.”

“And what’s the best he can say?”

“I love you, lets run off to Vegas and get married?” Bradley jokes, because he’s already had the conversation with Jake, and Vi is already pushing him to asking. And Maria had been doing the same, so having family also think that they might work together. Despite the distance and jobs. To try it.

“Holy shit, you’re thinking about marrying this guy.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“You literally just mentioned running off to Vegas to get married!”

“It was hypothetical!”

“And if he asked?”

“I’d… I’d say yes,” Bradley says, but he has to hold back laughter, because he wouldn’t, but god does he want Vi to think he would.

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“He’s not going to propose marriage Vi.”

“Well, still more likely than him saying no to whatever it is you’re going to ask him… Bradley. You’ve met his family. Well. A sister. He’s met me, which is as much family as you have and talk to on the East Coast. You’ve shoving several months into two weeks… But do not, under any circumstances run off to fucking Vegas and get married. Aunt Silvia would kill you as soon as she caught wind of it.”

“Well, I’m not going to ask him,” Bradley says, grinning, because god he loves winding her up.

“Why not? You have to take a risk sometime…”

“I’m not going to ask him, because we already talked about it yesterday and we’re… dating. Going to try the whole long distance th-”

“Mamma Mia! Stronzo!” Vi snaps out, followed by further strings of insults in Italian and Bradley laughs at her annoyance, feels accomplished in a way that only annoying her brings.

“Yeah yeah, think of me tomorrow when I’m meeting his entire family. For the record, he has five sisters.”

“Oh… oh that’s beautiful. That’s what I call karma. Stronzo.”

“Yeah, laugh it up. Can’t be any more intimidating the Nana and Nonna.”

“True. Think you’ll take him to Italy?”

“It’s been six days. How about we just… slow it down. Take it easy.”

“Hmm. From the guy who has already decided to date him and try long distance. And yet I’m the one suggesting crazy shit.”

Bradley groans, and he knows what he’s going to ask next isn’t going to help at all in terms of making Vi think he’s not rushing into things.

“His sister clocked me as soon as I walked in by the way. She’s a fan.”

“And?”

“Jake has no idea who I am…”

“Oh… oh shit. That’s not going to work.”

“He knows my name. But he doesn’t like watching reality TV. He saw one of my recipe books, that Maria owns, and he didn’t even blink. Was just… oh, good for you. You’ve done a cook book.”

“Okay. So maybe he’s just very chill about it?”

“Maria thinks he’s oblivious and will remain oblivious.”

“Maria is…”

“His sister. She invited me to dinner. To meet everyone else. Said that Jake can be pretty blind to things even when it’s right in front of him. And that she’ll… maybe help him remain in the dark a little?”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Not in a bad way. Just… she’s warning all of Jake’s other sisters, so they don’t make a big deal and are prepared when I turn up. She was not prepared for me to turn up, Jake had been calling me Leo the whole time. I’m lucky she just rolled with it. We’d met at the market as well, so…”

“He knows your name though right?”

“Yeah. And Maria calls me Bradley.”

“Oh. So… he knows you’re a chef, that you’ve done some books and what…?”

“That I work in a restaurant in New York. But also that I travel a lot for work. Sometimes.”

“You do travel a lot.”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Well, for the record I think you should maybe try and spell it out for him.”

“It’s kind of nice having him like me for just me…”

“Leonardo…” Vi says, and he can hear the reproach in her tone. “He already likes you. Don’t think he’s going to care about your very limited claim to fame.”

“Yeah, but you know people think of me differently when they see the TV version of me, and then meet me in person.”

“I don’t think Jake is going to be one of them.”

“Yeah? Why do you think that?”

“Because of the way he adds sauce to fucking everything. If there was a guy who cared less about what you do for a job I challenge you to find him. Salsa scandalo.”

… … …

“So… want to tell us about him?”

“Why bother? You’re just going to grill him tomorrow.”

Again silent looks are exchanged and Jake realizes that maybe Olivia is also an owner of Leo’s cookbook.

“Are you a fan of his?” Jake asks.

“I…” she starts, looks to Maria. “Yes.”

“Great.”

“Okay, you guys cannot make a big deal or embarrass me, okay?”

“This is the first person you’ve ever brought home. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“If you guys screw this up for me, he’ll also be the last guy I ever bring home.”

“Okay okay, we’ll be on our best behavior. We promise.”

Jake doesn’t trust that statement at all but it’s not like he has much choice in the matter.

EIGHTEEN

#Season to taste #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #AU

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for-a-longlongtime · 5 months ago

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it 'only' took three years

3 years ago the university dept. where I was doing my PhD (with two years of funding) decided "nah we're not gonna let you come back from your medical leave, we're a bunch of ableist conservative assholes who don't want to give you the funding you were promised". They refused to let me re-enroll in classes, jeeted me from my program... and cancelled my student visa on the spot. In the middle of the fucking pandemic. So just like that I was suddenly undocumented, without insurance and unable to work legally.

So a fuck ton happened during the past three years (death, illness, and my mental health going completely to shit), my partner and I got married so I could get my immigration paperwork adjusted/filed, but y'all... that shit is expensive af. And I wasn't allowed to work legally, so it took a long time to get the funds I needed, plus lawyer fees, and then there's the endless waiting for updates from USCIS/the government.

BUT TODAY... I FINALLY GOT MY GREEN CARD!!!

I can't even tell you what an incredible relief it is to no longer live in fear - though I recognize that even when I was undocumented, I still had a lot of privileges being a white ciswoman with a BA who had a partner that was able to provide for us both. Also, finally being a permanent resident in the US means that I can finally safely fly to my country of origin to visit my family and friends at least. I haven't seen my best friends and sister in over 4 years, and haven't been able to hug my nephew and niece (and other family) in 4,5 years, so... it's been unreal.

ANYWAY. We just went out for dinner to celebrate, and while we were having a drink and burgers, what do I suddenly see on the tv above the bar??

JACK. I couldn't even fucking believe it - Kingsman was playing on the tv. What an incredible surprise (I'm gonna call it a little blessing) to have that happen on a day like today, it made me so giddy.

Things are finally looking up again, and I can't tell you what a relief it is. Next on the list of 'how to get my life back' is getting a state ID and learning how to drive so I can get my license (yup, I'm late thirties and still no clue how to drive a car), as well as finding a job!

I don't post a ton of personal stuff like this on my page, but I just had to share the good news with all of you. So many of y'all have been incredibly supportive - be it in general or particular re: this situation, and even just discovering the Pedro fandom (and fic verse) over the past year has been bringing me so much joy. I hope that now some serious life shit like my paperwork is dealt with, I'll have more headspace to do better and more writing, as well as catch up on my reading and rb-ing!

#personal #for a long long time

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steampoweredwerehog · 11 months ago

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Ok so to probably no one’s surprise William The Magical Girl continues to rotate in my mind at increasing & alarming speed. Condensing some thoughts while they’re still coherent:

Strawberry Seraph is a real cute name but hOW DID I NOT THINK OF SAKURA SERAPH I’m a FOOL!!!!!! 🌸🌸🌸🌸

William is either is a construction worker or used to be

Will is confidently a Man but goes by “she” when in Seraph Mode cuz he thinks it’s fun (& secret identity purposes)

There’s a good chunk of time where the family Doesn’t Know & shenanigans ensue

Wife is Yohanna, she’s an accountant ^.^

Francis: older daughter. She’s 6

Gina: younger daughter. She’s 3 Magical Girls:

Are a real established Thing

Are eligible for insurance & special protections

Are sometimes celebrities or feature in media

Bonus: I’m looking @ Will & Yohanna and my hands are hovering over both the “educated cis” & “t4t” buttons at all times

#For fun. And me time #Sakura Seraph #OCs #OC #Strawberry seraph

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kogo-dogo · 2 months ago

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Like, okay. In regards to that last reblog: Do you know how weird it is to grow up in an area as bad off as southeastern Kentucky and to not realize it until you just casually start talking to people who've never been? Like, it didn't sink in that the stuff I went through growing up poor in the mountains was not the norm until I left and the responses to my stories was shock/horror/sadness.

I remember once just casually dropping that my childhood best friend had been murdered by an addict (normal conversation back home; you'd usually be met with "Oh, that's a shame, I remember he was a good kid. Same thing happened to [INSERT NAME] a few years ago."), and people just responding way stronger than I expected. There were whole towns without grocery stores and that was normal. The only times I can recall being to the doctor as a kid was when I was severely hurt or couldn't breathe (I had pneumonia and I tried to walk it off because we couldn't afford the hospital bill even with insurance). A lot of my family has died of preventable causes. A lot of our water was unsafe to drink because of mining (mining companies have destroyed a lot of places near my hometown, and as recently as last year left an entire town without potable water). A lot of those preventable causes were caused by the water being poison.

It's truly tragic because the people who live there are, by and large, great people and you can actually trace everything back to big coal execs getting mad about unions and destroying land out of spite (they stripped entire regions of any resource they could take out on a train, which left those regions poor because they had nothing to trade). A lot of people in those areas are doing everything they can to change circumstances but nobody takes them seriously or they face significant pushback (from the coal companies! What a surprise!).

It's just really sad. It's always a big celebration when I see any successes, but I wish people would stop looking at them like ignorant, awful people and actually... care.

#kogoramble

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dumbmusclehypnojockboy · 11 months ago

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A story for @octuscle Merry Christmas. I'm sorry it's a bit rushed, and kinda slapdash, but you know what happened. I hope you like it!

Going Back to College

Jerry was forty years old. He was celebrating his birthday alone, again. Somehow, after graduating college, Jerry set out to change the world, but all that really changed was Jerry waist, which continued to grow wider and wider. Jerry hated his life. He was a doctor, but with the cost of insurance, and having his own office, Jerry couldn’t get anywhere in life. And no matter how hard he tried, Jerry felt like he was just treading water. Jerry picked up the paper and glanced at it, and then read the headline story again and again. He threw down the newspaper in disgust. On the front page was a well-muscled man, doing a double biceps pose, in front of his tenth gym franchise. The man, Rick Jenkins, was a huge success, becoming a millionaire at thirty, and now at forty had his gym franchise, a supplement empire and his own fashion brand. He was also now a billionaire. Jerry was disgusted. In freshman year of college, Rick had been his roommate. Rick was your typical dumb as rocks jock, or so Jerry had thought. They had nothing in common with each other. But, looking back at his life, he realized that he had been condescending and rude to Rick, while Rick had always tried to get along with Jerry. In fact, there was this time when Rick had offered to take Jerry to the gym for what Rick had claimed was what he designed to be a non-intimidating workout that anyone could do and get good results. Why couldn’t I have made an effort back then? Or have at least been a little nicer to him? Then, Jerry had an idea. He grabbed one of the birthday cupcakes he had baked for himself, put a candle on it, and lit it. He sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to himself, and closed his eyes, to envision the wish he wanted. Jerry took a deep breath and made his wish, “I wish I had gone on those workouts with Rick, and been nicer to him.” And then, blew out the candle.

And then, it happened. In a rush of glittery blue wormhole, Jerry found himself back in his college dorm. It was move-in day, and Jerry had already found himself frustrated with his new roommate. “Sorry for the mess, roomie, but the football team has this hazing ritual and has really been keeping us busy. I’ll clean it up as soon as I can.” Rick had said. “I remember I got really snippy with him. Maybe I can be nicer person,” Jerry thought to himself. “It’s not a problem, Rick, just clean up when you get to it, ok?” “For sure. Thanks for not making a big deal out of it.” And their relationship had gotten off on a much better foot than it did last time. Fast forward to October, and Jerry and Rich were pretty unrepeatable. They went to whatever classes they had in common together, which surprising to Jerry were quite a lot.

They were both taking biology together, and Rick was even taking Calculus I. They were both in the freshman English class, and were even in the same Western Civ and Spanish I classes. The only thing that was different was Jerry was also taking a pre-medicine class and an extra science lab class, while Rich had a bodybuilding class in addition to being on the football team. They would often get lunch and dinner together. One day, when Jerry told Rich about how stressful it was to take a full eighteen-hour schedule, Rich offered to take Jerry to the gym for a non-intimidating workout. Jerry was about to explode at Rich, but remembered that he was being nice to his roommate, and told Rich that he wanted to try the gym but was always too busy or too scared. Rich explained that he had been developing this non-intimidating work out plans for a few years now, and offered Jerry the chance to workout with him.

“Jerry, three, two, one, sleep. You are under my control, you are excited to workout with me, even though you may think you’re apprehensive, you’re excited. Any work out plan I give you may seem difficult, but will be totally not intimidating. Your find yourself wanting more and more to come work out with me. Now I want you to go deeper and deeper, repeating my words until you go into a deep sleep, repeating my words in your sleep, and wake up when your alarm wakes you.“

So, with apprehension, Jerry found himself going to the gym with Rick. Rick’s personality put Jerry at total ease. And Rick’s work out plan was totally not intimidating. Jerry found it easy to go from exercise to exercise, and whenever Jerry had a problem, he found Rick right there to help with his workout. By November, Jerry felt his stress had totally disappeared thanks to Rick’s workouts. And he knew he started seeing results from the gym. Noting earth-shattering, but his shoulders and lats were becoming more prominent, while his belly was shrinking. And his arms and legs were becoming more defined and he could even see hints of pecs and biceps popping up a little. Rick noticed too and would always compliment Jerry on his “gainz”. Whenever Rick would say “gainz” around Jerry, Jerry would always have this unusual feeling come over him, and his brain would kind of blink out for a second or two. And he would always wake up to Rick telling him that he was doing such a great job and that he should keep up his workouts, bro!

It was December, and Jerry was at the gym. He was alone in the locker room, and flexed in a mirror. He was amazed how much he had changed. He couldn’t believe it but he had biceps. Actual biceps, and abs. He had a full-on rock wall of six solid abs! “Hey, Jer-bro! I knew you could do it! That high-protein, low carb diet really did wonders for you!” Rick said. “And check out all those gainz!”

And again, that weird whirly feeling went through my brain. This time though, Jerry could hear Rick saying something to him. “Hey Jer-bro, you like it when I call you that. I need you to shift your concentration a bit. I need you to get into sports medicine. You can to that for be Jer-bro, I mean after I’ve heled you so much get rid of your stress, and helping your gainz in the gym. You’re just a little hazy on working as a surgeon or an oncologist, but your brain seems totally focused on going into sports medicine and we can be partners. That’s gonna be so fucking cool. So, keep up your work outs bro! You’re doing so fucking awesome!”

Jer woke up a little foggy. He’d just had an awesome workout, and Rick had come up to him to encourage him a always. And did he say something after that? Nah, he’d just be as encouraging as always. He’d be going home for the holidays. He wasn’t looking forward to talking about shifting his concentration. Surgeons and oncologists made lots of money, but he was really interested in sports medicine. It was becoming his passion.

It was now sophomore year. Rick and Jer-bro had decided to stay roommates. Jer was especially happy to room with Rick. It seemed Rick help keep his stress levels away. Why didn’t he want to hang with Rick before? Rick was his bro! Rick was such an awesome bro! He could always look up to Rick. Jerry was in his second year, and he was still eager to graduate with a degree in sports medicine. So, his schedule was not as full as last year, but still very full. He took sophomore English, and Western Civ 2. He also took Spanish 2, and Calc 2, and for his sports medicine focus he took Anatomy 1 and Sports Med 1. Surprisingly, Rick was in 4 of his six classes. The only difference was instead of sports med, Rick was taking a business class and a psychology class.

The year progressed really well with Jer-bro making awesome gainz in the gym, but grades falling to the B-C level. And Rick was doing awesome. He was now the starting quarterback on the school team, and the whole team was very dedicated to playing football and winning a state championship. The coach even allowed Rick to lead in some kind of motivational meditation before each and every practice and game. This seemed to make the team even more thirsty to win the school’s first championship ever.

At the end of sophomore year, the football team won it’s first division championship. Jer-bro even took time off from his classes to paint his face and cheer on Rick during the championship game. He had listened to Rick who told him that football was something that he was becoming really passionate about. And after a while, Jer-bro couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t passionate about college football. By the end of the season, Jer-bro could tell you any stats about the college’s last 20 years. And he was even becoming a Las Vegas Raiders fan, which was Jerry’s team too.

During Junior year, Jer-bro and Rick were totally unrepeatable. The only time they were apart was when Jer-bro went to his medically focused classes and Rick when to his Business and Psychology classes. One night, Jer-bro heard some sounds coming from the headphones on his ears. “Rick is right. Listen to Rick. Rick gives you gainz. Rick is your bro. Listen to Rick.” Jer-bro realized this was stuff he already knew, so he closed his eyes and went back into a deep sleep.

During this year, Jer-bro noticed some nerdy guys hanging around Rick, and he grew a little concerned. So, he asked Rick about it. “Rick, why are you hanging out with all the nerds?” he asked. Rick responded, “Remember the unintimidating workouts you started with? I’m refining them for a general audience and I’m making great progress.” “Cool,” was Jer-bro’s only reply.

Later on in the year, Jer-bro once again heard the whispering in his ears. It was now second nature for him to absorb the information but ignoring it. He heard Rick telling him, “For your senior project, you will create the perfect protein powder, muscle growth supplement, with one undisclosed side effect, it makes people dumber. I know you can do this for me, Jer-bro. For us. You will do this for your senior project. You will continue your workout and continue to get awesome gains. All for Rick. All because of Rick.”

Senior year, was awesome. Jer-bro kept working on his senior project with a singular focus. He continued to workout at the gym and by the time graduation came around, Jer-bro looked like an amateur bodybuilder. He would zone out at times, so people thought he was kind of a dumb ass, but underneath all the muscle was a huge intellect, focused on sports medicine. He had finished the protein powder that Rick told him to make and now, they would begin a business together. Speaking of Rick, he had gotten investments from some of his former teammates who he had persuaded to go into finance and investment. His team had continued to do so well this year, the had gone to the Rose Bowl and won! Rick had even picked up the Heisman trophy. At graduation, Rick was ready to start his supplement company with Jer-bro and had all the financial backing he needed.

Jer is now 25. He’s more rich than he was when he was 40. He’s also quite a bit dumber. After trying some of the muscle growth protein powder, Jer couldn’t help but become addicted to it. He grew his muscles until he was little more than a musclehead. Only into working out and having sex. He still knew how to calculate his micro nutrients and count his reps out. But that was all his life consisted of these days. And he was very happy.

As for Rick? He became a millionaire at 24. By the age of 30, Rick owned his franchise of gyms all over the world, and with his muscle growth protein powder, range of “motivational hypnosis patreons” and fashion brand, he was now a billionaire. Jerry had been the perfect test subject for his hypnosis during the first month of rooming together, and that had given him all the confidence to try his methods first on his coach, then going on to the rest of his teammates. And that had made all the difference.

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last-herondale · 4 months ago

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When to say Goodbye

Loki x Femreader!

Warnings: Alcoholism, Mentions of Addiction, cursing ANGST A/N: I had an experience similar to this interaction recently, and in my mind it seemed perfect for a Loki fic. When someone you love is struggling, how do you know if you're helping them, or if you're part of the problem? Enjoy

The first portion of the evening passed along well enough. The dinner party was a quaint affair at a fancy restaurant. Tony made the arrangements and bought out a nice private venue just outside of New York and paid the workers extra for a “privacy” insurance. No phones. No cameras. Everyone signed an NDA, which everyone other than Tony thought was unnecessary. It wasn’t everyday that the god of thunder came to visit Earth, and it certainly wasn’t everyday that he announced his engagement to his longtime girlfriend Jane Foster.

Thor had assured all of us that he and his fiancee had celebrated on Asgard, and that the need for a dinner was unnecessary. And despite Thor’s rather weak attempts to stop Tony from going overboard, Mr. Stark, like always, had his way. It was a well attended event. From Earth, Tony was able to assemble most of the Avengers, such as Steve, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Rhodey, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, and even begrudgingly decided to bring Scott along. And you, of course.

Thor invited his own entourage. The ever kind Jane, and the guardians. It was a pleasant surprise to see Quill and the gang, as they seemed busy with their crossworld travels, and hardly visited Earth. Rocket immediately took to the bar, with Groot on his tail, and conversation began to flow freely between friends. There were a few late arrivals, such as Strange, and Parker. You eyed the crowd a bit eagerly, not able to shake off the anxiety building in your chest. He should be here.

Perhaps it was for the best he didn’t show.

Things didn’t usually end well whenever he showed up. For you anyway.

After dinner, a large cake was brought out and placed before Thor and Jane. It was a beautiful 3 tier white chocolate cake, with a flourish of flowers adorning the dessert. Just as Tony was finishing a speech, and passing the mic down the table, the doors to the venue opened up, causing everyone to turn their heads. You knew before you looked. Your heart lurched in your chest and you felt your blood run cold.

Loki came sauntering in. He was dressed for the occasion, in a nice shirt and slacks, with a jacket thrown over his shoulder. His hair was slicked back into a bun, and he wore the usual bravado smirk on his lips and he drew nearer to the table. He was glad to have the room’s attention. This was his goal all along.

Tony seemed to come to the same conclusion too, his brows furrowed with annoyance. “Nice of you to join us Reindeer,” he mused. Thor was delighted to see his brother and commanded one of the workers to bring in a chair.

“No need, brother,” Loki said wryly. His eyes surveyed the room until they settled on you. “I see an open seat.”

You clenched your fists as they rested on your lap. Steve was finishing his own speech as Loki pulled up a chair beside you. You could smell the liquor on him immediately. The sickly sweet smell of it lingered in the air between you. Of course he would show up to his brother’s engagement party hammered. What else did you expect?

You refused to look at him, wanting to pay attention to Steve’s speech, or Mantis playing with her fork, or literally anything other than him. But of course he was not going to make it easy for you. He knew his affect on you.

“Has the night been terribly dull without me, pet?” his words echoed in your mind. Even then, there was a bit of a slur to them. You clenched your jaw and shook your head. You did not want to play his games tonight. You had promised yourself to be present and in the moment rather than dedicating yourself to Loki and his needs. Steve finished his speech, and Thor rose to make a toast to his future wife. You raised your glass with the rest, and noticed from the corner of your eye that Loki did the same.

“Not talking to me tonight I see,” he thought with a laugh, “Haven’t you missed me my sweet? I’ve missed you– my pet. I can’t wait until I have you alone, once this dreadful night is over. Gods– how I need you. I might have celebrated a bit prematurely in honor of the Mighty’s Thor’s wedding announcement, which of course mother and father were just thrilled by–”

Thor finished his toast and everyone drank their champagne. You tossed yours back, anger flaring in your eyes and you turned to Loki sharply. He was expecting this reaction, and he met you with an amused face as he slowly sipped on his drink.

“Do not make tonight about you!” you yelled back in his mind. You turned away from him once more and focused on Jane and Thor cutting the cake as the room filled with applause. His hand rested on your thigh, his fingers grazing your dress under the table.

“Love–” he began, his thoughts turning into a small whine, like a pouting child. You grabbed his wrist and violently removed it from your thigh. He did not resist, even though his strength far outmatched yours. He stilled beside you, keeping whatever thoughts to himself, registering your anger even in his drunken state.

As dessert passed around, you kept your attention to Drax, who sat on the other side of you. Although he was not one for long conversations, you tried your best to reach through to him to occupy your mind. After the table was cleared, the party moved to the bar area and the dance floor. The party was starting to liven up, as the alcohol poured more freely and the tempo of the music picked up.

Loki disappeared from your sight, and your anxiety grew significantly. He was unpredictable, especially when he was intoxicated, and especially when an event revolved around Thor. He had made amends with his brother years ago. Loki swore off his retaliation once he realized that was in fact loved by his brother. It was a hard pill to swallow. He had struggled for a while with coexisting with Thor, but you knew Loki feared who he would become without him. Who he would become if loneliness won again.

You had seen him try. It was a wondrous thing to behold. Loki decided to train with the Avengers, under extreme supervision of course, but Thor deemed it necessary for his redemption. Tony nearly outright refused, but Steve fought for his chance. “Everyone should have a shot at a second chance,” Steve had said to the team. It was left to a vote then. You were the last to vote. It was split. Half of the team didn’t trust Loki, which was to be expected. The other half, following Steve’s leadership, agreed that there might be a chance to redeem Loki.

It was up to you.

You believed in redemption. You believed in second chances. So it had been obvious. It was easy to decide. It was everything that came after… that became difficult.

While the party turned up, and everyone was dancing and mingling, you found yourself lingering next to the bar. You told yourself not to look for him, but you couldn’t help it. It's as if your body was on autopilot, searching for any sign of him to make sure he was okay. It was pathetic. It was exhausting. And yet it was the only thing you seemed to be able to do.

Mantis awkwardly made her way towards the bar, her antennas twitching a bit as she approached. Her presence made you avert your eyes from the crowd and paint a soft smile. You had always liked Mantis.

“Hey, Mantis,” you said softly. She greeted you with a smile and took a seat next to you. She ordered water and seemed content to just sit there with you for a moment as the party continued. It wasn’t until a couple of songs passed that Mantis finally spoke.

“You’re very anxious tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. You knew she could sense your emotions on you. That they radiated to her like waves that she alone could read and decipher. There was little sense in lying to her,

“Yes,” was all you said.

Mantis held out her hand gently, her eyes curious as she looked at you.

“May I?”

You immediately placed your hand in hers, letting the entirety of your emotions flow into her like a river. It was a momentary relief. To allow someone to bare the weight of your heart in its fullness. She did not flinch away from you.

“You love him,” she said, tilting her head as she looked at the bar, “And this brings you great pain.”

You shuddered a breath. “Why?” you asked quietly. You knew the answer. Deep down you always knew. Mantis looked at you with a soft indifference. She was not malicious in her words. She was only speaking to what she could feel.

“You’re afraid–”

Mantis was cut off by a swiftly approaching Jane. Your body straightened at the sight of her looking somewhat distraught, clearly trying to hold her appearance together. Her eyes were focused on you and you alone.

“Excuse me, Mantis,” you murmured as you rose from your chair and met Jane halfway.

“Oh thank god,” Jane said in a low voice.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your eyes searching behind Jane for any sort of disturbance.

“It’s Loki,” Jane sighed, “He’s drunk, Tony’s drunk– they’re having words outside on the patio. I stepped out for some air, and things seemed to be getting tense– I didn’t want to get Thor because we all know how calm he can be…”

You put a gentle hand on Jane’s shoulder. She was no fool. She knew at least bits and pieces of your relationship with Loki, enough to warrant her coming to you for assistance.

“I’ll handle Loki,” you said sternly, “Go enjoy your party Jane, please.” You bent forward and gave her a soft peck on the cheek and hurried yourself to the patio. No one seemed to notice you move across the party, and once you entered the patio space, you saw Loki pointing a finger in Tony’s direction.

“Tony,” your voice rang out clear and strong. This got Loki’s attention first. The sound of your voice snapped him out of his intense staredown with Tony long enough for Tony to look in your direction.

“Pepper needs you, she’s on the phone. Says it's urgent.”

It was a messy lie, but it did the job. Tony in his drunken state, widened his eyes and sloppily hurried his way back to the party. Once he was inside, you locked the door behind him and turned around to Loki, who was scowling with his arms crossed. You stood there, your arm wrapped around yourself.

“I was perfectly fine. There was no need for your interference,” he said bitterly.

“I am tired, Loki,” you whispered. You weren’t sure if he had heard you. There was still the dull beating of the music pounding just behind you. You moved away from the door, walking closer to Loki, standing a few feet away from him. You looked at him, unable to hold back the sadness in your eyes any longer. His eyes wandered your face for a moment, his face a bit slack and nonchalant.

“I’m sorry,” Loki sighed, “This isn’t fair for you, I realize that. And yet…”

You let out a short laugh through your nose. “And yet here we are, again. Here I am, standing here between you and yourself– making excuse after excuse for you. So, I’ll ask you this, why? Why should I keep doing it? Why, Loki?”

“I need you,” Loki said immediately. His voice was soft, but stern. He was being as serious as he could be. You knew he meant it, believed it even, but you weren’t sure if it really mattered anymore. He took a step forward, almost as if he could sense the doubt radiating from your body. He knew your body well. You held his gaze as he moved closer.

“My life would be very different if it weren’t for you. You got me here, you’re why I can even step foot on this planet… I would have burned if you had not been there–”

“I have only fanned the fucking flames!” you hissed, inching closer to him. “What have I done for you, but cater to your every whim? Even when you continue to prove to me that you would rather drown in your own indignation than try to move forward in life. I humor you by being there every time you call me in a drunken stupor. Because let's be honest with ourselves, Loki, you only ever call me anymore when you are blacked out drunk, or in some dire need to drown your senses and need someone to drown with you.

“And I do. When it comes to choosing between you and my own fucking common sense, I always choose you. I drown with you because I would rather die every night with the sensation of fire in my lungs than deal with the constant breaking of my heart–” your words croak out at the end. You turned away violently as tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Wait, wait,” he said desperately, his hand gripping your shoulder as he quickly placed himself in front of you. “I’m sorry, truly. I fucked, I fucked up. I keep fucking everything up. I hate myself for how I am… it's not a reflection of you. It’s never, gods it's never you. I know I have a problem, and I hate that I drag you into my mess. I am a selfish creature. I crave your company more than I desire your wellbeing, for if I truly cared, I would send you away, or love you like you deserve to be loved, totally and completely... But… I can’t. I can’t.”

His eyes search yours in desperation. His chest is heaving under his words and his hand runs up your shoulder until he is cupping your cheek. “I love you. Please understand that. As much as I can, in whatever capacity my heart can love, I do love you. I don’t know who I would be without you. You are my best friend.”

Tears fell down your cheeks. “I love you too,” you nearly moaned in despair, “And that’s the problem, Loki. I love you, and yet I continue to watch you destroy yourself. You constantly compare yourself to Thor, even now that you’ve made amends. You think you are unworthy of redemption and so you hide from it. You flee from it like a child and you run to me. And I have spoiled you, haven’t I? I have given you what you wanted, a distraction, a momentary blindness to the realness of your own life. But I have failed to give you what you needed. Failed to give myself what I needed.”

Loki looked like a broken thing. His face pained in ways that you had only seen momentarily. You tilted your head a bit as you continued. “Now look at us, love,” you whispered to him, “We are both dying.” You felt a cooling calm wash over you. An odd numbness that made time seem to slow down. You recognized the beating of your own heart, and the soft thumping of the pulse in his thumb on your cheek.

This was finally time.

“Please,” he murmured softly, desperately, “I can’t bare it.”

He did not cry or resist when you took his hand off of your face. You held his gaze for a while longer, savoring the last memories you would have of him. It took all of your strength to step away from him. It felt like ripping off a limb.

“I love you,” you said gently, holding eye contact with him as you continued to step away. He did not follow you, or speak again. He simply kept his gaze on you, his brows furrowed in discomfort. Your heart ached in ways you never knew were possible. “But I will no longer play a part in your own undoing.”

And with that you were gone. You hardly remembered walking out of the venue, or getting into a cab, or even arriving home. Loki’s face was branded in your mind. You thought of that last look, that last devastated look as you lay your head down on your pillow that night. You would not sleep that night. You would not sleep for many nights to come.

#fem reader #marvel fanfic club #reader x marvel #marvel #angst #loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki god of mischief #loki odinson #loki #loki laufeyson

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yikesitskennawrites · 4 months ago

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The highlights of my year edition: 2023 to July 17th 2024

January 8th, 2023: I met my first boyfriend at my workplace. He was a customer and I was making his sandwich. We went out on a date two days later.

March 2023: I switched from night shift to opening and became assistant manager. I personally don't act like one because I never got a pay raise 🙃

June 5th, 2023: I moved out of my parents house and into a studio apartment with my boyfriend.

June 16th to the 24th 2023: I went to my friends university graduation before flying over to Las Vegas, Nevada to celebrate. It was my first time in a airplane and I loved it. I kept telling my friends that the airplane was gonna crash and the kid in front of me had a wide eyed look. I knew it wasn't but I loved joking about it.

We went to Tacobell Las Vegas. We saw this cute bird swoop in and land on the table.

Cereal Killerz, I had the oreo milkshake and it wasn't that great. By the way, my whole focus on this trip was to try out all oreo milkshakes I could because I love that specific flavor of shake.

We went to the Muesum of Death. I would add pictures but all the photos have flesh of donated bodies for science.

Omega Mart. It's like a interactive art museum.

The Rainforest Cafe, which was oof expensive. I got a $15.00 quesadilla because it was the cheapest on the menu.

Guy Feris Restaurant. I got trashcan nachos because it was cheap but I couldn't finish all of it due to how salty it tasted.

The Marvel Muesum. It was really just some marvel posters and statutes of the original six.

Dennys along the Strip. Second best oreo milkshake there tbh.

We went to this candy store that I don't remember the name of but it has a gummy bear chandler. I got this cotton-candy alcohol drink and it was amazing.

We also went to an ice bar, which sounds exactly like it is. I would add pictures but all of them contain my friends and I don't want to post them online.

We went to a Blair Witch escape room, no pictures of that; but, my friends did it as a little surprise because they knew I loved the Blair Witch movie. It's not the plot, but the acting that makes it great 😌

I spent my 23rd birthday in a airport to return home and the best milkshake I had was from Rubys in the airport. I have no intentions of returning to Las Vegas. It wasn't for me, I didn't like the heat or how expensive everything was. I didn't like the crowds, but what else would you expect for a popular tourists city?

July 16th, 2023:

I adopted a kitten. Her name is Pretzel and she has a bit of a bent tail and one of her pupils are bigger than the other. She loves to play with tootsies and she will yell at anyone she can.

July 22nd, 2023: I drove the seven hour drive from my small town up to Seattle, Washington for the first night of the Taylor Swift Eras Tour. It was hot and crowded and anxiety inducing because holy crap I've never been in a place with 65,000 people. I remember feeling the ground shake and it was because everyone was jumping and dancing along to her songs and it stimulated a earthquake.

September 18th, 2024: After being in pain and sick for a week, I ended up in the hospital because my gallbladder decided to expand to the size of a fist and it had to be removed. The doctors said if I came in a day later it would have imploded and I would be very sick or dead. They also said it was the biggest one they have ever seen and removed. I didn't want to go to the doctor because the American Healthcare system sucks. My hospital bill before insurance was just a little past $40,000. I only had to pay $3,000. Unfortunately, bad gallbladders run in the family it was just my time for mine. I wanted to keep it in a jar but they wouldn't let me 🙃

June 23rd, 2024: I celebrated my 24th birthday. All I wanted was Ruby's cake from the Nickelodeon show Max and Ruby.

July 17th, 2024

I'm doing alot better mentally. I'm thriving so much more than I was earlier this year. I feel like a Sunflower with the warmth of the sun beaming down on me

#update #im still alive

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 11 months ago

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Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 5

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: Things finally get better, until they get worse again.

Warnings: Death of a parent (that's a big one, please proceed with caution), judgment against unmarried mothers, hospitals, language.

Word Count: 4500

Previous Chapter!

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Notes: I know that I said that poor Stevie was going to get a break soon, but not quite yet.

Steve was sulking on the couch when you came home that afternoon, beaming brighter than the sun.

“How’d it go?” he asked, meeting you on the kitchen tile.

“Amazing!” you replied.

“I told you it would, didn’t I?”

“You are talking to the Roane County Historical Society’s Lead Education Coordinator!” You were practically exploding with excitement. “I mean, Floyd said the interview was just a formality to make the Board happy-”

“You sound so professional,” Steve remarked.

“-but I did it!”

“I knew you would,” Steve said, punctuating with a kiss to either cheek. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Shut up.”

“And now you get to be a professional nerd,” Steve teased with a smile. “We should go out to dinner. To celebrate.”

“We should,” you agreed. “But I wanna talk to you about something else first.”

“We’re really living the highlife now,” Steve jested. “Dental insurance and all.”

“Steve!”

“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” he relented, but his smile stayed right where it was. “Serious time.”

“Floyd asked me about finding a replacement for the front desk,” you explained, “and I had an idea.”

“Okay?”

“And if you hate it, we can just move on like I never said anything.” You were beginning to ramble. “But, I mean, I think it’s a really good idea, and it doesn’t have to be forever if you don’t want it to be, it can be just for now, and-”

“I think you’re gonna start overheating if you keep working yourself up like that,” Steve cautioned with a smirk.

“Right, sorry,” you said shyly.

“What’s your idea?”

“I thought that, if you wanted to, you could replace me at the front desk.”

“Me?” Steve questioned, surprised by the suggestion. He didn’t really see himself as the museum type.

“Just think about it. You’d have better pay and better hours,” you explained. “We’d be working the same schedule in the same building, and we’d both be on the same insurance.”

“I’m not really qualified,” Steve supplied. “Am I?”

“Sure you are,” you responded.

“I don’t actually know anything about Roane County history,” Steve pointed out. “I’m pretty sure that’s a big prerequisite for working at the historical society, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, not really,” you said. “As long as you know which floor everything’s on, you’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll learn it all on the job, anyway.”

“You really think it’s a good idea?”

“Yep. Floyd thinks so too.” You stepped away from him to shed your bag and shoes on the side of the couch.

Your boss Floyd was an odd man, eccentric and contagiously enthusiastic. He was always dressed like he was about to go out on a hike, and nothing about his personality really read as “history museum curator” to Steve, aside from his (somewhat off putting) devotion to the subject. You’d told him about how he used to be a hippie in college and never really dropped the act, and that apparently he never wore shoes when he was in his office, though Steve had yet to see that bit for himself.

“I’ll train you for the first few weeks before I go on leave,” you said. “Which means you’ll get to work with me until you know the ropes.”

“Oh, well, that does sound nice.”

“I promise, the hardest thing you’ll have to do is order the office supplies every other week,” you said. “What do you think?”

“Do you think I’d actually be any good?”

“I think you’d be amazing, and that it’s a fantastic idea, and that I’m still mad at you for quitting your job at Family Video without warning me four months before we’re having a baby, so you kinda owe me.”

That had been a fun conversation full of lots of expletives.

Steve was still feeling hesitant, but you were staring at him with some heart wrenching puppy dog eyes. You were kind of handing him a perfect opportunity on a silver platter.

“Please?” you implored. His apprehension crumbled into dust at how much you wanted him to say yes.

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Steve asked, uneasiness seeping through his words.

“A hundred percent.”

“Okay,” Steve answered. “Yeah.”

“Really?” you asked with bright, excited eyes. “You want too?”

“I think it’s a great idea, my little genius,” Steve said.

“I’ll call Floyd in the morning!” you exclaimed before rocketing from your spot on the couch to wrap your arms around Steve in a hug. “Oh, we definitely have to go out to dinner now.”

“Italian place on seventh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied. “I started thinking about that ravioli earlier today, and if I don’t get my hands on some, I think I might cry.”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Steve said through a chuckle. “Gotta get my girl some ravioli.”

Steve’s interview was the following Monday. It was three questions long, and it took all of five minutes.

“Do you want this job?” Floyd asked him from across his desk. Every inch was covered in something or other, stray papers and knick-knacks. The whole office was filled with clutter. Any wall space not taken up by cabinets and shelves was completely covered in posters and frames, every shelf filled with tchotchkes and artifacts. Lamps in every corner lit the room, along with a window lined with potted plants that looked like they were about to take over the whole wall. The scent of essential oils permeated the room, and you had been right to give Steve the warning; Floyd had no shoes on.

“Yes, I do,” Steve answered.

“Can you type?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Can you work the register in the gift shop?” Floyd seemed to be writing some very thorough notes, though Steve couldn’t imagine what they might possibly be about.

“Yes, sir.”

“Great!” Floyd said, dumping the clipboard he had been scribbling on back onto his desk, the force making the surrounding papers flutter to the sides. “You’re in.”

“Oh,” Steve said with a blink. “That-that’s it?”

“Do you have any idea how happy I am to get an actual employee in that position?” Floyd asked, elbows resting on the desk. “With her leaving, I thought I was gonna have to find another group of high school interns again.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Oh, well I’m glad that-”

“Never again,” the older man interrupted, almost seeming afraid of the idea. Steve would have laughed if it wasn’t for the dead serious gaze he was being punctured with.

“Right.”

“I mean, god love ‘em, but if I have to watch any more teenagers try to stumble their way through a conversation with the donors, I might have an aneurysm.”

“O-okay.”

The first couple of weeks were slow going; signing things in, signing things out, learning the computer system (“Baby, there is absolutely no reason for this to be so complicated!”). Floyd had warned him that it was peak season, but apparently, even peak season was still, at least according to Steve, incredibly idle.

“What do you actually do all day?” Steve asked. You shot him a look. “I mean, it just feels like there’s a lot of downtime, is all.”

“Oh, yeah?” you teased.

“You’re so good at your job, you just get everything done so quickly.”

“Thank you,” you said. “Uh, homework? Reading? There are a couple games on the computer, but I never bothered to learn how to actually play them.”

“Hurray,” Steve sardonically remarked.

“I’ve got plenty of books you can borrow,” you told him. “Maybe we could set you up with a hobby, or something. I think you could do wonders with a pair of knitting needles.”

It wasn’t all boring. Despite the strange way about him, Floyd was very funny and took a liking to Steve right away. There were also a handful of volunteers who would show up from time to time, all sweet old ladies who were thrilled to finally be able to meet your beau.

Today’s excitement came in the form of a day camp field trip.

“Gird your loins,” Floyd warned as the yellow school bus unloaded outside.

“Okay, all you’ve got to do is sign them in and hand out the stickers,” you told Steve, handing him a clipboard and a roll of sticker dots. “I’m in charge of everything else.”

Day camp children and chaperones, all clad in matching sky blue tee shirts, filed into the lobby with varying levels of excitement. You stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in all black, save for the neon orange lanyard on your neck that read ‘TOUR GUIDE’ in thick black lettering.

You’d been practicing for today all week long. It was the first of many tours led entirely on your own, and you were getting a little bit in your own head about it; you’d forced Steve into three after hours practice tours, which had actually been pretty mutually beneficial. Steve got to learn a thing or two about his new place of employment, and you were prepped and ready for all the most ridiculous questions Steve could come up with.

Steve handed out the stickers, orange to match your lanyard, going down the line of children reaching a trio of moms huddled together in the back of the group.

“No, thank you,” one of the women spat before Steve had the chance to ask if any of them wanted one. Steve vaguely recognized her; her husband worked for his father. She had attended many a dinner party he had been forced to sit through. Steve couldn’t remember her name.

“You sure?” Steve asked, putting on his most charming smile to win them over. “They’re a very flattering shade of traffic cone.”

“I doubt we’ll get lost,” another supplied through a frosty red, artificially saccharine smile.

Steve retreated back to the desk while you gathered everyone and said your hello’s. As you herded the kids into the main hall, he noticed the women had huddled together and began whispering, though they weren’t very good at keeping their gossip quiet.

“That’s Gary’s boss’s kid, right? The one you were telling me about?” Steve overheard one of them ask.

“Yep,” the other answered. She then gestured towards you, pointing a finger from around her lipstick stained to-go coffee cup. “And that’s the pregnant girlfriend.”

“God, are you serious?” the third asked, incredulous. “And she’s supposed to be the good role model here? Teaching our children?”

“I know, it’s ridiculous.” It took everything in Steve’s power not to get up and slap the coffee right out of her manicured hand. “I’m shocked they didn’t fire her as soon as they heard. I would’ve.”

Steve knew that the two of you had become the talk of the town, how could he not have? It wasn’t like the two of you were doing much to hide it anymore. You really wouldn’t have been able to at this point anyway, but there had been no shotgun wedding to cover anything up, either.

For the most part, people had been congratulatory. Surprised, definitely, but congratulatory nonetheless. Well, except for Robin. And his parents. And Hopper, who at this point, was one more wrong move away from pulling his shotgun out on Steve.

Okay, so strangers and vague acquaintances had been congratulatory.

To your faces.

It wasn’t as though either of you were ashamed about the situation at hand. It had taken Steve a long while to grapple with the fact that it wasn’t wrong of him to be happy, that this wasn’t the great tragedy everyone around him seemed to be so convinced it was. Not that he ever thought it was, not really. It had seemed as though everyone around him thought it irresponsible to be anything but remorseful, but how could he be? He was definitely scared, and so were you, but there was an ever flowing thrum of joy that tinged every moment of his day when he thought about the little one waiting for him, for the both of you.

That being said, all of the snide comments and judgmental side eyes you two had been collecting since April were beginning to be too much. The disgust in that mother’s voice at the idea of her children being around you made him feel like nothing more than some reckless, idiot kid who’d ruined your life by not being careful enough.

Was that really what your future was going to look like? Mothers turning up their noses at the idea of you teaching their children? Getting turned down for jobs because Steve hadn’t pulled out like he should have? He had been so preoccupied with doctor’s appointments and baby clothes that he hadn’t even thought about it. Of course, Floyd was going to give you a job, he loved you and probably didn’t even believe in marriage to begin with, but what about everyone else? The two of you had been concocting dreams of leaving Hawkins for a good decade, but if no one else would be willing to give you the time of day because of the baby, had that all been for not?

Maybe they were all right. Maybe he really had ruined your life.

Steve quickly began to appreciate the quiet of his new job. His whole life had been so hectic and stressful over the last few months (well, the last few years, really), that the slow moving days of making copies and handing out museum maps were a much appreciated respite.

It didn’t last long.

Saturday, June 24th, 1989. You and Steve had spent the day indoors, the sticky summer air too stifling for you to bear suffering through. The 90 degree weather that Indiana became swathed in every year had brought back new bouts of nausea and headaches for you, and you’d spent the whole day splayed across the sofa doing your best to keep your saltine crackers down. Steve had been bringing you a constant stream of ice water and popsicles, worrying about what the rest of summer might do to you; the season had just begun, yet it already seemed to have taken you out.

The sun was finally beginning to set, bringing the temperatures down with it and leaving you in slightly better spirits. You’d just put a record on (the new Cure album that you’d been playing nonstop) and sat at the kitchen table, watching intently as he chopped up salad veggies for your dinner.

“Stop stealing all of the tomatoes!” Steve chastised you as you sneakily grabbed another thick wedge, dousing it in salt. “There aren’t gonna be any left by the time I’m done.”

“Maybe not for you,” you quipped, a small rivulet of tomato juice tipping down your chin as you spoke around the bite.

“You cruel thing,” Steve remarked with a smile. He turned around to pull the dressing out of the fridge. “Not leaving any tomato for the love of your life? I mean, really, that’s just-”

The sound of the phone ringing interrupted Steve’s joke. It was nearly nine thirty, too late for most people to be calling, though he knew a certain group of teenagers for whom common courtesy didn’t really seem to matter, especially when it came to him.

“It’s probably just one of the kids,” Steve remarked as he went to answer it. “I told them my chauffeur services are over, but I swear, it went in one ear and right out the other. Hello?”

“Steven?”

Oh.

Definitely not the voice he was expecting to hear. Actually, it was probably the last voice he was expecting.

“Mom?” he asked. You whipped your head to face him. “Is everything alright? I wouldn’t usually expect you to call this late.”

‘I wouldn’t have expected you to call at all,’ is what he really meant, but he didn’t say it.

“Yes, well,” his mother said. Her voice sounded tinny over the phone, and Steve could hear all sorts of commotion from behind her.

“Where are you?” Steve asked, though his question was quickly answered when he heard the sound of a loudspeaker page for a doctor. “Is everything okay? It sounds like you’re in a hospital.”

“Your father’s had a heart attack.”

His head went cloudy, and he was sure that his ears weren’t working right, and the drive to the hospital was taken in complete silence. Not a sound, outside of your quiet sniffles; your eyes had been filled with tears since the moment Steve told you what had happened, though they had yet to drop.

You’d known Steve’s parents just about as long as Steve had; of course you would be upset, too. He hadn’t really thought about that until that moment, and it made him feel like a bit of an asshole.

Granted, he couldn’t really think of much right now even if he tried.

He hadn’t spoken to his mother in almost three months, and that last conversation had been far from a cheery one. He had handed his mother her worst nightmare on a silver platter. He’d broken her heart, effectively ruined everything. His eyes flashed over to you in the passenger seat, trying so hard not to cry, your hand resting gently on the baby bump that was the very source of said heartbreak.

Steve parked the car and let out a shaky sigh.

The hospital was freezing cold, made even worse by the blistering heat outside. You and Steve were blasted by a wave of frigid air conditioning as you walked through the sliding glass doors. Sterile and unwelcoming. By the time he’d walked up to the front desk, he realized he couldn’t get any of the words he needed to say out of his mouth.

“Oh, um, hello,” you said, having expected him to speak first. “Hi, sorry. We’re here to see Ronald Harrington?”

“Relation?”

“This is his son, and, um,” you hesitated for a moment, “daughter-in-law.”

The woman at the desk seemed unconvinced but told you the room number anyway.

Fluorescent lights, linoleum tile. Beeps and blinks, doctors and nurses racing through halls and sat at bedsides. Room 604 came too quickly for Steve to steady himself. Another shaky sigh, you squeezed his hand as you opened the door.

There was a nurse there, and his father in the bed with tubes and wires going every which way. He was not awake. Steve suddenly knew, as simple as breathing, that he would not be waking back up. His mom said over the phone that the doctor told her there was a chance that he might, but in an instant, he knew they were wrong. Sugar coating it as an act of kindness, maybe, but he thought providing his mother with false hope was more cruel than anything else.

His mother.

She was sitting next to the bed. Her eyes were rimmed in horrible red and her hands shook as she held those of her husband. She was disheveled, and exhausted, and as soon as she set her eyes on her son, she shot straight up from her chair and pulled him into a hug.

“Mom,” Steve quietly cried as soon as his mother’s arms wrapped around him. He felt horribly small, in the middle of the big bad hospital room.

He hadn’t cried; honestly, his brain hadn’t really had the chance to catch up to everything that was happening around him, but now? God, the floodgates had opened. His mother was crying too, an unsettling sight, but not one he hadn’t seen before. His mother had been brought to tears by her husband god knows how many times, and Steve had always been there to do his very best to fix things for her.

This was different, though. It wasn’t her husband’s cruelty that brought the tears this time, and there wasn’t a single thing Steve could do to fix it.

“Oh,” his mother fussed, brushing her hands over the sides of his face. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve blubbered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” his mother said. “You’ve done nothing wrong, alright? Not a single thing.”

You stayed floating by the door, talking to the nurse about the man who never loved him, who was dying right next to him. A waiting game, at this point.

The hospital room had two cushy chairs for family, and a backless rolling stool surely meant for the doctor. That’s the seat that Steve chose, pulling it up next to the one his mother had chosen. He could vaguely hear the greeting between the two of you, see the hug from the corner of his eye, his mother fussing over you, asking how far along and if you’d been feeling alright. He probably should have been paying attention, but all he could focus on was the way his father was lying there already looking dead.

“Hey, Dad,” he muttered. He couldn’t touch him, couldn’t think to hold his hand like his mother had been, because when in his life had his father ever tried to hold his hand? Pat him on the back, give him a hug? Ron would have called him a sissy if Steve had tried something like that; he always got all weird when things got emotional.

His mother came and sat back in her chair, pulling his stool right up against the arm, and there they sat, waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. His mother hoped to stave off the inevitable, Steve hoped it would just happen so that the waiting could stop. Oh, god, that was so awful, wasn’t it? He should be wanting him to wake up, to get better, shouldn’t he? But he knew that wasn’t going to happen, and somehow the feeling of waiting there for his dad to drop dead felt so much worse than it actually happening.

It was well past one in the morning now. You were curled up in your chair, fast asleep. You’d tried so hard to stay awake, but he really didn’t mind. If anything, he preferred it, because it spared you from the horrible anxiety of anticipating something terrible.

He’d been quiet for a while now. He had so many things he wanted to tell his mom, but this absolutely was not the place for any one of those conversations.

“I fear that I’ve been horribly cruel to the two of you,” his mother said, breaking through the quiet without looking away from her husband's sallow face.

“You haven’t been,” Steve assured her. “I promise.”

“I should have been there for you, I should have-” she cut herself off with a ragged sigh.

“It’s fine, really. You were worried about me, that’s all,” he emphasized. “Besides, I kinda needed a good knock to the head like that.”

“You sure did pick a good one,” she said after a moment, in reference to you.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Steve agreed with a small smile. He turned to look at you, tucked under a blanket. Your face was turned toward the window looking out over the hospital's parking lot. The red light of the ‘Hawkins Memorial’ sign cast a soft pink glow across your face from its spot outside, Steve’s last little slice of peace in the middle of this horrible mess. “We’re having a girl.”

Steve hadn’t breached the baby bubble until now. His poor mother was already being pulled through the wringer, and the last thing he wanted to do was open that wound, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Are you really?” his mother asked, a genuine smile in her voice.

“Mhm.” Steve had cried when the two of you found out, you both had. He’d never, ever been happier to be wrong in his entire life.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Steve.” She grabbed his hand in two of hers.

“I wanted to tell you as soon as we found out,” Steve confessed. “I was gonna call you, I just- I thought it would just end up making it all worse.”

“It wouldn’t have,” she said. “I would have happily answered you.”

“I know.”

“You two have any names picked out yet?” she asked, diffusing the tension the best she could.

“Well, we were gonna go with Piper-”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

“-but, then she pointed out that since her middle name’s gonna be Robin, she’d end up having two bird names,” Steve explained. “Piper Robin. So, back to the drawing board.”

“Oh, well, you're both smart. You’ll come up with something good.”

“I hope so.”

It didn’t take too long after that.

Ronald Harrington died in the wee hours of a warm June morning, with his wife and son (neither of whom he ever particularly liked) by his side. Meredith wailed at the edge of the bed, you sobbed quietly, and Steve stood stoic between the two of you, trying his absolute hardest to stay put in one piece. He didn’t know what to do.

He found the nearest payphone and called Robin.

“Hello?” Robin croaked, clearly having been woken up by the call.

“Hey, it’s me,” Steve said. He willed the shake in his voice to go away.

“Steve? What the hell are you calling me at four in the morning for?” she questioned. “And don’t say it’s to apologize, because I swear to god-”

“My dad is dead,” he spat out.

“What?”

“He had a heart attack last night, and-” Steve was cut off by a crack in his own voice, “-and now he’s dead.”

“Oh, my god,” Robin replied. “Shit, Steve. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Steve blurted out. He screwed his eyes shut, trying and failing to keep his tears at bay. He shook his head and choked into the phone, “I think that maybe I’m not.”

“Are you at the hospital?” she asked him. Steve could hear movement from the other line.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to come down there?”

“Please?” Steve squeaked out.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure how long it took for Robin to get to the hospital because it felt like time was speeding up and slowing down all at once. The doctor was talking to him about next steps and funeral homes, and Steve was hearing it all, and nodding along like he was listening, but it all just sort of blended together in his ears. He was handed a brochure. The doctor left the room.

Robin appeared shortly after that, wearing jeans, but still in her pajama shirt on top. Any resolve Steve had left disappeared in an instant.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch,” Robin murmured as she hugged him in the hallway just outside the door.

“I was being an asshole. I deserved it,” Steve relented. “Truce?”

“Yeah, truce,” Robin said before turning her attention to you. “Oh, my god, you look like you swallowed a beach ball.”

“Robin!”

“I know,” you (much to Steve’s relief) agreed with a smile. “Feel like it, too.”

You and Steve went home with Meredith that night, back to the childhood home that wasn’t his anymore. Robin headed back to your apartment to feed your cat. Steve would call the funeral home in the morning, and he would cry into your arms tonight.

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