#he’s kind of a shit but we still love him?

[midnite-c6]

Ok now do a trilogy to Thanos x Namgyus gf but make it a threesome 💔

okay 💓 was thinking of doing that in part 2 but i wanted to edge. LMAO.

previous : part 1 ! part 2 ! <3 thanos (choi su-bong) x namgyusgf!reader pt. 3 warnings: 18+, cheating, degradation, pwp, rough sex

ˆつ⁠｡⁠☆ with the back and forth of videos (of you getting fucked by them) being sent on both their phones, it turned into a competition of the two. to see who could make you feel better, but that was getting boring, the best solution is to just share! obviously.

nsfw below!! -> 🫶🏻

"you lying, cheating, slut." nam-gyu slips his cock from your pussy, before ramming it back in again, starting another rhythmic pace of his dick sliding in and out of you. your body was practically floating, having su-bong hold you up from the ground, with his hand tightly holding onto your hair. from this view, he could see you look up at him with cheeks stained with your mascara, how your makeup is ruined, and how you were taking him so well inside your mouth, just like the first time. "so fucking wet." nam-gyu would groan out, pointing out how easy it was to just slip in and out of you for hours. "damn it. one dick isn't enough for you, huh?" your eyes move from thanos' looking up at your boyfriend's. "your slutty dumb brain needs two cocks to fill her up so it's happy, am i correct?" he'd particularly thrust harder during the last sentence, you barely even heard what he said because you were too busy thinking of what he's doing to your cunt right now.

"she's just searchin' for the best." the one inside your mouth replied. you'd only choke against him as he forces himself deeper inside your throat. "fuck off." but nam-gyu couldn't lie, you were clenching him like crazy. he'd only let out a moan from that, spitting on your clit. that was the only sensation your clit had gotten, nam-gyu was ignoring it the whole night because you don't deserve to be pleased like that! now both your pussy and chin is dripping wet from their filthy juices and saliva.

su-bong would pull out of your mouth, giving it some kind of mercy, you can finally breathe the air around you, that was still a difficult task considering now every time nam-gyu pushes inside you, the head of his cock hits your g-spot so perfectly, you'd wonder if he's trying to impress you, that thanos was only second best compared to him, maybe that's why he was your boyfriend in the first place... thanos looks down at your pretty, fucked out face and laughs, "you're such a freak for liking this!" wow. he was one to talk. he then places his dick on your face, rubbing his leaking pre-cum to ruin your face even more. "damn .. even prettier like this, señorita." he just loves seeing your face covered in his sticky cum.. </3

"ma' bro, let me fuck her." nam-gyu stops his thrusts, though not bothering to look at su-bong. "urgh. no." thanos tilts his head to the side. "how about we fuck her both, at the same time?" "what. you're into anal?" "psh, what am i not into? but. both of us. inside her pretty cunt. you can take it, right?" he asks as he tugs on your hair, you were still only getting to calm down from all the thrusting.. "fuck no, dude! i don't want my dick touching yours!" clearly, nam-gyu wasn't high enough for this. "fuuck, man, don't think 'bout that shit, she'll scream ten times more. high risk, high reward. i've seen it in a porno." nam-gyu scoffs, "high risk, high reward my ass. don't care shit 'bout what you watch." nam-gyu was opposed to it.

but seeing you to become an absolute shaking, screaming mess? hell yea. now you're laid down on the rought cement floors of the office room inside club pentagon, your legs being spread wide open, nam-gyu's arm hooked to your left thigh as su-bong's to the right. nam-gyu was first to enter inside you, then you'd already start yelling how it was too much when su-bong starts to push himself in aswell, "su-bong! s-stop! stop!" nam-gyu would harshly slap your face. "no moanin' his name, only mine. got it?" you nodded, fuck was he strict. "yes, sir.." you'd whine out lazily. you were being stretched like crazy, you swear they'd rip you open right about now. thanos finally bottoms out inside you, your body was already shaking, even when they're not even moving. but oh you wished that they stayed that way. now you're moans were practically screams, for sure everyone inside the club, even with the loud music, could hear how much you were being fucked. they were both fast as fuck, not giving you any time to breathe at all, it was like a literal race. nam-gyu's veiny, ringed hands were wrapped around your neck, just to let you know he's in control. thankfully, su-bong would pay attention to your clit, with his thumb pressing hardly against the sensitive bud, maybe you could cum tonight.

that's how you'll spend the night, and many more nights, but right now they're determined to fill your womb with their cum mixed together, like true bestfriends.

phew guys i forgot to add plot this is all sex. damnn . gonna start becoming inactive again and WAY more slow with reqs 💔 i love journalism hahah.

[bluem1lls]

Hey I was wondering if you could do a se-mi fic where the reader is really sweet/kind and is apart of Gi-hun's group in the games. So when se-mi starts flirting with her the boys go all big brother/dad mode and start getting protective. I just think it would be funny to see Dae-ho and Jung-bae doing their goofy marines bit, while se-mi is absolutely unimpressed and sassy and the reader is just watching from afar happy that they're all 'getting along'. Thank you and I love your writing <3

✧₊⁺ i'd do it all again

✦ synopsis: she's very willing to flirt with you, even if there's two are always there to try to stop her from doing it!

tw: pure fluff!

authors note: hiiii, its short but its a week update and im DEAD so dhhdhdfh i hope u like it!!! tysm for the request💓💓

-> "fuck" my head hurts from the impact as i open my eyes to see a girl.. on top of me. her eyes widen as she tries to stay still. her arms keep my body trapped underneath her.

"shit- i'm so sorry" she whispers slowly, trying to not get caught by the doll from the game.

as i can hear it say 'green light' once again. she stands up quickly, lending me her hand as we start running. i can see my brother's eyes moving across the entire room trying to find me because he lost me out of his sight. when he does, he lets out a big sigh as he runs to my side, staying still as we hear the 'red light'.

-> once we're get to the finish line, i lay on the floor, exhausted. my eyes try to find the short haired girl. i stare as i see her bent over, trying to catch her breath.

"you're not allowed to leave my side, ever" dae-ho, my brother, grabs my shoulders as i rolled my eyes. "i'm serious."

"i know, i'm sorry. a girl tripped over me."

as we turned around to head to the main room, i see the girl's eyes follow me until we arrive.

-> as we're done voting, my brother, being the social butterfly he is, already got us a group.

i sit besides gi-hun as i stare the surroundings. i can feel my brother's arms around me as i groan. the girl who fell on top of me stares, quickly removing her eyes of me as i find her sight.

-> and i try multiple times to talk with her, but everytime i seem to get somewhat close, she's moving around as i frown. maybe she's awkward after the way we met but, i'm still curious.

-> as the second game begins, we get together until they announce 'group of 5'. their eyes widen as in-ho tries to move aside, i grab him as i shook my head no. i turn to leave as dae-ho grabs my arm, serious.

"there's no way-"

"listen, i'll be fine. i have an idea. i promise i'll be fine."

"no you liste-"

it's too late, because i'm already running to the pierced girl as she stares up and down at me with a smirk. great, finally an excuse to talk to her and i know she can't run away this time.

"you owe me. and i need a group" i said to her as she scoffed in amusement.

"oh? i owe you?"

"you fell on top of me!" i reply as she hums, playing with her lip piercing.

"what's wrong with your boyfriend's team?" she lifts an eyebrow as i stare wide eye. boyfriend???

"that dumbass?!" i point at dae-ho."he's my brother, ew."

her expression turns into a surprised one, quickly returning to her normal one. was that why she was avoiding me this whole time? i chuckled softly as she did too.

"oh- right. sorry. so um, let's go get three more people" she says, turning around as we see the purple hair guy coming in our direction. we both stare at eachother at the same time, smiling.

great.

-> as we pass the second same, i sit with them, waiting nervously for my brother and the group's return. i see them arrive with a smile as i get up to throw myself into his arms as he hugs me tight. i hug every one of them, happy to see them again.

-> as the night comes, i eat my food while chatting with the group until i see a someone in front of me. i lift my gaze to meet her brown eyes.

i lift my eyebrow as i slowly smile. "hi"

"hey.. thought you could use the company" she said with amusement, sitting next to me. "and, you never told me your name.."

as i tell her, she replies with hers. se-mi.

"pretty name for a pretty girl" i chuckle at her poor attempt to flirt as she laughs with me.

i feel arms wrap around me as i turn my head. of course. i roll my eyes as i sigh.

"hello ladies. i'm dae-ho" he says (to se-mi, mostly) with a serious expression as she stares unfazed and gives him a head nod. "her brother, but you probably guessed since we have the same 'pretty face', like you said." he tells her, trying to put his most 'older brother' face as i elbow him on the ribs.

"get out, oh my god you're so annoying" i said removing myself from his grip as he stares, offended.

"i'm trying to look after my little sister! you can't date someone from this game"

"we're not dating! leave!" i whisper/shout at him as he stares like a puppy while i push him out.

"i was in the marine, by the way!" he tells to her, turning around one last time as she smirks.

i sit again besides her as i huffed. she smiles, amused.

"so that was.. interesting" she plays with her lip piercing, the smirk never leaving her lips. i nod as i stare away, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. "does that mean every time i'll try to talk to you, you'll have a bodyguard?" she chuckles as i nod, embarrassed.

"i mean.. probably"

she hums as her gaze meets my eyes.

"i can do that."

and she means it.

-> and as the days go by, we become closer and closer. hugging eachother everytime we see the other one survived the game, teaming together and staying all night talking.

and she's so pretty, that it doesn't feel surprising when she's making me blush from staring too much, or when i get butterflies everytime she whispers sweet things to me because she knows i love it.

-> and after one specific hard game, i realize i wanna spend every little minute with her. too scared to loose her, i'm asking her to bring her mattress besides mine. as i'm helping her to move it, i can see two people standing in front of us, staring to see what we're doing.

"are you two sleeping together? i don't think thats a good idea." jung-bae says as my eyes widen. "you look like a good young girl, but we can't trust too much" he says to se-mi as this one stares and gives him a soft chuckle.

"that's true. sleeping together is a step too far. are you two dating?" my brother nods at jung-bae's words as i cover my face in embarrassment.

"not yet" she smirks at my brother as his eyes widen.

"can you two just... shush away?" i murmur to them, staring at both.

they look at each other as i move them softly aside.

"i can't believe the disrespect we face. from two young girls" jung-bae says as dae-ho nods.

-> and as the night comes, we lay side to side while talking.

"i really like this.. spending time with you" she says, making me smile. i feel her cold hands with the rings cup my face as i stare at her. "do you think your brother's awake?"

my expression turns into confusion. "um.. no? i don't think so?"

"good" she mumbles against my lips as she kisses me. i let out a soft moan in surprise as i melt into the kiss.

"i knew you weren't a good girl!" my brother jumps from the bed, his finger pointing to se-mi, making us break from the kiss to stare him.

"oh my god where you spying this whole time? you're a fucking-"

"hey careful!" he says, his finger now pointing at me. "now. if you want my sister, i will make your life a living hell" he warns se-mi as she lifts her arms, smiling.

"she's worth it" she says as we both stare at her.

-> and he means it. because even when we leave the game after voting 'x', she warns me many times i'm not allowed to disappear now that she's attached. not like i was going to. but wherever i go, he's also always there too.

and all the guys are also there. even gi-hun, jung-bae and in-ho, warning her every step of the way, as me and jun-hee chuckle. and se-mi starts loving them too, because she's sure she won't be able to get rid of them (she tried!)

with our poor relationship with our father, jung-bae ends up turning into more of a father figure to us, being the one supporting my brother through everything, but also being there for me everyday.

and with time (a lot of family dinners we have together) they start to soften up for her.

-> so it's not a surprise when a few years later, at our wedding, she takes a video of how our life together has been and a video of my brother and jung-bae shows up.

"are you- are you asking us for our blessing?" dae-ho sobs as jung-bae seems to be suppressing his tears. i can hear her laugh, although i can't see her because she was the one recording the video.

"i don't think i would be able to go through it if i didn't" she says, softly.

they're both crying now as they hug her.

"i knew you were the one!" jung-bae says, sobbing like a baby while she laughs.

"we knew it! that's why we went easy on you!" dae-ho says, wiping away his tears.

"yeah, i figured" se-mi says, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

i turn to the side to hug her while i kiss her, laughing as dae-ho and jung-bae stare at the video, blushing red.

"we agreed that was a secret!" jung-bae says, embarrassed as gi-hun hugs him with a chuckle.

"that's-that an edition. se-mi! you said you wouldn't play that" dae-ho says to her as she shrugs.

i cup her face on my hands as she laughs. her gaze meets mine. "i love you so much." my stare filled with love like the first day i met her.

"mh, i love you so much too. happy family, happy wife and happy life right?"

[ethtyn]

LET'S GO OUT WITH A BANG 🚦

taglist:

@ashiyn @single-malt-scotch @goodtimeswithetho @pebbltree @crabbunch @catmaidetho @amethyst-allium @stitchthesewords

sooooo ermm i guess i get to talk about this piece now YIPPEE

i am one of those people who's constantly trying to figure out what their own art style looks like LMFAO. i take frequent breaks from art due to mental health shit so it feels like every time i come back i'm trying to find my footing again.

that being said, i had a lot of caffeine yesterday and started this on a whim and it ended up being something i'm incredibly proud of. i think it helps that i've been redrawing old emotes for a friend's twitch channel, so figuring out which brushes i like right now was really helpful, and i ended up using my personal emote palette like...a lot. that pink in Etho's eye, the purple used for shading, most of the browns are all used in my own emotes. it's wild how much having colours already picked out streamlines things!

Etho is the one i started with, of course, and ended up being one that i went back to re-draw after i'd done...three? or four? more, because the sizing wasn't right and i wasn't happy with the posing. i still wish i could have conveyed him dipping his chin into his coat fluff a little better, but oh well. i thought of the little detail of him looking at Martyn's drawing at the last second (#ethtyn4life) and it made me laugh so i did it. points to you if you caught that!

Joel was the second - life!Joel has always been fey in my head, especially after that season when he just went batshit insane the second he turned red. can't explain it, that's just how it be. i tried to give him an air of subtle menace about him but i think he just looks sleepy 💀 i'd like to do these as individual, larger pieces at some point, so maybe i can work on that more then.

Grian was the third - he reminds me of a Lost Boy here and that wasn't intentional but the Lost Boys always kind of freaked me out and life!Grian's kinda freaky so i think it fits. his little smirk is so creepy and i love him.

i don't remember who i did next after this so we'll just go in order pfft

Bdubs is SO CUTE look at him. one of the few where i couldn't make a menacing expression work, and honestly with how good his profile turned out i barely mind. i did that side profile with no reference, y'all, idk what kind of crack i was on last night. what the hell. this was about the point where i started wanting to do little lore doodles for everybody so i added the clock face - i think it clashes with the red background but what can you do.

CLEOOOOOO CLEO CLEO. i LOVED drawing them, i think their design is one of my favourites of the bunch. her hair has always been snakes in my head and AGAIN i drew those with no reference, can you fucking believe that. i loved the little detail of some of the snakes poking at the people next to her, they're so cute hehe. also Cleo has freckles now, i'm so sorry but i don't make the rules. someone complimented the teeth in the reblogs and THANK YOU!! they're not quite anatomically correct but fuck it we ball and they look cool as hell anyway.

Martyn is so smug, i love him. points if you caught that he's looking at Cleo bc Double Life, i wanted to do something a lil different with him than just another straight up symmetry tool drawing and i think it fits. he is so eye-searing tho sir please tone it down.

Lizzie is fey just like her husband, and also she is smol. i don't think it's conveyed as well as i'd like here but i also didn't want her to look like a straight-up child so i did what i could. she is So Scary with those vacant blue eyes oh my god. and drawing her hair was sooooo fun i love long hair ahh

with Gem i basically smoothed out a rough design sketch i posted awhile back and i'm so proud of the little head cock she's got going on, she looks so cool. also her hair?? idk how i did that. i love her swoopy bangs so much.

Pearl is moth. Pearl will always be Moth. so she got lil antennae and big buggy eyes. drawing that hood was so satisfying, i used to try and draw Raven Teen Titans in high school and could never get the hood to look right so seeing this one come out perfectly was sooooo good. and of course had to include a teensy moon.

that's all i've got, i think - i feel myself crashing LMFAO. maybe at some point i'll come back and say more but here's this for now!

[hivemuthur]

Nothing's New - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut to come somewhere mid-way through

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 5,7K

tag: #nothings new

summary: It's a bit late, but I had to touch some grass. This is an expository chapter that puts almost all pawns on the table. It's mostly angst and it's a very experimental thing for me, I will be updating warnings as we go. Updated probably every week or sooner!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Hey,” he says in a warm tone, a gentle nudge on your elbow as a cold glass is placed bottom-flat on your palm. A very much welcomed chill in the suffocating, wet, soggy heat on Jayce’s balcony, which still isn’t as bad as the inside of his apartment. Then, a pair of strong hands, their warmth equal to that of the voice, wraps around your biceps. A pair of blue eyes looks deeply into yours, analysing, searching the inside of your head.

“It’s okay. I love you.”

A layer of moist cotton brushes your face before the mass of a broad chest squishes your nose in an embrace.

“What?” you muffle into the material, tasting salt against your lips, the smell of sweat—the good kind, the strong, manly kind—and pine hitting your nostrils, your arms hanging idly by your sides, one of them gripping the cold glass tighter. “Why would you say it now?”

That is a first. A love confession thrown casually between the two of you, like a lifebelt for your sanity, waggling desperately in a muddle. He moves away, and you down the whiskey along with the ice cube, which you shove into your cheek.

His palms still cradle your arms as he leans in, his head hanging pensively from his neck. A wonderful, beautiful, reassuring smile paints his lips as he says, “I just felt like saying it. And it’s alright.”

Hot, very hot, very honest lips press themselves to your sweaty forehead, leaving a lingering kiss. The embrace resumes, this time your face pressed to the side of his neck, as he murmurs, “I don’t need you to say it back. I don’t need you to do anything, just… try to relax.”

Absurd. No one just throws their heart out like that to be eaten. No one with any common sense or self-respect.

You push yourself back from his chest, letting his hands fall, entwined, on your lower back. God, the heat is unbearable. “This is a big thing to say so casually. Why now?”

“Alright, you got me,” he chuckles. “I wanted to ask you something.” He scratches his neck and looks at you with timid hope.

His tone is playful, expectant to the point of twisting your guts. When all he’s confronted with is a pair of eyebrows raised into two inquisitive arches, he relents, “I want you to move in with me.”

You swallow your ice cube. With a painful gulp, it travels down your throat, and you can feel it passing your heart, your lungs, all the way down to your stomach. You can hear it dropping into the pool of acid with an echoing plop sound. Shit.

“Is this because he is here?”

“What? No—” his grossly hot hands cradle your cheeks, and you feel your skin warming up even more under his calloused fingers.

“Of course not. I have planned it, and I have proof,” he says calmly, pulling a set of extra keys from his back pocket and dangling them between your faces. “See?”

When no reaction comes from your side, just a stunned expression, he starts jangling them furiously and laughing.

His smile is blinding. Imperfect, teeth almost too big for his face, it makes his cheeks rise up, his eyes crinkle heavily, and he looks gorgeous.

“You are around all the time anyway. But fine—just promise you will think about it.”

Wordlessly, you take the keys from his hand and put them in your pocket. “This is not a yes. But I will think about it,” you shoot him a warning look, which softens immediately when you see him resist an expression of relief crawling up his face.

“And thank you,” you say with a tiny hint of a smile, placing a sweaty hand on his cheek and running your knuckles through his stubble.

“You should mingle. These are your friends, after all.”

Yes. These are your friends. Who, against their better judgement, haven’t ostracised you, as you were sure they would. Who have greeted you wholeheartedly at the doorstep with real, joyful hugs and expressions of relief upon seeing you. Jayce grabbed you tightly and lifted you off the floor, and Mel gave you a massive, loud smooch on the cheek, very aunt-worthy.

“What are you going to do? Just air out all evening?”

You relax into his touch, pushing your hands down his jeans’ back pockets.

“Oh, I’ll mingle. Just… later,” he smiles and kisses you lovingly.

His kisses are nice, though stressful. Like he is thanking you for existing and allowing him to stand by and maybe hijack your act of being. Even though he assures you there are none, the invisible, deniable mass of expectations makes you walk on wonky legs around him.

His hands cradle your shoulders, rubbing them so tenderly, you almost don’t mind the heat. Almost. Slowly, very slowly, his touch has crawled into your memory and become the default touch you expect whenever feeling the sensation of someone’s skin resting on yours, and sadly, a little part of your soul usually whines in disappointment at being touched at all. A good, uncomplicated man with enough insecurities to keep you relatively safe and complacent.

You give him one last lingering peck and head inside, letting the wave of inhumane temperature and the scent of sweat mixed with alcohol breath wash over you. Mel and Jayce live in an old building; no artificial air allowed. It reminds you of your previous place, where, against all odds, you slept naked, covered only by a thin sheet of cotton, just so you could wrap yourself around your skinny love. You push the memory away, as it twists your stomach.

A sea of teeth greets you indoors, one smile after the other, as you squeeze yourself through the crowd toward the kitchen. You march straight to the freezer to pour yourself another drink filled with ice cubes and sigh with relief when a cold gush fans your face.

“Good evening,” a voice startles you so hard you gasp.

Fuck.

You look to your right beyond your shield of the freezer door, and there they are—two slim calves draped over each other and a cane in front of them.

Still crouched, you take a fistful of ice from the drawer, stand up, and say only a stupid, “Hi.”

Viktor is studying you, like an owl would study a rodent. His eyes glint in the dusk, blinking slowly as if he is waiting for you to say anything that has more than one syllable.

He saw you coming in, and his heart skipped a beat. After a quick analysis of all the options he had, he chose the cowardly hideout in the bathroom, a splash of water onto his neck swollen from grinding teeth, and a couple of deep breaths stolen while sitting on the closed toilet.

You alone are enough to make his skin crawl, and yet, to ensure his ruin, you brought your ‘new project’ with you.

Tall, taller than Jayce, broad, broader than Jayce, a man who steals the gasps from the crowd wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. A complete embodiment of everything Viktor isn’t. A slap on the face, a shoe sole grinding it into his pride.

And now you are here, scrambling up from the floor, melting ice dripping through your fingers.

“How… are you?” you ask dumbly, before cringing at your own obsequious tone. You know exactly how he is. Mel has sneaked in a few text messages before you cut her off and changed the subject. Jayce has tried to contact you at the beginning but eventually stopped—possibly at Viktor’s request.

He looks like a man who has just recovered from a long, devastating disease and has managed to crawl his body into the outside world for the first time in months. And judging by the way you felt in the first two months, that might have been true.

But after the first two months, you met Paul. And Paul is warm and gentle, good at mending broken objects and skittish animals, so you are an obvious perfect fit. He also lies a lot about his life, films he’s seen, and books he’s read, but to peel that entire truth out from its shell you would have to spend more time with him.

He made the first step after buying a book from you. His hands were rough, his fingertips hardened from the heavy strings of a double bass, but his soul seemed clean, and he smelled nice.

He is a teacher by day and a musician by night, chasing his passion with a steady pace, happy to have two good hands that allow him to play, hug you, cook for you, and dance with you. He fixed his eyes on you as you carefully wrapped Coming Through Slaughter for him, while he threw silly remarks in your direction.

“You’re really good at this,” he said with a dumbfounded grin.

“Wrapping books?” You looked at him from underneath your glasses, but the contagion of his smile bled into you, and the quip held no power whatsoever.

He chuckled and slid you a flyer with a 20-dollar bill, brushing your fingers. “Come see my band tonight. I’ll buy you a drink.”

You took it but said nothing. With a teasing smile, you handed over his book and chanted the shop’s slogan, “Thank you for shopping at the Bookhounds of Brooklyn.”

He smiled back, tucked the package under his armpit, and gave you one last look. “See you tonight.”

You shook your head. But you went. And then you got stuck in the tight wrap of his arms holding you through the night. And then before you could stop it from getting serious, he met Mel and Jayce and pried them about your quirky behaviours between drinks and snacks. Before you could stop anything, Paul glued himself to your life and became a needy sticker you carried with you everywhere. Sometimes you caught yourself thinking awful things, like if Viktor felt the same around you when you probed him for chunks of words after he came back from work utterly defeated and worn out.

And now, while your chunk of beautiful meat is airing his arse outside, you are stuck in the kitchen with your ex. Three years flash behind your eyeballs as you wait for him to reply to your stupid question. “I’m… fine.”

The words come out choked, and Viktor scowls internally. He can feel the scrutiny of your stare and clears his throat. He is far from fine. He is beyond pissed with Jayce for not telling him you were bringing a plus one. He is pissed that your plus one is his exact opposite. He is absolutely livid with Jayce for telling him to act civil and try to rebuild the friendship—for Jayce’s sake. “Please, try, for me,” Jayce had pleaded, and Viktor could only scoff in his face.

But above all this, he feels a wave of white-hot anger anytime he thinks of you. The sight of you surges a blinding hatred through his veins, and he pictures your spine snapping in half. And above even this, he hates himself, because the sordid, unspoken truth is staring him in the face. He misses you with every bone in his body.

He misses your face. He misses your half-drunken cups of tea everywhere to the point where he has started doing it himself. He misses the weight of you on the mattress next to him. He misses your whining about the heat in his apartment in the summer and the chill in winter. He misses word wrestling with you. He misses your jokes. He misses fucking you. He misses your snoring.

He misses your hand at the nape of his neck late at night when he sits hunched over the desk, and he scolds himself for ever brushing it off, because there is a strong possibility that nobody will ever touch him like that again. That he will never want anyone to even try to mimic your touch.

“I can see that your new project proves successful?” Don’t sound so hurt. He shifts his weight on the cane and looks down at your hand, holding the ice out like an offering.

“Don’t call him that,” you scoff. This was such a bad idea. But if you were ever to emerge from your cave of love, where you have lived happily with Paul for the last four months, Mel’s birthday is the perfect occasion. And Jayce would probably give an arm and a leg to get his friends back.

“Forgive me. Your new affair goes well then,” he corrects himself with less emotion but an equal amount of venom as earlier. He feels like stabbing you with his shoulder blade.

“Viktor,” you sigh, defeated. “This isn’t an affair. It’s… serious.” Wrong word, very wrong, but unretrievable now. It sounds like an apology, your brows furrowing, your face twisting into an upside-down smile. It seems serious enough to be said out loud.

“Oh? Working fast. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Viktor turns away, but it takes him merely a beat to pick up what you were putting down. Serious. His lungs begin to burn. He wants to rub sand into his eyes and cover them with bleach, so he never has to look at you again.

“Viktor, it just happened. Please, let’s not do this here.”

Seeing him turning on his heel, you drop the remaining ice in the sink and reach out for him. Before you can grab his arm, he pauses.

“Apologies. We don’t have to do any of that, in fact, ever,” he throws over his shoulder.

You didn’t give him the benefit of the last conversation, so why would he? His lizard brain screams at him to flee and hide, away from your touch, from your eyes, from your ice-cold hand, from your hot mouth. But he isn’t fast enough.

Your hand lands on his forearm, and he freezes. He speaks your name softly, a plea to let him go as your touch burns him, even though your hand is wet and cold.

Part of him wants to grab it and lick the ice-cold water off your fingers. To choke on your tongue and beg you to come back to him. But this part of him is weak, and the stronger, wounded part wins. The one that shrugs your hand off in a familiar gesture, this time less painful, more anticipated than in the confines of Viktor’s apartment in the heat of last summer.

“I know you are hurting,” you say carefully. You know him well enough to recognize when his defences become ridiculous in their concentration of venom. If he were a cat, he would hiss at you and bend his spine into a banana.

“You know nothing,” he scoffs. “You cannot possibly know. Hiding away in shame for six months. How would you know? If you are happy and serious with someone else?”

Careful. He is inching toward saying too much. It feels like having open-heart surgery in front of a live studio audience, and no one even laughs. He wants to die and never be born again. He wants to disappear from the face of this sorry planet, just as you have disappeared from his life. He wants to kill Paul and wear his skin like a pelt, even though he doesn’t even know if the guy deserves it.

You feel the anger stirring somewhere within you at his behaviour. He is not the only person whose three-year relationship has fallen apart. He’s not the only one who mourned it and cried for it. It sounds great in your head, so:

“Viktor, you are not the only one—”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me that you are hurting. It was fixable, and you—” he snarls, accentuating each sentence with a thump of his cane.

“If it were fixable, we would have fixed it. Viktor, please,” you plead quietly, trying not to drag anyone’s attention. You were supposed to be civil; Mel has asked you to.

“No. Just… stop. There was time for this, now it’s… it’s not the time. Enjoy your evening.” His voice strangles; his face paints in resignation as he leaves you alone in the kitchen.

How different this is to your first, to your second encounter, to all the encounters between your first and this one.

You remember it so well. Jayce was fuming when you told him what had gotten into your hands. The first English edition of Geometry and Experience by Albert Einstein. He wouldn’t be able to buy it, of course, but he really wanted to see it. He begged you to let him steal a glance and to let him bring a friend.

And so he brought his friend. You led them to the basement of the shop, where the book was resting on its plinth, in a special dust-free room with perfect temperature and perfect humidity. You took them to the shrine for books, and it felt almost religious.

And you remember the first time you laid your eyes on Viktor and blushed instantly at how his name rolled off his accented tongue when he introduced himself.

You remember how you thought this man was effortlessly everything. How you stole a glimpse of the column of his throat when he hummed in awe over the book and how you wondered if he would ever be willing to hum like that straight into your ear. How strangely erotic his hands were when you pictured them cradling your neck. How in this shrine, you would pray to him so he would do that in a sign of benediction.

Oh God, you wanted to take him home and just keep him there until he was out of breath.

And you remember how beautiful his face was when he first came into your mouth and how he immediately leaned in to kiss you, even before you could swallow. How you thought this was the most sensual thing anyone had ever done for you, with you, drinking his own cum from your tongue. The unity of bodies sealed with a kiss so grateful you almost fell apart.

The images of Viktor flood your mind’s eye: him drinking coffee on the windowsill, naked in the scorching summer sun as he warms his bones; his eyes observing you from between your thighs; him licking your face in a gross act of affection; slumped against the desk, asleep halfway through writing down his notes; sneaking behind you to warm his hands under your armpits; his face when he is sleeping, his hair scattered on the pillow; singular strands on the bathroom floor even though he always accuses you of losing hair; him pinning you down playfully when you win a banter over something and immediately groping your ass; him imitating trumpet sounds from your jazz records with his mouth; him drinking soup straight from the bowl; his glistening lips, his clean nails, his freckled chest.

You sink your teeth into your lip, feeling a rush of tears pooling in the corners of your eyes when Paul enters the kitchen. Always on time.

“Everything alright?” The way Paul hangs himself from the doorframe and immediately lights up when he sees you. The way he walks up and hugs your head to his chest, saying your name softly and making soothing sounds straight into your ear. Ah, yes, he is exactly what you need.

“Nothing, just… you know,” you sigh, relaxing into his touch.

“It’s okay,” he hums softly. “Do you want to scram?” He pulls away from you to lay a lifeboat at your feet.

“Oh God, yes, please,” you let out a breath you’ve been holding, and it feels so good your eyes roll. Anything but another encounter with the ghost of the love of your life. Of the former love of your life.

“Let’s go then,” he says, taking your hand and leading you discreetly to the hallway.

Mel stops the two of you in your tracks. “You cannot be serious right now,” she hisses, though not unkindly. Big, comical eyes accompany the hiss, so you know she isn’t really angry. “Viktor left; you don’t have to run away, guys,” she adds, a plea in her voice evident.

“Mel, I’ll meet you for coffee? This has been... lovely, I’m just—” You are just so utterly devastated that even if Viktor disappeared from the face of this planet, you wouldn’t want to stay.

“Oh, please, do not try to bullshit me. I’m sorry about this, Paul, but I need to speak some sense into this fool.” She waves a mass of your man away from you to grab your forearms. “Nobody is angry with you. We miss you. Please, you guys have to work this out. Jayce is still heartbroken, and I can’t do anything about it,” she says quietly, her voice laced with sincerity and helplessness.

Jayce was really heartbroken about your heartbreak. On the night of the event, Jayce found Viktor struggling to breathe in his apartment, so he took him home and kept him on his couch for a week, to Mel’s initial disapproval. But when she saw Viktor on the doorstep of her flat—when he clung to her and sobbed with a dry cry, repeating, “She’s gone,” over and over again; when she saw the marks on his palms where his nails had dug into the skin—she was ready to give him her own bed.

Mel felt bad in that moment because she knew it would happen. You had told her how hopeless everything had turned. That Viktor wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t try, and how the two of you had grown estranged, guarded, distant, and how you couldn’t pinpoint the moment when things had started to fall apart. How he would flinch away from your touch and sleep miles away from you, a vast, uncaring space between the two of you in your tiny bed.

So she held him, soothing his cries. She made him a cup of tea, gave him her favourite blanket, and kissed his forehead before turning off the coffee table lamp in their lounge. Then she went to slump her body next to Jayce, whose face had never been more worried. He asked her how Viktor was, and all she could do was shake her head in resignation.

“For now, it looks bad,” she said, cradling Jayce’s head to her chest and running her fingers through his hair. “But these things pass, you know,” she mused gently, not believing herself, and she was sure Jayce didn’t believe it either.

“I don’t get it. I know there were… issues, but this—” His voice got lost somewhere between his throat and mouth. Jayce only knew this much. He only knew what Viktor had told him, and Viktor said only that there were issues.

He didn’t tell Jayce how you had asked him if he was having an affair. How he had outright laughed in your face. How he had said, “That’s rich,” laced with venom. How he had hissed that you should get some help if the first thing you assumed was that. How egocentric you were if you didn’t see the stress he was under, presuming the long hours spent fighting for his—your—future were spent in someone else’s arms. How shitty you were for even suggesting it, after all his past love confessions. How you wouldn’t give him any time. And how you had said a year is a long time—how, within a year, millions of people are born and die, and he had barely touched you twice.

He didn’t tell Jayce how annoyed he was with your half-empty cups leaving pale rings on his wooden furniture. How annoyed he was that you couldn’t even take care of plants, and he had to come back home just to water them; otherwise, he could just spend all his time at work. How your dusty books spilling out of a bookshelf he had bought for you had annoyed him. How utterly pissed off he was when you would open the windows in the summer, letting the scorching heat inside. How it had started to make his skin crawl when you would whine along to the scratched records of Robert Johnson—and how they were scratched because you had no respect for the hardworking needle of your turntable.

And he didn’t tell Jayce how annoying your hair on the bathroom floor was, or how it drove him mad that you would move objects around into illogical spaces, only for your convenience, completely disrespectful of his previous order. How he hated the dusty pink wall you had painted together. And he didn’t tell Jayce how he wanted to slap you, to touch you, to make love to you when he was sad—but he couldn’t, because everything felt overwhelming, and nothing had felt right. And the only certain thing in his life was that when he came back home to water the plants, you would be there—sad, but you would be there—still wanting him, waiting for a moment when he would be ready to come back to you.

And later, he didn’t tell Jayce how he had discovered that the hair on the bathroom floor was, in fact, his, and how stupid he had felt about collecting it and putting it in an envelope, and the envelope in the box, alongside commemorative trinkets that you had left behind.

But once Jayce rushed to his aid, he instantly knew. When he saw Viktor curled up on the couch, holding your scarf in one hand and a crumpled note in the other, gasping for air, crying, he knew.

“Oh, there was more than issues, Jayce. I just… hoped they would finally talk,” Mel sighed. She had given you all the advice she could think of, but Viktor repelled every seductive technique she had sold to you in secrecy under girl’s code.

“You didn’t see him, Mel. He couldn’t breathe, I—”

“I know. I should probably check on her, though. I only got the voicemail, and then Viktor called,” she referred to your sobby message. Mel, I can’t breathe. I left, and I feel like I’ve died. After that, your phone was off—for a week. Utterly neurotic and dramatic.

But your undoing was relatively peaceful. Numbing, almost. Quiet, save for the constant wail of Sinead O’Connor. And no, not Nothing Compares To You. Drink Before The War.

It felt like being shot through a cannon into space—weightless and hopeless. The infected wound, previously festering, was now being painfully cleaned; remnants of rotten tissue pulled away, sewn up with a crude needle, leaving an empty spot under the skin to create an ingrown scar that would always remind you of him.

Your stuff was still in boxes, hanging in limbo between going back and moving forward. The number of times you had written a text, deleted it, written it again, deleted it, written it again, deleted it to write only a “hi,” and deleted that as well. The number of times your hand had hovered over the button and never pressed it. The number of times your feet had carried you to check if the light was on, and the way your heart hurt when it wasn’t. That was your bargaining phase. It lasted three days until it bloomed into depression.

You found yourself warming up the same cup of coffee six times a day. And you drank it from your least favourite cup. You were making food that you ended up not eating after all. You were confessing your sins to objects around the apartment. A lot of tears, very few showers, hair greasy for weeks.

Until, one day, you woke up with complete clarity—that when your eyes opened, you would find yourself in your own apartment, not Viktor’s. With a certainty that, beside you, your bed would be empty. And it would no longer be a shock that struck you like a slap. And you would no longer wake up from a dream in which you talked to him and be confused that he wasn’t there by your side. The derealisation would leave you, to settle in the grimmest phase of grief—bitter, heart-wrenching acceptance.

The last time you had tried to call him was three months ago. Barely two weeks after meeting Paul. Only to sigh and discover you were still blocked. There was one more time when you tried sending an email, but you cringed at the thought. How utterly crude, sending an email to his work mailbox. How utterly impersonal, how disrespectful.

And you thought you had been cured. That the only side effect of your three-year affliction would be an everlasting discomfort. The rest of it was something you had refused to touch. And now it had touched you. It had touched you through Viktor’s sad eyes, through his disappointed voice, through his hunch, through the crinkle in his shirt indicating that he debated whether to come to Mel’s birthday until the very last minute. And you were sure he wished he hadn’t come.

“I… I tried, Mel. He doesn’t want to talk to me,” you sigh heavily, an apology written all over your face. But Mel wouldn’t have it.

“Try harder. He was a friend before this. You were. We were all friends, and now Viktor barely says a word to Jayce because he thinks we’re taking sides.” Mel’s inquisitive eyes linger on you, and seeing you flinch at her last words, she adds, “Which we are not. We get it. Just… please.”

“Mel, he blocked me everywhere. For all I know, he’s also changed the locks.” Your voice cracks, and the thought of Paul lingering nearby and possibly hearing every word makes your face hot with shame.

Your friend sighs, her eyes softening. “Alright. Okay, I shouldn’t do this,” she says, glancing around to check if anyone could hear you. She leans in closer and hushes into your ear, “Jayce is meeting him next Friday at noon at the second-hand furniture shop. Viktor asked for help with transport.”

“And I’m supposed to crash their date? You think this will fix things?” You scoff, bewildered. It sounds like a particularly bad plot.

“I’m leaving the decision to you. And if something is stupid but it works, then it wasn’t stupid in the first place,” she states, placing two kisses on your cheeks. “Please don’t be a stranger anymore.”

“That I can do. The other… well, I can try,” you whisper, shielding it from Paul’s ears. Seeing you exchange goodbyes, he walks over and asks if you are ready. When you nod, he takes your hand and leans in to kiss Mel’s cheek. “Happy birthday.” Which also meant, “I know what it’s like to be in the drama and not be part of the drama.”

“My place or yours?” he asks as you walk sluggishly in the still unbearable heat of the night. “Uh… could we do both tonight? I’m… shattered.” What you mean is, “My mind is unsound. I’m afraid I’ll be crying all night, and I don’t want you to see it. I don’t want to make you feel horrible. Please let me be alone.”

Paul pauses momentarily, gives you a heavy sigh, though his tone remains warm. “Don’t you think it’s better to just… move on?”

You take a moment to stare. “Yes, um… that would be ideal. Though not so easy to do.” Your tone is very matter-of-fact since you used up most of your self-control to not shoot back, “You don’t fucking say.”

“Well, are you intending to? At some point at least?” he muses, playing with your fingers, his eyes low, fixed on his shoes.

“Paul, I mean—” you sigh, dropping your hand from his. “If there is a chance I can fix the friendship, I will cling onto it, you know this.” Your arms cross on your chest as you take one step away from him.

“No, I get it—I am friends with my exes,” he smiles, scratching the nape of his neck. “I just don’t think that little guy will make it so easy for you, is all.”

“Please don’t call him that,” you scoff again, growing annoyed and uncomfortable in the corner he’s trying to lure you into. “He is just hurt,” you manage to say, and it is mercy.

“I know what it’s like to break up, you know,” Paul says, having no idea what it was like to break up with Viktor. “And I get that it hurts. All I’m saying is that we only hurt as long as we don’t move on,” says Paul, having no idea how much love can hurt.

You sigh, shaking your head. Your mouth opens and closes into a fake smile as you give him a cold kiss on the cheek and whisper, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

Only when the door to your apartment slams shut do you allow yourself to breathe again. A couple of shuddering breaths, despite the heat. Cold hands and feet. Viktor’s arm beneath your palm. A millisecond in which it felt familiar to touch him. You feel the burn in your sinuses, and your mouth goes dry. Suddenly, you notice the agonising cold of your stuffy flat.

And when you finally manage to throw yourself into bed with a punched-out gasp, you keep lingering around Viktor. A harrowing thought blights your brain—one that you don’t dare speak aloud; you can only scream it into the void.

And you have no idea that Viktor is thinking about you as well, as he comes undone in someone else’s arms. And he imagines it’s your hands that bring him over the edge. And that it’s your hair he breathes in when he falls asleep. And he has the same harrowing thought that you have, but he doesn’t dare speak it aloud either.

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

I have no idea what this is, I had a dream and I just need to write this shit down. im going thru it rn. trust.

mentions of throwing up, kind of ooc jimmy, just feels, cursing.

The bass from the party music still thumped across the room, while you decided to be quick on your feet and drag your legs towards the balcony door, trying to get some fresh air from the cramped atmosphere you were trapped in for who knows how long.

once the balcony door opened, a wave of cold air stung your face, whooshing past you, and scattering a few hair strands here and there, you stepped outside, and walked towards the railing. you stood there, just breathing and taking in all the glory of the dimly lit night sky, and looked at the skyline glowing vibrantly with distant noises of traffic and the citylife.

"crawled out of the wild night?", A voice from behind you made you whip your head back and come face to face with your boyfriend, jimmy.

"you seriously call that a party? Half of them have puked up whatever cheap alcohol they'd drank. It's so gross". you retorted back at him. "Can we leave already? please? Let's stay over at my place instead, yeah?". you suggested.

Instead of answering or even giving you a nod as an acknowledgement, jimmy decided to instead stare at you, so intently that it made you gulp a lump which'd formed in your throat, he stared at you with his lips curled into a subtle smile, so subtle it wouldn't even have caught your eye if you weren't paying attention. And then, as suddenly as he'd started staring, he said,

"Why are you actually with me?". He said in a tone so deadpan that you would've thought that he was out of it. "What? Are you okay?".

"No, y/n I'm asking you, I'm being serious, why do you even like me?". Jimmy said. "Jim are you okay? Where is this coming from? Now, of all times?".

Arguments with your boyfriend weren't an uncommon occurrence, it was as normal as deciding to drink a cup of coffee. This, however, was new. Your arguments never revolved around him being conscious about his self worth.

"A day never goes by without us arguing, without any of your 'friends' telling you to leave me. without me calling you a whore at least twice a day. So why are you with me even after all of it? It would've been easier for me to understand if you were a hooker, just looking for a place to crash at without trying to make actual connections. But you don't have any reason, so why are you with me?".

You were left dumbfounded, was this actually happening? Him, of all people, asking you why you loved him? Was this his idea of a joke?

"Jim did they fucking poison you at the party? Do you even realise what you're asking me?". You decided to answer.

"I know damn well what I'm talking about, y/n. Now answer the fucking question, why do you love me? Do you have some kinda messiah complex? trying to 'fix' me? or something like that? a new type of fetish?".

Your jaw was practically left hanging at your boyfriend's sudden display of aggressive attitude towards defending the idea that you loved him for an ulterior motive.

"Why don't you hate me?". He snapped once again.

"Because you don't give me any reason to". You finally said back.

"Oh don't give me that crap, I give ya plenty of reason to dump my ass and run away from me, any other person would've called the fuckin' cops on me". He continued on.

"Because I love you, Jim". You stopped him mid sentenced.

"I love you not in the sense that I want to get in your pants or steal your wallet, or save you from your misery, or whatever else nonsense you have going on in your mind". Jimmy was still looking at you with narrowed, skeptical eyes.

"I love you, as one might love another person, simply because they wanna love them. I love you, because I want to love you". You didn't realise that your chest was starting to feel heavy, and your vision was getting blurry, but you continued on.

"I love you because... because I want to. Not because I have to, not because there's some fuckin'... i don't know, social obligation that one must require to love another? I don't have it, i don't need it. You make me want to love you without any cause, I love you in the sense that... I love you because I can, I love you in the way that I need to... let you know that I can't do without you goddamn it. Why? Do you not want me to love you?".

At this point tears were flowing down your cheeks like a goddamn waterfall, you weren't yelling, you weren't pleading. you were simply letting your boyfriend know that you loved him.

Jimmy's eyes were wide, it's almost as if he'd seen some ghost, trying to prove to him its existence. Without saying a word hugged you so tight as if it was the last thing he could do before dying.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry". He repeated those words like a mantra, neither of you know what came over for this conversation to take place in the first place, but now that it has. You're unsure if you wanted for this to have never happened.

[hannahssimblr]

Astrid, 

Hope you got my postcard from Phuket, and that the Bangkok one shows up, eventually. Maybe it is actually lost, like maybe I’m doing something wrong at the post office. It’s fine if they all go into the abyss. I am writing just to write, because it feels romantic or whatever. You probably hate the idea of this. I could just text you. I texted you forty-five minutes ago. Still miss you. 

We’re in Phi Phi now. Islands, very beautiful. I bet you already know about them, but I’d never heard about this place before I came here. The landscape is kind of mental, like giants made it. Weird to look at. We went out on a little boat yesterday to see the sights. Jonas jumped off and swam, and I did not. My tattoo is still healing. Stupid fucking thing. I waved over a boat of girls and told them Jonas was saying he fancied them, and then he got annoyed with me, because he wasn’t saying that, and he was embarrassed. I think he should learn to talk to women without wanting to die, and he says I think about women too much, that I’m too invested and I should think about something else. History, philosophy, whatever. Why would I when there are women like you on the earth?

At night, instead of going out and drinking, we go to bed early, in our bunks, him on the top, me below like always, and he tells me all this shit about the Suez canal, or what the Falklands war was all about, since I was stupid enough to ask a follow up question once. Then I fall asleep to escape the boredom. We get up at six and do activities, then. Lots of walking. My body hurts. 

Jonas finally tried those scorpions he was banging on about, and now he’s sick, btw. Food poisoning. I don’t really know how to take care of him, except coming back to the hostel every few hours, making sure he has water. Until he’s better, I guess I’m just wandering around on my own. Luckily, it’s nice to look at. Maybe today I’ll swim with my arm out of the water. Running out of space. Love and miss you can't wait to see you.

xxx Jude. 

I snap open the lid of a bottle of water and carry it into the hostel room. It smells bad there, but I’ve stopped saying it, because it makes Jonas look like he’s about to cry. He’s curled up on his bunk, a complexion like curdled yoghurt, as a chink of morning light spills through the blinds and over his shivering body. Mostly naked. Too hot, then too cold, then sipping water, then throwing it up. I hover in the doorway. 

“I’ve water,” I say, and he just stares. Resigned, half-dead, maybe. “Should you go to hospital or something, do you think?”

“No, I feel slightly better.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want the water, or?”

“Yes. Bring it to me.”

I approach him like a leper, not sure why, as I’m fully aware he’s not contagious, but it’s been ten days since I’ve thrown up, and I’d like to maintain my healthy aura. He regards me with bleary eyes as I back away. “It is good you are an artist and not a nurse.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not so good with illness.”

“Even though you are always ill.” A tentative sip from the bottle. “You went out this morning?”

“To the post office.”

“Another postcard to Astrid.”

“Yes.”

I can tell he wants to laugh but lacks strength, managing only a feeble wheeze. “Is she missing you as much as you are missing her?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s much better at distance.”

“She’s an independent person.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what she is doing today.”

“It’s Wednesday, so probably going to reformer pilates. Then she’s supposed to meet a friend from university for lunch. After that, I don’t know. Something spontaneous and thrilling, probably.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He manages a watery smile. “You’ll be doing nothing again today? Missing her?”

“I was thinking I might wade into the sea, actually. Keep walking out until I disappear, wailing after Astrid like the pathetic little freak I am.”

“It’s Wednesday?”

“Yes, Wednesday.”

“I signed up for something today.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be going, by the cut of you.”

“No,” giving up on the water for now, he rolls onto his back, watching insects congregate around the plastic light fixture. “You could go in my place. It’s a… meditation thing.”

I pull a face. “Meditation? That thing where you sit cross-legged and go like ‘om’?” I demonstrate, but feel bad for making him laugh. Apparently a bit painful for him. 

“Yes,” he says. “Kind of. You might find value in it.”

“Is that the kind of guy you think I am? With like, dirty feet and harem pants?”

“Since I am the one who signed up, is it the kind of person you think I am?”

“Not far off.”

“Well, meditation has many benefits. It’s not just for the dirty-feet-squad. It’s good for people who suffer with various mental health concerns, and people who have racing thoughts they cannot stop and such things. Maybe it will inspire you to stop thinking about women’s breasts.”

I scoff. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“So you can think of more productive things that will inform you, and grow your mind rather than rotting it away.”

“Like the Falklands war, for instance.”

“Yes, like the Falklands war,” he says, suddenly animated. “Thank you for saying that. Or the targeting of Libyan migrant workers on suspicion of being mercenaries by—”

I take a brisk and decisive step out of the room. “Well! Glad you’re feeling better, Jonas. See you later. Keep drinking that water, et cetera.” I swing the door shut and amble away, down the hostel hallway and back to the beach, rearing for another day of nothing, bored senseless by the edge of a lonely ocean.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[pseudowho]

Is living domestic life what you imagined it to be as a child/teen? I never thought I'd live this long and I dont know for how long I'll live anyway, but the thought of joy being found in the mundane keeps me going. Is it worth it?

By "domestic life", am I first to assume that you mean a 'nuclear family' in the classic sense?

Based on context, I'm going to assume so.

I also don't know why you feel, strictly, that you should have died and may yet die soon. I cannot make any assumptions on your health, physical or mental, so this also means all I can give you is my own experience. I don't mean to advise one not asking for advice, anyway; all you have asked for is insight.

So I came from the sort of family where, for the most part, being 'a mother' was every woman's main identity. It was just what the women were. For most of my life, I never assumed I would be anything but a mother. It's funny, because in hindsight, none of the rest of my life and career aspirations strictly matched with being 'a mother' in the traditional sense, so I clearly had a long term delusion, there.

If I had known how distinctly in possession of myself I was, I might have known how hard it would be to give myself up, for babies.

Either way...for context: I fell very hard in love, and we grew up together (from ages 14/15) still in love, and we are now 31 and 32. I am a midwife, he is an English Professor/Lecturer and Teacher. We married aged 22/23. We have three sons, aged 7, 4 and 1.

Good things about domestic life:

Loneliness isn't a thing, here.

Lots and lots of affection, both physical and emotional.

The load of life is shared (note: I have a husband who is very, very outside of the norm, with no toxic masculinity and an approach to equality/equitability in work, childcare and housework).

When you are your own family unit, you're pressured less by family to get involved in their shit. Because you've got your own shit.

Living with the love of your life is amazing.

Having babies who are half you, and half the love of your life, is an incredibly beautiful thing.

Raising babies, although supremely difficult, is a joy.

Taking turns being at home and at work is helpful.

You learn to be much more compromising, patient and forgiving.

Bad things about domestic life:

You don't realise how much personal identity, independence or privacy you will lose, being a parent.

Exhaustion.

Parenting is hard. Really hard. Really, really hard.

Finding time for each other, as a couple, is also hard. Any time you do find, at least one of you is likely exhausted.

Good god, so much cooking.

Good god, so much laundry.

Good god, I swear I just vacuumed yesterday.

Good god, groceries are expensive.

Barely keeping your head above water with life admin and finances and childrearing and housework and work and life and ever having any time alone, is absolutely real.

Very very little downtime.

If you are someone who finds joy in the mundane, then yes, you may find a lot of joy in domesticity. So much of it really is mundane; being at home with kids, is often simultaneously boring and stressful. Very odd. Perhaps I'll miss it when they're older.

My personal favourite moment, is the happy sigh at the end of every day, when the kids are in bed, and the house is largely clean, where you fall into each other's arms, and he looks at you like you built the world for him, and just says:

"Hello. You are beautiful."

And I bury my face in his chest, and breathe in the smell of him, and the stale cologne, and the sweat, and life, and say:

"God, I missed you. More than you know."

And it's basically the same, every day.

In a kind of beautiful way.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[cowboyemeritus]

Hi!!! I think you’re one of the best Ghost writers on this dang app! I wanted to request something, if that’s okay?

I’d love something about being fated mates with Copia. I’ve watched Nosferatu and I’m feeling the desire of some mighty powerful predestined pairings 😈

Thank you!

Hey! Thanks a lot - you’re too sweet. ❤️

Okay, yes, anon. I also saw Nosferatu and I hear you. I see you. Let’s fucking do this.

I originally had an idea for something cute, but evil Copia is too sexy powerful. Hope you enjoy :)

“How did you find me?”

Copia’s wide, beaming smile morphs into shocked confusion. He blinks once, twice, rebooting.

“I, eh-“ He huffs out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy to see me, amore. It didn’t hurt you like it hurt me?”

Every step away from him had felt like walking on broken glass. Of course it fucking hurt. But Copia had lost his mind — his humanity — and it had been unbearable. You would have fallen into that abyss, too, if you hadn’t left.

“How did you find me?” You can’t tell if you’re shaking with rage or with fear.

Copia smiles again. The sight at once makes your heart melt and your stomach churn. He gestures to his new suit, the collar, brooches, and grucifix glittering in the afternoon light. “I’m running the show now.” He takes another step closer and you flinch, your pounding heart skipping a beat. Your reaction has him pouting like a kicked puppy, but he persists. “Nothing can keep us apart. No Nihil, no Sister.” He chuckles. “Psaltarian is still around, but he always liked you.” The knife block is off to your left. The thought that you should arm yourself crosses your mind, but you remain frozen in place. Copia sighs. “Of course I was going to find you, cuore mio. Now we can finally be together, like we were always meant to be.”

Suddenly your eyes are stinging, then welling up. You curse yourself for the display of weakness.

“You’re insane.” He appears unmoved by the insult. “If you think I’d be anywhere near you after all that… that shit, then you’re out of your fucking mind.” At this, his once kind eyes darken. Something in them glimmers, ice cold and deadly.

“I did what I had to do to-“

“They were your brothers.” His white eye twitches.

“They were in the way-“

“Your fucking brothers!” Memories of the three bombard your psyche. You think of Primo and his garden of carnivorous plants, of listening to old ABBA vinyls with Secondo, and of Terzo, and his dreams of a better future. A tear finally spills over, carving a burning path down your cheek. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Copia, fists balled at his sides, takes a deep, steadying breath. He looks you dead in the eyes and it’s like there’s bugs under your skin, creeping and crawling and eating you alive.

And yet, those eyes. His face has changed, but those beautiful, soulless eyes are almost exactly the same. It’s a welcoming sight. The revelation makes you feel a little sick, but your resolve is already slipping. If he’s oblivion, then you’d gladly fling yourself into the void.

“Everything I have done,” he says, keeping his voice low and measured, “has been for you. For us. I have struggled, I have made myself a fool, and I have killed, all so that we could be together.” You sob.

“How dare you say that to me.” Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You sniffle, shaking your head. “You’re sick.” Knees giving out, you slide down the side of the counter, sinking to the kitchen floor. Copia is on you before you can resist, wrapping his arms around your frail, weeping form.

It’s like coming home.

“If I am sick, then I am sick with love for you.” He is so dreadfully good with words when he wants to be. A gloved hand finds your chin, lifting your head to look at him. The late-afternoon light hits just right, creating a golden halo around him that is so perfectly ironic. Copia: your guardian angel, your worst nightmare. It had been golden hour when you’d first met, him a spry young bishop and you a new Initiate, hungry for life and unaware of the strings of causality puppeteering you both.

Copia pulls you into him. He buries his face in your hair and inhales, a shudder running through his body. It’s a perverse gesture, but you don’t have the energy to protest. Years of running — from him, from the Clergy, from yourself, from destiny — have taken their toll.

“Every waking minute, I have thought of you.” He sounds almost like his old self, but something about his delivery is too smooth, too sure of himself. He must have practiced. “And every night, you have haunted my dreams.” You don’t doubt that; your days and nights have been very much the same. “I am meant for you, amore. I couldn’t let you go if I tried.”

All this profession does is make you cry harder. You are so unbelievably weak for him, it’s shameful. And he’s right — no matter how fast you run, no matter how long you hide, you two are bound to one another by forces far beyond your comprehension. You’ll always be pulled back in the end.

When you first laid eyes on him all those years ago, it felt like something had clicked into place. Now you understand why. It sends you reeling through all five stages of grief at once.

“I love you,” you whimper, tears soaking into Copia’s expensive-looking jacket. “I can’t not love you.”

“And I love you,” he coos, petting your hair just like he used to. “More than anything.” The years, the agony of it all, seems to melt away as you huddle on the floor, crying until you’re too exhausted to keep going. Copia never stops holding you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear like nothing between you had ever changed.

When your outburst finally ends, you pull away a bit. To your surprise, Copia lets you, instead taking one of your hands and pressing his lips to your knuckles. Instinctively, you know the warmth in his eyes is a facade, but you can’t help the butterflies that flit around in your stomach. Maybe if you pretend really hard you’ll go back in time, to before all this madness began and you were just two stupid kids in love. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Come back with me.” You can’t tell if he’s begging or demanding it. “Come home. No more bullshit, I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything like that ever again.”

You don’t believe him.

“Okay.”

[cherry-smokes]

Can't keep my eyes hands off of you.

AKA the time this title spoke for itself. Pairing: Steve Harrington x bassist!reader Word count: 750 Note: This lives within the Sugar and Steve universe but can definitely be read as a stand alone blurb! Warnings: drinking, PDA, and Sugar and Steve getting a little hot and heavy at the bar. Nothing crazy but please MNDI!!!!! 18+

Your skin feels slick. The air is humid and your shirt sticks to your skin. You smell like sweat and beer thanks to Eddie. When you all walked off stage your lovely, doting, proud boyfriend greeted you with a round of beers. One of which Eddie grabbed, opened, and proceeded to swing around in celebration of a good fucking show. You can't blame him. It was a really good show. The kind that has your blood pumping and your confidence at an all time high.

Despite all of the sweat and beer, all of these things scream sex appeal because apparently Steve can’t keep his paws off of you. You’re trying to stay engaged in the story Robins sharing with the group but he’s pressed against your back and his chin is digging into your shoulder. He reaches around you, covering your hand with his own as he guides you to bring your beer up to his lips.

You give him the meanest side eye, your eyebrows scrunch together and he smiles slightly making some beer drip down his chin. You think you must be a sick twisted person because you get the urge to lean in and clean him off yourself.

“Can you stop eye-fucking each other, I’m still talking you know?”

You quickly pull your beer away accidentally knocking against Steve’s front teeth. You flinch and reach your empty hand up to his mouth to soothe the ache. He slightly bites your fingers and you pull back before he can get any ideas, or maybe before you do.

“Shit! Sorry. Sorry Robin I’m listening- we’re listening.”

Steve wipes his chin on your shirt and looks up at Robin.

“I definitely wasn’t.”

You elbow him softly causing him to grunt and lean forward even more.

Eddie wraps an arm around Robin and starts guiding everyone to the pin ball machines across the room.

“C’mon Buckley. We can finish the story away from these goddamn heathens.”

You flip him off as they walk away before turning towards your wounded boyfriend.

“You’re so mean to me baby.”

The way he says it makes you almost believe him. Yet, he has this hungry look in his eyes and his big hands feel tight on your waist.

“Mhm. You like it when I’m mean.”

He nods gently, one of his hands moves towards your belt buckle. He grabs it harshly and pulls you towards him, chests pressed against each other as his other hand travels to settle itself in your back pocket.

If you were a more...discreet person you would push him away. You'd blush and look away and follow your friends to play those loud creaky pinball machines. You aren't a discreet person though.

You let Steve pull you in and kiss the fucking daylights out of you. He's so warm against you. He doesn't hesitate to let his tongue ease over your bottom lip and he groans when you meet him halfway with ardency. He lets out a soft groan, you feel the rumble of his chest against your own as his hand grips you through your jeans. You can't help but reach up to grab onto the collar of his shirt, pulling at it as if you could be any closer to him. The tips of your fingers graze the coarse hair on his chest and you're burning.

The hand he had on your belt finally lets go and travels upwards. He grazes your shirt, slightly riding it up as he trails his hand up to the back of your head. His lips are desperate against yours, and you can feel his breath hitting your face as he inhales and exhales deeply, trying to avoid leaning away as much as possible.

You beat him to it however. Yearning to look at your sweet, desperate, pretty boy. You lean back and see that his eyes are hooded, lips swollen and red. You realize now that it isn't the adrenaline from playing a show that's got you hot and bothered. It's him.

"Where'd you go baby?"

Baby. Babybabybaby, you go crazy when he calls you that. Baby, honey, sweetheart, Sugar. All things that sound so sweet. You want to take him away from this bar and be anything but sweet to him.

"I didn't go anywhere. Do you want to go somewhere big guy?"

His eyes go wide, his mouth drops a little and he suddenly looks like a teenager who just saw tits for the first time before he speaks.

"God, yes."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[shanblackrx]

So I've been seeing (and saw in real time) comments of people saying

--Either that it doesn't make sense that Joke feels so strongly about Jack when they had only briefly met 2 times before the time skip when:

1- …..bro. It was love at first sight. FOR BOTH OF THEM. Are you fucking blind? Didn't you see all the flirting at the bar and after the bar???? Also for all that's sacred What is the fucking non-romantic heterosexual explanation for this?

2- This is more of a character analysis of mine, but I think Jack gave the positive enforcement Joke never got from his family. That created not only a bond between them but also kind of an emotional dependence from Joke. I honestly don't think Joke's feelings for Jack were super healthy at the beginning, especially with how self-destructive for him he is. And that's precisely why, although all those things he does for Jack after the time skip might seem too much if it was anyone else, it's still reasonable for him. He's so guilt-ridden that he fucked Jack over when all that Jack has ever offered was kindness and something Joke never had before, that he needs to overcompensate.

And especially because he's been marinating in guilt for 5 years, with only his thoughts and his self-deprecation as company, and then seeing how things escalated for Jack in a way he never imagined, that he feels the need to fix everything for him. That is the real meaning of the "100 ways to apologize".

-- OR when people say Jack and Joke's love is unbalanced. Like it feels Jack doesn't love Joke as much, that it's too sudden, that it doesn't have romance, yadda yadda.

Let's go back to the bar scene and afterwards. This is episode 1. This is the past. This is the first time they met. They literally left out the girl (poor Rosé I'm so sorry baby you fell for a homosexual) because they were in their own little world. The world they created on that bar when they shared bad experiences and made each other company in their sadness. The world that cheered both of them up in a day of misery. Also for all that's sacred What is the fucking non-romantic heterosexual explanation for this?[x2] (underage Jack is smooth as fuck)

Not even counting the scene at the bank when Jack was so happy to meet Joke again, and then even writing down his number for Joke and saying he'd love to go drinking with him again before he vanished.

Here's another character analysis: Jack is methodical, he doesn't act on impulse, and keeps everything to himself. This, added to the fact we don't often see things under his POV, makes him a bit hard to read.

Alright but damn, no one is caught daydreaming about the face/lips/closeness of someone they're not attracted to lmfjhsfd please. This is episode 4, c'mon.

There's also this (ep 6)

and this (ep 7)

(both of which I also made an analysis of from Jack's side in this post)

and this (ep 8)

So do you really think he just pulled everything that he did that night when they get together out of his ass instead of, after him and Joke reconcile, having actively nurtured this feeling THAT HAD ALWAYS BEEN THERE???? Damn, right when they met again Jack kept Joke from signing a loan contract with Boss because he knew it would be a point of no return. Because despite all the rage and bitterness, even then he still cared about Joke and didn't want that life for him.

Jack and Joke are opposites. Joke wears his heart on his sleeve while Jack has the necessity of hiding away anything that can be a weakness. It's all in between the lines for him. But that doesn't mean the feelings are not there. It's called nuance.

Also, shit, the mutual pining is so obvious idk these people might've watched it with their eyes closed or something. like?? Things start to get messy in Jack's life mostly because Joke came with his chaotic energy trying to make things right for Jack - and if Jack didn't, little by little, allow him to, Joke would've never succeed on being by his side. Jack starts losing control of things, of himself, because he's always being pulled by Joke, gravitating towards him, and he lets it happen because he wants it. Subconsciously or not.

Anyway Jack and Joke love each other and had always loved each other, period.

[seththeforestgiant]

VAT7K ARCANE AU!!! #arcane vat7k au!!!

OKAYOKAY so like what if

Varian comes from the undercity but he was found by Heimerdinger when he was rlly young so he hasn't gotten the chance to really taste the life on the streets.

Hugo, on the other hand, saw his parents die at a very young age, so young that he barely remembers them. He used to live on the streets, barely surviving until *a parental figure* found him and took him in.

You'd think he was lucky, but his life was never easy. He had to work in order to get food and shit yk had to do some dirty jobs and steal. He was REALLY smart and made snarky comments or played pranks all the time which got him into trouble a lot. Hugo was always into the theathrics, working for his family/employer but still seeming like he lives on his own terms. He was involved with the *parental figure's* gang and had access to some pretty illegal supplies.

Meanwhile Hugo was trying to survive, Varian got the opportunity to actually grow. Him and his father had been invited to live amongst Piltover's richest and most luxurious people. Rapunzel/Cait had become one of his best friends, sort of like a sister (Maybe Vi could be flynn, a previous thief that has come to the "good side"). Varian was always really smart and became the most known and admired inventor in all of Piltover, making the city famous for his inventions that improved lives daily.

When he came across the magic of moonstones, heimerdinger forbid him from continuing his research in that field. He was scared of their power and the dangers that kind of knowledge could create.

Varian, however, was not discouraged (maybe he was trying to heal his father with them or some shit idk). One day he snuck out into the black market of the undercity to gather some questionable supplies and stumbeld across Hugo.

Hugo's parent/employer, when they heard about Varian's work tasked him with befriending the scientist and idk somehow fuck up Piltover from the inside.

So blah blah balh Hugo gets brought into the labs and pretends to have good intentions, befriends varian, falls in love with him and when his betrayal is revealed shit goes down.

But like @imanalbertross said they don't rlly like eachother at first?? Like Varian feels threathened in his position and Hugo kinda catches feelings really fast then plays it off by being annoying and making fun of varian which just makes varian dislike him more at first

So hugo kinda treats him as this stupid but kinda cute rich boy

Please give me more ideas!! I want to develop this au :)

-how can we incorporate varian's mother into this??

-and the library of knowledge?

Credit goes to me and the two very cool ppl that gave me ideas (screens below!!) Tysm!! @imanalbertross @mustardonaraccoon

Edit: OH AND MAYBE HUGO DOESNT KNOW THAT VARIAN WAS ORIGINALLY FROM THE UNDERCITY BUT DONELLA KNOWS THAT BCS SHE KNEW VARIAN'S MOTHER THE PLOT THICKENSSS

[lunerna21]

...I've been out of touch for a while, getting over the shit I dealt with last year, but I NEED TO POST BEFORE THEY DO THE UPDATE ON THE JPN SERVER!!

***SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 JPN SERVER CONTENT AHEAD! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!***

I waited for a bit for the update on Leona's dream, but IM SO HAPPY THAT THEY GOT THE REDEMPTION THEY DESERVED!

Um can we talk about how Azul handled traveling into Jack's dream?! Being unconscious, yet he was stiff as a board with his eyes opened

I WAS HYSTERICAL I HAD TO PAUSE BUT POOR AZUL GETTING THE SHIT END OF THE STICK 😂👏🏻

He always gets fed weird things and can barely do his flight lessons; he's just too much lol

But Idia and everyone being freaked out about fake Leona being so passionate about Spelldrive, that gave me such a good chuckle, lol cause who can blame them seeing Leona in that way 😂

Jack's dream about how he imagined the Spelldrive tournament was tough. He has so much respect and admiration for Leona and Ruggie, but it was so tough watching him acknowledge what really happened

JACK HOWL IS THE ABSOLUTE CUTEST AND MOST MATURE OUT OF EVERYONE IN NRC (and that's crazy considering he's a freakin 1st year 😂)

But it was such a relief having back on our team 😭💙

AND WHEN JACK WAS GIVING US CREDIT FOR HOW LONG WE'VE BEEN HELPING WAKE UP EVERYONE, I WOULD'VE TACKLED HIM AND GIVEN HIM THE BIGGEST BEAR HUG POSSIBLE!!!

Now, Ruggie's dream I knew I might have a hard time. I lost my dad 11 years ago now, but learning all about Ruggie and how much he endured, I have to give Ruggie so much fucking credit and he has always been a favorite character of mine too

If I had a dream where my dad is alive, I think it would be so difficult or tough to cope with it again and go back to a life without them. But also people process pain differently, and I feel like Ruggie is such a strong person, dealing with everything thrown his way yet still being dedicated to a better life for him and his grandmother, even the community at home

But anyway, I also love his card and it's one of my favorites so far in Book 7 🥺❤️

I was kind of shocked that he didn't have Leona or Jack in his dream, but even not knowing Leona personally in his dream, he still respects him and that's the same with how much he respects Leona at NRC

...But Azul literally throwing madol coins and Ruggie literally knowing what coin they were to awaken him?! Azul and Ruggie are just all over the place but they're some of my favorites 😂

Finally, Leona's dream!?! It was just like the original movie after Scar took over! It was so cool seeing the similarities between Leona and Scar!

UMMM CAN WE TALK ABOUT BOTH CHEKA AND FALENA BOTH DIED!? I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THAT! ITS SO SAD

Kifaji looking after Leona too, even when he wasn't benefiting the kingdom, AND ACTUALLY BEING A GOOD NPC IN LEONA'S DREAM!? OH MY GOD I WAS LOSING IT. KIFAJI CARES AND RESPECTS LEONA SO MUCH IT WAS TOO MUCH TO HANDLE

And again, Leona facing himself and battling in his overblot form!? Fucking amazing!

The growth that Leona has especially shown since Book 2 and Book 6 is like night and day. He's not going to let anyone stop him anymore, and he can still dictate his future and what he can have control over his life. FUCK YES LEONA, I MISSED YOU SO MUCH TOO! 😭❤️

And then Jack is crying about being reunited with Ruggie and Leona!? I was joining him sobbing; he's adorable 😭❤️

This redemption chapter was needed so badly for Savanaclaw. I love these guys so much, but I'm so happy they're (kinda) reunited again!

I WILL DIE SEEING THEM IN COMBAT AND ATTEMPTING TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF MALLEUS

IM READYYYYY!!

...Soon I'll do my thought on:

DEUCEEEEEEEEEEE *explodes into a million pieces*

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Will the story address other parallels between Peter and Jason? Like the “child soldier” aspect.

In the context of the MCU, Peter was clearly neglected by the adults around him.

Tony is the main one, taking a teenager (legally underage) into a CIVIL WAR with the earth's 'greatest heroes', lying to the boy's guardian, giving him extremely advanced equipment without any training, and essentially being the main one cause of the destruction of Peter's life, directly or indirectly.

Happy was negligent in treating Peter more like a superhero than an inexperienced, traumatized child. The plane scene where he says: “I thought you had super strength” and Peter replies: “it still hurts”, shows that he thinks the boy can handle all because he is enhanced.

May, despite being the most responsible, was relatively emotionally negligent in not addressing the things that happened in Peter's hero's life. No moment in the film shows us a real scene of concern for him beyond the typical “stay safe”.

The end of the third film reinforces how most of the adults involved in Peter's life failed him (even indirectly like Stephen).

I wish Jason would point this out, as an outsider who doesn't connect these actions with the affection that hides the problem from Peter.

(Sorry for the long text :>)

(don't apologise for long texts! We loves it precioussss)

Personally I don't think the whole 'child soldier' thing is something Peter would bring up (at this point!), but this mostly because he doesn't see it that way. You have to keep in mind that Peter is an unreliable narrator, even of his own experiences.

So while he can admit to himself that he's been traumatised by his experiences (hence why he would turn to self-soothing techniques, although even that it flawed since he doesn't do it consistently), he isn't at a point of self-awareness where he can realise that the adults around him sorely failed him through his time as Spider-Man. Rather, his guilt means he sees himself at fault for much of what happened.

Of all the aforementioned adults, Tony is the only one he's starting to see from the light of: 'yeah, what happened with Germany and afterwards was kinda messed up'. But that sentiment of course is warring against the feeling of responsibility he has to do something because of his abilities. After all, Tony did try to protect him! He took the suit away when he realised Peter wasn't 'better'! It was better he had Tony's care with the suit than go without it like he had before! (note I'm saying this as if it were Peter's internal narrative, and note it conveniently leaves out the 'why TF would he bring a 14 yo to goddamn Germany?!')

All of that means, that for Jason to even flip the narrative and highlight the fact that the adults in Peter's life failed him in various ways, he'd have to parse it out of the story Peter tells him... and Peter's already proven himself to be a shit story-teller.

Of course, for Jason to say any of what you discussed about those adults would be something of a hypocritical discussion, considering his own history as a child vigilante.

That's not to say it's not likely to be a discussion that will crop up! Because it is the exact kind of heavy-hitting shit I love to write about haha

[weministertomonsters]

The Alien Emissary - 2

➤ Wordcount - 1.2k

You wake up startled because you fall out your bed. Well, not your bed. This isn't The Collective's mothership. You're in a cramped space, lying on a cramped cot. You recognize the interior to be the inside of the Vathri shuttle.

Right, I passed out.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your temple in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning. Your hand brushes against electric cuffs hanging loose on the wall. That must have been the restraints used on the Vathri you saved. You lift one and grimace at the thin metal prong on the cuff. For electricity to be effective on a Vathri it has to get to their skin, which is under a protective layer of armor-like scales. The prongs are designed to be forced underneath. You've always wondered if it feels like getting needles shoved under your nails, in which case it would hurt badly. When you stand up, you bump your head on the ceiling. Frowning you rub your sore head.

"This room is practically pocket-sized," you mutter. "How'd they even stuff him down here?"

"You are awake." The Vathri's voice floats into the room through the open hatch. "Come up, we are reaching our destination."

You climb up into the cockpit. The Vathri is seated at the controls, looking far more familiar with it than you did.

"How long was I out?" You ask, folding your arms and watching him work.

"A quarter of an hour. Not long." His voice still has that mysterious buzz in it. Rather than being eerie, you find it sort of soothing.

"Is that normal? It was like I was on a bad trip."

"I have never seen a human use the cloaking, but I am not surprised. Even Vathri young find it difficult on their first try."

You step closer and surreptitiously look him over. Thanks to their biological armor, the Vathri appear fully covered and often go around wearing loose pants and some jewelry, and not much else. He doesn't have either. When your gaze dips between his thick, muscular thighs, he snorts.

"Looking for the princess destroyer, I assume?"

The startled sound you make is hardly elegant before you burst out laughing.

"The what now?" You snicker. "I had no idea your kind could be funny."

"This is all a bid to lure you in," he replies, busy fiddling with the controls.

"I was just curious. Sorry." You clear your throat. "Have you… Heard about me?"

"You are certainly a blip on the gossip radar."

"Shit. Attracting attention is a surefire way to get killed," you grumble.

"Perhaps you should not have slept with the Emissary of Luscen then?"

You scoff. "The rumors are exaggerated. We didn't get that far. We got caught, as apparently, all of the galaxy knows. It was my first time in space and I was excited and optimistic and horny about everything."

The shuttle's engine grumbles and the Vathri croons to it. While his native tongue sounds harsh to your ears, you can pick out the intention behind it.

Come on, just a little further. You can do it, you little hunk of metal, you think.

"Csami? What does that mean?" You ask, picking out one distinctive word.

"Lady."

"Cute." You grab a hold of the armrest of the pilot's seat as the engine begins to stall.

Not a big issue. You can see the planet you're heading for up ahead and you're pretty sure you're going to make it, even if the landing is rough.

"That is the shuttle's name. Csami-kïy."

"Lady-8," you muse.

"You are taking Vathri lessons?"

"Yes, I love learning languages. Luscen was pretty easy and I'd say I'm conversational with it now. Vathri has some sounds I don't think I can produce, though, so my speaking probably won't ever be good."

"Tell me, are you not even a little afraid of me?" He suddenly asks, turning eyes that burn like small orange suns in your direction.

"Of what you are? No. That's what made me a good fit as an Emissary. I'm more curious than anything. As for your jailbreak, I feel like we're in this together. For now, anyway. Besides, I tend to trust my gut."

"And what is it telling you?"

"That we're cool. You might be trouble, but not for me."

The Vathri makes a noncommittal sound. "I see."

You look down at his wrists, searching for the abrasion from the handcuffs. It's right there. The smaller delicate scales on his wrist aren't sitting quite right, having been rudely shoved aside by the prongs on the cuffs. He doesn't turn away from what he's doing but he can tell you're looking because he angles the injury away from you.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's unpleasant. You might want to sit down," the Vathri says.

But there's only one seat, and in the sleek design of the interior, there's nothing much to hold on to. As he starts to nose the shuttle down, you grab a hold of his shoulder to anchor yourself and the warmth of his scales seeps into your fingertips. Brazen, maybe, but you like being in one piece. When you nearly fly off balance, he takes one hand off the controls for a second to perch you on the arm of the chair.

"Lean into me," he says. "The landing might be rough."

You do. The shuttle shakes so violently that you're surprised nothing falls off as you land in a puff of dust. Once the shuttle comes to a screeching halt you lift your head and unclench your jaw. There's an arm looped around your side and holding you in place, except both his arms are in front, so that's not possible. You look down to see that it's his tail. The tip of it ends in a stinger that looks like a cross between a blade and a barbed arrow. It looks deadly and your little animal brain immediately wants to touch it.

"Can that kill me?"

He pulls his tails away and it flicks lightly against his calf. "Not unless I intend so. Poison is manually generated, much like spitting on someone."

You file that information away for later. He unclips the seatbelt and stands. When he reaches for something over your head, you flinch a little. He looks down at you, his hand still raised over your head.

"I'm not afraid," you say quickly.

His mandibles twitch. Vathri faces don't really make expressions, but you can practically feel his amusement.

"Humans are easy to read," He replies.

And what's that supposed to mean? You think, but he's already ducking out of the exit hatch.

You realize he's bigger than the Vathri who first exited the shuttle. None of them had to duck. You're busy wondering if they were all small and he's just big when you walk right into his back.

"Oh, sorry-"

He's frozen, his tail flicking in an uneasy way that immediately affects you too. If something larger than you is scared, you're dead meat.

"What's wrong?" You peer around him to see a huge angry-looking alien storming down the landing towards you.

"Another of your enemies? You killed his family or something?" You squeak.

"I fucked his boyfriend."

"What!"

"Get back inside," the Vathri says without turning to you. "I am about to take a beating."

You don't need to be told twice.

──────────────────

If you're wondering why I'm posting much slower right now it's because I've been busy on Patreon. You can read free stories on there that I haven't posted anywhere else, like Contents Under Pressure, Soft Heart, Bad Things and Vile And Vulgar (my favorite).

[fadelstylist]

@musiclyf

This is another thing I don't get. Why would you get this idea out of what Style did? It's completely wrong. Never, in any way, Style "betrayed" Fadel for a car.

Kant met Bison before Christ asked for his help. Kant went to Style's garage and said he "fell in love" with the man he fucked last night. And after that, he gets a call and meets Christ and then it's when it all started. To get to Bison, he needs to distract Fadel. Then it's when Style gets involved in this "plan".

Kant lies to Style saying that he wants to date the guy he "fell in love" with that night but he needs help to distract the older brother. Style would've helped him without any second thought because he is a helpless romantic but he realizes that the older brother is the one involved in his little car accident. He doesn't want to bother him anymore because he is a pacifist and Fadel seems scary. These two characteristics are canon: Style is a pacifist and a helpless romantic. He really believes Kant found love finally, after fucking around for a long time.

Kant insists and tells him he can give him something in exchange for doing this. And Style asks for something he thought Kant would never accept: his dad's car. But Kant surprisedly accepts. That must be serious, so Style is willing to do it.

Saying that Style betrayed Fadel for a car would imply Style knowing about the plan, about the brother's profession and also having any feelings for Fadel before this whole plan started.

Style didn't know a single thing about anything, and wasn't planning on bothering Fadel anymore after fixing the car. This is actually the reason why Style and Fadel get to fall in love in the process because Style never felt the need to lie or mistrust after he started to feel something more for Fadel. Style was being himself all the time and wasn't afraid to get close. It only started to go specially wrong when he knew about the brother's profession and then it's when Style starts to lie consciously and to act weird. Also, it's too late because he likes and cares about Fadel so he feels the need to save Fadel from his fate.

If we want to really talk about betrayal, we can talk about how Kant wanted something with Bison before the plan and how he joined it knowing he liked Bison and that Bison liked him too. He felt guilty all this time because he actually felt affection for Bison before the plan. Kant is the only one who really be performed the betrayal: he knew the effects he had on Bison, and he also cared enough to know it would hurt Bison and he still did it. That is betrayal.

This whole narrative about Style and the car is so out of nowhere and kind of misleading. If you think about it, it doesn't make sense, but it's not like the show even cares about making sense, it's all about balancing the bad actions so they don't have to fix any problem because people will just side with the "least bad" or just say "they are all bad" and keep going. Some bad stuff are not comparable with others.

This take is to show you guys how some directors get away with the fact that they don't really put efforts in their shows, never care about building characters that make sense. They just let it all to the fandom which will defend anything their favs do. But let me tell you that your favs deserve better characters. It's funny how it's always about some characters played by some specific actors who get away with being the most nonsensical and toxic shit on Earth.

Please. Someone needs to do better.

[ricksanchezbignaturals]

okay forgive me for reposting a pinterest repost of a tumblr post (dear god) but i just. i have something to say and im sure as shit not about to say it on pinterest

something that pisses me off sm is how we are never fucking moving on from a big chunk of the population seeing cishet, white, neurotypical, able bodied male as the default way to be a person.

maybe that seems like an overreaction in the case of this comment but like, that is what's going on. a lot of people seem to think that the further a character strays from those traits, the less realistic they are. a piece of media can't have too many of those characters. i'm not a bigot, that many freaks minorities in a cast of characters is just unrealistic! and it's not just from the boys that cry woke when a main character has the audacity to be a woman. progressive folks still do this too.

i feel that rick is like such an interesting example of this kind of thing. he's canonically got enough 'non-default' traits that it bothers people when it's laid out like this. and he has for ages. it was nearly fuckin 10 years ago this guy was an out pansexual, had a nonbinary partner (no i will never shut up about unity), and attempted suicide when it left him. like hello? sometimes i wonder if i'm watching the same rick and morty all those anti sjw types loved because wtf.

ugh idk i just think it would be cool if we could finally move on from the idea that it's cringe to give characters intersectional identities or have headcanons like that. like maybe. perhaps. that attitude is not good for the many many real people that don't fit the 'default' mold.