#might actually post it on ao3 or something

[veliseraptor]

got tagged in this one by @paradife-loft a while ago and decided to finally get around to it!

tagging @brawlite, @silvysartfulness, @anghraine, @ameliarating and uhhh anyone else who feels like it

5 Things You'll Find in My Writing

Grief/mourning, or loss more generally. I'm not totally sure why this has been such a recurring thing in my fic (and has been for years) but it is certainly something I keep circling back to. I think there is something to me very compelling about both the emotion itself and the...presence of absence, if that makes sense. The way someone can still be there even when they aren't there anymore. It doesn't come up in everything but I think even when it's not direct it's often there obliquely in ways that don't have to do with death itself.

Recovery arcs. At one point I might've said "redemption arcs" but I actually think that's less accurate to the kind of stories I'm more interested in, which are less about atonement or making good than they are about people going through it and finding some way to "get better", whatever that might mean - and it can mean a lot of things. It's much more about the character's internal experience and outlook on the world than it is about any external validation or judgment by the narrative. I'm much more interested in how characters reconcile with themselves than how the world reconciles with them, is maybe a pithy way of putting it.

Poorly adjusted trauma reactions. I mean this goes hand in hand with the kind of characters I tend to write, who generally have some kind of trauma baggage and are handling it in the worst way possible, usually externalized and often both self- and other people-destructive, but at least other people-destructive for sure. I find this particular kind of ugliness and messiness very compelling to explore, both in terms of what it says about how trauma can shape people for the worse and also, on some level, as a way of exploring the idea that people who do bad things can still be worthy of compassion.

Very different people coming to an understanding. Usually when I'm doing this the people hate each other, but it's not necessarily a requirement - I do like to start from a place of distrust at the very least, though. It's a character dynamic that I can trace going all the way back to some of my earliest (original) writing. I think in a lot of ways one of the things I'm fascinated by in writing terms comes down to communication - how people communicate with each other, how they don't, where it breaks down. What it means to communicate with someone when it's the last thing you want to do. I think that's what this is really digging into at the base of it, but the form it specifically takes most often is this one: people with profound differences, often outright hostility, finding some way to cooperate. It's curious to me that on the face of it this seems like a very utopian trope but I never intend to execute it that way.

The Aftermath. In some ways this goes back to the grief/mourning thing and probably that has a lot to do with this, but one of the things I am always most interested in digging into is the what comes after of a situation. This is most obviously what's behind the ex-villain project, which is specifically asking the question "what happens when your redemption equals death gambit fails", but it crops up other places too. It's probably why on AO3 "Post-Canon" is one of my most frequently used tags. This doesn't even have to be about a post-canon scenario, though - it's about looking at something that is typically an ending and tugging at it to go but what here remains unresolved? What is still complicated? What now?

Another thing I thought of that does come up a lot is questions of agency/choice, but I thought of it later so I stuck with the ones I came up with first.

[thearttolifesdistractions]

Love and Friendsgiving

description: it’s friendsgiving, something you've hosted for years since moving to ireland, and, as usual, you're overwhelmed with the preparations. but this year feels different, especially with a new friend that can't seem to keep her hands off of andrew. as you navigate the chaos of the night and your growing jealousy, a new tension between you and andrew grows. and when you're forced to confront your feelings for him, you're left questioning everything about your friendship... and what could be more.

warnings: none really... mid writing, mentions of jumping off a balcony?? some cursing??

a/n: HELLO EVERYONE!!! this literally took me forever to write i'm sorry :( the week before spring break was soooo busy for me and being home for spring break left me with zero motivation... but now i'm back in school and back in my favorite coffee shop.... so be ready!! i hope you guys like this one..... i'm not a huuuuge fan of it... but i wrote it and finished it so i'm posting it! also!!! this is on ao3 @ thearttolifesdistractions if you would rather read it there ;) also thank you for following me!!!! i wanna follow all of you cuties back but this is a side blog so i don't think i can..... lmk if you guys want like my main blog to be mutuals on there!!! :)

wc: 7,010

pairing: hozier x fem!reader

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The warm light of the morning seeps through the window of your kitchen,and fills the room with natural light. It’s early, but you need an early start, or nothing will be ready on time. The smell of baking bread and simmering vegetables fill the air, filling the room with smells that bring stress instead of their usual comfort. You’re already juggling more than you can handle, you always do.

It's the last Sunday of November, and you’re starting the preparations for your annual Friendsgiving. You always host on your own, but there’s so much to do that you almost wish you had never started this tradition in the first place.

You don’t know why it was so shocking to find out that people in Ireland don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but, since moving here, you’ve made it your mission to host Friendsgiving, It’s become a beloved tradition over the last few years, your friends happy to partake in the one American custom you can’t seem to get rid of. Each year, you handle all the cooking, decorating, and organizing yourself.

You don’t mind it, really. Cooking is therapeutic for you, and you love to take care of your friends. You also really like the compliments they give on your cooking skills. But this year feels different, you’re weirdly stressed out about the event. You think it’s because instead of your usual group of six, it’ll be ten people. Of course, the more the merrier, but that means four more mouths you have to cook for tonight, leaving you with more work than usual.

The doorbell rings, distracting you from your thoughts, and you move quickly toward the door, confused as to who’s at your door around this time. When you open it, you’re taken aback by the sight of Andrew standing there with a lopsided grin, looking effortlessly handsome in a knit sweater and jeans. His eyes crinkle around the edges as he steps forward, holding up a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.

"Mornin’," he says with a wink. "Hope you're ready for me to take over your kitchen."

You blink, still surprised by his early arrival. "Um, I’m sorry, why are you here so early? I’m kinda busy right now." You gesture back toward the chaos of the kitchen. 

He just chuckles, stepping into your house without waiting for any approval. "’m here to help. I know Alex and Karen invited some extra friends, so I figured you might need an extra hand, y’know, for the extra mouths."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly wary of his words. "You’re serious? You’re actually here to help? I didn’t even think you cared about cooking."

"Well, I care about making sure you’re not stretching yourself too thin," he says, flicking your forehead with a grin. He chuckles as you wrinkle your face in response. "Come on, let me see what you need help with."

Your heart warms at his words, at the simple ways he shows he cares about you. The feeling it gives you is a familiar one, and you welcome it with open arms. He’s always doing things like this, simple things that remind you he cares. It really kills you that he’s such a good person. It makes it so much harder not to fall in love with him.

You step aside to let him into your kitchen, still feeling a little flustered by his sudden appearance. As you both move deeper into your working space, a wave of embarrassment hits you at the small mess you've left behind. But Andrew doesn't seem to mind. He simply grabs the trash can and begins picking up the bits you’d forgotten to toss. You can't help but watch him for a moment, taking in how comfortable he looks in your kitchen, how naturally he slips into the role of co-host. It feels natural, but there's something about his presence that makes your heart race just a little faster.

"What are you staring at me for?" Andrew's voice is playful, and when you meet his gaze, his squinted eyes and slight smirk perfectly match the teasing tone of his words.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, a little embarrassed that he caught you staring. "I just can’t believe you’re really here to help," you tease, trying to keep your voice playful as if you weren't just imagining your life with him. "You always show up after everything’s done. I mean, you weren’t even here last year, and now you’re eight hours early"

He stiffens at your words, and you immediately regret mentioning his absence last year. He hadn’t wanted to miss out, but being on tour made it impossible for him to be there, even for one night. Of course, you were upset when he told you he wouldn't make it, but you understood. He has his priorities. His job means so much to him, but it takes so much of his time. Honestly, you were a bit surprised he even found the time to attend the previous year’s dinners. You know he felt terrible about it, he called you at least a hundred times to apologize and even sent hundreds of dollars’ worth of groceries to your house. You open your mouth to apologize, to take back what you said, but before you can, he's already speaking.

"Yeah, well, this year I figured you could use a hand. And since I’m the one who’s usually not here, and I want to make up for that." His tone is light, but you sense the seriousness behind it.

You pause for a moment, taken aback by his words. You didn’t mean to make him think he has something to make up for. "I— I didn’t mean to make you feel bad," you say quietly. "I was just joking."

Andrew’s expression softens too, and he steps closer, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. "I know you were," he replies, his tone gentle. He hesitates, then adds, "but I meant what I said. I have to make up for last year, I want to be here more. For you.”

You can’t help but feel warm at his words. Andrew was one of the first people you met when you moved here, and his presence reminds you of how far you’ve come in the last five years. His friendship means more to you than you’ll ever admit.

You’re not fooling yourself. You know that the way your heart skips when he’s around, how nothing feels quite right when he’s not there, how you always find yourself blushing at his compliments, it's all deeper than just friendship. You know it, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to tell him. He’s always busy, running around the world, singing songs he’s written for other women to thousands of people. He has his priorities, and a potential relationship just wouldn’t be one of them. Besides, why would he, someone who could have any woman he wants, choose you?

"Well... I guess if you really want to make up for lost time, I know exactly the job that’ll do that," you’re trying to regain some of the playfulness, trying to keep him from realizing that his words have affected oy more than they should. You can’t stop the giggle that erupts out of you when his eyebrows raise in confusion, urging you to continue talking. “You can be on turkey duty, that’s easily the most time consuming part of the dinner.”

Andrew chuckles, shaking his head. “Turkey duty, huh? That sounds like a serious commitment.” He glances around the kitchen, the playful glint still in his eyes. “I mean, that’s the most important part of the meal, isn’t it?”

He’s right, it is the most important part of the meal, but it’s also your least favorite. Something about cleaning out a turkey just makes you feel queasy. You grab the thawed turkey from the fridge and mutter, “It is… but maybe I just really trust you.” You try to sound convincing, but you can tell by the pointed look he gives you that it didn’t quite work. Rolling your eyes, you give yourself up with a small laugh as you set the turkey down on the counter. “Okay, fine. Maybe it just really grosses me out to clean it out.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Grosses you out, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.” He grins as he steps closer, reaching for the turkey. “Besides, I’m great at handling all kinds of weird stuff,” he adds with a wink, as if cleaning out a turkey is no big deal.

The laugh you let out at his words is louder than you expected. “What do you even mean by that?”

Andrew chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. He shrugs nonchalantly, a mischievous grin taking over his face. "Oh, you know, I’m just always always dealing with all kinds of messy situations. Could be anything," he says, his tone teasing, but there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Trust me, sticking my hand inside turkey is child's play compared to some of the stuff I’ve been in."

You roll your eyes and nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “You are so weird,” you mumble, shaking your head with a grin. 

You step aside to let him start on the turkey, watching as he cleans it with a meticulousness that surprises you. While he works on that, you busy yourself with the marinade, the familiar scent of herbs and spices starting to fill the air. You’re focused, concentrating on getting the balance just right. Once it’s done, you slowly fill the injector with the marinade, being careful not to spill even a drop.

After a few minutes, Andrew steps away to throw the cleaned-out insides of the turkey into the trash. You take a deep breath and glance at the injector sitting on the counter. You're picky when it comes to this dinner, you just want everything done the way you want perfectly. You grab the injector, ready to get it done the way you want.

As you begin to move toward the turkey, Andrew steps back into the room, and his eyes widen in defeat when he sees you with the injector in hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice accusing but teasing.

“I’ll finish the turkey off, you can chop the vegetables,” you reply, keeping your tone light, but you’re already feeling a little protective over the turkey. You just want to make sure everything’s done right.

Andrew raises an eyebrow, giving you a look of mild amusement. “No, let me finish. You can get back to whatever you were doing.” He gestures toward the potatoes you’ve been working on, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

You shake your head, setting your jaw slightly. “No, Andy. It’s fine. I want to do it.”

Andrew’s smile falters just a bit, but then he steps toward you, his gaze turning a little more serious. “No, really. Let me finish. You’ve got other stuff to take care of.” His tone softens, and he places his hands on your waist, gently but firmly moving you out of the way.

You let out a gasp, not expecting him to grab you, but before you can protest, he’s already lifting you a little off your feet. His hands are warm against your waist as he lifts you and sets you aside with a grin.

"Let me finish it," he says, his voice barely a whisper, but it's loud enough for you to hear. "Just tell me how to do it, and I’ll take care of it."

You stare back at him, mouth slightly open, and you swear you can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as your back is pressed lightly against his chest. The closeness between you two is suddenly overwhelming, and it makes you forget what you were going to say.

After what feels like forever, you sigh, trying to pull yourself together. “Fine,” you mutter, a little embarrassed at how flustered you feel. “You need to inject it here. And make sure you don’t do it too fast or it'll get everywhere." You gesture to the breast of the turkey, your fingers brushing against his as you point.

Andrew watches your hands for a moment, then looks back up at you with a smirk. “Got it. Slow and steady.” He pauses for a second, his expression softening. “But, if you’re really worrying about me messing up, you can do it.”

You clear your throat and step back a little, suddenly embarrassed with how close you’ve been. “No, it’s fine,” you say quickly. “You can finish it, I’ll get back to my stuff. I just wanna watch you do the first injection.”

He nods and begins to inject the turkey. He must not have listened to you, though, he moves too quickly and the marinade bursts out, squirting back into his face. It’s silent for a minute, the two of you frozen. But when he slowly turns to look at you, you both burst out laughing. Eventually, your laughter dies down to breathy chuckles.

As he goes to wipe his face with his hands, you quickly grab his wrist to stop him. “Wait, no,” you laugh, a playful glint still in your eyes. “You’ve got turkey germs on your hands.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move, just watches as you take a damp kitchen towel and gently clean his face. His skin is so warm beneath your touch, and for a brief moment, your fingertips linger just a second too long on his cheek. You can feel the soft pulse of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, and it makes your breath catch. His breath hitches when you flatten your palm along the side of his face, and for a split second, you swear his eyes flicker to your lips before quickly meeting your gaze again. You’re not sure who leaned in first, or if it was some silent pull between you both, but all you know is that your lips are so close to his now that you have to physically stop yourself from closing the distance. What the fuck are you doing?

You pull back, clearing your throat, suddenly a little too aware of how close you were to kissing him, to ruining the best friendship you’ve ever had. How stupid can you be?

“There,” you murmur, trying to steady your breathing, “you’re all clean.”

Andrew meets your eyes for a moment, and the brief pause feels more tense than you expected. “Thanks,” he says softly, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual.

You quickly turn away, muttering something about finishing the vegetables, your heart racing in a way you’re not sure you can explain.

A few hours have passed, and the kitchen is quiet, except for the quiet alarm every thirty minutes that lets Andrew know when to baste the turkey. The cooking went smoothly, and now the turkey is in the oven, cooking perfectly. In about two hours, it will be ready, and the guests should start arriving in about an hour. Everything is going according to schedule, thank God.

You’re finishing up the last details of your appearance, trying to shake off the feeling that everything still isn’t quite perfect. You’re overthinking, you know it, but you’re a perfectionist, you can’t exactly stop it.

Andrew brought his clothes with him, and now he’s getting ready too. You can hear him moving around, getting dressed in the other room, and you find yourself smiling a little. You’re both hosting, and it feels so... natural.

It feels right, even though you can’t quite explain why. The way he’s so comfortable here, helping you with the dinner, getting into the flow of your routine, almost like it’s his too. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, there could be more to this than friendship.

But then, you remember last year’s absence, and reality hits you. Andrew has so much going on in his life. So many things he has to prioritize. His job takes up so much of his time, and you know he wouldn’t have room for something like this, not when he already has so much to worry about. You couldn’t possibly be enough for him. He’s out there literally living his dream, and you’re just you.

You try to shake the thought away, but it lingers, making you feel queasy as you finish getting ready. You quickly finish applying your makeup, your movements faster now, almost frantic as you try to push down the tightness in your chest. You don’t want to think about it anymore.

When you walk into the living room, you find Andrew standing in the doorway, now dressed in his outfit for the night. He’s dressed nice, his pants clear of wrinkles and the sleeves of his buttoned shirt rolled up to his elbows. Fuck, he’s hot. You almost die when he looks up at you with his usual smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He opens his mouth and makes a joke, something about how you usually take way longer to get ready to get ready, but when the sound of your barely-there chuckle leaves your lips, he pauses. He studies you for a moment, his expression turning confused as he senses something’s off.

"Hey, what’s with the mood change?" he asks, his voice is gentle and concerned. His gaze is steady on yours, and you can’t stand to stare at him any longer.

You swallow, trying to brush it off, but your voice comes out a little tight, giving away your act. "Nothing," you say, and it sounds more like a lie than you thought it would. "I’m just nervous about everyone coming. You know how I get, I just want everything to be perfect."

Andrew doesn’t seem convinced. He takes a step toward you, his brow furrowing slightly. "You’re usually so calm about this stuff. You’re freaking out about the guests now?" His tone is playful, but there’s a hint of concern behind it. He doesn’t push further, but you can tell he knows it’s not just about the guests.

You look down, avoiding his gaze, and let out a soft sigh. "I don’t know. I just—" You stop yourself before you say too much, afraid if you let it all spill out, it’ll be too much. If you tell him, he’ll feel uncomfortable and leave. You can’t. "Maybe it’s just... all the expectations, you know? I don’t want anyone to be disappointed, and I don’t want to disappoint you." Even saying that feels like a confession, admitting how much his opinion matters to you. You silently hope he won’t realize that when you say you don’t want to disappoint anyone, you really only mean you don’t want to disappoint him.

His expression softens even more, and he steps closer. "Hey," he says, hooking his finger under your chin so you’re meeting his gaze. "Don’t worry about that. I’m really happy I get to share this moment with you, we all are. It’s special, and you’re the one who makes it happen. You should be proud."

His words hit you harder than you expected, you don’t know if it’s the sincerity in his voice or the way he’s looking at you. You let yourself hold his gaze for a beat too long, but then, almost instinctively, you break eye contact and step back a little.

“Thanks, Andrew,” you murmur, forcing a smile that even you know looks fake. It’s not that you don’t appreciate his words,it’s just that in this moment, with him standing so close, you’re nervous. And scared that you’ll end up saying something you’ll regret.

Andrew doesn’t stay away like you hoped he would, and you can feel your heart pounding as he takes two steps towards you. Your breath catches as you stare up at him, faces so close that you’re breathing the same air. The seconds feel like minutes with the distance between your lips so close now that you feel it might only take one slight movement for it to happen.

And just as you think the tension might snap, a knock at the door breaks the moment. Both of you freeze.

You exhale sharply, blinking, internally fracking out because it happened again, whatever it was. You turn toward the door before he can say anything. "Um, I should get that," you say a little too quickly, your voice tight.

Andrew sighs softly, his voice just above a whisper, "Yeah, you should." There’s a quiet frustration in his tone, though it’s unclear whether it’s aimed at the situation itself or at the interruption. You really hope it’s the latter.

You glance back at him for a second before quickly heading toward the door, your heartbeat still racing. As you reach for the doorknob, you still feel the moment in your heart, tense and heavy. You open the door, and just like that, you’re pulled back back into the reality of the evening, leaving behind any complicated feelings.

Despite the energy in the house, you can’t help but keep an eye on Andrew. You try not to, but every time he laughs or shares a joke with someone else, your attention zeroes in on him. And then you notice her.

Annie. One of Alex’s friends. She’s new to the event, but not to the group, and she’s making it clear that she has zero interest in anything but Andrew. The way she flutters around him, placing her hand against his arm, giggling at everything he says, leaning in just a little too close. You try to push down the jealous feeling growing inside you, but it’s hard not to notice.

Annie is all over Andrew, and every time he laughs at one of her jokes, or doesn’t immediately brush her hand away, it feels like a stab in your side. You try to convince yourself that he’s just being nice, but it’s hard to think so when he’s smiling so warmly at her.

It doesn’t help that she’s absolutely gorgeous. Blonde curls reaching her lower back, wide blue eyes, and slim legs almost double the length of yours. They look good together, and the realization has your heart squeezing in your chest. You make your way to the kitchen, trying to keep yourself busy, but the overthinking won’t go away

The evening continued smoothly after that, the dinner had gone well, everyone seemed to enjoy the cooking. Usually, the compliments make your night, serving as confirmation that you hosted a good dinner, However, tonight, they fell flat. There was this tightness dwelling inside of you, a feeling that you couldn’t shake off. Despite the warmth of friendship and laughter around you, you couldn’t help but feel distant, as if you were watching, but not actually participating..

Karen had seemed to notice it. As the dinner ended and your friends began to mingle and talk amongst themselves, she leaned over to you, her hand gently leading you away as she gestured toward the balcony. “Come on,” she said, her voice low and secretive. “Let’s get some air. You look like you need it.”

You don’t fight her, there’s no point… she always wins. The cool night air on the balcony works to calm your nerves a little, but the squeezing feeling in your chest remains. You lean against the railing, wine glass in hand, letting the breeze blow around you as the sounds of the party drifted in from inside.

Karen takes a sip of her wine, then studies you with a sharp look. “Alright, go on. What’s with you? You’ve been weird all night.”

You force the best smile you can and come up with an easy lie. “Nothing, really. Just… the stress of the dinner, you know? Making sure everything’s perfect for everyone.” You hoped the excuse would be enough, but Karen wasn’t fooled.

“Right,” she said, her voice deep with sarcasm. “So it has nothing to do with Annie practically throwing herself at Andrew?”

You gasp at her words, as if they had offended you in some way. Instinctively, you take a step back and avoid her gaze. “What? No,” you respond quickly, but the way your voice trembled betrays you.

Karen smirks, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Really? That’s how you’re gonna try and play it off? Come on, I can tell. It’s obvious.” She leans in slightly, her eyes narrowing as she gave you a knowing look. “Honestly, I think everyone can tell that you’re in love with Andrew.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the redness rising in your cheeks. You try to keep your cool, but it’s getting harder. “Karen, stop it, please” you mutter, taking a long sip from your glass, hoping the wine would settle your nerves.

But, this is Karen, she’s pushy and she’s not going to give up. “Why? It’s not a big deal. Besides, he feels the same, we can all see it.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Oh, please, I don’t need you to lie to me. I mean, even if he did, it’s not like it matters. He’s not really the kinda guy to commit. I mean, he’s got better things to worry about.”

Karen’s face softens slightly, but you know that she still won’t give it up. “That’s not true,” she says quietly, taking a small step toward you. “You’re just afraid.”

But you can’t let her finish, you won’t have her getting your hopes up when you’ve spent so long dealing with the reality of loving Andrew. “No, Karen,” you interrupt sharply, cutting her off. “Just stop. It’s not gonna happen. He’s Andrew, I don’t even know why he would choose me. And even if he did, he has his career to prioritize, I just don’t fit in with that.” You can feel the tears pricking the backs of your eyes, but you blink them away. The last thing you need is to break down on your balcony while you’re hosting fucking friendsgiving.

Just before the conversation had the chance to spiral even further, the sound of the door opening interrupted you. Of course, you turn around and see Andrew standing there, his figure glowing against the warm light from inside. He opens his mouth, and you swear to God that if he says anything about what you just confessed, you’re going to jump off the fucking balcony.

“Hey,” he calls out, a wide smile on his face. “Come on in. Some people are leaving, and you should say goodbye.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. Thank God. You quickly wipe at your eyes, and compose yourself as you and Karen start to make your way back inside. Andrew doesn't seem to be acting weird, and you conclude that he didn’t hear you. He’d be acting uncomfortable and awkward if he did, wouldn’t he?

Andrew didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he heard Karen’s accusation through the balcony door, he couldn't stop himself, desperate to hear your answer. He wasn’t a fool. He noticed the way Annie had been acting around him tonight. And he also noticed how your eyes had followed every interaction between them. Honestly, he kind of enjoyed your gaze, convincing himself that your jealousy was evidence of your feelings towards him.

Though, right now, he really wishes he would’ve just interrupted you. His heart had stopped when he overheard your words. “... I don’t even know why he would choose me. Even if he did, he has his career to prioritize, I just don’t fit in with that.”

Your words feel an awful lot like a punch to the gut. You seriously think that he wouldn’t prioritize you? That he doesn’t wouldn’t care about you more than anything? 

After everything he’s done for you, every moment he’d gone out of his way to show you that you mean something special to him. Every time he rearranged his plans to be there for you, no matter what they were. Every time he checked in, every random text just to remind you that he misses you. He knows he hasn’t exactly been perfect, but he’s definitely trying. 

He had been trying to make his feelings clear, obviously not with his words, but with every gesture. He'd been there for you through everything, and now, hearing you dismiss him like that feels like a slap in the face.

How could you think he wouldn’t prioritize you?

You had never been anything less than a priority to him, and he couldn’t understand how you could think otherwise. He had built his life around his music, sure, but that didn’t mean he’d ever put those things before the people he cared about. And you’re someone that he cares about so deeply. And he thought that he had made that clear from the start. Clearly not.

It hurts, the thought that you feel like he would push you aside for some fleeting career opportunity. 

Is that how little you think of him?

He’s frozen, still trying to make sense of it all. He knew he wasn’t great with words, especially when it came to emotions, but do you really think that after everything he’s done for you? After all the goodnight phone calls just because he wanted to hear your voice? After every rushed trip just to visit you, even for just one night? Did you really think that he wouldn't choose you? That you wouldn’t be worth fighting for?

Did you really think he didn’t care?

He swallows hard, the confusion and hurt growing in his chest. He wants to yell, to explain that he would prioritize you, that he’s always prioritized you. But all he could do was stand there behind the door, feeling this sharp ache in his heart.

It somehow hurts even more that it’s not even anything about him. It isn’t about him not being good enough. It isn’t about him not being your type or anything else he previously thought. It was about you thinking that he would let you down. That after everything you’ve been through together, you still think he’d just drop you for something else. That you were scared of being with him. Scared of what might happen if he wasn’t there, scared of being let down because he’s always leaving. 

His heart ached at the thought. You felt the same way he did, but your own fear won’t let you accept it.

As you walked back into the room, laughing with Karen, Andrew’s eyes followed you, he had to talk to you about this. He just couldn’t go on like this, especially now that he knows you feel the same. He couldn’t let this moment slip from his fingers, he doesn’t know how, or when, but he’s going to prove himself to you. He knows he’s not perfect, and that he never will be, but he also knows that he could be the person you needed, if you’d let him.

The house is quieter now, the playlist you had chosen for the night was still softly playing in the background and Andrew’s gentle footsteps were just barely heard. You bid your final guests a final goodbye with a warm hug, and took a second to collect yourself before heading to the living room. Andrew was still here, and you knew he was going to offer to stay dn help clean up, like he always does, but you just couldn't handle that tonight.

Not when everytime you looked at him you couldn't stop the tightness forming in your chest. You think it's finally gotten to you, the years of holding back your true feelings. Now, they’re too deep. It’s too much to handle and you’re going to explode. 

When you finally work up the courage to walk into your own house, you’re not shocked to see Andrew already hard at work gathering all the empty glasses.

“I’ll clean up alone,” you blurt out a little too quickly. It has Andrew stopping and turning to look at you, three wine glasses in hand and a confused look on his face

“What?” Andrew’s voice is soft, but clearly shocked by your outburst. “I mean, I always stay and help you clean.”

You bite your lip, fighting against the words that are threatening to just burst out. You don’t want him around right now. Not when one more second with him might just have you snapping and admitting something you can barely admit to yourself. “It’s fine, really. I just– it’s been a long day, and I’m tired..”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’re tired? Now? Come on, Y/N, it’s barely even midnight, you’re never tired at this hour. You sure it’s just a long day?”

Of course he would notice your lie. You’re not sure why you thought he wouldn’t, he knows you, and you’re an awful liar.

You can’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on the dishes you were rushing to collect. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Andrew sighs, a little too heavy for your liking. You know he doesn’t believe you, it’s clear that you're just trying to get rid of him. Andrew’s never been one to give up easily, but you have hope tonight is the one exception. 

But, of course it isn’t.

“You’re lying.” It’s clear in his voice that he’s beginning to get annoyed, but he’s still as gentle as ever.

You want to tell him so badly. You want to tell him that you are lying, that you’re not okay because of him. Because all you want to do is grab his stupidly handsome face and kiss him, but you can’t. So, instead, you settle for a half hearted defense of your previous excuse.  

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re hiding something,” he’s so insistent, but his voice is still soft. “I know you. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

It’s not that you don’t want to be honest, but you just couldn’t handle this right now. You couldn’t admit to him that you have feelings for him. Or that you’re jealous of Annie, the way she looked so good next to him, like it was so easy with him.

He takes a step closer, and you ignore the way his face drops when you take a step back. “You’ve been weird all night. I know something’s bothering you. I’ve seen that look before. What’s going on?”

You force a laugh, but it comes out bitter and shaky. “Nothing’s going on, Andrew. I told you. I’m fine.”

“Don’t do this,” he whispers softly, taking two quick steps closer, making you look up at him. “You’re not fine. I’m your friend, your best friend. Just let me in.”

Your heart is racing. From fear, from anxiety, from embarrassment. The last thing you wanted was for him to see how much he’d affected you. How much he had taken over your thoughts. You ‘ve been trying so hard to hold it all in, but now it feels like everything is bubbling to the surface, just waiting to spill out.

“I’m not upset about anything,” you mutter, so quiet you’re not even sure he can hear you “I just... I just get a little exhausted in group settings, you know that.”

“Oh, really? That’s all it is?” Andrew takes another step closer, until he’s standing right in front of you. “So, you’re not upset because you’re jealous of Annie, are you?”

You flinch, instinctively stepping away from him. The question has your eyes widening, breath catching in your throat, and your heart dropping down to your stomach. Your heart is racing so fast, you think this is what it would feel like to be accused of murder or something. 

Embarrassment is taking the lead in your emotions right now. You can’t tell if his teasing tone is all in good fun, or if he just thinks you’re an idiot. “Andrew. Don’t.” You keep your voice tense, but not shaky. 

“I’m serious. You don’t have to lie to me. I heard everything you said earlier. I heard you talking to Karen. And I saw the way you—” He’s so pushy, and his voice may be quiet but, fuck, is it demanding. “The way you looked at me when I was talking to her. How could I not notice? I notice everything about you.”

You really want to deny it, to brush it off, but the words are literally stuck in your throat. The image of Andrew laughing with Annie, his hand casually on her shoulder, flashes in your mind again, and your stomach hurts. The burning hot embarrassment growing in your stomach now feels eerily similar to anger, how dare he rub this in your face?

“Alright, so now what?” you snap, finally meeting his wide gaze with narrowed eyes. “You’re just gonna sit there and make fun of me? Tell me how stupid I am for being jealous over someone that doesn’t want me?”

Andrew’s eyes soften, his expression genuine. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just trying to understand. I’m trying to get you to see that you don’t have to be scared of this.”

You shake your head, another bitter laugh escaping from your lips. “What do you want from me, Andrew? Seriously?” He doesn’t say anything, just studies your face. It pisses you off, and you can’t stop your voice from rising to the point of yelling anymore. “You want me to admit it? Okay, fine! I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I’m so mad at myself for it.”

Andrew stands still for a moment, his brow furrowed as he thinks.

But you don’t give him the chance to think before you’re going on again. You take a step back, frustration growing. “I don’t want your pity, I don’t want you to make me feel better. I’m just... tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt. So yeah, I am jealous. And I’m angry. And that’s the truth, whether I like it or not. And I don’t even know why I’m saying all this to you, because it’s not like it’s going to change anything, right?”

His stillness has you finally registering your own words, and you’re fucking mortified. You just admitted to your best friend that you’re in love with him… What the fuck?! His silence is clearly equivalent to the oncoming rejection, and you need to leave. You spin around to head to your room, but his hand settles gently on your arm, keeping you in place.

“It does change things” he says, his voice quieter now, softer. “It changes everything. You’re not the only one feeling all this. You think I’ve been okay with just sitting here, acting like it’s nothing? I’m so tired of pretending, Y/N. Tired of pretending that I don’t want something more than just... this.” He gestures between the two of you, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve always felt the same. And I think you know that. I think you know, even if you won’t admit it.”

You freeze, his words felt as if they were physically hitting you. Your heart skipped a beat, but the walls you had built to protect yourself were still standing, even though everything inside you screamed to break them down.

“No, Andrew,” you whisper softly, shaking your head, even though a part of you desperately wanted to believe him. “You can’t. I can’t. If you really felt the same way, why did you act like that? You wouldn’t have let me feel like I was just nothing to you.”

His face tightened, and for a moment, you thought he was getting mad at you. But when he spoke again, his voice was almost too gentle, too patient.

“I was waiting for you,” he said softly, “I didn’t want to push you. I didn’t want to ruin everything we have. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel it. I can’t keep acting like we’re just friends when you’re so much more than that.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you finally met his gaze. The vulnerability in his eyes was too much. And you could see it now; the struggle, the hope, the fear. “Andrew, I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always gone, and it’s hard enough for me as your friend. I don’t know if I can handle us.”

Your words hurt him. You were scared because of him, because of his career. He knew that your feelings were valid. He is gone a lot, and it’s going to be hard. But, still, he’d make you understand that you two could make it. 

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you, his hand reaching up to gently touch your cheek. “You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll figure it out together. I’m all in,” his words were soft and soothing to your soul, “even when you didn’t realize it, I’ve been all in from the start.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. And then, before you could stop it, the words slipped from your lips. “I’m scared, Andrew. I’m scared we’ll go too far, and it’ll all fall apart.”

“We’ve already gone too far,” he exhaled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in the way he always did when he was comforting you. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let you fall without me.”

His words and gentle touch eased your troubled mind. Everything inside you felt like it was finally coming together. Everything that’s happened between you two, every moment of your friendship, all of it, has been leading to this

You moved without thinking, your hands finding his waist, pulling him closer. When your lips finally met, the kiss was slow, almost nervous. But as the seconds passed, it deepened. There was no turning back now. No pretending that this was nothing, when it was clearly everything.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[chrisrin]

re-discovered an old homeschool project i did with my mom when i was 10 years old where we wrote a full on 3-act story script for the second season of my littlest pet shop series "Sun Pack" aka warrior cats but with wolves.

i re-read it and it actually genuinely fucks still. here are some guys from it <3

[mycherrycola]

to be honest I want to write Dante and Virgil fanfiction. Nothing good can come from this I fear

[human-encounters-diary]

Day 14

I have received…indifferent news about the human‘s state, by which I mean, I cannot describe her current state, as I have not received any actually comprehensible further information.

Wrin has decided to pay the human a visit at the beginning of this cycle. After they returned, they sought me out to report back, despite not single word about my task being uttered in their proximity.

They leaned against the wall next to me without a word, so after a few moments, I spoke up: "How is she?"

"She seems alright, at least she‘s most definitely not about to die.", Wrin responded, taking a swig of the bottle in their gloved hand.

"Would you be more specific?", I requested.

"Well, I don‘t know, I asked her how she was doin‘ and she said she was 'peachy keen'."

My front pliers uttered a rattling sound. "And…what does that mean?"

"If I knew", Wrin said, taking another sip. "I haven‘t known her for that long either, and I don‘t know anything about humans. She does that weird thing sometimes though, when you‘re talking to her, and she says something that is true but kind of sounds like a lie? I dunno, might be that."

"Would you care to elaborate?", I repeated, slightly suspecting that Wrin was already too intoxicated to form coherent thoughts.

"Kind of like…y‘know, sometimes it‘s also the other way around, and she tells a lie, but kind of in a mocking tone? I don‘t really get it either. Must be a 'human' thing."

Telling lies mockingly? Perhaps Wrin was simply not eludicating well enough, but I would have to investigate this claim further. Perhaps I would pay the human a visit myself, if I was permitted.

Unfortunately, before I could act any further, another technician rather desperately retrieved me to assist in the main control center, as they were, apparently, understaffed for the circumstances we are currently situated in.

Resulting in this, I did not face the human at all during this cycle, but I have received news that she has been discharged from the medical quarters, while the medicals further analyze the test results they recorded.

Furthermore, we are set to enter Fendaar‘s athmosphere in 2-3 cycles, so we will be able to let the SIIR Noxos get mended properly and stock up on necessities.

[sasanka-27]

It’s real

| Fandom: supernatural | Pairing: Dean/Castiel | Words: 7k+

| Type: oneshot | Rating: Teen and up | Author: Sasanka27

Summary: Morning of his birthday Dean wakes up alone doubting if he hadn’t dream the good parts of his life.

Link:

[themoonking]

when people bring up the racism, homophobia, transphobia, romanticization of domestic abuse / rape / pedophilia / incest, literal actual written porn of literal actual real life flesh and blood children, et cetera et cetera on archive of our own, one of the ao3 stannies’ main defenses is “you can just filter out the tags if you don’t want to see that!” when that defense has no fucking legs to stand on.

ao3 is not an archive, it is barely even a website: a rant <3 (very long)

ignoring the fact that it’s a problem that all of that is permitted on the site in the first place (i guess child porn and racism are fine, and the people who allow it on their platform are fine, as long as i, personally, do not see it), that defense literally means nothing. it’s assuming that every little thing on ao3 is tagged properly and it absolutely is not, and if you think it is you are dumber than rocks. i mean for fuck’s sake, just touching on archive warnings and not tags, “creator chose not to use archive warnings” is literally a valid option for fic authors to use when it should fucking not be.

if someone is a freak who thinks that pedo shit is hot, they might not tag it as “rape” (archive warnings OR tags). i’ve literally seen underage father/son rape porn with no trigger warning tags but “child abuse if you squint”. IF YOU SQUINT. if someone thinks that domestic abuse is actually cool and sexy when attractive people do it, they might not tag it as “abuse”. if someone is a freak who likes incest, but bends over backwards to justify it by only shipping adopted family members, then they tell themselves that they don’t view it as incest, and might not tag it as “incest”. if someone is a racist, a homophobe, a transphobe, et cetera and they wrote bigotry into their fic (or else wrote a deliberate troll fic to trigger people on purpose), do you really think they’re going to tag it as racism / homophobia / transphobia / et cetera? and some people get kicks out of writing purposefully triggering content and either leaving it untagged or mistagging it so that people will read it unsuspectingly.

even for just general content tags, it’s a mess. people just forget to tag things all the time. people deliberately won’t tag the endgame ship of their fic because “it’s a spoiler heehee”. people use the romantic or sexual “x / y” tag instead of the platonic or otherwise “x & y” tag, sometimes by mistake sometimes on purpose. it’s a joked about issue how people will tag characters or ships that appear in their fic for two sentences.

there’s no standardization of tags, which is a pretty obvious problem. what first comes to mind is the “dead dove: do not eat” tag which should just not be a tag at all because it just has no meaning. depending on the individual fic writer using it, it could mean anything from “literally the most sickening and depraved thing you’ve ever read in your life” to “horror w/ gore”. but it applies to other vague tags too - different fic writers will have different ideas of what the tag means.

in addition to that, what is and isn’t made a filterable tag, what tags are made synonymous, et cetera, is entirely up to the whims of the site staff. as an example, if you’re trying to look for fanfiction of a singular animated disney movie, the infinite crossovers with other disney movies will not actually be counted as crossovers (which they are) because they’re classified as the “disney theatrical animated universe” (which isn’t a fucking thing), so you can’t filter them out the “exclude crossovers” way. if you try to filter out the fandom tag “disney theatrical animated universe”, it’ll show up with zero fics because that tag is synonymous with every disney animated film (regardless of if the fic author actually used the tag “disney theatrical animated universe” or not), thus also filtering out the one you actually wanted to find.

and do not get me fucking started on the “all media types tags”, which also just shouldn’t be a thing because it makes it fucking impossible to find the specific fics you’re looking for. some people use it in place of tagging a specific canon / adaptation when their fic very clearly draws from one specific canon / adaptation, and you can’t filter it out because it’s synonymous with every fandom tag under its umbrella.

as an example of the issues of both the “all media types” tag and mistagging in general: as a fan of the witcher books, it used to be a fucking ordeal to find fanfiction specifically for the books (post netflix show release). some show fans would, for whatever reason, tag their fics with the book fandom tag in addition to (or even in place of!!) the show fandom tag when their fics were unquestionably show-specific, meaning i could not simply search only in the book fandom tag. i could not simply filter out the show tag, because some show fans would, for whatever reason, tag as fucking “all media types”, when their fics were unquestionably show-specific. and alas, i could not filter out “all media types” and the show tag, so that i see only those fics which have been deliberately and exclusively tagged as the book, not only because as mentioned some show fans would tag their show fics with only the book tag, but also because the fucking all media types tag filters out the book tag as well, leaving me with zero fucking fics REGARDLESS of if the author actually used the “all media types” tag. now, thankfully, i’ve thankfully seen this issue in this specific fandom lessen, but it still occurs in other fandoms and i guarantee that it didn’t lessen in the witcher fandom because of any fixing of the site on the part of ao3 staff.

another common defense of ao3 freaks is that it’s an “archive”, and therefore can’t get rid of anything anyone posts, and disregarding the fact that that is not how archives fucking work, they don’t just allow anything and also ao3 DOES get rid of fics... when they say that they don’t like proshippers, apparently, archives have... you know... archivists. they have someone or a team of someones making sure that everything in the archive is *properly fucking categorized*. they have someone or multiple someones making sure that everything they recieve (1) belongs there and (2) is properly labeled and organized. same for libraries. meaning that if ao3 really were an archive and not a sub par fanfiction website, they’d have something like that in place. something as simple as a report button for fics with a review team that will see if something’s been mis- or untagged. they’d have some kind of standardization of tags (especially the warning / trigger tags) and have proper tagging enforced in some way. and then they could also do something like stop being spineless racists, queerphobes, and pedos have the barest minimum of content guidelines saying that you can’t post fucking hate speech.

if something is mistagged or untagged, the most you can do is leave a comment politely asking that the author fix the issue, and then hope and pray that they do that. and if that person thinks [insert form of abuse] is hot, or if they’re just straight up a bigot that wrote bigotry into their fics to be bigoted, or they’re a troll that gets kick out of deliberately traumatizing people by tricking them into reading their mis/untagged fics, they might not! AND if you see a major tagging issue on an orphaned work, or a work that has an inactive author / hasn’t been updated in forever, good fucking luck getting even a negative response.

you can’t permanently block tags (i mean even tumblr.hell has that), meaning that if you would like to search for fic without coming across something troubling, triggering, or just something you don’t like, you have to either (1) do a work around by having a bookmarked link for every fandom you’re in or every character you like with all of your tags already blocked, (2) download browser extensions that do the work for ao3 because they can’t be bothered themselves, or (3) input every individual tag every time you search ao3 and don’t forget that all of those options only fucking work at all when everything is tagged properly, and we’ve already established its not. you also can’t actually block people (you can only prevent them from commenting) meaning that if there’s a specific person you’d like to stay away from your fics or a specific fic author that you don’t like and would like to stop seeing their fics clogging up the tag, you’re out of luck (though for the latter you could insert “-[username]” into the “search within results” box, but then uh oh we’re right back around to having to input that every time or have a bookmark)

their archive warning system is shit. first of all it’s functionally useless because, as mentioned, “creator chose not to use archive warnings” is an option. what’s the fucking point of special required archive warnings if you’re going to allow people to opt out anyway. second of all, aside from “chose not to use warnings” and “no warnings apply”, the only warnings are “major character death”, “graphic depictions of violence”, “rape/non-con”, and “underage”. disregarding the fact that they shouldn’t be allowing porn of underage characters in the first place (but i’m talking to a brick wall on that issue) and that “non-con” (and “dub-con”) as terminology needs to die, it’s just fucking rape lets not use weasel words... this is a paltry list of possible warnings. there’s no official warnings for depictions of: domestic abuse, animal abuse, depictions of racism / homophobia / transphobia / et cetera, suicide, self harm, et cetera et cetera. and we return to the issue of standardization of tags. in your required archive warnings at very least, there should be a standardization of what these mean, but ao3′s own faq is just like “ehh... you decide. we’ll leave it up to you”. what qualifies as graphic depictions of violence? two people may write the same level of violence, but qualify “graphic” differently, and make different decisions regarding their warnings. and we also return to the issue of: if a freak doesn’t see something that is clearly rape as rape, they might not tag it as such.

this website gets a disgustingly large amount of money every year that it doesn’t fucking do anything with. it’s been over a decade and they’re still in fucking beta. features that would actually be useful, like an actual block system, don’t exist. they technically have a report system for abuse and harassment and such, but apparently what they qualify as abuse and harassment is fickle. ao3 defenders seem to be very proud of the legal work they do for fandom / fanfic authors, but they set aside a very small amount of the money they get every year for legal advocacy, and they actually use even less of that, because it’s not the early 2000s “anne rice hates fanfiction” era anymore - you aren’t going to get fucking sued for writing fanfiction in the first place. based on their own self-reported yearly cost of upkeep, they literally already have enough money to run the site as they are now for the next twenty years.

once again: ao3 is not an archive. it is not a library. it is barely a even a website.

[novorehere]

Bite-Sized Tidbits:

A snapshot/character of what life might look like with the seven avatars of sin. Contains a lot of fluff, a little angst, and soft/safe vore with you and the seven Obey Me! brothers themed around their respective sins. I’ve been working on this on and off for quite a while now, so I hope you enjoy.

Written for Vore Day, 2023

—

—

Pride

“I can give you your punishment now, or we can wait until later.”

The edges of the demon’s lips crept up into the beginnings of a smirk. All without breaking his gaze from the stack of documents which he straightened against his desk with a tap tap tap.

“However, I will be leaving for tea with Lord Diavolo as soon as my work is finished. So unless you’d like to spend the evening with Barbatos’ chiffon cake, I’d recommend making up your mind in a timely manner.”

Both of you knew very well that “punishment” wasn’t the right word. Lucifer’s infrequent office calls were less of a punishment and moreso a game, an unspoken routine in which you continuously tested the Avatar of Pride’s patience by indulging his younger brothers’ schemes.

It was a game that toyed with the balance of power, one where you pretended like he couldn’t just shrink you down whenever he wanted and that you couldn’t order him to stop with a single word. It was a game that indulged his pride, one that Lucifer would always win in the end.

It was only a matter of minutes before you were seated in his gloved palm. His ruby eyes lording over you with a gaze that anyone else would find annoyingly high-handed. But after playing his game for so long, to you the affection hiding behind them was obvious.

“Are you ready then, my Lamb?”

He was the morning star, eldest of the seven rulers of the underworld.

Yet despite all of this, Lucifer knew it was you who had him utterly wrapped around your little finger.

—

Greed

Reclining his head against the arm of his couch, the Avatar of Greed kissed his fingertips in mock satisfaction at the burp that rolled up his throat. A barely audible complaint of “gross” only caused him to chuckle and pat his stomach triumphantly.

“Maybe ya shoulda thought about that before bein’ so damn filling.”

A sound like “Guh” escaped the demon’s mouth as a swift kick to his liver interrupted his musings.

“Oi! The Great Mammon’s gonna start chargin’ 10,000 Grimm for damages every time ya do that!” Ya oughta learn some basic respe-”

And there it was, the familiar flutter of tiny fingers rubbing circles into him from inside. Perhaps it was your way of saying sorry… though more likely you just wanted to shut him up. It was annoying how easily you could reduce him to a blushing mess without uttering a single word.

“Hey… ‘s not fair. You’re playin’ dirty…”

Mammon rolled onto his side in an uncharacteristically gentle motion. He couldn’t help sneaking an indulgent glance at the scene reflected in his mirror. There he was, splayed out amongst piles of his belongings with his shirt ridden up and his belly rounded in his lap. If any of his brothers saw him like this, he would never hear the end of their teasing. But luckily for Mammon, not even you could know the way his face became soft as he teased a finger around his navel too gently for you to feel.

“Why’d ya stop? C’mon, now… keep goin’.”

It didn’t matter how much Mammon gambled away or how many centuries it had been since he’d hit the jackpot at the casino. When he was with you, Mammon felt like the luckiest demon in the three realms.

But sometimes it was hard to put it into words. Which is exactly why he treasured moments like these, the moments where his greed got the better of him. The moments where he could steal you away to be his and his alone.

After all, it was much easier to express how madly in love with you he’d become when he didn’t have to meet you face to face.

—

Envy

“You know, this is just like that one scene in ‘My Life as a Shut-In Reincarnated as a Worker in the Shopping Mall Dimension’ where Prince Alfonso goes to the food court kingdom and-”

Leviathan groaned, burying his face into his body pillow as if that could somehow hide him from the voice in his middle.

“You can’t use my own otaku tactics against me, it’s… *hic-* it’s not fair!!”

Your muffled laughter reverberated off the walls of his bathtub, accompanied by the occasional hiccup and the tip of a serpentine tail nervously thumping against porcelain.

He didn’t mean for his horns to sprout from his head when you tried to leave his room that night. He didn’t mean for a serpentine tail to wrap around your ankle, wordlessly begging you to stay. And he certainly didn’t mean for his stomach to loudly vocalize the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind the entire night. What was this, some sort of tropey romance manga?

But here he was, face as red as a bouquet of queen of jealousy and stuffed to the (decidedly metaphorical) gills in his own bathtub. The Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy, reduced to a blushing, hiccuping mess. And he had nobody but himself to blame.

But really, how could he have resisted? Especially with the visions of what could have happened instead playing through his head on repeat. Asmo whisking you away to some club filled with normies who could actually hold a real conversation, Mammon snatching you up for an unauthorized night drive in his Demonio 666 Lexura, Beel getting a little too peckish and… he couldn’t bear to think about it.

Leviathan knew wanting to be your one and only was unreasonable. He knew that he was a terrible, horrible friend for thinking these thoughts and becoming so troubled at the prospect of anyone else showing you affection. After all, no one would want to be with a gloomy shut-in that wasn’t worth the scum in Henry’s tank-

But as soon as they had come, the negative thoughts washed away like a speck in the ocean as you snuggled closer to his hand, a muffled voice reassuring him that there was no place you’d rather be tonight.

—

Wrath

“With a flourish the detective tipped his hat to the dame, as he disappeared into the evening fog like the curls of smoke which danced from his pipe…”

The demon’s inner monologue was cut short as a violent squirming sensation roused him from his novel. Your ears detected the unmistakable sound of a huff and a book closing, muffled by layers of flesh and fabric.

“Restless as ever, I see…”

Normally, Satan would be more than offended to have his attention ripped from the pages of a good book. But this time the annoyance that swelled in his chest turned not into rage, but affection as the fire settled in his stomach and melted away… You tended to have that effect on him.

It was a relatively new sensation. Having been birthed from wrath in its purest form, emotions such as happiness had to be taught to him by his brothers. And for that Satan was thankful- he had long since accepted them as family. But as a human, you were a better teacher of peace than any demon could be. Though a cat curled in his lap was a close second.

The blonde sighed fondly, gazing down at the bump in his sweater.

“…Would you like me to read aloud to you? Perhaps that will help you settle some.”

Pulling the covers up a bit higher around his navel, he tucked them in snugly around his sides. A rare smile crossed Satan’s face as he admired his handiwork. The man reached over to his nightstand, finding there exactly what he was looking for in the dim light. A paperback atop the haphazard piles of hardcovers strewn about, placed there with care as not to crease the art on the cover he knew you loved so much.

With both of you tucked in for the night, it was easier than ever to melt into the gentle rumble of his voice.

“Our story begins in a world of monsters…”

—

Lust:

Asmodeus knows that true beauty comes from within. How could it not, when the skin of the human that emerges from his lips always feels so much softer and smoother than before? He makes sure to bring it to your attention every time, doting over how the glow of his inner beauty rubs off on you so easily. Despite everything, he thinks you look so gorgeous lying in his palm. Layers of mucus, tired bags under your eyes, and all.

But sometimes it’s hard to feel beautiful inside or out with wings dyed black and pointed horns replacing the light of your halo.

—

A delicate, painted fingertip wipes a stray bead of drool from your face. The other hand is busy at your head, gently combing the tangles from your still-damp hair with the tiniest heart-shaped hairbrush. Asmodeus had been ecstatic the day it arrived, practically bowling over Levi before snatching the Akuzon package from his arms with a squeal.

It was a ritual at this point, the way he pampered you after letting you out. Swaddling you in a soft, lilac-scented hand towel warmed by the gentle breeze of his hairdryer, wiping you clean as he hummed a familiar tune.

“Baby, you want my love


No matter who you are


I want you to show me


I fell in love with someone


Besides myself for the first time”

He didn’t need to be the “Jewel of the Heavens” with you as his jewel, a precious pearl to tuck away beside his heart where all the things he loves live.

And he had so, so much love to give.

—

Gluttony

Beelzebub was on the verge of snapping when you came to him.

He was breathing heavily when you found his monstrous, horned silhouette hunched over the empty refrigerator. Frightened eyes were glazed over with a hunger that threatened to swallow you up with their very gaze. His mouth opened in a silent plea- perhaps an apology for eating your favorite pudding- but it was drowned out by the roar of his stomach.

Sometimes it felt as if no amount of food could put out the fire that raged within him. The burning sensation could only be briefly dulled by each cooling mouthful that slid down his throat. But then it was gone, claimed by the emptiness inside him that demanded “more.”

But you… you were different.

Simply being around you made him feel full, and for that he was ever grateful. But sometimes he needed more than a feeling. He needed to be sure you were there, to know that you were alive. To feel the weight of that missing piece that left him the day that he fell, your warmth reassuring him that his choices were the right one.

But despite what he needed, he still required your explicit permission to take it.

“Can I…?”

“Of course.”

With your words, Beelzebub gave himself over to his gluttony. He didn’t mind the demon he had become, as long as his strength could help protect you. Or perhaps you were the one protecting him? He wasn’t sure. But one thing was for certain.

No demon in hell could devour you as lovingly as he did that night.

—

Sloth

Beneath the attic room comforter, an incoherent mumble could be heard from a demon-sized lump in the sheets.

Belphegor rolled onto his stomach as he nestled deeper into his nest of blankets. It didn’t take long at all for a lazy smile to crawl across the Avatar of Sloth’s face. Even though you were undoubtedly squashed in this position, he could still feel your tiny hands working their magic just like he had asked.

Oh, how you spoiled him rotten.

It was hard not to with the way Belphegor expressed his desires so plainly. To borrow your jacket to use as a pillow, to keep quiet to Lucifer about skipping classes, to stroke his hair while he lay on your lap. The others weren’t too thrilled with your coddling, but Belphie couldn’t care less.

After all, they had gotten so much more time with you than he had. They got to know you, to love you, to taste you… all before you even knew his name.

Belphegor was the Avatar of Sloth, not envy. But there was once a time when the unmistakable tingling warmth of his twin indulging in you left the bitter aftertaste of jealousy on his tongue. It was a strange feeling, his brother’s affection for a human. One that, until recently, he couldn’t quite understand. And at the time, he had no desire to.

Nowadays the sensation was far from unwelcome. But ever since that night at the castle when he gifted you his pact, Belphegor had found that he much preferred having you all to himself in person. All to himself…

A small yawn escaped the youngest’s mouth as mind wandered to his twin. Could he feel it too, he wondered? The phantom weight of your touch?

…Perhaps he’d ask Beel about it later. But for now, he had a very important nap to get to.

—

Neither of you were conscious enough to know it, but that night as Beelzebub carried his brother down to his own bed and tucked him in, he whispered not one, but two good-nights.

[oneluckygoose]

O'Knutzy Week 2024 Day 2

DAY 2, LETS GO! (Still a scheduled post, I'm getting excited for the future)

As always thanks to @lumosinlove for being amazing, and thanks to @oknutzy-week-2024 for doing all this!

Out comes part 2 of the fic I wrote for the Romance Novels category, this time with all three boys! Enjoy, y'all! (cough cough, I gave Leo a traditional SC/GA accent which is what I grew up around instead of a NOLA accent, cough cough)

Summary: Leo wakes up to find himself on his own, and he decides to spend his morning reading a very specific book that Finn and Logan recognize...

Characters: Leo Knut, Finn O'Hara, Logan Tremblay

Warnings: Implied/referenced sexual content, cursing, they're sad bois for a bit

Word Count: 2,609 (Preview of 352 under cut)

Leo woke up to the sun filtering through Finn’s thin curtains. It must have been later than he was used to waking up, especially with the early days of summer feeling like an endless well of time and… Leo’s arms flailed around, searching for Logan and Finn, finding the bed a vast sea of empty white sheets. Now that Leo’s consciousness returned more, he realized that the bed was cold without two heavy weights next to him. Leo sat up groggily, voice croaking out to call for them, but his words echoed into what felt like void. Panic started to rise in his chest, but he shook himself awake enough to squash it quickly. It had been the first time in almost a month he had woken up alone, and he found himself contemplating if the last year and a half had been a dream. The distinct smell of Logan’s cologne and the sight of Finn’s books piled on the bedside table made Leo groan in relief. It’s not fake, they’re just not here, Leo told himself, pressing his eyes closed tightly. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching blindly for his phone and ended up hitting the books on the bedside table. Leo winced as books tumbled onto the floor, but decided to grab his phone instead of righting them immediately. Leo glanced down, blinking rapidly so his eyes could focus, and saw a text from Finn pop up from almost an hour beforehand at 9:00 AM saying he and Logan were going to go grab bagels and to call when he woke up. Leo stared at his background image for a moment. It was of Finn and Logan in the locker room after they had won the cup, champagne flying around them. They were standing with Finn’s head on Logan’s chest and Logan pressing a hard kiss onto the top of his head. Leo had never told them he’d taken it, but it had been the best moment in Leo’s entire life. Leo smiled and laughed giddily, before clicking open his phone and calling Logan.

[satsu004]

I'm obsessed with the idea of a tokyo ghoul/batman 50k words crossover fic in a way I can not explain. It's giving me strong vibes that it would mesh very well together, but people are making crossovers with the mcu instead😭

[just-leui]

little Campbell Bain/male oc oneshot because it's 1am and i don't want to sleep (still a wip but hey what's the harm in posting it here)

The sound of droplets rhythmically hitting the hospital's windows filled the room. It was early morning, breakfast had just been served and the greater part of the patients had either settled in the day room to watch tv or retrieved into their shared rooms.

Having arrived and signed in Archie had already been assigned a list of tasks for the day. Not even twenty minutes into his volunteer shift the young man heard his name be enthusiastically called out from a familiar voice, “Archie! Archie yer here!”

The eighteen-year-old was soon met with that smile he swore could be counted as a second sun, warm and refreshing. “Aye, no school for the day, I got the morning free so I took the opportunity to come here,” the words cheerfully left his lips, more like a celebration than an explanation.

With Campbell’s hands holding onto his forearms with glee the younger boy couldn't help but give into that contagious smile he had grown so fond of. Campbell’s eyes suddenly widened, having just remembered something. It was that same look that crossed his face whenever one of those starry-eyed ideas of his bloomed in his mind.

“Hold on, I’ve got something for you,” at the sudden loss of contact Archie almost felt disappointed, the ghost of the older boy’s hands lingered on his skin. His eyes quickly caught up to Campbell’s swift movement, watching as he sprinted to his room and left the other standing there a bit awkwardly.

After having rummaged through the bedside table’s drawers containing the few belongings he was allowed to keep in the ward Campbell made his way back to the other boy. Archie was once again met with that familiar sun-like grin but this time his attention was grabbed by the item Campbell held close to himself, almost jealously.

“Is that..?” His words were caught off by the older boy’s action, his arms now stretched out towards Archie, holding out a cd in its case for him to take. “Made it meself,” he stated proudly, “it’s a bunch o’ songs I wanted tae dedicate to you”. Archie felt awestruck. “For me?” The younger one echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief, gratitude and that little bit of something else that Campbell seemed to struggle to label. Archie’s figers surrounded the objec with cautious eagerness. “That’s…” A wide smile decorated his features, “that’s so nice of ye, Campbell, seriously. Thank you.”

Their eyes met once again, the cd case now in the younger boy’s hands. Time seemed to still for just a moment, the tasks Archie was assigned for the shift completely forgotten as his focus and thoughts were now fixed on that bubbly, scrawny boy standing in front of him. It filled Archie with joy, the knowledge that the other had spent part of his free time to select, record and put together a list of songs just for him.

Campell’s enthusiasm was known by almost everyone in the ward by now. The way he’d spend hours on something he was passionate about without batting an eye was always something that caught the younger boy’s attention, like the admirable dedication Campbell had shown all throughout the hospital radio’s journey. It was just part of who he was. But Archie had never imagined himself on the receiving end of that special attention. He had never considered it an actual possibility. That doesn’t go to say that he had never wished to be the subject of such attention. He had just rendered it a wistful fantasy, an idealistic dream he enjoyed to indulge in every once in a while.

After all, how could it become a reality? It’s not like Archie believed himself to be worth so much time and effort. And, even if he was proven wrong on that first point, what realistic chances did he have to experience that sort of relationship in his own time and age? Even acknowledging such an aspect of himself felt like such a huge mountain to climb. It had taken him years to come to terms with the fact. Just the thought of telling anyone felt like willingly throwing himself in a cage of hungry wolves ready to tear him to shreds. So how could he ever experience that sweet teenage romance he longed for when he couldn’t even make himself known to those people who might even have been interested in him?

And how could you not like Campbell? To the younger boy he was like a beam of light, sunshine in human form making every situation more enjoyable and bearable thanks to his enthusiasm. Archie gravitated towards him the same way the Earth does with the sun. How he had developed such an infatuation for someone

So here he was, speechless with a dumb smile on his face feeling like his dreams were being served to him o a silver plate while he didn’t know what to do. The one thing he knew is that he would’ve cherished that cd for as long as he had the ability to.

[sadiecoocoo]

Mortycest will always be my otp for Rick and Morty… but I also think that Brad/morty deserves some recognition and should get a lot more fan content

[transsexualhamlet]

Hi I made a little thing! For Tolkien gen week! It's writing! for an incredibly obscure character

Day 1- Family, Mentorships, Community / Day 5- Culture, Diversity, Traditions

Tar-Ancalimë- Daughter of Ill-Pairing

@tolkiengenweek :)

(story below cut)

Her father had gone off to sea again for the last time, and her mother thought now of drowning herself in it. Her father had gifted her the sceptre, and she would only say it was a long time coming, for it had been nothing to him but a heavy plaything. Her father gifted her with it the bulk of his life’s dissatisfaction, and now it was hers upon her strong and unhappy hand. She held it well, they said, she held it like a man. She dearly hoped they were wrong.

Tar-Ancalimë fingered again the crown of silver and gold, pondering the slight ache of its wearing, the unforgiving shape of it. She must always wear her hair in tight and thick braids if this was to fit on her, which she did not mind. It was much preferable to the life of decorum and dust that was to be a princess, and she would rather run away into the hills than have her hair arranged like a fruit bowl every day. She was much too old for that, and so long had she waited for it to finally sit on her head that much of the novelty had already worn off.

She took the crown at least in part just for the satisfaction of her ego, and the knowledge that she would be a far better ruler than anyone else in the line of long-lasting childhood. She took the crown for many reasons- and it was another reason perhaps never to return to hateful Emerië. She had tried all other professions, and none suited her. Númenor was just not exceedingly large, and she had remained a princess whether she abided as a shepherdess or a wild thing in the woods, whether she covered her face in dirt or cut her braids and wore men’s clothing. The men saw her, and knew her, and still called her beautiful. Ancalimë did not understand the meaning of the word, and never wished to. Suitors spoke of her long, thick braids and deep olive skin, her dark lips, her long and regal nose, how she glowed when wearing white and gold. In her face, she only saw her mother and father, as everywhere else.

So a queen she would be instead, and here she returned, and knelt like a soldier to receive the crown. As soon as it was upon her head, she told her father to go play off at sea. It was as if she had severed his chains, and he smiled, and was soon gone.

Her rooms were still here, in the palace, and she returned to them now, with a bitter and cloying feeling. When her father had returned the first time, he had been much surprised to realize his child continued to exist in his absence, and had bidden her to Armenelos, away from her home in the country. He had given her everything. The rooms were grand and decorated and filled for her with things she did not like, or at least had not liked since she had been very small. There were useless gifts made of the gold of Middle Earth, gifts of the grey-elven peoples, worthless souvenirs of places she had little interest in. Aldarion thought they would make her happy, in some convoluted way. Aldarion thought perhaps they would make her his daughter, and not the daughter of Erendis. 

Perhaps if she had been raised the son of Aldarion, they might have. If she had grown up at sea in the company of merry and singing men, eating salted crap, waving to foreign forests and elves who had not left them since before the rising of the sun, running from all responsibility- Maybe then she would have been happy, taken up a sword and drawn blood of strangers, and grown to be a senseless king, quickly siring an heir and leaving all care of it and the woman to someone else.

But in this world, she was her terrible mother’s terrible daughter. In this one her father left again, and she was only glad for it. She had explored all other pathways, and all only led again here.

The room had been redecorated long ago, but now the wallpaper began to peel, and beneath it still lay a pattern of twin birds, stained and filled with dust.

Ancalimë turned to the maid beside her, looking upon the rooms. “Now that I am finally queen, I may leave this place for the royal chambers, correct? It is not as if my parents have ever used them.” She surveyed the chamber she had inhabited through her adolescence, and would be glad to leave it, having few happy memories or well-slept nights within. “I would like to enjoy a larger bed and higher view. Those rooms may grant me a far glimpse of my homeland, instead of the sea.”

It was a bittersweet thing, of course. Her father had ruined the sea, her mother had ruined the northwoods, her father had ruined the trees. Everyone upon Númenor had ruined the pastures, but the palace was little better. She could not answer if questioned how this made sense to her. The place where she had power remained the best option, as she had roamed the whole island and found only more of her parents and the endless politics of marriage. Never again to the pastures would she return, nor would she speak to her mother, and she would not learn of her death until far after it had occurred. Neither would she weep, until she had barricaded herself somewhere far away, for her mother would curse her name if she had bent to weeping.

(She would do it anyway, no matter how her mother had ruined her.)

They would return to the sea, and she would stay on land, stubborn and unforgiving. 

The maid pursed her lips, and threaded her hands together. “Oh, well, your highness, not yet, see- the royal chambers are only for a wedded king and queen. Surely you may enjoy them as soon as you have found a suitable man, but until then you will not have need for more than a maiden’s chambers.”

Ancalimë narrowed her eyes. “It’s your majesty.”

The maid looked down. “I am sorry, I am just unused to it is all. We have never had a queen ruler, and I have known you so long.”

Ancalimë seethed and set off down the hall, and the maid followed. “I am not a maiden. I am two hundred years old, and I have waited long enough to have my way. I will not marry. There is no one whom I would marry, and I truly do not expect that to change.”

Her maid was now bent with age, and unmarried as well, for she dismissed any that chose to. But the little lady bowed her head and sighed. “Now surely that is unwise. No one would wish you rule without a king.”

“Well then the land shall be disappointed, for this is my rule, and no one else’s.”

“But do you not wish for love?” the maid asked, grieved. “You are lonely, I know this. You talk to yourself. You wander at night, and never speak to your family except to bid them leave.”

She made her way to the balcony, and wished to be left alone, if nothing else, if somehow the highest office in the land would still not let one live as they wished. When she had been young, Aldarion had once promised she would have everything she had ever wanted. Aldarion appeared to think she wanted different things, for now she was only less free than ever before.

“I am not lonely. You see me talking little because every man who has ever dared to speak with me wishes only to take me as his wife,” she shouted, and kicked open the balcony’s doors. “I do not wish for love, and I do not understand anyone who would. I ask you, for neither are you married. Would you truly wish to give up your autonomy? To share your secrets, your bed, your own body and heart? It seems to me that all lovers have caught a disease I want no part in. I see what it has done to my mother.”

The maid set a hand on her shoulder, and smiled sadly. “I am not married, yes, but I would be if I could. Not all love is as unhappy as that which you come from. I have lived long with my lover, and I would not give her up.”

The queen looked out upon her kingdom, and still did not understand. “I am glad you are happy where my parents were not. But I would not have a woman in my bed either. I enjoy sleeping, and I enjoy being alone. Two things I am already exceptionally deprived of.”

The wind was fair, the sky was clear and the city streets were still decorated for her coronation, though very few were happy to see her take her due, and a thousand relatives and suitors had not yet gotten the order to vacate the palace at once. Far away to the west, Gil-Estel glittered, and was a guide only for those that ventured at sea. It was ever silent to her.

In her hand was a piece of paper now older than half the men in the capitol, and on it was a list, written by her at the tender age of fifteen. She looked down to the maid, who had followed her anyway, and held it up, reading it aloud in a strong and bitter voice.

“Rules I am going to make when I am queen.” She looked down, reading the bulleted list. “Number one, divorce is legal. Number two, my father has to get one. Three, all my servants get free horses and we ride them every day.” Ancalimë turned red, moving on to the next one. “Four, I never have to get married and no one is ever allowed to bother me about it ever again.”

The list went on, for an embarrassingly long while. 

“It appears that most of these things are beyond my reach even now. Already my cousins call me to surrender my crown.” She narrowed her eyes. “But it is mine, and as long as I can I will live how I wish. Tradition means nothing to me, and my father is not here. This is my palace, and I shall sleep in the royal chambers. Alone. You may inform the rest of the staff of this order. I am tired.”

The maid frowned, bowing and hurrying away. Ancalimë threw the list to the wind, and closed the door, walking with head held high, holding still to her dwindling ground, high above all others. 

The weight of the family hung like cobwebs upon her crown. The decisions of Elros were not hers. No legends ever taught made space for such a queen. When she had as a child walked through these massive libraries, all stories of the ancients were love stories.

Her mother had told her when she was young that Númenor was no place for a sane woman, and all was but a collection of the power fantasies, the land of gift to happy men. Her mother told her she would never be happy. But her mother had told her many things, and most were nonsense.

Perhaps the land of gift was not made for her, nor would it remember her well. But she inherited it whether anyone wished her to or not, and Tar-Ancalimë would live as she willed.

Far away on the open sea, Aldarion spent his last days on stormy waters, free as a child, and knew he should never have married. Near enough, on the ports of Rómenna, Erendis stood again as a sailor’s wife, and did not speak nor weep, grey and spent on nothing she had been able to keep. Though free of the house of Elros she would never be, the daughter of the ill-pairing would never suffer from such an affliction, and did not grieve it one bit.

[totheidiot]

yeah just read the egg and like i have been thinking. it's a very half-baked idea but hm. light yagami as that main character man in that story, the man who died from the car accident. like, are you getting me? light is not going to heaven or hell so what if there wasn't heaven and hell to begin with actually? the universe is an egg and he is all of these different reincarnations actually, he was every single human being and the universe was made for him. in the egg, the main character died from a pretty normal car crash, light has his canon death in that staircase and he finds himself wherever the original egg story was set. meets with the narrator who is inexplicably supposed to be God. that back and forth conversation between light and God, where God reveals stuff about reincarnation and how it works, telling him also about he is everyone. a point about if he really was everyone who ever lived, then that means that he was once L or near or misa or mikami or every single person that he has ever written in the death note. it's revealed that he is on the path to becoming God but just not yet. one day he will be but he's still not grown enough. and then, he is sent on his way to his next life. i might write a piece about this, like it's going to be copy paste the egg story but changed up to fit death note and light.

[currycurrie]

Just finished writing a first draft of the first episode of that horror podcast I've been thinking about on and off for a few years now. Sharing here cause fuck it. I have no idea if the subject matter is interesting to anybody but me tbh. Maybe let me know if this is anything if you feel like reading. Script under the cut.

(BEGIN Episode 1)

(Sound of turning off car, car door opens and shuts as someone gets out, fumbling with phone then it starts ringing with an outgoing call.)

(General soundscape: quiet, woods, distant river flowing)

 LAVINIA: (nervous, annoyed): Come on, Mae, ya gonna pick up or what?

(Few more beats of outgoing call ringing)

 MAE: (Sound of call being answered, bright and extremely cheery) Hey! There’s my girl! How’s it going, La? You make it to the site?

LAVINIA: If by site you mean the absolute middle of bumfuck nowhere, yeah I made it.

MAE: Ooh - cheerful as ever, my dear! And - (fake gasp) Lavinia! We’re at work! You better watch your fucking language! (Mae laughs)

LAVINIA: (reluctant chuckle) Okay, yeah, just walk me through this again please. I am feeling wildly underqualified and out of my depth here. 

MAE: Oh it’s stupid easy, you’ll be fine. Okay, you got the bag from the back seat? 

LAVINIA: Yeah, it’s here.

(Sounds of bag unzipping and rummaging around, paper, glass bottles, fabric)

MAE: Well there’s some protective gear in there, you got your hazmat suit, a respirator, some goggles, gloves, your little booties (Mae snickers, Lavinia sighs) and your personal dosimeter, right? Start suiting up. 

LAVINIA: Right, gotcha.

(Sounds of fabric rustling and effort as La puts on the protective gear)

MAE: So, look around, you see those sign posts around the area? 

LAVINIA: Yeah?

MAE: Each one of those is a site where you gotta take some soil or water samples and get a reading with your geiger counter. Label the sample, write down your reading, take some photos, and voila! You’re done! Move on to the next site. 

LAVINIA: Just casually sending your local fuck up to measure some radiation. Right. Excellent. 

MAE: Oh calm down, you’ve got your protective gear, and the clean up of this place was finished years ago. There is nothing here to worry about. I gave you a total softball for your first one!

LAVINIA: (muttering under her breath, annoyed, sound of zipper, voice now slightly muffled by respirator) This hazmat suit was made for giants. I feel like a kid wearing their dad’s clothes or something. 

MAE: Yeah well it was sized for Nathan who called out today. Best we could do on short notice. And ya know, I don’t think they even make suits for pipsqueaks like you. (Mae snickers)

LAVINIA: Ugh. Fine. Just- What’s next?

MAE: Is your personal dosimeter on? 

(Fabric rustling, beep as button is pressed)

MAE: Great! So in the bag you got those papers (bag and papers rustling) And those papers are the form you fill out for the inspection! It’s pretty self explanatory. You got your basic overview of the site, timeline of clean up actions, estimated ranges of radiation to be expected, what to take photos and samples of, etcetera. 

LAVINIA: (papers flipping) Makes sense. 

MAE: And the little glass containers in your bag! (bag rustling, glass clinking) they’ve got blank labels on ‘em to fill out as you take the sample. You with me so far? 

LAVINIA: Yeah, uh, (papers flipping) are you sure this place is safe? Radium? Isn’t that the shit that killed Marie Curie? 

MAE: (long drawn out groan, footsteps through grass as La begins walking) Trust me, you’re fine. This place is already cleaned up, you’re gonna get some radiation levels slightly higher than expected background but nowhere near as bad as like an x-ray or taking a long flight or (pointedly) smoking cigarettes everyday, Lavinia. 

LAVINIA: Fine, fine. Point taken. 

MAE: We just have to do this song and dance every few months cuz the government says so. Between you and me, the property owners are just waiting for the radiation to decay enough so they can build something shitty here like “luxury” apartments or another Walmart or something. 

LAVINIA: Right.

MAE: I know you’re just the shop mechanic, but there really isn’t any special training you need to do this job.

LAVINIA: (footsteps stop) “Just” the shop mechanic? (audible smirk)

MAE: Oh christ, (heavy sarcasm) Lavinia Clarke you are the most glorious and genius mechanic of automobiles this side of the Mississippi. All of the guys’ work trucks would simultaneously implode without your expert guidance. We would be doomed without you! Better?

LAVINIA: (laughing) You were laying it on a little thick. But, better. (Footsteps begin again)

MAE: (also laughing now) Good.

LAVINIA: (Footsteps stop) I’m at the first sign now.

MAE: Great! Just let me know if you need help with anything.

(Various sounds of La getting to work, digging, glass, camera, writing, papers. Notably, sounds of geiger counter turning on and slow clicking begins.)

LAVINIA: So what was this place exactly?

MAE: Well, way back when before the glorious advent of backlit screens, people needed to be able to read certain stuff in the dark, right?

LAVINIA: Okay.

MAE: Like their watch or dials on an airplane. Important shit. So they used radium. Because it glows in the dark and how bad it was for you wasn’t super known at the time. And this place used to be where they painted the radium on that stuff. 

LAVINIA: Oh, yikes.

MAE: No wait it gets worse. 

LAVINIA: (with emphasis) Oh, yikes.

MAE: So they tended to only hire women to do the painting. And, get this, they instructed the women to use their mouths to get their paint brushes to a fine point. 

LAVINIA: No, they were basically eating radioactive paint?! 

MAE: Yep! I did a whole paper on this in my freshman year of college. Basically the only reason we have worker’s compensation laws now is because some of those women who got really sick sued the shit out of their employers.

LAVINIA: Good for them.

MAE: Yeah! I mean they all pretty much died out before or shortly after the cases were settled, but they did win in the end. There’s a whole book about it I have at home if you’re curious. 

LAVINIA: I might actually take you up on that. Okay that’s this site down I think.

MAE: See? You’re a natural! 

LAVINIA: Yeah this is… not terrible. 

(Footsteps begin again, geiger counter clicking very slowly begins to pick up pace as La walks.)

MAE: (with exaggerated customer service voice and intended sarcasm) We here at Aster Remediation Co. take the happiness and welfare of our employees seriously. 

LAVINIA: (laughing) Okay next sign. Looks like it’s in the middle of where a building used to be?

MAE: Yeah, if I’m looking at this right, (papers flipping) you’re in the middle of the old workshop. 

LAVINIA: Oh weird. 

(Repeat sounds of La working)

MAE: Yeah, they had to knock down all the buildings here because they were too contaminated to be repurposed. 

LAVINIA: Is that common? That sounds really bad. 

MAE: Oh no its super common. It’s usually the easier route to just knock it down and remove the debris. Actually scrubbing down a whole building and then managing the waste water and all that is a huge undertaking. 

LAVINIA: Right. Okay. 

MAE: Besides the workshop wasn’t the biggest problem spot here. 

LAVINIA: No?

MAE: Yeah the company went bankrupt and had to close down real quick. But they had all this radioactive material and no money to dispose of it properly. 

LAVINIA: I think I see where this is going. 

MAE: What is a poor corporation to do? The answer was dig a big hole in the backyard and dump everything in it. 

LAVINIA: Right. Of course. We’re literally steps away from the Susquehanna river. 

MAE: Yeeeup. 

LAVINIA: I feel like it would have been better if they just left everything as it was? Instead of going out of their way to hide it. 

MAE: Funnily enough, yeah. Would have made clean up a lot easier. And it wouldn’t have leached radiation into the local water supply via said river. 

LAVINIA: Christ. 

MAE: But don’t worry! It’s all fixed now. Because we cleaned it all up. Now comes the boring stuff that you’re doing. 

LAVINIA: Right. And this couldn’t have waited for Nathan to get back or you to do it why?

MAE: Because today’s the report due date! If we don’t send in everything today we could get in trouble with the EPA or something. I don’t know. I just do what I’m told. 

LAVINIA: And you?

MAE: Pfft. I’m dispatch. I can’t exactly schedule and monitor all our guys from the middle of a field in rural Pennsylvania. 

LAVINIA: I guess. 

MAE: It’s not that deep, and you’re really helping me out of a bind here. 

LAVINIA: True. You and Nathan both owe me one for this. 

MAE: That I can’t deny, but good luck getting that grumpy asshole to buy you a drink or something. 

LAVINIA: Right. That’s it for this one. Last one is… (papers flipping) in the woods behind these buildings. Oh this is the dumping site hell hole you were talking about. 

MAE: Yup! 

LAVINIA: Great. Fantastic. 

MAE: It’s a hole in the ground not Chernobyl. 

LAVINIA: Easy for you to say from your office, and not here in a hazmat suit with a geiger counter. 

(La begins to walk towards the last site, and the geiger counter sharply increases as she draws near.)

(Sudden sounds of someone shouting for Mae in the background of the phone call.)

MAE: Oh shit what now. Okay. I gotta run. I’ll call you when I’m done. Sorry! (call ends)

(La sighs and keeps walking to the site. The quiet of nature interrupted by the geiger counter is deafening and La begins to feel uneasy.)

(La with breathing audible and shaky, begins humming/singing under her breath to help fill the silence Mae left. Song: Science Fiction/Double Feature) 

(La’s personal dosimeter begins to sound an alarm out of nowhere. La begins cursing out of surprise and fumbles with it)

LAVINIA: Error? Stupid piece of shit.

(Sounds of beeping as La begins pressing buttons and then the alarm is silenced. Footsteps continue and La begins humming again.)

(La makes it to the site and the geiger counter is the strongest it's been yet.)

LAVINIA: Okay. Made it. Just gotta-

(Repeat sounds of La working.)

LAVINIA: Right, now just gotta get a sample from the river.

(Footsteps start. Background noise of river becomes louder.)

(Sounds of La crouching down, bag, glass, hand in water etc.)

(There is a sound as if someone stepping on a twig and it snapping uncomfortably close. La makes startled sounds and curses under breath.)

LAVINIA: Hello? (beat) Anyone? (beat) Fuck this. I need to get the fuck out of here. 

(Sounds of La packing up her gear and starting to briskly walk back to the car.)

(Suddenly the geiger counter sounds are maxed out and the personal dosimeter begins to alarm again.)

(inexplicable sound effect, like static, distortion, geiger counter, alarm all blending. La screams but it is cut short.)

(END Episode 1)

[starzdeath]

ahaha guess who found out their notifications have been broken for the past few weeks