#oh well I either get into it or I don't. not the end of the world if I don't watch Arcane I've already got enough to watch as is lol

[captain-huggy-bear]

Luke would be the type to keep his private life very private so him having a gf only really his family and friends in michigan know so the devils have no clue and i could see the boys always trying to get luke to hookup with people for like a whole season till next season when they finally learn luke has had a gf the whole time

Oh boy, 100%. He always just politely tells them he's not interested in dating anyone or having a casual hookup or pretends he doesn't notice what they're doing. Jack 100% does not help, he finds it hilarious when any of the guys are trying to get Luke to talk to some random girl in a bar, but he will 100% confirm to you that Luke is the most loyal boyfriend you could ask for. I also see Luke feeling guilty about it even though he hasn't done anything, so every time he gets back to the apartment he's telling you if you live together or phoning you if you don't and basically confessing his 'sins', like 'i'm so sorry, baby, Marky tried to get me to go out with this blonde and she wouldn't stop touching my arm and I told her I wasn't interested and I only love you.' Definitely reaches a point where he breaks and just goes 'STOP! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND' and all the guys are just like 'why the hell didn't you tell us this sooner?' Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Hey, C'mon, Rusty! What about the blonde at the end of the bar?" Curtis points to a young woman around Luke's age, platinum blonde hair, little black dress, who's eyeing Luke like he might be candy. It doesn't flatter him, if anything it sends a sick feeling to his gut, a roiling discomfort because only you're allowed to look at him like that. You can eye fuck him, no one else. He feels objectified.

"Curtis, I've told you I'm not interested. Not my type." Not his type because his girlfriend is his only type and there's only one of you. It doesn't matter if 100 attractive women all tried to get his number right now, he wouldn't care, wouldn't give it out because you're the one he wants. Literally no one compares to you, he's smitten, whipped, absolutely in love.

"C'mon, seriously! You didn't go out with anyone all last season! Not even a hook up, you're celibate, man! You're young, you should be having fun!" Curtis knocks his shoulder with a grin and Luke just grips his beer tighter, feeling a familiar frustration at the situation. He spent all of last season dealing with the boys trying to goad him into hook ups and flings, throwing women at him like it was their duty to get him laid. He hated every minute of it.

"Yeah, Lukey, you were practically celibate, a monk," Jack chimes in, arm thrown over Luke's shoulder with a grin, the irony of his words not lost on either of them because Luke was definitely not celibate last year. He just wasn't hooking up with random strangers, because he'd started dating you, because you were the only person he wanted to see, to kiss, to sleep with and that still stood firm and true.

"Just go talk to her, maybe you'll get lucky and go home with her tonight! C'mon, what's wrong?" It's Dougie that chimes in this time and Luke wants to die. He wants to die. Or alternative go to your apartment and curl up with you in bed because this is the worst.

"Yeah, are you scared, Lukey?" If Jack wasn't his brother he'd have killed him already, killed him for encouraging all of this bullshit for a year, knowing full well that Luke wasn't single. But, he can't because his mom would be upset if Jack died...he rolls his eyes at him instead, shrugging his arm off of his shoulders.

"You're not secretly a virgin or anything, right, Rusty?"

"Fuck off, Lazar." He snaps, not because it would matter if he was, but because it's stupid that that's the only reason people can comprehend he wouldn't want to sleep around. Maybe it's just not his thing to have hook ups? Maybe he's focusing on his career? Maybe he's already in love and anything else would be cheap and insignificant in comparison?

"Oh, that's hit a nerve, some truth in that?" The guys are all grinning at him like they think they've got it all worked out and it just...it makes him snap, slamming the bottle of beer he'd been cradling to the bar top.

"No, y'know why I don't want to go talk to some random fucking blonde in the bar or hook up with whatever girl you throw my way? Because I've got a fucking girlfriend, okay? I'm not virgin! I'm not celibate! I just don't want to fuck a girl that isn't my girlfriend!" Luke's breathing heavy by the end of it, red it the face because it is so fucking annoying to constantly be bugged about it and he just wants everyone to get off his back. He's happily with you, he doesn't need random hook ups and he certainly doesn't need his team mates trying to get him laid like they have some moral duty to do so.

The way they look at him makes him feel stupid because suddenly they're all calling out variations of, "Dude! Why the fuck didn't you tell us this sooner?!" and he realises that maybe he could have solved this all months earlier by just saying he was seeing someone...like a normal person, maybe? But he'd wanted to keep things private...

He flounders for an explanation, mouth opening and closing, running a hand through his mess curls like that might help his brain to function.

"I just...it was new and...we were keeping it private."

It's Marky that turns to look at Jack, "Did you not know about this?"

"Oh, I knew." Jack is all smug enjoyment, leaning back against the bar and winking at the blonde Curtis had been trying to set Luke up with. Satisfaction rolled off him in cocky waves.

"Why they hell did you let us shove girls at your brother then?" Curtis asks, shocked, nay baffled because Jack had just spent an entire season practically encouraging the behaviour all while knowing full well Luke was dating you.

"It was funny," He shrugs with a grin and mentally Luke is considering whether the price he'd pay is worth putting itching powder in Jack's underwear drawer or maybe if cutting his hair in his sleep would be a better punishment since he can't rip another set of braces off him like Quinn did.

"That's messed up, Jack!" "Yeah, man!"

Luke sighs as the guys all ripped into Jack, downing the last of his beer and grabbing his phone off the bar top.

"Fuck this, I'm going to see Y/N."

"Ohh, you're girlfriend!?" And just like that Luke knows...he knows he's not out of the woods, it's just that the woods have changed from teasing and taunting him about hook ups, to doing so about his girlfriend.

Fuck, he hates being a younger brother.

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

"You're welcome." Remus smiled then nodded, "Sounds good! If you ever feel differently let me know. Or if you want anything else done to your body. I'll happily pay for any of the surgeries. Mhm... Can't agree with you more. Flesh is gross sometimes. Mhm, that's true, but it could make you feel somewhat better. That's true!" He kissed emiles shoulder, "And I think it's adorable, no matter what you do." He nods, then he works down to emiles hips and his stomach. "Yeah... Mhm... You have the cutest stomach, do you know that? You're not too skinny, but not too big either. You've got a little bit of chub to make it adorable." He kissed his stomach.

"There are chances that he doesn't care. But I won't count on it, is all I'm saying. He may want Roman off the hook now that he's got Roman 2.0, I guess you could say." The man leaned back in his chair as Virgil watched the video. "Nope. They keep mentioning him, and yet...they're not doing a single thing to save him. It's like theyre talking about a ghost, or someone that's already dead. Hm, personally Roman is more my type, I like Romans big shoulders. But I see what you two see in this ex. Hm... That's a possibility... Especially since I'll be sending the dogs to this address, so it's clear that you know where they are. So you could, theoretically, kill the ex very easily. He may take that as a real possible threat..."

The man snorted, "Aw, I would've liked to have seen Roman in a ring gag, shoot. But I would've loved to have seen Romans face as he realized you were serious and he had to wear it." He chuckled, "I bet it was priceless. Oh?" The man leaned over to see the photo, only to chuckle even more at seeing it. "Oh, yeah, that's perfect. It's like he's made for those sort of outfits! He's adorable! Can I show that to the boys? I bet they'll fight over each other to get their hands on the photo."

"I bet he would. Ah, yeah, if you don't condition him enough he would cry the first time you do it. Judging by how loudly the mutt protested when they arrived, you may have him on your ass too. Mhm, smart. Gotta condition his mind to associate you with love and pleasure. Give him a sort of... Stockholm syndrome sort of thing. He's gonna look very cute with a big tummy, I bet. Oh, before you get to that point, would you want me to do a full checkup on him? Just to make sure he's healthy? You don't want him to be sick when he's pregnant, after all."

"Well, for Roman it won't be much harm to him. I'll do it the most humane way for him. As for the mutt..." The man chuckled darkly, "Who really cares about him, really? Let's just say... It's going to be so extreme that there won't be a way to reverse the process. He'll be a permanent doll for the rest of his life. But, again, who really cares? As for Roman... I'll do it how some therapists do it, just hypnotizing him. It may take some time, but he won't know the difference by the end of it. Also, if you want, later down the line, I could make Roman a hybrid. That way if he ever does escape..." He chuckled, "Everyone will just treat him as property, as your official property. Won't that be fantastic?"

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

[zeroseuniverse]

please give haneul's dad a love life 😔🙏 he's miserable, I can hear him sighing all day and night and I don't even live nearby. please help a young nurse be well fed with fluffy warm pancakes in the morning 🥹🥞

please make a silly old anonymous reader happy by writing a part 2 of "My Dad is Single!" ☝️

You ask and you shall receive my darling Asks are my number 1 priority so I typically try to only take 2-3 days in writing them, I enjoy providing what my readers want so I hope this came out in a timely manner for you!

My Dad Is Single II

S.Coups had no idea how he ended up here.

One moment, he was just a devoted single dad trying to survive his six-year-old's chaotic antics. The next, he was standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes while Nurse Pretty—sat at his dining table, chatting with Haneul like they were old friends.

Haneul had orchestrated this whole thing, obviously. After her legendary text message, she had laughed it off but agreed to come over—"just for pancakes," she had said. But from the way she kept smiling at him over her coffee, he knew she was enjoying his flustered state way too much.

"So, Haneul," she said, resting her chin on her hand. "Tell me—why are you so determined to find your dad a girlfriend?"

Haneul sighed dramatically, like this was a burden only she could bear. "Because Appa is so lonely."

S.Coups groaned from the stove. "I am not—"

"He sighs all the time," Haneul interrupted. "Like, so much. And he watches sad movies at night."

She smirked. "Ah, the sighing. You told me about that before."

"Right?!" Haneul threw her hands up. "It’s a problem."

S.Coups turned around, pointing a spatula at his daughter. "You’re making me sound like a tragic drama lead."

"You are a tragic drama lead," Haneul said, dead serious. "But don’t worry! This is the episode where you find love again."

She burst out laughing while S.Coups slumped against the counter, defeated.

"Unbelievable," he muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You say that a lot," She teased, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Because this keeps happening!" He gestured at Haneul, who was happily munching on a pancake like she hadn’t just thrown him under the bus.

She just smiled. "Well, I have to admit—this is probably the most unique way I’ve ever been asked out."

S.Coups nearly dropped the plate he was holding. "Wait—was this… an ask out?"

she tilted her head, pretending to think. "Well, I was invited to your house. You cooked for me. There’s a cute child who’s very invested in our future. Sounds like a date to me."

S.Coups blinked, completely thrown. "I—uh—what—"

Haneul leaned forward and stage-whispered to her , "He’s shy."

she grinned. "It’s cute."

S.Coups groaned again. "I am not shy!"

"You’re blushing," Haneul pointed out.

He pressed a hand to his face. Oh my God, I am.

She reached for a pancake, her smile softening. "Relax, S.Coups. I’m just teasing. But… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. If that’s something you’d be open to."

S.Coups stared at her, completely caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this. At all. And yet, with Haneul beaming up at him and her looking at him with those warm, patient eyes, he found himself… considering it.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face. "I guess… I wouldn’t mind either."

Haneul exploded into cheers, nearly knocking over her juice. "YES! Finally!"

she laughed, and S.Coups couldn’t help but chuckle too, shaking his head.

"Unbelievable," he muttered one last time—but this time, it felt different. Lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, his little drama lead moment was turning into a rom-com after all.

[authorsofghosts]

Liquid Sunshine | Wolverine x Reader

Summery: Logan takes you out on a quiet Valentine's Day date to a bar in town. Of course, him being Logan, he has to make it extra some how.

Themes: Already Established Relationship, Angst, mostly Fluff, Open Ending, Pet names (Darling, Sunshine, etc), Ambiguous Logan Height, Blood mention, Drinking (duh), Drug/Tobacco Mention/Use, Kissing, Logan is Logan, Suggestive undertones mentions of Violence, actual Violence, Reader is suggested to be a mutant/X-Man (no powers written).

Word Count: 1.4k

"Logan-"

"Can it. I'm not parking next to the bar, that's asking for trouble." He grumbles, getting out of his jeep. "Come on, Sunshine."

You step out, your shoes bury into the few centimeters of snow, slipping a little. Before you know it, you're in Logan's arms. He smirks slightly, looking at your with a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

You laugh softly, embarrassed, "Shut up."

"Fallin fo' me already, dear?" He murmurs, pulling your closer and ruffling your hair. "No need, I already know ya love me."

"Don't test your luck. It's 33 degrees out and you're making me walk 15 minutes to a bar for what?"

"In case someone wants to do a Valentine's Day Massacre on lil ol' me, alright? Now shut up and get to walking." Logan growls, wrapping a possessive hand around your waist before pushing you forwards.

Despite how much you love the man, he can be a little bit of a hard ass. Even though you're lost in thoughts of wanting to slap him, his hand grabs at your hip, kneading the flesh softly. It pulls you out of your fantasy of putting him in his place for once, a soft blush on your cheeks.

He leans into you, whispering in your ear, "You look like a damn tomato, bub."

"Don't you fucking 'bub' me tonight." You mumble, snapping your attention to his smirk. The corners of his lips are flipped ever so slightly that if you hadn't been extremely close to him, you'd think he was scowling.

"I'll do whatever the fuck I feel like tonight. Especially if it has to do with ya." Logan says, his voice lowering into a soft, possessive tone. He presses his hooked nose into your neck, chuckling softly as you squirm at the sudden affectionate act.

He continues to push you forward, ignoring your protests of how close his is, enjoying how red your face and neck are getting, the heat at the tips of your ears. "So shy tonight, are we?"

"Quiet. I will call someone to pick me up." You say, the threat empty and he knows it. You would give anything to be spending time with the usually lonesome, gruff man that has a certain soft spot for you.

"Oh? Who's gonna getcha? Not Scott or Jean... not that Cajun either... I think yer stuck, little one." He pulls you closer, looking into your eyes as you both stop walking. "And I think you like that sound of that, don't ya?"

Your heart is racing, face warmer than ever. "Well-" You start, but before you can continue, he presses his lips to your mouth, the small hint of his smirk as he pours all his attention into trying to get you to open your mouth and let him in.

"Shut up and kiss me, sweetheart." Logan's gruff voice murmurs, pushing you back against a building ad he smirking, staring directly into your eyes before going back in for a more demanding, confident kiss.

If you weren't already dating this man, then you would have fallen head over heels for him. You allow him into your mouth, your tongue warring against his even though it was a losing battle.

"That's it. Gimme what I want, darlin'."

"Lo- stop, we're in public-"

"It's 11pm on Valentine's Day. If anyone's out at this time, they should expect to seeing two lovers like us kissing, baby."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Bar's not gonna let us in if we get messy, baby." You say make, in a teasing matter. This makes him stop, look at you, and mutter something under his breathe before pulling away.

"Alright, you got me there." He chuckles, grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him. "Whatcha say you promise me something later tonight for cutting me off so soon?"

"Oh, you know I'm already planning something, Logan."

"'Att's my Sunshine."

You get to the bar, and almost as if he's forgotten his manners, his hands are wrapping around your waist and placing you on his lap as he sips from his glass. You're back is pressed against his chest and his chin is nestled comfortably between your neck and shoulder.

You can smell his last cigar, a faint tightness in your chest as you realize you haven't seen him smoke one since you got in the car. It's actually become a pattern lately. "Lo?"

"Yeah, sweetie?" He asks in a whisper, pulling you closer.

"You stopped smoking around me, huh?"

"Uh huh..." He grumbles, brows knitting together as he realizes you noticed. His Adam's apple bobs against your back as he swallows.

"Why?"

"Well, uh... I don't know. Maybe it's cause I uh..." He chokes on his words for a moment, something that usually happens when he's about to get emotional, or he's thinking too much. You turn slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. "Hmm?" You prompt.

"It's cause I can't smell you when I do, alright?" He mumbles into your shoulder blade, hiding his face slightly. "Now quiet b'fore I push you off and go outside ta smoke.'

"You wouldn't dare."

"Ya think?"

You don't say anything else, the tone in his voice teasing but with an underlining seriousness that makes the playful threat seem genuine. You laugh softly, shaking you head as you lean forward for your drink

As you do, however, you feel his arm around your waist tighten, holding you in place. "What's wrong?"

"Might have trouble, dearie." He grumbles, glaring at a spot you can't see.

"What kind of trouble?"

"The kind that makes me grit my teeth." He growls out slightly, clearly sensing something.

You stand up and look in the direction he was, a group of men staring at you two. You quickly turn your attention back to Logan and shake your head. "They're just jealous, hun."

"From the way they're talking about you, it seems so." He holds your hand tightly, watching you closely as you sit down in the bar stool next to him. He leans forward, placing a kiss to your temple before standing up.

"Logan, don't-"

"Someone's gotta teach those creeps a lesson, Sunshine. Ain't gonna be you." He runs a hand across your cheek before turning to the group.

You watch, sipping your drink slowly as you watch your man, your man, go to do something seemingly for you, but everyone who knows him knows it's for himself. You can't hear what they're saying to each other, but you can get the jist as you see Logan's back muscles tease, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he tries to hold back his claws from extending from between his knuckles.

One of the men look past him to you, smirking as he licks his lips. "Come on, you can do better than some old man like this." He yells out at you, your eyes widening. Before you know it, that guy is knocked out on the floor, blood pooling under his head from his mouth.

"Logan, no!" You say, quickly standing up, but something stops you from walking forward. He looks back at you, a smirk on his lips. He's having fun, and honestly? He couldn't be more hot sticking up for you and the both of your relationship.

"Don't worry, Sunshine, he's not too hurt." He chuckles, wiping his fist off with a napkin before turning to the rest of the men. "Anyone else got a problem with me and my darlin' date over there? Cause I think my fist want's another round."

And then all hell broke loose. Of course it would, you're dating The Wolverine, after all. Hot headed, overly confident, and a living weapon. If his emotions weren't gonna blow over at the bar, then they would have in bed tonight. And, I mean, what's more romantic than a bar fight?

Logan walks you back to the jeep before the police arrive, opening the passenger side door for you. His jacket is wrapped over your shoulders, and he makes sure you can get into without slipping. He presses a gentle, caring kiss to your temple, lingering in the spot just long enough for your scent to get stuck in his nostrils.

He gets in the car, smiling softly as he looks over at you.

"So... about what you said earlier about having a plan for tonight?"

"Oh, you have no idea what that little stunt made me think."

[thydungeongal]

@vixensdungeon asked me to also roll a dungeon freak for da original game, also known as 0D&D, also known as the Little Brown Books edition, also known as D&D74. Anyway, the dice did not favor me so here's what I ended up with:

Str 11, Int 4, Wis 10, Con 10, Dex 13, Cha 8

The only thing that stands out about my character is that Dexterity. Everything else is either average or below average. I won't be able to get any of their abilities to the point where they'll grant bonus experience points. Sad! Oh well, at least that Dexterity of 13 will grant a +1 bonus on firing any missile! If I recall correctly, the Chainmail combat system actually uses 2d6 for hit determination, so that bonus is actually more generous if using the Chainmail combat system instead of the alternative combat system (which later became the default).

Anyway, there is one option that is still attractive: the humble Halfling. Since we're playing with no supplements the Halfling is limited to the Fighting-ManHalfling class, and they'll be unable to progress beyond 4th level. But that's okay, because in exchange for it my character will save as a Fighting-Man four levels higher than them and will also be better at missile combat, as detailed in Chainmail. Sadly, I don't have Chainmail, so I'm going to have to take it as a matter of faith that Halflings actually have a bonus to missile combat there.

Strangely enough, Halflings cannot be aligned with Neutrality or Chaos: my character must be aligned with Law! And that's actually quite unambiguous: it doesn't say that Halflings are often aligned with Law, it says:

Character types are limited as follows by this alignment:

And then lists Halflings in the Law column. Even Dwarves/Gnomes get a choice between Law and Neutrality!

I should also roll my character's starting funds, also on a 3d6, multiplied by ten: 8 times ten is 80, that's great.

My character spent 53 pieces of their starting gold on getting a shortbow and 30 a quiver with 20 arrows, leather armor, and a dagger. 15 gold goes to purchasing a week's worth of dungeon rations. The remaining twelve gold will go towards buying the following:

6 torches for 1 gold

Leather backpack for 5 gold

Waterskin for 1 gold

Wineskin for 1 gold

A quart of wine for 1 gold

A flask of oil for 2 gold

50' of rope for 1 gold

So my character saves as a level 5 Fighting-Man due to being a Halfling: as a first-level Fighter, or Veteran, they have 1+1 Dice for determining their hit points. Which means 1d6+1 in modern day terms. Roll of 4 means 5 hit points.

Anyway with that out of the way my Fighting-ManHalfling is ready to go. I grant her a gender and a name. Belladonna the Halfling Veteran is ready to party. She may be half the size of a man, but she fights with the strength of 1 + 1 men! (Distinct from 2 men)

EDIT: I had the flask of oil listed as costing 3 gold when it's actually 2 gold, for a moment it looked like she'd spent one more coin than she actually owned, which she would never do as a Law-abiding Halfling.

[michaelswilliam]

lets talk about how byler will happen in ST5

mike will initiate it.

why? well, because will has given up on any chances that he might be with mike in season 4. i do believe that if byler is going to be endgame, it will be because of mike pursuing will.

will is not going to try to get with mike romantically, not when he thinks mike still loves eleven and vice versa. 12 year old will was really to kill himself to save the town that hated his guts, he is never gonna put himself before others, especially not someone who is now his sister and has saved his life.

if byler is happening, it will be because mike decides to make the first move.

i think the painting discussion will happen in episode 1, i think it will lead to mileven breaking up and both el and mike will connect the dots to will's feelings. next two episodes, mike's attention gonna stay on will as he tries to figure out his feelings for him.

maybe will comes out in between 1-3 episodes, this will affirm his sexuality to mike. i think in between those moments, when holly disappears and both of them are stuck in the circumstances with each other, there will be a heat of the moment, where mike tries to kiss will.

and maybe they get interrupted? or will tries to pull back because he just cannot comprehend that mike is actually returning his feelings, the feelings that will has made peace with himself to keep and do nothing about. oh i think it would be so angsty, i think there will be a lot of pining and yearning up until the last (two) episode. ngl i do think it will be dramatic, either will getting vecna-d or mike, and they confess their feelings to each other then. crazy together, right?

or maybe before the final battle? where both of them don't know if they will survive it? how mike will tell will that he chooses him. how their love isn't some coincidence, or god forbid, fate.

no, their love is the fruit of their will, their choice. mike will fight for this love, he is fighting for it, and both of them will not gonna die, because mike will bring his best friend, the love of his life, to the other end of the war. and they will spend the rest of their lives choosing each other, loving each other. oh and it's gonna be so sweet, and will gonna stand on his tippy toes and kisses mike. or maybe he will grab mike by the shoulders to pull him down, pull him closer and kisses him. and it's gonna be so, so beautiful. mike will hold will by the waist, lift him up until his feet barely touch the ground. it will be soft, but it also be hungry, and... desperate. because they don't want their first kiss to be their last, but if it does, they're gonna savor every moment, every touch. swallowing each other's breath.

and maybe either lucas or dustin will pull a harry potter and scream "OI, IS THIS REALLY THE TIME, WE HAVE A THREE-HEADED MONSTER COMING OUR WAY!!!"

[blueskrugs]

I Know I Could Have Loved You | Brock Boeser

at long last, it's here! this is my fic for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange, written for @one-night-story! Once again, I am SO sorry this is a bit late, but I had a really brutal week.

I hope you enjoy!!

length: 2000 words

You met Brock Boeser in 2015 when you were both freshmen at the University of North Dakota.

He wasn't your best friend at first. 

In fact, he'd rolled his eyes and when you were forced to partner with him for a stupid project in your intro to stats course. You don't remember exactly when he did become your friend, but  before you knew it your weekends were spent watching hockey games, then going out for fast food french fries with Brock, or lounging in each other's dorm rooms while you did homework. (Or while you did homework, and Brock pretended to do his own.) 

You don't know when you fell in love with Brock Boeser, either, just that you did.

Brock dated a few people while at UND, like most of the hockey players did. They stuck around for a few weeks or months before disappearing. Brock never bothered to introduce you to any of them. You tried to not let it bother you. 

“You should move to Vancouver, "Brock said suddenly one summer day. He'd signed his ELC just a few months prior—instead of returning to UND with you in the fall, he’d be off to Vancouver for training camp with the Canucks. 

You were both tanning by the lake, and you lowered your sunglasses to look sideways at Brock. He wouldn't meet your eyes.

"Brock, some of us have to actually finish college before getting a job," you said. You still had 2 years before graduation. "And why the hell should I move to Vancouver?"

Brock shrugged, all forced nonchalance. "Well, I'll be there."

You scoffed. "Sure, from October to April." You didn't know anyone in Vancouver, excluding Brock, who only counted during hockey season anyway.

"But I'll miss you," Brock argued. "What am I supposed to do without you?"

"I think you'll manage just fine, Boes," you told him. "You survived this long without me before we met, didn't you? You can keep surviving now, too."

Brock pouts at you, but doesn't argue the point further, so you think that's the end of it. You put your sunglasses back in place on the bridge of your nose and settle back against your chair. You can’t deny that it leaves a nice fuzzy feeling in your chest that Brock thinks he’ll miss you so much that he’s begging you to join him in Vancouver.

Brock doesn’t bring it up again that summer, or for the next two years as you’re finishing up college, and you forget about the whole thing. The years pass; you graduate. 

Brock comes to your graduation party, kisses you on the cheek, and spends the afternoon charming your parents and your friends from high school and from UND. Brock always manages to stay within your orbit, never more than arm’s reach away from you. It’s nice, to have him back at your side like this. 

It's only when the party is over and Brock is helping clean up that he springs the question on you again.

"Have you thought about it at all?" he asks, apropos of absolutely fucking nothing.

You've had a few drinks, and it takes your brain a few seconds to catch up. "What?" you ask. "Thought about what?"

“Moving to Vancouver with me."

You already have a job lined up in your hometown. You haven't thought even once of moving to Vancouver instead.

"Brock, I can't just move to another country."

"What if I want you to?“

"Oh, sure, that will go over well on a visa application. ‘Because my bestfriend wants me to.’"

Brock sticks his tongue out at you.

"You should at least come and visit me," he pleads, "I really think you'll love it."

You roll your eyes at Brock. "I guess I can make time to visit,” you say, ignoring Brock's exaggerated cheer before he squishes you into a hug.

Brock manages to talk you into visiting him in June, because—in his words— "It's prettier in the summer."

He's not exactly wrong, you have to admit, after a week of traipsing around the city with Brock. You're watching a firework show with your head on Brock's shoulder when you realize you're starting to picture yourself in Vancouver, starting a real life here.

"D'you really think I could get a job here?” you murmur to Brock during a pause in the fireworks.

"What?” Brock asks. He turns to you. His blond hair glows in the light of the fireworks overhead. "Never mind,” you whisper back.

You begin searching for jobs in Vancouver that night, in the quiet darkness of Brock's spare bedroom.

Before you know it, you've lined up the perfect job—even better than the one you'd originally found back home, not that you'll ever tell Brock that—and Brock has helped you find an apartment in the city. 

"It's not far from me,” Brock had told you when he was helping you move in, "so you can come over and walk Milo and Coolie whenever."

"Oh, is that the real reason you wanted me to move out here?” you tease. "Free dog walking?"

Brock shrugs innocently but chuckles. "Well, I need someone to watch them when we're on road trips and stuff.”

You throw a wad of bubble wrap at him.

Later, while you and Brock are eating pizza on your living room floor, Brock flops into his back and sighs. You poke him in the head with your foot.

"You good, buddy?” you ask.

"What do you think of dating apps?” Brock says, which isn't really an answer.

You've always been too scared to try dating apps yourself. Instead of telling Brock that, you say, "You're a professional athlete.” And a very attractive one, but you don’t say that part. "What do you need dating apps for?”

Brock looks up at you from his sprawl on your floor. "Because I'm tired of being single?” he asks.

You flip him off. You don't say, I'm single, too, you could always date me. You got used to putting aside your feelings for Brock a long time ago.

"And you think dating apps are the solution? You didn't have any issues getting people to date you in North Dakota.”

Brock rolls his eyes. "I didn't play for the Canucks, then. It's all people I meet now seem to care about.”

You're still not sure how dating apps will solve that problem.

As if he hears your unspoken question, Brock continues. "At least this way, I can weed out puck bunnies or whatever a lot faster, instead of wasting my time.” He cranes his neck around so he can look at you directly. "So will you help me or not?” 

You think you'd rather get stabbed directly in the heart than to help Brock date someone else, but you never could say no to him.

"Fine, whatever,” you say. "Gimme your phone.” 

You're already regretting your decision less than ten minutes later as you watch Brock scroll through his camera roll to add pictures to his profile.

"You can't use your official headshot!” you tell him, trying to snatch his phone. "People are going to think they're getting catfished.”

"I don't have a lot of good pictures of myself!” Brock protests.

You've nixed three more photos—all pictures Brock has evidently stolen from the team's social media—("Why the hell do you save all these, anyway?”)—when Brock throws his hands up and passes you his phone.

"You do it then,” he tells you.

Brock's own camera roll is obviously useless, so you pull out your own phone. It only takes a few minutes of scrolling for you to pluck a handful of good photos out of your camera roll and Airdrop them to Brock. He's looking at you a little strangely when you hand his phone back.

"What?” you ask.

"I didn't know you took so many pictures of me,” he says. 

"I don't take that many,” you defend weakly. It's not like you have an entire album on your phone of pictures of him, or anything. 

Brock drops the subject, but you still feel uneasy as you continue helping him finish his profile. The two of you spend almost an hour bickering over which prompts to choose or the answers Brock writes for them before Brock deems his profile "good enough”.

"'Good enough?'” you argue. “This profile is a masterpiece,” you declare. "We'll get you cuffed in time for Christmas.”

Brock snorts at you. "All thanks to you,” he says, smacking a kiss to your cheek.

You try not to feel any particular way about it.

Brock spends the next few weeks bringing you his dating app matches to "approve.” He even shows you some of the funny ones—mostly girls tripping over themselves for the chance to sleep with The Brock Boeser of the Vancouver Canucks. He gets a lot of matches. 

You try to muster the appropriate enthusiasm for Brock, as he seems to be throwing himself into this endeavor with all the energy he throws into hockey.

It's hard, though, when all you can do is compare yourself to them. You wonder what Brock sees in them that he’s never seen in you.

Brock never seems to notice if your encouragement is lackluster.

Matches turn into a revolving door of first dates for Brock. A few times, first dates turn into second dates, and even into a third date or two. 

You force yourself to stop obsessively keeping track of his dates, and to pretend like each date he goes on doesn't drive the knife even deeper into your heart.

Brock's in the middle of telling you about his latest date—you think he’s been seeing this person for nearly a month—when he stops abruptly in the middle of a sentence.

"Are you okay?” he asks.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?” you say. It doesn’t sound very confident, even to your ears. 

"You've got that look on your face, the one where you're mad at me, but trying to pretend that you're not.”

You try to arrange your face into something more neutral.

"I'm not mad at you, Brock,” you say. You don't think he believes you. 

"So why do you always get all—” Brock gestures vaguely at your face. “—pissy whenever I talk about my dates?”

"I do not! And besides, I didn't know moving to Vancouver meant a front row seat to your dating life! Don't you have teammates to talk about this shit with?”

Brock scoffs. "They don't care about my dating life, and, apparently, neither do you.” 

"Brock, it's not that I don't care—” 

Brock cuts you off. "Then what is it?”

"I care too much!”

"What?” he says.

"Dammit, Brock, why don't you want to date me?” you snap.

Brock shakes his head. You probably shouldn't have said that.

"What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

"You heard me the first time, Boeser. Why are you searching all over Vancouver for someone to date when I've been here the whole time?” 

Brock takes a step closer to you. You take a step backwards; your kitchen is small, and you end up trapped against the counter.

"The whole time? "Brock repeats dumbly.

You could slap him. "Yes, Brock. Boy, it's a good thing you're pretty and good at hockey, because you can be really stupid sometimes.”

"Hang on,” Brock says. He's moved even closer. "How was I supposed to know?”

"Do you think I'd more to another country for anyone?” you ask.

"Oh,” Brock says. Then he says, "For how long?”

"Huh?”

“How long have you been in love with me?” Brock asks.

“I don't know, sometime freshman year, I guess.” There was never really a lightbulb moment for you; your feelings for Brock grew and morphed so slowly you almost didn't notice until it was too late.

Brock kisses you then, crushing you up against the cabinets with the force of it. His hands are warm on your hips, his lips gentle and firm against yours.

You pull away, a little breathless.

Brock grins at you. “If I had known this was an option, I would have kissed you a long time ago.”

"So, can we delete that dating app now?” you ask, forehead resting on Brock's shoulder.

"We can do whatever you want,” Brock says, leaning in to kiss you again.

You suppose deleting his dating profile can wait a little while.

[urautismdiagnosis]

Pokes u

Do you have Barnacles Headcanons to share with his wife (aka me)

YES also sorry for the late response lol uhhh this is mostly just stuff from my au lol and its got different world building than the show does

Ok first off some context, in my au the reasons for PEOPLE species to have different traits is more based on environmental factors and conflicts between other groups of people. 👌

There are definitely some wild species that aren't even intelligent enough to have nearly any sapience (in simple terms its self awareness) that would probably end up being food or wtv, but like going based off of irl stuff polar bears mostly need high fat diets and unless there are a TON extra of high fat food fish thatd make the arctic pretty hard to survive

Unless ofc 👀 well they are PEOPLE people so u can convince me they'd have somehow domesticated either musk or (hoofed arctic animal) or bred some other kind of milk producing animal as a source of food

All I'm saying is that he could and would and has eaten an entire wheel of cheese before

And he absolutely has a secret stash of high fat snacks because I think he might be a liiiiittttle bit self conscious about it

Because he realized that arctic animals and non arctic animals have HUGE differences in social norms and apparently most animals don't have at least 3 inches of fat minimum on their entire body???

And its not cuz hes embarrassed of the fat, its normal and healthy, he just doesn't want to go from Trustworthy and Reliable Captain of thr Octonauts to "oh my god i need like an entire cheesecake rn to feel normal" in front of everyone cuz like 😭 he is a bit of a comfort eater. Like ah yes our strong and level headed captain is eating an entire box of oreos at 2 am because he misses his sister again 😭

Ofc the others do find out but there isn't any judgement if anything kwazii would probably join him, bro has a history of having weird food habits (hm wonder why... surely nothing related to being shipwrecked on an island and having to survive) and its nice

He does like, have THE best snacks tho and he might be hoarding them just a tiny bit-

he also can feel a bit worried about coming off as too large or intimidating so thats why he's always got his hands on his hips- and his head lowered down a bit

its not that he seems like physically scary but a larger presence can be intimidating for a lot of people

Teeth and claws aren't usually seen as intimidating in most scenarios in this world because its so common and is just like a feature of the species the same way hearing or smell can be btw

so yeah someone threatening to scratch ya can be scary but so can someone being able to find you because they can hear ur heartbeat 💀🙏

Back to the main point, like all the other octonauts aren't even like medium sized animals (like wolves and whatever), there ALL very small species. So hes like way in the upper range, the highest and tallest possible species while everyone else are all smaller ones specifically

So if barnacles is Actually Mad (💀 the scenario to make him genuinely mad has to be BAD) then he will go to his FULL HEIGHT

Cuz irl polar bears got very tall strong necks and etc so I think him standing at Full Serious Height would be very startling

Also about polar bears sense of smell!

Circling back to the adaptations being related to survival pressures and social ones

Polar bears in this world, use their sense of smell for something very important in the arctic: navigation, above and below water

It prevents things like getting lost in the wintery white world, which is so so easy for others. It can help find others than might be lost, and it can tell u if they r injured or not and I think thats precious

there is one problem tho, while their sense of smell is VERY strong, stronger than bloodhounds and etc, its made for being able to detect things very far away in freezing temperatures... so they're extremely sensitive

Which wouldn't be that much of an issue if barnacles wasn't in all sorts of more tropical environments...

In thr artic all u can smell is other people, animals, and which was is home

But if he's not in the octopod or under the water,but somewhere where there's THOUSANDS of insects,hundreds of pollinating plants, and tons and tons of different creatures all at once-

I think thats be overwhelming and he's probably be allergic to sooooooo many plants poor guy 🥺

Also even tho he like trims and thins out his thick coat, and even has a little cooling pack vest sort of thing under his uniform he can still overheat pretty easily

Cuz yk, the several inches of brown fat or blubber? Someone might say "hey just adjust ur diet and whatever to lose it" but that would be VERY UNHEALTHY for him... mess with the balance of his bodys systems yk? so its really not an option;^;

So yeah he still tends to overheat and thats why having his room canoncially set to actual arctic temperatures every night helps him sleep better and feel better

Usually alot of octonauts missions happen under water or in gups or maybe they'll spend some time on an island and it'll be hot

But with extended time spent in warmer climates he has to take alot more breaks and it can be alot harder for him

Also I think that he had a period in his early 20s college years where he was like kinda lowkey depressed because he was learning more about global warming and capitalism

, it didn't last too long fortunately because yk he met professor inkling who was already developing his idea for the octonauts

and they actuslly became really good friends and it really came together as a realistic thing when tweak got wind of em

On a more depressing note global warming for polar bears in a world where they're actual people with a unique culture and heritage means some totally different stuff

Like its not even the fact they can't even engage in their own cultural traditions (cough traveling in that one arctic global warming special where they were all exhausted cuz all the melted sea ice cough)

Its also the loss of genuine homes (in my au they're kinda like ice hobbit houses 🥰since polar bears irl will dig out shallow resting spots or mama bears will have dens with a toasty 30 degrees farenheit), architectural collapses, traditional jobs that can only be done in the arctic being lost, and being forced into more southern grounds because more and more just can't rely living there anymore

And I think that'd be super depressing to see in real time, its a cultural death

Heck even irl there's so many grizzlies going north and polar going south that they've actually started to mix and start having hybrids (grolar bears). And the thing is they're so genetically compatible that their species can actually develope into their own separate identity that might totally replace most if not all polar bears sense they're just more adapt to the changing climate and have more range,with benefits from both species

And while that sounds great on paper and makes sense and is obviously fine for them to have easier lives, I think in thr context of this world it would leave barnacles with some conflicted feelings

Because the thing is there used to be concerns about polar bears having to leave their homes to live is societies and communities that just... that their jobs wouldn't fit to. That would be physically harder for them to be healthy in. That they'd have to give up so many thousands of years of traditions thatd be impossible to carry over in.

Idk its late and I've got one braincell and idk if this makes sense and im sorry if it got depressing 😭

But yeah, so there's more and more of these younger people grolar bears, that just... will never have that full connection to their heritage. And idk I think its sad and maybe I'm projecting

Also I think that if barnacles was ever sad he'd just cope by playing the accordian lol,like the one meme of the girl playing "its a mental breakdown ✨" on a kazoo 😭

Let's end this on a happier note tho, circling back to barnacles being several feet taller than his entire crew, like-

We all already know this guy emotionally adopts every living being in sight

And well, his ENTIRE CREW literally, and I mean very literally and physically, looks up to him-

Like they all gotta turn their heads up and loon at him with big hopeful eyes ready for whatever he has to say

And im gonna be honest his composure is alot stronger than mine cux I would CRY because of how adorable that is

Like he knows its probably so unprofessional and might be seen as condescending BUT DAMN IT HE CANT HELP THR CUTENESS AGRESSION!!! HE WANTS TO SQUISH THEIR TINY FACES!!!

so sometimes hell have a very Serious and Leadership-like Captain Conversation, and then thr SECOND hes out of their sight (and hopefully hearing) HE JUST HAS TO STOP HIMSELF FROM JUST CRYING-

Cuz the second hes out of sight he will LOSE ALL COMPOSURE and need a minute because he loves them so much AND THEYRE SO FCKING SMALL-

Its kinda funny tho cuz ur captain barnacles is a pretty tiny guy, wonder howd that work for u XD

Anyways gn or whatever time it is for u 🐻‍❄️✨✨✨

Also he and Bianca call at least every week for an hour and frequently send eachother updates about what they're up to

He could talk to her about anything and she's good at talking sense into him

He makes sure that natquick gets plenty of social interaction too, that man is like his father figure

(Kinda sad but I headcanon barnacles dad died when he was really young cuz of an accident where ice collapsed, probably did not help how he felt when he got stuck in an icy hole as a kid 💀🙏)

ALSO

Barnacles looking up at u vvv

Barnaclea being his lil theater kid self^

Wait~ they don't love you ✨like I love you ✨🥰

Barnacles half awake at a late night mission when everything is done and they're just driving the gup a back home

Barnacles and Bianca on a video call

[captainsamuelmorrigan]

Poolverine/Deadclaws

[Fluff/Angst with a happy ending]

I just think about Wade BEGGING Logan to let him sleep in bed with him. Logan just shakes his head every time, "You don't wanna do that, bub."

But Wade VERY MUCH does. He would literally kill to sleep with Logan, either way he takes that. Well, he'd literally kill someone regardless, that's his job, but you know!! He wants to run his bumpy, scarred fingers through Logan's chest fur so bad. He daydreams about big spooning his Honey Badger, sliding his arms around him and pressing his front to Logan's big, strong, and warm back. He only feels a little horny about it. A normal about of chubbing up about it.

He begs Logan for weeks, getting on his knees for all the wrong reasons. He hasn't wanted anything this bad for at least a few months! He's desperate.

Like most things in Wade's life, it happens at an unexpected and probably bad time. They had had a mission go bad, both bloodied, and ended up showering and finding comfort in bed with each other. They hardly spoke. It just mattered that they were physically touching. They were both still here. Wade got his Wolverine snuggles, and everything was alright again.

Well, until around 4 in the morning. Wade woke up to three adamantium alarm clocks punching through each of his lungs. It hurt like a bitch. He coughed blood right onto Logan's face. Gross. He definitely wasn't getting invited back to bed after this. He weakly tapped the furry man's shoulder. "Logie-bear, I was expecting some penetration tonight, but I like the pre-made holes played with a little more."

Logan growled in his sleep before the taps brought him back to consciousness. His eyes flipped open, and his expression changed from anger to horror in an instant. "WADE! Wade, I'm so sorry-" The claws withdrew, drawing another wet cough out of Wade. "Please, please, stay with me." He started to gather the sheets to press against Wade's chest, his hands slippery and red. "Althea!! Help! Please!" His eyes were wild, scared, and firmly on Wade. "We'll fix this. I'll fix this!" He turned towards the door again, yelling louder. "Althea!! Help me!!"

Wade was a little stunned. What was going on? He patted Logan's arm, trying to get 400 pounds of superhero off of him. He coughs out an "Off!"

Logan looked at him like he was crazy. "Fuck you if you think I'm letting you die here."

Wade tried to push him off again, smearing blood onto Logan's hairy chest. He sputtered, trying to get words out, but the air wasn't quite doing what he wanted yet. Drowning in blood sucked! 0/5 stars on Yelp for sure.

Al knocked loudly on the door. "Logan? You okay in there?" Logan leaped to unlock the door, allowing Wade to sit up a little bit, his flesh starting to really knit back together, feeling his lungs start to clear.

Logan opened the door. "Althea, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I stabbed Wade, he's- He's bleeding out. You need to call a medic- a doctor, someone!" His voice wavered a bit.

Althea placed a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow as she leaned on her walker. "Motherfucker, what the fuck are you talking about? A doctor?" Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of Wade's blood permeating the room. "Whew, that's nasty. Clean that up when you're done with whatever this shit is."

Wade coughed. "Very sweet that you care, Logan." His tone softened. He was realizing Logan wasn't 'here,' he was somewhere else, Wade wasn't really Wade in this scene. "Take a breath, Honeybadger. I'll be fine if you just give me a-" cough "second."

Logan's breathing was still heavy, his eyes still wide and scared. Wade was sure the blood spatters across his face weren't helpful either.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm fine! Or, I'll be fine once the mutant cancer does its job. Remember? I don't die." He waved, smiling at Logan from the bed. He wasn't sure the blood dripping from his chest and mouth was helping his case.

Logan deflated a bit. "Oh." He turned to Al. "Althea, I'm sorry. I didn't realize, or, I forgot. I apologize for waking you up."

Al waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna go smoke a joint. If you need to loosen that tight ass, feel free to join me."

Logan closed the door, coming to sit on the bed, holding his head between his knees.

Wade wiped his hands on the sheets before crawling to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You deserve to get to freak out here and there. We've been through some crazy shit. Did you want to talk about it? Do you want me to go swipe Al's weed? She's not as stingy about it as her cocaine, promise."

"I could've killed you." Logan admits from behind his hands.

"Not possible. Great try though, good form." The Merk quips.

"Don't! Don't joke right now. I would've killed you if you weren't like this." Logan gestures to Wade, his hand still trembling, Wade's blood starting to dry between his fingers. "I shouldn't have let myself fall asleep around you."

"Logan, bud, hey, look at me." Wade patted Logan's knee, scooting closer. "Really look at me."

Logan sat up, turning to face Wade, his eyes red-tinged. His hair is crusty with blood. "Okay...?"

"Am I dead?"

"No, but-"

"No! That's the whole thing. I am alive, whether I deserve to be, or should be, or anything else. I'm here! I'm still here." He smiles softly at Logan. "That's all that matters to me. If a Wolverine cuddle costs me some minutes drowning in blood, I can assure you that is a very small price to pay."

Logan opens his mouth to respond, his sharp canines catching the light from the street lamp outside before he shuts it again. "I'm dangerous."

"I eat danger for breakfast, usually with unicorn marshmallows."

Logan actually laughs at that. "You're insane."

"Insanely in love with you~" Wade teases, jostling Logan with his shoulder.

Logan groans, wiping his face with his bloodied hands. "That can't be the first time you say you love me, that's terrible."

"I think it's perfect. Now, c'mon, let's change the sheets."

"It's gonna stain the mattress." Logan moves.

"Number 2 rule of sex and superheroing without an in-unit washer and dryer, always use a waterproof mattress cover." Wade taps his temple, smirking.

After another shower, a quick change of sheets, and replacing the mattress cover, Wade and Logan are back in bed, cuddled close.

"I love you, too." Logan says softly. "That's a pretty dangerous thing, though."

"Again, danger, breakfast, unicorn marshmallows." Wade mumbles as he pulls Logan closer.

[mrs-starkgaryen]

Well, well, well, dissecting time just so I can remind Maggie that I am in her walls (thanks you've passed your illness onto me)

1. "Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado."

A) Even at home, she's dreaming/ thinking about the stars (Hollywood stars)

2. "It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone."

A) Don't worry baby girl, Aegon is gonna make you finish in front of him and I'll you'll love it

3. Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

A) we all are Mason, shut up

4. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

A) well I didn't like that foreshadowing

B) she's gonna get close to Aegon and we know he's a messed up man 😭

C) I'll she'll still love him though

5. “And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies."

A) Or when Aegon dies...

B) Maggie, are you in my walls? This is my family 😭

6. “Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless."

A) mother? What you doing here, loca?

B) how Sunshine is so sunny, idk. I guess you have to have rain to appreciate the sun

C) no wonder she think she needs plastic surgery- not just for Hollywood but she probably feels like she needs to live up to her parents expectations somehow (cuz she feels like she is disappointing them with her choice of job?)

7. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A) Sunshines reminder that social media is fake lmao

B) but this is a mood- it gives crying whilst doing a thumbs up picture 😭👍🤳

Also those dogs? I love dogs but these ones are scary! The family and the dogs seem to hate her?! My God. Are they picking up on the family hostility to her?

If they don't shape up, unlike the bats- I won't mind if Jace steps on one of these.. (jk)

8. A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

A) Aegon ever heard of playing it cool?

B) damn he's down bad

9. You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you."

A) oh an old man, imagine if he meant Aegon-

B) HE DID! Mf ain't old

C) I also squealed like she did when I recognised the shoes 🥰

10. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

A) and if I say 👀

B) foreshadowing...

C) also hello Simon Bassett from Bridgerton?

11. “Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

A) for now Aegon...

B) He will show her the different flavours

C) also could symbolise that she is kinda naive and then as the story progresses- she's not so sweet anymore 😀

13. “It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

A) said every man ever 😉😂

B) ooh will she be in season 56, episode 28?

14. “Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—..... that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

A) did he have to do something to make people (or him) like himself more?

B) omg did his dad make or encourage his siblings/ family to change to become more famous, to carry on his legacy in Hollywood? Did Aemond try and change himself and now he's took a step back into scriptwriting cuz atleast then he can control his own story?

C) she's gonna lose or nearly lose her humanity in this industry, I can see it. It's gonna break her down and then Aegon and her have feel better sex..

15. “Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

A).... need I say more

16. “The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

A) you're killing me

B) she's gonna like riding this horse 😭 (I'll let myself out)

17. His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

A) either becca is crazy

B) or his family are and they'll update becca

C) or both. Like I said before- maybe they set him up wirh becca to calm him down, to make him (the targaryens) look good in the papers

18. “I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

A) a possible other nickname?

B) all her nicknames are cute and sunny, like her until this industry snuffs it out 😀

19. Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

A) This whole thing felt like a summary for the story

B) at first she's whisked away in a world of Hollywood: glitter and glammer. She's "full of blind naive surety"..

C) Then it's she's less so but she still tries to be optimistic? As she realises this is not what she signed up for

D) husband is dead, Aegon is dead? Then she's full of rage

E) under artificial light? The Hollywood spotlight..

F) she starts to give them her body (plastic surgery), her mind (she starts to doubt and panic in fame) and then her soul (Hollywood kills her optimism and dream)

Also- Are the eyeshadows representing things?

A) In the first chapter she had shimmery, pink, warm brown eyeshadow (showing that she is warm, positive and sparkling with a dream, it's all new).

B) when she's with Mason, it's sparkly black. Like she's not 100% with him but that's okay because she still has her dream that she's gonna be able to be an actress and subconsciously be with someone better...

C) in the ice cream shop, she has bright pink- so bright in optimism still and pink meaning flirtatious feelings for Aegon?

Idk, all this is my crazy mind and I love whatever you come out with!

A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

[allenkel]

Parker Luck

This is a work in progress fanfic inspired by Dark Matter by mystercyclone on ao3 and pretty much every other work similar to it! So, make sure to check them out!

For now, here's a sneak peek at the first chapter!

    Parker Luck- Chapter 1 (Sneak Peak)

          By: Allen Kelsey

After saying his goodbyes to Ned and MJ Peter returned to Dr. Strange, ready for him to start. “I’m ready… I’m ready.” Peter reassured himself as well as Dr. Strange. He winced, his wounds, cuts, and scrapes all stung and hurt badly, mainly the one on his torso that looked like he was struck by lightning. “Good, but this is going to be risky, the invasion of the multiverse is making this world and everything in it unstable, including magic. Are you sure about this? If this goes wrong...” Dr. Strange looked at Peter, who just nodded in response, determination in his eyes. He really didn’t want to use this spell, not on the kid who fought with him through a war that he didn’t even need to be involved in, the kid who died in Tony’s arms and was brought back only for him to witness Tony die, saving everyone. “Is... Is it supposed to be green?..” Dr. Strange snapped out of his thoughts looking back at the spell, it’s not supposed to be green.. “Oh shit, Parker-” Before he could say anything the spell exploded directly in Peter's direction... It was bright.

When the blast of light dissipated, the kid was gone. “W-where..?” He looked around the world was normal, at least in terms of not collapsing normal. Then he panicked, where’d the kid go? He had his memory of him still, yet the world wasn’t collapsing? Dr. Strange went over the traces of magic left behind, “Oh shit..” shit shit shit shit! The spell became way too unstable and had started pulling in more energy than what he thought was possible from the cracks in the universe, he knew what happened. The kid isn’t here anymore, but he knows he's not dead. At Least he thinks so.. 

*  *  *

Peter felt his molecules and atoms rip apart at the sudden burst of light, then he felt them come together again.

Over and over and over and over-

It hurts.

He tried to grab onto anything and everything not understanding what happened, what's going on, just that he needed to stop the pain.

It hurts

It hurts.

It hurts!-

He felt his lungs burning and he couldn’t breathe but he couldn’t move either.

Why couldn’t he breathe?

He couldn’t move but he needed to breathe! He tried desperately to move, to get his body out of whatever it was that was preventing him from breathing.

He can’t breathe!

He felt big hands grab him pulling him out of something heavy and wet, they put him down on something cold, but he still couldn’t breathe!

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

That's the sneak peek for you all! Also! Just a heads up that I don't have a routine posting schedule so be prpared to either get a chapter or not by the end of the month!

P.S.- Peter's body (NOT his powers) kind of got de-aged because of the whole magic going all over the place, hence the note at the top saying most of this work was inspired by small or big ideas from others and this will be my first really committed fanfic that I am motivated to keep making!

[xjulixred45x]

Hello and may i ask if its okay to request, if so? Can you do ROR x reader?

Poseidon (romance or yandere) With Reader who's like Amphitrite from the greek Mythology. Maybe like a long drabble/fic, in their 1st meeting?

In Greek mythology, Amphitrite was the goddess of the sea and the wife of Poseidon, the god of the sea. She was also the mother and Queen of sea life like fish, seals, and dolphins. Amphitrite was originally a Nereid, or sea nymph, and the eldest of the 50 Nereids. one of the 50 (or 100) daughters (the Nereids) of Nereus and Doris (the daughter of Oceanus).

Reader known for being "shy" and doesn't like being caught. She's afraid of being married because she's heard stories about how most of gods treat their wives/partners. She's independent and gentle but not a pushover & has a protective/brave side (only to her family and sea life). She prefers a quiet life and is content as long as she is treated well.

In how their 1st meet: (though you can change some of these if you like) When Poseidon was looking for a marriage partner. Poseidon first laid eyes on Amphitrite while she was dancing at low tide with her sisters on the isle of Naxos. He immediately fell in love with her and asked for her hand in marriage. Amphitrite, heard of rumors of him and She's quite fearful of his tempestuous nature, refused his advances everytime they met and she tried to fled from him.

(Thank you in advance)

oh, i absolulty LOVE when the fandom uses Amphitrite as Poseidon s/o, its just scratch my brain just fine.

Poseidón x Amphitrite! Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Reader: female

Warnings: Poseidon can be a warning himself (he is trying, okay?), Reader is scared of him so she runs away, some Angst with comfort.

• Doris and Nereus were known for having a prolific offspring, having in their repertoire very strong sons and beautiful daughters, ocean nymphs known as Nereids. Some had a specific purpose, others simply enjoyed the life they had in the ocean, and very few really did not want to attract attention, given their status and natural beauty.

• However, as with everything, there are exceptions. That was the category that she, Amphitrite, fell into the most.

• Don't get me wrong, Amphitrite loved exploring, messing around with humans, and dancing just as much as any of her sisters, however, she was painfully aware of how complicated it was to be a nymph in the Greek pantheon. If any nymph caught the attention of a god, she ended up either cursed or turned into some animal or plant. There were no happy endings for them out there, not with the gods.

• And even if they could survive to marry a god, there was no guarantee that it would be a happy marriage in the long run, just look at the kind of relationships the gods had with each other. Zeus and Hera, constantly arguing every time a new demi-god appeared on earth. Or Hades and Persephone, who couldn't even spend the whole year together. Who would choose to live through that suffering on purpose?

• Because of that, Amphitrite decided to spend time with her sisters instead of potentially exposing herself to the band of vultures that were the gods of Olympus. Even if the idea of finding someone for herself didn't sound bad (on the contrary, it sounded nice), she wouldn't allow herself to be trapped in a Golden cage.

• Unfortunately (or fortunately, however you want to look at it), she had no idea of the issues that were being discussed on Mount Olympus, specifically, regarding a certain god.

• Poseidon, the tyrant of the seas, seemed more angry and unpredictable every day. Even if Zeus and Hades knew how to prevent things from getting worse, that wouldn't always work, they couldn't keep an eye on him all the time. They had to find a solution to their problem, right now.

• Fortunately, Hades had been studying his little brother's behavior very closely, and he noticed that there was a pattern, he always stopped the storms in a certain area, near the island of Naxos.

• An area which was known, where several of Doris and Nereus' daughters could be seen dancing. It was a kind of custom that they had every time they were on the shores of that city. And it seems that Poseidon was quite interested in that (or, rather, one of Nereus' daughters)

• This could be a golden opportunity to solve the problem, and at the same time, finally get Poseidon a permanent companion, who, somehow, would keep him in line.

• Hades and Zeus discussed it, and decided to put this idea into action. Telling Poseidon that they were going to Naxos to settle a “matter” with Nereus and since it was his domain, they needed him (neither brother missed how Poseidon seemed more interested than usual in a diplomatic interaction)

• They even had the “luck” that when they went to Naxos, there were several of Nereus and Doris’ daughters, as always, dancing on the shores.

• Much to Nereus’ surprise (while Zeus and Hades were rather amused), Poseidon didn’t seem interested in getting involved with whatever his brothers told him, at that moment, he just focused on watching the Nereids. Or, rather, one specific one, Amphitrite.

• Yep, she was, the woman who had caught his brother’s attention, the one who was able to make the feared tyrant of the seas calm for the first time in how many centuries. They knew they had to act now, or they might lose this opportunity. However, Zeus was the one who decided to bring it up with Nereus.

• He briefly explained the situation, that Poseidon could use a partner, and that it would be of great help to them if Nereus would be so kind as to introduce him to his daughters. Obviously Nereus wasn't going to try to argue with the god of the universe, even if he wanted to plead for his daughters, he gave in, afraid of the repercussions.

• A part of Poseidon wanted to strangle Zeus for his stupid ruse, but on the other hand, he played along without much thought, almost as if he was eager to choose the "lucky" nymph who would be his wife.

• Amphitrite saw all this happen before her eyes, a part of her wanted to run away on the spot, but she had the slightest hope, the smallest one, that the god of the seas wouldn't choose her as a partner. But that hope didn't seem very big, not when she could feel the tyrant of the seas staring at her, very intensely, as she walked to her father's side.

• Amphitrite wanted to be calm, she wished she wasn't so scared, after all, he hadn't done anything wrong yet, right? But Poseidon's name alone made even the bravest tremble, it was like a sign that, whatever this god's intentions were, it wouldn't end well for her.

• And that was what she felt, when Poseidon, without hesitation, pointed at her at the moment of choosing between her sisters, she felt her heart sink, how it was difficult for her to breathe air, she had to get out of there, think about it, but she had to be FAR AWAY—

• Before anyone could stop her, Amphitrite jumped into the water at the shore, and swam out to sea at full speed, to everyone's surprise.

• Obviously, Poseidon isn't happy with this. Almost offended by the nymph's behavior, he seems to make the seas even more unstable in his search.

• On one such day, Hades appears to try to appease him, after all, what kind of image will he be giving to his future wife, if his response to an inconvenience is to throw a tantrum?

• Hades tries to make Poseidon see things from Amphitrite's point of view, so that he doesn't scare her so much the next time they meet. When it seems that Poseidon understood enough, Hades gives him another piece of valuable information; Amphitrite's location. Poseidon left in such a big hurry that it didn't even occur to him to reproach his brother for not telling him right away.

• Amphitrite, meanwhile, only dedicated herself to collecting the snails within reach, staying out of sight thanks to some sea rocks. Not really knowing what to do next, only praying that Poseidon would lose interest in her soon so she could return home.

• However, she didn't expect to start receiving company.

• At first, it was just some small sea animals, like crabs and turtles. They approached her as if trying to cheer her up, make her feel better. Then other animals started coming (as the tides rose), like sea horses, fish, etc.

• Amphitrite didn't really know what to do at first, afraid that they would betray her to the gods, but the animals didn't seem to have hostile intentions, on the contrary, they made her forget for a moment why she was there.

• However, Amphitrite wasn't naive. While she was petting a dolphin on the shore, still covered by the rocks of the sea, she decided to ask a question in the air, about whether this was his way of saying he was sorry. No answer.

• Okay, it seems that he is not very talkative (at least they have that in common), time to try another topic.

• Amphitrite complimented the appearance of the dolphin that demanded her attention on her lap, also highlighting his playful attitude. This time there was a response, even if it was brief, about how additionally, they were intelligent.

• They stayed like that for a while, Amphitrite pointing out both the positive and negative aspects of marine animals, it was strange, even knowing who was answering, she no longer felt the same fear as before when being near him. Is he really the same god? The same one who caused storms, earthquakes and tsunamis, was also talking to her about the fauna of his domain? It was something unbelievable.

• Eventually, Amphitrite decided to face the elephant in the room. She asked him if this was his way of convincing her to accept him as a husband, if so, what assured her that she would not be a trophy wife? What assured her that she would not have a miserable existence?

• The other side of the conversation was silent for a moment, when Amphitrite was losing hope, finally the god spoke.

• He told her some things that she had not noticed, things that he noticed when he saw her(several times) in Naxos. How she cared so much about her family, how she liked to collect seashells and shiny things from the shores to make ornaments after dancing, how gentle she was with the creatures. It was something he could never understand, but it brought him peace to see her.

• Amphitrite didn't know what to say, this was something she genuinely didn't expect, not from the tyrant of the seas at least. Maybe, just maybe, she could try this, maybe she could take the chance, maybe things could be okay, with him.

• If we talk about the relationship after these events, it's much better than many think.

• I say this because every time Poseidon says he's married, you can feel a general aura of concern for the woman, which, while very effective in annoying the tyrant of the seas, the only one who can prevent it from turning into carnage is Amphitrite.

• She has a comfortable life, not only because of the aspects of being royalty and ruling one of the three domains of the Greek pantheon alongside her husband, but she is generally enjoying this kind of life.

• Amphitrite and Poseidon have good communication (ironic given how it was their first time meeting), so while Amphitrite has luxuries and comforts, they are also adapted to her tastes.

• Her crown, for example, was made by herself, with a mix of starfish, pearls and shells. Poseidon gave her as a wedding gift a specific area of his palace so she could be with her favorite sea creatures. And, above all, Amphitrite could come and go as she pleased, dancing with her sisters in Naxos, touring the coasts of Greece, etc.

• (I like to think that Amphitrite also enjoys dancing in the palace, sometimes Poseidon just shows up and stares at her in the doorway)

• Poseidon is someone difficult for everyone to read, but Amphitrite is probably the only one who knows what he is thinking (and vice versa), which makes it of UTMOST IMPORTANCE that she attends her brothers' events with him (neither of them wants to go, but there is no option. They either leave early or make an excuse together to stay with the sea animals).

• Fortunately, the seas are much calmer and less deadly now, but be careful, not all of Amphitrite's charm can retain her husband's character. Although a part of me says she prefers it that way.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[0xeyedaisy]

It seems I have lost all of my art on my computer. Very unfortunate

[jezebelgoldstone]

YES OKAY DESPAIR NOT I'VE GOT YOU FRIEND.

Briefly: I learned how to crochet when I was six, and did so regularly until I was in my mid-twenties. Then I started getting pain in my thumb. It got so bad and I was so scared of carpal tunnel and arthritis that I stopped crocheting for about 5 years. I didn't talk to a doctor or anything about it because I was convinced they were going to tell me I could never crochet again, and I knew I just couldn't handle hearing that. Somewhere in those five years knitting started to hurt my wrists as well, so I prioritized typing and gave up knitting too.

So like I said about 5 years after I hadn't crocheted at all, I finally managed to work up the emotional fortitude to talk to my doctor about it.

If you have pain from doing your hobbies, things that make you happy, then that means that you are having pain that is lowering your quality of life and you do deserve medical care for it. I'm not a doctor & you should talk to your own doctor too because our situations may be very different, obviously.

That said! I'm going to tell you what worked for me!

Me: my joints hurt when i knit or crochet. I'm worried im developing arthritis.

Dr: How do you manage the pain when you knit or crochet?

Me: I don't. I stopped doing either a few years ago.

Dr, emphatic: oh no no no! You can't STOP! That will just make it worse!

Me: ...wat

Dr: if you stop doing those motions with your joints, or stop using those joints altogether, that will cause them to deteriorate!

Me: so i just... push through the pain...?

Dr: the pain is caused by irritation and swelling, which will ALSO cause deterioration. What you need to do is take an anti-inflammatory like ibuprofen about fifteen minutes before you start knitting or crochetting. Do that for a while and you won't develop arthritis.

Me: sounds fake but okay.

Fam I took an advil and fifteen minutes later knitted or crocheted for an hour or two like three times and i was fine.

So after the doctor told me that there was no reason I should have to give up two hobbies that I love so much, I started paying more attention to how I crochet and I have come up with the below list.

Jez's 3 Easy Steps to Not Fuck Your Joints While Crocheting or Knitting

See above re: talking to doctors and also using ibuprofen to manage joint irritation swelling & pain.

COMFORTABLE ERGONOMIC TOOLS. Can't stress this one enough. For knitting, this means using only wooden knitting needles and never metal or plastic. The lighter the needle the better. For crocheting, this means getting those crochet hooks with the rubber padding on the end. Yes they are more expensive than the plain metal hooks, but guys, these are life-changing. Life-saving, even. Also I know we all hate shein and amazon, but amazon has sets of the lightest bamboo needles ive ever found at like ten pairs for seven dollars, & shein has padded ergonomic crochet hooks in all the normal sizes generally for like under two or three dollars a pop. Get you some bamboo knitting needles & padded ergonomic crochet hooks I am begging.

Pay attention to your actual movements when you crochet! I hold the crochet hook a little funky (like a pencil instead of with my whole hand) but that alone isn't enough to do harm. It turns out one of my problems was that I was using the hook to grab the loop and pull it onto the shaft of the hook, and in so doing I was rolling my thumb. So I was rolling my thumb literally every stitch. I started keeping the hook still and pushing the point through the loops instead, thereby also keeping my thumb still, et voila! It took a little while to get used to, but this also has been life-altering!

Don't give up! You deserve to be able to do the things you love and that make you happy without pain and without stressing that you're destroying your body! I know it seems like the kind of thing that doctors wouldn't pay attention to, but your hobbies causing pain lowers your quality of life and you do deserve medical care for it! Even if your doctor sucks or you don't have access to medical care, you can still do other things that will lessen the stress on your joints!

ok quastion for the crocheters. has crocheting ever caused you pain on the base of your thumb in the hand holding the hook?? I dont think I'm holding it weird or clenching my hand and yet. guess what's hurty

[evilkitten3]

naruto crack au where kakashi manages to successfully drill the "never abandon your comrades" thing into team seven's heads

so when sasuke deserts naruto and sakura immediately desert with him. like he gets to the village gates and they're just waiting for him bags packed like "what took u so long we doing this or what"

he tries to get them to go back bc of course he does. "no you losers this is about me i'm going to kill my brother. also i'll have to kill my best friend for the super sharingan and you two are like the only people i talk to". but they do not listen. teamwork sasuke we will defeat your brother (OUR brother #communism) with the power of teamwork. just like kakashi-sensei said

suddenly orochimaru has to deal with three horrible little goblins with an even more codependent relationship than his old team

[vargaslovinghours]

And never let you go ♥

Bonus without the overspill lighting: