#so like how is it so hard for people to grasp that this is a widespread issue

[yaseraphine]

pick a card 5 - what are people's first impressions of you ?

masterlist / ko-fi

my last post : your 2025 main lesson and themes.

Pile 1

10 of cups, King of Swords, 9 of Wands, 7 of Swords, 4 of Wands, The Sun, The Lovers, Death

Mischevious, Cunning, Manipulative in a flirtatious way ??, flirtatious, funny, Victorious, Happy, Fun to be around, Doesn’t take responsibility for things, Playful, Too unserious, Hot and sexy, Hot n Fun, Short n Sweet, Wet n Wild, If you’re a woman, people might think you easily get super wet (what is wrong with people respectfully 💀), Femme fatale/fboy boy, You look like trouble pile 1 not gonna lie lmaoo, Too hot to handle, People assume you’re a cheater or just kind of sneaky but all of that dark energy comes out somehow really playful ?? At first glance you exude strong Gemini and Aries energies  : kind of childish and playful, really “oopsie daisy”. They’re impression is that you’re the type of person that plays dumb when you get called out for your misbehavior. People might think you are commitment phobic, A player but people don't even mind to be heartbroken if it's you : “I don’t care if I get played by them tbh” people lowkey want to get heartbroken by you (people are crazy 🤡) 

People���s first impressions of you is that you’re a firecracker. Pile 1 I keep on seeing Maddy from Euphoria and Megan Thee Stallion’s Realer era, Pimpin is a song that plays in the background when you’re walking in the street lmaoo You look like you're always in a badass edit

I am hearing the lyrics “she bad mix the ratchet with the classy ooh so bad i just couldn’t let her past me no i told her “shawty, you so right but you so wrong”. Pile 1, you definitely got that aaah (reference to that one tiktok sound of She Knows - Ne-yo feat Juicy J and T pain). You literally make people do double takes on you.

People directly assume if you came into their life, you would ruin them but they would consent to their own self destruction because of how hot you are.

People's first impressions of you is that you’re a master manipulator, but not a horrible one that genuinely leaves others traumatized forever. You’re flirty, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not, but it's mostly people's delusions and projections that hurt them more than anything. They just assume things when you never meant anything, and honestly I don't even think you give people mixed signals. People mix them up by themselves. Like you smile at them just out of politeness and people are like “ damn they're into me or what ?!” What kind of people are around you Pile 1 ? Never met this level of delusion in my life 😭☠️

Something extremely strange about those impressions is that I don’t think people think you’re toxic ?? Which is a bit weird because I have been only describing manipulative behaviors… Pile 1, your energy is really complex to grasp and it stirs intense and contradictory reactions inside people when they first meet you.

I am getting people make a lot of assumptions about you because it’s not just first impressions. People project a lot on you, probably because you are really attractive and people seem to not be able to think a hot and sexy person can be a good and kind hearted person ??? These people are projecting hard literally

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a really sunny person, a really bright and happy go lucky person. 

They also instantly get that you probably got a lot of suitors and people at your feet, waiting for their chance with you. 

When they talk to you, I feel like people get really insecure and they instantly start to compare your life (i mean the 1000 assumptions of what your life is like that they created in their heads on the spot...) and compare it to their own lives. They compare your eloquence, your energy, your aura, the energy and the vibes you exude with their lack of charisma and presence. I don’t know if you’re around a lot of insecure people but be careful, some of them are secretly waiting for your downfall because of how jealous they are of you.

The type of people that are jealous of you instantly when they first see you are generally the same gender as you. If you’re a man, they compare for example how healthy your hair are, how women are easily attracted to you and follow you everywhere you go . Not going to lie it’s giving Chad VS Nice guy/ Incel kind of dynamic. Like they're internal dialogue would probably something like : “ Nice guys finish last anyways… I am sure he treats girls bad and is a player and girls still love him…It's so fucking unfair.” (such a low vibrational energy yikes 🤢). If you’re a girl, they compare your body, your smile, your makeup and how your outfits fit you perfectly , how their own crushes seem to like you more than them YET you don’t even pay mind to them (the jealous people’s crushes) lol 

Pile 1, I would advise you to be extra protective of yourself and your energy. Your spirit irritates a lot of people’s demons.

I find it interesting because this pile is heavy on gender dynamics, power of attraction,... Most of you here are probably straight, or bisexual at least. I don’t see much queer action going on. You also have a really young and fresh energy so you are probably in your 20s.

You incite a lot of hate, jealousy and envy from the same gender. And you incite a lot of obsession, desire and admiration from the opposite. You incite so much jealousy just by your presence, and it happens almost systematically and starts right when people meet you for the first time. I feel like you might have lilith somewhere prominent in your chart, first house, harshly aspected with your ascendant, also Neptune dominance.

People look at you and they instantly think to themselves “this person should star in a movie, what are they doing working in at the local Walmart ??” or “they should be in the cover of vogue. Why are they in college ? They're too hot to be sitting in a classroom all day ?!!” 

Something I am getting from all this channeling is that people's first impressions of you are generally extreme, and mostly false 💀 Different people have different assumptions about you, but everyone seem to agree that you first come across as a heartbreaker and a player. Basically pile 1, you look like trouble at first glance.

The quote I got for you is a beautiful one from Carl Jung : “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own souls”

MUSIC : Pimpin by Megan Thee Stallion / Ne-yo feat Juicy J, T-pain - She Knows (Remix) 2014

Pile 2

Ace of Wands Rx, 5 of Wands, 4 of Wands, 6 of Swords, 2 of Swords, 8 of Cups, The Hanged Man, 5 of Pentacles

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re really closed off and standoffish. Really protective over your energy, your time and your space. You appear somehow aggressively defensive, really “get out of my way bitch” type of energy. 

People’s first impressions are that you’re holding on to a lot of pain and hurt which, in result, makes you really hostile. People can see at first glance that you have been through a lot of negative experiences in life, which made you in return cold and distant. 

Pile 2, you give the energy of a black cat, and you hiss at any person trying to approach you too closely. You really have that lone cat energy.

You have the vibes of someone that bites back. I am hearing the audio “Get your fucking dog bitch!! “ / “It don’t bite.” / ‘YES IT DO !!!”. People think you will jump on them at any given moment if they say something that you don’t like,...lol

When they first meet you, people try to be really careful with their words because they are scared that if they say something wrong, they will cross you. If you’re with a group or someone else when people first meet you, they will avoid, out of fear, to directly engage with you, and will observe how your friends or the people that are with you handle you so they can do the same. 

Pile 2, people’s first impressions of you is that you are scary as hell lmaoo

You give people the impression that you’re judging them in a way. You might unintentionally side eye people a lot. You make people uncomfortable with your standoffish attitude. 

Now, this pile is divided in two sub-types : 

you are perceived exactly like what I described above : really bitchy vibes, no bullshit energy. You’re protective of your energy because you have a lot of self-respect and don’t want people to disrespect the way some did to you in the past. 

The second type, you are like this not really because of self-respect but because there is an underlying insecurity, something particularly broken inside of you. It feels almost like you put up this front of confidence and assertiveness and people usually can see right through it. If you’re faking it until making it a lot of people upon their first impressions pick up on that. 

These two sub-types can be blended too, like you could be both at the same time or perceived as both at the same time. (I don’t know if this makes sense )

People’s first impressions of you is that you are really authoritative and controlling. You probably have a really tight schedule that you don’t like to change for anyone. You look like you don’t like to compromise or work in groups. Their first impressions of you are also that you don’t really like change, you don’t like incompetency, and that you have a really good skincare routine (??random as hell lmaoo). 

People think you eat healthy boring food, like bland porridge for breakfast and a bland salad with almost no seasoning, that you snack on overtly expensive cereal and protein bars that taste like grass (people are really funny i swear this is so hyper specific)

I think their first impressions get them to make a few assumptions on you for a few minutes, but then they move on with their lives like “well i don’t know good for them” or “let them be”. People don’t want to get too carried away in the impressions they have of you and the assumptions they make from it because they don’t want to disturb your peace. Like you have an energetic protection that gives them a limited amount of time to ponder on who you might be. Like I am seeing a system almost like the one in Inside out, a little creature, a fairy or a guardian angel, coming into the person’s mind and starting the timer the moment they stare at you or interact with you for the first time with their foot tapping on the floor and their eyebrows frowned, looking over their watch each second ticking with growing impatience. People feel like they have to go through tests to be allowed to think of you deliberately. 

Pile 2, you have really protective guardian angels damn ! They tolerate no bullshit congrats!!

QUOTE : healed people hear differently

SONGS : Focus - Saweetie / Plan B - Megan thee Stallion / Here - Alessia Cara

Pile 3

King of pentacles, The Star, 7 of swords, 10 of Pentacles, Ace of Wands, 10 of Wands, 5 of Cups, Death

When I first started shuffling for your pile, High Maintenance of Saweetie started playing. Pile 3, you’re standing on business ! It was especially this lyric that stood out to me : 

“See I'ma rider but nah I ain't a die

'Cause I wouldn't take a bullet for a n***a, that's a lie”

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a workaholic with all your life figured out. You have a clear path of where your life will take you. 

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re extremely busy and productive, but, despite that, you are not a robot that does things mindlessly and repetitively. No, you are your own unique person, you have a clear and  higher vision, you seem like a complex individual with a mind of your own.

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a complex individual, with many layers. Instantly, people want to get to know you and get closer to you. They want to know your backstory, and what led you to be so passionate about everything you do today. They want to know how you seem to manage everything in your life so gracefully. 

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a deep soul that learned to make peace with the lighter side of life. You know when to let go and have fun, and when to cling onto things and be serious about things. 

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re beautiful, I am even hearing “striking”. 

People perceive your beauty as being ethereal. It’s not an instagram model type of pretty or handsome, it’s more sophisticated, it’s unique, it is just “you”. 

Maybe a lot of you are not conventionally attractive, you have a particular physical trait, something that makes you stand out instantly. It usually disturbs people a bit when they first meet you like “Oh!...”. I don’t know if you get what I am trying to say lol It is like you’re a woman with really thick and black body hair, but, instead of hiding them or shaving them, you just let them be there. You don’t really care much whether people see them or not. It could also be that you have back acne, and this does not stop you from wearing tank tops or just let them be visible. You don’t try to make a bold statement by doing this, because you’re just like “It’s natural what can I do about this ? It is what it is.” . People immediately pick up on this type of mentality from you. People want you to teach them how to do it. I am hearing “Teach me your ways master” lol . You seem really wise and you know how to not take everything personally. Really an old soul. 

Back to the physical trait thing (because I think people scrutinize your face a lot when they first meet you), you might have a roman nose, or you might look really “ethnic” or “exotic” to people. Maybe you’re a POC in a predominantly white environment, or you just look quite different from your peers.

-> Ok guys, I am picking up on something INSANE. People who would usually bully others for that physical trait you have, sense your strong self-respect and energy and are instantly subconsciously afraid to make fun of you or to try to belittle you. This is actually so fucked up what… I don’t know what is going on in this entire reading but a lot of low vibrational energies were channeled. Anyways. I feel like you grew up being the weird kid that grew into your features and personality, and now, retired high school bullies (not the one that bullied you, if it happened, just general retired high school bullies) lowkey sense they would have bullied you in the past if you were in the same class as them but now can’t do it because it’s lame and not socially acceptable for adults to do shit like that.

People are kind of scared to sit in your energy for too long when they first meet you and have their impressions about you because they feel like their energies are not high vibrational enough for them to be allowed to sit in your powerful energy for too long ?? Lol You intimidate people a lot but they don’t know why, they just feel the urge to shut the f up in your presence and just bathe in your energy silently ?? Weird 

Okay Pile 3, keep it up , never let people dim your light ! Your soul has a powerful pure essence that will  take you far in life.

QUOTE : My soul has traveled long and far to find yours

SONGS : Froot - MARINA / High Maintenance - Saweetie / Icy - ITZY

[heliosunny]

yandere phainon x reader but the peter nguyen meme. we're about to kiss at the altar when someone screams "PHAINON CHEATED ON YOU". they run away but then they come back when we try kissing again and scream "HE SLEPT WITH YOUR SISTER!!" ik this is super random but i just want to know how you think phainon would react in this situation

The priest’s words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. You stood at the altar, heart pounding, gazing into Phainon’s piercing blue eyes. His grip on your hands was firm, nothing else matters at such moment.

“PRINCE PHAINON CHEATED ON YOU!!”

A shriek cut through the silence. Gasps rippled through the wedding hall.

You barely had time to register the words before the accuser, a wild-eyed stranger, turned and bolted out the doors. Murmurs erupted among the guests.

Phainon’s grip on your hands didn’t falter. Instead, his lips curled into a lazy smile.

“Ignore them” he murmured, his thumb stroking your wrist. “Jealousy makes people desperate.”

The priest, though rattled, cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?”

Phainon smirked. “Please.”

The tension in the hall faded as the ceremony resumed. The priest lifted his hands once more.

“You may now—”

“HE SLEPT WITH YOUR SISTER!!”

The doors slammed open again. The same person, panting, face red.

A stunned silence followed.

Something flickered in Phainon's gaze. A memory.

—Flashback—

They have no idea…

How hard it was to gain your trust.

How long he waited.

Phainon hadn’t been looking for love that day.

He was just passing through, watching people the way he always did—silent, calculating, disinterested. Until he saw you.

You were reaching for a fruit, balancing on the tips of your toes, fingers just barely grazing the branch. The sunlight made your hair glow, sweat beading on your skin from effort.

He had seen beautiful people before. Had taken lovers. Had discarded them.

But something about you made him took a step forward, about to offer help.

Then—

The branch snapped. You yelped as you lost your footing, tumbling down- Right into his arms.

He caught you with ease, strong hands gripping your waist. You gasped, wide-eyed, staring up at him. Phainon felt your warmth, your racing heartbeat. He could smell the faint sweetness of fruit on your skin.

Then, as if sensing danger, you scrambled out of his grasp. Your feet hit the ground, and before he could say a word, you turned.

“Come on!” you yelled, grabbing your sister’s hand.

And just like that, you ran.

Phainon stood there, watching your retreating figure.

He touched his fingers to his chest—his heart was pounding.

---

Phainon hadn’t forgotten you.

Days passed, then weeks, but the memory of your warmth, the startled look in your eyes, the way you ran from him lingered. So he searched. And when he finally learned where you lived—a quiet, unassuming estate on the edge of the city—he didn’t hesitate.

The library was modest but well-kept. Books lined the walls, the scent of parchment and ink filling the air. Phainon sat with perfect ease, sipping tea as your parents—clearly nervous—hosted him with shaky politeness.

“A prince in our humble home..” your father murmured in awe.

Phainon only smiled. “I was looking for someone.”

Your mother straightened. “Oh? Who might that be, Your Highness?”

He set his cup down, glancing at the door expectantly.

“Your child,” he said smoothly. “The one who sneaks into the royal garden to steal fruit.”

A gasp. Your parents exchanged alarmed glances.

“Surely there’s been some mistake—”

“Oh, there’s no mistake,” Phainon cut in, his voice still pleasant. “I caught them myself.”

A shuffle outside the room.

There you are

You stepped into the library, eyes wary. He saw the flicker of recognition, the brief hesitation before you masked it.

“You went through all this trouble,” you said dryly. “Just to scold me over some fruit?”

Phainon tilted his head, watching you. “I wouldn’t call it trouble.”

Your expression darkened slightly. You studied him for a long moment, then—without another word—you turned and walked away.

His smile faltered.

But he didn’t give up.

---

You hadn’t expected to see him again.

After that strange visit to the library, you assumed the prince would lose interest. Noblemen didn’t linger in places like yours—not for long, at least.

But then, one afternoon, you heard your sister shouting.

“Whoa—whoa! Stop—stop!”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you ran outside. Your sister was struggling with the reins of a restless horse, its hooves stomping nervously. She barely managed to keep her balance, her face pale with panic.

You took a step forward, ready to help, but Phainon got there first.

He moved with effortless grace, his strong hands closing around the bridle. The horse stilled instantly, as if sensing the power behind his touch.

“You’re pulling too tight,” Phainon said, his tone calm, guiding her hands with his own. “See? You need to give it room to move.”

Your sister blinked, looking up at him in awe. “Like this?”

“Exactly.”

You watched as he guided her through the motions—how to hold the reins properly, how to keep her posture balanced. He was patient, his voice smooth and encouraging.

Your sister beamed, clearly delighted to be learning from someone like him.

And, despite yourself, you felt your guard loosen—just a little.

He wasn’t mocking her. He wasn’t looking down on her in that smug, noble way. He was helping.

For the first time, you looked at him without suspicion.

---

The kitchen smelled sweet, the warm scent of baked goods filling the air as you carefully placed another tray of cookies onto the counter. You hadn’t made them for anyone in particular—you just felt like it.

Rolling up your sleeves, you reached for one to taste only for a hand to swipe it before you could.

“Not bad.”

You turned to see Phainon stood beside you, casually chewing on the stolen cookie, his blue eyes filled with amusement. He didn’t look the slightest bit sorry.

“What are you doing here?”

He leaned against the counter, “I smelled something good and followed it. Imagine my surprise when I found you here, working so hard.”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “I didn’t make them for you.”

“But I ate them anyway.” His lips curled into a teasing smile. “If you become my spouse, I’ll let you cook as much as you want.”

You scoffed. “Oh, how generous, Your Highness. Now shoo.”

You pushed him lightly, trying to guide him out of the kitchen, but he barely moved.

Instead, he grinned and leaned closer, clearly enjoying your frustration.

“You really want me gone?” he mused.

“Yes” you deadpanned.

With an exaggerated sigh, he relented, stepping back. “Fine, fine. But only because you asked so sweetly.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away.

Then you noticed—crumbs clinging to the fabric of his coat.

Without thinking, you reached out and brushed them off, fingers grazing his chest lightly.

When you looked up, Phainon was watching you. Realizing what you’d done, you quickly pulled back.

“Go” you muttered.

For once, he obeyed.

----

It hadn’t been easy.

There were fights. Doubts. Moments when you swore you’d never accept him.

Phainon had tested your patience, pushed boundaries, and yet—he had always been there. He never wavered. When you were uncertain, he was steadfast. When you fell, he picked you up. When the world conspired against you, he cut through it with ruthless efficiency.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped resisting.

And when he knelt before you, offering not just his hand but his loyalty, his devotion, his everything, you finally said yes.

—Reality—

“HE SLEPT WITH YOUR SISTER!!”

The words rang through the wedding hall once more.

But before anyone could react, Phainon moved.

His fingers closed around the first thing he could grab—a golden goblet.

With terrifying precision, he hurled it. The metal clashed against the doors, slamming them shut just as the accuser tried to flee.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Then, in one fluid motion, Phainon seized a sword from a nearby knight. The blade gleamed under the chapel’s light as he strode forward, eyes cold.

The accuser trembled, trapped.

Phainon’s voice was calm, but it carried a sharp, dangerous edge.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?”

He took another step.

“You dirtied my name on my wedding day.”

The person fell to their knees, shaking. “P-please, I was just—”

“You were just what?” Phainon tilted his head, almost amused. “A fool? A pawn? Or merely suicidal?”

The room held its breath.

The accuser sobbed, words crumbling into incoherent pleas.

Then—

You laughed.

The crowd looked at you in shock. Then, as if your amusement was contagious, the guests joined in—chuckling at first, then outright laughing.

The accuser looked around in confusion, face pale.

Phainon exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if the outburst had been nothing but an inconvenience.

“You heard them,” he said, turning away, sword still in hand. “Give them their punishment.”

The guards wasted no time dragging the culprit out.

The doors shut once more. The disturbance had passed.

Phainon turned back to you, his expression smoothing into something warm, almost fond.

“As I was saying,” the priest stammered, composing himself. “You may now—”

Phainon didn’t wait.

His lips were on yours before the words were even finished.

[snowluvvie]

strawberry shortcake 🍓

Rodrick <33

₊˚⊹ ♡. Rodrick Heffley is certainly not a planner, he never has been. He spends plenty of time agonizing over how exactly he's gonna blow your socks off on the big day, but when he's ready to start planning, he realizes that it's two days away. He scrapes together the couple bucks in his wallet, some change from his dorm room couch (and you're 99% sure he took some money from Greg's piggy bank,) to present you on Valentine's Day with a grand total of: a beanie-baby stuffed animal, a box of candy hearts, a mostly-crushed bouquet of flowers from the gas station, and a hand-burned CD with the title "jams 4 hot gf" scrawled across the front in his inexcusably terrible handwriting. He's basically grinding his toe into the dirt all shy-like when he gives them to you, giving you a classic "I know it's not much, but—" though you cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him so hard he makes an oof noise, the wind knocked out of him.

The two of you make an appearance at your favorite date spot—an extremely sketchy, extremely sticky bowling alley where three of the lanes are perpetually closed, and the lights in the attached arcade flicker ominously. Your squeals and his laughter echo off the wood-paneled walls, and for your whole game (him appearing on the scoreboard as RODPRICK and you as THE BABE,) it feels like you're the only two people on the whole planet. Rodrick insists on winning you a stuffed animal from the claw machine, and you put on an oscar-winning performance of being equally as excited every time he tries, and equally as shocked and disappointed every time it slips from the metal grasp. You rub his back consolingly as you walk away once his pockets are officially empty, and he slings an arm over your shoulders as he mutters, "at least you got the beanie baby" with a defeated shake of his head.

You almost let out a little sniffle at the card he gives you (it takes you a couple tries to read it cause good lord, his handwriting really is awful,) which says "ur way too cool and hot and smart for me, but i'm glad u haven't realized that yet. happy valentine's day babe :)" accompanied by the worst drawing of you two as stick figures you've ever seen. He even plays you an extremely sincere but terribly loud love song on the drum set in the communal music room, and the two of you get promptly kicked out halfway through. Ending the day with your face buried in his hoodie, watching some stupid movie, the whole day having cost probably $30 total, you hum against his lips when he kisses you and think about how it was kind of the best day you've ever had. Sure, it made it glaringly obvious that Rodrick Heffley is a total disaster—but c'mon, he's your disaster.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 10)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: Drinking

Word Count: 3517

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)

Notes: Happy Valentine’s Day my loves 💙

_________________________________________

“Well…” Rhys trails off from over your shoulder. You don’t think your muscles could coil any tighter, didn’t think your cheeks could flare any hotter as you stared down at the returned quiz in your hands. Then Rhys appeared behind you after speaking with your professor. Not even the heat of his body nor the breath of his soft breathing can distract you from the paper. “It’s not an F.”

“It certainly isn’t an A,” you respond, glaring so hard at the red circle with the D+ scrawled in the middle. You’re focusing as much attention on making the paper burst into flames as you are trying to keep the prickling behind your eyes from turning into something more.

“I think aiming for an A was a bit ambitious to begin with,” Rhys says gently. It wouldn’t be hard for him to sense your utter disappointment, with your head hung low and the defeated slump to your shoulders. He has an urge to eat the space between you, wrap his arm around your shoulders and let you lean into him, to comfort you. He wants to see you smile, even glare at him, because anything is better than seeing you this downtrodden.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, shoving the paper into the fold of your binder before slamming it shut. The soft thud it makes does nothing to expel your annoyance, and you almost bare your teeth at the damn thing as you stuff it in your bag. “You’re like a dictionary for all things psychology.”

Rhys follows you from the hall. At least this was your last class before the weekend. You can shove any and all things psychology from your mind and focus on what’s much more important tonight, Gwyn’s birthday.

He holds the door to the lecture hall open and you dodge students entering for the class following yours. You catch the looks people shoot Rhys’ way. Apparently, he’s well-known. You see girls ogle him, guys nod in his direction as he passes like he’s some sort of celebrity or something. It’s almost laughable, how someone on a sports team could be so valued across a campus. And he’s not even on the football team, which you find even more impressive, since your school lives and breathes Bats football. Hockey is a close second, with women’s soccer a shocking close third for student events.

You suppose that any sporting event where people can get shit faced and scream nonsense in a large crowd would be appealing to most.

“Come on,” Rhys says. “You really didn’t do that bad.”

You shoot him a look.

“Rhys. Were we looking at the same quiz back there? Because all I saw was a big, fat D.”

He carefully folds his bottom lip between his teeth and amusement swimming to life in those heart-stopping violet eyes of his. He refrains from cracking a joke about how there could be another big, fat, D in your future, if you ask nicely. It takes superhuman effort to keep the comment to himself.

Still, you notice, and smack him playfully on the arm. “Gross.”

He holds up his hands in fake surrender. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to,” you reprimand. You turn your head away from him, acting like you’re searching for something across campus. If he catches the way your cheeks flush from whatever he may have been thinking, he politely refrains from pointing it out.

“I studied so hard, Rhys,” you complain, grasping the straps of your backpack tighter. “I’m actually doomed.”

“You’re not doomed,” Rhys refutes. His arm brushes against yours as you walk and every time you remind yourself that someone could see you, you shift an inch over. “We’re going to have to work harder, that’s all.” Rhys doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re trying to create space. It’s like there’s a magnetic field drawing him into you, and within a few feet, you’re walking on the edge of the sidewalk.

And the thing is, you are trying really hard. You don’t know how much more effort you have, and there’s only a month and a half until finals. By your calculations, you’ll have to get Bs on every assignment, quiz, and test until the end of the year if you want to pass.

That sounds impossible.

“How about Saturday night? You can come over to mine after the game and we can study together.”

You can’t, even though you kind of want to see what the hockey house is like when there aren’t a thousand people stuffed into the interior. You want to see what Rhys’ room looks like. If word makes its way back to Mor, you’ll be totally and completely fucked. She’s your best friend and you’d like to keep your relationship with her. You’d be a terrible friend if you didn’t.

At your apprehension, Rhys continues. “Mor won’t find out, and if she does, all you have to do is tell her the truth. That I’m your tutor.” Fake boyfriend goes unsaid, and that’s the part you’re worried about.

Worried about it because you think you’re starting to like being Rhys’ fake girlfriend. The soft touches when Amarantha around feel good, an arm around your shoulder, the warm looks he sends you from the ice, like he’s still thinking about you when he’s deep in a game. And that kiss…you’re starting to get why his reputation is the way it is. His lips are sinful.

“I’m hoping I’ll be curing a hangover with greasy pizza or a juicy burger.” It’s a poor excuse, an even worse attempt at deflection.

Rhys quirks a brow. “From your little wine night?”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn down the block to your dorm. It’s now you realize that Rhys is taking the time to walk you home. He mustn’t have much to do for the party tonight, despite the extravaganza being hosted at his house. It must be nice to have teammates pulling their weight.

Gwyn doesn’t get out of her last class until six thirty, which gives you and Mor almost two hours to pull out all of the decorations you’ve been stockpiling in the back of your closet, and pick up the cake from the local bakery. You don’t have to worry about getting the drinks for later, Gwyn was so excited to finally turn twenty-one and wanted to purchase the alcohol now that she’s officially legal. You and Mor pitched in, sending her off this morning with a pancake breakfast and cash for the alcohol. You can’t wait to pop open a bottle after the long day you’ve had.

“I’ll have you know that wine drunk is way better than vodka drunk,” you wrinkle your nose, “And it’s much better than getting drunk off of Cassian’s skunk punch. Seriously, what the hell is even in that?” You shudder at the memory. “Why is it even called skunk punch?”

Rhys grimaces, especially when he remembers that there will be no escaping Cassian’s concoction of basically every alcohol he can find and afford that night. It’s somehow even worse than a bar mat shot. As part of the tradition, everyone on the team must take at least one skunk punch shot, and he’s not looking forward to it.

“Trust me, it’s better not to know the answer to either of those questions.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you agree.

You and Rhys stop just outside your building. He stares at you like he doesn’t want this moment to end, and neither do you. There’s a betraying thought in your mind that says you should roll up onto the tips of your toes and press your mouth against his, that he wouldn’t push you away. That his hands would wind around you to pull you even closer, that his fingers would thread through your hair like they did that night and guide your head like they might have if no one interrupted your kiss—

“Well, this is me,” you say, and curse yourself for being so awkward. Truthfully, you have no idea what to say, how to act when your heart is pounding in your chest with the way he’s looking at you.

His eyes flit to the building and back. “Are you sure you can’t want to make an appearance at my party tonight?” Rhys asks. “Just in case she shows up, of course.”

Right. In case Amarantha shows face.

He wants you to come even if his ex doesn’t show up. Hell, he’s praying that she doesn’t show up. Rhys just isn’t ready to say goodbye yet. The short amount of time he’s seen you today—walking you from your class to your dorm—hasn’t been enough.

You shake your head and he tries his best to mask the deflation of his shoulders. It’s not just any wine night; it’s your roommate’s birthday. If it wasn’t such an important event, or Gwyn didn’t despise hockey so much, you’d consider trying to convince her into going. “I really can’t tonight. It’s Gwyn’s birthday, remember?”

“Of course,” Rhys offers you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s polite. Awkward. “I’ll see you Saturday night at the game, right? And we’ll study after.”

“Sure you won’t have another party to attend after the big game, Mr. Hotshot?” you tease, and a true smile threatens to crack his face.

“There is one, but one of my other teammates is hosting,” he teases back. “We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Your stomach flips at his words. All alone with Rhys? At his house?

To study, you reprimand yourself, though you can think of a million other things you’d like to be studying instead of psychology. Anatomy, for one.

“Yeah,” you swallow the butterflies trying to escape up your windpipe. You step away from him, needing the space before you do or say something you shouldn’t. You turn toward the door, continuing over your shoulder. “See you Saturday.”

“He even had a drawing!” Gwyn exclaims, and the three of you burst into another fit of the combination of the night: laughter and tears. Laughing so hard that you can’t help the droplets that squeeze from the corners of your eyes.

Her cheeks are almost as red as the wine in her glass. Or, was in her glass. How did she down her cup that fast? Your cup is still half-full. You glance at Mor, who’s in the middle of capturing a video of the drunk birthday girl who sloppily sticks her fork into the cake the three of you have been picking at all night. She ends up with frosting on her nose and the sight of your quietest roommate having the time of her life is so endearing that you’ve barely even thought about the party Rhys is at.

“No way,” Mor refutes, shutting her phone off and taking a big gulp of her wine. She’s in a maroon tank top and sleep shorts with her fuzzy platform slippers on her feet. They’re shaped like teddy bears, and one keeps staring at you where she taps her toes to the rhythm of the music pouring from the speaker on the kitchen counter.

Gwyn’s auburn hair pops against the white t-shirt she has on. There’s an emerald logo of the local bookstore on the front and a smear of blue icing beside it. A drop of wine down the center. It’s been a night for the birthday girl, and you’re having the time of your life.

“I swear! I know I’m a writer but I’m in no way that creative,” Gwyn insists, waving her fork around. A dot of icing goes flying toward the couch and lands on Mor’s cheek, causing another round of roaring laughter.

Gwyn had been telling a story about how someone in her creative writing class wrote the most ridiculous line she’s ever heard. Watery bowels. You can’t stop thinking about it, and every time you do, it causes another wave of cackles to sound.

Mor swipes the frosting from her face and licks it off her finger. You’re about to reach for your abandoned fork when your phone buzzes next to your socked foot.

You’re thankful for the alcohol warming your skin, because you’re full-on blushing and grinning so hard your cheeks hurt at the name that appears.

Rhys: Bored yet?

He’s been bothering you all night. This is the fourth time he’s asked you this. He wants you to try and convince your roommates to go over to their house and join in on the festivities, but you told him that you were having too much fun. He then tried to score an invite to your dorm, saying that it can’t be that much fun and to prove it if it was.

You replied with a video of you sending a picture of the mutilated cake, to which Rhys sent whining emojis in response.

You: Not quite.

Rhys: Is there still cake left? I’m famished.

You squint because the words are a little hazy with the amount of wine you’ve drank tonight. You almost jump out of your seat when the phone buzzes in your hand, lighting up with Rhys’ call.

You scramble to hide the screen, making sure that neither of your roommates saw. Thankfully, they’re both occupied with something on Mor’s phone, eyes wide as they try and comprehend what they’re looking at.

You want to answer, you do. You miss Rhys even though you’ve seen him a few hours ago. You wonder what he’s wearing, if those violet eyes are glossed with drink like yours are.

When you stand with the intention of slipping somewhere private to answer Rhys’ call, Mor takes notice.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” you answer almost too quickly, and stride for the door.

“Hello?” You answer, hitting the light switch with your elbow and flicking the lock shut behind you.

“Hi,” Rhys greets, and your smile breaks your face.

It’s loud at the house he’s at, but the background noise of partying students and loud music dims some as he finds somewhere quieter. Your heart flips in your chest at the thought of him abandoning a party to call you.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, leaning back against the door.

“Calling you,” he answers like an ass. Typical.

“Yeah, I got that. But why? You know Mor is in the room with me, right?”

“Is she in the room with you?” Rhys prompts.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Where are you hiding?”

“Bathroom,” you mumble, cheeks flaring. The ugly cream color matches the rest of the rooms in your on-campus apartment, the ceramic flooring perpetually cold beneath your socked feet. The only ounce of color is in the shower curtain you and your roommates picked out on sale when you moved in, a teal number with swirls of gold and mint. It’s the same pattern you swear was on your grandmother’s sofa when you were young. “You?”

“My room,” Rhys says, and you try not to think too much about that. “I’d say I have about ten minutes before Cassian finds me and forces me to do a skunk shot with him, so if you hear the sound of a bear mixed with a screaming eagle, that’s him.”

You snort a laugh. “That’s okay, I only have a few minutes, too.”

“Yeah, how’s that going? You three aren’t lonely yet?”

“No,” you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “But clearly you are.”

Rhys hums noncommittally. “So what if I am?”

The fluorescent lights are burning your eyes and you blink blearily, wondering if you just heard what you think you did. You curse yourself for forgetting your glass in the spot you abandoned to eagerly answer his phone call, because your throat has suddenly dried up. You wonder how unladylike you’ll sound if you decided to stick your head under the faucet.

“I would tell you that there’s a million girls just downstairs to keep you company,” you say, but you don’t really mean it. In fact, the wine in your stomach sours when the words come up.

“Maybe,” Rhys says, and you can picture him shrugging those broad shoulders of his. The very ones you want to kick your legs over with his head between your thighs. Fuck, you can’t be thinking like this. “But none of them are my lucky charm.”

His lucky charm? You’re his lucky charm? You can’t say that you’re upset with the sentiment, even if it’s not true. He’s drinking, he’s just flirting, which is only going to make the hole you’re already slowly digging yourself even deeper, and you’re not all that sure you’d mind.

Mor’s laughter creeps under the door and you force yourself to change the subject. Focus.

“You know what? Maybe I need one of those good luck thingies,” you sit on the edge of the tub, reveling in the way the chilled porcelain cools your burning skin.

“Good luck thingies?” Rhys muses, and you wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he lying on his bed? Sitting at his desk? Pacing the room?

You startle back into yourself when Rhys calls your name. He sounds worried, and it’s flattering. You imagine the way he might be chewing his lip, that same hot, demanding mouth you want to feel on yours again.

The scalding heat in your cheeks reflects between your legs, your pussy pulsing with want. “You listening to me?”

“Huh?”

Beautiful laughter echoes through the line and steals your breath from your lungs.

“I asked ‘what good luck thingies?’”

Good luck thingies? You frown, racking your mind for the lost conversation. Oh! “You know, like…” you trail off, waving your hand flippantly as you grasp for answers. “Something that can help me ace the next test. Like how you claim I’m your good luck charm. I think James’ is listening to this one rap song from the nineties—”

Rhys grunts unhappily and you almost smile.

“Please don’t bring up Attor while we’re on the phone,” he all but groans. You stifle a giggle at his jealousy.

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. Outside the door, your roommates begin chanting your name from the couch, their voices muffled. They’re asking for the third bottle of wine you stashed in the fridge to cool. “What do you think my good luck thingie should be?”

Rhys hums thoughtfully and the sound rumbles to your core. You’re sure he doesn’t mean it to sound as arousing as it does. You clench your thighs together carefully.

“Don’t know,” he says. “Maybe you should come here and find out.”

Gods, does that sound perfect right now. You want to know exactly what he means by that, and when you open your mouth to respond, you’re cut off by a loud pounding on his side of the phone that makes you flinch. You wobble on your perch but manage to keep steady as you hear Cassian get into his room. Rhys curses about how he thought he locked the door.

“Bitch, why the fuck are you hiding?” Cassian bellows. “We need to take skunk shots, stat! The rest of the team is waiting!”

Rhys breathes your name over the line. “I have to go. Come over if you can, yeah?”

“I can’t promise anything,” you whisper back, and the line goes dead.

You take a second to compose yourself, and exit the bathroom. Your roommates cheer when you pull the wine from the fridge and wave it around like you just won gold at the wine-retrieving event. You make a fake speech as you pour, and slowly, the FOMO trickles away.

“Ugh,” Mor groans, locking her screen and tossing it to the foot of the couch. She takes a sip of her wine and sighs dramatically. “My cousin and Cassian will not stop texting me! They’re so annoying!”

“Texting you about what?” Gwyn asks, gulping down her wine. You think she might need to stop soon, but you don’t want to kill her birthday buzz.

“Their dumb party. They keep telling me we should come over. I already told them that we’re busy!”

You watch Gwyn hum. There’s an idea churning behind those bright eyes of hers, but you have no idea what. It’s no secret that she despises hockey and everything to do with it for some reason, but you don’t know the story. She doesn’t look like she’s ready to spill on that quite yet, but her eyes do light up with mischief.

“I hate hockey and I don’t want to go to their party, but wouldn’t it be fun to prank them?”

Prank them? Coming from the girl who would never break a rule, not even something as silly as jaywalking.

“Prank them how?” You ask, sharing a confused look with Mor, who sits up on the couch and leans closer to your roommate.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn hiccups, and she looks funny with the over-dramatic way she masks on her innocence. “What if we stole that trophy they love so much?”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 14 - We're All Children of Jesus

You have a confession.

On AO3.

By the time you’re done talking (and plus a “magic” ring that seems to be a flaking “gold” ring, all copper underneath) and gone to join the others, Wyll done went and slammed back some kinda truth potion. Tea. Thing. Holds eye contact with this Jaheira lady the whole time he does it, too, while Shadowheart’s face goes flat in a distinctly disapproving way, and Astarion outright rolls his eyes.

But this Jaheira lady—Karlach says she’s a druid—seems to like that. Her thin eyebrow cocks in what you think might be amusement.

Then she starts talking and you’re real glad Wyll took one for the team here. He’s a good guy. Young, earnest, and ridiculously charming.

Cause the news she shares, it sucks real fucking hard.

The Absolute cult is here all right, holed up in a tower fortress, led by an invincible old man Jaheira says she shot through the eye. She don’t seem like she’s exaggerating, neither (and huh, she’s gotta be speaking Faerunian with an accent, because the dirt potion apparently decides in your brain that she’s, what, Hispanic?). Oh, and they have a fucking army. That they’re planning on marching to Baldur’s Gate.

Y’all been tromping around out here in the sticks. You still don’t got a good grasp on population density or how big these people consider a city to be. Ancient Rome held about a million people, you think. But all that’s peanuts compared to modern cities. You flew into Phoenix, Arizona one time on your way up north, and that fucker stretched from one horizon to the next, like a carpet of brown moss between the hills.

Jaheira seems a decent person. Worried about the people around her. And she don’t shoot none of y’all through the fucking eye, so that’s a bonus. Though she does threaten to knife y’all if it turns out you’re here for culty shenanigans. You can respect that.

She also mentions something about Mr. Invincible, General Thorm, and a former army of something called “dark justiciars.” Y’all ran into a dead one on the road, if you remember right, and your gaze slides over to Shadowheart. Who watches like somebody reading Moby Dick out loud in the world’s flattest monotone.

Except you been around her a while, now. Enough to pick up on the shift. A vibe. A cat that done spotted a hummingbird outside the window.

And it occurs to you that brainworms aside she…might be a threat.

You try not to blame a whole religion for what was done to you. And to others. And to your mother. Your father. Grandfather. Entire line of ancestors and all Natives and Black people and women and each fucking other—

You take a breath.

Some people of that persuasion use it for good. Build houses for poor people until they’re ninety-fucking-years old. But some people have and will use it for the most vile shit the human imagination ever fever-dreamed up. And if somebody is inclined to vileness, or induced to it, it’s the perfect set of both shield and blinders.

How much of Shadowheart wants them brainworms out, and how much of her might look at an invincible fanatic and decide her goals might be better met with him?

The cleric turns to you, as if she knows. You fumble for your brainworm, slap around to make sure your thoughts ain’t leaking, and you look back to Jaheira.

Right as the woman says, “The artifact protects you. You can gain passage as a True Soul. Find what makes him invincible and strip him of it. And once he has been made vulnerable, we can take them all down.”

It takes a second. Cause it unfolds in your head like a kaleidoscope of razor-sharp lines.

She needs spies. Saboteurs. A man (or several) on the inside. Of a brainworm cult. And y’all got them worms without being pushed into the dirt by a Big Bitch Voice.

It’s clear. Perfect. Almost makes your eyes water, it’s so fucking clean.

All as bile claws up your throat and your stomach gives a tight lurch.

“Any cure starts with understanding the disease,” Jaheira says. Which is true. “The magic protecting Thorm must be in Moonrise Tower.”

Infiltrate a psychic cult. Pass as one of them.

Astarion glances over and you can’t meet his gaze. Can feel the ghost of his frown, though.

She says stuff about a cleric of their own and protection from the darkness and blah blah blah. You can’t hear over the hornet’s nest buzzing between your ears.

Then she leaves y’all to it. Invites y’all to some rest and vittles. Stock up and take a breather. You got half a mind to snag yourself a wine bottle and guzzle down enough your head calms down. Then remember how that shit burns on the way back up and decide it ain’t worth the small window of happy oblivion.

They got two rooms upstairs. Y’all will probably split it boy-girl.

But first, y’all need to Plan.

“No magic can put this Form together after I’ve smashed open his skull,” Lae’zel says over the bar.

“Thorm,” Shadowheart corrects, without any blade to it at all. “And that sounds like exactly what he’ll do.”

Lae’zel lifts her chin. “Then I will do it again.”

“This sort of magic tends to be very powerful,” Gale says.

“I will split his skull as many times as is required.”

“Much as I do like a good head-cracking,” Karlach says, “I’m with Sparkles here.”

The wizard coughs into his goblet of wine. “Sparkles?”

You heard he got something like a cat but he insists ain’t a cat, and you also heard that people with a pet for a long time tend to start looking like it. You’re pretty sure whatever a tressym is, it’s a fucking cat, based on the face the man makes.

“Yeah! You got them…” Karlach holds out her hands and wiggles her fingers. Magical jazz hands.

Gale takes another drink, muttering into his cup. Something about “archmage.”

“Part of any successful hunt is knowing the terrain,” Wyll says. “It would be incredibly worthwhile to get in there.”

“The Blade of Frontiers wants to lie his way into a den of illithid-infected, mind-reading cultists?” Shadowheart says, slipping her chained ponytail off one shoulder. You wonder, idly, if it ever snags and tugs one hair on her scalp the way your braid used to do when you had long hair. Fuck long hair. “Have much experience with that, do you?”

“Cults, no. But I’ve been chained to a devil since I was seventeen.”

Karlach frowns. Mutters, “Fucking bitch.”

“That’s something entirely different,” Shadowheart says. “Who here even has experience with gods or their followers?”

The countertop looks like it was carved outta a solid piece of wood. The edges are all knobby. You trace your finger along the picked-at bark and imagine a squirrel once followed that same path up to a cache.

“If I may remind you, I was the chosen of Mystra herself,” Gale says.

“And you did such a fine job, she’s tasked you with blowing yourself up,” Shadowheart says.

Wyll opens his mouth, but it’s Astarion who says, “As if you wouldn’t leap at the chance to do the same should your lady order you.”

Man’s been quiet the whole time, content to sit beside you and clean his daggers. That he jumps in now, for Gale, slams the brakes on the entire conversation.

“And out of the entire pantheon,” he says, “I think perhaps only a few would be less likely to command some grand, sanctimonious suicide than that, Sharran.”

Shadowheart focuses on him, gaze sharp. “I take it you have some great insight into the gods, then, Astarion? Funny. I’ve never heard you praying.”

“Oh, I prayed to them all. Multiple times. Every one I could remember. None of them answered.”

You close your eyes. Bow your head. Ain’t sure if the others hear in his voice what you do. They wasn’t in his head (on accident) when fish people was peeling him open. Didn’t feel his horror. His pain. And even worse, the resignation to it. Part of him, a lot of him in the moment, just accepted that he deserved it.

You spent hours, days on your knees in prayer. Years in prayer. That you would be good. Be worthy. Be enough. And it never mattered. Not once. Always dirty. Always unclean and rotten, stupid and lazy. A willing whore, but for the benevolent vigilance of the congregation, fighting against your natural inclination as a bride of the devil. On account of being born in sin, and an Indian at that; everybody knows Indian girls can’t keep their legs closed.

The lord ain’t never answered you.

Sasha did. Her friends and her people did. Your family did, once they found you again. Even though none of them could fully understand it, they all tried. Not because some holy man ordered it. Not to avoid an eternity burning alive in a lake of fire. But because they thought it right.

You got out. You got away. You fucking ran.

You wonder if Astarion ever got that chance before.

Yet here you are again. Trapped between permanent squid-face, and infiltrating a psychic army of brainwormed believers.

“I,” you start. Feel attention shift to you and nearly dive off your barstool to sprint for the door. Them shadows seem real accepting. But you know Astarion is looking at you, even as numbness starts to creep up your fingers. “I grew up. In a religious cult.”

And fuck you. There it is. Went and spilled that one all over everybody like projectile vomit. Classy.

“I thought you said your world didn’t have gods?” Gale says. Bless his poor heart.

There’s that cold spot again. To your right, this time. Don’t gotta look up to know Shadowheart stares.

“We don’t,” you say. Fuck this world and everybody in it, they will pry that conviction outta your cold, dead hands. And since your soul is stuck in a jar, maybe not even then. “But that don’t mean we don’t got believers.”

Wyll catches your gaze. There’s knowing in his eyes. He’s piecing together what you told him after that fucking bitch Mizora showed up to jerk his chain.

“So three of us possibly able to infiltrate this fortress,” Gale says.

“Four,” Astarion says.

Gale’s mouth opens. Closes. Wyll glances between you two and frowns softly.

“I mean, he is a damned good liar,” Karlach says. “No offense, Fangs.”

“None taken, darling, though I wouldn’t exactly call it lying.”

“How long did you keep your undead nature from us?” Gale says.

“According to you, it was apparent from the start. And none of you asked. There is a difference between lying and saying nothing at all.”

Lae’zel spits out what’s gotta be a githyanki curse. The dirt potion don’t translate it. It’s gotta be tied to Faerun, somehow. The perception of the people from here. Maybe the people who brewed it? Isn’t it nice to think about something else?

And that leaves…

It’s almost amusement, what Shadowheart wears. If something that condescending could be called amusement. “How long were you with your own god or goddess?”

Fuck. You was getting along. She’s been looking out for you. Then y’all got here, and she got fucking mind-whammied by her faith, and it’s like being back to square one. She was all closed off and sniping. She sees you as a threat, don’t she? You seen this before. With the newer ones to the farmstead, sometimes. Fresh converts is always the worst. Don’t matter what kinda person she is. Don’t matter how nice she is to you at first. Her allegiance is to her goddess, and if she sees you as the enemy, if her god deems you that enemy, she’ll kill any decency she might have felt for you in the name of what she’s told.

“Long enough to make it out and stay out,” you say.

It ain’t quite cruelty sparkling in her eyes. Just smugness, you think. You hope.

“And you think that’s enough to get you inside? They can read minds.”

So could the Pastor, through the lord. Or that’s what y’all earnestly believed.

Yet, in hindsight, you didn’t lose your faith all in one swoop down in that root cellar, holding a piece of glass. You didn’t even fully lose it until years after.

No. It’d been in your head for months, since Mother started talking about finding you a husband. It’d been there for years, maybe. A niggling thought. Disgruntlement, sure. But in between raving about the lord returning in fire with the sword to cleanse the world of sin, the Pastor would tell bible stories. The virgin birth. The letters of Paul. Some of the gospel, in the early days, before that got eaten by hellfire. People was kind, in them stories. Kind to adulteresses and whores, who were the worst things a person could be.

But the farmstead had no kindness for you or the other girls it deemed filthy, which was all of you on rotation. Though it called what it did to y’all as a result a kindness. Pain now for salvation later.

No, you’d been doubting for some time before that night you ran through darkened fields towards the old pickup truck sitting quiet in the road. You’d spent years hiding it from even yourself. Months spent hiding it (you thought) from the lord who knew all, and the Pastor his chosen to whom he told all.

“I fooled my mother for years,” you say. “And she was second in command. I think I can handle a single day up in that tower.”

[showstopper35]

Comical Comets - A Texaid Fic

happy birthday @gravedwe11er !! ilysm thank you for being my friend, I hope you like this!

____________________________________________________________

"What did you say?" Ratchet's servos clenched where they were pinned against his hips. Shit. First Aid knew that pose.

"He said, uh, that-" he started before he was interrupted.

"I said I was going to drag First Aid out of here by his neck so that I can rip his aft to scrap," Vortex said flatly.

First Aid's fans clicked on, his face plate heating up as Ratchet stared between him and Vortex.

"Why?" Ratchet asked cooly, crossing his arms now.

"He...uh...." Vortex stalled, the blades on his back spinning once.

"I owe him shanix." First Aid let Vortex clamp a clawed servo over his wrist—tight, uncomfortable, and now familiar. Ratchet raised an eyebrow at First Aid, his usual morose disapproval now mixed with disappointment.

But Ratchet let Vortex drag First Aid out of the medbay because he probably thought First Aid deserved to be beaten to shreds of metal.

Vortex wrenched him harshly by the arm all the way down the hallway, his pedes almost slipping as he took longer strides to keep up with Tex's aggressive stomp-walks. Seriously, the guy always acted like he was walking into a suicide mission or something. Which, granted, he usually was.

"Was that really your excuse? You want to beat me up?" First Aid pulled his arm out of Tex's grasp as they slid into the elevator.

"The hell else am I supposed to say? I need to see you because I like your stupid face and have a surprise? I SHOULD beat you up. It could be fun."

"I hate you." First Aid grumbled.

"That's not what you said last night." came Tex's retort.

"We didn't see each other last night."

"It's an expression! Shut the hell up!"

The elevator doors opened and First Aid was back to being dragged. They were on the top level of the ship, one of the hallways with the big, wide windows that people like Cyclonus and Optimus liked to brood in front of. One of the window ledges had two energon cubes and what looked like binoculars on them. Tex pulled them onto the ledge, and First Aid noticed for the first time how he was anxiously tapping his claws against one leg, his blades occasionally twitching like he was trying to stop them from spinning. First Aid stretches his legs out on the windowsill and looks at Tex curiously. "What's this? A surprise?"

Tex leans over and punches him in the shoulder, just hard enough to sting for a second. He ignore First Aid and gestures to the window. "There's going to be some comets passing by. I heard Blastoff and Onslaught talking about it with that emo astronaut guy."

"Cosmos? He's not emo, just lonely."

"Whatever. Anyway, the comets are supposed to collide with each other and maybe the ship, so it's going to be dangerous and fraggin' AWESOME. And I...uh...wanted to watch it with you."

First Aid decided not to tease him about the sentiment for now, and instead just picked up the binoculars and looked out the window. Streaks of firey gold and white met his vision, dusting across the midnight drapes of space. Two of the comets collide, and he can see tiny pieces of sparkly rock shimmer and scatter.

"Woaaaa." he whispers, optics wide behind his visor. Tex is staring at him, his leg bouncing with nerves or maybe excitement.

"Gimme." He swipes the binoculars from First Aid and zooms in on the comets, which look like tiny, quick-moving stars from afar. Tex lets out a giggle--a genuine giggle--and then his trademark semi-concerning cackle.

"They're exploding EVERYWHERE. Fraggin awesome. Like watching spaceships crash into each other." He's giddy, and it's adorable. In a mildly worrisome way.

First Aid smiles to himself. "Yeah, it's very cool. Thanks for setting this up."

"None of that thanking scrap-OHHH THAT WAS A BIG EXPLOSION!!" Tex does this thing when he's excited where his whole body shakes, back blades rattling softly. It used to concern First Aid, but now he knows it's a happy noise. Plus, his fans weren't exactly being quiet right now. He glances back out the window for a moment, looking at the silver streaks shooting into each other.

"It's kinda pretty too. If you're into that." Tex murmurs, handing him back the binoculars.

First aid looks back at him, their servos brushing against each other as he took the binoculars.

"Yeah. Pretty."

[symphonicsoul]

⋯✧・♪♫♪・✧⋯ 'Breathe Sitriini. He doesn't mean it. He doesn't know what he's saying.'

His brother's voice is in his ear again and he is resisting every urge in him to yell back. It's not helping right now when this child is doing what Soil is best at and that's going around in fucking circles.

How hard is it for the soil Souls to grasp that they say what they mean and there are no hidden meaning to it? Why is it every time he talks to one of these people he ends up in this extremely frustrating situation?

He doesn't even know if they do it on purpose at this point. How did Helakan negotiate with such creatures?!

"You just have to be the center of the fucking universe, don't you? You think the world revolves around you? Are ALL you humans like this because every one I've met seems to have the same fucking problem?!

If I fucking hated you, why the fuck would I follow you out into the hellscape I just got out of months ago?! Why would I leave my husband's side for some punk kid I hated?! You fucking Soil Souls can never just listen with your ears and always leave us going around in fucking circles!"

His hands are balling up in fists at his sides as he can feel his brother lingering close to his side and it's all the more painful because he knows the Solar King isn't actually there.

'Breathe Sitriini. You know getting this riled up isn't good for you.' The phantom sounds and that's when the symphony's eye twitches and he turns his head to snap at the ghost to his side.

"Shut UP Helakan. Nobody asked you. You aren't even HERE! You just keep following me around and haunting me and quite frankly this isn't the fucking time!"

'Sitriini please. I know you're angry but this isn't good for you. He's just a boy and he's lost just like you were.'

"When I was lost, I had Sielu and Sydän but now Sielu is injured and Sydän is dead. So spare me your lectures, Helakan. Everyone I loved including you and your son are gone now so forgive me if I try to spare a child from experiencing what I did even if he is a snot nosed brat about it."

'Sitriini I know what you're doing but you're going to hurt yourself. Sielu will worry even more if you don't come back soon.'

"I FUCKING KNOW that, Isoveli. I am doing my fucking best here, but there's only so much I can do when people don't just hear the words I say and listen. I'm not talking in circles here, brother, but the soil Souls always have to find another meaning in what we say. I don't talk in circles, I'm a fucking straight line!!"

He can see the phantom next to him sigh and drop his shoulders as he lingers in the air next to him. That sort of sigh where his brother would relent that was truly no arguing with him, even if allowing the man of orange to become so riled was a danger to his health.

His eyes are back on the child, with molten lava boiling in his vision.

"Don't just stand there. Start walking. I don't want to be out here all night. We're two days out on foot and I'd rather not make take it any longer than it has to be."

Ling's fingers are twitching the more Orange rants. He's really making him out to be some sort of monster, as if he's the one who caused all his suffering. He's storing some information to the back of his mind he'll have to look into later, but right now he's having an internal debate with himself.

And it's slowly starting to get loud. He can hear him telling him to give it a rest. This isn't how he was raised. He knows better. He needs to calm down. He should. Deep in the back of his mind he knows he should.

He stops walking and turns around to face Sinfonia with a glare. He hates this. He hates everything. He shouldn't be here arguing with some Mist Soul. He should be with Lan Fan in Xing, trying to become emperor. He should not be in Wonderland and suffering from the effects of it.

"You think I give a shit about the fact you're 'Mist based'? You think that's what the problem is? It doesn't matter to me whether you're a Mist Soul or a human, I don't care."

Because even if he was talking to another human right now, in this particular moment, he would be acting the same way. The only difference is he wouldn't refer to them as a colour, because humans don't have specific colours to define them. Mist Souls clearly do.

"But you do. You hate the fact I'm a human. You wouldn't treat anyone else like this, would you? No. It's just me because I'm a worthless little human." He takes a step forward. "Well, if you can't stand being around me, then go back by yourself. No one is expecting you to arrive back with someone. So go ahead, leave. You know you want to."

He steps forward again, stumbling just the smallest bit. He might regret all this later but he can't bring himself to care right now. He's just so tired. Whatever happens happens.

"Or are you afraid of being out there on your own again? Afraid that, by some chance, you won't make it back and you don't want to go through that alone. Is that it?"

[demigodofhoolemere]

Trying to find nice stuff for Wish but everywhere you go people are being painfully wrong in their interpretations of the movie

[rohirric-hunter]

The way it's called MSG really lends to the impression in the United States (and possibly other English-speaking countries?) that it's some kind of deeply suspect chemical and not like. Seasoned salt

[xxplastic-cubexx]

now i aint ever had no one on the enemy team call me out.... lol ...... abysmal they say this right as the mvp screen pops up too.....

[mintaikk]

Me reading a fic where the person had an identidy realization that they were in he aroace spectrum and now they were figuring themselves out(I finally found something that understood me and a romance I could relate to after all these years)

[badolmen]

hey you guys know that even if the people inside that submersible are rich billionaires, dying in that metal tube at the bottom of the ocean is a horrific way to die right. like. yeah stupid choices were made by the people in there signing off on a waiver that says the sub is not approved by anyone and they could die. but it’s the fault of OceanGate for knowingly putting people into a Home Depot DIY sub rigged up with an Xbox controller all to make a profit on people’s curiosity.

[koterkot]

i'm probably a system but i have a job so idrc about that rn

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

men are so disappointing in so many ways i know i shouldn't expect most of them to be dignified humans but it's crazy. i need to get over this guy he's making my sense of self crumble even faster than it usually does. like he's just so unlike my usual type and i'm pretty convinced he's stupid and slutty and not discerning whatsoever. not to mention boring like i know even if i did have a chance with him he wouldn't Get Me at all so it's a bigger waste of time that usual and i'm actually pretty tired of men in general and definitely tired of parasocial relationships because they drive me insane for months typically. thankfully it's only been like 2 weeks if that at this point. idk. sigh. i know literally virtually nothing abt him as a person and ofc liking any public figure who you know nothing about is only setting yourself for heartbreak and disappointment to begin with bc you already know nothing is gonna come from it but. in a way it's almost addictive to become obsessed with someone and not be looked at with the same level of scrutiny. i don't think anyone in real life would ever try to get to know me as much as i try to get to know people who i'll never even meet. lmao! but that's the thing... idk... i have a lot of love in my heart and it consumes me and i reject my pride usually when i'm into someone. i want to know more... like VORACIOUSLY consuming anything with information about them involved simply because i think knowing someone is a very deep form of love but of course you can never truly know anyone. not completely. and that scares me i think which is why it's always probably been easier for me to never really TRY to be with anyone or have anything real. idk. this turned into me psychoanalyzing myself real quick but SOMEONE needs to bc i need to understand what the fuck is wrong w me.

[qcomicsy]

Lately I've only been wishing to grab a comic about my favorite character and just have a genuinely good time reading it.

[pangzi]

can we just talk about how incredible wandee goodday is with their narrative devices though? the foreshadowing is incredible. there's symbolism everywhere. the oyeicher/yakdee juxtapositions are so good. even though their words and actions might contradict each other, everything gets spelled out for us so clearly, it's beautiful.