#which is basically code for 'stay busy' and like

[babybluebex]

fuck em all but us pt. 2 | tryst (fakes) x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: part 2 of (x)! the fake id business is booming, and a long night full of tears, drugs, smiles, and more trouble than you bargained for reveal tryst's hidden intentions and your shared desires. wc 13.8k title stolen from watermelon by john + jane q. public 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: tryst (fakes, 2022) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR FAKES! more angst look out, mentions of addiction/dependency issues and struggles with staying sober, discussions of mental health and manic episodes/bipolar disorder (bipolar baddies rise up), drug deals, presence of a gun, varied references to prostitution, slut-shaming, sarah is a huge bitch to reader just be aware, anger outburst from tryst, discussions of past sexual encounters, brief heavy petting, as always if i missed a tag pls let me know so i can add it!! 𝐀𝐔��𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: so basically THIS is the meat of what this fic started out as, reader insert into the tryst-centric episode, and it obviously has outgrown its initial intent but whatever we ball :) unsure how many parts this will be, i think maybe two more?? 4 altogether?? idk we shall see <3 hope you enjoy, follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!!

Tryst really hated his job. He never really loved any of the jobs he forced himself to have, but he especially despised the clothing store. His shifts were always in the afternoon, after you got off from your own job (a stuffy office with a dress code, using your degree that you managed to maintain through the grace of God and Adderall that Tryst smuggled you), and your phone typically started blowing up with texts around the time you clocked out. can u come bring me food? can u come hang out? nobody’s here n i’m bored to tearzzz You always gave into his antics, and even though you had been fussed at by his manager for being behind the register, which you weren’t allowed to be as a non-employee, that never stopped you from bringing Tryst lunch and sitting with him as he complained that he hated the store and hated the people and how he wanted to blow it all up. 

You were there when Zoe and Becca came in. If you had known back then what would happen when you talked to them, you would have smacked both of them, then Tryst, then dragged him out of the store by his blond hair. But, of course, you didn’t have a second-sight type of ability, and you smiled at Becca as she and her timid friend approached the register. You knew of Becca Li, though had never said anything more than a friendly “Hi!”— a local party girl, had never bought any drugs from Tryst but ran in his circles and often went to the parties he helped throw— and she smiled at you as you sat on the countertop, swinging your legs as you poked at your Chinese takeout. Tryst was preoccupied with one of his death fantasies, pointing the scanner at different people in the store and miming shooting them with a funny sound, and he smiled warmly at the girls. 

He introduced himself, Tryst with a Y (despite his actual name not being spelled with a Y, he thought it was cooler, therefore Tryst with a Y was his real name), and awkwardly bungled Becca’s friend’s name, and you rolled your eyes as Tryst did his whole smacking-his-head routine. “I’m sorry, with a thousand suns,” he said earnestly. “Because our name is our identity and we carry it with us but then we give it to others, so I will not be making that mistake again.” 

“He’s high,” you told Zoe flatly, looking up at her from your food. “Don’t mind him. And he got my name wrong when we first met too, so don’t take it too personally.”

“I still would like to apologize to her,” Tryst told you. “High or not.” You sighed at him and lightly shook your head.

“Tryst,” Becca started, a smile on her face. You knew that smile, you had that smile. The Is-There-Something-You’d-Like-To-Tell-Me? smile. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!”

“Well, that’s ‘cause I don’t,” Tryst said, and you tried to not let your face betray you as he looked at you. “Nah, we’ve been friends for… Probably since we were their age, huh?” 

“So, since dinosaurs roamed the earth,” you clarified. “Or, at least, for you they did.” 

“Okay, first of all, I’m not that much older than you,” Tryst started, and you giggled. “So, can it with the ‘old’ shit—”

“Tryst, we have something for you,” Becca started, and she held out a card to him. From where you were sitting, it looked like his driver’s license, and you furrowed your eyebrows as your hand slipped into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. You would remember if he had dropped his license somewhere. 

“Hey!” Tryst smiled. “That’s me!” Sure enough, when you looked at the card in his hand, it had a terrible picture of him that honestly wasn’t too far off from his real license picture, and you flipped open his wallet. Nope, his British Columbia license was still snugly in the little windowed pocket of his wallet, and you put down your food to lean forward and closer examine the card in his hand. “Where’d you find this?”

“‘Cause it’s definitely not yours,” you mumbled, showing him his wallet, and he pouted in confusion at it. 

The shy girl, Zoe, seemed to have clocked that you had reached into his pocket, because she gave you a mildly startled look, like you had done something obscene, and she looked between you and him as Becca explained that they didn’t find it, they made it. Your eyes widened; it was a hell of a good fake ID. Other than the address being some stupid bullshit that would definitely get them in trouble for being fake as fuck, you could almost believe it was real. 

“Do you think you could move ‘em?” Becca asked, and Tryst looked at you with a shrug. You hadn’t fully joined in his shenanigans exactly— you hadn’t even met Bobby, his supplier, yet— but you and him had noticed an uptick in profits on the days that you’d accompany him to his sales. Lately, Tryst had been experimenting with letting you lead the deal and having him there just for protection, which had yet to be needed fully, just the simple hand on you and dudes backed off, and it seemed to be lucrative. He kept trying to call you his business partner, which you refused, but he still called on you for your opinions when it came to business matters. 

“Sure,” Tryst said, examining the plastic card. “I mean, probably. There’s always a market demand…” He trailed off, turning the card over to the back, and you eyed the barcode on the back.

“Does it scan?” you asked, and the girls’ shared blank faces told you that they had no fucking clue what the actual purpose of the barcode was, and only included it to make it look right. That should have told you everything you needed to know, but you didn’t pick up on it in the moment.

“Does the barcode work?” Tryst said in a silly voice, grabbing the scanner he had previously been blowing customers up with and flashing it at the back of the ID. The computer binged, but of course, didn’t do anything, but he still looked at it expectantly. In a second, though, he dropped the act— “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you! It’s not a t-shirt.”— and uneasy laughter came from the girls. “Look, if you can get ‘em tested, I could probably do…” 

He stopped, looking at you, and, through a mouthful of orange chicken, you mumbled “Fuck you lookin’ at me for?” 

“Talk numbers to me, girl,” Tryst told you. “You know I love it when you talk numbers.” 

“I’m sure you do,” you mumbled, shoving his shoulder. The way you acted with Tryst at any given second definitely didn’t help the girls’ confusion or clear up Tryst’s I Don’t Have A Girlfriend remark, and you knew that, but you didn’t care. The risk of running fakes was high, especially if the kids who got caught squealed about who they got it from, which they tended to do, but the reward was high too. On the other hand, you didn’t want be greedy with your first batch, just in case they were total fuck ups and looked nothing like what you had in your hand. “200?” you offered.

“200?” Zoe sputtered, and you nodded. “200 cards? Yeah! Yeah, it works!”

Later that night, as you laid in bed next to Tryst, his focus on the video game on the TV across from you, you asked him if the girls had seemed squirrely to him too. “They just seemed… I don’t know… Jumpy,” you said, picking at the split ends on your hair. “Nervous.”

“Well,” Tryst started, biting his tongue as he mashed buttons on his controller. “I don’t know if you know this… But girls… Tend to— Oh, fuck off, I hit that! Die, you fuck!— They tend to get a little nervous when they’re talking to hot, older guys.” 

“You think you’re hot?” you said with a fake sneer, and Tryst shoved his elbow into your ribs with a snicker. 

“I don’t think, I know,” he told you. “You were the one who told me I’m handsome.”

“Right, right,” you nodded. “I was also the one who got you a face wash that doesn’t break you out on your nose, and the one who got you purple shampoo for your hair, and a cologne that doesn’t sting like alcohol—”

“Ya gettin’ to the point here, or are you gonna keep insulting me?” Tryst asked.

“I put in a lot of hard work to make you hot,” you said. “And I’ve never heard a single thank you outta you.” 

Tryst made a grabby hand in your direction, and you passed him the bright pink vape that laid on your tummy. You knew he had one of his own, but ever since they discontinued his favorite flavor (“I know they have mango pineapple, but I don’t want mango pineapple, I want just plain mango back!”), he chose to use yours instead. You didn’t mind it too much, and secretly sorta liked the casual intimacy of sharing a vape. “Thank you for making me hot,” Tryst told you, replacing your vape on your stomach and patting your leg a few times. “I’d be lost without you.” 

“But Becca and Zoe,” you tried again. “They didn’t seem weird to you? Maybe not Becca, but definitely Zoe, she seemed fucked up.”

“I seem to recall another high schooler who was nervous and awkward as fuck,” Tryst started, and you scoffed. “Sometimes it takes certain kids longer to break outta their shell. I mean, look who you’re talking to here.”

“I am,” you said softly, and he finally tore his eyes away from the TV to look at you. You hadn’t meant for that to come across the way he was taking it, and you were quick to add, “I just don’t wanna get into business with some kids who don’t know what they’re doing.” 

“Relax,” Tryst told you. He paused his game instantly and tossed his controller to the side, and he scooched closer to you, pressing his hip against yours. “You saw that fake too, right? It was real as fuck, as far as I’m concerned. And if it scans…” He shrugged. “What do you think it would go for?” 

You ran through the numbers in your head, thinking about what you knew people in the area (mainly the Catholic school kids who made a bulk of the market for fakes in West Van) charged for a decent fake and comparing it to what the average high schooler was willing to shill out for a high-risk/high-reward product, and you came up with a number. “150.” 

“Two hundred IDs for one-fiddy apiece,” Tryst nodded slowly in agreement. “That’s 30 grand. Not bad. Of course, part would go to them; like, what, fifteen percent?” 

“I was thinking twenty, just for the first batch,” you admitted. “Bring ‘em in with the promise of a payout, lessen it as we go on if they meet their marks, y’know? 

Tryst nodded. “We could probably negotiate that with them,” he mumbled under his breath. “Thirty-thousand is not a bad number.”

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. “A good number, in fact.”

“Ugh, you talking numbers,” Tryst grinned down at you. “You get me so hard.” 

“Gross,” you cringed. “I think I’m legally obligated to punch you in the dick now, where is it?” You balled up your fist and held it in the air, and Tryst reached out and gripped your wrist with a stifled laugh. “Where’s your dick, you asshole?”

“She’s hiding, she’s scared of you,” he said, wrestling your arm away from him. “Give her some compliments, she’ll come out. Tell her you like her veins.” 

“She?” you squawked with laughter. “Tell her you like her veins? Tryst, that’s disgusting!”

“But it made you laugh, didn’t it?” he asked. “That’s what I’m here for.” His hand was still firm around your wrist, and a thought jumped through your animal brain— holy shit, he’s strong— before he pulled you to lay across him, your head on his chest and one arm around you as the other reached up and back to settle under his head. Your whole body tingled, and you nuzzled your cheek into his warm chest as he sighed. “I think it’ll be alright. It’s just fuckin’ fake IDs, how serious could it be?” 

“I guess you’re right,” you mumbled. “I’m totally fine dealing blow, but fake IDs are where I get nervous… I’m such an idiot.” 

“Hey,” Tryst started firmly. “No. I’ll have none of that. No bad-mouthing yourself, you know that’s not allowed.” 

If you were a braver woman, you would have taken your chance. He was in your bed, manhandling you, cuddling you, talking about his dick, complimenting and admonishing you at the same time. If you were braver, you would have thrown your leg over his waist and straddled him and kissed him, would have rocked your hips down and felt him grow hard under you. You would hear his sighs, his moans, his whispered “Please, baby, you’re all I want”. You knew that’s what would have happened too, if only you had more courage. 

Instead, you nestled your head into the crook of Tryst’s neck, feeling his chin settle on your crown. “I’d never let you down,” Tryst started. “You know that. I’d rather die than disappoint you.” 

“I know,” you mumbled. “Just… Anxious. You know me.”

“I do,” Tryst nodded. “And I think I know what would make you feel better.” 

“Oh?” you asked, and Tryst nodded. He went into the pocket of his sweatpants and palmed a small plastic baggie, a few of the circular round tablets that you helped him sell settled inside. “You’re right, that would make me feel better.”

Tryst grinned. “Atta girl.”  

The ID business went pretty swimmingly. From what you saw, Zoe was a nervous trainwreck about the whole thing, so you expected the first run to be the only run. In hindsight, everything would be better if it was. One night a few days after the delivery of the first batch, just as you thoight you had washed your hands of the schoolgirls, you caught Tryst gazing at a picture on his phone, and you sat beside him and admired the picture of Emma with him. Six months old now, starting to get downy hair in, her little cheeks all pink and fat, she was growing up quick. But Sarah was still just as hesitant to let him see her as she was back when he was essentially a functioning alcoholic, and you knew how much it killed him not to be in his daughter’s life in a more significant way.

“Maybe…” you started, chewing on your lip. “Maybe just ask? If you can see her? All she can say is no.” 

“Right,” Tryst nodded. “Worst she can say is denying me to see my daughter. That is absolutely the worst she can say.”

“Could you… I don’t know…” you began. “Petition the court for visitation? I mean, she’s already got you paying child support every month, least she can do is grant you monthly visitation, right? It’s not like you’re asking for custody, just visitation.”

“Oh, okay,” Tryst mumbled, wiping the tears gathering in his eyes. “Sure, lemme tidy myself up and go to court with my job at the coffee shop in the mall, a hundred failed businesses, a history of mental health episodes— Yeah, I’m sure the province of British Columbia would love to let me around her.” 

“But you’ve paid child support on time every month,” you protested. “Always early, always overpaying too. Like, your track record with Emma is great. If you… I don’t know. J-Just start with asking Sarah directly; if she says no, then we go to court.”

“We?” Tryst repeated, looking over at you. 

“Yeah, we,” you nodded. “What, you think I’d let you navigate that alone? I’m stuck to you like glue, you can’t get rid of me.” 

Tryst gave you a tired smile and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Why are you the best thing in my life?” he whispered. 

Before you could answer, Tryst’s burner phone started buzzing, rattling the entire coffee table and sending Tiny Homie in a flying startle around the room. Tryst was quick to snatch up the phone and answer it, and a lazy smile spread across his face. “Well, hi, Becca,” he said. “What’s happening, bandita?”

He listened for a moment, then said, “Well, is something wrong?... Dude, no, I’m busy right now, just tell me now… Fuck, c’mon… Ladies, you’re gonna put me in an early grave. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” He quickly stabbed at his phone to end the call, and he tipped his head back as he groaned. “They wanna talk to me, but said they can’t tell me over the phone.” 

“Jesus,” you whispered. “Do you want me to come with?”

“Nah,” Tryst said. “Stay here; it’s too cold out, I don’t want you to freeze up.” 

“What a gentleman,” you said softly, reaching down and scooping up your cat into your lap. “I’ll hold down the fort here, then.” 

Tryst tugged a hoodie over his head and went out on his adventure, promising to be back within an hour, and you hesitated for a brief moment before grabbing your phone and going in search through your call history. If the number still existed, the call would be about a year old, and you recognized her area code in your historied call log; you hit the call button before you could really think about it.

Even the sound of her voice when she answered the phone made your guts curdle like milk. “Hello?” Sarah asked. She was so sweet, her voice lilting, almost. It pissed you off. 

“Hey, Sarah,” you said carefully. You told her your name, and after a moment of hesitation from her end, you added, “Tryst’s friend, y’know?”

“Oh, right,” she said, and the lilt from her voice disappeared instantly. “Is everything okay? Did he drive into a ditch or something?” 

“Yeah, no, he’s okay,” you said quickly. “I mean, you know him, he’s not okay-okay, but… But, umm, he’s really been missing Emma recently. Like, staring at pictures of her, crying over her, all that shit. And he’s super hesitant to ask to see her, because he’s afraid you’ll say no, so, um… A-And, I mean, I’ve never met her either, so—”

Sarah laughed mirthlessly. “I see,” she said. “So, let me get this straight: you’re taking it upon yourself to try to schedule a time to meet my daughter, the one I had with the guy you stole from me? Trying to guilt me about not letting him around when he cheated on me? With you? What sorta brass balls do you have?”

The wind knocked out of your chest. “Wait, no no no,” you said quickly with a nervous chuckle. “Sarah, we— Tryst and I are not—”

“Oh, save it,” she said. “I had to hear from a friend that you were sitting in his lap at a party the weekend before Emma was born.” You were silent as your stomach went cold, and she added, “Yeah, I heard all about that shit. Sitting in his lap, wearing his jacket, drinking his beer, laughing and, like, playing with his hair? You fuckin’ kidding me? You’re not good at being subtle about it. How long did it take for you to snatch him up after we started screwing? Was it even a day?”

“Sarah,” you started, but she cut you off again.

“And you’re still doing it!” she exclaimed. “It happened last fuckin’ weekend too! My brother’s friend bought X from you— which, might I add, stealing someone’s baby daddy and being a drug whore at the same time is just a cute look for you, babe— and he said Tryst grabbed your ass?” 

“Jesus, no, he did not,” you mumbled; you remembered that interaction, dealing ecstasy to some dude who surely had no business buying it, and Tryst had touched your waist when the dude started flirting with you, a subtle back off, she’s not for sale. “He didn’t do anything like that. Sarah, just please, we’re not— We never have— Tryst is like a brother to me, I’d rather give myself a lobotomy than wanna fuck him.” The lie felt sour in your mouth, but you needed to keep it up. “It’s, it’s hard to explain, but please believe me. I didn’t steal him from you, we weren’t and aren’t fucking— And I don’t even need to be there! Just, please, I can’t watch him cry about his daughter one more time. Please just let him see Emma.” 

You could almost hear Sarah’s frown over the phone, and the silence lasted long enough that you wondered if the call had disconnected. Finally: “Saturday morning. He can stop by the house for a few minutes before I go to work. I’d better not fucking see you, though. You’re lying to me and I know it, and I’m not sure what your problem is or why you keep lying to me, but… It’s not fair to punish Emma like this.” 

“Okay,” you nodded quickly. “Right, perfect, okay. Umm, text him about it, he’ll be fuckin’ thrilled. Thank you, Sarah, I really appreci—” This time, there was no mistaking that Sarah hung up on you. 

When Tryst got home, he was buzzing with excitement, and he nearly picked you up and spun you around as he told you that the “ladies”, as he called them, had told him they were back in business with the IDs. Despite the cut that they got of the 30 grand, the stash of cash that Tryst kept hidden in a rip in the back of your couch had gotten bigger with that scheme, and he obviously couldn’t wait to pad out the back of your couch even more. But that wasn’t all: “Sarah called me when I was driving back, and she said she felt bad and is letting me come see Emma Saturday morning! She said it’ll be, like, 7:00 in the morning or something, but—!” You were thankful that she seemingly didn’t mention your involvement, and you let Tryst hug you as he babbled about getting Emma a present on Friday and wondered what he should get her. 

The week passed, and suddenly, Friday morning. Tryst had been let go from the clothing store (you knew it was because of you, but he never told you and certainly protested whenever you said that) and had started a job at the Coffee Corner, despite him absolutely hating the coffee they made. That morning, he had begged you to bring him real coffee on your way into the office, and you popped in with a thermos of the coffee you made at home. Zoe and Becca were at the counter when you showed up, and Becca smiled at you as you gave Tryst the pink thermos, along with your bright pink vape, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. “Left this at home,” you told him, and he smiled. 

“I think I’d leave my head on the carpet if you didn’t help me,” Tryst told you, his eyes soft at you. 

“Do you live together?” Becca asked. You were amused by the confusing picture that you were painting for the girls with every bit of lore that you dropped about you and Tryst, and you shook your head. 

“Kinda. He takes up enough residence in my apartment so he can claim he doesn’t live with his mom,” you told her. 

“Hey! I help out too!” he said. “I paid your rent last month.”

“You contributed to rent,” you corrected him. 

“Jesus! That wasn’t the whole payment?” Tryst hissed, and you nodded, sucking the back of your teeth. “West Van is not that nice, and your apartment isn’t either, there’s no need for it to be that expensive.”

The girls left soon after, as did you, and Tryst gave you a free tea as he reminded you that he was meeting with his friend Leo that afternoon for a pitch with his bosses. You had briefly met Leo before, some suit-and-tie that Tryst had gone to classes with at U-Toronto who had an affinity for molly, and you frowned. You didn’t like Leo all that much, but Tryst did, so it didn’t matter much what you thought, as long as Tryst trusted him. You got a text during your lunch hour that the meeting with Leo was pushed to 6 on account of Leo forgetting to organize the meeting (which felt like proof to you why you were justified in not liking him), and Tryst Venmo’ing you money to bring him dinner. He was always running around like a headless chicken, and you didn’t mind providing for him. 

At 4pm on the dot, you got a quick text from him grabbing emma’s present and going to the meeting w leo, will text u when i’m out :). You didn’t love the idea he had been working on, some sorta Tinder/Air-BnB mix that just seemed totally fucking ridiculous, but he was passionate about it, so it meant something to you on that virtue alone. By the time you received Tryst’s omw home text, you had already showered off the gunk from the office and were waiting for him. You knew he likely would want a shower too before meeting with the ladies, and Tiny Homie met him at the door as he keyed in. 

His energy was off instantly, and he gently pushed Tiny Homie aside with his feet to slip his shoes off. “How’d the meeting with Leo go?” you asked slowly, sensing something wrong, and Tryst sighed as he set his bag down. 

“Can you make me a drink?” he asked, and your throat went tight. 

“That bad?” you asked softly. “Shit, T, I’m sorry. I know you were super—” 

“I don’t…” Tryst started, putting his hands up in surrender. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Do we have anymore of those White Claws from Wednesday night?”

“Umm…” you started, sitting up straighter on the couch. You knew that you did, the fizzy peach-flavored drinks still sitting towards the back of your fridge, but you didn’t want him to have them. He had certainly gotten better with the drinking habit, but the times that it started to creep back in terrified you. You knew that he had been talking to a therapist about everything, and you wondered what went through his head when he would do things that you just couldn’t imagine his therapist would approve of. “I think I tossed them. You said you didn’t like ’em.” 

“Damn,” he mumbled. “I was fantasizing about a shower White Claw the whole drive home.” He did that frequently enough, called your apartment ‘home’, but it made butterflies erupt in your tummy every time he did it. “Do we have anything to drink?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, trying to act cool about it. “We still gotta get dinner, though, I can grab you something from the gas station.” 

“Fuck,” Tryst groaned loud and long, much more “Faaaahk” than anything else. “What’s for food?” 

“Poutine?” you offered. “You seem like you need comfort food.” 

Tryst smiled warmly at you, coming to you and encircling you in a tight hug. He was obviously exhausted, and you rubbed his back soothingly. “I think I’d die without you,” he whispered in your ear. “Love you, dork.” 

The drive to the warehouse for the party was quick, and even though he was carrying two cases of RedBull at once, he refused to let you carry anything heavy. “You just got your nails done,” he said. “They’re too fierce for you to break on some fuckin’ energy drinks.” He never let you do too much work, and you had heard in whisperings that it was very much 'princess treatment', but he still steadfastly refused to let you help. You were only there for a few minutes before you were jetting back away anyway, running by a small mom-and-pop corner market for cheap poutine and two canned drinks with a high ABV, one of which Tryst was quick to crush and toss in his backseat. 

The meeting with the girls was brutal too. You had seen the slidedeck he had prepared for Leo, and you hated to admit that Becca and Zoe’s slides were miles above where his were. They definitely seemed to know what they were talking about too, mentioning loans and market caps and optimizing revenue, and you watched Tryst narrow his eyes at them before shoving a gravy-soaked fry into his mouth. They asked him what he thought about the entire venture, and he looked at you for a few moments. You shrugged; they definitely seemed well-researched and professional. If it all went tits up, you could just pull the plug. Becca tried to hand you a bound folder full of information, and you scoffed through a mouthful of fry at it. 

“What?” Becca whined. “It’s, like, so professional. It’s even color-coded. We’re not kids, y’know.” 

“Yeah, no, I know,” you said. “But it’s evidence. If someone found this, literally the entire operation traces back to you.”

“How many of these did you print?” Tryst asked, and Becca sheepishly presented the three other copies. Jesus Christ.

“For fuck’s sake!” Tryst exclaimed, grabbing them from her hands, and he dug around in his bag for a moment before extracting a small plush duckie toy, and you smiled at it. Emma’s present; you remembered, helping Tryst pack for college years ago, finding a similar one that he had had since he was a baby. The idea that he had gotten Emma the same toy he had had made your heart melt. After a quick goodbye where Tryst invited them to the party, you found yourself back in the car. You felt like you spent most of your life in his passenger seat, holding his bag or whatever precious cargo he had, and you lovingly cuddled the duckie to your chest. 

“This is a nice gift,” you told him as he yawned. “She’ll love it.” 

“Yeah,” Tryst mumbled. “Sure hope so.” Before he could add more, his burner phone chirped, and he added, “Grab that for me?” 

A text from an unsaved number, inquiring about Tryst’s inventory of X and how much it would cost. “A deal,” you informed him, pecking out the answer for the buyer. “How much X you got on ya?”

Tryst scratched at the underside of his jaw as he thought, and the traffic light outside the window bathed him in green as it turned. “Getting to the end of my supply,” he mumbled. “Meetin’ Bobby later and he’s meant to give me more… I should have enough for, like, one person, though.” 

Back at the warehouse, Tryst settled himself cross-legged on top of a dumpster with the duckie in his lap, pounding a RedBull, carefully watching the deal go down across the street. He wasn’t a part of it, but kept watch over you as you exchanged tablets and money, his eyes narrowing for just a moment as he watched you count the bills and give the guy a cute smile. You liked whenever Tryst was your personal little Batman, and you were quick to fold up the money and push it into his front pocket as he tugged you into the warehouse. 

The party inside was more rave-y than you liked, but watching Tryst mingle and hype everyone up brought an amused smile to your face. He would do anything to get people excited, and watching him dance and encourage bad decisions allowed your mind to wander into you making a bad decision with him… Maybe a few bad decisions; you were pretty sure that letting him lick your pussy after the entire hellstorm with Sarah was probably ill-advised, but hey, a girl could dream. 

Just before midnight, a text from Bobby came in, and Tryst made you promise to sit inside the party and hold the duckie while he went to talk to him. It was intentional on Tryst’s part that you had never met his supplier, and he said that it wasn’t because Bobby was necessarily a bad guy, but he felt like meeting Bobby was one step too far on the “making you an accessory to his crimes” front. “You meet the guy who gives me the drugs, then you know where they come from,” he had explained once. “If they just magically appear in my hand to give to you, then you don’t know anything. Keeps you safe.”

Tryst returned from the meeting while you were outside smoking a cigarette, the duckie hidden under your shirt to keep him smoke-free, and you went to throw your arm around Tryst. He seemed stiff, holding something hidden behind his bag, and he quickly mumbled, “Get off for two seconds.” 

“Wha—” you started, and his eyes darted to you, ultra-serious, causing you to step back and away. You almost felt like you did something wrong. 

Quickly, he pushed past you and went to a pile of pallets next to the building, and you watched him kneel down and push something underneath the pile, adjusting it to make sure it was really hidden. You tilted your head in confusion, and Tryst snatched the cigarette from your fingers and pulled at it. “Bobby needs me to hold something for him for a few hours,” Tryst mumbled under his breath, ruffling up his hair in the back. “But like fuck I’m actually holding onto it.”

“What is it?” you asked, and he shook his head quickly. 

“S’better if you don’t know,” Tryst informed you. 

You gave him a look, an Are you fucking kidding me? expression, and he sighed. “Is it something bad?” you asked, and Tryst looked down at his feet and the scuffed Timbs he favored when it would start to get cold. “Tryst.”

“A fucking gun,” Tryst hissed under his breath. “Okay? He said he’ll introduce me to some angel investor for my app if I do this for him.” 

“Tryst!” you whispered sharply. “What the fuck?” 

“Listen, don’t—” Tryst started. “Just don’t. I feel like this is a new low for me, and I just don’t wanna—”

“Okay, okay,” you said quickly. “I won’t.” He finished off your cigarette for you and smashed it on the ground under his boot, and you followed him back inside to the loud booming music and neon lights. You passed him the duckie back and watched him shove it back into his bag, and a smile grew over his face as he spotted Becca and Zoe, one definitely more into the party than the other. 

Tryst laid down on the couch, much in the same fashion he did on yours, but he grabbed your waist and pulled you down to sit in his lap, your back leaned up against his chest. Your skin bristled with the contact, especially his cold fingers touching the exposed skin under your shirt, and you cozied up to him as his arm went fully around your waist, holding you close. “You’re cold,” he whispered in your ear, and you shrugged. 

“Not for much longer,” you told him, watching as Becca stroked Zoe’s face with some decorative glittery branches. “If you keep holding me like this.” It was bold to acknowledge what he was doing, and you knew it, but a satisfied little smile came over his lips. 

“Well, I might,” Tryst whispered, tightening his arm for just a second. “How about that? What if I never let you go?” 

“Feel like my job might have a problem with that,” you told him, and he scoffed. 

“Let them,” he said, and his gaze went past you to Zoe, sitting on the arm of the couch, being her usual uptight self, and Tryst’s face turned into one of amused confusion. “You want something?” he called to her, and she looked first directly at you, laying almost on top of him, then to him. 

“What?” she asked, and you couldn’t tell if her confusion was over his question or your current closeness. To your memory, the girls had never seen you and Tryst when you were physical with each other, so her confusion was valid. 

“Take the edge off,” Tryst clarified. “I happen to know a really killer molly dealer, if that’s what you’re after.” He patted your thigh a few times in a row, and you rolled your eyes at the compliment. “She’ll cut you a cheap deal too.” 

“That’s not really Zoe’s scene,” Becca said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well,” Tryst shrugged, his other arm circling you, trapping you fully against him, not that you were complaining, “Neither is this and yet… There she is.” His chest rumbled as he spoke over the music, sending shivers down your back, and that familiar tingle and heat started to simmer in your core. Of course you were turned on by this. Who wouldn’t be?

Becca declined the beer that her boyfriend gave her, some kid named Clem that seemed way too nice for Becca, on account of her getting bloated in her little rave outfit, and you gladly took the plastic cup from Clem’s hand and went at it. “What? I’m not wasting a fuckin’ beer,” you laughed at the look she gave you, and you passed the cup back to Tryst, who took a tiny sip. His attention was almost instantly drawn away from you to the door, where you could hear some altercation going down with the door guy, and Tryst tapped your hip a few times to signal to let him get up and go see what the situation was. 

“So, uh,” Clem started with a good-natured smile. “How long have you and Tryst been together?” 

“Oh, we’re not,” you told him. 

A beat passed where Clem waited for you to add more, and he asked, “Just sleeping together?” 

“Not even,” you scoffed. “He’s my best friend, we’ve known each other since high school. Y’know, we actually went to Ambleside too.” 

“Oh, wow,” Clem said with genuine fascination. “Like, graduated and everything?”

“If you can believe it,” you laughed. “We had shop class together, but we always skipped and would go smoke under the bleachers at the soccer field. I failed it, and I think the teacher only passed him because he was a senior and was already accepted to college.” 

“Tryst went to college?” Becca squawked in disbelief. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. The kids, Zoe included, seemed to be eating up the lore drop, and you said, “University of Toronto, business school. He dropped out as he was finishing up his third year, though.” 

“Why?” Zoe asked. “I-I mean, if he was so close to being done…?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “He told me it was to build some app or whatever, that school was taking up too much of his time, but I’ve got no clue if that’s the truth or not. But whatever.” 

“Okay, so you and him aren’t even fucking?” Becca asked, and you winced. 

“Nope,” you said, popping the P, and took a quick swig of your beer. 

“So, what’s…” she started, and shook the glittery branches around at you like some fairy princess casting a spell. “The laying on him, sitting on him, sharing vapes—”

“And you’re always reaching into his pockets,” Zoe added, and you gave a mumbled ‘Not you too’. “Like, his wallet, money, his phone, like all that stuff.”

“And he kisses you sometimes!” Becca added. “Just on the head and shit, but like—! And all the little whispering you do! Babe! He’s definitely into you!” 

“Jesus, I know,” you sighed. “Not that I owe either of you an explanation about my relationships, romantic or otherwise… Back in high school, we somewhat admitted we had crushes on each other— It’s complicated— but it’s been a thing of… We’d much rather be friends who wish they were more than actually settle down together and realize that maybe we aren’t right for each other and lose each other completely. And I know he wants more, and I do too, but I’m just… I’m scared. Okay? I don’t know who I am without Tryst. It’s always just been the two of us.” You shut your mouth before you could say more, and Becca and Zoe (and Clem) all just nodded slowly. 

Before you could run your motor mouth anymore, Tryst came back, and with Clem’s departure, started going over the dealers. Becca’s choice, Sophie, a cool popular girl, seemed more appealing than Zoe’s choice, Sally, a weird theater nerd, but Tryst was on the same page as you— target two different demographics and boost your sales. He told the ladies to hire the new girls, then directed them out of the building with the promise of a free beer. 

“Cops,” he whispered in your ear, pushing his car keys into your hand. “Got about twenty minutes ‘fore they get here, go spin the block a few times. I got a meeting with Bobby and his investor in, like, an hour, but then everything should be squared away and I’m all yours ‘til the morning.” With that, he landed a soft kiss on your cheek that made your full-body tingles return, and you frowned at him.

“Are you drunk?” you asked. 

“No,” Tryst scoffed. “Why?”

“You’re being very…” you started. “I don’t know. Touchy… Tonight. Even Becca and Zoe noticed it.” 

Tryst sighed. He obviously had a lot on his mind, but not enough time to say it, and he just set a couple of pats on your lower back. “We’ll talk about it later,” he told you, and your stomach rolled cold. “Just get out of here, I’ll see you soon.” 

The whole time you sat in his car, you chewed nervously at your cuticles. What did he want to talk about? What did he have to say? You had a hard time gauging his mood, and the kiss on your cheek wasn’t helping you come to any conclusions either. You hated feeling confused like this, and you felt sweat break on your back as you worried yourself into a hole. You kept defaulting to worst case scenarios— he was being extra nice to you so he could let you down easy, something was going on where he’d need to detach. Your hands were shaking by 3AM, and you pulled his car up to the side of the warehouse, where he sat on the wooden pallets. Trying to lift your spirits (and, by the sour look on his face, his too), you rolled down the window and called out to him, “Hey, handsome! Lookin’ for a date?”

A smile came across his face, but it was slight. Tryst looked like he wanted to burst into tears at the sight of you, his eyebrows pitching up in the middle the way they did before he started crying, and his smile came off more like a grimace. You threw the car into park in an instant and pulled the door open, just meaning to get out to switch to your usual seat, but Tryst intercepted you before you could go too far. He hugged you like you were a buoy in the ocean, grabbing at the back of your jacket and slouching to press his face into your neck, and your instincts worked in a moment to hug him back. Your hand went into his hair, smoothing it down and gently combing it out with your nails, and you stood in a tight, silent embrace for a few moments before you whispered, “T, what happened? S’everything okay?” 

“No,” he whispered on cracking breaths. “Fuck, I… Fuck, get in the car.” 

“Tryst—” you started, taking a step backwards, but he huffed out a heavy sigh before you could say more. 

“Just get in the fucking car,” he said, louder and firmer than he’d usually speak to you. It startled you, and you did as he told you, settling in the passenger seat as he slammed the door behind him. You quickly hit the lock for the doors, and you watched him as he sat catatonic for a moment, staring absently into his hands. He was holding something, a set of keys with a bedazzled pug charm on it, and you chewed your lip. His hands were shaking slightly, and you watched as he stretched his fingers, trying to get the shaking to stop, but it didn’t. 

Tryst was obviously thinking, ruminating on whatever had happened over the past hour, and he still moved slowly and absently as he reached into his bag and tenderly held the duckie toy to his chest. You liked that idea that the mere thought of Emma was calming to him, but your serene thought was shattered as you watched his jaw work for a minute before he whispered, “Jesus fucking…” 

You felt frozen in fear, the same fear you had felt the night Emma was born, unable to help but not sure you wanted to, as he started to hit the steering wheel with the open palms of both hands, over and over. You knew that you would never be at the end of his anger that way, but it still terrified you to witness it. You were holding your breath, you knew you were, and you shrunk away from him as he yelled in pain and cursed loud enough to make your ears ring. The duckie had fallen in his rage, and he held one of its fuzzy orange feet in his first, ripped and torn away from the body. 

Tryst took a steadying breath, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and you watched a fat tear fall from his eyelashes and slither down his cheek, leaving a shiny wet track in its wake. After a quiet moment, he cast his gaze to you, focused on your lap for a moment before lifting to your face, and his tears finally washed over his eyes as he saw you: small, shaking, terrified. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you whimpered, your voice weak. You felt like your throat was closing up as you held back your sobbing and your fear, and Tryst’s fallen face made you feel like you wanted to die. “W-What happened?” 

“Don’t…” he started at a low mumble. 

“Trystan,” you said firmly, as firm as you could muster in that moment. “Don’t fuck with me right now. Are you drunk?”

“Why do you keep fucking asking me that?” Tryst asked, spitting it out like it tasted bad.

“Because you’re acting how you used to!” you sobbed. “Angry a-and scary, you’re scaring the shit out of me! Hitting shit, breaking shit, you haven’t been like this in months, and now all of the sudden, it’s— You’re terrifying me, Tryst! I can’t fucking lose you, and if you’re drinking again like you used to, I deserve to know that!” 

“I’m not,” Tryst said stiffly. “I’m not drunk. I swear.” He saw your gulp at his words, and his tears came fresh as he added, “Baby, please, you gotta believe me. I’m not. I’m just… I want tonight to fucking end.” 

“What happened?” you said again. “Did something happen with Bobby?”

“Well,” Tryst started. He took a deep breath, and he started the car back up, slowly driving away from the warehouse. “I mean… Yeah. He, uh, took me to meet that app investor, some British dude or Australian or whatever the fuck named Guy, and after Bobby fucking shot himself in the leg with the gun, because he’s the most goddamn fucking stupid person I’ve ever met, Guy saw the fuckin’ folder the girls gave us with their pitch. He liked it, and said he was willing to fund the ID thing instead of my app. Even gave us space to set up shop and everything.” He bounced his leg, letting the keys that had fallen into his lap during his explosion bounce and jingle; the keys to the place Guy gave him.

“Oh,” you whispered. “Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

“No,” Tryst mumbled. “Yes, but no.”

“W-Why not?” you asked. “Maybe it’s not your app, but you’ve got something—”

“Those guys aren’t like us,” Tryst interrupted you firmly. “Those are, like, no-shit bad dudes. Like, the kind to really break your fingers over debts or whatever, Godfather type shit. Swim with the fishes type of motherfuckers. If the girls don’t come through on this whole thing, I could be majorly fucked. And I’m just… How the hell did I get here? What went so fuckin’ wrong in my life that I’m selling my soul to the mob or whatever the fuck so I can help some high school girls print fake IDs?” 

You sighed, gently wiping under your teary eyes, and you rubbed your fingers together to pill up the mascara that you gathered on your fingertips. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I… I think tonight has been a really crazy, overwhelming night… And you’re nervous about seeing Emma in the morning anyway, so I’m sure that doesn’t help… Let’s, uh, just go home. We can… Can regroup, get a little sleep, you go see your girl, everything’ll be okay.” 

Tryst was silent, seemingly in his own world, and, outside the front window, you watched the streets dissolving into a familiar locale. Your heart seized in your chest; you hadn’t been to the overlook in a long time, probably close to a year. You figured that part of your life was over, some childish ritual that was too immature for a father and his friend. Yet, as Tryst parked right where he always did, it felt just like it used to. 

You sat on the hood of the car as Tryst stood, leaned up against the closed door, popping his knuckles nervously. Every time his arm moved, his forearm brushed your knee, and you sighed heavily. You wanted to apologize to him— for what, you weren’t certain— but he spoke just as you were drawing a breath. 

“M’sorry,” he whispered. “For fucking… Everything. Raging at you, scaring you, getting you involved in this entire thing… I think if you had never met me, you’d probably be happier.”

“Tryst,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t. I would be fucking miserable if I never met you. Like, new school, no friends— if I hadn’t been sat next to you in shop, I don’t know how long I would’ve lasted at Ambleside.” 

You watched Tryst chew on the inside of his lip for a moment, and then he slowly admitted: “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of me that you didn’t have friends back then. I, like, got my stink on you or something. Nobody liked me, so nobody liked you because you liked me. I wonder if I ruined your life.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop,” you told him. “You’re winding yourself up. C’mere, just—” You stammered, pushing him by the arm and pointing at a spot in the dirt in front of you. “Stand here.”

“Right here?” Tryst asked, shuffling into place, moving an inch to the right or left every time you corrected him, and you felt relief flood your body as he smiled at his joke. You didn’t think anything of it as you opened your knees, allowing him just a tad closer to you, your legs dangling down the hood of the car, and you pressed your hand to the middle of his chest. 

“You’re gonna—” you started, and you snatched up his wrist, pressing it to your own sternum. “You’re gonna close your eyes and take a deep breath, okay? As deep as you can go, until you can’t breathe in anymore. Hold it for ten seconds, let it all out, then do it again twice more.” 

“Why am I doing this?” Tryst asked.

“To calm down,” you told him. “S’what I do to settle myself down.” 

Tryst rolled his eyes, and you let your eyelids flutter closed. You felt his chest start to rise as he drew in his first breath, and you peeked an eye open to see him fully watching you. “Tryst!” you squealed. “Close your eyes, you fuck!”

“Okay, okay,” Tryst chuckled, and he shut his eyes as you did the same. His chest rose again, seeming to take your little exercise more seriously, and you did the same, drawing in a deep, deep breath before you held it and started to whisper with a strained voice, counting from one up to ten. Tryst chuckled a little, and you batted at his chest to get him to quiet down.

The second breath went down better, and you listened to the sounds of the night as you waited the ten seconds, the sound of the traffic far away on the bridge, a cold wind blowing past your ears, and Tryst. He was silent, but you felt like you could hear his heart beating, feeling it pulse against your palm, slow but speeding back up as he let out his breath. The last breath, the third, and his fingers on your own chest twitched for a moment, an involuntary move, just a tiny little jerk, and you peeked your eyes open to look at him. He looked so peaceful, calm, like he was asleep, his dark eyelashes casting a shadow on his cheeks; he was so handsome. You watched him let out the final breath, and he opened his own eyes to look at you, the smallest, most crooked smile touching at his lips. 

“Do you feel better?” you asked.

“Not really,” Tryst confessed. “Maybe a little more calm, but definitely not better.”

“Well, shit,” you sighed. “That usually works for me. Really, though, I guess it worked for what I wanted it to do, which was make you stop crying.”

“What, don’t like to see men cry?” Tryst asked, and you laughed. 

“No, no, it’s the you of it all,” you told him as he chuckled. “When you get sad and start crying, the, like, skin around your eyes goes super red and the rest of your face goes pale, but your eyes are so clear and, like, a really vivid blue, so the redness and the blue and the pale sorta makes you look like Spongebob when he had the suds—”

And suddenly, Tryst was on you, his chest against yours, and he was kissing you. It startled you a little, the sudden closeness, and your hand shot out behind you to catch yourself from toppling over, but Tryst was already there with you, his hands flattening on your back to keep you close. It didn’t even take a single second for your brain to catch up with the program, just a repeated OhmyGodTryst on repeat, and you kissed him back with hardly any hesitation. He was a good kisser, his lips soft and gentle and plush against yours, his smattering of facial hair rubbing on your chin, his nose bumping against yours; he kissed you like he wanted to devour you, like he had been waiting for the right opportunity and had no intention on reserving himself anymore. Your hand anchored on the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, and his hips nestled perfectly against yours, your thighs tightening around his waist. 

Just as his hands were sliding from your back down to grip your hips, your senses finally caught up with you, and you tugged away from him breathlessly. Your lips tingled with the feel of him, and your body burned at the closeness. You had been close before, but never like this, never when the air between your body was electrified and threatened to pop like lightning at any second. Your eyes locked on his, unsure exactly what to say, but luckily, he broke the ice for you. 

“Did I…” Tryst began. His eyebrows wrinkled just so, that face of near-tears once more. Poor sweet boy; he was terrified that he had ruined everything, you could see it plainly. “Please tell me I didn’t fuck this whole thing up.” 

“Tryst,” you started lightly, tilting your head, and he groaned softly. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Just, forget I did that—” He started to pull away from you, but your hand on his neck kept him in his spot, and you pulled him back in for another kiss. This time, you made it abundantly clear from the jump that you wanted to kiss him, and that you wanted him to kiss you back, arching your back to drag your hips against his, opening your mouth as an invitation, which he took without pause. He tasted sweet, like the fucking candy-flavored vape that he always stole from you, his tongue soft inside your mouth. He made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, almost a moan but not exactly, and he broke the kiss this time, gently biting at your bottom lip as he seemed to almost drag himself away from your mouth. 

“Really?” he whispered. “You’re not…? I figured you’d be—”

“Baby,” you said softly, and he melted at the name coming from your lips. “I’m not mad, or upset, or whatever you thought I would be. Look, how long have we known each other?” 

“Ten years,” Tryst answered automatically. “Getting close to eleven.” 

Your fingers played in the short hair at the nape of his neck, already growing out and returning to his natural dark color. He looked at you with tenderness, like you were the greatest gift to the world, and it made your body go warm. This man wasn’t just attracted to you, and you could tell by his gaze alone. No; Tryst loved you. “Ten years,” you repeated. “I have been waiting for you to kiss me for about… Nine years and eleven months.” 

Tryst’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Baby,” he whispered, almost an admonishment, his hand soothing up and down your thigh. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for about nine years, eleven months, and probably three weeks. It was just… Immediate. I knew you were the girl for me.” 

“Why’d you never say anything?” you asked. 

Tryst squeezed his eyes shut, and gently touched his forehead against yours. “Immunity Necklace,” he mumbled. It had been a long time since either of you had to invoke the power of the Immunity Necklace, but you nodded all the same. “I was… Fucking terrified. I-I never had any luck with girls, you were sorta the only girl I ever talked to, and I was scared of losing my only friend just because I was horny for her. And, I mean, of course I wanted you for non-horny reasons, but I didn’t want you to think of me as just some degenerate or whatever.”

“Well…” you began. “Do you remember what I told you about Alex?”

“Lobster boy?” Tryst asked, and you smiled. 

“Yes, that one,” you said. 

“You said that you wished it had been me,” Tryst said with a slow nod. “I think about that every day. And I know you said you didn’t mean it like that—”

“Except I did,” you confessed. “I wanted it to be you so badly. I remember, every time I closed my eyes, I just saw you, and when I’d open ‘em back, it was like a punch in the gut that you weren’t above me.”

“Like…” Tryst started softly. “In a ‘I wish it was someone I was close to’ kinda way, or a ‘I would get off if it was him’ kinda way? Did you even cum when that happened?”

“Umm,” you started, and now it was your turn to look away sheepishly. “Well, I did, but it wasn’t… His doing.” 

“What do you mean…” Tryst started, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Baby. Are you admitting to me what I think you are?”

“What do you think I’m admitting?” you asked coyly.

“First of all, that bum-ass motherfucker didn’t make you cum,” Tryst started. “But I bet he did. Son of a bitch. But you finished yourself, right? Can I take a guess what you were thinking about?” 

“Tryst,” you groaned, your whole face all hot and tingly. 

“Were you thinking about me?” Tryst asked, and his fingers captured your chin, making you look at him. He said your name, slow and saccharine, dripping off his pink mouth like syrup, and, if you hadn’t been sitting on the hood of his car, your knees would have given out and you would have fallen to the dirt. “The first time you had sex, did you finish yourself by thinking about me?” 

“Yes,” you said softly, biting your lip. “It’s just… I knew it would work. It had in the past, and—”

Tryst gasped. “Wait, hold on,” he laughed. “Stop it, this feels like Christmas. No bullshit? You used to masturbate to me?” 

“Oh, um,” you started, jokingly avoiding eye contact. “Y-Yeah, used to. Sure, totally not anymore.” 

“Jesus,” Tryst smiled, and he swiped a kiss to your mouth, like he couldn’t help himself. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “As if you didn’t do the same.” 

“I totally did,” Tryst said. “I remember, I used to just, I don’t know, imagine you doing certain things, whatever, horny teenage boy bullshit. But then one day, you went to grab something and your shirt pulled funny a little bit, and I saw just the slightest bit of your bra, and I was so, like, mesmerized by it. It was bright purple, I remember it so well. And I used to dream about taking off your shirt and seeing that bra and being able to take it off you, ‘cause I definitely would have been able to do that unassisted back then. But I thought about that bra for ages.”

“Wow,” you said, watching a peachy blush invade his cheeks. You liked Tryst’s blush; it wasn’t red or pink, it was an orange, situated right at the very tops of his cheeks, like two ripe peaches that gave away his embarrassment. “Didn’t take a lot to get your motor runnin’.” 

“And it still doesn’t,” he told you. 

“Who, umm…” you started. “When did you lose your virginity? I don’t know if you ever really told me for sure.” 

Tryst squeezed your hips, and his fingers played along your hip bones. “My first year at Toronto,” he said, and you instantly knew. The girl who broke his heart. “I wanted to fuck her, and she wanted to fuck me, but it just wasn’t… I think she could tell that my heart wasn’t really in it, ‘cause we finished, and she immediately started accusing me of having another girlfriend or something.” 

“What did you say?” you asked. 

Tryst shrugged. “Told her that she caught me,” he said. “It felt like an easier explanation than ‘I’m actually in love with my best friend who lives in West Van and was thinking about her the entire time I was fucking you, but we’re not dating and never have and never will, so I’m just a hopeless romantic’.” 

“Tryst!” you laughed. “Dude, that girl hates your guts! We don’t like being told we’re the other woman!” 

“I know,” Tryst sighed, but his smile betrayed him. 

“Were you thinking about my purple bra then?” you asked, pulling him in for a kiss, and he laughed against your mouth. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss you properly. 

You enjoyed his kiss, holding him close, finally able to do what you wanted to for years now, but something he had just said finally sank into your brain and made you pull away. “You said ‘not dating, never have, never will’,” you started. “Do you still think that?”

“Up until about five minutes ago,” Tryst said. “Like, this is my wildest dream come true right now. If you tell me you’d let me have more, no matter what it was, I’d probably die of heart failure.” 

You hummed. You loved knowing that you had him in the palm of your hand— not that you ever didn’t, but this was different. “And what if I told you that I’d die to be your girl?” you offered. “I’ve wanted that since high school. To be yours, to get to love you and get your love back. What would you do?”

You expected Tryst to quip a joke back at you, say some saucy zinger that made your skin catch flame, but you watched him slot his bottom lip in his teeth as his eyes got wet and watery. “I’d be the happiest man in the world,” he whispered. “You’ve always been the only one for me. It’s always been you.” 

“I love you,” you told him, and he breathed a sigh of relief, kissing you again. You threw your arms around his neck and held him close, savoring every inch of him, his scent and taste, the warmth of his chest in the cold night. 

Eventually, though, you both parted. It was getting to be late, and, by the time you got home, you’d only be able to sleep for just under two hours before Tryst had to go to see Emma. He held your hand on the drive back to your apartment, tangled your fingers together up the stairs, and you fell into a variation of your typical routine, Tryst getting in bed and settling on the side closest to the wall, letting you occupy the other side. Tonight was different, though; he laid next to you and caged you between his arms, just his top half looming over you, and he kissed you sweetly, pushing your hair out of your face. You both knew you needed as much sleep as possible— especially him, considering he had to clock in at Coffee Corner at a sharp 9am post-Emma— but you couldn’t stop the way your hands pushed under his shirt and his did the same, gently kissing and slowly undressing until you were bare, intimate skin against intimate skin. You were both too exhausted and emotionally raw to do much, but you didn’t need to tonight. You had all the time in the world with him. 

His phone alarm started to buzz just as he started to migrate his kisses down to your neck and soft chest. Tryst sighed heavily, mumbling something akin to “Fuck, it was just gettin’ good too”, and he reached over and stabbed at the STOP button on his screen. He paused to read notifications for a moment, yawning wide, and he turned back to you with a soft look in his eyes. “I want you to come with me,” he whispered, leaning down and placing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. “I want you to meet Emma.” 

Your stomach lurched. You remembered your phone call with Sarah, how she said she had no interest in seeing you, but Tryst had no idea you made that call. “I dunno,” you mumbled, lightly pushing his hair from off his forehead. “Is it really my place to be there?” 

“Of course it is,” he said. “Even if we weren’t together now, you’d still be her auntie. Girl deserves to know her dad’s best friend; especially now that you’re Dad’s girlfriend.”

“I just don’t think Sarah will be too pleased to see me,” you added. 

“Well, tough shit for her,” Tryst said. “If she didn’t want me with other girls, she shouldn’t have left me out in the cold the way she did.” 

While that was true, you didn’t have the heart to tell him why Sarah had a problem with you specifically. And you had just assured her days before that you and Tryst weren’t an item. You grinded your back teeth as you thought about it, and you finally nodded. She would just have to get over it. 

Tryst gave you a tired smile, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving around you, getting out of bed. You had never been able to admire his body before— of course, during the summer at the beach, you had stolen the occasional glance at his shirtless frame, but you were nearly certain he had checked out your boobs in the past, so it didn’t matter that much— but in the low light of your bedroom in the early morning, he looked like a god. Soft belly, firm chest, strong shoulders; and his cock, half-hard from the past hours’ gentle loving… You couldn’t look away. You had littered his chest with lovebites, already going a deep red, and the marks against his milky skin made you feel something warm, something instinctual. Even just the sight of him naked, stretching his arms above his head and groaning as his back popped, his muscles flexing and skin pulling, made heat pool in your stomach. “Tryst?” you called softly, and he turned to look at you expectantly. “I love you.” 

He gave you a look that melted your heart, and he came back to the bed to land a kiss on your mouth, cradling your cheek in his hand. “That’s my favorite thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he told you. “And you’ve said some really good stuff.”

“Maybe…” you started. “Tonight, when you get off work… D’ya wanna fuck?” 

Tryst laughed and kissed you again. “Okay, I lied,” he said. “That’s my favorite thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I figured.” 

All too soon, you were outside an unfamiliar house in a nice neighborhood, nicer than you or Tryst were accustomed to. You remembered, back in high school, Sarah definitely seemed better off than you or him. You held the golden duckie in your lap, and you made quick work to finish the stitch job that you hurried to do during the drive, and you frowned at the little footie. “Fuck, I sewed it on crooked,” you mumbled. As Tryst shoved the car into park, you held it up for him to look at, and he stared for a second as he undid his seatbelt. His jacket shifted with his movements, and you saw the smallest reddish bruise under his collar, perfectly in the shape of your mouth. You hadn’t intended to leave a mark on him that close to being visible, and you hoped and prayed that Sarah wouldn’t see that.

“Looks fine to me,” Tryst said finally. “Thanks for doing that, by the way… Means a lot to me.” 

“Well, duh,” you said. “Can’t go giving our girl a broken duck.” You paused for a moment, cursing the slip of your tongue, and you watched as Tryst gave you a smile. Exhausted and worn down, but a smile nonetheless. “I-I mean, your girl—”

“No,” Tryst said, shaking his head, and he reached over, taking your hand into his. “Our girl.” 

You bit your lip to control your nervous smile, and you dug into your bag, replacing the needle and extra thread in your sewing kit. The air outside was cold as you stepped out, and Tryst put his arm around you as he whispered in your ear. “Don’t be nervous,” he told you. “You know Sarah. And Em is a ball of sunshine, she’ll love you in an instant.”

It was the knowing Sarah part that you were worried about. But you didn’t have much longer to ruminate on it, because you heard the front door of the house flap open. “Did you shower?” you heard a familiar voice call, and Tryst looked over his shoulder to see the mother of his baby coming down the driveway. She looked different than you remembered her— of course, your last frame of true reference for her was back in tenth grade, so obviously she looked different— but she was still pretty. Your focus trained off of her, though, and went to the infant in her arms, dressed in a puffy pink snowsuit to protect her from the cold. Little Emma, Tryst’s angel.

“Yeah, f’course,” Tryst chuckled, turning fully to meet Sarah halfway up the driveway. As he moved, her eyes darted to you, and a red flush came over her face— anger. Holy shit. Tryst gave a tiny little wave to Emma, mouthing ‘Hi’ at her, and you watched her eyes, the same blue as his, look at him. You didn’t know too much about babies and what their recall was like, and you hoped that she knew she was looking at her father. She probably did; you imagined babies were a lot like dogs and could recognize someone on scent alone. 

“What’s she doing here?” Sarah asked, nodding her head towards you, and your eyes and nose burned. This was a bad idea. You knew it from the start. 

Tryst, though, either didn’t notice the iciness between you, or just didn’t care to acknowledge it. He held his arm out to you, beckoning you to his side, and you sheepishly found your way to him, clutching the duckie close to your chest. “Yeah, umm…” he said. “You remember her from high school.”

“Sure do,” Sarah said, her words striking like venom. 

“Well,” Tryst started. “We’ve been together for a while, and I figured it was about time for her to meet Emma.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, and he tenderly added, “She’s gonna be around for a while. Just makes sense.” 

You could read Sarah’s mind: she wanted to kill you with hammers. For all she knew, you had blatantly lied to her on the phone. You felt like every problem she had with you was confirmed by your very presence, and you hurried to say, “‘For a while’ isn’t right, w-we only, like, officially got together last night.” 

You weren’t sure if she believed you or not, but Tryst spoke before anything else could be said. “Hey, we do have a surprise for her!” he exclaimed, a smile touching his flushed face, and you held out the duckie towards Sarah and Emma. “Ta da!”

Sarah looked at the duckie with a pained expression, like she couldn’t believe what she was looking at. “He-He had one just like it growing up,” you said quickly. You felt like you needed to talk to get your nervous energy out, and you stammered on, “It has this whole weird backstory, and it gets, like, headaches and shit… Sorry, I-I shouldn’t swear—”

“Yeah, you look awful,” Sarah interjected, her eyes flicking to Tryst. The hurt was immediately obvious on his face, his eyes falling to the ground for a second before looking back at Emma; he had yet to make eye contact with Sarah. “Did you… Sleep?” 

Birds chirped in the trees beside you, and your heart fell into your ass as he turned to look at them, anywhere but Sarah, and the hickey under his collar came out to play. That goddamn thing. “A bit,” he sniffed, then started at his bag on his shoulder, quickly changing the subject, because it was immediately obvious what he was doing instead of sleeping. “I actually have something for you as well.”

The moment he held out the bag, a reusable tote that he had folded up over and over roughly a grand, Sarah took a step back. “We don’t need this,” she said. “You already paid for this month, and my parents are covering the rest.”

Tryst shrugged. “Never too early to start a college fund is what I hear,” he said, and his shaky smile dropped into a look of desperation and seriousness. “Please.”

Sarah looked at the bag in Tryst’s hand, and she said, “Is this money you made? Or she made?”

“What do you…” Tryst started, looking at you in confusion for a moment. “What does that mean?” 

“His,” you told her quickly, looking up from the duckie’s head. “I, uh… Knew better than to try to offer you my drug whore money.” You said it slowly, clearly, letting her hear her own words thrown back at her. “I’ve heard it’s not a cute look for me.” 

With that, the situation seemed to burrow into Tryst’s mind. He looked at you, then her, then you again, and he swallowed thickly, stepping forward to silently hand Sarah the bag of cash. She took it with one hand, her arms swallowed by Emma, and he settled the duckie against Sarah’s chest, right up next to his daughter. Emma was quiet, kicking just a little bit as he got closer, and, with a shaky voice, Tryst said, “Think maybe, umm… Maybe I could hold her?”

“You know what,” Sarah started quickly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Right,” Tryst mumbled, his eyes falling down to Emma once more. Your chest felt tight, and you reached out and settled your hands around his arm, feeling his bicep harden and tighten under your grip as he tried to control his emotions. “Right, sure.”

“I need to go,” Sarah said quickly as Emma began to squirm in her arms. “But get some sleep. Something.” She gave you a look that could have exploded you, and you watched as she started back up the driveway. Tryst pressed his lips together, and you watched the pale face-red eyes-imminent tears face come over him again.

“I will,” he called after her, and you let your caged tears fall when, in a broken voice, Tryst called for Emma: “Daddy loves you.” He huffed out a laugh, one that you could tell meant nothing to him, and you started to pull him back to the car as his phone chirped at him in his pocket. 

It was only once the doors were closed and locked that he put on his serious face. “What the hell was that?” he asked. “The-The drug… Money comment.”

“I told you Sarah and I don’t get along,” you mumbled. 

“But that was—” Tryst started. “That’s not just not getting along. Has she called you that before?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Tryst sighed. “Sweetheart, I didn’t know it was like that. Fuck… I shouldn’t have made you come, I’m so—”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” you told him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I could’ve said no.”

“You didn’t even really get to meet Emma,” Tryst said. “She’s super sweet, I promise, playful and-and loving…”

“I’ll get to meet her properly eventually,” you assured him. “C’mon, no wallowing. We gotta meet the ladies and show them the space Guy set up for you.” 

“Fuck,” Tryst whispered. “I wish I could just sleep forever.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But if you slept forever, you’d miss out on the good parts.”

“Like you,” Tryst offered softly, and you sighed. 

“Like me.”

The girls were balls of energy, as usual, and you could tell that Tryst did not give a single fuck for it. Becca yawned, complaining about only six hours of sleep, and you just closed your eyes and sighed to yourself. You were exhausted too, emotionally raw and stripped apart just like your boyfriend (a fun shock of adrenaline hit your heart every time you remembered that Tryst was your boyfriend now) was, but the girls didn’t need to know everything that had happened overnight. You didn’t let them into your personal life as much, mainly because two high schoolers didn’t need to know every facet of your adult lives, but this especially felt like a secret to keep. 

Guy’s penthouse was nice, big and spacious, and even you felt a little excited at the sight of it. Tryst’s warnings of not getting attached to it seemed to fall on deaf ears as Becca and Zoe explored, and you took the moment that they weren’t obsessed with either of you to adjust Tryst’s shirt collar, covering that damn hickey again. He gave you a tight smile, and you knew that if it were just you and him, he would be pulling you close and lovingly admonishing you for marking him in such an obvious place. You could almost hear his voice in your head: “You want everyone to know I’m taken? See this thing on my neck and know I’ve got a pretty girl waiting to give me more?”. 

Tryst snatched the keys away from Becca, ushering them straight back out. “We just got here!” She whined, and Tryst matched her energy “Well, I don’t care!”, which made you stifle a laugh. He gave you a smile, and Zoe for once clocked the reaction instead of Becca. 

“What was that?” Zoe asked instantly. 

“What was what?” you asked as Tryst shut the door, locking it behind the four of you. 

“That,” she said, gesturing between you and Tryst. “He smiled at you.”

“Ah, yes, smiling,” Tryst sighed. “A normal human reaction to positive stimuli.” 

“But that’s…” Zoe started, and pointed at you. “You told me you weren’t a thing.” 

“We’re not,” you told her firmly, because truthfully, you and Tryst weren’t a thing. Things were for poorly defined relationships; whatever Becca and Clem had going on was a thing. You and Tryst were more than a thing, you were it. You had wasted away for ten years wishing for him, and it only took one night for you to have it confirmed that you and him were always meant to be. Ride or Dies were not things. Soulmates were not things. “Can a dude not smile at his friend? Jesus Christ.” 

Zoe seemed skeptical, but, to her credit, she dropped it. You knew you would likely get more of that later that night when you met up with them again, but for now, the most minor interrogation was fine. The car ride back to the mall was mostly quiet, Tryst’s hand on your thigh as he drove, and your heart warmed at the way his fingers absently played with the rips in your jeans. He seemed so content with you, instantly filling in the gaps of affection that you were sure he had been pining over for a decade, and you walked with him all the way to the hole-in-the-wall coffee counter. 

“You want anything?” Tryst asked, and you watched him pull the garish orange apron over his head. The white polo he wore fit him in a way that made your eyes wander and, knowing that what laid beneath it was now yours for the taking, it gave you a new appreciation. He was handsome, and he was yours. “Can make you a tea or somethin’.”

You leaned over the counter and pressed your lips to his, and he smiled into your kiss for a brief second before kissing you back. How wonderful it felt to be able to kiss him, even if for a moment. You pulled away, letting the tip of your nose brush his, and you bit your bottom lip as your eyes floated to his neck and that perfect bruise that seemed insistent on being seen. “Nope,” you told him, looking back into his eyes, hyper blue with a ring of green. “I got all I want right here.”

[taintedsoul-if]

My progress report will be published tomorrow—don’t worry, I’m not off in a corner growing mushrooms. I’ve just been going in and out of the forum, learning more about the *goto_scene command. I want to create a choice that lets readers continue right where they left off, especially since I keep tinkering with the startup page (oops, lol).

Anyway, you guys… what am I supposed to do with these eight gift codes? Should I just delete them? Or… should we go ahead with a watered-down version of the Vathilia Lore Challenge? Let’s go with the second option. 🙂‍↔️

Answer these two simple questions and one of the eight codes could be yours! Join the group of readers who’ll get access to Chapter 14—while free readers and Patreon subs will be nibbling their fingers, wondering when the game will finally drop. Don’t miss this train… there may not be another. Here are your questions:

What color hair does each RO have?

How many rank levels are there, and which one is basically classified as a myth?

See—simple. Should take less than a minute. You can send your answers to me privately.

To everyone who sent me heartwarming messages—thank you. At this point, I feel like a robot repeating the same thing over and over, but truly, your words are what keep me going. They give me moments of grace, reminding me that it’s okay to step back when I need to. This little space I’ve created is filled with the kindest, sweetest souls, and you’re all genuinely beautiful—inside and out.

To the anon who wanted to participate in the competition but couldn’t because life got busy: take your time. You can answer the two questions whenever you’re ready—just shoot me an ask with your response so I can reach out to you privately with your gift voucher. I even created an extra one just for you 🙃. Thank you for sticking by me through my lowest points, and for being so incredibly patient and understanding while I worked through everything.

Now, I’ll say this plainly: I won’t be answering your ask. I want it to stay right there in my inbox so I can reread it whenever I need a little boost of happiness. 😏 And to the other anon—yep, I’m keeping yours too! I love you all. Keep being rays of sunshine or that little light guiding someone through the dark. Thank you, truly, for everything. 🥹🫶

[hells-greatestdad]

// one of those days where all the sounds of the grocery store ambience be triggering a constant startle response and even people talking to me (such as a customer right in front of me) is kinda overwhelming

But how am I supposed to explain "I don't want to help you right now because I can hear absolutely everything and it's hard to be anything but distracted and irritable"

[windixie]

the perfect pair ⟢ ch. 1 broken cd

satoru gojo x reader ꒰18+꒱ smut, angst, fluff

⟡ pairing . college au soccer player! gojo x alt! reader

› summary . in which opposites actually attract. you're not the kind of girl who seeks validation from anyone as your world is surrounded by indie films, music, and clothing. meanwhile, satoru lives in a completely different world from you. the campus soccer star who practically radiates confidence and popularity. but that doesn't stop satoru from attempting to throw himself at you, with his playful grins and teasing but loving comments. but before you can accept his advances, a certain party exposes who he truly is and now he is left determined to change himself for you.

› warnings ⓘ tags . 18+, fem! reader, smut, angst, fluff, college au (have syracuse university in mind), friends to lovers (reader hates him, he thinks otherwise), slow burn, jealousy, some suguru x reader because he doesn't respect bro code or wtv.

› wc . 1.1k

⟡ taglist . @unreleasedlana11

cd's are actually expensive.

well at least for you actually, only because you happen to listen to artists that are no longer active and have to buy discontinued cd's through sketchy websites that definitely overcharge. you couldn't judge though, easy money for the seller. your bank account disagrees.

you promise yourself that this will be the last cd you buy - till you're financially stable again. the disc nearly cost you 60 bucks plus taxes and shipping, 80.99. that greedy seller. regardless you were happy especially when you got the notification from the app telling you that your order has arrived.

at your college you had to walk all the way towards the front where the school mailboxes were located. the second you stepped foot outside your dorm, which, thankfully you had all to yourself because for some reason you weren't assigned a roommate, you are hit with the sound of cheering. the soccer team has just returned from a tournament.

including satoru gojo.

you knew of the boy. you knew he was the most known player in the school. and i'm not just talking about soccer. in each frat party he has to get in at least two bodies. he has a whole line of girls patiently waiting for their turn to warm up the white haired boys bed.

he's everything.. you hated in a guy.

how do girls go crazy over him? he's deadass the most basic boy you are sure each college in the state has. but you couldn't help but stay a bit to watch as all the boys make their way through the applauding crowd. a new face emerged from the bus, all looking proud. they must've won.

you were pulled away from your thoughts when his face appeared. suguru. he was best friends with gojo. you can't help but stare. his piercings, long hair, style that was different from the rest, just like you. it's hard to not notice him.

you almost don't realize who's looking at you instead. your eyes meet with satoru for a brief moment before you continue making your way to the central mail room, not allowing your brain to even process the eye contact.

as he made his way out the busy, satoru is met with a crowd of students cheering. he smirks as he kept the conversation going with his friends. he knows how attractive he is. not every one is 'blessed' to have a body count of half the schools girl population.

he knows how good he is. so why is it that when his eyes land on you, his heart skips a beat. he's never seen you before, why now? why does he like the way your hair frames your face so beautifully and the way your outfit compliments your body so well?

he felt his world stop for just a second when your eyes finally met his. a split second.

you unlocked your assigned mailbox after reaching the central. other students were there as well looking at letters from their family back at home or the same reason as you, a package. your eyes lit up as you took out the perfectly wrapped cd. .

not wasting one more second, you carefully unwrap it. here it is, finally in your hands after a month of waiting and two days worth of hard labor. the light reflected like heaven itself shining upon you from the glossy surface. you flipped it over, reading through the track list as you locked your mailbox once again not even bothering to check if there's any other letters in your box.

right as you turned, you bumped into something hard, causing your cd to slip from your hands, the sound of it hitting the floor haunting you.

it broke.

and so did your heart.

no. no way.

a month of waiting. money wasted. just for the cd to slip right out your hands.

okay you're being dramatic, it obviously didn't break. but the impact caused the case to open once it fell on the floor. the cd might just have a few scratches. one scratch is one scratch too many though.

"shit, sorry about that."

you lifted up your head to look at the one responsible for this.

satoru.

the satoru himself was in front of you giving you another reason to dislike him. he looked at you with his eyes widening a bit. its you. the girl he saw from earlier. he crouched down, placing his bag on the ground next to his feet to pick up your disc, carefully placing it back in the case. definitely not a band he was familiar with.

he handed it back to you, his hand touching yours slightly.

"here pretty, am sorry again."

your eyes narrowed. "It’s fine," you said, trying to keep your cool. "Not like you can fix it."

his eyes watched you push past him and they trailed past you until you were out of his view.

he finally got the chance to talk to you which he's been wanting to do since he's know you which was only like 20 minutes.

he couldn't help but smile to himself as he opened up his own mailbox, stuffed with fan mail.

a few scratches as you suspected. it shouldn't affect your listening experience.

you placed the now damaged disc in your cd player which was gifted to you by your parents on your sixteenth birthday. the music filled up your room in a nice and warm space.

you sank down on your mattress closing your eyes to enjoy the listening experience. no amount of scratched could ruin this.

they did.

your eyes shot open as the cd started to tweak out not even three minutes into the track list. guess the damage really was done. its all his fault. satoru gojo.

"no..please.." you begged taking out the cd to look at it again seeing that you missed a crack running right through it.

it was all his fault. you barely knew him but now that you had your first ever encounter you had all the reason to despise him. there's no way you will be able to listen to your 80.99 worth cd with there being glitching every other song.

you couldn’t shake the image of satoru standing there, his awkward attempt at helping, the way his gaze had softened for a brief moment. you'd make him buy you a new one, that being if the discontinued cd was even out there anymore.

what if you bought the last one ever?

you groaned into your pillow.

that's it you're throwing a bf.

a bitch fit.

[gemsofgreece]

Which places of greece are ruined by tourism and would it be ok to visit them in winter ? Asking because i'd really like to see all of greece but i dont want to participate into what makes people lives shit

I'd say that while Greece has gotten very touristy in many places by now, the most touristy places are still (barely) hanging in there and have not been totally ruined yet. The two most critically affected by tourism places are Santorini and Mykonos islands. Aside from Santorini perhaps, which really receives more tourists than it can bear, in the other touristy areas the situation is not so bad yet that you could cause problems with your mere presence there. Tourists do become a problem due to their behaviour rather than their presence, so I am going to give you some tips for an ethical, viable for the local population vacation in any region in Greece.

Ethical travelling in Greece:

Do not use Airbnbs. They have caused severe housing problems in the country. Basically locals can not find houses to rent / buy because everything is modified into an airbnb. Please, do not use airbnbs. Every single type of hotel, from small family run businesses to major hotel chains, they are all more ethical and beneficial to Greek society and economy than the airbnbs.

If you are travelling in the Aegean islands in the high season, avoid the excessive use of tap water. Most Aegean islands have severe shortage of water resources. The little resources that they have get wasted in filling the countless pools of the hotels. And I ask, what is the point of so many pools in Greece? Are tourists really doing all the fuss to reach a Greek island to spend their days swimming in the pool and stare at a wall? You can do this at home. I really don't understand this. Go to the beach. Greek beaches are typically very safe unless you are advised otherwise by the locals. Ask your hotel receptionist or your tour guide if some beach is suitable only for very seasoned swimmers or is better avoided for any other reason. Please, do not support the endless useless pool constructions that suck all the water. Apart from the pools, practice reasonable use of tap water in general (i.e while showering).

Ideally, avoid cruises. They are the biggest culprit of tourist overcrowding and they virtually leave zero money to the local society.

Keep alcohol consumption within reason. Greeks love to drink and have fun. However, unlike in Northern and Western Europe, excessive drinking is not at all part of our cultural understanding of having fun. There are unfortunately 2-3 spots around the country which have become destinations of young tourists aiming to get hammered every night. Their drinking and its consequences disrupts severely the quality of living for the locals and other travellers. If you (not saying this personally, but generally) tend to drink enough that ending up crawling or vomiting in a street or a hospital is not unlikely... just don't do it. Don't do it, it affects negatively the local people's lifestyle and their sense of safety. Remember also that the Greeks like to stay out with their kids until very late at night, don't create publicly images that could be questionable for a child to see.

You can dress however you want in Greece. The only limitations are to keep nudism for nudist beaches and if you decide to visit monasteries, then you should comply with their dress code, which is usually skirts / dresses and covered shoulders for women and ideally long trousers for men. Women in Greece do not cover their heads / hair in religious places. Churches have a more liberal dress code but, still, don't go in in your swimsuit or something.

Do not climb on the churches, private properties and hotels just to take a slightly better photo for your Instagram.

That's all, I believe. These are the Greece-specific ethical travelling tips.

Should you go to touristy places in winter instead? NO

Like I said, if you are concerned that your mere presence is going to be an issue to the locals, then no, you don't have to change your plans and come in winter. Maybe only if you decide to go to Santorini, then it would be indeed better to go in spring or in autumn, not only for the locals but for your own experience as well. Santorini is an island famous for its vistas, the volcano, its towns and archaeological sites and not so much the beaches, so why go there in the summer and get pressed by the tourist hordes? Go in another season. But NOT in winter.

There is a huge misconception that Greece is eternally warm like a tropical country. Greece is a temperate country. If you go to the islands in winter, you will get winter in the islands, with all the wind and the humidity and the shut down businesses and half of the local population fled to the mainland. Forget about island / summery vibes. If you fall in love with a place so much that you end up wanting to experience it all year round then sure. But if it's your first time in that place, it's not very wise to visit it for the first time in its absolute lowest, right?

Not sure how you imagine a Greek island in winter but it's probably not like that, is it? I am not saying it will definitely snow, but you will be taking your risks. This is from the famous Mykonos btw.

So, if you want to come in the winter, you have to go to winter destinations (mountains, ski resorts, landlocked parts of the mainland, forests, towns and villages in higher altitudes etc). Every season has its best things to see. The islands are for the summer and the spring. Spring and autumn are seasons in which you can prolong your summer in the south or your winter in the north but even those are worthy to be visited for their own strengths.

City breaks / urban destinations are good all year round, least of all summer, because the cities tend to get super hot.

Summarizing, if you want to come in the winter just for the sake of the locals, then no don't worry about it. If you want to come in the winter because you are afraid of the overtourism but wish to see a summery destination, then my advice would be to come in the summer but simply replace the over-touristy destination with a less busy look-alike. Good substitutes for Mykonos are Paros and Ios islands. Good substitutes for Santorini are Milos and Folegandros islands.

"Seeing all of Greece"

I must examine a little what you mean by "I'd really like to see all of greece". If you mean "I'd like to visit any part of Greece so all of Greece is okay for me", it's okay, I get that. If you mean, "I want to make a plan of fitting all of Greece in the same season / trip without bothering the locals" forget about that. You're not visiting all of Greece, not now, not in many many revisits. Don't be fooled by any influencer or youtuber showing you around or any foreign travel article about where to go to, it's total misinformation, 99,9% of the time they are not seeing shit. Moreover, they are not being accurate about the size of the country, how navigable it is, the microclimate variety and the destination density per surface area. There is this portrayal of Greece in foreign media as this tiny flat easily navigable country with all its tinier islands and beaches concentrated within arm's reach. All of this is the exact opposite from the truth; Greece is of average size, extremely mountainous, hard to navigate, with numerous islands larger than you think and in considerable distances with each other. This is why you should NOT DO ISLAND HOPPING IN GREECE, I can't stress this enough, it's the most popular and yet the worst way to travel in the country. The most superficial way, the most tiresome way and simultaneously the way that guarantees you will see the least stuff. Lose - lose - lose situation.

The clever plan is simple, much simpler actually. You stick to one or max two mainland regional unit(s) or one island or max two small islands or tops a mainland region and a nearby island if you have a lot of time, and you explore that thoroughly either with a tour guide or with a map / book guide for this specific region that you explore by yourself. You can find such map / book guides everywhere in kiosks, bookstores, some markets etc. This way you're gonna like Greece ten times over than if you were just ticking off popular islands / destinations from your list. I believe every single Greek will attest to this as well as those loyal travellers we have that return every year - some do it for decades. Those follow this plan. Famous people do this too - I have never heard of foreign celebrities island hop in Greece (unless they have private yachts and stay in those which is more like a cruise rather than island hopping), they choose their destination and stick to it. It's because they know better, island hopping is a SCAM. Ticking off popular destinations is a SCAM. Not because the famous destinations don't deserve their popularity but simply because this is not the efficient / clever way to travel in Greece (and in most places, but especially Greece). Take my word for it! The country is not... structured for this type of travelling.

Summary:

You don't have to be overly conscious of your presence in touristy areas as long as you practice common sense and don't actively disrupt the lives of the locals in the ways described above.

If you are really concerned about overtourism, better change destination with a similar less busy one rather than change the season of visiting. Remember, different places are better in different seasons.

Do not island hop and do not have unrealistic expectations about how much of Greece you can see in a trip. Trying to meet such common expectations, that are founded on widespread misconceptions, will certainly make your travelling experience worse or not as good as it could have been. Based on your interests choose one specific region only and explore this one thoroughly without worrying that you will miss out, because you won't.

[merbear25]

For Kinktober, can I please request Sensual Massage with Sanji?

Hey! Hope you've been well. I think I got a bit carried away with this 🤭 Hope you like it 💜🧡

You’d been working yourself to the bone for what felt like forever. It’d been a while since you did anything for yourself. Among some of your female coworkers, there was word buzzing of a spa that could offer more than just the typical services.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, some fluff, vaginal fingering, sex work

Tender hands (Sanji)

Rubbing your neck, you lingered over by the water cooler ideally. With your boss piling heaps of assignments on you, the stress of responsibility was affecting you physically.

“Feeling alright?” Your coworker chirped.

You glanced over at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed if I’m being honest.”

The older woman nodded. She showed some hesitation to continue, deciding to take a quick look around to avoid any of your nosey colleagues.

“Between you and me,” she leaned in. “I was feeling the same as you not too long ago. But then, I discovered this spa and let me tell you, those masseuses certainly have magic fingers.”

The implications had you nervously fidgeting. “Oh, yeah?” You smiled politely.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “Here, darling,” she soothed your nerves. “You go here and tell them you want this special. They’ll take good care of you.” She grinned at you before shuffling away to her cubicle.

Glancing at the card, you saw that the phrase ‘Sundae’ was scribbled on the back. You promptly shoved it into your pocket before continuing the workday—the business card seemingly burning for you to give into your curiosity.

Staying behind the others to finish the last bit of paperwork you’d been given. The heavy footsteps of your boss was the most dreaded sound imaginable.

“Just got these in. I’ll need these by the end of next week.” The way he smiled came off as if he thought he was doing you a favor by extending the due date. He patted the stack before excusing himself for the evening. He called back a ‘see you tomorrow’ with his back turned to you, waving lazily.

Rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, you could hear the strange offer from earlier calling out to you. As you stared at the card, you felt yourself being pulled more and more into temptation. It was such a bizarre recommendation, one which your curiosity couldn’t resist seeing through.

Upon arriving at the location, the dim lights made you second guess the hours. No, it should still be open. The door wasn’t locked but the lights were kept suspiciously low.

You tapped on the service bell and anxiously waited for someone. No more than a few moments must have passed before your nerves started getting the best of you. Wondering what on earth you were doing there, you slowly turned towards the door.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” You heard a friendly voice call out.

“Oh! No, it’s fine… I-I don’t really know if I’ve got the right place actually.”

“What is it that you’re looking for?” The blonde man’s face made him appear kind and his voice was rather comforting.

You peeked down at the card and said in an almost mousey tone, “A sundae?” What a ridiculous code name… you thought to yourself.

His eyes lit up. “Ohh, okay,” he let out a good-natured chuckle. “First time?” The rhetorical question made you stumble over your words.

“Don’t worry. There’s no judgment here and everything will be kept confidential.” 

As he talked you through the basics, wanting to be sure this was something you were fully aware of and consented to, you were so flustered that you nodded and agreed to nearly everything he said.

“You can say ‘no’ if this isn’t for you, you know.” It came from a place of concern due to your unnatural eagerness.

“N-no! I…I want to do this. I’ve just never done anything like it before,” you admitted.

“In that case, I can assure you that you won’t regret it.”

He led you towards one of the massage rooms in the back. He informed you that he needed to prepare some of the oils and that you should go ahead and undress and lay down on the table. Giving you a warm smile, he left you momentarily.

Looking around the room, the candles gently placed throughout were not yet lit and the colors were an earthy tone, which did well to set a calming atmosphere.

Laying down on the table, you buried your face into the headrest in an attempt to hide your shame. As you were lost in your thoughts, the door clicking pulled you out of your fog.

As he apologized for the delay, he kept the conversation friendly and open in an attempt to ease those nerves of yours. He lit the candles and pressed play on the playlist, which was set to peaceful sounds of nature.

The squirts of warm massage oil coaxed a slight shiver from you.

“Is it too cold?”

“No, just wasn’t expecting it.”

His laugh was soft, endearing even. When his hands found their way to your back, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. As his touch kneaded over your sore spots, your murmurs signaled for him to be gentle. When he came across tight knots, his skillful fingers worked them out—your soft moans being the encouragement he needed.

He focused on your lower back, and then eventually your glutes and thighs. You clung to the table in anticipation, only to be hushed by Sanji, “Just relax.”

He watched your movements closely, trying to gauge how you were feeling. Your legs parting gave him his answer. Massaging your inner thighs, his thumbs pressed small circles into your fatty flesh. The oil was warming your skin, making his fingers the welders of your pleasure.

Working his way closer to your pussy lips, your arousal was obvious—the wetness glistening slightly even in the dimly lit room. His thumbs tenderly massaged around your labias, which made the slick between them seep out a little. His other fingers kneaded your ass, causing you to involuntarily arch your back. The sweet moans coming out of you filled the room. As one was placed on your hip, rubbing it gently, the other traced over your folds.

Your body quaked and your breath hitched in your throat. The warmth from the oils was fanning the flames within you. His fingers glided over your clit, prompting your hips to shake and a whimper to pass over your soft lips.

His thumb circled over your sensitive bundle. Each gasp and tremble only made him work you harder to squeeze each euphoric laced cry out of you. As you groaned from your orgasm, his hands returned to your back—his hands firmer in order to work out the lingering bit of ecstasy.

He moved to your shoulders, letting you enjoy the stress of the day being released. Your huffs and soft pants were subsiding, which meant you were perfect for the next round.

Your hips were the center of attention again. The masseuse’s hands roamed over them, being sure to give an ample amount of affection to your lower back and sides, as well. You whimpered while his fingers teased your entrance. Instinctively, you bucked your hips slightly into his touch, yearning to be completely and utterly satisfied.

Though you couldn’t see his face, it held a look of relief. Seeing his clients go from a nervous and stressed wreck to ones so willing to put their trust in him never ceased to leave him in awe of their courage, their beauty.

He plunged one finger in to start. As your body adjusted to it, he could feel your walls spasming already. The feeling of a gorgeous woman coming undone from his touch was like no other. He couldn’t help but give in.

“That’s it, my sweet thing,” he cooed at you. “Just let go.”

He put another finger in you, followed by another shortly after. Your cries of ecstasy were making his head spin. Watching you grip at the table, the way you convulsed on his fingers, and the faint slapping of his hand against your slit: you were a depiction of pure angelic imagery.

Your groans and pants were evident that you were close to that long sought after edge. Leaning in slightly, he whispered for you to cum for him. Burying your face into the softened table, you could feel yourself slipping. 

Filling you completely with his experienced fingers, your body couldn’t hold on any longer. Your cries of reaching the peak of euphoria sounded throughout the room. As he guided you through your orgasm, a faint smile found its way to your spent complexion. Your body, now totally relaxed, went limp on the table.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice still raspy from your high.

Your politeness was much too sweet. He rubbed your hips again, beaming down at you. “That wasn’t so bad then, was it? You did great.”

He gave you some time to get dressed as he rang you up. Exchanging pleasant chit-chat, his inviting demeanor might be the most intoxicating thing about him.

When he handed you your receipt, his fingers ran lightly along yours. With a friendly grin, he added, “Hope to see you again.”

Your heart was pounding so hard against your chest, it was as if it was about to leap out of you. Once in your car, your eyes caught sight of a small note he left on the paper.

“Come by anytime during the evening on weekdays. I’ll be here to help you relax. Xoxo.”

Fawning over the note, you made sure to drop by every once in a while. Who knew? Maybe there was something other than business to explore.

[kakusu-shipping]

My silly little white men and their kinda fucked up history <3

Headcanons below the cut

Cyber Era

Spamton

Spamton to me is Trans in the same way Mettaton is Trans, in that Addisons are a Genderless/Sexless species, and thus Spamton is abnormal presenting as a Man

He spends pretty much all his time in this era being horribly anxious and depressed

He never has solid work and is constantly bouncing between odd jobs and helping the other Addisons with their work

He's always wearing some kinda hand-me-down from the other Addisons so nothing he wears fits him

Addisons have this sort of down feather-like soft fabric covering their body, it's full of fiber glass so they have a slight glow to them

He needs glasses So Bad but he doesn't know that

Ramb

As the only Power Strip in Cyber City he's sort of like the Foreman to all other Plug Boys

He's a fantastic union boss, enforcing breaks and vacation days, shifting who's plugged into every day to give them all rest

He doesn't mind his job and he's a good natural leader type it's just a little exausting

In his spare time, the little of it that he has, he learns Mixology from Swatch at a bar near by

When Queen takes over, she takes Swatch with her, closing the little bar near where Ramb works, and cutting off his only real friendship

He COULD go see Swatch at the castle, but he doesn't want to drag his old friend down now that they're in the big time

Big Shot Era

Spamton

The phone calls start, then he meets a man named Mike who acts as his business connection, and suddenly Spamton is making the big bucks like no one ever has

The first thing he does with his new big bucks is find some way to Modify his body

He adds extra joints and flexibility to his hips and chest, along with a LOT of padding, thus his fat tits and ass

He also gets Phalloplasty, said phallo is detachable for convenience, but it makes him feel euphoric so he keeps it on pretty much all the time

He's also experimenting with how tall he can make the soles of his shoes before it looks kinda silly

Bro got himself some Contacts!! He can See!!!

Sometime in this era he decides to tag along with Queen and Swatch to the Dreemurr house hold and meets Tenna, who he's an instant hit with

From then on he's constantly going back and forth between Cyber City and TV World, doing business in both places, along with Mike.

Ramb

Endearingly, this is his Douche Era

In Darkner-lore, Swatch invited Ramb to come along with them and Queen to the Dreemurr house for a live showing of TV Time (In lightner-lore, this is where Kris stole Ramb from the Computer Lab)

The attention he got from Kris was addicting, so he decided to hang around, making himself useful by becoming a "Mike" before mike was a thing

Basically he's like the Show-Runner/Producer/Director type, He makes sure everything stays on schedule and all the lighting/music cues happen on time, like the Mikes do in-game

He's really good at it too thanks to all the work he did leading the Plug Boys back in Cyber City.

And of course in his down time he plays with Kris

The amount of attention Kris gives him starts giving him a bit of an undeserved Ego, and he eventually ends up kind of negging Tenna a bit (kind of playfully, but also sort of truthfully, his intentions don't matter because it really does Get to Tenna)

Which then in turn enforces Tenna fear of being Abandoned, causing him to turn to Spamton to get more modern. He's not like, the ONLY cause for this fear of Tenna's, but he's certainly the most constant reminder of it

He's got this sort of "I know best" mentality now, along with the job position to control the flow of the show. He might be a little mad with power

Because of Kris' influence, Rambs ears start to flop (I imagine Kris is back and forth with playing with Ramb like a doll, and playing with him like a dog would a chew toy. They are Very Dogkin coded)

He also stops wearing shoes, again because of Kris' influence. None of the Dreemurrs where shoes in my mind

Also, Tenna has massive tail insecurity and makes it everyone else's issue, so Ramb keeps his wire tail tied up and tucked in his jumper. Not that he needs it for work anymore anyway

Disaster Era

Spamton

After obtaining the Shadow Crystal from the voice on the phone and seeing "heaven" through it, Spamton starts getting paranoid about the world and people around him

Which is only made worse when the phone tells him of Tenna's eventually demise, and how if he stays around he'll be going down with him

He bolts, abandoning both Tenna and Mike without a word

Out of fear for the prophecy, Spamton starts holing up in his room, hunched over the phone, only ever leaving to drink away the horrors he learns from it, or to go into the basement to pray

Queen, probably well intentioned but honestly who knows, takes him to the Acid pool to relax (against his will), which of course does the opposite

He looses pretty much all his fabric/skin, what little remains, mostly around his face and joints, he picks at till it's all gone

This of course also means loosing all the gender affirming body mods he'd gotten, except for his penis which he's SO scared of loosing he keeps locked away and doesn't wear anymore (not like he's using it after leaving Tenna anyway)

None of his clothes fit him anymore, and sense he's too scared and paranoid to leave his room, he never gets them tailored

His erratic behavior and dwindling profits (sense he's not actively working, just hiding) eventually get him kicked out of the castle, and to where we eventually see him in game

Ramb

Everything stared going down hill after Spamton ran out

Suddenly Ramb's jabs at Tenna were way more meaningful, with more bite to them, and Tenna couldn't stand to hear them anymore

He couldn't exactly Fire Ramb, he was still precious to Kris after all, even if playtime seemed to happen less and less often every day, so instead he demoted him

Ramb use to make drinks for Spamton and Tenna during their meetings, so Tenna decides to put that skill to use and stick him behind the bar

Sense Spamton left Mike behind when he fled, Tenna promotes him to Ramb's old position (which he eventually leaves, putting the "Mikes" we see in game in charge)

Sense he's on his feet all day now, he starts wearing shoes again

He also starts wearing his sleeves rolled up to remind him of better times (his arms are covered in dents from where Kris use to chew at him)

When the Dark Fountain opens Tenna is still so terrified that everything Ramb said was right, that he knows Kris better that Kris likes him better, so he takes away Ramb's ability to handle points at all to prevent him from being useful to Kris, even as a shop keep

At this point Ramb's given in to this new "Whatever Tenna says goes" way of running TV World (which up until Spamton left wasn't fully based on TV), so instead of directly fighting back he sets up the game backstage

He still has that kind of douchey "I know best" attitude, but it's mostly self defense and cope at this point.

At some point he lost his cord tail. I haven't really thought of how or why yet. I want it to have something to do with whoever's giving guys shadow crystals and why Ramb doesn't have one but still Knows Stuff, but the details are fuzzy atm

Or maybe it was Tenna during a meltdown idk I just know it's like kind of a turning moment for him.

[wenutted]

Genius Society(Herta, Ruan Mei, Screwllum) + Dr. Ratio & Dumb!Genius Society!Reader

[Genre]: [Crack], [HC format], [Purely platonic]

[CW]: [None, I don't think.]

[Reference]

-> Honestly, why were you even accepted into the Genius Society? You sometimes liked learning, sure, but you weren't really that knowledgeable of a person, compared to everyone else chosen by Nous. Your interests were niche, and any research on them only resulted in information that is already fairly well known.

• Plus, now that you're part of the Society, everyone now seems rather intimidated by you, and you're only ever invited to formal events, or these academic things that you don't understand. It's distressing, and you bury yourself in your interests as a comfort.

◇◆◇◆◇

° Several months later, while you skim through some textbook– not really paying full attention to it, and moreso just staring blankly at each question before moving on– a brief jingle echoes from your phone, the screen lighting up and revealing an invitation to the Herta Space Station. Apparently Herta, herself, wants you to join in her Simulated Universe project.

• While coding isn't exactly one of your strong suits, you can't find it in yourself to decline her– especially since she offers you a free dormitory to sleep in, and free food– so, you pack your belongings, and set out your all expenses paid trip. Here's to hoping all goes well.

◇◆◇◆◇

HERTA

-> Herta's initially rather satisfied and almost excited upon getting a near immediate response from the 85th member of the Genius Society. She's curious to see what ideas could have been floating around in your head to earn their attention.

° ...All hope immediately flies out the window as soon as she actually meets you. You're a total nutcase! How in the hell are you supposed to be of any help when you're struggling with basic quantum mechanics and aether world physics?!

• It takes several weeks to get Herta to stop shunning you after that— but, even still, she refuses to let you do much on the Simulated Universe. She doesn't kick you out, though.

° The longer you stay, the more of a soft spot she gradually feels towards you. Maybe you're not a complete idiot, but it's still absurd that Nous shine their gaze over you.

• At least you don't cause any trouble for anyone in the space station.

◇◆◇◆◇

Ruan Mei

-> On the opposite side of the spectrum, from the moment you'd arrived in the space station, Ruan Mei had little to no interest in you. She was very busy, having to work on both the Simulated Universe and her own projects. Surely you were the same, no?

• Surprisingly, nope, because you pop by her lab almost every day, constantly changing your routine. Sometimes you want to snoop around and read all of the documents, sometimes you play with whatever creature she's experimenting on, sometimes you even bring a few desserts– each of which usually originating from different parts of your home star system.

° Your attempts to emotionally connect with Ruan Mei aren't what ends up drawing her in, though. Instead, Ruan Mei makes an acute observation of how most of her lifeforms seem to react to you. Whenever you start tapping at the glass and cooing at what's inside, they often let out little chirps and whistles, nuzzling as close to you as possible. Even her 'headache' was noticeably less aggressive around you.

• Of course, Ruan Mei doesn't really care much about her creations' social lives, but they're more motivated and less noisy after your visits, so the scientist makes an effort to pay more attention to you— you get results for her, after all. That doesn't mean you're really friends, though; you're more like... convenience friends.

◇◆◇◆◇

Screwllum

-> A true neutral. Screwllum isn't particularly thrilled by your arrival, but he's curious enough about you to interact with you, outside of Herta's project.

° Nous gazed upon you, a normal organic lifeform, and decided that you deserved the place of #85 in the Genius Society. While their actions usually are difficult for most to comprehend, this decision truly holds no logic– and that baffles Screwllum.

• Regardless, it's not his place to judge them, so Screwllum is actually one of the few people to welcome you to the Genius Society, and actually treat you as somewhat of an equal; more or less taking you under his wing.

° You're more than happy to work with him on the new Divergent Universe– whenever Herta doesn't need you guys— running around the simulated rooms in search of glitches, and basically beta testing the whole thing. He even lets you design a few of the occurrence portraits :D

◇◆◇◆◇

!Bonus! Dr. Veritas Ratio

-> Bruh.

-> My man is losing it.

-> How did such an IDIOT get into the genius society, but he didn't?

° Instantly, there's beef between the two of you, and you don't even know why. Walk past him, and he'll start glaring daggers. Dare to attend one of Dr. Ratio's classes and suddenly he's a lot more snippy than usual.

• It is not hard at all to see that Veritas Ratio is not exactly pleased with your position in the Genius Society. Bro is literally beefing with some random kid.

° He doesn't hate you, though; he's just frustrated about the whole situation. Give him a few weeks to cope lmao

◇◆◇◆◇

[Please consider leaving a reblog or comment, it motivates me to keep writing silly fics for you all!!]

[leighsartworks216]

In Your Silence (I Hear You)

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Requested by @ghulehh666:

"Just had this idea for so long in my head, basically astarion x tav(gn). Tav is really antisocial, never visits tavern or such, and prefers to stay somewhere quiet and alone or with Astarion. When they have to talk, their ability to speak sometimes randomly locks out and doesn’t know what to say."

I know you said antisocial but I kinda went further and made it more social anxiety or autism-coded

Also I still have not played the game or seen much gameplay so some things may be inaccurate and stuff

Warnings: going through a busy crowd, brief mention of nails digging into skin, some sensory issues (touch, sound)

Word Count: 1,287

Masterlist

AO3

You were holding on for dear life. Your arms curled tightly around Astarion’s, eyes scanning every which-a-way. Unfortunately, this was a rather common occurrence.

Before all this, you kept to yourself. Perhaps to an extreme. You avoided going outside, you didn’t speak to anyone for as long as you could help it, and you were quite happy like this. Dealing with other people was always a headache, and never near worth it, but staying alone? The only person you could be irritated with was yourself.

And then you got kidnapped. And somehow, somehow everyone chose you as the one to save the world. You couldn’t stay alone anymore. Too much was at stake. But sometimes it was all too much. Too loud, too demanding, too… everything.

Astarion didn’t know what to make of you upon first meeting. He’d assumed you were working with the damn Illithid, but when he insisted you just kept shaking your head. Truly, he’d have thought you were mute, if he’d not seen you talking with the damned creatures. Now that it’s been weeks, he knew you better than the rest. After all, it was his tent you ran to when you needed quiet, and, even more than that, it was him you trusted to find your voice when you couldn’t.

That’s how you ended up in this bustling market street, clinging to him as he smoothly guided you through swaths of people. He was used to navigating crowds. His eyes sought out slightly-more-open gaps and he’d be able to slip through with no issues. Alone, that is. With you, the strategy was a little different. Not only did he have to get himself through, but you as well. He could only imagine what the weaving pattern he took to find even-more-open gaps in the sea of people looked like from above.

The street never seemed to end. More and more people entered from either end. Stall owners barked out calls to potential customers. Everyone was shoving to get where they needed to go. Astarion was tired of it. The only reason you’d turned down here was to find one specific stall for some spices Gale wanted. He’d stopped looking for the stall long ago, leaving that task to you.

Toward the end of the street, though still quite far from any freedom, you squeezed his arm and planted your feet. He stopped immediately. Your eyes were set on one of the stalls - a table filled with handfuls of herbs, small bundles of them tied together with string. He sighed through his nose. Gale better damn well be happy for all the trouble this is.

Astarion placed a hand over yours on his arm, searching for any opening in the river of people going around you both. He could feel the anxiety radiating from you the longer it took. As soon as there was even a hint of a gap, he pulled you through.

Trying to walk through the hoard rather than with it was a nightmare. You were jostled and bumped into by everyone. Astarion wanted to switch you to his other side to act as a human shield, but doing so risked losing you to the flood. And when you finally got through, finally standing in front of the one stall you came here for, you felt it. Like a switch, your throat felt leaden. Your vocal chords were heavy. It seems preserving your voice for this moment did not help at all.

“Hi! Welcome, welcome! What can I get for you today?” the stall-keeper beckoned. Astarion had to fight to keep his eyes from rolling. All traders were always too cheery, overacting as they tried to play nice to convince you to buy more.

The vampire turned his focus to you. You still held onto his arm, but it was a little more relaxed. Your nails weren’t digging into his arm, at least. (You always apologized profusely when your voice came back, even when he brushed off your concerns of hurting him or, worse, being a nuisance.) You searched the table, eyes roaming stacks of small spices and bundles of large herbs. Astarion had no idea exactly what Gale’d asked for. He trusted you remembered.

A moment passed, and then you were pointing at a small cloth bag, round and full. The attendant lit up. “That’s our special blend! It contains all you need for any meal! Just one pinch and your mouth will thank you for it!” When they said the price, Astarion saw you retreating in on yourself. It was a lot to ask for one small sachet, though it looked like it would last several weeks if conserved properly.

Before you could even formulate an apology to Gale for his damn herbs and spices being too gods damned expensive, Astarion was pulling out his coin purse and counting out the gold. “We’ll take one.”

The attendant picked up the sachet by its drawstrings and plopped it into your hesitant hand. You squeezed his arm - you didn’t like that he was paying for it. He handed over the money, and pulled you back into the throng of people.

It wasn’t long before you were at the end of the street and being tugged along to a quiet side-road as there was no longer a need to slow down to glance at each stall. As soon as the people thinned out to a manageable level, you let go of his arm and reached for your own coin purse.

“Please, love, you don’t need to pay me back.” He covered your hand holding the purse, preventing you from opening it. “Besides, I will be more than happy to discuss repayment with the Wizard.”

You gave him a disapproving look. He just rolled his eyes.

“Was acting quickly to get you out of that mess as soon as possible not what you wanted?”

You glared harder. “Don’t twist it,” you muttered. The weight was still there, but being out of the crowd had helped enough. Though, it seemed heavier now that you have spoken… Damn.

He chuckled airily. “Hate to admit I was working outside of my own self-interests for once?” You raised a brow at him. “Well, aside from having Gale in my pocket, until he compensates me for the loss.”

You huffed and put your coin purse away, tucking the sachet away in the process. Your hand found his arm immediately after. He didn’t even react as you gripped onto the fabric of his sleeve. At first, he’d been a bit scandalized, complaining that you’d wrinkle it or pull at the embroidery. He almost… enjoyed it. The simple act of keeping each other close, relying on him to act as an anchor. It felt nice to be needed.

He noticed before you that your feet were beginning to drag. The sole of your boots scraped on the street every couple steps, not to mention how you slowed down ever so slightly. He smiled knowingly, resting his hand over yours on his arm once more. It was reminiscent of nobles strolling along, prim and proper.

“Come on, dear,” he encouraged smoothly. “Once we return I can read that mystery novel to you.”

You grabbed onto his arm with your other hand, pulling yourself closer to rest your head against him. You had a tired little smile on your face. How unfortunate such outings were so much on their leader. He’d probably get two lines in before you passed out in his mess of pillows.

“Though, it is rather obvious who the culprit is.”

You pinched his arm.

“No, my being a magistrate has nothing to do with it,” he chastised. “It’s hardly my fault I’m more observant than you, dear.”

[austensmultiverse]

The Favour

Chapter 2

pairing: bob reynolds x original character

summary: Bob Reynolds cannot control his powers. He doesn't even want to try, because what if he hurts someone. Lucky for him Bucky knows the perfect teacher for him.

Saying Bucky was nervous was an underestimate. Since he joined - was  forced to join - the New Avengers he was scared to talk to Sam and May. Together they fought many fights against people like Valentina, and now he was one of her puppets. Also Sam was probably angry at him. But who could blame him? He told Bucky about his conversation with Ross about bringing back the Avengers and Bucky took it away from him. He knows that Sam is busy with the lawsuit because he noticed that Valentina was always on the edge. He heard about her before, who hasn’t? She seemed like a collected woman. At least she isn’t forcing them into meetings or more photoshoots now. 

And May? She means so much to him, he couldn’t tell her about this whole situation. She has been through enough and doesn’t need to take care of him and his problems. He was nervous about what she thought about him. Does she still want to see me? So he didn’t call, didn’t answer the many texts, which Sam sended. Maybe it was for the best. Even after months of therapy and reassurance from both of them Bucky still felt like he didn’t deserve his new life. He- The Winter Soldier - killed many innocent people. How does he get his happy ending while their families still don’t know why their loved ones died. Of course he still keeps track of his - of the Winter Soldier’s - victims. But he doesn’t remember most of them. His brain tried to block out all of the trauma that Hydra caused. And with that most of the missions. 

So he tries to help the people who actively need his help. Whether it is a mission or simply helping someone at the grocery store, Bucky will help. And maybe that is also why he wants to help Bob.

Bob reminds him of Steve. Not the Captain America that everybody knew, but that little guy from Brooklyn who never gave up. Because Bob tries very hard not to hurt others. Since the accident in New York Bob refuses to use his powers. He won’t even try. So helps out anywhere else he can. The kitchen’s dirty? Don’t worry, Bob will clean it. There is no food in the fridge? He is already on his way. You need someone to talk to? He is there for you, with anything you need. 

While this works now, he and everybody else know that it won’t last long. If Bob could control his powers there is nothing that could stop him. Maybe the fight with Thanos would end up differently if Sentry was there. But Bob is scared that while he trains with the others he will hurt them. None of them, except Ava, have any powers. And Ava’s powers won’t help her in a fight with Sentry. 

Bucky knew there was only one person that could help him. May. When she was just a child she gained powers in an experiment. She could change her genetic code based on the other person which basically means that if there is a person with powers near her she can mimic and store them. Even if she stood next to a super soldier she could mimic their strength. Bucky knows that that’s the way May helped Wanda control her powers. 

If she agreed to this she could help Bob and they could save more people. That was the mission. Protect the innocent. But it wasn’t that easy. Bucky waited weeks before making the call. She was their last option. If she didn’t want to help them, nobody could. He didn’t even know if she wanted to talk to him. Or how pissed she was at him. But nervousness was not the only emotion he felt, he was also excited. While he didn’t talk to them he watched old photos of them on missions, playing board games, and watching movies. Sometimes he even watches old interviews of them just to hear their voices. Oh how they must hate me.

The phone rang a couple times before she picked it up. Just stay calm. He was silent for a second before he spoke. “Hey ki-May.” He cursed at himself, “How have you been?”

“Good. Why are you calling?” The sharp words from the other line were not a surprise. He expected them. 

“Listen, I know you probably don’t want to hear from me now, but I need your help” She didn’t say anything so he continued.  “We have this guy here, his name is Bob. I don’t know if you saw what happened in New York a couple weeks ago, but that was him. And I know that we haven’t talked in a while and how it is my fault, just. Eh.. fuck, we really need your help. I need your help.” Still no answer.

“So…, will you come?” 

“What?” , she sounded a little bit confused.

“Could you come back to the tower?” At first he thought she would say no. That she would yell at him and tell him to never contact them ever again. But then he could hear a sigh and “Yes, I can come.” He was instantly relieved. She was actually coming. Bucky hasn’t felt this excitement for a while. They quickly went over the details, when she would come - at first he suggested picking her up, but she declined his offer - and other things.

________________

The living room - which was connected to the kitchen - was loud as always. The first thing that Bucky heard entering it was Ava and John fighting over something. They were fighting over a movie but Bucky just ignored them. If he kept up with their every fight he would go mad. From the kitchen loud music was coming, which meant that Yelena - and maybe Alexei - was there. Yelena has lately been obsessed with backing all sorts of things. Everyone encouraged her new hobby as the results were delicious. And then on the couch there was Bob, reading a book. Bucky noticed how much Bob reads. You would never see him with the same book for over three days. He had a lot of time for it, not training, but that would soon change.

Yelena was the first one to notice Bucky walking in. “What’s up with you Buck?” she said with that thick accent of her. 

“Yeah, didn’t someone upset the great White Wolf?” Of course John also had to leave a comment. Everyone started to gather up. Then Bucky started.

“Um, so next week we will have a visitor-” “Please don’t tell me Valentina is coming”, came from Ava. Bucky continued “No, not Valentina. Mary Wilson.” The only person that reacted to that was John, who had fought her three years prior. Yelena seemed to recognise the name, which came to Bucky as a surprise. 

Suddenly Ava spoke up “Who is she supposed to be?” Before Bucky could answer John had beaten him to it. “Back then she was an Avengers, now she’s part of Wilson's team.”

“I didn’t know that Wilson had a daughter! Look Yelena, she could be your friend!” Alexei was very enthusiastic about the visitor. He wanted his Yelena to have more friends, which as an Avengers and an ex-assassin was not very easy.

Bucky sighed. “After she was rescued she took his last name. She stayed with him for two years before officially joining the Avengers. And because of her abilities she will stay here and help- ""help me with mine.” Everyone turned to Bob. He looked anxious, as if this was the worst idea he had ever heard. 

“Listen Bob, she can actually help You. She has dealt with worse, believe me. And you won’t have to be nervous about hurting her, because she can use her powers to protect herself.” 

“I’m- I’m not sure she has dealt with something as bad as me.” “Believe me Bob, she could kick her ass.” John said. He wondered how awkward it would be with her here. But if he could live with Bucky for two months, he could definitely handle being with her. That depended if she wanted to try to be civil with him. John knows how much she means to Bucky. Back then when he was Captain America he saw the bond the three had. They had been through alot together. And now nothing. It reminded him of him and his wife and son. He also hadn’t talked to them in a while. John missed them, or what he could have had if he didn’t screw it. 

“She will stay in her old room-” “Wait, she lived here?” Ava didn’t seem to know anything about her, which was understandable. There wasn’t much information about her inline except the interviews that she sometimes gave. 

“Yeah, her room is right next to Bob’s. And listen guys, I just want to say one more thing before she comes. At first she will probably not want to talk to any of you. She has a lot of good and bad memories from this place. Don’t take this personally. She will warm up to you after a while.”

“Buck, you do not have to worry. We of all people know how bad it can be.” Yelena reassured him and everyone nodded. Bucky knew he could count on them but he was still nervous. He hasn’t seen her in a while and he hoped that this was not their final goodbye.

[toskarin]

hey rin, a friend of mine enjoys composing music digitally and has a lot of respect for you as someone with more experience with that sort of thing. he has a hard time convincing the people around him to listen to the things he makes, in both the "finding an audience" way and "getting the people around him to give him their opinion on something he's working on way," and he wanted me to ask you if you could speak on your own experiences with those problems and how you've dealt with them. less related, he was also curious about your inspirations for the music that you make. i know this is a lot to cover, so if it would be easier for you to speak with him directly then please let me know

so I'll open by saying that, as far as people who can give good advice on this go, I'm probably not one of those. a lot of what I do only works because of some specific problems with my brain that are oddly adaptive to this sort of thing

that being said, this is a bit of the "tough love" kind of advice for surviving as an artist, so I'll make a second reblog for the second half of the question

this is either advice that will work or a ramble that will lead your friend to making his life unbearable, so look before you leap

-

The Easy Section, or "You've Gotta Be a Bit of a Tradie"

let's go over the business stuff quickly before I start rambling at length about the boring stuff

learn to love the work itself. "find a job you enjoy and you'll never work a day in your life" is garbage, but creative work really is the one area where you should double down on this. kick back and bump your own album on release day, thinking about how every second of it is something that didn't exist before you put it together. this is what's gonna keep you above water when the wind is dead

get on bandcamp. there is nowhere better for small musicians right now. bandcamp is basically the last remaining website with an effective suggestion algorithm that caters to people who want to actively engage with music and buy it

consider getting on instagram. in the majority of places you're likely to live if you're reading this, the local music scene is on instagram. probably don't use your personal instagram for this

consider getting on soundcloud. you won't make sales through soundcloud, because it's a streaming-focused site (more on that in a moment) with a focus on passive listening, but it's pretty decent for networking, especially with digital music production. soundcloud is linkedin for deadbeats

stay off spotify. streaming generally isn't worth the trouble these days unless you're playing concerts or are otherwise already established. if you aren't uttering the words "you can find me on..." more than once a month, it's probably not worth pursuing a spotify presence to end that sentence with

self-promote. if you have platforms, use them. find the subreddit for your genre and post yourself on the self-promo day. consider posting some bandcamp album codes when you do this, not just so you can get word of mouth, but because someone having an album in their collection means you effectively have a permanent zero-cost advertisement for your music which will only show itself to people who are verifiably looking at something similar. companies pay dizzying sums for ads that couldn't dream of being this targetted. this is a big reason why bandcamp is THE place to be for small musicians

cross-promote and collab. work with your friends. if you don't have musician friends, go make some and then help each other out. "independent" music is a misnomer

blind yourself to the metrics. do not look at engagement metrics. pay them no mind at all. don't look at them unless you're trying to see how effective a specific, deliberate course of action was and already know what you want to find

remember that strangers are unknowable. people do things for arbitrary reasons. if you don't have someone giving you written feedback, don't make any assumptions at all about why they did something. skipped tracks and minimum-price pwyws mean nothing at all

present your stuff in a way that gives it context. why should someone care about your stuff? give them a reason. carve out an hour to really work on a nice album cover, go the extra mile and include track-by-track narrative with your dungeon synth album, or just describe what you're expecting people to buy. I firmly believe that NOMAD/VIRTUE was successful in large part because of its presentation

gimmick. gimmick gimmick gimmick. discount codes are more fun than automatic discounts, free album codes are more fun than free albums, contests are more fun than giveaways, so on so forth. lacking any physical goodies to bundle in, you should still endeavour to give people Something To Do that makes them feel like they're really engaging with your music

zero expectations, zero overhead. do not rely on the whims of complete strangers to justify whether or not you end up in the red. if you ever find yourself saying something like "I can afford to pay for a session musician because I'll just make it back" you can't afford to pay for a session musician. you're probably never getting bailed out if you eat a loss, so try not to put yourself in a situation where you can eat a loss to begin with

someone else's expectations, someone else's overhead. if someone else is paying you to make this music for a soundtrack or something, if (and ONLY if) you have the money in your hand and know you have it, you're no longer gambling. at this point, you can start to look at expenses as investment

now onto the less fun stuff. here's where I ramble for like an hour at you.

-

if there's one thing I've really had hammered in over my decade-odd as a somewhat commercial artist (in all the disciplines I've worked with, which is most of them), it's that you have to be a bit of a bitch about it sometimes

that nagging fear in the back of your head that you're annoying? it's stopping you from doing what you need to do: annoy people

with that being said, this next section is kind of...

The Rough Section, or "You've Gotta Be a Little Hard-headed"

at the end of the day, you'll often find that you are your only advocate, and that means you kinda have to get your foot slammed in a few doors if that means holding them open. this also unfortunately means that you've gotta convince yourself you're pretty good. you don't have to think you're great, but confidence is a trade skill

the last opinion people see before the first time consciously engaging with your work (which here means "the thing that primes them for how they feel about it") is yours

which brings us to the first uncomfy rule

absolutely no cutting yourself down before anyone else even gets a swing

you can be modest if you want (you don't have to), but you absolutely cannot prime people to see the flaws in your work. if 50% of people are discerning enough to notice a flaw, why make that number 100%? what do you gain from that?

if something isn't as finished as you'd have liked it to be, but you've pushed it out the door anyway (which you will sometimes have to do), you absolutely cannot prime people to consider it unfinished

if the thing is still being worked on, there's nothing wrong with being forthcoming about that, but the fastest way to make someone think of something as "inferior product" when they otherwise would never have reached that conclusion is by telling them it is

and that, of course, leads us into a bit of an inversion of the previous rule

absolutely do not take the majority of your validation from strangers

doing this is bad for a million reasons, but I see the worst of this in visual arts, where artists double down on what gets them the most engagements and lay themselves at the mercy of complete strangers who have no actual investment in them

of course, it's normal to desire validation and approval from people you respect, but if you put yourself in a position where it's possible to enter a negative feedback loop that crystallises into you no longer making art from the default response of neutral apathy from strangers, it's not a matter of when: it's going to happen to you one day

so what's the move here? spend 8 years making music you don't release like you're in a compressed time chamber? probably not. I did it that way, but I didn't get much out of it, so you probably won't either

the actual answer is that you've gotta network. you need an inner circle. you need people with shared interests so that you can gas each other's stuff up

just like everyone else, you need your friends

you need to have friends who care about you, about what you're doing, and you need to care about them and what they're doing

this is because, while self-confidence is important...

the majority of your external validation as an artist should come from your friends and peers, not strangers

it's important to have artist friends, because then you can encourage each other in ways that are personally meaningful, but having your friends behind you, whether or not they're musicians, is so incredibly important

if you're motivated exclusively by success, however you're choosing to measure that, what you're actually doing is forming a nightmarish parasocial relationship with the concept of a crowd. not even a real crowd! a fictional group that materialises when you've created "the conditions for success"

there is no such thing as a truly independent artist. if your understanding of artistic success requires competition against others, you're going to lose that competition and then explode (unfortunately common)

finding your audience as an artist (and mind you, art is a social field) is very much a process of networking, but it feels gross to say it that way, so I'll just leave that at "if you want to be known by others, you need to be willing to know others"

anyway, this doesn't really terminate in a complete sentiment. I was just transcribing a train of though

if I were to boil this down to a shorter, snappier answer that I could read comfortably read out, it'd be...

TL;DR

the process of finding an audience is so much less about actually finding one than it is about learning to create happily whether or not you have an audience. developing an audience is the largely incidental byproduct of long-term creative efforts coupled with self-advocacy and interpersonal networking

if you want to be found by a scene, you have to participate in a scene, and if you want to participate in a scene, you need to be in the scene. so on so forth

as stupid as it might sound when I put it into words, the truth is that you can't build any kind of audience in isolation. someone has to find you somehow, and it's a lot easier to be found if you're actually somewhere that people might look

[calangolengo]

I haven't been able to stop thinking about your mute Stan headcanons and I started thinking about what would've happened if Stan lost his voice sooner, like in childhood instead of out on the road. Maybe he was in an accident or nearly died drowning or something and the incident made him stop talking around the age of 12. Just thinking about how upset Ford would be that his brother doesn't talk anymore but being determined to help him, and the two of them learning different ways to communicate, with ASL and Morse code, and Ford basically having to become Stan's translator when they're at school. I also think it would make Filbrick a little softer on Stan, if the accident was horrific enough.

Wow, this is great I love it!! At first I was thinking Stan was nonverbal most of his life since birth, but this is gold! A rare opportunity for Filbrick, personally I have a hard time writing him as anything other than the big bad lurking in the minds of his children, I think the fandom in general internalizes his actions too much by placing the weight of their own experiences on this figure, which makes it very difficult to see him beyond what they already decided he would be, but I think your vision is very interesting to be explored.

______________________________________________________________

Maybe Filbrick was taking a moment during the summer, the store closed for reasons beyond his control that forced him to not work that day. He ends up going for a quick walk on the beach and the twins follow him like a family outing eager to show their father their boat. Stan would obviously be the most excited and vocal one running back and forth while Ford would be walking in front of his father facing him talking non-stop but in a more normal tone.

Filbrick would be distracted looking at the sea while Stan would be imitating a plane circling around him and then, for a moment, a sharp turn of the child going off the sidewalk and a motorcycle would collide with him not too sharply but enough to throw his small body further forward and twist one of his arms at a completely unnatural angle.

From Stan's perspective he would be scared as hell, any child would be, screaming and crying and trying to get up and seek safety by his father's side, but Filbrick would be busy arguing with the owner of the motorcycle, the two of them yelling at each other almost becoming physical, the whole situation scaring the boy more, Ford coming to his side also in tears trying to help Stan in some way but being mostly useless and not able to calm him down.

At some point Stan could see his father approaching, his eyes hidden behind his glasses holding him by the shoulders and saying something, but with the crying and the screams and the pain he wasn't really listening until his father started yelling at him to shut up and be quiet and stop crying, his father's screams getting louder over his own, the whole situation escalating to the point where a small crowd was gathering. Then he becomes unable to make a sound when Filbrick puts his hand over his mouth, permanently shutting him up and carrying his body back home to get the car and take him to the doctor, his mother driving while his brother is left at home and Filbrick's hand still covering his mouth the whole way.

By the time they get to the hospital, when the doctor puts him on a stretcher and he is finally released from his father's hands, he is not making any sound, just the softest whimpers as the doctor gives him anesthesia and he is intubated.

After he wakes up, a cast on his arm and his mother and brother by his bedside smiling at him, his father in the store that is already open, all Stan can remember of the whole event is the screams and the hand preventing him from speaking. Going home with some painkillers, he stays quiet in bed for the first few days, barely making a sound. Ford with all his little heart tries to start any conversation, about monsters, comics, the boat, but nothing seems to cheer up his little brother.

The weeks pass and Stan stays at home because despite being physically recovering well he seems unable to whisper more than a few words, the doctor attributes this to the trauma of the situation and suggests that the family encourage him to talk more.

His mother keeps him at home for the rest of the summer, calling him to help her with her work on the phone, but this doesn't seem to have any effect, Ford tries to persuade him to talk about boats, about their life when they travel the world, about the new comics they could read and although Stan seems very interested he can't get more than a few sounds out of him. Filbrick calls him to work at the store one day, letting him stay in his usual position at first in front of the main display window where Stan used to make up silly stories to convince some customer, but the moment the third person leaves the store without buying anything and without getting any useful information about prices or discounts from the boy he is permanently moved to the cashier, Ford goes along trying to help his brother by supporting him where he can't act, but after he gives the wrong change once he is transferred to a stool in the corner of the cashier just watching his father work.

At one point Filbrick throws the question at Stan, wanting to know why he wasn't talking, why he was acting so strange, why he couldn't be normal. It's not meant to be a mean question, he just doesn't know how to connect with his son, understand his reasons, he was so desperate when the accident happened, the mere thought of one of his children getting hurt when he was around was incapable of protecting someone who should always be protected when he was around, he just wanted the boy to calm down, to go back to the way he was before the accident, for all that pressure to go away. Stan was always such a hard child to read, while he was open to any kind of conversation he didn't really say anything of importance, always running around and screaming and being so hard to control, Filbrick just wanted to understand what was going on, he wanted to fix what was wrong, but how could he reach out to someone so different from himself, he loved his children, he would even die for them, but it was so hard to enjoy being around them, it was hard to feel like being with them. He wanted them safe, but he also wanted them out of his mind, out of his home, taking his childhood problems with them. The guilt that gnawed at the edges of his mind was chased away only by the voice of his innermost desire: he could not be blamed for not loving his children; he had given them his food, his home, and his time. What more would it take for him to give?

Stan eventually had to go back to school, while his quietness was appreciated by his teachers the lack of answers to questions in class was not. Ford was frustrated but he was adapting, the Bros' codes and Morse code being used more than ever both in class and on the street, he became Stan's voice to the world. Stan was still the muscle of the team, fending off any idiot who came at them, at some point Ford found a book on ASL in the school library and took it home, by the arrival of adolescence and its end Ford and Stan had become fluent in sign language and had even created their own signs.

Then the science fair happened and it was pretty much the same thing, except Stan didn't have any words to really defend himself, signing didn't doing any good if the person his were talking to wasn't really paying attention to them.

Filbrick was so pissed, Stan could be silent now but it was still a problem with low grades and a ridiculous attitude of going out and fighting with other kids, when he threw Stan out the door he grabbed the first kid's bag that was lying nearby, the one he used to box.

It should just be a few days of sleeping in the car, he told his wife, it would teach him, it would give him a greater sense of gratitude for his father's efforts and to think of the excuses he would give to his brother, he would look for the boy by the end of the week.

But life is funny in the cruelest ways sometimes, like when you go to the police station to explain that your son is missing and have to explain to the chief that you kicked him out of the house just to teach him a lesson but the local authority figure doesn't seem to agree with the effectiveness of your methods, nor does seem particularly interested in solving any of your problems.

By the end of the month Filbrick had spent more on gas than on his own cigars, visited more tourist spots in the city than any tourist and seen more tears fall from his wife's eyes than any husband has seen in the history of mankind, he thinks, but the boy seemed to have disappeared from the world, swallowed up by the road fulfilling an old dream of his father, disappearing and taking with him his childhood problems for better or worse.

______________________________________________________________

Filbrick is weiFilbrick is weird to write, yikes. I wrote this here that was supposed to be one of the first versions of the story, I really liked your idea, I hope you write it too, it will be cool to see this AU growing.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Lighthouse

Author's note: I'm going to be trying to do Mermay 2025.

Summary: You are a lighthouse keeper and you get an unexpected visitor. It's a welcome one. You have been out here for your shift by yourself for so long.

Warnings: None. LMK if I need to add something

tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @i-am-a-dragon34 @ms--lobotomy @jaghatai-khock

tagged: @kit-williams @whorety-k @aprofessionaln00b @bleedingichorhearts @thevoidscreams @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets @finchly-tintinnabulation @nereidof40k

You are someone who works at a lighthouse- while such a job isn't as important now, with the modern age and the technology that is making traveling the seas much less dangerous- they are still in use, partly due to Tradition, and partly because not every sea capable vessel has all of the fancy technology.

A lighthouse is a structure, usually with a tower, built onshore or on the seabed to serve as an aid to maritime coastal navigation. This sort of building is used as a warning mariners of hazards, establishing their position, and guiding them to their destinations.

Your lighthouse- well you don't own it, but you have been working in and around it and the little island that its on by yourself for a few weeks, so it feels like home. Is of the normal tower design. With white walls trimmed in blue. You scratch one of your cheeks, yawning. The hours of a Lighthouse keeper are strange. Your job to make sure that the lights stay on and to warn passing ships.

From the sea a lighthouse may be identified by the distinctive shape or color of its structure, by the color or flash pattern of its light, or by the coded pattern of its radio signal. The development of electronic navigation systems has had a great effect on the role of lighthouses.

The chatter you get from the sailors- is a wonderful break in the doldrums that is the walk up all the steps. Check the lights- change them as needed. Keep the glass clean and bright. Check for passing ships. Listen the radios. Walk back down. Cook food, clean up, do other basic living tasks.

Powerful lights are becoming superfluous, especially for landfall, but there has been a significant increase in minor lights and lighted buoys, which are still necessary to guide the navigator through busy and often tortuous coastal waters and harbor approaches.

You also check the smaller lighted buoys that are out at sea- making sure that they are in good condition and repair. This hadn't been a career that you thought you would do. You were often given warnings in advance, when tourists would be coming to your lighthouse. You know the history of your light house- and are proud of it as you tell the people that listen and follow up and up and up the winding stairs as you tell them the stories of this place.

Among mariners there is still a natural preference for the reassurance of visual navigation, and lighted marks also have the advantages of simplicity, reliability, and low cost. In addition, they can be used by vessels with no special equipment on board, providing the ultimate backup against the failure of more sophisticated systems.

You had finished your normal informative talks about the light houses and why they are still needed and should get funding and care. They head back out to the island. They brought food with them and the little island is kind of picturesque as the water rages around down below.

You talk to them and eat with them. And nod towards the captain of the ship that does regular runs around this area, "Stay safe Captain!"

"You as well." They say with a nod- and all too soon, and yet not soon enough the party off to another one of the little islands.

You heave a sigh and clean up the various leftovers and are head back into your lighthouse when you hear a voice call out- you are startled, since you hadn't thought there was anyone left. You mentally swear as you need to find who it is and then call the Captain- you knew that said Captain was almost always careful to make sure not to leave anyone behind.

You blink in surprise to see a mer-astartes. They were the one to call out, "I was nearby- when I heard your lectures on lighthouses." They say, "And such a fascinating and clever concept!"

"Uh. Yeah they are a pretty good thing to have," You say eyeing the mer-astartes. "Who are you?"

"Oh- I go by Eryn." They say with a nod.

[connor-123-idk]

I think dream Riddle is alt (maybe grouge but as far as I understand it's more of a thrifting and making use of things or also a bit rudely described "trashy" imo his clothes seems like almost brand new clothes)

Definitely with the choker alt but almost like 2020/21/23 alt I can definitely see all (except the coat) of those clothes being sold in stores because of what was popular with teens and young adults

I dont think so.

The word Alt is straight up just Alternative, which can be just umbrella term for multiple outfit styles

2020 Alt according to definition: ,,is a culmination of trends that became popular during quarantine. Initially popularized on TikTok, it later spread to platforms like Pinterest and Discord. Key influences include anime, hyperpop music, energy drinks, gaming, and online culture, blending elements from goth, scene, Y2K, Glitchcore and other digital subcultures." (Aesthetic Fandom Wiki)

The more I look at Riddle, the more I dont see it

2021 Alt is basically the same, from what I see

And I couldnt find anything about 2023 Alt, so I dunno if its a niche of the internet I havent seen yet or a completly new term

As I said Alt (Alternative) is an umbrella term for most alternative styles in which we can count emo, scene, goth (those are examples btw)

In my very honest opinion Dream Riddle is Visual Key, in this essey I will prove it

First of, lets check some Visual Kei windows

Eccentric make up? Checked

Breaking gender norms? He does look feminine... Checked!

Eccentric hairstyle? Thats also checked

Vkei was a movement between Japanese musical artists, which would agree with most of stuff. TWST is like a Japanese game, so it's more probable for them to make a Japanese clothing. Riddle in dream is part of the musical band, which if we want it or not, makes him a music artist (in one way or another)

Vkei is about expressing oneself through clothes and songs, and about breaking gender norms, which I think fits

Now... Why I dont think he's a punk, because I also wanted to include that...

Many people are comparing Punk to Goth, since its not really about the style of dressing itself, but about music and political views, which for Punk its more the second

,,But why Ace calls Riddle ,,punky""

First of: Do we really trust ACE with fashion?

Second of: Punk is often use as a derogatory term: ,,Initially, the term punk meant “prostitute”, but over time became to mean: young male hustler, hoodlum, ruffian" (Dictionary)

As much as there is NO exact code of how Punks dress, majority of them agree on some things, like DIY fashion. They dont support big corporations, and they do their clothes, or buy them from small business, and by small business I mean one person does handmade clothing and sells that online or in street

The point of punk clothing was ATTENTION (especially in 70). Their whole point was fighting for equality in system, and they were doing this by clothes, music and other things. Punk clothes back in 70' and 80' had lots of controversial accesories which was fashion way of yelling ,,IM FUCKING HERE AND I DONT LIKE THIS WORLD"

And thats amazing

Punks viewpoints are mostly: individual liberty, anti-authoritarianism, a DIY ethic (which I mentioned earlier), non-conformity, anti-corporatism, anti-government, direct action, and not "selling out". There are different types of punks, sure - some of them believe in anarchy, and some in white supremacy (which is bad)

But the idea stays the same

I know Disney can get really political about some stuff, but this time I dont think thats the case

Dream Riddle is more about self expression and personal freedom, and sure it checks some punk windows, but so many different styles

(Also dont get me wrong, but those clothes look expensive as FU-)

What Im trying to say, Dream Riddle is not punk and you will not tell me he is, my best guess is Vkei, but this is the closest thing I got

Normally I dont get into discussions like that, but someone had to say that

Please tell me if I got something wrong

[gin-stan]

MoonKnight Headcanons *Modern AU*

Lets get the obvious out the way.

Disclaimer: This is written as if they had separate bodies, so triplets I suppose.

Steven

Steven would major in Egyptology and Archeology.

I can see him traveling the world studying ancient wonders but specializing in the Egyptian ones.

He graduates with a double major; travels around the world, eventually making notable discoveries and finds. And retires as a professor.

Unlike his brothers, he chooses to stay a little more grounded. He may be the only person alive who likes busy work; grading papers, and all that.

Something about "peeking into the brilliant minds of today's youths."

It's fascinating to him and brings back memories of his time as a student.

He tends to be bit disappointed, though... his students are a creative bunch, but their grammer and spelling give him a headache. The ideas are there, but the execution is flimsy at best. But nothing that can't be fine-tuned and workshopped!

He becomes a tenured professor, and many of his colleagues come to him for advice on how to motivate their own students. He almost cried (he did cry) when the staff came together and celebrated his birthday. Gave him a vegan cake and everything.

Students even threw him a little suprise party.

They decorated his classroom and everything. He was so moved his gave them extra credit (they were hoping for a free exam grade, but they still love him).

ヽ(；▽；)ノ

Marc

Majors in Archeology or becomes a firefighter. I can't really see him being a police officer, but I do think he'd want to go into a field where he helps people.

The chief of the station practically takes Marc under his wing because he sees himself in Marc. Basically, he becomes a father figure to him and teaches him not to be so self sacrificial and hot-headed.

Marc continues being on field duty until he's forced to retire by his team due to old age. Or they force him to take a desk job, which he absolutely hates.

He becomes chief of the station by the end of his career thought. (Previous fire chief long passed/retired).

He's very respected and loved by the members of his station despite how thick headed and stubborn he can be. He's tough but fair, just like his previous mentor.

Jake

Jake is just as smart as Marc and Steven are, just in a different way. He applies himself and graduates college with a double major in mechanical and electrical engineering.

(This one is a bit up in the air in what he'd do after, but I really think he'd get a degree if he could).

Or he'd major in law and business!

He'd become a private investigator and help the little guys who can't afford a big-time lawyer. (He directs them to his friend Matthew Murdock and his buddy Nelson).

And he investigates shady business practices even if it means doing it in not so legal ways. Such as "dealing" with Slumlords price gouging the rent or not having the building up to code.

Jake has had many run-ins with the law before, so he knows people, and those people know people.

That's why he studied the law, memorized it, just so he could break it (within reason) and beat those greedy big timers at their own game.

And well, next thing you know, the building was having repairs done, and the rent was down to an affordable price. And no one (except the client) is any the wiser.

Other jobs include:

If he's running low on cash (or wants some drama), he'd catch cheating spouses.

He'll even take missing persons reports; ones the police gave up on and said, "were lost causes." He has eyes and ears out on the streets, just for the occasion.

For better or for worse, his success rate is above 50%.

Much to his dismay.

It gets to him sometimes, but he's lucky he has Marc and Steven to bring him out of the deep end.

[averagespaceman]

jon sims headcanons +appearance timeline!

SPOILERS FOR ALL SEASONS OF TMA after the cut‼️

to start here is the timeline image (if you’ve seen it before no you haven’t)

now for the meat n potatoes!

(1-3 are all hair-timeline related)

1. i headcanon jon as having decently short hair at first just to be professional or whatever even though he prefers it longer (alternative mf), then season two hits and he just kinda forgets about it cause he’s too busy being paranoid and stalking his coworkers. he remembers again after the [brutal pipe murder], but just kinda decides short hair is not worth the upkeep and buys a pack of hair ties that he then keeps on his person throughout the rest of the show, and ends up with this beautiful mess that floats when he uses his powers. maybe he has martin help him with it in various ways just to have an excuse for a domestic moment during the eyepocalypse, who knows (i do because i say so and i like drawing men with long hair)

2. he has an almost-curly wave pattern that tends to frizz easily but is not that hard to handle when he actually takes care of it. totally not projecting definitely not why would i do that? georgie was the one to show him the magic of curl products and from then on you could never catch him without at least four different ones in his bathroom, even after he cuts his hair for work. he wishes he liked masculine woodsy type scents for his hair products, but he does not. he prefers the fruity bath and body works type stuff. at first he never lets people get close enough to him to learn this, and even if he did start warming up to people enough to let them get close, they wouldn’t have anyway in s2 because he’s a paranoid lil bitch boy. martin begins to associate those scents with jon later on but doesn’t realize why until they get to the safehouse and he sees all of jon’s hair products and immediately understands.

3. jon greys a lot over the course of the series. he goes through a lot of stress so obviously this would make sense, but since he was marked by the web so early on i think that would have happened whether or not he’d been chosen as the archivist (yknow cause white hairs are kinda similar to webs? idk it makes sense to my brain parasites). also it makes him look older than he is, which he appreciates at first because it helps with his stuffy academic persona

4. he has kinda the same feeling about shaving throughout the show as he does with haircuts, as in at first he tries to stay clean-shaven for professionalism, but eventually he gets to a point where he only shaves when his facial hair starts being inconvenient and/or bothering him sensory-wise because he’s autistic (we’ll get to that later)

5. as soon as he learns that his job entails monster encounters and almost dying regularly, he basically says fuck you to the dress code and starts wearing skirts and jewelry and all that fun stuff because he likes it, and if he gets fired then it might be worth it to get out of there. he’s wearing a skirt in the s2 image because i say so. sweater vest + long pleated skirt combo jon yes please (i will be drawing this soon, trust)

6. as alternative as he is, he never got any more piercings than the four on his lobes because at the end of the day he was still an academic and wanted to pursue research, and knew that that kind of thing pushed the boundaries of that image a little too far. he regrets this later but doesn’t think too much of it since his priorities are placed… elsewhere

7. at some point during s2, elias/jonah notices his lack of care about the dress code and decides to gift him the eye earrings that i gave him in that image. obviously he has ulterior motives but jon doesn’t know that and thinks they’re cool so he wears them regularly. he’s also given a glasses chain with eye charms on it, but he forgets to wear it most of the time since he can barely see without his glasses anyways so he has no need for it

8. obviously he can’t go back to his house in s3, so he has to borrow a lot of what the ghost? merch from georgie. he is still a skeptic about the ghost hunting genre despite everything he knows now, but he still wears it because he doesn’t have any other option and wants to support his friend. he’s a very sweet guy at heart but just doesn’t want to admit it most of the time because it’d conflict with his stuffy academic image

9. it’s fairly common to see people draw him as not needing his glasses anymore after his avatar transformation, as well as his eye color changing, and i fuckin love it gimme more of that please. i also saw someone say that all the eyes are green because jonah has green eyes but after jon becomes the pupil all the eyes turn brown, but idk how to feel about that one since the whole show is just green atp and it would be weird to change that

10. in s5, he has eyes all over his body and they usually don’t close unless they’re about to get poked or touched. when he uses his power, the sclera turn black and the irises glow. he also has the funny glowing eye halo but it’s not tangible so it’s not too big of a deal for him. also, fun fact: i never draw eyes with pupils. it’s just not a part of my style. i only threw them in here because he can literally see everything, especially in his glitched-out finale form. it’s meant to seem like he’s looking at you because he is. the archive can s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ he is w̦̺̐̐͟ā̤̓̍͘t̂��̲ͩ̑c͕͗ͤ̕̕ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ĝ̽̓̀͑

11. literally everyone thinks this man is beautiful. he is so pretty and even people who aren’t attracted to men can see that. however, most are dissuaded by the stuffy academic persona at first and the “you look like hell” vibes later, as well as his generally standoffish personality. this does not apply to martin, who sees all of those traits as 100% his type, or elias/jonah, who has a religious sort of reverence toward jon as his perfect archivist (this was touched upon by alex during the magnus fanfic-reading video and i’ve loved the idea ever since). jon does not like this but he’s also unaware of it for most of the show so it’s not too big a deal for him

12. i only just learned who dev patel is from people fancasting him as jon, but i looked him up and yes i approve of the fancast. i also drew these before i looked him up so i think i accidentally drew dev patel a few times (also as a white person i can’t say much about his race and how it would play into his character but whenever i see art of him that doesn’t portray him as a poc i just go “why is he white” so i’m just gonna go along with the majority of the fandom’s interpretation of him being south asian)

13. he is very small. not too short, per se, but small, like a tall skinny person was scaled down in photoshop. he’s about 5’7, and at first he wears shoe lifts to hide this, but eventually just decides to wear platforms and heels like he did in college, and sometimes just forgoes them entirely because he’s stopped caring. martin likes to pick him up and carry him around the safehouse (and in places where he’s cut off from the eye) and he enjoys it.

now for some non-appearance related ones that have been chewing on my brain along with the parasites

14. WE’RE FINALLY GETTING TO IT‼️ he’s 100% autistic (i’m autistic and i hit him with the tism ray). him responding to “have you seen a dog?” with “in general, or…?” is so autism-coded it’s not even funny. he doesn’t have too many sensory issues but he hates tight pants and ties and things like that. he also hates the feeling of air on his skin most of the time so he always wears long sleeves if he can help it. for the first few days after he realizes he doesn’t need his glasses, he keeps wearing them anyway because he’s so used to them. he doesn’t melt down but he does shut down sometimes, though he does lose the ability to go nonverbal after his transformation and that fucks with him a lot. martin is a big help with this in s5 because he’ll just be quiet, not provoking the eye to give or collect information at all.

15. he was definitely in the mechanisms in college. i don’t know too much about their lore yet since i’ve only listened to the first two albums (ulysses dies at dawn is a fucking masterpiece), but picturing a young version of this jon as jonny d’ville is absolutely wonderful

16. he definitely liked martin in the early seasons but he didn’t fully realize it until later. i think his bullying was a result of him having the feelings and not quite knowing what those feelings were because he’s autistic. my biggest point of evidence for jon not truly disliking martin is that when they were trapped while hiding from jane prentiss, jon straight up thinks that he’s hallucinating martin being there because his presence is comforting.

17. he is CANONICALLY ASEXUAL AND FUCKING PROUD. him being ace makes me so happy as an ace person myself, especially since he’s in an mlm relationship with someone who’s (assumedly) not ace but is not expecting anything out of him, just like myself. i feel incredibly seen by the whole magnus team just for that but this is a headcanon post so i won’t get into all that. he is very much a romantic and was incredibly touch-starved post-georgie and pre-martin, so he’s happy to be physically close and intimate as long as it doesn’t go any further than that. he loves big hugs and kisses and cuddles from his boyfriend and that’s fucking wonderful!! okay moving on from the projection

18. for his whole life, his favorite color was blue, specifically that of the sky or similar lighter shades like periwinkle and cyan and those such as. they’re peaceful, and he looks good wearing them. but after his coma, he realizes just how much he likes green, and starts wearing it a lot more… he doesn’t realize that it’s not his own brain producing that thought.

19. he does not look like the type to like rock and metal, but he does. he loves how complicated in structure metal can be, especially when it utilizes more melodic aspects as well. if he could have heard take me back to eden by sleep token (well, most of it—there are some flops on there), he would have loved it. he also loves classical pieces for that same reason, but the heavy stuff is super appealing to him on its own. he sometimes listens to prog and math rock as well, just to follow along with the time signatures and long runtimes projecting again maybe but it kinda makes sense so i’m putting it out there

20. he was never as much of a media nerd as he was an academics nerd, but he loves long speculative book series like a song of ice and fire, red rising, and the stormlight archive. intricate worldbuilding gets him every time, and he’ll throw himself into it completely, as is canon. he tried playing dungeons and dragons once, but the amount of pre-existing rules bothered him since he couldn’t do everything he wanted to with his character. star wars also bothers him because there’s so many inconsistencies in the lore. but, it did inspire him to write his own space opera lore for his band.

jesus christ that’s more writing than i’ve done for any of my novels in months yippee i’m dying over here

anyways that’s all i’ve got for now, i hope to incorporate this stuff into my art from here on out but hey maybe i’ll hyperfixate on something else soon and never draw mr. jarchivist again! has happened before could happen again folks

to finish off here’s my proper art of him again cause i feel like adding it!

c ya later 👁️