#but this is about the customers that refuse to listen and won't take no for an answer

[feyascorner]

Postgame!Spawn!Astarion…

Postgame!Astarion who outright tosses out all the letters from across Faerun requesting the great hero of Baldur’s Gate for their own problems. Any letters addressed with anything other than your name is immediately chucked into a trash bin sitting idly by the front door just for that purpose. You’ve given up on telling him it’s okay—that you're alright with helping out once in a while. But he’s adamant, fussing as he refuses to allow you to drag yourself back into another insufferably long adventure when you deserve to rest. He drags you away from the bin back to your shared bed that he finds awfully comfortable.

Postgame!Astarion who takes up a lot of hobbies with his newfound freedom from his master—some of which escalate into full blown businesses. His hobby of perfuming, for one, alongside his skills in sewing. He only makes things for you in the beginning, but when other ladies begin to take notice of your alluring scent and beautiful garments of clothing, they rush to ask you of its source. But since he can't stand out in broad daylight, you take down note of everyone’s measurements and act as the middle man. He never actually meets his customers, but he likes to give each of them personalities in his head based on what they want. They're scary accurate.

Postgame!Astarion who still sleeps with his dagger close by. He doesn't need it to be under his pillow as it used to be, but he keeps it in the drawer beside his bed. He knows he has no use for it anymore, but knowing he has some form of defense lets him sleep a little lighter.

Postgame!Astarion who practically clings to you on mornings you have to leave for daylight, hoping you'll give up on whatever plans you had and just come back to bed. You do listen more often than you'd like to admit. But on days when you manage to pry him off your waist, he's extremely dramatic about it. When you return home, he has a frown on his face, arms crossed and perched on the couch like a mother waiting for her teenage daughter to return from a late night party. He huffs for a couple minutes as you change into something more comfortable. But when you kiss his forehead, asking if he wants to go out on a walk, he’s all grins and smugness again.

Postgame!Astarion who never falls asleep before you, opting to watch your breathing instead since it's not like he needs to sleep anyway. He confirms you're here. He confirms you're real. He confirms he’s not dreaming, and that he won't snap awake in a few moments to the cell in Cazador’s palace.

Postgame!Astarion who adopts/cares for the cat you bring home one day. He says he hates the damn thing, but you can tell they're the closest of friends just a few months in. He makes his newfound friend a fresh wardrobe to match his own. When you question him about it, he gets flustered and scoffs, spitting out nothing but hatred for the cat but having them sit on his lap.

Postgame!Astarion who worries. He worries that you'll be taken away from him. He worries his past will come bite him in the ass and take the payment for his crimes in the form of his very lover. He knows you'll die, while he continues to traverse the realms as a faceless entity. But he doesn't even want to think about that right now. He's more concerned you won't have as much time as possible at his side. When will you leave? When will you tire of him? When will the universe decide he no longer deserves you—or maybe he never deserved you in the first place. Does it even matter? Maybe—maybe this was all just temporary, and—

He feels you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. And here, he decides he doesn't want to spend the time he does have with you worrying over something that hasn't happened. That's a bridge to be crossed some other time. And by then, he's sure he’ll do anything to keep what remains of the sun in his life.

[steddieas-shegoes]

read my lips

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is staring at his lips when he talks'

rated m | 1,799 words | cw: suggestive language, implied sexual content | tags: mutual pining, getting together, first kiss, platonic stobin

👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄👄

"Steve? Earth to Steve." Robin waved her hand in front of his face, successfully pulling him out of the daydream he'd been in for who knows how long. "He walked away nearly two minutes ago. You gotta get your shit together, man."

Steve looked around, trying to find where Eddie went. He'd been talking to them both about a show his band was invited to perform in a few towns over in a couple weeks. Steve was listening to him go on about trying to buy a set of special edition picks at the record shop they'd be performing in when he got distracted by the way Eddie's lips kept smirking around his words.

The scarring along his cheek made his smile more crooked than it was before the bats, and Steve couldn't stop staring.

Not for the reasons strangers on the street would, not even in the way that Dustin or Wayne sometimes looked at him, like they were still upset at the way the world turned against Eddie.

No, this was entirely because every time Steve started to watch Eddie talk, he got distracted thinking about those lips on his. This time it was way less work appropriate.

He turned to Robin and groaned.

"God, this is bad."

"You don't say." Robin set a stack of tapes on the counter next to Steve. "All these still need to be checked in. Then you can go get distracted by thoughts of Eddie's lips on your neck or whatever."

"If only it had been my neck," Steve mumbled as Robin started humming loud enough to drown him out.

"Stevie, you work too hard," Eddie's voice said from right behind him only a minute later. "You should take a break."

"I just had my lunch 30 minutes ago. I can't take another break," Steve refused to make eye contact, refused to get captured by that sinful smile.

Eddie's hand landed on his shoulder. "Aren't you the one in charge right now?"

"You think I'm over Robin?"

"I think you think you're over Robin. And that should be enough. Just sneak away. She won't even notice. Look, she's yelling at a kid in the corner," Eddie poked him to get him to turn around and look. "Poor kid probably didn't think anyone who worked here cared if he snuck into the R section."

Steve finally turned around and let out a snort. "That's the third time that kid's tried to get back there in a week. He's just an idiot."

"Well...she's distracted. There's no other customers. Take a break!" Eddie was grinning at him and Steve was already under his spell.

"Fine, but only a few minutes. She'll be pissed if I leave her to do all the rewinding and shelving," Steve agreed because he had to.

Because Eddie was looking at him like he was up to something and he wanted Steve to be up to something with him. Because he'd do anything that made Eddie's crooked smile bigger, anything to hear him let out that giggle he tried to hide when he was being mischievous.

Eddie tugged on his arm and pulled him out from behind the counter, holding a finger to his lips to shush him when he started to tell him to stop.

He led him to the back office, which was usually locked if Keith wasn't in, but had been left unlocked the last two shifts because Robin was in charge of closing out the registers.

"I know for a fact you shouldn't be in here. I'm barely even allowed in here," Steve whispered.

"No one will know," Eddie said as he sat on the edge of the cluttered desk. "It's not like Family Video is stashing away government secrets."

"I said the same thing about Scoops Ahoy and then got tortured by Russians, so I'd watch what you say."

Eddie's smile dropped for a moment.

Steve had never gone into details and Robin had just shrugged it off when Eddie asked her about it. She said she was grateful she had Steve through it all and that was that.

"Do you suspect Russians might be hiding under Family Video?" Eddie eventually asked. "If so, I think we should head out. I'll get our coats."

Steve shook his head. "Nah. Think the Russians got the hell out of Hawkins after Starcourt."

"Good. Wouldn't wanna have to deal with Russian torture trauma on top of all the bats and being stuck in the Upside Down for days trauma," Eddie snorted. "So, what're you doin' after work today?"

"Uh." Steve admittedly didn't hear most of what Eddie said. He was too busy watching his lips form around words. "Hm?"

Eddie's smile fell. "I asked what you're doing after work. Are you okay? You seem kinda out of it today."

"Yep, I'm fine. Might just be getting a migraine or something." Steve looked down at the floor to try to concentrate. "I'm probably just gonna heat up some leftovers from movie night last night and shower and go to bed."

"You want company?" Eddie asked.

Steve felt his heart stop. "In the shower?"

He looked up at Eddie, that perfect smile growing on his face.

"I meant for dinner or just to hang out, but if you need help in the shower, I could probably arrange that," Eddie was teasing. He was kidding. He had to be. Right?

“I’m…I don’t-“

“Don’t hurt yourself, Stevie,” Eddie laughed. “Offer’s there if you want it.”

Steve was too busy staring at Eddie’s tongue licking his bottom lip, imagining that tongue licking along his bottom lip.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispered.

“Hm?”

“You know, I started wearing chapstick and waited for you to finally give in.” Eddie’s lip quirked up. “But you haven’t done anything except stare. You gonna do something?”

“Do what?” Steve was clueless as to what he was talking about.

“You gonna see if they taste as good as they look?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Kiss me, Harrington. You gonna do it or not?” Eddie sighed.

“I-“

“It’s alright. Been waiting for weeks now. You wanna?” Eddie didn’t move from the desk. “Not sure they’re gonna be as great as you seem to be picturing every time I talk, but hopefully they aren’t a complete disappointment.”

Steve kinda figured he should go ahead and kiss him before he started to get lost in his own world again.

He stepped up to Eddie, watching as his face shifted from amused to anticipatory. Steve’s hand rested on Eddie’s knee, mostly to help keep his balance.

He was feeling a little lightheaded with the recent development.

“You really want me to kiss you?” Steve asked as he leaned in, resting his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Yeah, I really do.”

Steve watched his lips the entire time, enamored with the way every part of his mouth enunciated every word. Everything felt important when Eddie said it.

He tasted and felt better than he looked, especially when his hands came up to cup the sides of Steve’s neck, fingers scratching at the roots of his long hair.

Steve whined into his mouth, sinking against him as Eddie took control and deepened the kiss.

“You’re both lucky I’m willing to pretend that I’m not seeing what I’m seeing and that I’m willing to close this door and leave you alone for ten minutes. Mostly because I was so tired of Steve losing every remaining brain cell anytime Eddie talked.” Robin’s voice filtered through the small office, causing Steve and Eddie to pull apart quickly, both wiping at their mouths. “Ten minutes. Not a second more. Pants stay on. Got it?”

“Got it,” Eddie agreed.

“And hands stay out of pants!” Robin said as she closed the door.

“Dammit,” Eddie sighed.

“Ten minutes is long enough to make out,” Steve tried to suggest, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Ten minutes is long enough for a lot of things. Tell me where you want my lips.”

It would be rude teasing from anyone else, but from Eddie, it just made Steve feel seen.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever you want them,” Steve gasped out, still feeling like he might be dreaming.

“So you’d be okay with them…here?” Eddie whispered against his neck, soft presses of his lips against his skin. “Or here?” Steve’s shirt was pulled to the side for Eddie to suck a bruise into the crook of his neck. “Or maybe here?” Eddie’s hand pressed against his half-hard cock on his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Had no idea you’d be so ready for me.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve argued.

“You’re right. But it’s still nice to see and feel. Maybe I could taste?” Eddie asked as his hand wandered along his waist line.

“N-now?” Steve stuttered out.

“I have-“ Eddie checked his watch. “About eight minutes. I could get you off.”

“With your mouth?”

“Well, yeah. We can’t make a mess, can we? This is your place of employment, Stevie. And it’s a bitch getting cum out of a carpet like this.”

“You know from experience?”

Eddie dropped to his knees. "I made an educated guess. So. Mouth. Yes or no?"

"Yes," Steve replied, unbuttoning his own pants. "Jesus, yes."

Eddie's mouth was even better than Steve's imagination gave him credit for. They only need three of the minutes they had for Steve to finish, and another two minutes of Steve's hand working Eddie over for him to finish, too.

"You could've said something sooner," Eddie said as he tried to fix his hair. "Or just kissed me one of those times you were trying to stare through my lips."

"I didn't think I was being that obvious before today," Steve said as he tucked his shirt back into his pants and slid his vest back on.

"Sweetheart, you've been obvious since day one. I've just been waiting for you to realize that you needed to make a move," Eddie crowded him against the desk, hands on his hips and a playful smile on his face.

Steve watched his lips the entire time.

"Like that," Eddie continued, raising a finger to trace along Steve's lips. "You watch them when you don't even realize you are."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Stevie. Love it," Eddie kissed the corner of his mouth before stepping back. "You better get back before Robin comes in here and glares at us until we catch on fire or something."

"You comin' over after I get off?"

"You just got off," Eddie joked. "But yes. As long as I can actually help you in the shower."

"Help me? Or distract me?"

"It can be both!" Eddie opened the door and held it for Steve to go through. "I'll take care of you."

Steve smiled to himself as he walked away. "I'm sure you will."

[lighteyed]

like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me / steve harrington

— steve's not used to people throwing punches for him, you'er not used to throwing them. anything for him, though. always, anything for him. (little short fic moment, fem reader, 1.4k words)

"Dude, your girlfriend is such a badass!" Robin skips into Family Video grinning like a madwoman. Steve, shuffling through the tapes he needs to place back onto the shelves, lifts his head and scrunches his brows together.

"I mean, yeah, but-"

Robin doesn't let him finish, she's already telling him the story. "She was all, wham bam thank you ma'am," she throws multiple air punches and Steve drops the tapes on the floor, "and Jason Carver was all, 'my nose you broke my nose-" she puts on a fake-whiney voice and Steve grips the shelf in front of him, feeling faint.

"I'm sorry, she did what-"

"And she was all, fuck you Carver, and she was totally gonna pummel him again until his friend like dragged her off him and her face hit the pavement, but like, still, she kicked ass-"

"Robin!" Steve shouts, waving his hands in front of her face. She stops, finally registering the disbelief on his face. She covers her mouth. She probably shouldn't have said anything. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She, um, she didn't tell you?" She squeaks out, she takes a step backwards. "Forget I said anything! I'm sure she'll call you-" She trips over the cart Steve was using to stock the tapes and dashes behind the counter to avoid him, knowing you were going to kill her for saying anything and Steve was going to kill her if she didn't say anything else.

"Hey! Robin!" But she's already clocking herself in and beginning her closing shift duties, refusing to say another word on the topic because she's already said too much without meaning to. He completes the rest of his shift in silence, snapping at customers whenever they ask him a question and losing his mind when he looks at the clock and realizes only ten minutes has passed. He tries to call your house with the store phone but you don't pick up, which makes him even more worried and causes him to snap at people even worse, so Keith cuts him early with a disappointed lecture that Steve only half listens to, and he runs out of there once Keith finally shuts up, pulling out of the parking lot and on his way to your house without a second thought.

When you answer the door for him, you brace yourself for his scolding, 'cause the way he's looking at you, at your scratched face and bloody knuckles, with his soft gaze roaming all over you for any other signs of injury, you can tell he wants to. He wants to scold and lecture and fret. He wants to be mad that you got into a fist fight, let alone a fist fight with a guy who, if he had wanted to, probably could've hit you ten times harder.

He can't really be mad, though. "I didn't know Rocky Balboa was visiting Hawkins," he says, sarcastic but not mean, closing the front door behind him before coming to touch your face with his gentle hands, tilting your head to the side so he can take a good look at your cheek. It's a not a deep scratch, but you're bleeding all the same. He runs his fingers over it lightly and rests his hand there. "What'd you do, sweet girl?" You groan, retreating away from him to grab your bag of frozen peas from the counter and setting them flat across your bruise. He follows behind in earnest.

"Jason Carver can go fuck himself," you grumble. "S'all he does now, anyway, since Chrissy dumped his ass. And no wonder why. I can't stand him." You stare at where you're soaking your cheer uniform in the sink, the white fabric staining pink the more you tried to scrub Jason's blood out. You're opting to soak it out now, hoping you won't have to go buy a new one.

"Okay, what'd he do," Steve corrects, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You hesitate. You don't really want to tell Steve. It wasn't nice, what Carver had said, and in particular, it hadn't been nice to Steve. You weren't sure what had prompted Carver to start going in on your boyfriend, about how Steve was a loser, a deadbeat, pathetic, wasn't going anywhere in life, but it why he'd said it hadn't mattered to you. He'd said that you and you'd seen red, burning blistering red, and you'd punched him in the face before you could really think about whether or not that was a good idea. And you'd gotten him good, too, a nice big wallop to his smug face when he hadn't suspected it in the slightest, and you'd gotten on top of him going for more when his friend had yanked you off him by your ponytail and sent you spinning down to the asphalt. Your face had been gotten good, too. But not as good as Jason's. You were defensive when it came to Steve. You couldn't help it. He was Steve. He'd do anything for the people he loved, he was loyal and defensive and smart (as much as he'd deny that), he was sweet and had never been anything but perfect to you, perfect for you, and if someone had something to say about him, you'd make sure they'd have to answer to you. You'd never let him feel like he didn't have someone in his corner.

"Nothin'," you mutter, not looking at him, looking anywhere but him. "Just usual asshole Carver stuff."

"No, no, you don't get this worked up over nothin', baby." He wets a paper towel at your sink with rubbing alcohol and raises it to your face. "S'gonna sting, okay? Stay still," he puts it against you as soft as he can but you still hiss and draw back in pain. "You can tell me what he did. Need to know so I don't worry about you all night long." Had he put his hands on you? On one of your friends on the team? Something worse? The thought of something worse made Steve's blood run cold. He'd kill Jason himself, consequences be damned, if he'd touched you any type of way.

You scowl. "I don't wanna talk about it, Steve, seriously."

"You can't just not talk about it with me," he frowns right back at you. "If it's that bad you need to tell me. What happened? Please," he pouts his lip at you and you can't resist, you're melting in his hands, you're giving him whatever he wants the second that plush lower lip juts out at you and his pretty brown eyes go heavy-lidded and tragic-looking. You lean forward and kiss his protruding lip, wrapping your arms around his waist.

You press your face into his shoulder and murmur against his shirt, "He was talkin' bad about you, okay?" He pulls away, brow furrowed.

"Talkin' bad about me?" He places his hands on your shoulders. "Baby, you don't haveta get worked up over me, okay? And don't go throwing punches for me, Christ, you can't do that." He runs a hand through his hair, and there he goes, hands on hips, like he always does when he's worked up and stressed over something you or the kids are doing. "I don't care what he said, okay?" His hands go back to your shoulders, he's looking in your eyes, deep and distraught. "I don't care you. You don't go throwing punches for me. 'M not worth all that."

You push him off you. "Don't say that! That's not true, you're worth it! You'd do it for me, why can't I do it for you? You deserve it, too." Steve goes quiet. "You're worth it, okay? Don't be stupid." You press the frozen peas harder to your hand.

"I still don't like you fighting," he relents, and you know you've got him in the palm of your hand, he could never stay mad at you, not really, but his brows still knit together with worry. You smooth out the crease in them with your good hand and he softens exponentially with a sigh, leaning into your touch.

"As long as no one talks shit about you, I won't be," you pinch his cheek and he laughs. You'd die for that sound.

"Yeah, yeah, cool it, Rocky," he teases.

"Shut up!" You hit him with your bag of peas.

He grins, and he can't help it, he's a little proud, thinking about you punching someone in the face for him. Knuckles bloody for him. Making sure he knows he's worth fighting for. His heart swells at the thought.

[thearchercore]

to join in on your ice cream shop au, charles does these custom ice cream weekends every 2nd saturday or something (like a barbie one for when that movie released etc, where he made famous beetroot ice cream so much that now travel bloggers won't shut up about it)

during some month when it's not a race weekend, charles gets extremely sick and gets advised bed rest and his dramatic ass is pouting about it to max and how these events mean everything to him, and that tifosi are gonna cancel him for closing it on a weekend after the ferrari double dnf'ed (the cafe has become a therapy place for tifosi to get together and rant) etc and Max is like, baby why don't you let me do it along with joris and andrea, no need to close your shop and charles is like are you INSANE but max convinces him and then what happens that Saturday is only akin to guy coming to ask marriage permission from parents in olden society cause the tifosi judge him for EVERYTHING (in a funny way), they're like did you poison him, why are you here instead of taking care of our baby, etc etc and by the end of that time, max has begrudgingly make the tifosi deem him acceptable for charles to date

(the cafe has become a therapy place for tifosi to get together and rant) is SO REAL

also the tifosi claiming that max poisoned charles and that's why he's sick lol, you just know he'd be fighting for his life trying to defend himself and that he's worthy of dating charles.

plus you just know the tifosi would be Debriefing the race and blaming every inconvenience on the bulls but max would always be like "actually ☝️🤓" and he would get the biggest death stare whenever he would try to maxplain his side of the story that he'd just give up and let them spread propaganda and misinformation.

((and at the end of the day max would spend like an hour yapping to charles about how disgraceful the tifosi are and how they refused to listen to his opinions and how they kept being passive aggressive to him even though he tried))

[alatismeni-theitsa]

https://www.tumblr.com/cardassiangoodreads/722229585723424768/im-just-going-to-say-right-now-that-i-dont-think?source=share

Just curious about your thoughts

The post and the tags because this person has blocked me preemptively - and they're lucky cause I wouldn't shat all over them. This person is a USAmerican very removed from Italian culture.

My Answer:

Ooooo coloniser rhetoric in the 21st century! That's a sight for sore eyes! (Which became sore cause they see such takes all the time).

Funny how this person talks about how objects belonging to Greece right after saying that our heritage figures (like our gods and heroes) don't belong to us. If Greek culture is a global culture why can't foreigners keep the objects? Hmmm I wonder…. They still put the "Greek" or "Roman" to characterise the stories but the moment Greeks and Italians speak up, then all of a sudden "the stories akksuually have no culture, they belong to all of us!" 😂😂😂

I wonder if this person understands what the term "heritage" means, because gods and heroes are definitely part of one's heritage and we never stopped preserving the texts that spoke about them, and they are still part of our living culture.

I'm all for listening to the members of the diaspora but when we are at the point when one of them is regurgitating imperialist points, not only there's a big divide with current opinions in Italy, but I also cannot leave such points unanswered. Also, many Italians, like Greeks, are sick of how their myths are treated but this person didn't even check, they just spoke over them. Because they didn't bother to ask people, obviously.

Ancient Greek heroes and gods still mean a lot to us. They always meant. They were born from visions, dreams, and other sacred methods, or oral traditions from our ancestors, reflecting specifically the ancient Greek culture. It's good that foreigners can access them and relate to a degree but divorcing any folk story from its origin is always negative. Especially when this culture is still ongoing.

Our Christianity is revamped ancient Greek religion, I wonder, does this person know that? Our temples have the same parts. We still have home altars, and divinities presiding over domains. Our hagiography is how we used to paint our gods and creatures. We still have almost the same nature creatures. The customs have remained and have persisted, and I won't have someone who clearly ignores this say "They gave the religion up". Ftou.

Also when it comes to our gods and their symbols (and yes btw we call them "our" gods lots of times), we can deduce things from our local tradition and environment, whereas an Anglophone who worships the gods or is interested in them but doesn't know stuff about the country of origin of those gods has no idea about our history, methods and environment. Example: Foreigner refuses to accept that there's a pine cone on Dionysos' thyrsos (although it looks like a pinecone) because "it doesn't make sense" and very excitedly suggests another plant instead. Greek lets them know that it is actually a pine cone not only because it looks like a pinecone but because the pinecone has been used in our winemaking process forever, and Dionysos also presided over this process. Guess Greece and its environment and it's people are still relevant to the religion, and it also turns out that the symbols of the gods derived from the Greek reality. Who knew!

Now onto another point. Op says that the Greek stories became "global culture" because they got shared everywhere. Them being shared is not a bad thing! However just studying them and be taught about them is not culture. By this logic, and since Egyptians "gave their old religion up", ancient Egyptian gods are now MY ancient gods because I can find books about ancient Egypt at my local bookstore. woww 😂 What about this? Almost every Greek knows 100 and 1 nights. We have made it into a play also. SOO... these are our cultural stories now, right? West Asians and Arabs in general shouldn't speak if they ever see us and other nations being ridiculous about the stories, and stereotypes and changing the characters a lot but still claim we are doing great, right? Got it.

The way this post is written it's like Germans and Brits kept the ancient Greek myths alive since ancient years or something. Greeks themselves never stopped preserving their own ancient texts, and they escaped with them in Europe after the fall of Constantinople, so NW Europeans REDISCOVERED them 1500 years later. They had lost interest by then.

Funny they mention different nations that were Hellenized or became Roman territories because people living in these nations are exactly those who don't speak about Greek and Roman culture as "a global culture". It's always North Westerners who start these discussions, I wonder why…..

People from the aforementioned nations already interact healthily with their ancient heritage - which is not Greek or Roman culture but always a local version with Greek or Roman elements, and that's great too. I haven't heard a Pakistani say "Theseus is our hero too!" or a Tunisian say "Zeus is our local ancient father of the gods!" Because they know exactly how the mix happened and what their national identity is. And I'm getting more and more tired of seeing Westerners erase these experiences too, and just make assumptions for other nations.

I swear I mostly see USians getting butthurt about other people getting conquered 2.000 years ago. The nations themselves don't give a shiiit. Guys, I know our antiquities are the only interesting thing about us in your eyes but Please Make An Effort to understand people from ancient cultures and how we don't give a shit about these conquests cause they happened Two Thousand Years Ago, and we had other tragic stuff in the meantime. Thanks

Also, as I said, these conquests are not why Greek myths are popular today. The conquests were so incredibly old that the average person in these countries (Balkans, the Mediterranean, West Asia) - and Greece - had no idea who built the ancient ruins they saw around! Does this person think Greek myths were handed down from Moroccan grandma to Moroccan grandchild from 300 BCE to 2024 continuously or something?

Greek myths are very popular in most parts of the world today because the West (meaning not Greece, especially at the time when we were "cattle") popularized them non-stop the last few centuries. And they did a shitty job, at that. In fact, Greeks abroad have been cringing about this treatment of our myths since the 15th century but, as usual, we were not being heard.

And what does "global culture" even mean?? As if you see any culture to how the US (because OP focuses on the US and the retellings there, from the looks of it) interacts with our stories. As if they care about the meaning of the story. (There are a few notable exceptions ofc but they remain FEW) People with such arguments just want to feel guilt-free when using our myths out of context. That's why Western academic cycles often run in circles about "what the myths mean" while Greeks have told you exactly what they mean.

The US audience is still not free of the coloniser WASP approach. They see our myths STILL as a product of modern White Supremacy instead of an ancient Greek product, and they often condemn the myths and "better" them by completely pushing them into USian lens to the point they don't look or feel like the original myths anymore. (All the above you don't dare to do with cultural stories and figures from nations you want to respect, by the way.) Is this the cultural "exchange" they're talking about?

I'm done hearing in the international spaces that my culture is "boring" because USians have seen horrible adaptation after horrible adaptation. I'm tired of USians making wild assumptions about how "horrible" our gods are because whoever told them the myths didn't give a simple explanation about our ancient societies. (Don't start crap about accessibility, there are very accessible ways to talk to kids, teens, and adults about other cultures and teach them age-appropriate tales) I'm tired of my heritage being commercialized to that degree. All Greeks roll their eyes in USAmerican movies about our culture and we call them Amerikaniés. And don't worry, I'm getting to the real stuff.

How our ancient culture is treated and how we are sidelined has real consequences on our lives abroad AND inside our culture, on how we are perceived, on how our surnames are perceived, on how we "don't look like Greeks", on how our Greek myth retellings don't get published abroad! They speak in front of us about our own words as if they are magical and mythical and strange! The opinions and perspectives of Greeks are not sought abroad, and you are a masterclass on why this happens. We make y'all uncomfortable. You feel better if you forget about us.

Another exhibit: All the hurtful comments of foreigners who centered the HUGE milestone of same-sex marriage in Greece because all they could imagine - while queer Greeks suffered a lot these last few months - was their wedding in Gay Mykonos and Lesbian Lesbos. This was their first reaction. They didn't possibly think that Greeks were seeing that because we are far away and irrelevant, right?

Obviously culture-mixing is not bad but the West didn't mix our culture with theirs. They just took it for entertainment and their popular culture never saw the depth or the meaning of it. OP speaks about how our stories were spread while actively avoiding speaking in depth about the problematic elements of that spread. They recognize to a small degree how Greeks feel about the matter but they dismiss most of our concerns in such a nonchalant way that all that comes to my mind is "privilege".

And speaking of power… Greeks have less systemic power than the countries of the West. We are the US' puppet, are you kidding me?? Our armies get deployed wherever the US wants. Our politicians don't even fart without a telephone from the US. We are the whores of the German, Belgian and French governments. Greeks abroad still face discrimination for their customs and how they look, and how their food smells, and how our religion is and how our hymns sound, and other ridiculous stuff. Our infrastructure is slowly being bought out by Germans and USians to various degrees. There are different scales to exploitation and bigotry, I agree, but that doesn't mean that only the roughest bigotry cases are worth discussing.

"We could also talk about the additional level of exploitation in how imperial powers used Greek mythology as an argument for the "superiority of the West," while at the same time plundering Greece's resources and treating it like it exists only as a tourist site" They are SO close to getting it, and yet their post says otherwise.

Fetishism of a culture makes the members of the actual culture feel alienated and hurt. As a person of Italian ancestry you should know how this specific "global culture" argument has been used to strip Greeks and Italians of any claims, so the "dirty Greeks" can be separated from the "pure WASP" USian upper class of the time who deemed themselves more suitable to engage with the material.

"Greeks spreading their culture through military force all over (eventually) most of Europe" what the hell?? Sorry, guys, (side-eyes the other Greeks) we conquered Romania??? wow!

Plus, this person doesn't know the difference between the Greek colonisation of Italy and Sicily and the recent European colonisation, and - to say it very politely - they should open a book.

By The Way

You can still interact with the Greek culture without having a colonial attitude! Nobody is barring you! I want to make this abundantly clear!

Most importantly, you don't have to make arguments for "global culture" when it's simple to place the myths inside their original context while interacting with them! You just have to read a bit more books that are on the internet and your library for free! Recognising that a foreign culture is not yours, and that you engage with it because it's just popular, doesn't stop anyone from interacting with it. You simply refuse to interact with them at the proper, deeper level, because you always want to center them around yourself. You want to interact with foreign stories just how the colonisers did it. Congrats.

I'm talking about the majority of cases. Of course people in the US can take all sorts of inspiration from foreign myths and adapt them to their reality. And it's a good result when they're being respectful and have studied the stories beforehand.

All we ask is to engage with the material in context so you can understand what our ancestors wanted to express. If your only view of Greek myths has come from other Americans and NW Europeans then you see them through coloniser lens. That's non-negotiable. I had people from other countries recite to me USAmerican viewpoints about the Greek gods, as if they were fact. Cause it's the only exposure that's happening worldwide right now.

You can interact with Greco-Roman myths whether Greece and Rome touched your country or not, we don't care. But please don't get your source from the pop US culture. These people think that it makes sense for nymphs to look like trees (that's an Anglo-Saxon and Celtic nature creature depiction. Ancient Greece was very anthropomorphic). It's not a crime if you change some stuff in a retelling but why willingly ignore the original depictions and what they have to show you for the ancient people who created them?

Pfff... Thank you anon for bringing this trash to me. I needed to - metaphorically - throw something in the trash. It took me a few hours to answer this but well... I do write a lot and this post was full of shit I had to shovel.

[byeuijoo]

autumn things 𐀔 boynextdoor

genre : purely fluff ⋆ warnings : absolutely none ⋆ wc : 697

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ୨ ✩ ୧

park sungho ⭒ carving pumpkins

one of autumn's must-do activities is pumpkin carving. and since sungho can't refuse you anything, he instantly said yes when you offered to take part in a sculpture workshop at the end of the day. armed with quality tools and cool aprons featuring cute little ghosts, you now both listen carefully to the instructor's instructions on how to make the most of your future masterpieces. but it's a little more complicated than expected.. which prompts your boyfriend to give you a hand and carefully carve your pumpkin before his. and, of course, he won't stop cutting until he sees the satisfied smile creep across your colorful lips. this activity was actually less strenuous than he had expected.

lee riwoo ⭒ scary movies night

one of the special things about autumn is that it's also the season for your favorite celebration : halloween. and how to start the season without a marathon of scary movies? sanghyeok don't really mind watching 3 or 4 movies in a row with you. he loves the cosy little space you've created in his living room, the pillows on the floor, your back pressed against his chest and the many warm plaids covering you both. although he seems more preoccupied with observing every reaction on your face than following the development of the film, his hand nonchalantly caressing your side is a reassuring touch that prevents you from being afraid of evil screamers.

myung jaehyun ⭒ coffee shop date

coffee dates aren't just an autumn custom, but when this time of year offers you the opportunity to discover new flavors, a tour of the coffee shops is a must. and what better way to do it than to take jaehyun with you? the poor boy doesn't dare say anything to you, he just follows you, smiling, pulling by your hand through the streets of seoul in the late afternoon. the colors are pretty, and the sunset watches over your skin. and after a long search, you finally found what you wanted : an iced pumpkin spice latte. you've been waiting for it since last year, and you couldn't wait to show it to your boyfriend. who, by the way, didn't have the heart to admit to you that he'd already drunk some — too busy finding you adorable with that overexcited look and those stars in your eyes.

han taesan ⭒ cold hands

a colder wind, light rain in the air, a slightly overcast sky... there's no doubt that autumn has arrived. it's time to bring out the sweaters and booties. summer is now over, and of course — you're colder than under the sun. especially your hands. as a good boyfriend, dongmin never misses an opportunity to take you home after class, and he soon notices that you're trying your best to warm your poor fingers. without saying a word, the boy grabs one of your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours before slipping them both into his jacket pocket, keeping them both nice and warm.

kim leehan ⭒ leaf piles

something you've always loved about autumn, are the pretty colors that decorate the trees. long walks in the afternoon are great for leaf peeping — the reds, oranges and yellows that grace the city's streets. donghyun likes to follow you on your walks, watching your face light up with every new color. but the best is yet to come : piles of leaves on the roadside, which gardeners have stubbornly collected, seem to call on both of you to jump in. which you did, of course, with a burst of laughter that rocked the wind. and the poor workers don't dare blame you, because your good mood seems to be far too contagious.

kim woonhak ⭒ rain shower

there's something special about autumn rain – the feeling of raindrops on your skin is different. and it's something you love to share with woonhak, when you get out of class after a long day, and all the other students are rushing to avoid getting too wet. you stare at the grey sky for a moment before walking calmly hand in hand, huge smiles plastered on your faces, and your hearts beating in unison. no matter how wet or sick you get the next day, because running under the first autumnal rain shower is a precious moment you like to share with someone special in your heart.

⠀

reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated !

[strawbby-shortcake]

Dating Tyler Durden! ♡︎

Tyler isn't one to wait around with his feelings, so he's very open and honest when it comes to you. He knew what he wanted, so he went to get it.

Honestly though, he doesn't take rejection well. So if you refused him the first time, you'll have to do it again and again until you give in. He'll display grand gestures to prove that he's the man for you.

If you didn't refuse, great! You're now with an anti-capitalist that kicks ass!!! He's not so bad once you get used to him though.

Tyler is a mix between talking a lot and not talking at all. He likes to talk to you about society and how he's going to change it for the better because you actually listen to him.

When he goes quiet, it usually means his mind is at work or he's focused on a task at hand. That doesn't mean he wants you to leave him alone though. He would rather you be by his side while he's planning.

When he starts Fight Club, you're the first one to know. He makes you promise three times that you won't say anything about it to anyone.

You are NOT allowed to fight, but you can watch him beat people up or tell them that they are "not their fucking khakis."

If you really wanted to fight though, Tyler would only allow you to fight him. Of course, he wouldn't hurt you or anything, but he'll get to see how strong you are.

Every member of Fight Club/Project Mayhem is super kind to you and often steals you things from stores. Whether it's because Tyler told them to do it, or they just wanted to, you didn't know.

For example, one day you were out with Tyler and a few of his space monkeys, and they noticed that you were staring at an item from one of the store's windows.

We all know how Tyler feels about consumerism, BUT he makes an exception for you. Plus, it's not like they're going to pay for it *hint hint*

The next morning, you wake up and see the item placed on your bed with a sticky note that has smiley face on it.

You often hear Tyler yelling at the members, but he never yells at you. He's quite respectful towards you.

Tyler takes you with him to all his odd jobs. You help him splice frames of explicit images into family films. When he has to work as a waiter, he seats you at a table and brings all the clean food you want. He gets distracted by you though and goes to your table far more than the actual customer's tables.

HE MAKES AND HE SELLS SOAPPPP!!! So that means you get to help him out and watch! Be prepared for late night liposuction clinic dumpster runs.

The first time you went with him, you threw up because of the smell. Tyler forced himself to throw up too so you didn't feel embarrassed.

If you have a complaint about anyone or someone is bothering you, there'll be a missing person report on the news within the same week. Tyler does not mess around.

Tyler doesn't force you to smoke, and if you don't like the smell of it, he doesn't smoke around you. In fact, if you really wanted him to, he would attempt to quit. It would be near impossible for him though, but you gotta give him credit!

He loves going into alleyways, hotels, or apartment buildings to dance with you. He doesn't care if anyone is watching. He'll probably have several of the guys to keep watch near the building though, just for safety reasons!

He likes to go thrifting with you. He will pick the most non-matching shirt, jacket, and pants and do a whole fashion show in the store and then walk out with it on. No, he didn't pay. He might borrow your clothes too if he sees something he likes.

Smashing cars around town at midnight? Check. Going to Lou's Tavern multiple days a week? Check.

He'll ask you to play with his hair all the time. He loves it when you do because it relieves tension and makes him sink into the floor.

CUTE EXTRAS:

Makes you special bars of soap with your name on it in different colors.

You get to try on all his cool glasses that he owns.

You'll always be protected no matter where you go.

He's extra cautious when he's out since he doesn't want to die without coming home to you. He could be bleeding out or have a limb ripped off, but he'll manage to come home to Paper Street just to see you one last time. But don't expect that because he's not going to die any time soon.

He shares his gum with you.

He's a great listener when you need him to be.

If you tend to his wounds or scold him when he gets hurt, he doesn't complain. He just sits there, grins, and leans in, knowing you'll kiss him afterwards.

He doesn't say "I love you" super often, but when he does, it's genuine.

Teaches you all about glycerin and the wonders you can do with it.

[sailorangelwrites]

Alastor x Overlord!Reader One-Shot - I Won't Play your Games, Radio Man

Synopsis: Being an overlord is boring, but boredom is nothing new for you. You never expected that a meeting of the overlords, of all things, would bring excitement, danger and passion to you in the form of the radio demon...

Notes: SFW, mentions of violence but nothing too explicit, non-gendered reader, apathetic reader, the reader can stand up for themself

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I Won't Play your Games, Radio Man

After everything that had happened in the land of the living, you had no hope of reaching heaven. You couldn't remember the last time you had much hope for anything, though.

Looking at your crimson surroundings, you couldn't help but wonder what your afterlife had in store for you. Hell looked like a regular human city, just a lot more... gory and shameless. But you could handle the gore, and the shamelessness was easy enough to ignore, so you decided to explore. What took some getting used to were the odd-looking residents. Souls were... peculiar looking things, you discovered.

There was no point in dwelling on the surface-level matters, you decided. You needed a weapon.

You yearned for the steady, cool weight of a knife in your hand, the same way an artist yearned for pigment, the same way a writer yearned to give their words form. There were many tools to your trade, but a knife would be the simplest to acquire, with the added benefit of easy concealment.

As you thought about holding a knife in your hand, you felt a buzzing beneath your skin. Power. You could identify it through instinct alone. In your hand appeared a knife - black, made from a material you couldn't place.

A convenient power. One that you could get used to.

It didn't take much for you to fall back into the swing of things. You met a man in a bar. A gang of imps had stolen money from him. You tracked them down, retrieved the money, and handed the gentleman the gang leader's horns for good measure.

Word got out. You never had a shortage of customers. And once you had gotten your hands on some angelic steel, things could only escalate.

Business got a lot messier, but for every soul laid to permanent rest your notoriety grew. Sometimes, on nights where you had little to do yet so much emptiness inside, you would walk into the neverending turf wars and start slicing through the participants. Sinners would beg and offer their souls to you on a silver platter.

Who were you to decline their kind offers?

Overlord. That was what they started to call you. You should have felt accomplished, but you didn't. You didn't feel anything at all.

When was the last time you had felt anything?

You truly couldn't remember. In between the mindless slaughter, the exchange of souls and goods, you found yourself wondering if you would ever feel anything even remotely human.

One day, a small demon held out an envelope to you. The thing was sweating bullets, so you took the letter quickly, waving it away. As you opened it with a careful claw, the lesser demon scampered away in a pathetic display. Killing it might have been a kindness - it clearly wasn't cut out for the harsh environment it had condemned itself to.

However, you let it leave, and focused on the letter. It was inviting you to an overlords' meeting.

You went, if only to alleviate some of the boredom you had been suffering through.

The other overlords eyed you with what could only be described as hunger.

Could they overpower you? Could they push you out from the top? Could they subjugate you and steal away your infamy?

You kept your head high and refused to meet their discerning gazes.

"Greetings, Hell's sovereign overlords..." Carmilla began, before launching into the briefing.

Extermination statistics, turf wars, troublemakers to be dealt with...

All so very boring. You half listened and chose to observe your peers.

Each one was stranger than whoever was sitting next to them, in their own right. Their attentions were no longer focused on you. They had drawn their conclusions, which were, quite frankly, none of your business.

However, one demon continued to stare at you. Burning red eyes, thin grey skin, and a jagged smile that looked like it hurt. You met his gaze and saw the smile deepen.

Challenging. Amused. Hungry.

It was purely predatory. Something about that thrilled you - you felt it in your stomach, the conflicting urges to run and to lunge at him.

Carmilla finished up the meeting. Everyone was standing up and walking away. You glanced away from the man and to the door.

That was a mistake.

When you looked back his seat was empty.

"Why hello there, my esteemed colleague! I have heard a great many things about you down the old grapevine, so I am positively thrilled to have a chance to meet you in the flesh!"

His voice was heavily filtered, and even when he spoke he somehow managed to maintain that sharp, menacing smile. And somehow, he was behind you. How had he managed that? You had only looked away for a split second, you hadn't even heard him move.

You stood up from your chair and took a step back from him. "I haven't heard about you," you responded, keeping your tone neutral.

The overlord's expression twitched and a pop of static filled the air. Any trace of irritation was wiped away as he took a step toward you, coming far too close for comfort. "Is that so? Such a pity. There isn't a cultured demon in all of Hell who hasn't heard of the radio demon."

"Then I must not be very cultured," you said.

A laugh track roared as the 'radio demon' put an arm around your shoulders. You couldn't help the low growl that escaped you at the contact. His eyes narrowed at that, but he didn't comment on the sound.

"Fortunately there are remedies for such an affliction," he told you, walking you out of the room. You felt trapped but didn't dare to lash out. A part of you wanted to see where the interaction would go - to get a glimpse into the mind of the other overlord.

His face turned towards yours, uncanny grin wide and far too close as he said, "Those who are uncultured are simply out of tune with the arts. Perhaps a tour of my radio station is in order, hm? What do you say?"

A trap.

"I may be uncultured," you started, "but I know that it's frowned upon to go off with strange men."

"It would be a shame to incur frowns," the man said with a hum. "Oh well, another time! That certainly changes things... Oh well, you will find that I can be quite adaptable."

"How admirable," you deadpanned.

"Aren't I just?"

He led you into the elevator, still far too close, but now there was nowhere to run.

You could summon a blade or a gun, but you knew that wasn't a good idea. The only tool you could safely use were your words, but even that could go south. Still, you decided to be blunt and say, "If there's something you need, just come out with it."

"To the point, I see," he said with a chuckle. "Very well. I wanted to propose a game, of sorts."

"I have little time for games," you said, though the possibilities began to run wild through your mind.

Something fun. Something to break up the boredom. A chance to beat this smarmy, smiling overlord.

"You ought to make time for games, my friend. This afterlife of ours can get terribly boring without some form of sport... Though I can see the novelty has already worn off for you. You really should smile more, my dear!"

"The novelty was never there to begin with," you answered truthfully.

"Such a shame! Yes, indeed, I must find a way to bring some passion to your weary soul!"

The elevator reached its destination, opening to a back alley. You stepped out before the man could continue puppeteering you.

This was your chance to get away. But this had been the first interesting interaction you'd had in a while...

"What sort of game did you have in mind?"

A muffled crowd cheered as the man flew over to you, invading your personal space once more. "Something right up your alley! A battle of wit, strength, and charisma!"

"That doesn't sound like something-"

"Whichever one of us can secure the most deals within a day will be the victor," he said, steamrolling over your words.

"What are the stakes?"

"If I win, you will be in eternal service to me." As he said that, he seemed to glow with feral power, his shadow growing and giving you a wicked grin. "And if you win... You will receive three favours from me. Does that sound fair?"

"No. Not even a little bit. I was interested before, but it's clear that the game is stacked in your favour."

The overlord's eyes darkened, sending a delightful pang of fear through your entire being.

"I do not appreciate the implications of that. To think that I would ever 'stack' a game? Ha, it's ludicrous, preposterous, and utterly - utterly - ridiculous!"

"Am I supposed to just believe you?" you snapped. "You make weird eyes at me, get real close, start talking about games where I'll be in 'eternal service' to you... And I'm supposed to think that you're - what? - chivalrous deep down? Trustworthy? Assume that favours from you are actually worth something? Do I look that stupid to you?"

The radio demon blinked. "Do you want me to answer that truthfully?"

You folded your arms. The stance would come off as defensive, but you didn't need your arms to put up a fight, not with your particular powers. "Do you want me to blindly believe you?"

"No, of course not! I see you as... a kindred spirit, in a sense. Such violence within you, a head for business, yet bogged down by apathy... If a game is not to your tastes, then how about a mutually beneficial partnership?"

There was something in his eyes that looked almost proud. Satisfied, maybe. It was strange. He really was an expressive creature, but you could tell there were so many thoughts in his head that weren't fully reaching his features.

You had a feeling that he would be one hell of a poker player.

"'Mutually beneficial partnership'? Is that how people from your era asked each other out or something?"

"Hah! You are a funny one..."

That... wasn't a no. Huh.

"Wait, are you actually-"

"Ah, how unfortunate, but it seems I must be running along now. It's disheartening that we couldn't come to an agreement of any sort, but in the future I hope we can see eye to eye. I will be in contact with you soon, as I did enjoy this little chat!"

You found yourself smiling - genuinely smiling - for the first time in what felt like forever.

"And what's the actual name of the gentlemen I should be waiting for?" you asked.

"How rude of me, it seems I've missed a trick or two! The one you will be awaiting is Alastor. I hear he's quite the troublemaker, though."

"At least you've heard of him," you said, delighting in the way his eye left twitched.

"A funny one indeed," Alastor concluded before vanishing in a smog. The last thing you saw was his shadow grinning at you with a wink.

You stayed there for a moment, basking in the unfamiliar warmth filling your chest. It was, without a doubt, a feeling you could get used to.

(Thanks for reading - I have requests open, so if you want to see anything specific, let me know and I'll see what I can do!)

[missingexaltation]

How Eddie wins over Mr Harrington (by barely trying)

(in ten simple-ish steps)

Basically, how I imagine Steve's dad to be. I kind of think they have more in common than they don't, and maybe his son being queer is the *kick* that he needs to be a better human being (just like Nancy was for Steve).

Richard Harrington unexpectedly comes home from a business trip to find his son in flagrante delicto on his couch with an immediately antagonistic young man, (Edward, he later discovers), he waits in the kitchen, seething with disappointment and rage. Steven takes his things and leaves without a word, leaving the Munson boy to very purposefully throw Steven's house key at Richard's feet, keeping eye contact as he does so. The disrespect is blinding, and that night Richard drowns his anger in whiskey.

Days later his son comes home to collect his remaining belongings, supported by the Munson boy and his uncle. Wayne Munson is a enigma; on the one hand, clearly a soft liberal, but also a no-nonsense, sensible veteran with family values. Edward doesn't acknowledge Richard at all, too focused on guarding Steven from him. He watches his son cry like a child in the backseat, half listens as Wayne encourages him to keep in contact, and inwardly flinches when he sees Edward glare at him through the car window. He's not sure why his chest aches. Steven chose this path, he tells himself. Steven chose this.

Richard returns again to Hawkins, some weeks later, detouring past the store his son works in. He finds himself parked opposite, watching as Steven dances childishly with a female colleague through the shop windows. He's smiling and laughing and Richard's chest aches again. The passenger door opens and that boy gets in without permission. 'Stevie doesn't need you', he says, bold as brass in leather and covered in tattoos and chains, 'but he'll forgive you if you ask'. It hurts, and the only way Richard can breathe again is to invite them both to dinner later in the week. The subtle relief on Edward's face is immediate, and Richard hates himself a little less, though he's not sure why. He spends the drive home wondering at what point his son's life became unknowable.

Dinner starts awkwardly. Steven barely speaks, but Edward refuses to be quiet. He's a vocal young man, argumentative and strangely principled. They have polar opposite opinions on politics, and while Edward's not shy about his opinions, Richard is more than his equal on the topic. It's the sort of conversation Richard enjoys, trading viewpoints and internalising their differences. The evening ends on a warmer note as both Steven and Edward shake his hand as they leave. Formal. It's only a few steps to the car, but he notes that the boys hold hands nonetheless, as his wife tightly holds his. Middle ground, he thinks. They're not condoning the relationship of course, but accepting it for now. There's time for Steven to come to his senses.

Richard next meets Edward when he has to visit Thatcher's. His driver side tyre has a slow puncture, and although Edward's working on another customer's car he swaps with a colleague so he can see what the issue is. A simple 'he's Stevie's dad' gets him a family discount, and Edward changes the tyre himself when it's deemed too damaged to repair. As he works, Richard learns through his unending monologue that this job is temporary, as Edward's internship at the tattoo parlour doesn't pay, and won't for at least another year, that he needs the money now, as he and Steven are saving for their own place. Richard's immediate instinct is to give them the money himself, but knows it wouldn't be accepted. He takes comfort that Steven's in good hands at least. The Munsons seem to be a practical, friendly people.

Weeks later, when he's back in Hawkins again, he bumps into Edwards uncle, who's insistent on getting coffee and clearing the air. Richard guiltily confesses he's not comfortable with the idea of his son being one of them, that he's not sure he ever will be. Wayne simply points out that at least he's trying, and to keep trying. Apparently Edward's father didn't even do that much. Richard later relays the encounter to his wife, of how overtly proud Wayne is of Edward (my Eddie, he'd said). Richard's not felt proud of Steven for a few years now, only infuriated that he's intent on throwing his life away, but Wayne had plenty of happy stories of him too. As parents, they feel equally guilty and spend the evening drinking and reminiscing on Steven's childhood. It feels like they're reminding themselves of their son more with every day that passes.

He's still in town on the following Tuesday evening, and decides to take Wayne up on his offer and visit the bar that he recommended. He discovers that Edward's a talented musician. Even if it's far too aggressive and loud for Richard's own tastes, there's dedication, commitment and passion in each of the boys on the stage. He remembers his own music idols, how passionately they preached against the war in Vietnam, and he wonders when exactly it was that he stopped noticing the injustices of the world, when it was that his business suits became a comfort instead. He's quickly cornered by Wayne, Jim Hopper and David Jones ('my son's on the drums', he says, proudly). But they're all proud of their boys, he adds, and equally appalled by their music tastes. He goes on to say that the parents take it in turns to keep an eye on the boys each week, after what happened earlier in the year. Richard's in utter shock after hearing that there was a murderer on the loose not long ago, and plans to stay in town more after hearing that both boys were involved. He's clearly out of place and out of touch, but they're kind enough to not mention it. He buys the drinks for the remainder of the night, as penance. He has nothing else to offer, but hopes that's enough to start. His son could have died.

As is habit now, when he's in town, Richard drives past the video store to glimpse his son through the window. Further down the street he catches Edward balancing takeaway coffees whilst trying to open the door to the tattoo parlour. It takes moments to pull over and offer his assistance, and it hurts when Edward is surprised by the gesture. Richard's invited into the shop, and although Edward's busy, 'of course he has time for his father in law'. The phrase knocks him emotionally off balance, but Edward doesn't notice, simply updating him on their house hunt, and inviting them to the house warming, pending Stevie's approval. He shakes Edward's hand when he leaves, and when he turns back to his car, notices Steven quietly watching him from the window of his store. He waves, and after a moment his son waves back. He's alive, and there's hope, at least.

He and Kathleen invite the boys and Wayne over for dinner. He sees Steven smiling in the car as they arrive, and although it's faded by the time Richard opens the door, it returns tenfold when he shakes Edward's hand and greets him with 'hello son'. Richard's still very much uncomfortable (especially with how 'hands on' Edward seems to be) and if he finds himself in the kitchen knocking back a few more drinks than usual then it's his own business. It's worth it at the end of the night, when Steven invites them to their housewarming, and actually seems to want them there. He feels Wayne's approval through their goodbye handshake, and it makes him feel as though he's on the right path.

Jim Hopper lets them in through the front door. It's a small house, clean and characterless, and full of people Richard doesn't know. In the yard, Steven's at the grill with some other boys his age, and Edward is in the middle of the lawn, spinning a curly-haired teenager around like he weighs nothing. They look happy. Settled. Edward spots them first, waves them over and starts introducing them to the other adults. Steven brings them drinks, is beaming behind his sunglasses. (He can't remember the last time Steven smiled at him.) Hours later, when they leave, Edward shakes his hand and thanks them for coming (for trying, but that's unspoken), and Steven hugs him for the first time in so, so long, burying his head in Richard's shoulder like he used to as a child. Kathleen cries on the drive home, and he's not much better, but they're happy tears. He's a slow learner, Kathy too, but they're learning.

[im-getting-help]

okay, but what if:

"and then he said 'doesn't this proves how much of a good friend i am?' it was fucking insane!"

"I don't want to tell you I told you so, but..."

"Farleigh shut-"

"I don't think I will Felix. I told you since the beginning that little goblin was dangerous and you didn't listen, so, I don't think I'll shut up ever again."

Felix sighed, his fingers combed through his hair for the hundredth time since he began the story, his signet ring reflected the sunlight every time he fixed his bangs. "He's not... dangerous. He's... he's insane but he's not dangerous."

"Yeah right. You can't be serious." Farleigh shaked his head and chuckled, but Felix wasn't laughing. "Felix, you can't be serious."

Felix remained silent, he refused to meet his eyes.

"Are you thinking about forgiven him?"

Felix shrugd, a small movement, almost as he didn't want to acknowledge what was being said.

He knew that it wasn't the smartest move on his part, there was no valid justification, no a single thing could explain why he did what he did, but Felix wanted so badly to forgive, to forget. The memories of that night kept repeating, his brain replaying them like a movie and he was unable to look away, no matter how much it scared him. He felt stuck, fixed in a moment. Something about the way Oliver pleaded, the way he cried, the way he hold onto him, he couldn't take the image of Oliver's eyes filled with tears, real tears.

That wasn't an act, he was sure of it, it was nothing that he ever seen Oliver did before, he was desperate. That right there was truly Oliver Quick, and he didn't want to let go, he couldn't.

"I think he needs help. I don't think he's a bad person, and he isn't dangerous. He said that I was his only friend..."

Farleigh got up from the couch, patting his pockets to feel for the pack of cigarettes, his hands trembled slightly, although he was sure Felix wouldn't notice.

"You can't smoke in here Farls, mommy is going to end you if she finds out."

"I know, I'm going outside." He retrieved the lighter from his right pocket and the cigarettes from his left while he stride to the entrance of the long gallery. He always hated that rule, "it could ruin the old folios and paintings" said uncle James, even though they could smoke in every other room, as if they didn't have relics or expensive paintings in there too. Right now though, he couldn't be more thankful to find an excuse to leave this conversation.

"Farleigh..."

"I need a smoke, Felix. Let's take a break, you can keep telling me about Ollie-dear later, yeah?"

Felix was already behind him, with the rush Farleigh didn't even hear him get up. He felt one of Felix's heavy hands on his shoulder and even though his sweater was making him sweat he shivered. Felix's movements were slow and gentle, he was never an aggressive person yet Farleigh felt his feet stuck to the floor, he looked at his hands still shaking.

"Farleigh, I need you to promise me that you're not going to tell anyone about this, about Oliver."

"Yeah, of course. I don't think auntie would be to pleased to hear about it anyways."

Felix grip tighten a little as he turned Farleigh around. Being face to face with Felix this way made Farleigh remembered his mother, how she teach him about boundaries and limits. They used to spent the afternoon sharing a cup of tea, the only british custom she maintained. "If you don't feel comfortable with someone you can put distance, you have to. If you feel uncomfortable or uncertain about a situation or a person you can and should stay away".

"I mean it, I need to know that you won't tell anyone about Oliver. No mom or Venetia or I don't know India or Jackson, no one. Not one person Farleigh."

"I promise Felix. I don't want anything to do with it anyways. If I can stay away from Oliver Quick believe me, I will."

"You make it sound like he tried to kill you Farls." Felix scoffed.

"Yeah, well, you know me, I like to dramatize."

Felix had his eyes fixed on Farleigh, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Can I go now?"

"You won't tell anyone?"

Farleigh sighed heavily. He was scared for his cousin, he was scared for his family. Oliver wasn't only dangerous, he seemed to be completely demented, passed the point of reason. He was scared that Felix ended up really hurt because of him.

He was no stranger to Oliver's outbursts, but he was also very, very tired. He'd been tired of cleaning Felix's messes for a long time. He was tired of dealing with ex-friends and ex-girlfriends and ex-whatevers, dealing people who got hurt by Felix's carelessness, by his indifference. He used to scold Felix, telling him to be more careful with his relationships. How funny it is that he found the worst person in all England to take interest in? Farleigh wanted scream, he wanted to slap some reason into him but he knew that no matter what he did or what he said Felix had already made his mind. He was a big boy now anyways, he could take care of himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Felix. I don't think I know an Oliver Quick. Now, can you please let go?"

Felix hand fell to his side, his lips curled up in an attempt at smiling. Farleigh could see the bags under his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping since the party.

"Thank you Farls, I knew you would understand"

Farleigh bit his cheek and nodded before quickly exiting the room, he strode towards the stairs to that led to the rooftop.

He realized he had to walk pass Oliver's room on the way to the stairs. He was surprised to find an open door when it finally reached the area, he wouldn't cross it of course, but he stood there, observing.

The interior showed a man profoundly asleep, snoring softly, black hair a mess. Farleigh lit his cigarette and observed Oliver, the open curtains let the midday sun in, the room was warm. Oliver looked so innocent like this, like a little boy. The antiseptic smell that lingered in the room and was the only thing that reminded him of the reality of who was the person behind the sleeping beauty facade.

Farleigh snickered and walked away, Oliver Quick wasn't his problem anymore.

[incorrect-skylanders-quotes]

Master Eon: Before we start letting everyone in, one last check on everything. Decorations?

Hugo: Secure, reinforced, and impossible to tangle.

Master Eon: Good, the last thing we need is another High Five incident. Refreshments?

Hugo: Most of it's here already, Finn's still on his way with his contributions.

Master Eon: As long as he arrives, he makes some excellent enchiladas. Music?

Hugo: Picked it all out personally! Here, take a listen!

Master Eon:

Hugo:

Hugo: I... probably should've listened to the whole thing...I, uh...I need to make a quick adjustment.

(Hugo begins to frantically change the songs on his playlist)

Master Eon: [sigh] Well, hopefully the party turns out better than last year.

——

Cynder: Wow, Everyone's outdone themselves this year, the Academy looks amazing!

Spyro: Yeah, but it's not just festive decorations and music that makes a holiday great.

Cynder: And what would make it great?

Spyro: Spending it with the greatest dragon you know?

Cynder: [laugh] I guess that would.

Spyro: (pulls Cynder close with his wing) Shall we find somewhere less crowded?

Cynder: I suppose we shall.

(Stealth Elf watches the two head off, following after them)

----

Sonic Boom: Whirlwind! I see you're trying a new look.

Polar Whirlwind: Yeah, I keep forgetting this happens every winter. Not sure why. It does have its uses though.

Sonic Boom: Really? Like what?

Lightning Rod: Whirlwind! Did you carve "Lightning Rod is a big stupid poopoohead" into my custom-made Christmas statue again?! Where are you?!

Polar Whirlwind: (digging into the snow) If he asks, I was never here.

----

Golden Queen: Ugh, Chompy Mage, what are you wearing?!

Jingle Bell Chompy Mage: I am wearing a Santa outfit like I was told to! Yohoho, I look festive!

Chompy Puppet: You sure do, Chompy Mage!

Jingle Bell Chompy Mage: Aww, thank you Chompy Puppet!

Golden Queen: You look like you kidnap children, change into your regular garb at once!

Golden Queen: ...And they called us evil, whoever made him dress like that is the true criminal!

----

(Stealth Elf is peeking through a window)

Eruptor: Hey Elfy, what're you-

(Stealth Elf covers Eruptor's mouth and drags him down)

Stealth Elf: Shhh, They'll hear!

Eruptor: Who?

Stealth Elf: (pointing at Spyro and Cynder) Them!

Stealth Elf: I hung a sprig of mistletoe in the Library, and I'm waiting for both of them to notice and kiss!

Eruptor: Are they even dating?

Stealth Elf: Yes! No, it's... [sigh] that's exactly why I'm doing this! No one here knows what in Skylands is up with those two, and they refuse to clarify! Are they dating? Platonic? Platonic with benefits? None of us can figure it out!

Stealth Elf: Well, not today! I'm getting to the bottom of this once and for all!

Eruptor: ...okay. I guess I'll leave you to it. (backs away cautiously)

----

Wolfgang: Hugo, mate, we gotta ask ya something.

Hugo: About what?

Echo: It's the music. I get it technically counts as something Christmas-y, but "Broccoli Guy and Chill Bill's Cool-iflower Festivity Mixtape" is still really weird for a party playlist.

Radio: 🎶Tis the season to be Troll-y, falalalala lalalala-🎶

Hugo: I was short on time! I had no better choices!

Wolfgang: Really? Aren't there thousands of Christmas songs out there?

Echo: And we have the Skaletones on speed-dial, couldn't get them?

Hugo: (storming off) Well, if you're not satisfied with my choices, then why don't you pick the songs out!

(Hugo storms off, leaving Echo and Wolfgang with the stereo system)

Wolfgang: ...I have a really horrible idea. (whispers it into Echo's ear)

Echo: That's awful. Let's do it!

----

Mags: Glumshanks! Glad you could make it!

Glumshanks: Thanks for the invitation. I'm actually kind of looking forward to this.

Mags: You better! This party's been a par-tic-ularly fantabulous jig!

Boomer: Mags, have you seen the fireworks? Buzz and Cali won't let us set them off and someone hid my secret stash!

Boomer: Oh hey, aren't you Kaos' lapdog?

Glumshanks: Not for tonight, at least until 8:30. Though, I'm not exactly sure what to do here.

Boomer: Well, worry not my fellow troll! C'mon, let's find some fireworks and set them off!

Glumshanks: I- that sounds kind of fun, I guess. Sure, why not!

----

Holiday Wash Buckler: (staring at his watch) Where the barnacles is Chompy Mage? He's late for our matching Santa outfit photoshoot!

Merry Snap Shot: Beats me, guess he forgot.

Jolly Bumble Blast: I hope not! The bees aren't too happy about looking like flying peppermints, let's just start without him!

Chompy Mage: I am here! Sorry for being late!

Merry Snap Shot: Mate, where's your Santa dress? Didya forget about the theme?

Chompy Mage: Golden Queen told me to not wear it, she also said something about kidnapping infants and how you all should be imprisoned!

Merry Snap Shot: You gotta be joking, after all this time, she's back to evil?! And on Christmas too?!

Jolly Bumble Blast: So...that's a no on the Santa photos?

Merry Snap Shot: (pulling out his Traptanium Bow) 'Fraid not, Skylander duties come first. Now, let's have a little chat with Goldie...

----

Missile-Tow Dive-Clops: Lob-Star, nice colors!

Winterfest Lob-Star: As to you, Dive-Clops. It appears that we match.

Missile-Tow Dive-Clops: Hey, we kinda do! Y'know, it's funny, me and Eye-Brawl were gonna do something like this, but when the headless giant heard he'd have to wear red and white, he ran off! We're still looking for him...

(meanwhile)

Eye-Brawl: For the love of the Ancients, it is just one day! I didn't complain when I wore that pumpkin for Halloween!

Headless Giant: (refuses in headless silence)

Eye-Brawl: You are so impossible!

----

Smolderdash: (walking past some snowmen) Roller Brawl? Where are you? You told me to meet you here.

Snowler Brawl: (jumping out of a snowman) Boo!

Smolderdash: (falling backward) Gah!

Snowler Brawl: [laughing] Gotcha! I saw the snowmen and I couldn't resist!

Snow-Brite Stormblade: (popping out of the Christmas tree) Ooh, you were hiding in random Christmas stuff too?

Dec-Ember: (climbing down from the hanging lights) I thought I was the only one doing so.

Smolderdash: W-wha...why were you all...[sigh] nevermind.

----

Tree Rex: Looks like the next song's coming up. Wonder what'll it be?

(Some very familiar music plays)

Terrafin: By the Ancients, not these! I thought we got rid of all the copies!

Flynn: Hey, Christmas 4 Bad Guyz 2 is a bop! Especially since I was a part of it!

(Echo and Wolfgang start laughing as Terrafin and Flynn start arguing)

----

(Spyro and Cynder are cuddling together in the Library, laying on a sofa with blankets)

Spyro: So, when should we rejoin the festivities?

Cynder: Mmm, I think we could wait a couple more minutes.

Stealth Elf: (thinking to herself) Come on, come on, come on, kiss, or don't! Just look at the dang mistletoe!

Cynder: Spyro? I never get to say this to you a lot, but... I-

(Cynder is interrupted by a loud explosion of fireworks)

Spyro: ...Huh. Guess Boomer found the fireworks after all. What were you going to say, Cynder?

Cynder: Oh, well, I was going to say... I'm-

(Cynder is interrupted again by the sounds of fighting)

Stealth Elf: You gotta be kidding...

Golden Queen: (bursting through the Library doors) For the last time, I said HE looked like he kidnapped children! If you saw him wearing that horrid costume you would agree!

Snap Shot: Save it for the Cloudcracker guards, Queenie!

(Snap Shot and Golden Queen continue fighting, knocking each other through a window in the process)

Spyro: That was odd.

Cynder: Yeah. Anyways, l-

Spyro: (noticing the mistletoe) Hey, what's that?

Cynder: It looks like...

Stealth Elf: Yes, yes, yes!

Cynder: ...Holly.

Stealth Elf: What.

Spyro: (plucking the holly from the ceiling) Hey, it is. Guess someone mistook it for mistletoe.

Stealth Elf: ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I SPENT HALF THE NIGHT DOING THIS FOR NOTHING?!! GAH!

(Stealth Elf storms off)

Cynder: Sheesh, guess Stealth Elf isn't having a good Christmas.

Spyro: Wonder what she was doing by the window...

Cynder: Eh, probably not important. But, as I was saying...

Cynder: I'm lucky to have met you. All those years ago, after the fighting, you were the first to believe in me, that there was more than darkness in my heart. You led me down a better path, and I'll always be thankful for that.

Spyro: I'm glad I met you too, you're one of the best Skylanders around! Fighting Kaos, defeating Malefor, I'm not sure how we'd ever have done it without you. Plus, I got to know the best dragon around.

(Spyro and Cynder kiss)

Spyro: Merry Christmas, Cynder.

Cynder: Merry Christmas, Spyro.

Spyro and Cynder:

Spyro: So...are we dating?

[sweetielilie]

Yan!Satoru and Yan!Suguru Pt2!! (｡’▽’｡)♡

A/N: I plan on making a recent gojo and geto hc or fic, and then maybe a fic of the yan teen sillies!

CW: barista!nonsorcerer!gn!reader, murder, creepiness

word count: 491

Yan!satoru who became a regular (and by regular i mean coming back everytime you had your shift) at the cafe you work at, nagging to take an early break so he gets to ask you all about your day. Yaga is on his ass everytime he makes a detour from his mission if it's near the cafe, but to him, it's just a cursed spirit, why can't he just take a peek on how you're doing? He'll keep up the line to blabber how jujutsu high is just too mean on him and that he doesn't deserve the mistreatment, which often leads you into pushing him out of the way. (Which is fine by him, anything is fine if you're doing it.)

Yan!suguru who isn't fond of coffee, but sucking it up because it's you we're talking about. If you're making his coffee, it's the sweetest thing ever, even if it's pure black coffee. If he's having a bad day, a simple latte you made yourself makes it the brightest day ever. He'll ask about your day and subtly persuade you to go on a date (to him, atleast) after your shift is over. What a smooth talker. Geto is also a great listener, if you're ranting to him on your break about how nagging these customers are or how you got a burn from a customer spilling coffee, he won't try to shut you up.

Yan!SatoSugu who goes shopping with you after your shift, making you try on all kinds of luxuries, all kinds of jewelry, everything. They stop by some stores with house decor too, if you like it, they'll buy it, one for you, two for them. You ask if they liked it too, they just shrug and say it feels special to them.

Yan!SatoSugu who have practically a makeshift shrine of momentos and anything you like or has your dna (Suguru got his hands on the pencil you chewed on before Gojo, Satoru is still mad at him.), with pictures of you all together, or photos of you sleeping, everything you do is cherished with love and admiration.

Yan!SatoSugu who refuse to let you near an area that they're in a mission on. Oh, this is your apartment? Too bad, cursed spirit, you can't get killed. Satoru will whine and try to get you to live in the dorms, not like Yaga would let him anyways. But it's much safer than your apartment, think of all the cursed spirits crawling there!

Yan!SatoSugu who don't let anyone get close to you, either they go missing or cutting contact with you, your friendships never last long. They're the only friends you need, why be friends with everyone else? Not to mention those people could be trying to get their way close to them, to make them let their guard down just to stab them in the back. Don't you care about their protection??

[fuck-customers]

This barely even scratches the surface of the improvements that need to be made to this garbage dump, but I can at least celebrate tiny victories. 👏✨️

My manager is the type that won't listen to her employees about what would improve the store and instead insists that everything she does is the Right and Correct Way when of course, she's wrong.

Now me, being petty and having worked there longer than my manager and everyone in the store, I just fucking do what I want for the most part. And what I want to do usually involves improving the store in some way that makes things less inconvenient/less irritating for me.

Some of you may recall asks where I was having an ongoing petty battle with the stuffed animals at the register area. They all had different prices and manager refused to tag them. I tagged them. Manager peeled off tags. I eventually won the petty battle by typing and printing out sale signs. On the fucking notepad app since the store computers don't have word. ("Small stuffed animal: $4.99 medium stuffed animal: $6.99, etc)

Now I seem to have won my other petty battle.

Tbh though, this one is more of a personal irritant and doesn't actually improve or make the store worse.

My manager put a service button at my department and it's unnecessary because employees are rarely more than 20 feet away from the counter at any given time, as we need to stay in our department, and can clearly see customers waiting for assistance. And customers are fucking morons and press the button multiple times, even after you tell them "I'm on my way" "I'm right here to assist you" "Do not press the button, I am right here" etc etc. And there is no way for us employees to turn the button off or tell the system "hey I heard you, I'm here" or whatever. Except disabling the entire device.

SO I would just take the batteries out. Lmao

Then after a couple months, my manager wrapped the battery compartment in electrical tape, as if that would stop me. I would just remove the batteries and reapply the tape. Or sometimes I'd simply put the entire device behind the counter.

Then I came into work one day and the button was gone. 🙌 Wonder what other petty battles I'll win.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[lostlegendaerie]

yesss please drabble about the dreamxxdream rinharu airport art 🙌 I love that one so much I have it printed out on my wall

[based on this piece by @dreamxxdream ]

It's been a shit day. Flying always makes him feel a little sick between the motion of the plane and the dehydration of the air pressure, and he fought with his sister over text before boarding, so he didn't get any sleep on the flight. He's come home on a coach-enforced training break after he sprained his Achilles tendon when he slipped getting out of the pool and overextended the joint, and he just got the news the stray cat they always fed had to be put to sleep. If he were a few years younger, he'd be trying not to cry in public. (He still is, but he's succeeding this time. Take that, middle school self.)

What's worse is that Haru is the one who is picking him up today. Not to say that he isn't excited to see him; he's only been in love with the guy since he was in elementary school, but the feelings have always seem to him to be one-sided. That had even been what he fought with his sister about before he left Sydney; refusing to agree with her delusions that his friend and rival was even half as excited to see Rin as Rin was to see Haru.

He knows Haru won't be there with flowers and a sign with his name on it (he would crawl under the furniture with embarrassment if he was, oh my god) and that he'll get a nod and an offer to help carry his bags and a quiet drive back to his house. It's just--

Today is the kind of day he wishes he'd get a little more than that. But it's Haru, bothering to get out of the bathtub and pick him up, so he'll be grateful about it and pretend he's not a yawning wound of a man, waiting desperately for Haru to fill him. Makoto would have been a better choice. Might have even given him a hug.

The world is still unsteady under Rin's feet when he finally makes it through customs, still adjusting the backpack straps on his back, and makes eye contact with Haru just outside the glass doors. He steps forward, a cocky smirk already stretching across his face but--

Haru isn't waiting. He's coming to meet Rin, bright-eyed and just barely stopping himself from running. Rin's expression buckles, the exhaustion and simple human need to be touched yanking him forward despite the pain in his ankle and he only barely remembers to drag his wheeled suitcase behind him as he breaks into a hobbling jog.

Rin is hit with an armful of Haruka Nanase like an emotional sledgehammer, and just that easily his emotional walls crumble. He buries his face into Haru's shoulders, tears welling up behind his eyes, and squeezes Haru back.

"I missed you," Haru says, holding him back just as tight.

"Yeah," Rin chokes.

"I'm sorry about your cat."

"Yeah," he repeats, an eloquent and mature man who is absolutely not crying in the Tokyo airport. He does, however, squeeze Haru a little tighter as he breathes in the familiar scent of honeysuckle detergent, cheap deodorant, and the ever-present tang of chlorine that forms the aromatic memory of Haru in his mind. "Me too." To all of it.

Haru doesn't let him go immediately, letting them stand there and sway gently in the chaos of the airport, lost in each other's embrace. If Rin listens, he can hear Haru's heartbeat, just a little faster than normal, and he wonders if he owes Kou an apology for more than just his tone.

"Welcome home," Haru says, and Rin laughs into his shoulder.

"It's good to be back."

[normal-person-i-promise]

»— yandere reigen headcanons —>

tw for obsessive tendencies, possessive tendencies, manipulation (guilt tripping, gaslighting, etc.) sort of. forced isolation? like cutting off ties to friends and family

★ ★ ★

× It had started out normal. Just another client. Just another forgettable face. But the more Reigen talked to you, the more he felt your skin beneath his fingertips...

× He gets a little... Interested, in you, and manages to convince you that you'll need to come again — that the spirit weighing down your shoulders has not yet left, regardless of how you feel. He'd even charge less!

× So you come again. And again. And again. He'd always greet you with a smile, offering you a cup of "purifying coffee" whilst his hands worked away at your shoulders, making pleasant conversation as he does so.

× After a few weeks of him "getting rid of that god forsaken spirit", Reigen brings you to a ramen shop. He'd said that spirits despise this place — the food exorcises your body from the inside, however that works — and that the ramen here is "blessed". He'd brought you here to do just that; an exorcism, nothing more. The food is good and the staff are polite, so you agree to go with him again.

× And so it becomes normal for him to invite you out to eat — you'd even consider him a friend. He's polite enough; he makes pleasant conversation, he always walks you home... He's nice to be around.

× Whenever you'd tell Reigen that you weren't free to get dinner together, that you weren't free to see him, his tone would be one of hurt and his voice would be one of pain. He's done so much for you, after all. He's done nothing but help you, done nothing but heal you, even charging you less for those pesky spirits! What's one little cancelled plan just to see him?

× The more you talk to him, though, the more you realize that... Your friends, your family — or so you call them — aren't as good as you perceive them to be. "I'm a psychic!" He says, flashing you a charming grin. "I'm knowledgeable in these aspects."

× And so, one by one, you begin to cut them off. It's a slow process, one that hurts a lot more than it should, but you know that this is for the best. "You deserve better than them," he'd say over takoyaki. "You deserve someone who appreciates you."

× He'd message you often ever since he got your number. He'd call you late at night to rant about how this certain customer was just being such a jerk, and how he wished every client he served was just like you. Perfect, perfect you...

× Eventually, it had become a sort of... Nightly routine. You'd text him during the day whenever you were free, then call him at night to listen to him go on about a particularly nasty spirit, or a wonderfully polite customer. You'd... Consider Reigen a good friend now. The familiar ringing of your phone was like a comfort to you in the cold of loneliness, and his warm voice always brought a smile to your face.

× Sometimes, he'd... Say that he's too tired. He'd ask to come over, and you'd always say yes. It's so... Lonely, having cut off all your friends and family, so you always enjoyed what company he brought.

× He'd stay over at your place at least once a week, cooking for you and taking care of your home — acting as though he lives there, welcoming himself inside and helping himself to anything he needed. He's always polite, and seems to leave your house cleaner than when he entered.

× ...So you begin to invite him into your home almost every day. Reigen would almost never refuse your offer, saying that it's safer to have a powerful psychic around, especially since the spirits haunting you are so great and terrible. You absolutely love when he stays over for the night; it means you won't be plagued by a silent phone, it means you'll finally have someone to talk to.

× You grow... Attached, to Reigen, trying to see him more on the streets and getting almost every meal together. He's so... Sweet, so charming, and every time you'd strike up a conversation with him, he always seems so happy to talk to you. He seems so... Wise, so knowledgeable, whenever you'd ask him questions; it's like he always knows the right thing to say, and how to say it.

× He begins to get you gifts. Nothing special, usually just a bag of salt or a few handpicked "purifying" flowers. You'd always accept them with gratitude, smiling at him as you take the gift from his hands. He always seems to... Brush his hands against yours whenever you take the gift from his hands. Not that you mind, though.

× Your mental state... You can feel it getting worse. Turns out cutting off all ties to friends and family does things to you, so you find yourself going to Spirits & Such a lot more often to just have someone to talk to, someone you trust. "They're only with you to get something out of you," he'd said. "They don't want you. Just your services."

× You begin to spend almost all your time with Reigen, almost never being seen without him. Isn't it so lonely to be in your empty, quiet house, with no one to talk to? Isn't it so painful to be without him, to not be around him? There's no one else to be around, after all. Everyone will hurt you, everyone will use you. It hurts, it hurts, so you never leave his side. You always go over to Reigen's house, or he'd go over to yours.

× There's this one day when he's staying at your house for the night that he... He gets this debilitating headache — we're talking clutching his head, writhing in pain down on the floor — and he chokes out a few words, barely audible over his noises of pain. "Don't... Go out... Spirits... Will attack..."

× ...So you don't. You stay, most of the time, in your house. Reigen's always there to bring you whatever you need from outside your door — takeout? Got it! Groceries? On the way!

× Slowly, slowly, you find yourself falling for the charming psychic. He just seems so... Perfect, so much better than everyone else. "Everyone's out to get you except me," he'd said, giving you a soft smile. "I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't found you that day."

× ...Oh, and Reigen? God, he's obsessed with you. Your voice, your eyes, your hair... You're... Perfect. And what's more, everything he's been doing to you has been working wonderfully! You've cut off all your ties, you've put him on this high pedestal in your mind — you're falling in love with him, for God's sake! Finally, he has someone to be with! Finally, he won't be alone!

× When you'd confessed to him, he had been overjoyed. This is all he could have ever wanted, to be with you, to be yours, for you to be his! The transition from being friends to dating him is smooth — you've been doing everything a couple would do already: he'd bring you gifts, he'd stay over at your place, you'd have long phone calls that lasted until morning...

...

× ...There's this one day when Reigen goes out for a company trip, and you... You break. God, it's so quiet, it's so empty, it's so lonely...

...That's... Weird. Reigen has been acting like he's been dating you, even before you began to fall in love with him...

...

...Wait.

You've never felt this way before meeting him, have you?

× You reflect a bit. Okay, so... You meet him for a spiritual consultation, he gives you an exorcism, he tells you to come by more, he brings you out to eat... Okay, now it's a little fuzzy. You think he... You remember what he'd said, that... That your friends and family are inferior to him, that they only want to use you.

...Okay, that's a little... Weird. The jump between him exorcising your spirits and knowing about your friends and family...

× Come to think of it, he... Knows a lot more than he should. He knows what food you like, he knows what size clothes you wear, he knows your schedule, he knows where you work...

× Then he... He begins to treat you like his... His lover, even prior to you confessing him and the both of you starting to date, and then he... He discouraged you from going out, saying that there's "harmful spirits"...

...You're starting to doubt whether Reigen is even a psychic.

× ...Okay, okay! So, you try to get back into contact with your family and friends, and... Okay, yeah, they just shut you out, but that's fine! You'll be fine, you're sure. But you can't just... Live without friends, right? You can't just live without seeing your family every now and then, right?

× "You can," Reigen had reassured you when he'd come back. "I'm here. I'm more than enough for you, right?"

× ...You're smarter now. You push him away, kick him out of your house, told him that he'd cut off all your friends and family. "It's not my fault they're all toxic," he'd shot back, angrily. "It's not my fault that I'm the only one who can treat you right."

× ...Okay, that... That makes a lot of sense, actually. You welcome him back in, apologising profusely for your mistake. Reigen knows better than you, after all. You're bound not to see mistakes, not to see the flaws; that's why he's here. He's here to protect you from those horrid people.

× "I love you," he'd repeated over and over. "You can't leave. It's not safe out there."

× ...So you don't.

[nineteenninety-six]

This was actually requested back in June by @tommys-proper-tea but I had completely forgotten about it :(

To say that Tommy and (Y/N) didn't get along was the understatement of the century.

No matter what, if they were in the same vicinity of each other, it would always end in an argument between the two. Insults were thrown back and forth to no end until someone, usually Polly, got them to stop.

If you asked either of them why didn't they didn't get along and constantly bicker, they would say they didn't know why but they just didn't get along.

Polly of course knew better, after watching them grow and partially raising Tommy. She knew the root of it all.

Both of them had feelings for each other and years of not admitting to themselves plus no communication had evolved into a d(Y/N)amic where they bickered and insulted each other more than anything else.

John had called a family meeting at the Garrison, including (Y/N) and she was already there with Arthur and John, waiting for the rest to arrive. John was deep in thought so the other two decided to remain silent until they were all there. Arthur poured them both a glass of whiskey

Soon Tommy and Polly arrive without Ada who was probably off with her mystery man who she refused to tell (Y/N) anything about.

"All right John, there's only one man guarding the house... what's troubling you?" Tommy gets straight to business.

"Polly, you know what it's been like since Martha died." John starts

"God takes the best first." Polly gives John's hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"The truth is, my kids have been running bloody rings around me. Running barefoot with the dogs until all hours."

"Pol, give him ten bob for some new shoes. Is that it, john?" Tommy is utterly uninterested in the conversation.

"Tommy, we'd be better to do this without you." (Y/N) snaps, tired of Tommy's nonsense.

"Now, what's your point?" Polly asks.

"What the kids need is a mother. So that's why I'm getting married."

The snug goes silent as everyone processes the news John has just dumped on them.

"Does this poor girl know you're gonna marry her or are you just gonna spring it on her all of the sudden?" (Y/N) asks, sarcastically.

"I've already proposed and she said yes."

“It's, um, it's Lizzie Stark."

“I think there's a shell about to land and go bang." Tommy mutters as he lights a cigarette.

Everyone bursts into giggles and snorts much to John's annoyance.

"John! Lizzie Stark's a strong woman, and I'm sure she provides a fine service for her customers." Polly struggles to keep the laughter at bay.

"I won't hear the word. Understand? Do not use that word."

“What word is that, John?" Tommy sighs.

“You know what word that is."

"Everybody bloody knows." Arthur laughs out his words.

“Everybody can go to hell." John grumbles.

"Whore? That word. Or prostitute? How about that one?" Tommy antagonizes John.

"All right, I want it known, if anyone calls her a whore again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats, and blow the word back down into their hearts."

"Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me." Polly scoffs. "John, Lizzie Stark never did a day's work vertical."

John digs himself deeper "She's changed. All right, people change. Like with religion."

"Oh, Lizzie Stark's got religion, eh?" Tommy asks.

"No, no, she doesn't have religion, but... Well, she loves me. Now, listen, Tommy. I won't do it without your blessing. But of all the people in the world, I want you to see it... As brave."

"Oh, it's brave, all right." (Y/N) giggles and Arthur joins her.

"Brave is going where no man has gone before and with Lizzie Stark, John, that is really not what you'll be doing." Polly bursts into laughter again causing (Y/N) and Arthur to laugh too.

"Listen, Tommy, welcome her to the family as someone who's had a hard life. All right, because I need someone. All right, the kids need someone." John pleads with Tommy.

Tommy doesn't say anything, instead just takes a seat and pours himself a glass of whiskey.

"Talking about marriage, when are you two gonna get over your cute dislike of each other and finally admit you love each other?" Arthur asks, pointing between (Y/N) and Tommy.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" They ask at the same time, throwing each other a glare as they did so.

"If you were my wife, I'd put poison in your coffee" Tommy snipes.

"Well, If you were my husband, I'd drink it" (Y/N) snarks back.

"Oh god, will you two please just tell each other your real feelings towards each other, I can't deal with John and Lizzie and you two going at each other at the same time." Polly snaps

Arthur dissolves into another fit of giggles but before either Tommy or (Y/N) could speak up. Finn rushes into the snug..

"Tommy! we've been done over!".