#i was thinking about possibly getting dog once i'm out on my own anyway

[duchessvultjag]

discovering the concept of migraine service dogs 🤩🤩🤩

googling the cost of service dogs 🤮🤮🤮

[strangersteddierthings]

Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. And a third time for good measure. The scene before him doesn't change. Steve Harrington stands off to the side of the lunch table, behind Jeff and Frankie who have both gone still as statues like they think if they don't move, King Steve won't see them.

"Uh, what?" Eddie finds himself saying, against his own will. He heard Harrington the first time, doesn't need or want him to repeat himself, but his disbelief seems to have won out against his grudge for all jocks and his indifference to Steve Harrington in particular.

Harrington's face pinches, like he's three seconds away from rolling his eyes. He doesn't do that, though, which Eddie will give him one brownie point for. "I asked if you had a minute to talk." Eddie's taking away his brownie point because Steve 'asks' in a way that sounds more like a demand.

Hearing the question and or demand a second time doesn't lower Eddie's hackles, but it does pique his curiosity. He drums his fingers atop his lunchbox, thinking it over. He wishes he could say he's pretending to think about it before he tells Harrington to fuck off, but the truth is he actually is thinking about it.

What could Harrington possibly have to say to him? They very much do not run in the same circles. Eddie only talks business at the picnic table past the edge of the woods out back and everyone who buys from him knows that. They share several classes, since they're both seniors, but everyone knows Eddie's on a track to not graduate (again) so he can't possibly be coming to discuss Mrs. Click's homework assignment.

"Sure. Should we go elsewhere or...?" Eddie trails off, lifting a hand to wave in a circle in Steve's direction, questioning.

Steve looks over his shoulder, back towards the side of the cafeteria taken up by the 'popular' crowd. When Steve turns his face back, he looks- well, kind of sad for a moment before it's smoothed over with indifference.

Interesting.

"No. It's probably good that the rest of your friends hear it anyway," Steve answers.

Jeff's eyebrows rise to his hairline, and Frankie frowns as his eyebrows raise at the same time, showing an expression of interest. Eddie's got no idea what Gareth's face is doing because Eddie can't see him unless he wants to turn his face away, but he's certain it's probably a glare of some sort.

Eddie leans back in his chair, wiggling like he's getting extra comfortable before he says, "Well, alright Harrington. Shoot."

"I'm graduating this year, so I just wanted to give you a heads up for next year. I tried to curb the bullying, but I know it still happened. So, since I'm not going to be here to watch out for that, you're gonna wanna up your," Steve gestures to all of Eddie, "everything."

He knew Steve curbed the bullying a bit, heard the confirmation of that last year from Jason Carver and Tommy Hagan, when he'd stepped in to save Gareth. Or rather, Gareth had come flying in to save him and then Eddie had to save Gareth- well, the details don't matter really.

"My everything?" Eddie asks, more confused than angry. He thinks he should be angry. Harrington has all but outright said he doesn't think Eddie's going to graduate with him, after all. But no. The main emotion now is confusion.

"Yeah. Your, y'know, freakinesss or whatever. Be more of it."

"Be more of a freak?" It's fascinating, that Harrington just keeps talking like he thinks anyone at this table care for his opinion.

"Yeah!" Harrington says, cheery like he thinks that Eddie's agreed with him somehow, complete with a stupid snap of his fingers that turns into a finger gun pointed at Eddie. "You've already got this like unapproachable mad dog kind of look about you, most of the JV team is already scared of you. Just like, up that a bit more and they'll probably steer clear of you and your friends." Then Harrington frowns deep, looking around the table of nerds and dorks before looking down at the top of Gareth's head to add, "well. Except probably curly here. No offense, but you seem an easy target."

"Fuck off," Gareth growls, because of everyone at the table, Gareth does have the most bite. (Most bark goes to Eddie himself). Eddie's more prone to run from a problem than engage in it, unlike Gareth, who he's had to pull off of a few people this year.

"Or not," Harrington retracts his previous statement and Eddie will grant the man another brownie point, which brings the total up to one.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Eddie grins, wild and a bit manic.

Harrington is unphased. "Yeah! Do that more. I think it really freaks Jason out and he's most likely to take the captain slot next year, so if you get him afraid of you, the rest of the team'll fall in line and leave you alone too. I think he's super religious, so like, lean into the satanic panic thing people are up in arms about and next year will be a breeze. And-"

Eddie lifts a hand, a motion for Harrington to stop talking. It surprised him a little that Harrington does. Even more interesting. "Stop me if I'm wrong here, Harrington, but are you suggesting that I become the bully?"

Harrington's mouth opens and closes a few times before his face pinches again. Instead of looking like he's going to roll his eyes and be bitchy, Harrington looks confused and then like he's deep in thought. An uncomfortable amount of awkward silence falls over there table, but it's just when Eddie's about to break that silence that Harrington finally speaks. "No. I'm saying just like, be you but bigger. Like, you don't even gotta look in the team's direction. If you're just more of a freak than you usually are, they'll steer clear without the bullying."

"You sure know how to compliment a guy," Eddie deadpans. He's not even upset that Steve's called him a freak. He's spent the majority of his high school career cultivating that outlook. He wasn't just a freak, he was The Freak.

Now a look crosses Harrington's face. One Eddie's not sure he's interpreting correctly. If he had to take a guess, he'd say the look was calculating, knowing, in a way that Eddie doesn't think Harrington could actually achieve. Then it's gone, replaced with the bitchy, eye-rolling look Eddie's used to seeing, and Harrington says, "I haven't said anything untrue."

Hmm. The most interesting thing yet. Eddie might not be graduating (again) but he's not dumb. He didn't survive this far in his life, with a father like his, without learning to read people. He wasn't as good as he wanted to be at reading people last year, but he's definitely good enough know to think that, maybe, just maybe, Harrington also knows a thing or two about cultivating a public perception. Making sure people only see a certain side of you.

"Alright," is what Eddie answers, "I'll take what you've said under advisement."

"Uh. Okay," Harrington says before he just walks away. Conversation over.

"Well," Jeff says, "that was strange."

"Very," Eddie agrees as he watches Harrington walk away, tracking him until the cafeteria door slams shut behind him when he exits.

Eddie has always wanted to up the ante, so to speak. Jump on a cafeteria table and rant about capitalism and organized sports. He never has before but next year seems like a great time to try.

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 9

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Panic/Anxiety attack. Alluding to sexual scenarios. Kissing. Fat shaming, name calling. Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.7K

Series List: Here!

Miss Chapter 8? Here!

Hi everyone!! I really don't feel great about this chapter, I'm sorry if it sucks. I kinda just want to get it out there though because I don't see my brain thinking up anything better. A lot of writer's block surrounding this scene. Anywho, hopefully next chapter will be better, but I still hope you like it. Although we allude to a little bit of sexual situations now that they are together, I likely will avoid explicit smut being that Pedro is a real human and I am a guilty, guilty human for writing any smut at all. I don't want to offend Pedro (not that he'd ever see it anyway, I am delusional), but I also know people find real person fiction uncomfy as a whole. That being said, I think this story may be coming to a close pretty soon. I plan to have maybe one more full storyline chapter, and at least one little side bonus chapter :) Please let me know what you think in the comments, or DM me if you wanna chat! I love hearing all your thoughts. Thank you for reading and hanging in here with me.

Before the screen even had a chance to load, you canceled the request. Nervously looking at Pedro, he held your hand under the table. “What is it?” he asked gently.

“I just realized,” you replied. “What if they ask about us? About those pictures? What should I say?”

Pedro answered with a gentle stroke of his thumb on your cheek. “Whatever you feel comfortable with. I'm sure I'll be fine with whatever you say, baby. I know your privacy is important to you, and I trust you. I'm all in with you.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath and once again began the stream.

“Live in 3…”

“2…”

“1…”

The fans began to file in, and before you knew it, you had thousands of viewers. Opting to start with your screen covered, you wanted to give an intro first before the big reveal. 

It wasn't long before the comments flowed across the screen. 

You took a deep breath, squeezing Pedro’s hand, and jumping in. “Hi everyone! It's me… a lot has been happening lately and I decided it might be time to show a little more of myself.”

-“First!”

-“Did she mean to start a live video ??"

-"Hiii! I'm a big fan"

-“Is she there??”

-“Do you guys see anything?”

“So… Here's me.” You turned on your camera, waving at the screen, your stomach twisting in deeper knots.

-“No fucking way.”

-“!?!!!!!”

-“SCREAMING”

“Hi… Some of you might know me, some might be surprised. But this is me. This is the girl behind the music.”

The comments flooded in, entirely too fast for you to read.

“I want to thank all of you for being fans and listening to my songs. It really means a lot and I hope you liked the album. Your support blows me away, especially with what little information about myself I've given.”

More comments.

“Well, I uh… guess I should read some of these comments and answer some questions. I'm sure there’s a lot you all are wondering about,” you stated nervously, starting to read.

-“Why did you hide your identity?”

“Why did I hide my identity… I hid my identity mostly based on poor self image. I never expected my music to gain popularity, never expected celebrities to know it. Never expected any of it, and it certainly brought its share of criticism. I was scared to be in the spotlight and I didn't feel like I looked good enough to be someone famous. You know? I'm not skinny, I have flaws, and that doesn't always sit well with the Internet. I guess I was mainly scared of how I would be perceived. I'm just a normal girl who had her whole life flipped upside down when I wrote my feelings down,” you laughed anxiously.

Choosing to ignore the storm brewing in the comments below, you addressed the earlier comment. “Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad I can make you feel more accepted by seeing more plus-sized people in the entertainment business. Everyone should feel seen and have a place at the table, no matter what you look like, or who you are.”

-“I think it's nice to have more celebrities that look kinda like me.”

-“You're so humble!!”

-“You should've stayed hidden lmao”

-“Shut up, asshole. Why are you here if you're going to be rude?”

-“I'm sure you're a real supermodel behind that keyboard bravery.. smh”

You weren't expecting someone to actually feel like you were representing them and making them feel seen. You didn't think you had enough of an impact for that. You certainly weren't treated that way when you weren't famous. Nobody really even noticed you before.

You could feel Pedro’s eyes on your face, his thumb swirling circles and hearts over the space of skin on the top of your hand, below your thumb. The place where his bullseye resides on his own. Does he trace that tattoo when he's nervous, the same way he is with me? Perhaps his tracing of your hand is calming himself as much as it is for you.

Desperately, you wanted to look over at him and be comforted by his deep brown eyes, but doing so would cause people to wonder who you made eye contact with and smiled at. So instead, you gave a gentle squeeze and a smile towards the screen, hoping he would understand. 

-“Hi, I'm a big fan of yours. Can I ask… is what you said on your album true? You've never been kissed before? I haven't either and I was starting to feel like I'm just a freak.”

“Oh, honey, you aren't a freak. Everyone has things happen at different times in their life. But yes, everything I wrote in my album at the time I wrote it was true. And don't worry, I have felt the same way. Seeing others be kissed, falling in love… having the things I wasn't, it really hurts. But it'll be okay.. nothing is wrong with you. You're deserving of love.”

You hoped they wouldn't pick up on your usage of past-tense wording. Pedro, still holding your hand, rubbed his other hand over your arm gently.

-“Wait… at the time you wrote it? What about now?”

The comments were going wild.

Welp…

Your hands shook, and you used your opposite hand to place on top of Pedro’s that gripped yours. He squeezed gently, feeling the nervous tremors pass through your body, continuing to rub gentle strokes over your arm with his opposite hand.

“Uhm…” your cheeks heated and your stomach sank.

“I've changed a lot since this album was first written. Experienced new things. But I'm still the same person.”

Shit.

-“Who did you kiss?! Is it the guy in your song?”

-“Will you tell us who the song is about?”

-“Wait a second… you're that girl aren't you!?!!!! The one in the pictures with Pedro Pascal!!!!”

-“OMG IT IS”

-“!!!!!!!”

-“IS HE THE GUY!?!”

-“ARE YOU DATING!?!”

The nervous tremors continued, now threatening to cause your teeth to chatter. A full panic attack was brewing. Pedro squeezed your hand again, touching your knee and trying to do his best to ground you without speaking up on your live video. Skipper could feel the waves of anxiousness pooling off of you as well and crawled forward to settle his body across your feet. You took a few calming breaths, but when you went to speak, your voice still betrayed you.

“I..” your voice cracked, shakiness evident as you could feel tears starting to edge their way towards your vision.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I need to shut it off.

You shut your eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to ease your nausea and stress. 

Keeping your eyes closed, you spoke. “Yes.”

You took another deep breath. “Yes it was me, yes the song was about him. Yes.”

You opened your eyes to read the comments, tears pooling down your cheeks as you couldn't hold back your emotion anymore.

This is so embarrassing. The first time I show my face I'm crying and having an anxiety attack in front of the whole world.

You swallowed, choking back the full sobs that your body wanted to let loose. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you began to read the comments, expecting laughter, criticism, and bullying. Instead, you were met with kindness.

Coming back to your senses, you gave a shaky smile. “Thank you guys. I'm sorry for my emotions.” You sniffled. Pedro was still rubbing your hands and arms, comforting you, having never stopped. His eyes still bore into the side of your head, and you knew he was struggling to not speak up or grab you fully. 

-“Oh my God, are you okay?”

-“I didn't mean to make you cry I'm so sorry”

-“You and Pedro make a cute couple”

-“Oh no, please don't cry”

-“Idk if you guys are dating but you seem cute”

-“I'm so glad you guys are spending time together when he's the guy in your song”

-“It'll be okay, please don't be upset”

-“You're amazing, we love you”

“Yes, Pedro and I have been spending a lot of time talking after he publicly commented on my song a few months ago. The party was the first time we met in person and we're still figuring things out,” you let go of your worries and broke eye contact with the camera, looking to your side to meet Pedro’s gaze. “But… we're happy.” You smiled at him. He smiled back gently, squeezing your hand, worry and sadness plaguing his face over your well-being. Breaking eye contact, you looked back at the screen.

You giggled before answering “well, I think that's all we have time for today. Thank you all for joining me!” You silently clicked off the stream, closing the browser, turning off the computer, and turning to Pedro. He grabbed your other hand in his, now holding both. “Are you okay?” He asked, concern etched in his face.

-“AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”

-“IS HE THERE WITH YOU!?!”

-“whaaaaat”

-“SCREAMING”

-“Shut. Up. This is insane.”

-“YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE I CAN'T TAKE IT”

“I think so,” you nodded.

“Seeing you panic and not being able to do anything without potentially making it worse… It killed me. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to pull you into my arms and end that video myself. I hated seeing you so upset.” He stared down at your intertwined hands, rubbing his thumb over them again. 

“I appreciate you being here for me,” you let go of his hand to stroke his cheek. “I couldn't have done that without you.” You met his eyes, leaning forward to rest against his forehead. He let out a shaky breath. “I love you. I'm so proud of you.”

“I love you too,” you replied with a smile. “Let's move to the couch, huh?” You asked, pulling him up from the chair. He stood, just as your phone rang, a call from Rose. You quickly answered.

“I saw the live stream. You did wonderful! Don't worry about any of the negative comments you saw or any stories that come out of this. I'll handle it all.”

“Thanks, Rose.”

“Anytime. Take care.” She hung up.

You updated Pedro as the two of you walked towards the couch. “Do you want breakfast?” He asked.

“Maybe in a minute. Can I just hold onto you for a few minutes?”

“I would love nothing more.”

He sat on the couch, you sitting next to him, before he gave you a look. “What?” you laughed. He patted his leg.

“Let me hold you.”

“I'm too heavy for that Pedro, don't be ridiculous,” you shook your head.

“You're the one being ridiculous.” He reached over, pulling you into his lap. “I'm too heavy! You're going to hurt yourself,” you whined.

“You're not too heavy. You're the perfect size, baby. Come here,” he pulled you forward, your body sliding down his thighs as he wrapped his arms around you. You straddled his lap, knees on either side of his hips while he rubbed your back gently. You placed your arms around him, nuzzling into his neck and closing your eyes. You both sighed, and he grabbed a blanket next to him to pull over your bodies. “I could stay like this for hours, wrapped in your arms” you sighed comfortably. 

“Why don't you?” He turned his head to kiss your lips. You lifted your face up, taking your head off his shoulder to kiss him deeper. The kisses were lazy and comfortable, holding each other and enjoying the warmth of being in each other's arms.

Finally the two of you broke the kiss, settling back on his shoulder, him tilting his head to lean against yours. His hands sprawled over your back, pulling you forward a bit to adjust in his lap. You let out a soft whimper at the contact, fully aware of the location your bodies connected at the moment. “Feel how much you mean to me?” He asked, his breath ghosting your ear as he pulled your hips forward again. You whined. “Yes..” you answered breathlessly. The temptation to keep doing that was overwhelming. But he once again wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back as the two of you comfortably dozed off, finally relaxed after so much stress of the morning.

Hours later, you stirred, feeling Pedro still underneath you. At the feel of you moving, he stretched a bit before settling with his arms around you again. “Morning, baby” he hummed. “Guess we fell asleep,” you smiled.

“Some of the best sleep I've had in a while, here with you.”

“Same here.” You blinked your eyes open, kissing him on the lips with a peck. “What time is it?”

He turned his head to look at the clock on your TV. “5 o’clock” he laughed. “Guess we both needed some rest.” 

“Mmmm, I guess so,” you hummed, settling into him more.

“Good thing I brought nonperishables. Are you hungry?”

You pondered. “Yeah, I am,” you looked into his deep brown eyes. “Breakfast for dinner?” You smiled at him.

“Sounds perfect.” He pecked your lips before you slid off his lap, the two of you standing to stretch. It wasn't long that you two stood apart before you leapt forward again to give him a hug. He laughed, hugging you back. “I'll never get tired of being in your arms,” you smiled into his chest, breathing in his scent.

“I'll never get tired of holding you in mine,” he pulled his face back to look at you.

“Now let's eat! I'm starved,” you scampered towards the kitchen, him giving a gentle pat to your butt before hugging you from behind as you grabbed the breakfast foods. You giggled, setting food on plates as he kissed your neck, still wrapped around you from behind. “I'm starving too,” he replied back to your earlier statement with a growl, biting your ear.

“Pedro!” You giggled, smacking his arm gently. He chuckled, pulling away and grabbing his plate as you both headed to the table.

The two of you ate, filling the space with light conversation, both of you occasionally sneaking Skipper some bites under the table. He could get used to having two humans spoiling him.

The chatter came to a natural pause, eating in silence and smiling at each other across the table. Pedro stopped eating, wiping his hands and continuing to stare at you. You laughed, asking him what was up. Suddenly, he looked nervous.

“I, uh…” he rubbed his neck. “I was going to wait until after we had at least a first date to say this, but…” he trailed off, and your mind spiraled. Is he breaking up with me? Is he not interested anymore? What's wrong?

“I was wondering if… you'd be my girlfriend? Exclusively?” His cheeks flushed.

You stammered, dropping your fork on the plate. “You… you want… me to be your girlfriend?” You smiled.

He nodded. “If… you'll have me.”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” He nodded again, looking down at the table.

“Yes. Yes, are you kidding? Please! I'd love nothing more.” You grinned, jumping out of your chair to move to him.

He stood, pulling you into a hug. “Really?” He smiled at you.

“Really,” you nodded. “Now kiss me,” you held his face.

“Gladly,” he pulled you closer, kissing you deeply, his tongue asking for entrance to your mouth. You squealed, surprised, but letting him in. You'd never experienced this sensation before. But it was… incredible.

He licked your lips, the two of you exploring the inside of each other's mouths, tongues dancing together. The kiss was heated and deeper than ever before, both of you finally pulling away for air, him coming back in to peck your lips a few times, sucking your lip between his own. You sighed shakily. “Wow.”

“I love kissing you,” he smiled against your lips.

“I love kissing you. You're a good kisser,” you smiled back.

“So are you,” he smirked. “My beautiful girlfriend.” He gave a kiss. “How about that date tomorrow?” He pulled away to look at you, letting his hand rub across your lower back, just above your butt.

“I'd love to,” you stroked his face. “My handsome boyfriend.” You wrapped your arms around him again, blissfully.

“Tomorrow,” you two sighed in unison.

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02 @lightupsketchersperson @cartoon-garbage04 @tyferbebe @maryfanson @gwendibley84 @faithfullyyours2000 @brilliantopposite187 @hc-geralt-23 @jenniferpendragon @winchestergypsy90 @red-red-rogue @theendwhereibegin @lottieellz101 @oliversaurus @kyga01 @milly-louise @titabel @taz-97 @stefanibear003 @marantha @fandomoniumflurry @ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl @leiadjarin @hmneighbors

Thank you for reading!!! Let me know what you think ❤️

Taglist: (Want in? Let me know!)

[evelmiina]

Love your work! I wanted to ask what your process is like when it comes to coming up with a design/composition to a piece? Do you have any specific methods you use or it is more improvised:)? Thanks!

I'd say both - method and improvisation. To me all pictures are basically shapes organized in a pleasing way. Even when I draw lines I think more about overall shapes together and how I feel about them. There's a lot to consider about design and composition, some pretty smart books on the subject are Marcus Mateu-Mestre: Framed Ink and Hans Bacher: Vision - color and composition for film. I'm still learning all the time and I make mistakes but I think method to making composition comes down to: readability and narrative intention, moving from simplicity to complex. But it's also fun and important to play around and see what works, that's why my process is not always the same and I can show some examples. Here are the sketches and final I did for my Magic card illustration:

This is my go-to method when I want to rely on tried and true process and I know I won't get lost once I start drawing/painting because I can rely on my steps. I don't always do things this way, but for paid work I want the client to have as clear idea of my intention as possible. The reasoning why 3 worked the best is because it's more dynamic and dimensional than 2, but more readable than 1. It also best showcases how the tower is supposed to be huge, something that was important for the design.

This on the other hand was personal work and I approached it in more relaxed way just to see where it goes. Still I think what made me want to finish it is I liked the variety of shapes and rhythm of the room, like how the screens lead towards the doorway, lot of rectangles but varied in their size and angle. If it was client work I probably would've been called out in the sketch, because the focal point is this empty wall that makes no sense. I came up with the idea of shadow of a window while making it and in the end it worked, but it was an example how I made a big design problem for myself that I was gambling on to figure out.

This one had very specifically just one photo reference, but I did the sketch to put down the essentials of what I was seeing in the photo. In the end I referenced dog's face and pose more from the photo so it looks more natural, which was also funnier than my own initial interpretation

Sometimes the initial comp just doesn't pan out exactly. I did the sketch for this Unicorn fanart and I even drew the interior at some point, but it just Did Not Work for me, I also discarded the idea of medieval dragon in the statue for same reason. So it sat in my folder for a while until I could look at it again and after taking a break, I still liked the statue and the general idea, but decided to make the surroundings easier to look at so that the statue stands out better.

When I did the sketch for this dragon I wanted it to feel big and heavy, like lifting its head from the ground. But I didn't want to do vertical picture which lead me to painting over digitally and extending the picture, then painting the whole thing traditionally anyway.

[2af-afterdark]

Okay. So I was just laying in bed, thinking about God!MC and such, then my mind went "How would the Seraphs' first time with God!MC go?"

Because I think that Michael would be the roughest one, which is deadly considering what's in his pants. It could possibly take a bit for Michael to warm up to the act of fucking God!MC, and I think that MC would be the one that teases him so much he has to do something. MC is God now so it shouldn't be a problem taking in a 14.9 inch dick right?

Gabriel and Raphael would be pretty gentle and soft, since MC would be the one guiding them through the entire thing. With those two, they'll most likely be the one to approach MC on that matter instead of MC bringing it up.

Gabriel would most likely follow MC's every command and instructions, once he knows his stuff he'll just worship God!MC's body.

Raphael would probably let MC take the lead, and touch him everywhere because he wanted to feel loved through MC's touch.

Throwing my boy, Remiel, in as well

His first time with God!MC would happen when they're busy with work(in my version MC have to fix all of the issues on Earth through some pop up prompts, it's complicated lolol) so when they're like not in the mood because of how many problems Earth have, and just wanted to get it over with.

Remiel barged in and was like "God, let's fuck!" But they just ignored him, which led to Remiel touching them all over, observing their reaction to learn where to touch them. MC told him to stop but he wouldn't, trying to coax an orgasm out of MC while they work, and surprisingly he knows how to get MC off. (Excuse? He did this to multiple devils before, because to him, their meat tastes better after an orgasm, man's also a fast learner)

After that, MC can either remain stubborn and stand there doing their work so Remiel has to fuck them standing up, or follow Remiel to their bed and fuck there.

MC could then take the lead if they really wanted to get it over with, since it's his first time putting his dick in someone, he'll burst in like a few minutes if MC keeps on squeezing down on him. Remiel would try so hard not to cum because he wanted it to drag out for a bit longer, but he loses it anyways, MC's hole is just too good, y'know?

Next time, he swears that next time he'll fuck MC for longer and make them cum even more

Afterward, MC could take that to tease Remiel back, nudging him and whispering into his ear every time anyone mention something that didn't take that long to finish. Make that man have a taste of his own medicine

MC: "Oh hey, that only took a few minutes to complete" *nudge him with their elbow* "Like you on your first time"

-🐰

I will ignore the fact that there would be no peace if any of the Seraphim found out God!MC was trying to get it on with someone else (cue constant laser beams to their room aimed directly at each other's heads) and think of the horror and sweetness of God!MC getting their freak on for the first time with their angels.

Michael is deadly not because of what he's packing in his pants (I'm sure God!MC can take it with a bit of godly intervention) but because of the very real, very dangerous murder kink he has. It may take him a bit to get used to God!MC being the new top dog after he spent so long waiting for and fighting in the name of the old God. First time is going to be one of those stories that is horrifying in the moment, but God!MC laughs at in retrospect. Until then... good luck, MC!

Gabriel has a genuine God kink, so he will be doing whatever it takes to worship them. The first time God!MC invites him to their bed... is it bad if I think he'd 404 out of excitement? He let's MC take the lead so he can just stare at them and be bathed in their radiance.

Raphael goes full eager puppy mode. God!MC tells him that they want to spend some time getting closer and he's already stripping and jumping on top of them. Sweet boy just wants all the love he was denied by OG!God. He's going to give MC all the love he can and gladly accept everything they have to give. Bet you he likes spending time receiving lots of kisses and groping MC.

Please... please let me kiss Remiel. Please let me hold his hand. I love him. I want to spoil him rotten.

[sheawritesstuff]

Summertime Sleepover

[Teen!David and Asher]

[Fluff - 778 words]

“David,” Asher cracked his best friend's door open and whispered. “David, are you still awake?”

“Mhmm,” David replied, not even looking up from his book. “What's up?”

“I can't sleep. Can I come hang out with you?”

“What's wrong with the guest room? You sleep in there more than your own house these days.”

“Nothing's wrong with it, I just don't wanna be by myself right now.”

“Come on, then.” David patted the space next to him expectantly. He finally glanced up as his visitor crawled into bed with him. “Dude, are you still wearing skinny jeans?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Who the hell wears jeans to bed? Go change.”

“But I didn't bring any night clothes…”

“I see that, dumbass. Go grab a pair of my sweatpants or something.” He pointed toward the dresser against the wall. It was wholly unnecessary, seeing as Ash had been stealing his clothes since they were old enough to dress themselves, but he wanted to emphasize his point.

“But-”

“No buts! I'm not sleeping next to someone in denim.”

Asher groaned and climbed right back out of bed. He shuffled through the drawer, searching for a good pair to wear. After thoroughly studying all his options, he picked a thin pair of dark blue pajama pants. He aggressively tugged the pants off, desperately trying to escape the denim prison he trapped his lower half in. Slipping into the new pair was significantly easier.

Once dressed, he turned his back to David and glanced over his shoulder. “You like what you see, big boy?” He bent forward and ran his hands up his thighs slowly. He bit his lip dramatically and raised his eyebrows.

David stared at him blankly. “Are you done yet?”

“You're no fun.” Ash returned to the bed and climbed under the blanket. “Whatcha readin’ anyway?”

“This,” David motioned dramatically to the object in his hand. “Is what most people call a book. You should pick one up sometime, they're pretty cool.”

Ash glared at him and groaned. “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Yeah, but it was funny.”

“Daveyy,” Asher whined. “Just tell me! I'm nosy. ”

“David,” he corrected sternly. “Say my name right and maybe I'll think about it.”

“Fine! David.” He made a point of over annunciating the last syllable. “Now will you please tell me what book is keeping you up this late?”

“A Separate Peace. It's one of my favorites.” David closed the book around his finger, showing off the cover but keeping his spot. “It's also a classic.”

“You're so boring,” he sighed.

“Sorry I have taste.” David reopened the book and continued reading.

“You sound like Milo,” Ash giggled.

David ignored him, letting the quiet laughter fade out on its own. There was a long silence, broken only by the occasional page turn. Asher fidgeted with the drawstrings of his borrowed pants and looked around the bedroom that might as well be his own with feigned interest.

“It's getting really late. You should at least try to get some sleep,” he said finally.

“I'm not tired.”

“That's bull. You look exhausted, man.”

“I'll fall asleep when I'm ready. ‘Til then, I'm just fine where I am.”

“You need sleep, David. It's important so you can be the best possible alpha when you're older.”

“You're not my dad,” he retorted.

“Well, yea, but he'd say the same thing if I went and got him.”

“You wouldn't dare.” David shifted his attention to the other boy in his bed, almost offended by the audacity of his threat.

“Oh yes I would.”

David stared him dead in the eyes, challenging him to back down. Ash stared right back, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips.

“God, fine, I'll lay down.” David slid his bookmark between the pages and set the novel on his nightstand. “But I’m still not tired.”

“Come on, buddy. Once you get all comfy and cozy you'll be asleep in no time.” Asher cuddled up to his side and peered up at him with his signature puppy dog eyes. “Don't you wanna snuggle with me?”

David sneered. “No.” He flicked his bedside lamp off and turned back to his late night visitor. “This is purely for your benefit.”

David laid flat on his back, arms folded across his chest. Asher laid on his side, legs wrapped around one of David's and arm flung haphazardly across his middle. He squeezed gently and settled comfortably into his side of the bed.

“I love you, Davey,” Asher mumbled, barely conscious. He nestled his head against his best friend's shoulder and hummed contentedly.

David rolled his eyes and smiled. “Love you too, Ash. Good night.”

[idsfantasy]

I'm sorry if you've gotten this kind of info already, but one of the points you used in that video about Burntrap/Glitchtrap being Afton was him saying "I always come back," which you claim is something the Mimic wouldn't know, but it did know that. Fnaf 6 is shown to be a game in universe just like the rest of them.

Glitchtrap is likely a different branch of the Mimic1 code specifically designated for copying William long term.

There's also a line in Special Delivery. Luis says that Vanessa searched up "How to induce compliance in human subjects" which not only implies that what's possessing her isn't human in any way, but it's something that William would never need to do given that he's a master manipulator.

As for the memory plushies, those likely either come from the Mimic giving you the data it got about them from the VR game, or it's Glitchtrap giving you your own memories that you lost to place you in a vulnerable position given that those memories are likely traumatic ones.

We saw how Afton died anyway, his Agony and Remnant was cleansed by the Puppet in Fazbear's Fright's. There would be nothing left to bring him back. The Princess is going after the monster copying the murderer, not the murderer himself.

Also I'm like 90% sure that the devs of Security Breach thought that Burntrap was supposed to be Afton. I recall Baz saying once when he met Scott at the fnaf movie set that there was a miscommunication involving one of the games endings.

Sorry if this is a mess. Just thought all this was worth pointing out. Have a good one.

The video for those interested:

I don't think that Mimic was plugged into Pizzeria Simulator like it theoretically would have been into Help Wanted. It's possible I guess, but I still think it doesn't make sense for it to latch onto that line, or know what William heard in UCN.

When would that designation have been made and by whom? It wouldn't have been for Help Wanted based on Tape Girl's descriptions nor Mr. Burrows's.

Technically there are other things you can try to induce compliance in. A dog or other pet for example. "Human subjects" just specifies the search. Not to mention, it wouldn't necessarily be literally Glitchtrap doing the searching. Vanessa was talking to computers in AR, and we hear her talking to Glitchtrap in the og HW. He manipulated her mind to make her listen to him, but I think that was more Vanessa looking something up in order to do what Glitchtrap asked her to.

The unused lines specifically refer to the memories as belonging to "it", not the player, so I doubt that would be the case, and where in the VR game would it have specifically gotten the data for all 5 MCI kids and Charlie? Why would they be called its memories if they weren't actually Glitchtrap's memories. Who's code remains if the "his code" isn't William's?

If you're referring to William getting dumped in the lake at the end of the Frights epilogues, there are quite a few reasons I think Frights and Stitchline are a separate continuity from the game timeline. Why would the Princess be around to find out about a copycat and care? He's not the one who she's mad at in that case.

I personally recall a misquote/misattribution of some sort that spread around on that topic. I'll need the timestamped video to confirm that preferably, but in any case, I highly doubt Scott didn't even glance at Burntrap's design before release to notice that something was wrong, and as I mentioned in my video, if Steel Wool was trying to correct things and connect the Mimic to Burntrap, they would have at least made the two have more visual connection than a hand that isn't even actually identical and was already reused from a nightmare animatronic.

While I see where you're coming from, I don't think any of those points negate the evidence I have in the video that you didn't address, though the video was long so I understand why you wouldn't bring it all up. Either way though, I personally think it makes a lot more sense from both an evidence, narrative, and storytelling perspective for Burntrap to be William. Totally cool if you believe differently though! I hope you have a good day as well :D

[otherhearted-culture-is]

Hey hey! I'm kinda struggling to figure out my identity :,) can you help me?

I'm pretty sure I'm an alterhuman, I've always had a very strong connection to nature, especially animals. I think I'm animalhearted. As a kid, I absolutely adored dogs. I used to pretend to be one all the time. (My mom told me I once went three days straight insisting I wasn't a human 💀) like- that's gotta be a sign for something, right?

But you see, over time, I've kinda lost that like... Idk how to describe it. That connection? I still like dogs, just not as much. I don't pretend to be a dog anymore, and haven't in years. Without a pet dog, that connection just.. Faded

I've been doing quads for about half a year now, yk, just for fun. But as of like maybe 4 months ago I keep getting these weird like, idrk how to describe it. These like bursts of energy that feel almost like they're not me. I'm still in full control, but that's not coming from me. That probably doesn't make any sense, but yeah. I don't want to call them shifts cus I have absolutely no idea if that's what they are, and they're not super often.

I'm thinking I'm probably doghearted? But now I'm wondering if I'm a dog therian? Idk, I mean I like the dual souls thing, I feel like I have the soul of a dog along with my human one. But I'm having a hard time figuring out if I'm actually a therian or if it's just shifting disease, cus I haven't really experienced this my whole life, and it's only after doing research did I start questioning. I've never really had species dysphoria either. Idk, what do you think? It's probably just shifting disease right? How am I supposed to tell the difference between identifying with vs. as?

Thank you for reading <3

(Sorry this took a while to get to! If you already sorted this out on your own, feel free to ignore this answer.)

There's a few things to address here:

1. Some fluctuation in the intensity of a hearttype or kintype is normal. Though this is extreme fluctuation that also neatly coincides with outside factors, so that's probably not it, I feel it's still worth at least mentioning.

2. I hadn't heard of shifter's disease before I got this ask. It was difficult to find information on, but I did manage to find a definition and a couple of forum posts further detailing the phenomenon by asking around on Discord. I'm not a big fan of the name tbh. I know the comparison it's drawing, but it still feels like over-medicalizing it. But whatever, that's the existing name, so I'll use it. Anyway!

To check for this, I would suggest trying to keep your mind off both alterhumanity in general and your own potentially alterhuman experiences as much as possible for a while. Stop researching, don't spend time mulling over it, and step away from any alterhuman spaces you're active in. You should be able to deduce by whether or not your feelings persist through that whether or not it was shifter's disease.

3. Last but not least- how do you tell the difference between ID'ing with vs. ID'ing as? Ever a tricky one. Corv's otherhearted questioning quick guide has a section dedicated to exactly that question, so it will probably be helpful to you! (But yknow, probably wait about it.)

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation: Brownie Boy [18]

I've never really been much of a skeptic. If it has a name and a meaning, I think there's always a possibility for it to be real.

Take dreams, for example. In my mind, they always have some kind of connection to the waking world and to the psyche. Your mind knows your greatest fears and your crutches— if you lose teeth in a dream, you feel like you have a loss of control. If you search up something on Google for an answer while in a dream, you lack at decision-making.

There's meaning in everything we do. And our minds, while belonging to us, have an entire personality of their own. Once our conscious shuts off, our brain makes its own decisions. We are but a shell for our mind to manipulate. And this is why we see what we fear most in our dreams— what we love most, what we value most, what we appreciate. Our dreams are what we want and despise most on this earth.

So tell me why the fuck Sal has been in my dreams for the past week.

It's despicable. It aggravates me to no end. Every dream is some rendition of his sky blue eyes glaring into mine. Discreet touches-- his fingers brushing the back of my thighs, his hair on my neck, his leg pressed against mine.

"Y/n, there's three customers up front waiting for a table."

Michael's voice beside me is suddenly followed by his hand clapping onto my shoulder. I flinch in surprise, turning away from the chef with my hands full and my anxiety maxed out.

"I'm not hosting right now," I say frantically, glancing between my fellow coworker and the chef. A lot of the work that I don't normally get has been dropped on me the past few days and I really haven't been appreciative of it. I say that sarcastically, of course. And I don't blame Michael-- he isn't at fault, he's just delivering orders to me that are coming from the boss.

But as of current, I'm sweating from rushing around for lunch, and that's also mixed in with how nervous I am. I can't even take a single breath without someone telling me I have something else to do.

And the reasoning behind this? According to my boss it's, "because you were out so long, you have to make up for the work you missed out on."

An empty wallet has never looked so appetizing before.

"Here's a proposition," Mike says, leaning against the counter beside me. The chef is done with our shit. Usually if we talk to him, he stays silent anyway. "You grab those fellas up front to make our boss happy and I'll take a few of your tables. Sound good?"

I look up at Michael with the best puppy dog eyes I can possible muster up. "Please," I whisper, cracking my knuckles and bunching up the fabric of my apron in my hands.

Michael grins and pushes off the counter, stretching his arms. "Sure thing. You might want to get up there before Mr. Krabs comes stomping out of his glory hole, though."

That makes me perk up a bit. A hand slaps over my mouth to contain my internal giggles just as Mike shoots me a wink and walks off to one of my tables, likely to inform them that he'll be their server.

It's bad and I'd certainly rather be anywhere but here, but I can make do for now, especially if it means repaying Michael for all his help. So I ignore the anxiety (said anxiety is so anxious that we're both trembling) and I walk over to the front of the restaurant to sit some hungry customers.

Thankfully, most of the rest of my short-ish shift slowed down a bit after lunchtime. Upon finally reaching my apartment at about two in the afternoon, I quite literally launched myself into bed and... consequently, I wished I was working again.

For the past two hours, I've sat here staring at my ceiling and reminiscing on my recent past. Thinking about the opportunities I took and missed. Remembering all the fun I had, just wishing I was back with my friends in Las Vegas. It's been a little over a week and June is finally here, but it still feels like I was sleeping in with my best friend just last night.

Thinking about what I've lost and gained within the past month or so is both depressing and incriminating. The sheer amount of down-bad that overran my body is impressive, but wasn't worth it. Never was worth it.

I've slain myself with the sword I wielded. And it was only a matter of time— I knew the consequences, yet I still went along with it. It's not that I'm sad or whatever, I'm merely disappointed in myself for getting involved with someone so heartless and vile.

I feel like I've betrayed myself. I was nothing but a speck and I knew that, but I still allowed myself to be used. That's what everyone would say, and it's what I'm starting to feel. Is that all I am? Is this all I ever will be to someone? Just a body with no mind. Something to be used and defiled over and over again.

By far, the worst pile drive of grief came from having to see photo after photo of Sal and I together on every social media site in existence. It was painful in an unfamiliar way-- a way that I don't quite understand. It was all photos of photos, photos I didn't even realize existed, or the two of us with fans. I clearly remember liking the pictures that Lexi and Kennedy posted. Oh, and apparently the handsome emo knight's name is Timothy. But even the nice memories of my time in Las Vegas doesn't feel as comforting as it once did.

Everything I experienced with my friends is slowly being altered every second that I'm alive. The way I lived in Vegas will never be exactly the same as I remember it now. Being aware of psychological changes is damning. It's depressing. I will never experience anything, or those memories, the same way I did at the time I was really there.

Fuck you, Freud.

My ceiling spins above me, a kaleidoscope of misery and darkness that I haven't suffered through since before being diagnosed with depression. I'm not even quite sure what it is that I'm so down about-- missing Las Vegas, feeling far from my friends, or Sal's asshole persona. It's something, but I feel sick being so torn up over something that's perceived as trivial by everyone else.

Why do I have to care so much? No one else is like this. So why me?

I pinch my lips together, finishing my recount of the tiles on my ceiling. There are 133 whole tiles. 24 half tiles. Add them together and there are 157 total, but it feels weird to bunch those two shapes together when they're clearly different.

I feel like I'm going insane.

Before I can think harder about how frustrated I am with myself, I force myself to sit up then sling myself out of bed. My heels smack into the floor beneath me, cushioned by grey carpet. It's saved my soles, but it can't buffer the deep grief in my heart. A grief that has no explanation or source.

This afternoon will be the first time I play online with The Faces since before Vegas. The first time I see my friends in a week. The first time I face Sal since briefly making eye contact with him the morning I left Nevada (he didn't even bother to come to the airport with the rest of us). And most importantly, the very first time I show my face while streaming-- and of course, when I say my face, I mean my mask. But I haven't shown myself at all. Anything that anyone has ever seen of me has been from pictures shared on social media.

For once, I'm not terrified by the prospect. I'm more worried about having to face Sally Face and more than eager to talk with Ash again. I really, really miss her.

I'm bundled up in my trusty Twenty One Pilots sweatpants (that are still falling apart), Ash's merch hoodie, and slip on the brand new pair of Kuromi slippers that my dad had waiting for me when I got home. If I'm going to endure the hell-spawn that is Sal Fisher, I might as well be comfortable.

A sigh slips past my lips as I drag my feet over to my PC and turn it on, slumping into my chair. I grab my mask that's been sitting on my desk, untouched for days, and fix it onto my face.

My computer whirrs to life as I stare blankly ahead, slipping into a hypnotic state. Dissociating. Wishing this life was anyone else's but mine.

I blink past my own distracting mental state after mere seconds of waiting for things to get moving. I log onto Discord, clicking into The Faces' server and catching up on all the messages I missed.

The first thing I notice is that Ash, the owner of the server, has apparently discovered that she can change everyone's names. Which, honestly, is news to me. It's apparently causing an uproar in-chat.

Two Face: haha. funny ash. hilarious. very original.

Subtract Thine Father: wut did u expect from Ash??? unicorn cum nd fairy shit???? Subtract Thine Father: omfg mine is rad

He Who Pegs: Much like the joke you made in Vegas, right, Sal? He Who Pegs: My username is correct. I am a pegger.

I'm scared to find out what my new name is. These are personal attacks on absolutely every single member of this chat.

With quaking hands, I type out a quick message and hesitate before pressing send. I'm terrified of what Ash has managed to come up with. But it's whatever, surely it couldn't get worse than Two Face, right?

Closet Dweller: these are horrendously accurate names... i'm a little scared...

My stomach flies out of my ass when I see my name. Good God, I'm not sure how Ash managed to come up with that one but... it's not too far off the marker. I'll give her props.

Closet Dweller: dear god.

Subtract Thine Father: LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO VI

He Who Pegs: Do I smell a fellow homosexual?

Closet Dweller: i will neither confirm nor deny. maybe i'm just locked in my mother's closet or something, ever think of that?

He Who Pegs: Like an Oedipus Complex?

Closet Dweller: NO TODD!!! NO!!!!!!!

It's impressive how simple socialization has managed to cheer me up a bit. I know Todd is really into psychology like I am, so I'm not surprised that he threw something like that in, but I am shocked that he hit me with a joke that heavy.

He Who Pegs: Laughing my ass off.

Subtract Thine Father: srsly todd, just abbreviate it i'm guna die of erection Subtract Thine Father: embarasment**

He Who Pegs: That was an epic fail and epic foreshadowing. Bravo, Larry. Quite the Freudian slip.

I shake my head at my two friends, tears brimming my eyes as I try to contain the fit of laughter that so desperately wants to be released.

Closet Dweller: what's ash's name?

Kween Pussy Popper: Hi :3

I have to shut my eyes and look away from the screen. Her name is funny enough, but her little emote and the casual entrance just makes this entire thing ten times funnier.

My hand slaps over my mouth and I shake my head, tapping my fingers against my desk. I'm so going to get in trouble with these people.

I'm going to cough up a lung or something later, but it'll be worth it, so I look up at my computer again.

Subtract Thine Father: waddup pussy kween Subtract Thine Father: can u share sum bc i am lacking. Subtract Thine Father: u kno how the grinch's heart grows 4 xmas? well my dick shrinks the longer i go wo a snazzy lady Subtract Thine Father: save a horse ride a cowboy, as they say Subtract Thine Father: i am the cowboy. where r my bitches??????? lonesome. desperate. choking. dying.

The chat goes quiet momentarily so I smile and scoot away from my desk. The objective was to roll across the floor-- no, glide-- and look like some kind of fairy in slo-mo, but I forgot that I have carpeted flooring. So my chair rolls for not even a second before coming to an abrupt stop. Pathetic and not so glorious.

My smile slips off my face as I push myself off the chair and walk across the rest of my room to my bedroom door. Lame. 

Getting to talk with everyone has really upped my spirits in a way I didn't expect. It's really odd how the little things just so happen to matter so much when even big things don't seem to matter as much anymore. Even I don't feel like I matter much anymore, but Larry, Ash, and Todd somehow manage to remind me that they care in their own little ways. Whether it's through goofy conversations that don't even include me or silly nicknames, they're the sole reason for my overflowing dopamine.

My feet pad through the hallway and into the kitchen where I get my hands on the #1 best struggle meal that America has to offer.

Microwaveable ramen. Beef, specifically.

The funniest thing about microwaveable ramen is that hardly anyone makes it the right way. And if you do make it the right way, great job! You have an extra brain cell. The rest of us heathens, on the other hand, put the little styrofoam cup in the radiation incubation tank anyway and call it a day. Warnings be damned. 

So I walk back to my room with my little cup of ramen, styrofoam nice and warm, fresh out the microwave for all my haters, and I plop back into my desk chair with chopsticks at the ready.

But my eyebrows furrow when I place my headset back on and catch up on the Discord conversation I'd walked away from.

Kween Pussy Popper: Can we get on a call now? I miss Vi and starting early is my excuse to talk to her now :(  Kween Pussy Popper: OMGGG!!! It's also a really big day bc Vi is going to be on camera for once!!! eeeee >.<

Subtract Thine Father: ya getin on now >:)

I scroll down on all our channels to find all four members of The Faces in Ash's VC. I'm late to the party. Now, the issue with this is... I'm stuck. My cursor hovers over the voice channel, but I just can't find it in myself to actually click on the thing. My finger lightly sits on top of the mouse, ready to press down but I can't. My heart physically jumps into my throat, choking me with emotion and grief and unadulterated fear that has absolutely no fucking business hanging around in my body like this.

Truth be told, I knew I'd get tired of my fear sooner or later. I'd get so tired that I'd just grab my issue by the balls and disrespect it doggy style. And I'm close-- so close to finally following through with this aggressive exhaustion. But I need one more excuse to tip me over the metaphorical edge. 

My chopsticks dip into my steaming ramen and pick up brothy goodness in noodle form. I slurp up the last bit of dignity I need to be restored and finally click on the option that launches me into the chat before I can stop myself again.

Only, when I do this, I'm staring at all four other members of our server... but also myself. Noodles hanging out of my mouth, broth drip-dropping onto my desk because I'm a messy eater. Dignity not restored, but even more lost in exchange. 

I love life so much. Note the sarcasm.

Larry grins while everyone else kind of watches me, stuck like a deer in headlights and unable to just eat my food like a normal human being. "Gobble, gobble, Closet Dweller," are Larry's first four physically spoken words to me since I hugged him goodbye in the Las Vegas airport about a week ago.

A small smile tugs at my own lips as I quickly suck the rest of my way too big bite of noodles into my mouth and, well, gobble as Larry suggested.

"Closet Dweller was targeted. I'm only a little offended, but I think that name would be better suited for Todd, right?" I ask, eyes glancing between Ash, Larry, and Todd on the screen while purposefully avoiding a no doubt brooding Sal. I refuse to look at him.

Ash's nose scrunches up in disagreement, her melodic voice flowing through my headphones to follow the action. "Todd is out of the closet. You, on the other hand, are still playing hide and seek behind your mom's pajamas like you're looking for a passage to Narnia. Plus, Todd is a renowned pegger."

Todd nods, pinching his lips together. I wait for him to laugh and say 'Jay kay' or something, you know, odd like he is, but he doesn't. And even freakier is that no one seems alarmed.

"He also has a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel' so no one is more worthy of that nickname than him. King Arthur ain't got shit on my guy," Ash chirps proudly, tilting her chin up with a little smirk on her lips. Her cat ear headphones glow a bright green, reflecting the joy and pride she feels regarding the nickname she came up with.

My eyebrows pinch together beneath my mask and my attention turns to Todd. "You have a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel?'"

Todd gives me the sweetest little upside down smile and quickly rises from his seat, showing off the back wall of his room that is... plain as fuck, to be quite honest. But that's okay because Todd is organized, so it's only fair that his walls are organized as well. 

Todd reappears just two seconds later, holding up a long-sleeved, mustard yellow shirt that says exactly what he and Ash claimed it would.

I break into a face-splitting grin. "That's sick," I voice, moving closer to my computer to get a better look at the shirt. I didn't lie either. I'd assassinate some really important government leaders to get my hands on that.

"See! You're such a closet hermit!" Ash exclaims, pointing a finger at me with wide eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

"Since when?" I counter, crossing my arms over my chest good-naturedly. This is all in fun, Ash knows damn well I wouldn't have kissed her or even entertained the idea if I wasn't a little fruity. "Sal should get the nickname, he was the one trying to bed Hot Excalibur Emo Knight."

Yea, the acknowledgement and statement left my lips before I could remember that I was inadvertently giving Sally Face the silent treatment. Hades' personal hellhound is a taboo here. That man is a curse word in this house. I set myself up and now I have to put a quarter into my mental swear jar.

I note how Sal shifts in his seat out of the corner of my eye. Not that I care. In fact, I saw nothing.

"You're missing the point, Vi!" Ash shakes her head, faux disappointment marring her meticulously designed facial features. "Sal is out of the closet. He's as much of a cooked noodle as he is a raw one." Her distinction between gay and straight is fascinating. "You, on the other hand, are a recluse and hiding betwixt MawMaw bras and old, dusty infinity scarves from your mother's regretted youth. You want a different name, then come out of your hidey-hole already."

My jaw drops and I stare at my friend who looks quite proud of her outlandish accusations, even if they aren't so outlandish.

Larry is red-faced and Todd couldn't care less; he's too busy folding up his Cracker Barrel shirt. 

"How come I'm a target today?" I snicker, leaning my head on my fist as I look back at my best friend. 

"Because I'm feeling extra aggressive and a little frisky. In other words, the fruit is ripe. Flirt with me and I'll be in your bed within two to five business minutes," Ash winks at me, tongue swiping along her bottom lip.

I frown. "Well that sucks. I don't have any good pick-up lines. I only have really shitty psychology jokes. I guess I'll be sleeping alone tonight." I sigh and take another bite of ramen, dramatically looking off into the distance-- which is just the wall behind my computer. Blank space, baby.

"There's so much sexual tension packed into you two that I'm starting to suffocate," Larry pipes up, voice soft and astonished. "I'm drowning and I love it." He has stars in his wide, hickory-colored eyes.

I can't stop smiling. This expression is permanently etched onto my face, a tattoo. "We're just picking, Lar. Don't get your hopes up."

"Picking?" Ash gasps, feigning shock. She leans back with a hand to her chest. "All this time, your affection was a lie?"

"Alas, it was never real," I reply, dipping my head down to hide the my happy smile again. I have to play my part, but I can't do that with my face set like this.

Larry cackles in response. "The one woman you can't get, Ash!" He exclaims, wild giggles filtering through the call. I look up again, watching the way Ash's eyes narrow.

"I never thought this would happen to me. Not my Vivi..." She trails off, shutting her eyes to express her sadness.

"The fuck did you expect?" Larry prods, scooting close to his camera so that all we see is the bridge of his nose, dark eyes, and his thick brows-- one is arched in question. "Unicorn guts and fairy shit?" He quotes himself beautifully, reusing his remark from in-chat. "Fellatio and scissoring? This isn't Disney, Ash. If anything, we're wrapped up in a Grimm Brothers' fairytale."

I have to put my fist over my mouth to hide my reaction because that's the most accurate thing that Larry has said all day. And he even brought out big boy words like fellatio. Has he been studying?

Sal lets a boyish chuckle slip and my gaze cuts to him despite my better judgement. He's bent down, instinctually covering the mouth of his prosthetic, seemingly forgetting that we can't actually see his facial expression. It's such a normal action, one that I'm not used to when it comes to him. It's a moment where I can't look away. A rare moment where I get that weird feeling for him again-- one that I've only experienced maybe three times since meeting him. It's that domestic and naive feeling, where he's a normal person that I yearn for a bit. He's not an asshole, he's not hidden behind a prosthetic. He's just a guy that I know. A guy that I'd like to touch and see and feel on a deeper level.

I blink when he tilts his head back, revealing his pretty dagger tattoo and a veiny hand that runs through his hair. He pushes his fringe back, making little blue strands stick up in different directions.  

I can't help but straighten my sitting position. Slouching gone, body attentive. I don't know if I'm nervous, wary, excited, or stuck in some admiring state. But it's weird. And I do not want to be feeling it. I never asked for this.

And yea, he still looks the same. Painfully the same. Like a beacon in the dead of night. Tales of his past on his skin, his hair like streaks of bright cerulean paint on a canvas. The worst aspect of him is his eyes. They haunt me. 

He looks up at the camera again, having finally collected himself a few moments ago, showing off the feature of his that I loathe so much.

All the colors of an Aurora Borealis dance in his irises; the natural blue hue darkened into a teal from the lack of lighting. Little flashes of green and pale purple reflect onto his eyes from his computer screen, creating a kaleidoscope clash of colors that cover his entire prosthetic face. So many shades of life that mix to mimic something I've always wanted to witness for myself. I just didn't expect to see it in the eyes of who I both despise and desire most in this miserable life of mine. 

What the hell is wrong with me? How dare I fall into this kind of depression over Sal Fisher? No one has ever betrayed me as many times as I've betrayed myself at this point.

Ash's voice steals me from my mind's ruthless vices. "That's a pretty morbid scarf, Vi."

My gaze flicks to her and I scrunch my eyebrows again. "Scarf?" I ask. I'm not wearing a scarf. It's summer. In Los Angeles. "What scarf?" She's probably going to make some kind of joke that she's been holding out on for a while.

Ash scoots closer to her computer, eyes filled with confusion. They squint and she says, "Yea... scarf. It looks like a hand. Is it a hand?"

"Ash, what the fuck are you talking about? It's summer. Why would I wear a scarf?" I give her a bewildered look that's buffered by my mask, but the conversation attracts everyone else's attention too. Larry and Todd both move closer to their computers and, shockingly, Sal even tilts his head, eyes glued to the screen.

I look down, but I can't see anything near me or on me. Is this some elaborately planned joke or something?

"Uh," Todd says, voice a mix of confused and concerned, which sets off alarm bells in my head. "Yea. There's a hand. That's a hand."

I plan on answering, but then Ash screams and then something cold wraps around my throat and I scream in turn.

My reaction is instant-- I shove myself away from my desk, headset ripped off my head and the hand forced off of my neck. I hear a resounding 'oof' as I knock into something, or more like someone.

My room is dark, pitch black, so I leap off of my chair and into the darkness. My heart is racing a mile a minute, my hands shake with fear and adrenaline, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. Who the fuck is in my room. What the fuck is going on?

I see the silhouette of a tall figure through the low light of my computer. It's bent a bit, pale arm wrapped around their stomach.

I back up toward my wall, listening to the quiet, panicked voices of my friends yelling for me to answer them from my headset. And then my phone rings in my pocket-- for fuck's sake-- so I have no choice but to rush to the knife hanging on the wall right beside my door (I'm paranoid and clearly for good reason) and flick on my bedroom light, ready to launch and attack whoever's dumb enough to be here.

I hold my breath, wide-eyed with a war drum hammering away at my chest as light floods my room. I'm going to either get charged with homicide or be the homicidee. Is that even a word?-- actually, I don't care. It's a word now.

But as soon as I see the supposed figure squinting in the sudden brightness, I'm so relieved that I nearly fall to my knees, whimpering despite how embarrassing that might seem to someone else.

The Faces start yelling again.

"Did I scare you?" His hypnotizing, baritone voice fills me with an eerie calm that melts away the string of adrenaline keeping me afloat as of present.

"And my friends who think I'm about to be murdered? Of fucking course, you thundercunt," I hiss, stomping over to what I previously thought was going to be my demise.

"That's for never bringing back my screwdriver."

I roll my eyes, groaning in a mix of anger and exasperation once I stand in front of my neighbor and long-time friend. Nate looks down at me with a handsome little smirk on his full lips and forever messy black waves hanging over his forehead. "Fuck you," I grunt, taking a step past him to kick in the back of his knees. Said knees buckle and he yelps, quickly catching himself with a hand on my shoulder as a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest.

I grab my headset off the ground and lean down so my friends can see me. I watch relief flood their faces instantly, with the exception of Sal, of course. I grab my mic without putting the headset on and say "I'll be right back."

Setting them back down, I turn away from The Faces and look to Nate again, arms crossed over my chest. I pull my mask off just so he can see how astronomically pissed I am.

The asshole only laughs harder. The charm in that singular sound alone makes me want to punch him in the face. 

Nathaniel Emilio Luis Espinosa has been a daredevil since I met him, always raging over danger and reaching for that incomparable fear factor. He has lots of personality, and a lot of that personality has been met with a chancla to the face, courtesy of his overprotective mamá that won't take his bullshit even after she's in the grave. 

And that's why Mrs. Lucía and I are besties at heart. And in sandals.

But to go with Nate's desperate yearning for bad things is social anxiety. He hardly ever leaves his apartment and he'll claw at his walls to stay inside. I think that's why he's more than happy to make brownies for me and get absolutely decimated in Mario Kart whenever he comes to visit-- he isn't really leaving the apartment building, but he isn't alone either. 

He's also quite a looker. I have no doubt that if Sal ever met him, he'd be drooling all over the guy. Nate has sharp facial features that are just... perfect in almost every way. Little beauty marks on different sections of his face, angular nose, a jawline that could cut air. Everything is only accentuated by his shoulder length, wavy, midnight black hair that he hates so much (all he ever talks about is how aggravating the upkeep is) and his equally as dark eyes that still entrance me to this day. Plus, he's tall. 6'4 last I checked and built like Stonehenge-- gorgeous and unbreakable. 

Basically, he has no problem getting pussy. I'm never concerned about his sex life. His love life, on the other hand...

"You're in deep shit," I huff out, looking away from my friend who grins proudly. I move over to my bed-side table and dig in the one drawer it has, pulling out his beloved screwdriver. I turn back to him and hold it up for him to see, waving it dramatically before walking back over to him.

I grab his hand and slap it into his palm. "You're lucky I don't scrape off your kneecaps for that. I ought to call your mom and tell her what you've done. I could have had a stroke!"

Nate's eyebrows pinch together as if to sarcastically say 'sure bitch' but then he seems to process what I said. He suddenly hisses and his sable eyes go wide. "Please, I'm actually really sorry. Don't call my mom."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't," I counter with, stepping up so we're nearly chest-to-chest.

"Because you love me," Nate bats his eyelashes at me, but that ship sailed years ago. He can't get me with that look anymore. He licks his lips, pink tongue darting out quickly. "And because I'll make brownies for you every week for the next month?" he tacks on.

I purse my lips. "Let me continue to borrow your screwdriver and it's a done deal."

Nate looks like a kicked puppy over our game of deal-or-no-deal. But he accepts anyway, sniffling over his loss. 

"How did you even get into my apartment?" I ask with a scoff, putting my mask back on and plopping into my desk chair. I face my friends who watch me in confusion, terror, and intrigue. 

"With the key you gave me. Duh," Nate says matter-of-factly, walking up behind me. I need to go get checked out or something because how could I forget that I gave Nate a key? "What's with the mask?" he asks.

I suck in a breath. "That's a really long story for another time," I tell him, grabbing hold of my headset and situating it back on. 

Nate leans over me, settling his chin on my shoulder from behind as his hands grip the armrests on my chair. I watch him through my camera as he gazes at my screen, meeting the eyes of The Faces. 

Tongue in cheek, I address my friends again. "Sorry, I'm not a victim of murder," I say quickly. "this is my neighbor, Nate."

Larry blinks, "Oh. He's brownie boy?" I snort. "He's kinda..." A sexy grin forms on his face and I roll my eyes. 

"Yea, he'd love to hear that," I say pointedly, glancing at Nate who's still hanging around.

"Wait," Nate murmurs, lifting his head and moving closer to the screen. "Why are you talking? You're just watching a video, right?"

"You're late to the party," I tell him, unable to stop myself from giggling a bit. "This is a discord call. With The Faces. I know you've heard of them, I talk about Ash all the time." 

"Of course I've heard of them. I just... didn't think you meant this Ash," he says bashfully, shaking his head a bit so his hair falls into his eyes. It's a little anxiety thing of his, makes his hair fall into his face in an attempt to hide however much he can. 

I put my hand over his that's still holding onto my armrest in hopes of both calming and reassuring him. He gets so nervous...

He lets out a little sigh behind me before setting his chin on my shoulder again. He doesn't say another word. That skill is lost on him at the moment, which is a frequent thing for him in social and social-ish settings. 

I look back to my other friends and give them a little smile, but they're still staring. They look so confused that they don't know how to act, which, okay. Fair.

And all is quiet up until Sal talks for the first time since the call started.

"You moved on from the hot knight pretty quickly." 

It's said in a very... suggesting way. It makes my eye twitch in response. It's so aggravating that he still manages to piss me off by simply breathing. I swear if his mic was too close to his face right now and I heard him take a breath, I'd have to fly to Nockfell just to slap him. 

"Hot knight is still on my list," I say tastelessly. "But I didn't see him interested in you so I don't understand why he's a topic."

I watch Sal's eyes narrow in agitation and I match his emotions and expression. He thinks he's so important. What was the point of bringing up Timothy the knight? He's been quiet this entire call. Why couldn't he have just stayed that way?

"I can talk about whatever I want. You just piss me off. Your boyfriend tried to kill you and he's getting in on our call. I have an issue with his presence. Yours too, honestly," Sal says, voice monotonous and bored, like it's a waste of his time to have to explain himself.

"He's not my boyfriend, jackass," I say in a grating voice. I'm at that tired point again. Just fucking tired of him... and not at the same time. Part of me is yearning for the aggression. The vexation. The resentment we share for each other and all the delicious arguments and loathing it brings. I miss it-- everything before we embarked on our short-lived shit-uationship. "And I have an issue with your presence too. You piss me off. I see why Ash nicknamed you two-face-- you're so nice to everyone, but you're a wolf in sheep's clothing. You're actually just a lint licking, cunt flap, cum infested puss bubble of a fucklet."

"Damn," Larry hisses, leaning back in his chair and staring at his screen like he's been stabbed. "I felt that in my prostate."

Nate's head moves from my shoulder and I turn to address him, but end up watching his form crumple to the floor in a heap of laughing mess. He shoots me a quick thumbs up, but whether it was an agreement, pride, or to tell me he's okay-- I'm not sure.

Ash is holding herself together by a thread, bottom lip between her teeth as tears well in her eyes. She doesn't dare blink, or else those tears will fall (and crash around me, or whatever Bullet For My Valentine once said).

"You're lucky as fuck that I'm not in your general vicinity," Sal barks out, fire blazing in his otherwise frosty eyes.

"Or what?" I taunt, tilting my head. He wouldn't hit me. He's a self-proclaimed feminist after all, if that's even true. So what would he do? Punish me? Tarnish my squeaky clean online image? He could still do that without being in my general vicinity. That statement was so loaded that I'm starting to get a little nervous...

"Military weapons-grade, apocalypse-inducing, soul-severing revenge. That's all," Sal says nonchalantly. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed and ring-clad fingers tapping his biceps. And he's... hot. And terrifying. And so, so infuriating. I hate him.

"I'd like to see you try all that," I reply, sucking my teeth. In truth, I'm not as on top of my shit as I could be because I'm still upset and confused over him. I'm angry, but not enough to properly express it. Sal's been an issue from the start, but now he's becoming even more of one.

"Watch me," is his snarky reply. And I know I can't actually determine if it's me he's staring at like that, but the feeling I get says that his glare is baring right into my image on his screen. I can feel his detest across the country, aimed directly at me. It makes a shiver run down my spine and I grip my armrests tighter.

"Is that a threat?" I bite out, swallowing thickly.

His eyes light up a bit, and then they squint. Almost like he's smiling. And then he says, in a sickeningly gentle and dark voice, "It's a promise."

________________

A/N::::: On today's episode of Ryver Rhoulette: is that a decomp stain or is it just moldy cum?

SORRY anyway, HI I AM BACK <333 i spent most of my break sick and suffering from writer's slump... it's not a block because i know what i wanna write, just couldn't get the thoughts out o_e

first off, i know this chapter is a little shorter and i'm sorry about that. i know it's been a while, so i definitely owe you guys a LOT more content than what's in here (especially since it's pretty much filler...) but next chapter is going to be VERY fun :D i can't promise or predict when the next chapter will be, but i have plenty of time to work on it before i go back to school on january 12th! so if not soon, definitely whenever college starts up because i have a yucky habit of procrastinating and getting WONDERFUL fic ideas instead of doing work >:)

also of note: i will be posting a Sal-lore chapter again soon. it may come before the next Faceless Fixation canon chapter, just fair warning. i literally have no idea which i will get inspo for first LOL

until next time, my sweet doves! i love you all so infinitely much <33 have a great morning/day/evening/night! sending big squishes and loves :3

P.S. GUESS WHO NATE IS BASED ON I FUCKING LOVE HIM SO MUCH LIHEIWHEL

P.S.S. huge thanks to @weaslebeeps for coming up with Todd in a "I got pegged at Cracker Barrel" shirt AND for drawing it??? LIKE ACTUALLY????? i love u sweetness <3

[namusthetic]

Marauders' Era

The Slytherin Skittles

From the Marauders' Era fandom. Decided to lounge about in the Slytherin common room? Join the Skittles for a late night Slytherin chat.

Regulus A. Black

"From far away I wish I'd stayed with you, but here face to face, a stranger that I once knew.

I thought if I wandered I'd fall back in love. You said distance brings fondness, but guess not with us."

- Astronomy, Conan Gray

Doesn't ask for help

Overachiever

Covers his deep insecurities with a god-complex

Abandonment and trust issues

Suffers panic and anxiety attacks, the others know exactly what to do when it happens and huddle around him, holding hands and grounding him, until he starts breathing normally again and stops shaking

Protective of his chosen family

Instead of fighting to keep people in his life, he lets them go because in the end he thinks he's never enough to stay for

Hates loud noises and making noise when moving or walking

Deeply misunderstood

Tries to remain detached and cold as much as possible because knows he'd end up caring too deeply

Self-isolates when he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings, luckily, whenever that happens, the others storm his usual hiding spots and force him to go outside and enjoy himself

Escapes from his own thoughts by reading or listening to music compulsively

Barty Crouch Jr.

"I used to like liquor to get me inspired but you look so beautiful, my new supplier. I used to like smoking to stop all the thinking, but I found a different buzz.

The world is a curse, it'll kill if you let it I know they got pills that can help you forget it, they bottle it, call it medicine, but I don't need drugs. 'Cause I'm already high enough, you got me, you got me good."

- High Enough by K. Flay

covers his need for attention and approval with loudness and chaos

Fear of missing out

Afraid that people will forget about him and leave him behind

Avoids talking and thinking about his own feelings

Cannot control his emotions when overwhelmed

Hides it when deeply hurt

Clingy drunk, cries if left by himself

Has a soft spot for pets, especially dogs (once he even accidentally cuddled Padfoot without knowing it was actually Sirius)

Hopeless romantic when in a serious relationship

Incredibly intelligent, he just doesn't want to please his father in any way so he acts out

Jokes about his trauma in public, but ends up sleeping in Evan's bed whenever he has nightmares

ADHD kid

Makes dirty jokes all the time but is afraid of having a stable relationship and not being enough for his partner

Evan Rosier

"And hey, you, don't you think it's kinda cute that I (I) died (died) right inside your arms tonight? That I'm fine even after I have died? Because it was in your arms I died.

I cry in the afterlife, I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive. I try to escape afterlife, I try hard to get back inside your arms alive."

- Arms Tonite by Mother Mother

Calm and collected most of the time

Silent anger

Insomniac, spends the nights reading and listening to chill music

Deadly afraid of spiders, always asks Pandora to take them outside

Energy drinks and caffeine

If looks could kill

Tries to keep everyone from getting in trouble together with Dorcas

Doesn't pay attention in class but gets good grades anyway

Grew up too quickly

Joins Barty and Dorcas whenever they are tipsy and start a singing contest

Likes nights out with friends, randomly walking with no precise destination, a few drinks in hand and the warmth of chosen family around him

The observant, silent one

Always carries small perfume vials since he can't stand smells (sweat, cigarette smoke, etc.)

Pandora Rosier

"You don't have to be like everybody else, you don't have to fit into the norm, you are not here to conform. I am here to take a look inside myself, recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm.

I am not my body, not my mind or my brain (ha), not my thoughts or feelings, I am not my DNA. I am the observer, I'm a witness of life, I live in the space between the stars and the sky."

- Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA

Already figured who was going to end up in a relationship with whom years before it happened

Has a private gardening spot where she grows their own plants (especially herbs)

Follows the lunar calendar instead of the solar one, they all celebrate both new years with big parties

Wears long airy dresses with flower patterns and a dozen crystal necklaces and rings

Talks enthusiastically about everything she's passionate about with no restraints (and everyone loves listening to her talk)

Knows weird knowledge nobody knows from where

Walks Hogwarts' halls singing and with a spring in her step

Spends afternoons in the forest sketching fantastic beasts and feeding them treats

Loves making flower crowns, Regulus wears them whenever she makes one for him and hexes anyone who dares say something about it

Always has paint on her hands or face

Dorcas Meadowes

"Say my name, as every colour illuminates. We are shining, and we will never be afraid again.

And when we come for you, we'll be dressed up all in blue, with the ocean in our arms, kiss your eyes and kiss your palms.

And when it's time to pray, we'll be dressed up all in grey, with metal on our tongues, and silver in our lungs."

- Spectrum (Say My Name) by Florence and The Machine

Hates small talk and superficial friendships

Direct, immediately cuts straight to the point

Politically active against all kinds of discrimination and violence

Strong and determined to achieve what she wants

Ready to argue with anyone, anytime, anywhere

Knows exactly what she wants

Stays up late to read and listen to music in the common room

Has everything planned out

Neon lights and cocktails, loud music and cherry flavored lip balm

Travels a lot but is ready to return home immediately if one of her close friends needs her help

Elegant style, always impeccably dressed

Storms out of the dorm and takes a long walk whenever she feels she can't control her anger

Loves to listen to true crime podcasts

------------------------💚🐍

So I love the Marauders' gang, but (I don't know if you guessed it) I really have a soft spot for the Skittles. To me they feel like the ones who never really even had a chance to be saved, who were left to fend for themselves and to die just because of their families and house. They were damaged as much as the others but found no one to help them but each other.

[valentinehorrors]

The Fear of a Father Part 2

The room was quiet, which was very rare for Casey. If not loud music, then maybe the occasional practicing of trash talking for hockey games or both. But tonight it was quiet aside from the running water coming from the connected bathroom.

Well, that and Mikey telling his story.

And even after he finished talking, the silence stood, an awkward air between them. Casey had so many thoughts going through his head that for once he had no words.

So for quite a few minutes after Mikey's tale, it was quiet. It might've even been over an hour, he wasn't sure as he simply focused on washing his hands and arms.

He could hear that Mikey had gotten up from his bed and was now walking around his room, he wasn't nervous about that, he already spilled all his secrets anyway. The human didn't realize how tense he was until he looked in the mirror and saw how scrunched up his shoulders were. Casey almost jumped out of his skin as he caught a reflection of ice in the mirror as Mikey glanced at him.

He didn't think Mikey's eyes could get any colder.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers someone saying that ice can get so cold that it burns. That's what it was, Mikey's eyes had gotten so cold that he could feel them start to burn.

"Don't scrub your skin off." Casey actually jumps this time, water splashing onto him and the mirror, Mikey's reflection distorting through the water droplets.

"Shit Mike... Scared the shit out of me." He chuckled nervously, turning off the water and taking a nearby towel to dry off, he looks down at the towel and idly thinks that he's glad it's not white.

"My apologies." Casey isn't looking at him, but he can practically feel the cold radiating off of the turtle as he steps closer. "But I seem to remember you mentioning that you like to be scared."

Casey felt shivers like claws raking down his back, "Y-Yeah I guess..." Once again, the silence returns, the human's hands have been dry for a bit but he keeps a hold of it, eyes not leaving the bundle of cloth. The cold drifts away as Mikey goes back into Casey's room, his footsteps audibly portraying his wandering, he had been silent up until that point, seems he wanted Casey to be aware of his presence now.

Casey sighs, deciding to splash some cold water on his face. "Stop freaking out..." he mutters as softly as possible to himself in the mirror, glancing back at the cracked door to make sure Mikey didn't hear. Though from the pause in his footsteps, he may have anyway.

Whatever, take a deep breath Casey Jones, you're not in danger.

He once again directed his gaze to his own reflection in the mirror... Maybe he should change.

As though reading his mind, Mikey suddenly appeared at his door, holding some of Casey's clothes "Here. Thought you'd want to get changed."

"Oh, thanks..." He took the clothes, Mikey turning to go back to sit on his bed, monotone, numb, apathetic, nothing new. This was Mikey, it's always been Mikey.

"So," Casey slowly started, looking over as Mikey's head perked up over to him, his blood was already frozen at this point with how often Mikey stared at him, the ice was starting to burn. "What does rat taste like?"

Mikey tilted his head like a confused dog, before pausing as he thought. "Do you remember how they smell?"

Casey shuddered as the same memory flashed to his mind as he nodded.

"Kind of like that. They can be chewy and stringy, I avoid the fat ones, fat never has a good texture raw." The turtle stated simply, matter of fact. "It's been a while since I actually had rats."

"Right... How often do you get... uh, hungry?" Casey fumbled his words a bit.

Mikey stared at Casey, he was forgetting to blink again. "Do you want the truth?"

They let the question linger, Casey chewing on his lip. Morbid curiosity. "Yeah, the truth."

"I'm always hungry." Suddenly Casey realized that at times that piercing cold, was a hungry gaze. "But I can keep it at bay, I eat once a week to avoid it from getting worse."

Casey was the one staring now "How many?"

"Depends on the day. Sometimes I can't risk getting out without being noticed or caught by my family so I postpone it. Thus I eat more the resulting night."

Missing persons posters, there had been more of them recently. Casey thought it was because of the Kraang or people getting mutated and having to retreat into the shadows.

Casey kept staring at Mikey, taking in his answer, his instincts going haywire, screaming at him that Mikey was dangerous.

"I'm gonna... get changed..." He slowly said as he retreated into the bathroom and closed the door, alone with his thoughts.

What did Casey know? First, Mikey never lied to him, he kept things hidden, slowly streaming out info to Casey, but he was honest about it every time he did it. There was clearly a lot that Mikey had kept to himself for years, so the least Casey could do was be patient. Though to be very fair, he never fully expected anything like this. Who would? Second, this wasn't something new. The only difference is that he knew now, but Mikey had always been like this.

His fight or flight had been activated many times just from being around the true Mikey, his gut always warning him. Hell, he knew Mikey was kinda fucked up. The second that the turtle allowed him to see the strings, how he plays with his brothers like it's a game. Even now, looking in the mirror, he could see the strings around his own wrists and neck. An unspoken threat, if he tried to tell anyone about who Mikey really was, he'd be fucked. The only thing he'd accomplish with that would be seeing Mikey truly pissed.

Holy shit.

Mikey wasn't pissed. Everything he saw, but Mikey hadn't been angry, not even a little upset. As he realized this, he looked at the clothes he had been wearing, now a pile of the floor, stains of red still vaguely seen. His gaze then went to his sink and he realized that it was going to need some cleaning as well, he hoped the red didn't stain too much. He could always pass it off as him tending to his own hockey caused wounds if anything. It's the same excuse he used when he ended up banged up from being out on the streets...

He sounds like Mikey.

This might've been fucking with his head a bit.

Okay, a lot.

He took another deep breath as he slipped on new clothes, calming down his heart, the adrenaline still in his system. At this point Mikey was just a constant source of adrenaline for Casey.

Maybe that's why he found it almost intoxicating to be around the turtle. Maybe it's why he missed the cold truth of Mikey whenever it was hidden behind false warmth and large dramatic smiles. It felt so fake whenever they hung around Mikey's family, a performance. Mikey had been giving him tips and helping him out, building a mask for Casey.

Really thinking about it, Mikey didn't have to go through any of this. He didn't have to explain so much to him, didn't have to help him, he revealed the strings most likely as just insurance, a just in case.

Plus, considering what he just saw, if Mikey wanted him dead, he would be.

It was almost sweet in a way...

Yeah, Casey's fucked up, but he's always known this so why act surprised now?

"So," Casey opened the bathroom door, clearly no longer as nervous as he casually leans against the door frame, "what do humans taste like?" his relaxed posture conveyed more curiosity than fear, something almost seemed to spark in those ice cold eyes.

"Like chicken. That's a joke." Casey actually laughed at that as he tossed his clothes with the rest of his dirty laundry. "You'll want to use hydrogen peroxide."

"Hydrogen peroxide." Casey said at the same time as Mikey as he nodded and sat next to the turtle, laying down on his bed.

He saw Mikey's head tilt out of the corner of his eye, "You know?"

"I'm trans, dude."

It took Mikey a second "Ah, right." Casey could feel the turtle's eyes as they scanned him, it caused another shiver. "You're... much calmer..."

Casey shrugged "I mean, if you wanted me dead you would've done it by now... and like, you only eat people cuz you gotta. You're still the same Mike, I just learn more about you but you ain't changing..." His gaze went from the ceiling to the turtle just in time to see said mutant practically jump on top of him, those ice cold eyes inches from his face. This close, Casey could see some of the blood still staining the edges of the scales around Mikey's mouth.

"You're not afraid..."

That familiar adrenaline quickly caused his heart to beat in his ears, "I ain't gonna lie Mike..." he spoke barely above a whisper, "You scare the shit out of me..."

"And yet... you don't run, don't stop coming to our talks, and you haven't tried telling my brothers a thing, listening to every tip and suggestion I say..." Casey feels the turtle's fingers tracing a line across his neck, "I've shown you the strings I have tied around everyone around me, even you... and yet you obediently follow the tugs of said strings..."

Casey didn't flinch, just looking into those eyes, now welcoming the freezing burn. "Yup."

This close, he saw those icy blue eyes widen a bit before a smile crawled onto Mikey's face, wider than his usual small genuine smiles, showing off sharpened canines that Casey knew the other turtles didn't have. The smile almost seemed manic "You... get better everyday Casey Jones...~"

Yeah, Casey was scared shitless, and he loved every second of it.

Meanwhile, one thought echoed in the turtle's head:

HE'S MINE.

[oneatlatime]

The Storm

This post was delayed due to dumbass technical issues. I managed to save it from annihilation by the skin of my teeth, and learned an important lesson about saving drafts along the way.

Long time no blog. As it's currently storming where I am, I feel it's time to watch this one.

Aang in the opening credits has his tongue out like a dog on a car ride. Now picturing a car full of airbenders hanging their heads out the window.

It's been long enough since I watched one of these that I forgot that dream sequences tend to be tinted brown. Had a two second panic trying to remember the episode where Sokka learned airbending.

I wanted to see more of Gyatso but not like this!

Appa the morning person.

Hey Zuko's back. Haven't seen him in a few episodes. Pipi Longstocking hair is still doing him no favours. Also is he really pale this episode?

I feel like Zuko's intelligence varies wildly from episode to episode (usually to serve the plot) but this may be a new depth of dumbness: tell the crew to their faces that their lives don't matter. You know, the crew that prevents the thing you're standing on in the middle of the ocean from sinking. The crew that keeps you fed and actually going somewhere. That crew.

On the other hand, Zuko's method for creating mutiny may break a world record for efficiency. He's such a dumb smart guy.

I'm with Katara on this one. I don't like that swishing either. And if they're out of money, why were they in a market anyway?

And with a kick to the rear, this episode's 'violence towards Sokka for laughs' quota is filled.

Never before in the history of humanity's hubristic quest to tame the seas has a wharf ever been this clean.

And I'm with the crewman on this one too. Zuko's actions really do line up with him not caring about anything beyond his own concerns.

Talk about rock and a hard place for Iroh here. From what I've gathered, it's Zuko's ship, which means that Zuko's in charge of everything including keeping order. But, Zuko is also being unreasonable in the face of a very reasonable complaint from the crew. So Iroh has to pacify both while undermining neither, and not appear to be in command. Takes delicacy.

Appa gets a mooring! Also what is that cave back there?

I was hoping the show would bring this up! To anyone who isn't riding along on Aang's adventures, it sure does look like the Avatar disappeared when he was needed most, continued to stay gone no matter how bad things got, and then just reappeared randomly one day with seemingly no plan to set set things right. Did he reappear to fight the firelord? According to rumour, he reappeared to ride giant koi. What would the average person be left thinking? The fisherman is right. And Katara - will you please let Aang fight his own battles for once in his life?

Aang being the bravest person you know? Do you not remember this?

You know, this?

"That fisherman was way out of line."

Poor guy needs a blow dry. Should be possible, what with airbending and all. Didn't know that Appa had a goatee. Actually the facial hair in general in this show is pretty creative.

If this is going to be the exposition dump storytelling episode, we may all need an emotional support Momo.

These air scooter shenanigans are making me think that the first lesson airbenders learn is how to nullify motion sickness.

Is this the first airbending we see by someone that isn't Aang or Appa?

Someone's been taking fashion tips from Narcissa Malfoy.

Oh fuck off that's too much pressure for a kid. Nice Wisteria though.

Isn't the toys thing a thing in the real world? Something to do with the Dalai Lama?

If Avatars have to be told that they're the Avatar, that implies that they don't know instinctively. Theoretically, could an isolated avatar living in peace time go their whole lives without figuring it out?

Oh wise and learned council of airbenders, please tell me how relying on a 12 year old is going to save you from a war?

Baby Zuko! Baby scarless Zuko! He looks like just the prettiest little princess in these shots. Also, either this happened not all that long ago, or Zuko is majorly overdue a growth spurt, because he's maybe one inch shorter in this flashback. Also also, Pipi Longstocking hair doesn't work no matter how much hair you have to put up. Also also also, the whole reverse tonsure look he has going on in the present really downplays how round his face is. He's got chubby baby cheeks. Also also also also, if Zuko is as much of a prince as his title implies, he's right that he needs to know how to rule.

I have picked up over the course of this show the fact that the fire nation seems to prioritise aesthetic. But this is just ridiculous. And a bit on the nose too. A literal wall of fire dividing you from the commoners? Not even the commoners, the highly esteemed generals in charge of your war? How does this guy see or hear anything that's going on?

Katara asking Aang why he wouldn't be excited about being the Avatar seems out of character for me. Why exactly would he be excited about being catapulted to the number one spot on the fire nation's 'enemies of the state' list? It's not like Katara doesn't know what happens to people on that list.

Don't worry about these jerks. They'll all be immolated in a little bit.

Smelly kid jokes. That's some peak 90s comedy right there.

I love Gyatso. Solidly in Aang's corner and happy to advocate for his charge even against grumpy temple elders. Never loses sight of the fact that Aang is just a boy and needs balance.

This Zuko disrespecting old farts stuff is nonsense. Like when you get called in to HR for 'walking disrespectfully past Sherri's desk' or 'aggressive choice of footwear' and you know it's just because they're looking for a bullshit reason to fire you/force you to quit because the owner's nephew wants your job and they don't want to pay for severance or unemployment. If pointing out obvious flaws in objectively stupid plans is an offence worthy of an honour duel (I'm not even going to try and spell the actual name), then this guy needs to be dueled too:

He called bullshit too.

No

No no they're not actually going to

oh fuck no

hang on he doesn't have his scar yet is this going where I think it's going?

Back to idiot monks phew. Another rock and a hard place situation. Aang needs to be a normal 12 year old. The world needs a fully trained Avatar. The best they can do is a half trained 12 year old avatar. That would have ended well I'm sure.

Oh yeah just yank out the remainders of Aang's support system. That will certainly encourage him to quickly develop into a responsible adult, rather than an emotionally disturbed 12 year old with unmatchable uncontrolled powers. What were these monks thinking? Or were they thinking at all? Were they just panicking? Because only Gyatso seems to have his head on straight. Upset avatars destroy things - we've SEEN that - and these monks think the best way to turn Aang into the Avatar they need is to do something that will upset him probably more than any other possible thing? At least they didn't think to take away Appa too.

Katara's right. He does have a right to be angry. I like that this show gives the characters permission to feel.

Indulging my inner pedant for a minute, he never saw Gyatso alive again. His bones were in pretty good condition. Actually, given that firebenders killed him, why weren't his bones covered in scorch marks? Also, is that where all the other airbender skeletons went? Instant cremation?

The fisherman's right - the avatar did turn his back on the world. Aang's right - he did run away. Katara's right - not running away wouldn't have saved anyone. Kudos to a kids' show for not flinching from tackling topics that have no right answers. Yay nuance!

oh god here we go

Free life tip: If you ever see a dependent and/or child assume this position at the feet of their guardian, call the relevant authorities. Quickly.

And of course there's a crowd of hundreds too. Nothing like a little public mutilation of children to flex your power over the masses. This firelord's ego is so fragile.

So that's where the scar comes from. Also the firelord's line about learning respect casts a new light on when Zuko said he'd teach respect to the crewman at the beginning of the episode. Guess he was channelling the firelord.

Big repsect to Zuko for the above. He's never lacked in bravery. This is the opposite of the "shameful weakness" nonsense.

"Things will never return to normal." THANK YOU

Why is Zuko in such a hurry to go home to that anyway? Seems like the only person who likes him is his uncle, and he's travelling with him.

This is odd. I've always felt like I know Aang, and hearing his story this episode just confirms that I do know him, who he is, what makes him tick. And it lets me know him better. I've deepened an already deep understanding of who he is. However, I thought I had a surface (if jumbled) understanding of Zuko, but hearing his story this episode, and especially the final series of shots, the way they frame him as alone in darkness contrasted with brightly lit memories, makes me sure that I've never known Zuko at all. Who is this guy? I feel like this is meeting him for the first time.

There's also definitely something worth examining in the fact that Aang tells his own story but Iroh tells Zuko's (beyond the fact that Aang is the only person left who could tell his story).

Thank god some comic relief. Not a moment too soon.

I didn't know firebenders could do that. Judging by his face, I don't think he did either.

The judgmental energy in this shot is unparalleled.

"I'm not but I still don't wanna!" This old couple has some seriously good lines.

Appa saves the day once again, this time with an assist from the Avatar powers. I swear if Appa's existence was paired with Sokka's brain they could do the Avatar's job no problem.

Zuko apologises. That is good. But is it Iroh he should be apologising to?

"I'm here now and I'm going to make the most of it." A lovely message to conclude a show on. But are we going to gloss over the whole 'father mutilates his son BARELY offscreen' thing?

Appa shakes!

Final Thoughts

This section could very easily devolve into increasingly hysterical ranting about the whole ZUKO JUST GOT HALF HIS FACE BURNED OFF AS A FORM OF COURT ENTERTAINMENT thing. Lord have mercy the fire nation is fucked up. To prevent that, I am going to share one thought, and only one thought on that fiasco:

this is the first time I've really felt that I'm not the target audience of this show. If I had seen this at 8 or 10 years old, I would have been appropriately mad at the firelord for doing such a bad thing, but it would have made perfect sense, because he's a bad guy, and they have to do bad guy things. It's what makes them bad guys. As an adult, with more knowledge in general, but especially about things like power dynamics and the long term consequences of child abuse, I am valiantly fighting not to spiral down a path of horrific implications because I want to be able to sleep tonight. From both a political and a familial point of view, there was no one (who wasn't 12 and frozen) who could have stepped in. It was the firelord who did it; it appears that there is no one above him in the fire nation hierarchy. It's Zuko's father who did it; good luck getting a kid to stand up to a father in front of an audience of hundreds in a culture that obviously worships a bastardised concept of respect (zuko tried though). Iroh couldn't (or wouldn't) interfere on either political or familial grounds. As an adult, seeing a child (because Zuko may be 16 in the show but that boy kneeling is BABY) stuck in such a situation, knowing there's literally no way to get out of it, no hero going to swoop in and save the day, no judicial process to dish out consequences, well that's hard to watch. And that's all I'll say about that.

Here's a thought: did the avatar (not Aang, but the figure/concept of the Avatar) disappearing fail Zuko, and by extension the fire nation, as much as it failed the other three nations? And the natural follow-along to that thought: did the fire nation attacking the rest of the world hurt the fire nation as much as it hurt the rest of the world?

Aang made a mistake many years ago by running away. He gets to redeem himself by not running away and saving Sokka and the fisherman. Zuko made a mistake at the beginning of the episode by undervaluing the lives of his crew (to their faces, no less). He gets to redeem himself by saving the helmsman and letting the Avatar pass in favour of getting the crew to safety. But I don't think these stories are really parallel. Aang's natural impulse was the mistake. He learned from it, modified his behaviour, and did better the next chance he got. Zuko's natural impulse was to act as he should have. He was taught (violently) that this was incorrect behaviour, and modified his behaviour based on his father's teachings. This modification (not valuing the crew) is the mistake. In Zuko's case, learning from the experience and modifying his behaviour actually means unlearning the lesson he was taught and reverting to his former behaviour. Aang's natural state needed modification; Zuko's externally imposed behaviour needed to be forgotten. Not parallel.

Aang = hope is an interesting conclusion. It's only possible for him to represent hope because he dashed everyone's hopes by disappearing and staying gone. If the avatar had defeated the fire nation 100 years ago and prevented a war from ever happening, he would not have been a symbol of hope. I don't know what he would have been a symbol of, but it's the fact that he's been gone long enough for things to get really bad that makes him a symbol of hope in the present. So if Aang was always meant to be hope, then he was always meant to get frozen.

Aang = hope is also interesting in that it positions Zuko on the side of the enemies of the fire nation. If Aang represents hope to the world, and Aang represents hope to Zuko, then Zuko is not on the Fire Nation side of the conflict (whether he knows it or not).

The humour in this episode was minimal but very welcome. The old couple was heaps of fun, Sokka got a couple of good lines (although never enough - still waiting on a Sokka episode), and the juxtaposition of humour and very serious themes was artfully handled. It was never jarring or tonally off. The switching back and forth between the two story threads was well done too, especially how they tied in at the end.

I'm kind of annoyed that Katara got relegated to shouty defender of the actually-a-little-bit-guilty or Agony Aunt. She deserves better. I'm not at all annoyed that Momo filled the role of cuddle administration. That was lovely to see.

It didn't even occur to me to check if the art/animation in this episode was pretty. That's usually a primary concern with me, but I was too wrapped up in the plot to notice.

I can't believe a kids' show went there, but they did. And they did it well. This episode felt much longer than 20-ish minutes, in a good way. It was packed. Definitely going on my rewatch list.

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 6

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 4K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

This one's a little longer than the last few, but it's one I was really excited to get to for a while. I hope you guys like it! We're starting to get into the nitty gritty! Once again please let me know what you think of it! Thank you all for your support :)

__________

After your emotional conversation with Pedro, you were worried he'd stop talking to you. At least, it seems that's how it usually works. Whenever you try to have a conversation about emotions with someone, it gets shut down. But surprisingly.. it didn't push Pedro away at all. The two of you talk nearly every day on the phone, and when you don't, it's made up for with plenty of text messages. You don't even have to be the first to communicate, either. It just feels natural. It doesn't need to be over-thought.

You keep telling yourself not to get your hopes up, but at the same time, you feel like maybe it's turning into something. Something more than friends. You couldn't help but wonder if Pedro felt the same way, or if maybe he's just a really nice guy.

Despite these feelings, you're still hesitant to tell him you love him. Although he put many of your fears to rest, you continued to be nervous. You were inexperienced. You were significantly younger than him. You led two very different lives. And even though he reassured you about your appearances, it doesn't mean you'd be his type once he actually saw you. Shoot, you don't even know if he's interested in pursuing a relationship.

Plus, now there's the risk of messing up a new friendship. Why ruin it?

How does anyone ever get into a relationship? Others make it look so easy, jumping from relationship to relationship like their heart isn't at stake.

Maybe someday you'd tell him. Maybe someday you'd share these other fears as well. But not yet. You weren't ready.

_____

About a week had gone by since you first talked on the phone, and it was around 1 PM when he called you.

"Hey Pedro!"

"Hey there, songbird," he replied cheerily.

"Songbird?" You giggled.

"If you hate it-"

"No, I love it. It's sweet," you blushed.

"Okay good. But the reason I'm calling is because I saw something on Instagram…"

"Oh yeah? What of?"

"About you. When were you going to tell me?"

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh what? What is he referring to?

You nervously laughed "I… what? Tell you what now?"

"Your album is coming out in a WEEK!??!" He practically yelled with excitement.

Seriously… this guy. Giving me a damn heart attack.

"OH" you replied sheepishly. "You scared me, thinking you heard… I dunno"

"Oh! I'm sorry. No. I haven't heard any information that you haven't told me yourself, nor would I believe it anyway. Other than.. this album!!!" Pedro announced like a gameshow host.

You laughed before replying "yes, yes, the album comes out next week! They just announced it I guess."

Pedro clapped and shouted. "CONGRATULATIONS!!!! I'm so happy and proud of you!!!!!!!!"

You weren't looking in a mirror, and he couldn't see you either, but you could bet money that your cheeks were a bright shade of pink. "Thank you, Pedro!" You giggled, your face beginning to hurt from the large smile he caused.

"How are you celebrating? Is the studio doing anything for you?"

"Well they mentioned an album release party, but being that nobody really knows me I don't know who I would even invite. Plus I'm not sure that a large thing like that is how I'd like to show myself to the world. A little too ceremonious for my liking." You grimaced.

"Well, I happen to think you deserve something ceremonious, even if you don't think you do. And I think we should celebrate."

"We - you - you do? You mean…?" You stuttered in disbelief.

"You and me," he said matter-of-factly.

"You.. and… What did you have in mind?" 

Frankly you didn't know what to think.

"Well. I was thinking… Maybe we could listen to the album together? We could talk on the phone and listen, and it would be like our own little album release party. You wouldn't have to show yourself or meet people. It would just be like our normal conversations. Except I'd get to hear your new music and talk about it with you. If you want," he said, sounding slightly nervous.

Your heart swelled at the gesture and you agreed happily. The two of you made a plan to "meet" at 7PM and listen together the night of your album release. And he promised he wouldn't listen without you.

_____

It wasn't until after you were off the phone with him that you began to overthink the songs on your album. Not unlike your first single, these were also rather vulnerable at times. Sure, he knew a lot, and he'd listen to the album anyway. Probably. But still. To hear it… together? You were starting to feel like you were in over your head.

Nevertheless, the week continued on like normal. Work, talking to Pedro, hanging with Skipper. You agreed to a few more interviews in article or voice format after the release, and signed a few last minute things.

As the album date approached closer, Pedro texted you one day.

"Okay I'm going to ask you something and I want you to trust me okay. I'm not going to do anything that I know you would hate."

"Okay…" what does this man have up his sleeve?

"Can I have your address?"

Why does he want my address???? The panic settled in. But, you did like him; and he hadn't crossed any boundaries yet. In fact, he's been one of the most understanding of your qualms.

So. You sent him your address.

"Thank you ❤️" Pedro replied.

A heart !?! A red one!? 

"You're welcome. Also… I was planning to tell you anyway, but if you're looking for my address I may as well tell you…" you told him your real name. Not your stage name. Not a nickname. But your name. First, Last. All of it.

"Thank you for trusting me. I promise I'll keep it safe," reassured Pedro.

"Thank you, P."

"Of course. You have a beautiful name, by the way."

Your heart did a somersault.

_____

The album release date was finally here and you aren't sure you slept a wink. You were a bundle of nerves and excitement. You loved him and always enjoyed chatting together. This was exciting. But also these songs are so personal. This is a big moment. This was a big plan. And why did he want your address anyway?

~~~~~

Meanwhile at Pedro's place, he was just as nervous. He had started out excited, but then he got into his head. His plans for the evening started feeling too romantic. He didn't want you to get the wrong idea. He liked you, but he didn't want to push it. Maybe he was showing too many feelings towards you. You love someone else, and him not respecting that is rude. All you want is a friend and he's just going to seem like another one of those creepy guys trying to get into your pants.

But it was too late now, the plans were in motion, and maybe you'd enjoy it. Who knows. Either way, he loved your friendship, and friends could do this kind of thing for each other… right??

~~~~~

Throughout the day, you paced your house before finally leaving with Skipper in tow. "We gotta get some air, buddy. I'm losing it over here," you said while clipping his leash.

Stepping out of the house, you two went for a long walk, circled back toward home, and plopped down on your lawn. The house still felt too small in preparation for this evening, whatever it was. Why does it feel different anyway? It's just another phone call..? Unless….

Truth be told, while Pedro had his secret plans, you also had some of your own. Whether you followed through with them or not was up to your nerves.

After some sunbathing with your pup, you both head inside. The sun was starting to set, and you realized it was getting closer to the meetup time you chose with Pedro.

_____

6 PM.

You stared at the TV, not really absorbing anything on the screen, but needing a distraction. This afternoon you opted for a show that Pedro was not in. For once, you needed to not see his handsome face. You needed something else. Half paying attention while picking at a hangnail, you jump out of your skin at the sight of your phone lighting up. Pedro texted.

"Picking out my outfit for tonight! Always important to look nice for celebration."

Shit… he's not coming over is he?! That's why he wanted my address?!

"Wait…" you pondered how to phrase your question without sounding like a panicked asshole, when all you wanted to say was "what the fuck do you MEAN!?!"

I'm not dressed. I'm in sweats and covered in dog hair. I don't have makeup on. Oh no.

"Wait… is that why you wanted my address?"

"Oh. Nooo, no no. No, sweet girl, don't worry. I'm not coming over unexpectedly and interrupting your hiding place. I just think it's still important to dress nice."

"Oh..Okay.."

It was around 6:15 when he texted a picture of himself wearing a white button up with a dark blue suit and matching tie. He wore dark-frame glasses and his hair was slightly tamed, but still showed his messy curls. He looked gorgeous.

But as you scanned his body you noticed that instead of dress shoes, he wore a pair of polka dot socks. He had a goofy grin and his one eyebrow was cocked. You grinned.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," he said.

"You're a goof, P. But I appreciate the effort."

A pause.

"Also, you look really handsome" you nervously hit send before you had a chance to chicken out.

Bold. Probably shouldn't have said that. But hey, friends compliment each other.

"Why thank you. A big accomplishment like this requires all the stops."

He timed this message right to the minute. As you read his text, your doorbell rang.

You opened the door to find two boxes. One large, one small. A delivery boy was getting into his car. 

"Delivery from your biggest fan. 

-❤️, P"

He… he sent me some kind of care package?? And put a heart? And said he's my biggest fan?

You squealed and carried the boxes into the house. "What's this!?" You texted Pedro.

"Open them and see!"

You immediately open them. Inside the larger box was a variety of items. The first thing you noticed was a small vase holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. To the right of that was a bag, which you opened and found your favorite meal, from your favorite restaurant. 

Wow, this is elaborate. 

Below the food was another small bag holding your favorite dessert, and finally to the left, your favorite drink.

I can't believe he remembered all of my favorite things.. This is so thoughtful.

When you moved the flower vase, you noticed one more small item. Is that a… corsage?? You texted Pedro the question.

"Yep!" He sent, with a photo of a matching flower on his lapel.

Remembering you still had the small box, you opened the box flaps, wondering what could possibly be left for him to give you. On top of it was another note.

"For a handsome boy.

- ❤️, your mom's friend, Pedro"

Under the note was a jar of peanut butter, a squeaky anchor toy, and…? What's this?

You unwrap a small paper wrapping to find a dog-sized black bowtie. Shut up.

"SKIPPER!!! Look what Pedro gave you, buddy!"

He padded over to you and let you hook the dressy accessory around his neck. With the clip adjusted, he sat back, looking proud of his new fashion. You quickly snapped a picture and texted it to Pedro.

"I can't believe you did all this, Pedro. Not only did you send all this, but you remembered my favorite things? You remembered all the details from when I first met Skipper. My favorite food, dessert, drink, and flower? That's so sweet, this is all too much Pedro..  Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. I.. I don't even know what to say."

You're amazing and I love you. Is what I want to say.

"You're welcome." He texted back. "Like I said, you deserve a celebration. Plus…"

Pedro sent a photo of his table, set up with the same food and drink, with the caption "now it's like we're having a dinner party."

It was nearing the time to meet, but you still had to do one more thing. You had pondered it earlier in the day, but fully decided it when Pedro sent the photo of himself dressed up. It's now or never.

_____

6:45 PM.

Pedro sat waiting for a reply after he sent his dinner photo. It had only been a couple minutes, but his hands were sweaty and his leg was shaking under the table. Finally, his phone went off. You sent… a video?

He opened it and pressed play. There, he saw you rotating your wrist with the corsage on it. The first time he's ever seen your wrist, hand, or arm before. The first time he's even seen your skin tone.

Geez you act like you're in the Victorian ages, pull yourself together, he rolled his eyes at himself for being so overjoyed.

Next, the video panned to Skipper in his bowtie, looking handsome as ever. The camera zoomed in on him and he looked up into the view with his big brown eyes. 

And then…

The camera panned to the side, and showed a mirror. A full length mirror, where you stood. He scanned your body from your perfectly done up hair and makeup, down your body to your dress. You wore your favorite dress, (in your favorite color, he noted) which showed off your body in the best ways. He looked down to the floor and noticed that you too were wearing fun socks instead of shoes. You wore a pair of striped socks and wrote in your caption "all dressed up and nowhere to go."

His heart picked up and he could feel himself breathing unevenly. He finally saw you. And you were gorgeous. He couldn't help the smile that enveloped his face.

Fuck. She's beautiful… I'm screwed. 

She loves someone else. She loves someone else. She loves someone else. Forget your feelings.

Despite his struggle, he knew he wanted, and needed, to tell you how beautiful he thought you looked. This was a big step to show yourself, and he also knew how self-conscious you felt about your body.

"Wow, you're so beautiful."

You blushed, replying with a quick thank you with a heart, then sending a second message asking if he was ready to listen. The video wasn't the only trick you had planned up your sleeve tonight.

______

The clock turned to 7 PM and Pedro hit the dial for your number. You answered the phone and said a quick "hang on" to set up the shared listening party link for your album. Once sent, you took a deep breath and steadied your nerves. Then, you took the plunge.

"Okay I got the link! I'm so exci - what - wait, is this an accident?" Pedro's hand fumbled as he received your incoming video chat request, his heart picking up to a galloping pace.

"Nope! You can answer it. If you want.."

He quickly swiped the accept button and there you were. Clad in your favorite dress, sitting at a table with the meal he sent in front of you. He could see himself in the corner square, dressed in his suit, with nearly the identical table setup and food.

He couldn't help but notice on his own video screen that his cheeks were turning rosy and his mouth curled into a large smile. But he was too happy to be shy about his blush.

"So this is you," he said.

"This is me," you replied shyly, but still with a huge smile and blush plastered on your face, matching Pedro's.

"You look.." he sighed shakily "..wow.."

"You look pretty wow yourself there," you said with a shy giggle.

Both of you let out gentle laughs, feeling a warm glow as your stomachs felt matching butterflies of nerves, excitement, and… maybe something else.

"So should we listen, I guess?" You asked nervously.

He didn't answer. He was looking at the screen, eyes scanning the video. 

Is he blushing? You wondered. But why would he be? He doesn't like me back… right?

He still hadn't answered you when you finally said "Pedro?? Did you hear me?"

He snapped out of it, somehow turning more crimson. "Oh! Sorry… yeah! Let's listen."

Your nerves were off the charts. Some of these songs were so vulnerable. The ones at the end of the album were the most telling of all.

But as the two of you ate your dinners while listening to your new album, you began to relax. The night was filled with him giving praise and you giving background information on the meanings and production of the songs. 

"Are all the different instruments and harmonies played by you?"

"They are! The studio offered studio musicians but I had originally played them all when I wrote it and wanted to keep it a one woman show."

"You're incredible," Pedro said, shaking his head.

You blushed, for the billionth time today.

When it came to "Imaginary Love" Pedro grinned. "Hey I know this one! The one that started it all." 

"Yep!" You agreed and he began lip syncing to the lyrics dramatically. Little did he know, those lyrics were actually about him. You giggled as he acted out a soulful rendition of the chorus.

"You know, this whole journey has been a real rollercoaster and there have been times I've wished I hadn't posted that song..."

Pedro looked at you with that puppy dog look of his and you continued "but then I remember… that if I never posted it, I would've never started talking to you, and it makes it all worth it."

Pedro placed his hand on his heart and pouted his lip. "I agree. I'm glad to have met you. If I didn't love this song already, that alone would be enough reason for me to consider it one of my favorites.

You grinned and looked down at the table, suddenly feeling shy. The two of you continued to listen, having long finished your dinner. Conversation flowed easily, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on a date. Not that you had much experience with that, but from what you'd seen in movies and shows, this felt very date-like. And you didn't want it to end.

But as the album went on, you approached the last two songs. The ones you were scared of most. The most vulnerable of the album. 

The second to last began to play.

'It's hard to imagine craving something that I've never had.

Dumb to be so desperate for something I've gone without.

But when I'm alone and thinking to myself, I need it so bad.

I crave it like a drug, but one I know nothing about.

Your kiss on my lips, or any kiss at all.

It hasn't happened yet, no matter how hard I fall.

The years keep passing, but still no love.

The years go by, but still no kisses.

I keep wondering and praying up above,

I guess I'm unkissable, despite my wishes.'

Pedro furrowed his brow, looking at you, searching for something. He read the title of the song, "Unkissable," and looked up again, opening and closing his mouth to find the right words.

"Do-" he stopped himself and pondered his wording again. "Is- are all these songs true?"

You stared at the table, picking your nail against the wood. "Yes."

"You really believe that?"

"... I mean… I don't know… maybe… I guess…" you avoided his gaze, but could feel it.

"And you've never-"

"Kissed anyone before? No. I haven't."

"But you've wanted to?"

"Yes," you whispered, starting to feel tears prick at your eyes.

Pedro shifted his lips to the side in thought before finally saying "well… you're still young. It'll happen."

"I'm 26, Pedro. Most people have kissed by the time they've graduated high school. I just… missed the boat I guess. It's okay. I'm just being silly. I don't want it that bad. We can maybe listen to something else now."

"Hey, hey. Don't shut down on me," he asked pleadingly. "26 is still very young, and don't worry about whenever everyone else has done things. Everyone does things at their own pace. I'm sorry you haven't experienced it yet, especially when you want it so badly, but I know that when it does happen, it'll probably be better than any kiss you would've had with some 15 year old boy you would've had in high school."

You laughed, breaking your tears for a minute. "Thanks Pedro."

"Of course. And hey, don't think of yourself as unkissable. Any guy should be so lucky to be with you. Maybe the guy you wrote about in your song will be your first."

"Maybe… I hope so. Thank you."

While your heart bloomed at the kind words and prospect of maybe kissing Pedro in the future, Pedro's heart began to ache. Not only was he sad for you when you wanted love so desperately, but he also couldn't help but feel sad hearing you want to kiss another man. He wants to be that guy for you. He wasn't joking when he said any man would be lucky. But especially knowing now your true age, 22 years younger than him, he knew for sure your crush couldn't be him. You were way too young to be interested in a 48 year old man. He was silly for even entertaining the idea.

But at least he had a new friend. And as he thought longer, he thought about his best friend Sarah, and her relationship. They have a huge age gap, 32 years, but they're happy. And he's happy for her. It doesn't feel weird with them. Could he have that with you? Or is he in over his head?

The last song on the album began to play. This one was less vulnerable, but if he decided to look at the lyrics and notice patterns, he'd see it in the chorus. 

'People have a lot to say

Everyone loves or hates me

Don't know what I did today

Right now you're all I can see

Only want to be with you.

Please, love me too.'

You're sure the obsessive listeners will figure out the acrostic, and if Pedro looks up the lyrics, he might too. But either way, it's out there. All you can do is hope for the best and eventually you're sure it'll come out anyway.

 This wasn't one you were sure about putting on the album, but when the studio read through your personal songbook, they went insane over it. They figured it out quickly, and they promised they'd keep it to themselves. Luckily they have so far, but if money came calling, you think they'd sell your heart faster than you could say no.

The song, and album, came to a close and Pedro looked up at the screen once again, staring into your eyes. "Once again your music has blown me away."

Whether he put together the end or not, he wasn't letting on.

"Thank you Pedro. I really appreciate it. And thank you for tonight. It was truly special and I mean it when I say it's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. You didn't have to go through all that trouble," you said thoughtfully.

"It was no trouble. You deserve congratulations for your album," Pedro replied with a smile.

Right.. it's just a congratulations. Nothing else. You sighed.

"Thank you. I'm really glad we did this. Talk again soon?" You asked.

"Absolutely. It was wonderful to meet you finally," Pedro said, finishing the sentence with your real name and smiling.

"It was great to meet you too, Pedro."

__________

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading.

Looking for more? Next chapter!

Taglist: (Want in? Let me know!)

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[lunapwrites]

having a bit of a bad brainspace weekend.

i am intensely uncomfortable and unable to do things for myself that i normally could do and this is my not-so-friendly reminder that despite the sometimes crippling ADHD and the fact that my GI issues suck i am, in fact, mostly usually quite able-bodied. i am used to things i am not physically able to do being more in the realm of "touching my toes" due to my intense lack of flexibility or "lift my partner" due to him being 3x my size. I've historically been pretty strong and in good shape for someone that is allergic to the gym, so i was not anticipating adding things like "putting on socks" and "rescuing my sweet idiot dog from the couch he's forgotten how to get off of" to that list.

i made the mistake of asking my partner what it looked like i was struggling with rn because i'm not good at recognizing when i actually need to ask for help vs when i can just power through. this was a poor decision because this means that i received an itemized list of my recent failures. not phrased in a way to be hurtful, just expressing frustration because these were all things that i had previously handled myself with ease and now a) was suddenly not doing, or doing inconsistently, and b) was not indicating i needed help with. and he's not trying to step in on his own and make me feel micromanaged or smothered, because he knows i want to do for myself as much as possible (and also i'd probably bite his head off) and he's 100% correct. and he had to kind of sit me down and be like "you are pushing yourself too hard please stop" and i wanted to shake him and scream that i'm not, that i don't feel like i'm doing enough because i am just a pile of disappointments right now. massive laundry lists of things i need to do and can't because literally if i try it physically hurts me.

anyway i really want to write but the second i sit down i either get distracted with something else or fall asleep or sit there vibrating over the things i should be doing but can't so. there's that. [gazes longingly at several half-written WIP chapters wasting away in the corner] i know where they're all going. i just don't have the gas to get us there. and i hate that. especially because i have this intense fear of not having time for writing at all once Bean is here.

idk. everything sucks rn and i hate it here and i don't wish this on anyone. next person who tells me this is a wonderful miracle and that i should feel so blessed is getting a shoe thrown at them. "best thing you've ever done" fuck you. i know what i did and why, but i also knew it was going to suck ass at least 90% of the time. it was, i thought, an informed decision. i either underestimated the level of disability i would be experiencing or overestimated my ability to cope with it. like it's fine it's temporary i will get through it but jesus fucking christ this is rotten work. and not in a "not if it's you" or an "especially if it's you" sort of way, but more of a "despite" situation. i adore this kid so much already but i also want to be able to stand up for more than 5 consecutive minutes without feeling like i might die. i want to be able to have a conversation without immediately being out of breath. and even all of that i feel terrible venting about because in terms of symptoms i am getting off SO FUCKING EASY. it could have been way worse. and i'm bitching about it this hard. bitching about what???

anyway. so begins the final countdown. with me crying hysterically over a bag of fuckin pastries i left on the counter and feeling lower than i think i've felt since '09, which ain't a great feeling.

[deep breath.] everything will be fine. it just sucks right now. and also i really hate writing thank you cards.

[tokoyamisstuff]

could we get some general fluffy headcanons for Gabe? ❤️

A/N: Some of those may or may not be inspired by my fiancè. 💘

Gabe's love language is Acts of Service. Since he's neither good with words nor overly physical, it's his prefered way to show affection.

While he's really help- and thoughtful with gifts and similar, he can be pretty insensitive when it comes to more simple things. So you need to be very direct with your needs and desires - especially the ones that actually require emotional intelligence. Anyways, while the man may be dull when it comes to this topic, he'd do anything you ask of him or at least try to better himself for your sake.

Due to his connections and type of work, he'll find out every little detail about you - just for your sake, of course. Knows you inside and out, things like your favourite anything. Tries to make up for his emotional stunted self this way. It's like a little project, honestly.

Has a very practical way of thinking. So if you want to rant, prepare to get some solutions - whether you want them or not. Don't like your weight? He already mentally prepared a whole training program. Upset with someone? Man's plotting and ready to commit a crime.

I'm pretty sure he's the type of person to talk in his sleep - like, a lot. And sleepy Gabe is way more vocal about his feelings than the usual deal. You'll get the whole program, with him suddenly embracing and smothering you in lazy kisses while mumbling sweet words of affection he's rarely ever able to tell you while awake.

That man gives the best hugs ever. I mean just look at him. Once he started there's no escaping his love. But beware, you're most likely getting used as arm- or chinrest due to the height-difference.

Absolutely loathes PDA. However, he'll subconsciously make exceptions, like suddenly holding your hands when you're crossing the street or protectively wrapping his arms around you when someone's getting too close to you for his own liking.

Is very low-maintenace in general. Due to his uprbinging and time as a soldier he's used to live with only the bare necessities - which makes it easy to indulge him. A bubble bath? Ridiculous, he'll say. Who needs this, he'll say. Still feels all giddy on the inside and makes mental notes to return the favor.

Would never cry in front of you - or at least it takes much time and patience to unlearn this way of thinking. Most of the time he'll just pull you into his arms and hold you so tightly against his chest that you can't see the tears dwelling in his eyes. That's the most vulnerable he's ever been with someone, and as long as it's you he wouldn't change it for the world.

Will 100% act like you're dying even when it's just a cold and go out of his way to provide the best care possible. He however could lose a limb and would act like it's just a scratch - but enjoys your care either way.

Reyes is the personified Scary Dog Privilege. As soft as he may be on the inside, every single time you're going out his intimidating aura shields you from any harm. You're free to do as you please, wherever you want - with him following you like a shadow, menacingly towering close behind.

He may not be one to open up easily, yet once he gets comfortable with you he'll become very serious about the whole thing very quickly. Suggests you moving in with him and likes to talk about plans for the future. There's no half-hearted bond with that guy.