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vidduality · 2 months

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SPOILERS for Episode 6 of the Avatar Live Action series

AKA why this episode makes me SO grateful for this adaptation (re: the Zuko flashbacks and the Agni Kai).

----

Wow.

I admit, I was really worried at the idea that Zuko might potentially fight back in the Agni Kai against his father in the live action. I expected to HATE it, and it's certainly a bold change, but it fits in SO WELL with why Zuko is the way that he is (and why he works so hard to push down his empathy whenever Aang tries to reason with him).

The Agni Kai - Zuko obviously did NOT want to fight his father. He still tried to apologize and beg for mercy, but in the end he was just too terrified of his father to disobey a direct order.

But when Ozai left him an opening to see what he'd do with it, Zuko couldn't bring himself to actually land a blow that might burn him. Making his lack of ruthlessness the weakness that Ozai ends up mutilating him for - even straight up telling Zuko that compassion is weakness and then demonstrating by holding his own child down and lighting him on fire - adds a layer of depth that only enhances the original scene (and in another stroke of genius, we see Ozai nearly in tears himself. He's convincing himself of this lesson as well as Zuko, which was likely passed down to him by his own father). Honestly, this to me is even more heartbreaking than Ozai burning him for refusing to stand and fight. Zuko did everything his father asked and he still failed, because his family has distorted what it means to be honorable and believes Zuko's capacity for mercy to be a shameful weakness unbecoming of an heir to the throne.

The 41st Division - And here come the waterworks. Assigning the very people Zuko was hurt so severely for trying to save to his ship as it's being cast out of the fire nation (presumably forever, with the Avatar not having been seen in 100 years) is SUCH a brilliant addition. His crew resents Zuko for being stuck on this impossible mission with this bratty, angry child. And Zuko is too ashamed of his "weakness" to explain why they were assigned to him.

I can totally see Zuko's hurt at their lack of respect making him even more angry (especially after everything he went through to save them from being sacrificed), and his seemingly irrational anger at them just continuing to make them resent him more in a neverending feedback loop of anger and disrespect that's been growing and festering for 3 years.

Which makes the scene at the end when Zuko's crew finally learns about how he saved their lives (as well as why he's obsessed with the avatar, why he's banished, what his scar means and why he's trying so very hard to rid himself of empathy, even if he can never quite manage it when it counts) so much more impactful. I SOBBED when the 41st Division stood at attention and showed him their utmost respect and loyalty, possibly for the first time since they've been on that ship. Zuko's soft "what's going on?" at finally being honored by his crew is just imprinted on my brain.

The seed of the idea that his compassion may NOT actually be what was shameful about his banishment afterall can finally begin to take root.

I just, damn, I love this episode so much.

#zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla live action #atla spoilers #atla netflix #fire lord ozai #avatar live action #avatar netflix #avatar spoilers #41st division #agni kai #avatar #i hope they survived #i need them to be there to see what zuko becomes #and they can spread the word to the fire nation #about who deserves their loyalty #meta #natla #atla

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drdemonprince · 6 months

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Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your honesty and willingness to explain how queer spaces can be a lot less transphobic than discourse within the trans community can make it seem. A lot of the past few years for me have been spent closeted out of fear that reactions around me would be uniformly hostile. Things are obviously going to be different for me as a transfem, but I have a much easier time being optimistic now!

I am so glad! Listen, the people who post online all the time about how miserably hard it is to find a place for oneself as a trans person create a kind of reverse survivorship bias. They are the people who have already convinced themselves it's best to forever remain closeted or that forging any kind of accepting community for oneself is impossible. Often, they are also people who once harbored unrealistic fantasies about just strolling up one day into a pre-existing community that was perfect for them, not realizing that we must form our relationships painstakingly one by one (it tends to be the white eggs/unhappy lonely trans people who are most prone to thinking of community in that way). there's plenty of trans guys who are doomers like this too and they really tend to actively encourage one another to remain locked away. it's like incel kind of behavior when it's taken to its most extreme form. sometimes, it can be outwardly really nasty homophobic shit too (especially among "afabs" who complain about "cis gays" never accepting them and being super privileged). in its milder form, it's just extreme trauma brain.

The people you do not hear from so much are the people who are busy out in the world going on dates, acting in plays, getting their asses spanked in dungeons, playing tabletop roleplaying games, and going to farmer's markets with their three also transgender wives. Those are the people who know (that is to say, have learned!) how to interact with their fellow queer people, have spent some time out in the community, and in all likelihood have many rich friendships with cis lesbians, cis gay men, enbies, asexuals, bisexuals, straight ish poly people, and everybody else under our big umbrella.

I don't want to be overly pollyannaish because of course trans people have a tough time, and especially trans women have unfortunately to be on the lookout for really vile transmisogyny. But I think when people are wounded and traumatized by these things, they sometimes make the entire world sound incredibly unwelcoming, which creates a self-limiting feedback loop of isolation and mistrust. That is what trauma does! But it is not the truth. and we only learn otherwise when we give other people the chance to prove our worst fears wrong.

Like, just for an example, this Sunday I was at a silent book club at Dorothy, a gay bar on the west side that skews lesbian but is for everyone. I'd never been there before but it was an absolutely charming experience! Dozens upon dozens of lesbians draped over couches and curled up in chairs with their books, quaffing cocktails, alongside a few random dots of gay and/or trans men. Trans women were just a natural completely unremarkable feature of this environment. I couldn't even tell you how many t girls were there. It would be like counting plus sized girls or butches at this lesbian function. If it's a good lesbian function, there's gonna be a diverse crowd and it won't be weird or a big deal to anyone, they'll just be like any other women there. a lot of the big lesbian events here in Chicago (like Strapped) are organized by trans women, so of course there's a robust trans femme presence there.

And all of these groups at this function were getting laid. the couches were overflowing with women, so many that girls were grabbing pillows to sit on and huddle together with their books on the floor. Girls canoodled and cuddled on couches. I saw a cis alt girl covered in facial piercings flirting with a very prim and proper trans girl who was dressed like a victorian governness. they didnt know one another, but after the silent book club hour was done, they left for a while together, then came back with some food. across from me and my friends, i watched them gathering up on the couch, the space between their bodies slowly closing up into nothing over the course of the evening. they flirted and touched and then left the bar together to (and im no expert on body language but i could pick up on this one) fuck eachothers tits right off.

and of course plenty of other lesbians and wlw paired off or tripled off and had their fun too. again, just like steamworks, fat people, thin people, black and brown people, white people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, trans people, older people, younger people, everybody was there. like any good queer space, it was just a reflection of humanity. there is always more that can be done to make these spaces more broadly accessible to full community. but part of that is by putting ourselves there.

again i dont mean to make it sound like finding and making one's space is easy! especially not for trans women! but I also don't want people to get seduced by the hopeless jadedness that some foment online. there are spaces that some trans women I know will never go to -- even an explicitly trans affirming bookstore like Women and Children First gives many trans women I know bad vibes they cant quite explain but all feel (the store is owned and run by old white cis lesbians, it's not surprising to me that it's a little fucked no matter their good intentions) -- and ive heard people say transmisogynistic stuff at events, particularly from "ill date anybody but cis men" type t boys (my brothers, i hate you). shit can be tough. very tough. but also, the world isn't all uniformly as hostile as it's made out to be. there are people who are desperate to meet you. I hope you will come out to find them.

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cheeseceli · 3 months

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Just like now

Pairing: yeonjun × Gn!reader

Genre: fluff, short drabble, sort of friends to lovers

Description: yeonjun thought he could endure being just friends with you, but a rainy night showed him that he might've been wrong

A/n: I love to write epiphany with literally no dialogue, it's healing

Playing now just like now, by xeed

It felt like a loop. This endless cycle of looking at your eyes, feeling so much love that he thought his heart wouldn't be able to handle it and then not saying anything. Yeonjun was stuck in this limbo, and he hated it.

He was not shy, not at all. He was known as the biggest flirter in his group of friends, for God's sake. And still, every time he tried to confess to you, he'd become a blushing mess and end up saying something that was completely unrelated to what he wanted to say at first.

For a while he thought it was okay. He couldn't bring himself to ask you out but at least you could see each other as friends. He wasn't brave enough to kiss you but at least you would still hug him at times. He still had you, just not in the way he wanted. But that was okay. Until tonight.

Tonight you were both looking at the night sky after running away from a boring party. Yeonjun had offered you his jacket and God, you looked so beautiful with his clothes covering your shoulders. You were sitting close enough to almost lean on each other, but none of you did it because that would be too intimate, wouldn't it? The stars were reflected in your eyes and he wished so much to just come closer to you. But he couldn't. Because you were just friends. And suddenly that wasn't okay anymore.

He wanted to stop time. He wanted to be with you, that way, forever. Because this moment was so precious to him. But he'd wake up tomorrow morning and he wouldn't have this moment anymore. He'd just have a memory. That could be good, if it wasn't for the fact that he'd probably never live it again. Because you were just friends.

As if the weather could feel the debate inside Yeonjun's head, it started to pour. Just like that the raindrops washed his thoughts away. Or maybe you did.

You were chuckling, looking above as if the rain didn't bother you in the slightest. You looked so beautiful. He wished his forever could be just like now. Comforting, happy, light. With you.

And then you looked at him. Water was running down your face and there was a huge chance your clothes would be drenched by the end of the night. But you were smiling.

That was enough for Yeonjun to want to break the cycle. He didn't want to shy away and live another day with you in his memory only. If there was any chance that you felt the same, he was ready to go for it.

When he locked eyes with you, you didn't avert your gaze. When he moved closer, you didn't move away. And when he finally kissed you, you didn't stop smiling.

Perhaps he was creating a memory that he could live again later. Perhaps he was allowing himself to live just like now forever. And so did you.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

#celi drabbles #yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun soft hours #choi yeonjun #yeonjun txt #yeonjun tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together fluff #tomorrow x together scenarios #tomorrow x together x reader #tomorrow x together soft hours #tomorrow x together #txt fluff #txt soft hours #txt scenarios #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader

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demilypyro · 6 months

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So after playing the game and turning it around in my head for several hours as I went back over all the info I gathered... here's what I personally think happened in Signalis.

This take isn't entirely comprehensive. There's a lot of elements I don't feel I'm smart enough to fully understand, and I acknowledge that the story being open to interpretation is the point. But this is what I took from the game.

During the war on Vineta, two soldiers of the Nation fight together against the Empire. Alina Seo and Lilith Itou. Spending many years together, the two fall in love.

Lilith dies in battle, and the Nation uses a backup of her personality to create the LSTR units. A heartbroken Alina is transferred to the Sierpinski mining facility on Leng.

On Rotfront, a young painter with latent bioresonant abilities named Ariane Yeong wishes to get away from it all. After completing her compulsory military service, she applies to the Penrose Program and spends many years in space, alongside her assigned Replikant unit: LSTR-512. Elster. Spending many years together, the two fall in love.

However, the Penrose Program was a setup. The ship was never intended to complete its mission. The Nation had become aware of Ariane's latent abilities and had assigned her on a doomed mission, shooting her off into space to die on a ship that would eventually break down. On the 3000th cycle of their mission, the pair learned that they had been abandoned. Unwilling or unable to do it herself, Ariane made Elster promise to end their lives rather than suffering. However, Elster couldn't bring herself to do it. As time passed, radiation began to leak from the ship's engines, and Ariane and Elster both developed cancer. Elster died from the illness before she could bring herself to fulfill her promise.

Strangely, Ariane did not die. Possibly by some mutation from the radiation interacting with her bioresonant abilities, she was unable to die. She would survive at least another 2000 cycles after the Penrose was set to run out of supplies, all the while in constant suffering. The ship eventually crashed on Leng. Ariane's uncontrolled, mutated bioresonant abilities came into contact with the various Kolibries inside the Sierpinski facility, and her suffering was shared and amplified exponentially as it spread and repeated itself along the bioresonant hivemind. A psychic feedback loop spread like a disease. All gestalts died. All the replikants who weren't mutated or destabilized were left fighting for their lives, but none could stay unaffected forever.

Meanwhile, an accident had occurred in which all backups of the original mental template of Lilith Itou were lost. As a substitute, the Nation started creating new LSTR units using the latest backup of a decommissioned LSTR unit belonging to the Penrose Program: a copy of the mind of Elster, decommissioned after 3000 cycles. However, having never read the instructions, Ariane had taken zero precautions to avoid destabilization. All new LSTRs put into service after that time were affected. They were prone to hallucinations, had trouble distinguishing the present from the corrupted memories of their lives as Lilith Itou, and were consumed by one thought: fulfilling her promise.

As time passed, dozens of LSTR units came to the Sierpinski facility. Their destabilized minds were unable to distinguish Ariane from Alina, the two loves of their two lives. Every time one of them entered the facility, their destabilization further worsened the cascade of bioresonant mutation affecting the people within, and Falke in particular found herself affected by Elster's memories. Adler tries his best to stop this, by killing any Elsters who appeared, but it was just delaying the inevitable. Ariane's memories and Elster's hallucinations combine with Falke's supernatural abilities, causing the facility to become warped by images and places from Ariane's past, even turning an entire area into a replica of Rotfront and conjuring apparitions of Isa, a long-dead childhood friend of Ariane's. How much was Elster's hallucinations and how much was Falke's reality bending abilities is unclear.

Finally, one of the Elster units successfully makes it through the impossibly warped facility, kills Falke, and fulfills her promise. By ending Ariane's life, the feedback loop of suffering is stopped, and the cycle finally ends.

#signalis #signalis spoilers

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jazz-miester · 1 year

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A Taste Of The Divine

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Reader Type: Gender Neutral Bot

Song: The Summoning- Sleep Token

Warnings: Smut my dude. Valveplug. Bot's bangin'.

An: I could not get this out of my head. Pls. Enjoy. Also adding a read more lol

Tags: @rawmeknockout

There is no greater way of clearing his helm than having them buried between your shaking thighs. The sweetened taste of your transfulid on his glossa as he drug it between your wet folds and wrapped his lips around your poor abused node.

How many times has he brought you to the brink of almost overloading now? Two? Three? He has long since count. Time was lost when he did this. Time he would never regret losing.

Optimus rumbles against you. His frame shaking while he all but devoured you. The heels of your peds smacking against his broad back. One of your servos clutched the fabric of the berth. The other dug into the side of his helm. Pushing and pulling as if you were unable to decide of your wanted more or less of what he was giving you.

He cold feel the crackle of your charge bounce against his frame. A feedback loop of the pleasure that was racking through your frame. A growl left him as you managed to roll your hips from beneath his lips.

One of his servos splayed against your stomach plating. Pressing down on you to keep you from moving further. The other moved away from your thigh and traveled to your valve.

Optimus pulled away with a huff of air. That same servo going to gently spreading you apart. You coated his digits with your fluids.

His vents whirred and huffed heated air. A low rumble emitted from him. He wasn't as unaffected as one would think in this moment. His spike pressed harshly against it's housing. He could feel the fluid bleeding from it. Pooling against the plating.

The sight of you laid out on your shared berth was nothing short of ethereal. The dim lighting of your half lidded optics softened your features. Energon pooled in your faceplate. Your once, so neatly colored lips were open in a soft o. A breath left them. There. Smeared against your faceplates was the same color now on his own. Washed away from when he had made a mess of your valve.

"Please." Optimus caught your optics. His glossa darted out to catch the fluid that had been caught on his lips. His digits ran a loose circles around your puffy node. He could see the proto form beneath your armor jerk and flex with every pass.

"Please what? My dear spark." His normally smooth baritone was raspy. Almost needy. He craved you as much as you did him.

"Your digits. Please." There was a whine in your voice. Desperate. Pleading. You gave another as Optimus made another lazy pass then downwards. Just ghosting over the place you wanted it most.

Your vents hitched. Sputtered. "Optimus Please." He supposed he should. As much as he could look at you like this forever. Undone. Shaking, needing, and yearning for him. Only for him.

His spark would swell at this every time. Filled with so much adoration for you. Of this. The trust that you placed in him to let your guard down like this. Every inch of you bared for him.

Optimus propped a knee onto the berth. The weight of him creaked the metal frame of it. He could hear the cry you gave when his servo left you to grab your thighs. He pulled your legs around his hips.

Transfluid coated your thighs. It smeared across his own wide legs. A curse left his lips at the sight of this. You spread apart before him.

Optimus leaned his frame above you. His helm fitted next to yours. His digits sunk deep within you. Your valve pulled him in greedily.

"Is this what you wanted Dear Spark?" He lazily thrusted his digits in and out of you. He grazed his digits against the nodes that had you calling his name. "Did you want your Prime to overload you with his servos alone." He curled his digits within you.

Optimus pressed his lips against your neck. Pooling energon against your cabling.

"Or did you want my spike in that pretty little valve of yours." Optimus chuckled when a breathy curse left your lips. "Would you like that? Would you like to overload on my spike? The only thing you're able to say is my name when you overload on it?"

His digits left your valve. He wrapped his lips around them. Tasting you as he licked them clean.

Before you could protest Optimus had lifted you up. Rolling onto his back as he placed you on his lap. His spike spilling from its housing and smacking against your back.

Optimus's back pressed against the headboard of the berth. His helm tilted upwards to look at you. His servos traveled up yoursides. Moving to press against your chassis. Thick digits finding the seems in your armor above your spark chamber. He could feel the rapid thrum of your spark.

You chassis opened freely to show your spark. The light was bright. Shining. Optimus's own guiding light in this damned to long war.

Your hips rose as you poised yourself above his spike. The lips of your valved brushing against the tip of it before you sunk downwards. Your helm thrown back from the pleasure of it all.

Optimus kept his servos on your hips. Guiding you until your hips sat flush with his own.

"That's it my spark. Gently now." His voice caught in the end when you rose back up. A slow up and down as you stretched against him.

He pressed a servo against your back as he brought your forward. Letting your spark merge with his own. The feedback was instantaneous.

It was nothing but unfiltered love and want. Of ecstasy and pleasure.

He helped you move against him. Snapping his hips up to meet you with every downward move you made. Rolling your hips every time you met his.

"That's it my spark. Use me as you need. That's it. That's my spark." His frame shook as pleasure racked through him. Everything you felt flooding through him and vis a versa.

Your name was on his lips like a prayer. A chant he sung so that Primus himself may hear. Optimus prayed that he would. Unicron himself would repent if he saw you. Such beauty wrought from pleasure.

The charge you shared filled the room. Crackled and sparked between your frames. Bouncing and arcing between your frames as the pace quickly sped up.

It rose higher and higher. Reaching its peak when you cried his name against his lips.

Optimus swore there was afterlife, no living cycle, better spent than here and down. As you overloaded on his spike. You spark surging and spilling over into his own.

He could pass here and now happily.

There was no moving for the longest time. The two of you trying to cool your heated frames with desperate pulls of air. The two of you calmed with your sparks still pressed together. Sending nothing but love and want back and forwarth. Safety and happiness.

Optimus pressed his lips to your helm. Drawing lazy circles against your back. Tracing the odd and random glyphs of your name. His. Love. Protection.

Truly. This was the closet he could get to tasting the divine. Even with the Matrix in his chest, the only other thing closest to his spark. You. You were the only divine thing he would follow.

#Valveplug #Optimus x Reader #tfp optimus prime #g1 optimus prime #bayverse optimus #tfp optimus x reader #g1 optimus x reader #bayverse optimus x reader #smut #stickyinterfacing #holy fucking shit

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percivex · 2 years

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[ 1 ]

"What is love?" The universe whispers tauntingly into the ears of those in the liminal split second between life and death.

"Guilty," Jimmy sobs, the remnants of his broken shield still strapped to his arm as his clawed wounds sting purple and his fluttering canary heart stills, "because why do I have to love someone I'll end up dragging down with me?"

"Honest," Tango chokes out through worry and frustration, too far away to save them, teeth grit into a lopsided grin and grappling at his abruptly cold heart, "and that's better than nothing."

"Determined." Ren croaks, eyes squinted in response to the explosion of pain breaking through his skull, blood he can't feel dripping down his head. "I would have fought them all for him if I got the chance."

"Trust." BigB gasps, fingers twitching to reach out in front of him for Ren as he watches him crumple through a shock of dizzying pain. "I would have followed him through anything, in the end."

"A mistake!" Grian shrieks, stunned after being thrown harshly into a wall out of nowhere, one hand still tangled with the ladder he tried to climb to safety. "A mistake that I keep making!"

"Confusing," Scar yelps, slumped over his horse and clutching the reins in a white-knuckled grip of terror, forever lost in the maw of the woods, "and- and out of reach!"

"It's togetherness, isn't it?" Joel laughs, a little hysterical, one hand clinging to Etho's arm as they burn in tandem, stuck in a feedback loop of lava and pain. "Through thick and thin."

Etho holds him back, one hand gripping the edge of a shirt with his face on it, laughing just as bittersweetly. "Well, it definitely had something to do with why I couldn't let him go to the Nether alone!"

"Communication and care!" Bdubs shouts through a hoarse throat, aching with dog bites and the vengeful cut of an axe across the chest. "It never changed! I always loved him!"

"It was us doing our best," Impulse sighs as he sees blood well from Bdubs' mouth over Pearl's shoulder and feels like his heart has been sliced clean through with the same axe, "and it was wonderful."

"It's still a choice," Cleo declares with a hint of laughter in her voice, ignoring the way her body tears on the treetop that couldn't cushion her fall, "and one that I can make as many times as I want!"

"Baby, don't hurt me." Martyn sings quietly in the underground nook he fell into, pangs overtaking his body and still holding a lit rocket in his launcher as he stumbles into the stone and chuckles weakly. "Stubbornness, isn't it? It all worked out eventually."

"Forgiveness," Scott muses in the eye of a hot burst of TNT, agony to the point of numbness washing over him as he stares at Pearl through the explosion with a smile, "and freedom."

"Everything." Pearl breathes in a state of shock, the weight of being the winner, if only for the briefest second, hanging heavy over her. "It was everything."

The world explodes.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Don't Speak 21

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Sickness be gone!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Dr. Kemp gave me this journal. I met him today. He’s a therapist. Or a psychologist? He’s a doctor and he’s going to help me.

I hope.

He told me to put my moods in here, to write about how I feel, and to set a small goal every day.

How I feel today: scared.

This morning was scary. We went to the doctor’s office and I didn’t know where we were going. I met Dr. Kemp and was less scared. Then we went to the mall and that was scary too. I tried on a short dress and that was scarier. Now we’re back at the house and I’m still afraid.

What if this doesn’t work either? What if I’m stuck this way forever? What if Dr. Kemp can’t help me?

A knock comes at the door and you tuck your new pen into the journal, closing it as you set it on top of your tablet. You put both on the nightstand as you call for Andy to enter. He inches open the door and pokes his head around.

“Hey,” he says, “I was just thinking, it’s been a long day. We can order in for the night?”

You shrug. You’re not very hungry. The large breakfast keeps your appetite at bay. Your anxiety helps as well.

“Um, that’s okay. I’m not very hungry.”

He sighs, his hand on the door. His fingers tap on the wood as he grips his hip, “you really shouldn’t skip meals. It’s not good for you.”

“I ate a lot this morning–”

“That was hours ago. You need to eat,” he insists, “I missed a week of work, honey, I can’t miss any more. I need you to start trying. Didn’t Dr. Kemp talk to you about this?”

You wince. He’s upset. You didn’t mean to make him angry.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I’ll, uh… take out sounds good.”

He lets the door fall all the way open. He crosses to the foot of the bed and touches the top of one of the shopping bags. You chew your cheek as you watch him.

“Are you gonna put all this away?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’ll do that now,” you get up.

He bought all those clothes, he took you to the doctor, on top of everything else. The least you can do is choke down a meal he’s also paying for. You go to the closet and open it up. You have two sweaters and a pair of jeans hung there. The rest of the hangers are empty.

“Chicken or beef?” He asks as he backs up.

“Hmm?” You look back at him with a handful of hangers.

“For dinner?”

“Oh, chicken,” you answer as you come back to the bed, “I’ll come down after I finish with all this.”

“Sure… uh, I could help,” he offers.

“No, I can do it,” you say, “that’ll be my small task today. Put this away and tidy up the room.”

He nods, both hands on his hips, “sounds like a good plan.”

You try to smile but your cheeks only twitch. You focus on taking out the clothes from the bag and looping them over the plastic hangers. He lingers and slowly slides out his phone. He turns on his heel and leaves you, thumbing at the screen with a hum.

You’re tired of letting everyone down. Amber, Andy, yourself. You’re not going to let Dr. Kemp down. You’re really going to try. You look over at the journal and take a deep breath.

They’re just pages, but you finally have someone to talk to. Someone you can tell everything. The paper can’t answer you but it can listen without judgment. And in the end, you can always crumple it all up and forget the words.

You get everything hung, folded, and some put aside for the wash. There’s a weight of dread in your feet. You don’t want to go downstairs, you’d rather stay up here and lay down. It’s been a long day and you’re exhausted.

You find Andy in the living room. You bring your tablet to quell your restless hands. You sit on the far end of the couch as he watches a ball game. You peel back the cover and take out the pen.

“Not a baseball fan?” He asks.

You pop your head up and look over at him. You shrug. You look at the screen as the umpire calls a strike.

“Don’t watch sports,” you answer.

“Ah, didn’t want to assume,” he leans forward, elbows on his arms as he presses his hands together, “we can watch something you like. I can catch the highlights tomorrow.”

“No, it’s okay,” you swipe the nib across the screen, “I like listening to this.”

You tuck your legs up and hunch over the tablet. You sense him watching you before he slowly leans back against the couch. You draw without thinking, a twisted elm tree with crows in the branches.

The commentators offer a steady soundtrack for your work. The crowd jeers then roars, swaying with the momentum of the game. You pick the perfect shadow of brow to add streaks to the trunk of the tree. You feel the couch shift but don’t look up. It isn’t until Andy’s right beside you that you tear your attention from your work.

He’s close. Very close. You sweat as heat radiates off of him. He stretches his arm behind you as he leans in to look at your drawing.

“Just a sketch,” you lower the pen.

“Pretty,” he says, “I’m not very artsy. Writing’s chicken scratch.”

You nod, “art is art. As long as you’re creating.”

“Pretty good way of looking at it,” he leans in closer, placing his hand on the corner of the tablet, “do you ever draw people?”

“Sometimes,” you answer, wilting at his proximity. He seems even bigger as he crowds you. You look up at the TV and drag the cover over the tablet, “why are they cheering?”

He lifts his head and exhales heavily. He retracts his arm from behind you and points with his other hand.

“Hitter just got a double and another player got home,” he says, “tied it up. If they can get another run, they’ll win. If not… well, another inning.”

“Oh,” you blink. You really don’t know much about baseball.

“We could go to a game, maybe, if you’re interested,” he offers, “they have great pretzels.”

“Maybe,” you keep your eyes on the TV, even as his head turns and he narrows in on you.

The heat between you becomes stolid. You have no space to turn over and you’re too afraid to stand up and go. You don’t want to upset him. He probably doesn’t realise how close he is. Plus, your personal bubble tends to be bigger than most.

The doorbell rings, breaking the tension, and drops his head as he grips his thighs. He stands with effort and you put aside your tablet. You listen as he answers the door and the crinkle of a paper bag underlines his exchange with the delivery driver.

He shuts the door and the smell of the take-out wafts in, stoking your hunger. You get up and meet him at the doorway, following him to the dining room. As he puts the bag down on the table, you wring your hands.

“Should I get plates?”

“Sure, sweetie,” he says as he rips past the staple in the fold of the bag, “that’d be great.”

🕊️

You can’t help but be relieved when Andy goes back to work. The house is still cold and lonely to you, but you’re happy to be alone. You set yourself a goal for each day; in the very least, you’ll make dinner, and when you feel up to it, you’ll do one other thing.

Monday, you spend most of the day painting. You make a decent amount of progress by the time Andy returns. You reheat leftovers for the night and make sure to tidy the kitchen.

Tuesday, you do the laundry. It feels like a great accomplishment as you sit and fold everything before Andy gets back. You leave his clothes on his bed. He’s pleased by your efforts and you are too.

Wednesday, you paint some more and vacuum the first floor. Thursday, you clean the bathroom, and Friday sees you so exhausted that you only do a quick sweep before starting supper. Each day, you record in your journal. Not just your tasks but your feelings; the pendulum between helpless and sad and proud swings back and forth throughout the week.

Saturday comes and you stay in bed late. You’re tempted to stay there and sleep all day until a knock sounds from the other side. You knew he wouldn’t let you.

“Dove,” he calls through, “you have an appointment at noon.”

“What?” you sit up and rush across the room. You crack the door open and peek out, “I didn’t know…”

“I mentioned it, didn’t I?” He asks.

He may have. Sometimes you forget things. You fight a frown and dip your chin.

“I’ll get ready, I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I’ll have breakfast waiting,” he looks through at you, his eyes searching, trying to see through the gloom. “Why don’t you wear some of your new clothes?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you murmur, “thanks.”

You shut the door and watch the shadow underneath. He doesn’t go right away but when he does, you flip on the lights. You go to the closet and ponder the selection. It’s a bit overwhelming. The skirts and dresses.

You take out a pleated plaid skirt and a pumpkin coloured turtleneck. Andy didn’t particularly like it but he let you grab it anyway. You put it on with a pair of ribbed black tights. At least you’re covered up, even if it’s all a bit snug.

You go into the bathroom and get freshened up; brush your teeth, wash your face, put some moisturizer on. You’d started using more of the bottles piled into the basket. You feel bad just letting them go to waste.

You go downstairs, the smell of toast greeting you as you enter the kitchen. Andy looks over his shoulders and still the knife as he butters a slice. He turns to you fully and grins, “wow, you look… nice.”

“Oh, thanks, I…” you pull at the fabric across your stomach, “maybe I need a bigger size.”

“No, no, really,” he finishes scraping the butter across the hard bread, “you look really nice.” He grabs a plate and brings it to you as you stand by the island, “those tights look warm.”

“Um, yeah,” you look down, twisting one leg behind the other, “not really.”

He nods and clicks his tongue, “anyway, breakfast,” he hands you the plate, “enjoy.”

“Thanks,” you say as you take it, “er… are we going to see Dr. Kemp?”

“Uh huh,” he goes back to the counter and takes out another slice from the toaster, “you… you like him?”

“Sure,” you cradle the plate, slowly drifting to the door, “he’s nice.”

“Well, you know, you can always let me know if you don’t.”

“What?”

“Just… if he makes you uncomfortable or anything,” he shrugs, “you know I’m always here for you, dove.”

You don’t say anything else. You go into the dining room and set down your plate. You’re almost excited to go see Dr. Kemp. Strangely so. You can’t wait to tell him everything you did this week and talk about your new pens for your journal. It feels like you’ve actually made progress, for once in your life.

🕊️

You sit in the same chair as last time. Dr. Kemp stands by the window. His cool demeanour is a counterweight to your tense anxiety. You chew your fingertips as he turns and pace towards the wall. He stops and flicks on the electric kettle set on the polished console table.

“You like tea?” He asks.

“Um, yeah,” you clutch your hand into a fist and lay it on the armrest.

“Green? Black? I have Earl Gray,” he offers.

“Green is fine,” you wiggle your foot, the action drawing his gaze. His piercing blue eyes crawl up your legs and he considers you with calm calculation.

“New clothes?” He prompts.

“Y-yes,” you open your hand as you bend your arm, rubbing your neck.

“Hmm, cute. I liked that sweater you wore last time.”

“Oh, it was old,” you scratch along your hairline.

“It’s whatever you're comfortable in,” he says, “skirt’s nice but… I don’t know. Not quite you.”

You don’t comment. He’s not wrong. It’s too short and the pattern is cute but you find the fabric stiff. You bring your hand forward and tap your chin.

“So, did you have a good week?” He asks.

“I think… I did a lot. Exactly what you said,” you push your shoulders up, clasping your hands in your lap. He watches you intensely, not looking away as he listens. “I used the journal and uh, I made myself set goals. Erm, oh, I made dinner every night and I cleaned–”

“That’s great,” he turns and takes two mugs from the stacked tower of porcelain. He drops in the tea bags before he backs up. He crosses his arms, pacing around as he rubs his chin, “but what about things for you? Not cleaning or cooking. Those are chores. You should be doing things just for you.”

He leans on the side of the sofa. You squeeze your hands tight and teeter on the edge of the chair. Your chest sinks.

“Well, I… I guess I didn’t… I thought…”

“It’s okay, there’s no wrong answer here. But this week, I want you to focus on you. Do things for you. Treat yourself kindly,” he drops his arms and hooks his thumbs in the tops of his pockets, “you could do a face mask, have a bubble bath, or even just read a book you enjoy.”

“Oh, okay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being nice to yourself. Self-love is important. If you don’t find worth in yourself, other people won’t either.”

“I’ll try,” you agree.

“That’s all you need to do,” he smiles as the kettle clicks off and he pivots on his heel. He pours the steaming water in the mugs and continues, “today, I think we should talk about your sister.”

“What?” You gulp.

“You mentioned her before. She seems to be a big part of your life,” he sets the kettle down, “I’d like to know more about her.”

You tuck your lip in and frown. You don’t know if you can talk about Amber. You’re still so confused about her. But what is all this for. To understand how you feel. And like he says, it’s all confidential.

“Amber… her name is Amber,” you eke out, “er…I don’t know where to start…”

“Take your time,” he coaxes, “we can take it slow.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #library au #don't speak #defending jacob

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avissapiens · 7 months

Text

youtube

Bigger=dumber/Dumber=Bigger - Muscle feedback Loop Hypnosis

The more you grow, the less you need to think. The less you need to think, the more you can invest into your perfect growth. It's recursive; constantly amplifying and enhancing its effects in a never-ending, self fulfilling cycle that you would never even want to break free from. Let this feedback loop of size and carefree bliss take your life for a spin. Bigger=dumber=bigger=dumber. On and on forever.

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it's relaxing n compelling, and it's so right. I want this and gotta make it an active part of of my, willingly incorporate it more and more. sooo many good suggestions for making bigger and dumber a constant piece of your life lol

between this and good dumb bro, I've started to just, be happy thinking of myself as dumb. feeling relaxed letting myself be stupid around people I used to care about impressing. i just can't even think bout bothering with that pointless stress, being a dumbass bro feels good and makes me happy.

there's still smarts in me, and they're not going away for the times I need them, but I'm realizing more and more that I need them soo much less than I thought I did. I can let myself be an idiot and make mistakes and it's gonna be okay. it's gonna feel good. I don't have to think so hard all the time lotta words but Avis deserves lotta praise" - Dummypup(Discord) 9/10/23

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if you want to get lost in a mindless bliss where muscle is the only thing you can think about, this is the file for you. every action and each choice you make will feed right back into the feedback loop. eating. growing. dumbing. it's all part of the same chain that will inevitably lead to the best gains you could possibly make" - @jocksupremacy 10/9/23

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#hypnosis #muscle #Youtube

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thefirstknife · 9 months

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rip gambit you will be missed 😔

Don't even know what to say tbh.

For those that don't know, the big State of the Game article came out detailing incoming changes and adjustments and all the big stuff. Gambit was mentioned! But at what cost. Basically, they are ceasing any kind of support for Gambit. What we have now is what it is. We will get the Dreaming City map back in TFS and they will add Shadow Legion and Lucent Hive as enemy factions in TFS. That's all.

Full text:

As many of you have noticed, we’ve been quiet on Gambit since last year’s overhaul that launched alongside The Witch Queen. In that revamp, the team made significant changes across five categories in Gambit: core activity fundamentals, Primeval tuning, invasions, ammo economy, and rewards. Unfortunately, these updates didn’t move the needle for player engagement. Although we know our Gambit fans mostly care about new or returning maps, this is an area of the game with lower engagement that would take resources away from more popular parts of the game to shore up. While we don’t have plans to dedicate more resources to significantly transform Gambit, we do have a few updates planned for the year of The Final Shape. These include porting the Cathedral of Scars map and its beautiful Dreaming City setting into the latest version of Destiny 2, as well as adding the Shadow Legion and Lucent Hive enemy types.

I don't know how to tell you this Bungie, but the reason "engagement is low" in Gambit is because Gambit sucks. Ever since half of it was removed with DCV, it just sucked. It has no variety, the gameplay is largely busted, it's not sufficiently updated, ammo changes suck, invasion cycle sucks (why is the enemy even getting a portal when their Primeval is at 5% health and the other team is still in mote collecting phase is beyond me), there are no cool armour sets to chase (just look at Iron Banner and Trials stuff, imagine dedicated cosmetics) and finally there are simply no weapons that are worth anything. Both Vanguard and Crucible have more weapons and also adept versions. There is zero reason to go into Gambit without major changes to Gambit. And now with the further changes to how playlists and challenges will work, there will be even less reason to go into Gambit. Observe:

Before then, we’re making Gambit entirely optional to maximize your rewards unless you’re looking for a piece of gear that’s specific to the mode. Gambit will continue to serve as a source of Exotic engrams via weekly challenges, though as we mentioned above, you’ll be able to complete all your weekly challenges in any ritual you’d like starting in Season 22. If you want to stick to Vanguard or Crucible challenges without touching Gambit, now you can. We’re also reducing the number of Gambit-specific Seasonal Challenges starting in Season 22, so players won’t need to bank motes to be able to earn that big purse of Bright Dust for completing nearly every challenge in the Season. Finally, we’re adding Fireteam Matchmaking to Gambit next Season, which will replace the Freelance node and should result in faster, better matchmaking by combining both Gambit playlists. We’ll keep an eye on reception and player engagement after these additions take place, and we hope you’ll visit ‘ol Drifter next Season to get your hands on his new Void Machine Gun.

Ngl, but I don't think anyone besides like a total of 6 people will play Gambit next season. The incentive to go in there is completely removed. You won't even have to go in there for pinnacles or for challenges. The Void Machine Gun will not be enough of an incentive because the chance of that gun being better than two recently available craftable Void Machine Guns (Commemoration and Retrofit Escapade) is very low. And besides, once you get it at the end of your first match, you can leave Gambit forever.

This is the feedback loop that just reinforces the idea that people don't like Gambit. And I mean. Who would at this point. I'm pretty sure that if Crucible had stayed the same as it was at the start of Beyond Light, engagement would be low there too. But you know. Crucible has received major updates pretty much every season since with multiple new modes, several Trials overhauls, Iron Banner overhaul, competitive overhaul, new armours and weapons added and YES, even new maps. God forbid even 5% of these resources went into Gambit.

Anyway, this is the whole section about Gambit in 6500 words. It's basically a "you guys aren't playing this so we're doing the bare minimum of keeping it in the game as is, no new work will be done on it ever." Thanks I guess.

And for the record, something I also added while having a rant in my discord, I want to make it clear that I don't want anyone to spiral into a Bungie hate train. Even for this. I understand perfectly well what's the community attitude towards Gambit and what it's been for years now. People just don't like it and they're not incentivised to like it and they're actively encouraged to hate it. Spending resources into a game mode on the hope that maybe you can change people's minds would be insanity. Like, the amount of change Gambit would need to MAYBE start appealing to gamers would be beyond any reasonable time and resources Bungie can put in. And if you could guarantee that people would love and play Gambit then, fine. But you can't. Most likely, even if major changes happened, people would still just do their weekly stuff and bail. It's simply not worth it. In order for people to like it, it needs to be completely and thoroughly overhauled in a way that would need more time and effort than the entire Light subclass overhaul and it's just not a reasonable expectation, nor is it guaranteed to work. So I get it.

I'm still disappointed and annoyed about it because I believe it wasn't given a fair chance at all. I also know how good it can be and how Gambit Prime could've been improved upon over the years if they tried. Instead, it got removed and that was honestly the death sentence for Gambit. It's unfortunate. It's my favourite game mode that could've been so much better was it given even a fraction of attention of Crucible.

I'll still be playing it. You will find me in the Gambit queue waiting for 2 hours to find 7 other lunatics to play with, don't worry about it. But I'm absolutely incredibly sad about them being basically forced to axe the potential of the whole game mode that is incredibly creative and fits with the type of game Destiny is perfectly.

There's other interesting stuff in the article and some upcoming really cool improvements and changes to the game. But if you're a fan of Gambit in any capacity, this is a death certificate for the mode. I suggest coming to terms with it quickly because Bungie changing their minds about this is highly unlikely.

#destiny 2 #gambit #ask #long post #says 'don't know what to say' at the start. writes an essay. FHKSJHFKJS #i won't go too much into it outside of this. we all know what this means no need to beat the dead horse #i'll still play it and the mode is still there but i expect a drop in quality and population significantly #the issues we have will never be addressed nothing will ever be fixed. we'll get a 5th map (returning) in 6 months and that's it #yay. I guess.#don't think there will be anyone in the playlist anymore by that point so I'm not sure why even bother with that alone #but still. if that does happen at least new people will be able to see that map now. it was very pretty #unfortunately not good gameplay wise. but at least it will help to not get deep six 17 times in a row #anyway. sad situation for gambit enjoyers. please don't turn into crucible bros to harass devs though

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zhivaoverdrive · 3 months

Text

Used to be huge, pt11

Bloated. Distended. Engorged. The spherical belly, larger than any pregnancy, but maintaining the distinct shape. The greedy girl shape. No biological process can turn a woman into this. Today's intake seemed endless... She still wasn't full. Not in her mind where it mattered. But there just wasn't much left for it, not today. Ayu had once again blocked her requests for a continuing stream of takeout, leaving her alone at night with only the stupid calorie drip. The bare minimum to stop Hitomi losing her mind from hunger.

Her body had a lot of metabolising to do, and it was hard work. Hitomi fought off the sleep, just a little longer. Tomorrow would be the first visit, and she was in no hurry to face him.

Why can't it just stay like this? Ayu might be strict sometimes, but she still knows how to make me happy. Taking a slow blink, she crept her hand down underneath the immense bulk of her inflated tits. Even in her reclined sleeping position, the tremendous weight of her implants was fighting for real estate with her balloon of a gut. Ayu'd still not told her how big her tits were. 10,000cc? Surely more… Much larger than her head. Much larger than she'd ever planned on. Wedging her hand between the underside of her breast and her belly, she felt their tremendous weight. The pressure imparted by her saline spheres was ever present, trying to compress a belly that had simply no give. But she'd grown to like it. It was a feedback loop. A constant reminder of her circular depravity, her newly inflated implants, so heavy, but unable to hang freely... It had been a good day. She squeezed the upper bulge of her stomach, which may have hurt, but it hurt good.

"What do I do? When do I stop pouring?" came Ayus voice, indistinct in the dim.

Hitomi barely chewed her candy and swallowed, her fingers already unwrapping another roll. Not rocket science, Ayu. You upend every one of these bottles to my greedy lips until I say the safe word. She saw the line of soda bottles, lids removed. Ayu's thin hands struggling to keep it balanced as it was brought to her face. But there was no safe word. She couldn't speak. This was always a one way trip.

No! next one! No break. Every last drop. Fill me, Ayu. Her belly creaked and heaved. Every last millilitres of liquid fighting to find space in a distended gut. Her stomach was rapidly expanding, fighting with the science class reaction going on inside of her. The contents of her belly multiplying by the second as the mentos fizzed.

"You're getting too fat! It's unprecedented Hitomi! I'm not... I'm not sure I can do it. Not today" came Ayu's voice, this time behind her? "We've been pumping saline into your implants every other day. Look at them. You've already doubled since last week. Each of them weighs more than me! And.. I want to keep filling you, I really do. But these boobs will never be proportional if you don't stop ballooning up with fat!" continued Ayu's disembodied voice.

Do I really blame him? I shouldn't act surprised he left. I'm a monster. I'm so fat I can' even reach my pussy. My tits are so pumped I can even reach my nipples. But I need it, I need to keep going.

No! Never! I'm never going to slow down! If I'm too fat... pump me harder Ayu! I need it. I need the calorie drip to sleep! The cravings… She felt a cold cloth swabbed her fill ports, before the familiar embrace of saline being forced into her gargantuan breast implants washed over her. Come on girls, you can do it. I'm ready for you. Just leave them in, Ayu. It's the only way they can keep up. I'm not slowing down. The pump whirred and her breasts swelled. Every cc that flows through this tube will be inside of me forever… So pump me all night.

Hiomi's hand gripped the sheet and a sharp moan reverberated through once quiet ward. She woke with a start, panting, sweat beading off her forehead. Turning on the lamp, she looked down at her body. Huge. Bloated. The biggest tits she'd ever seen. But they were just how she'd left them the day before. And she could definitely still reach her pussy...

"Ah. Might keep that one to myself..." Hitomi chuckled, before turning off the light.

#breastexpansion #breastimplants #saline #silicone #expanderimplants #weightgain #bellystuffing

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romeulusroy · 1 year

Text

Dependence Pt. 4 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

((SUCCESSION SPOILERS))

Character/s: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Roman, Logan

Word Count: 2,538

Warning: addiction, drugs, alcohol, death, grief

Inspired By: I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This was one of the best and one of the most heartbreaking episodes I've ever seen. That being said, omfg. All I could think of was Baby Roy. My heart broke for Roman. It was beautiful and an honest portrayal of grief, but I was not ready at all. I wasn't planning on writing anymore parts, but I just couldn't help myself. This episode was too good to leave it be. I'm really happy with how it turned out! this has been my favorite series to write, Baby Roy is so fun to write and it makes me so happy to know you guys like it too!!! Thank you!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependence Pt. 2 / Dependence Pt. 3 / Dependence Pt. 5

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include Pt One.

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include Pt. Two

You can still taste the whiskey in the back of your throat. It’s a familiar burning. It’s something you shouldn’t welcome with open arms, but when have you ever turned away from a love that could kill you? When have you been shown any other kind of affection? Their hugs always came with a stab in the back, right between your vertebrae. They were always intentional with their strokes, never wanting to waste a moment, a movement. What you wouldn’t give for a drink right now. Salted rim. Ice. Something bright, something colorful, something to make this all go away. You were so close last time, tip toeing on the edge. Where he fell, you flew, dragged back by the skin of your teeth. You didn’t want to be saved, you wanted to be free. The memories are hazy, but your throat was scratchy, voice patchy, as if you’d been screaming. As if you’d been begging. No one explained, though you had a feeling they all heard. They looked at you differently now. You knew what they said behind your back, your fathers old posse, what they thought of you. Suicidal. Maybe. What did they care about? Now you started what could have been. The casket, the rows and rows of nameless faces, most never shedding a tear over your old man, over you. The violins, the church, the halo effect the light gives as if anyone in this room were remotely holy. You hadn’t had anything since the incident, nothing to drink, nothing to use, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t still feel it, want it. After the charcoal, the sick, after that, it seemed like you could never get rid of that boozy taste in your mouth. Faint, but there. Mocking you, your sobriety. What your father would have said to you after the incident plays on loop in your mind. That if you wanted to cry he would give you something to cry about, if you wanted to die he would give you something to die about.

Too late, you think, you beat me to it.

Your mother sat beside Caroline and Kerry, making the ever rare appearance in the world to grieve her ex-spouse. She hugged you as she came in, doing the same with your brothers and sister, reminding you this wasn’t the kind of event that came with an open bar. You smiled, unsure of what else to do, unsure of what to say, struck as if you’d been slapped across the face. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see you, in that bed, in that condition. You hadn’t even attempted to call her in that haze, you’d gone to your dead father instead. You knew. You knew even as you lay dying that she would not offer the comforts you so desperately wanted. She would not let you go in peace. Someone must’ve filled her in, though by the look in her eye you’d never know it. She was as jaded and hostile as ever. She seemed satisfied with herself, her quip, moving on to your sister and her big news. Your eyes stung. Someone put their hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Connor or Kendall. You never found out who. Suddenly you were drained. Of life, of everything, wanting to lay down on the pew and sleep forever. You let your siblings talk. You let them wander off to their prospective parties, sticking by Connor like a little kid, becoming his shadow. Since that night he hasn’t let you out of his sight. He takes care of you. He makes sure you’re doing okay. The others call, checking in more than they ever have, all of them feeling guilty. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t mean to make such a mess. You were just so angry, so alone. You were tired of fighting this thing inside of you that could not be controlled, that threatened to burn you alive.

Time passes strangely. There are gaps in between. You don’t remember sitting down or watching them carry him in, only that he rests in the aisle and you cannot stop yourself from holding your breath. You can’t take your eyes off the casket. He’s really in there, you think, he’s really gone. Part of you still thinks this is all one massive trick. That he’s going to pop up and laugh, making a fool out of all of you. You wait, but he does not stir. Despite their best efforts, Ewan takes his place at the podium. He talks of his brother and sister, Rose. Of Logan's life before you, before the money. You’d never heard any of this before. Your fathers life was a series of scattered bits of information and assumptions to fill in the gaps. You only had a handful of real facts about him, ones that weren’t superficial like his age and birthday. The realization seeps into your skin: you never even knew him. You watch the same thought in your siblings' expressions. The quiver of Roman’s bottom lip. The glazed over look in Kendall's eyes. Even Connor, your oldest brother, the one who knew him the longest, stared forward as if he were desperate to breathe and Ewans words were the only oxygen in the room. All of you hopeless without him, without this story, as if you were hearing about him for the first time. The man you wanted to be loved by so frantically was nothing but a stranger. He kept all of you at arms length, not wanting to get hurt again. Now here you were, hurting, missing out on a father, a real father, because of his fears. You dug your nails into your palms, wanting to scream.

You watched him crumble before you. He’d been so confident, so manic, you should have known. You should have known all that pre-grieving was masochistic bullshit. His words catch in his throat, his hands shuffle his cards around, until finally he needs to step down, the tears glistening in his eyes. All of you reflectively stand, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs. He is sobbing now, trying to keep it all in. Is he in there? He asks. Can we get him out? Connor steps in front of you, taking his little brother by the arm, as if he doesn’t want you to see this, as if he can protect you from their pains, their sorrows. Roman holds his hands in front of his face, shielding himself from the fury of a ghost. Through your siblings, you grab his cards from his shaking hand. I can do it, you say, catching their eyes. Even Roman, his puppy dog eyes wide and scared and sad, are surprised. I got this. You sound more confident than you feel. None object, though you watch Ken and Shiv share an argument with just their eyes. You smile at Roman, assuring him it’s okay. You have to be there for them, too. You have to be there for them like they’ve been for you. Your tiny crowd dissipates, all of them sitting around him. You take your place at the podium. There is such a huge turnout you can’t see everyone's faces, though you have a feeling you know what they’re thinking. Frank leans over, whispers something to Gerri. You clear your throat, looking over what your brother has written. Fuck. Clutching the cards, you think quickly. The silence hangs in the air thick. I didn’t know my father, you start. Not well, at least. He wasn’t, uh, he wasn’t an easy man to get to know. Some chuckle. He spent most of his time at work, with all of you. Even as a little kid, I thought that’s where Dad lived, in the office. I had no idea uh, I had no idea they lived at home with their family. More laughter. You cannot look at anyone else but your siblings. They nod at you, encouraging you to go on. Someone got Roman water. You offer a sympathetic smile at him, knowing this will haunt him. Tears are welling up in your eyes as you speak, laughter catching in your throat. I, uh, I still can’t believe it, you know? You swallow a sob. I keep thinking that he’s going to come out of nowhere, that this was just some joke he’s playing on us. That we’ll hear his laugh out of nowhere and he’ll be back. It’s not though, it can’t be. It's too real now. Your hands begin to shake, the concerned faces of your brothers and sister blurred by tears. You catch your mother wiping her dry face with a tissue. Kendall inches forward, ready to come to your rescue. I didn’t know him well, but I miss him every single day. I miss the way he used to yell and that disappointed look he gave when we messed up. I miss his condescending tone and the way he danced around an apology. I miss him. We all do. He wasn’t uh, he wasn’t an easy man to love, but who is?

Connor takes your hand in his, giving it three squeezes. Kendall went up, then Shiv. you can’t hear their words, you can only watch them try to keep themselves together. They share stories of your father, from a childhood before you. You liked hearing about it, as sad as it may be. You were grateful they had each other, that they didn’t grow up so alone. Your head rests on Rome’s shoulder, his sniffling quiet, cautious, as if your father could hear him. On the other side of the church, your mother sobs loudly. The rest of Logan's wives and girlfriends come to her rescue, comforting her, despite not a single tear being shed. You roll your eyes, wishing the day over as fast as possible. You keep close behind Connor and Willa, who are thanking the sea of nameless faces for coming. People you’ve never seen before, people you’ve seen in passing, in Christmas cards, others you have the terrible feeling that they came only to check that the old man was, in fact, truly dead. You take the car with them all the way to the graveyard where his mausoleum stands tall and daunting. Crisp, harsh lines draw you into where he hoped you would all be buried alongside him. If they hadn’t brought you back, if they hadn’t found you when they did, would you be in there now? Would you have taken the first available slot, destined to share eternity with a man who fucking hated you? A shudder goes through your body. Shiv mistakes it for grief, holding your arm. It is cold and sterile, the very place you would have expected him to be. The ground, the bugs, that’s too dirty. Too much. He never would have been cremated either. He didn’t want to rot, you think, as if this place could prevent that. Roman stands near the doorway, not wanting to go in. You wait beside him, not saying a word. Too much empathy, too much compassion, and you’ll drive him away. No, he just needs his time. You watch Connor place his hand on the places in the wall, as if he has already claimed it on his own. You drop your gaze, trying to stop the thoughts from coming. What if, one day, you’re the only one left? What then? How will you go on without them, all of them? Tears fall silently down your cheeks. You couldn’t do it without them. They were your mother and fathers, they raised you, they saved you. Without them, without them you would be nothing. You never would have made it this far, seen this many years. Despite their faults, despite everything, you owed your life to them. You always would.

Your brother disappears before you can stop him, shutting himself into isolation, into the car. None of you move, none of you get up to get him, your eyes all transfixed on what’s being done before you. Settled into his final resting place. All that anger, all that rage, where does it go? Does it come back to you? Does it belong to you now? You haven’t been angry since that night, not like how it was, your rage replaced with gratitude. You weren’t happy to be back, to be here, but it was better than the alternative. If they’d had to bury you too, you’re not sure what they would have done. Before you thought your absence meant nothing. That they’d known how to function in a world without you before, they could do it again. The way they looked at you when you woke up, when you cried, you realized just how much you’d put them through, how they seemed to age decades under those fluorescent lights. You apologized profusely, but they wouldn’t hear it. They blamed themselves, all of them. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be tied back to this life, this meaningless existence, but you couldn’t let yourself hurt them anymore.

The reception is crowded, everyone sharing their condolences. Kendall gets you a water before disappearing to talk to Mencken, Roman following obediently. He makes sure you’re okay on your own, that it’ll only be a minute. You assure him you’ll be alright, really. How he would have hated this, you smile. All these people pretending to have known him, sympathizing with his children. As far as he was concerned you deserved nothing. You deserved less than nothing. You wade through the room. They’re off, doing their own things, trying each and every one of them to one day take over. You never wanted that, you never thought it was your rightful place. You know what you want and it doesn’t involve this. It doesn’t involve schmoozing, it doesn’t involve high stakes and high stress. What wouldn't save your family from this, but it’s too late. It always was. They were pitted against one another before you were even born. You sip your water, forever wishing it were something stronger. The impulse is still there. It always has been, always will be. It didn’t leave just because he did. It didn’t escape you just because he did. It sits in the middle of your chest and it is bitter for being ignored. You did it once, a whole year, you can do it again. You will do it again. If not for yourself, if never for yourself, then for them. For Connor, for Kendall, for Siobhan, for Roman. For the people who have always loved you, always will. Logan is dead. He will be. He didn’t care then and he won’t care now, but they will. It’s up to you to do better, be better, stay sober. It's not easy, it never has been, it never will be. But don’t they deserve that? Don’t each of them deserve that from you? You watch them, each of them, laugh and roll their eyes and try to find their way in this world without him. If they can do it, if they can find a reason to show up, to be there, so can you. Right?

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billlydear · 1 year

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figure you out - billy hargrove x reader x steve harrington

summary: billy thinks he has you all figured out. he knows what makes you tick. but steve harrington has discovered a symphony of sounds, not just the one beat billy picked up. // word count: 884 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

based off of 'figure you out' by voila, though the concept has been changed slightly. i recommend listening before or during reading

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You’re different with Harrington than you were with him, Billy notes. You’re softer around the edges, all sweet smiles and sunshine. With him you’d been a storm cloud, charged with a lightning bolt that struck his heart one too many times. It was fair, though, because he bit back, hard.

Most of your relationship had been fighting. Not the cutesy kind, over the remote, but not the crazy kind either, throwing plates. Somewhere in the middle, swear words thrown around without any meaning, sneering and scoffing at one another.

Most over jealousy, others over little things that got under your skin. Billy hated the way you left puddles of water on the counter and the floor when doing dishes, and you hated the way he chainsmoked and got the whole house smelling like the inside of a chimney.

You’d throw a few ‘fuck you’s out there, roll your eyes, then drop down on the couch and fuck like rabbits. That was the beauty of the relationship; everything was fixed with sex.

Billy thinks that Steve’s hand looks awkward on your thigh. He’s sitting two tables away, watching the man fumble through a subtle-leg-squeeze maneuver, and remembers how he used to do it. Hand on thigh, thumbnail marking a crescent into your skin, pinky dangerously close to your core. Steve’s hand is timid, halfway up your thigh, and stiff. He’s doing it all wrong.

Billy could hold you with his hands tied. He could kiss you with a blindfold, love you with his eyes closed. He knows every inch of your body, from the spot you like scratched on your back to the stretch of your thigh that makes you shiver if he bites just right. He knows you, he’s figured you out, and Steve’s walking in blind. Blind and bumbling, as you shift your thigh so that Steve’s hand falls off of it. Billy turns back to his lunch with a rueful sneer, hoping that you’d be done with Harrington soon so that he could have you back. After all, didn’t you like the way things were? You had your moments, a late night cuddle, a heartfelt conversation in the camaro, But most of it was sex, steamy, aggressive, glorious sex that had you screaming into the couch cushions. Harrington can’t possibly provide the same level of carnal, lust-driven sex that Billy had- oh.

With another glance back up at you, purely reflex, Billy spots Steve’s hand around your shoulders. You react much differently this time, leaning towards him and tucking your head onto his shoulder. You look comfortable, and Billy watches as your hand sneaks down your side to hook a finger through Steve’s belt loop. It’s nothing you’d ever done before with Billy, at least, not if you weren’t tugging him close for a quick fuck.

Billy watches Steve figure you out, eyes burning a hole into the back of that insanely large mop of hair as Steve charts all the stars in your constellation that Billy’s telescope had been too weak to see. Blinded by the most fiery, apparently he’d lost track of the clusters of softly glowing ones just beside them, like the way you knock your foot into Steve’s under the table, or how you steal a french fry from him by biting off the half that’s still between his lips.

Maybe he hasn’t figured you out. He’s known you forever, Steve only for a month, but maybe he’s only figured out Billy Hargrove’s Girlfriend, not Y/N Y/L/N.

To be honest, he had never bothered to care about the difference. But now that Harrington has the newest model, the one that comes with sweet kisses in the lunchroom and shy glances from across class, he wants it, too. He wants to figure you out all over again, which flowers make you smile the biggest, and what happens when he traces the lines on your hands. Maybe you’re missing out on hate sex now that you’re with Harrington, but you’d been missing out on love with Billy, and something deep in the pit of his stomach twists with worry at the thought that you might not want to give up love. He wasn't ever sure he was capable of it, he’s always thought he might be permanently dead in that part of his brain. But the things he’s feeling aren’t very aggressive now, aren’t lust-ridden and desperate, they’re soft. They’re the glint in your eyes, they’re the wind in your hair, they’re the butterfly on your nose.

He can’t believe it took Steve Harrington to kindle the fire of love inside of him (a sentence he doesn’t want to think too hard about), but now that it’s been sparked, it slowly burns, singing away at his insides and smearing dark, ashy guilt over his guts.

If, by any chance, you look his way again, Billy Hargrove promises himself this: He’ll figure you out. He’ll untie his hands, smooth them across your shoulders and dig into your neck after a long day. He’ll take the blindfold off, watching for the shine in your eyes as he presses his lips to your forehead. He’ll open his eyes, and make sure the love in yours matches the love in his, even if his is warped from mistreatment and disuse.

He'll learn. He’ll treat you better.

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