#Do y'all ever have the kind of thing (bad) that Happens and you're just like “Why right now God?? What purpose of Yours does this serve???”

[thegreenleavesofspringinsunlight]

😑😑😑

[slimyenemy]

unfortunately falling in love with a cultist who wants you dead and worse for no reason just means the near entirety of the cult is absolutely fucked instead of them all while you're vibing like hell with hurting yourself off them hating you more and more every single day because there's legit like no better way to process this lol c':

[unknownati]

iv. ekko x gn!black!reader hcs

a/n: they got me yall.

sorry for whoever followed me for tlou content we'll be having a brief intermission i'll come back to them in a minute js let me get this out my system 😭🙏🏾

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, no mention of reader's features (except for being black, but it's only in a few points 🤷🏾‍♀️ so it can be read otherwise), arcane s2 spoilers (minor), sfw and nsfw hcs, (oral sex, kinks, riding), in some au where everyone is happy and nothing bad ever happened 😊, never proofread we ball 🔥

______________________________________________

sfw:

- i feel like ekko is a bit shy (awkward shy though, not shy-shy...does that make sense) when you first get into a relationship with him, and it's just because he's shocked that he's managed to get with you. at first he's stumbling over words, playing off your compliments, desperately trying to keep eye contact with you but if he does he just keeps smiling because you look so good.

-one time, while riding past you on his hoverboard, you waved at him. he waved back, but even as you walked away his eyes kept following you. if it wasn't for scar warning him at the last second, he would've crashed straight into a wall.

- his cockiness comes later into your relationship, every successful action he does followed by a grin that you roll your eyes at.

-and did y'all see the way he looked at powder in ep. 7? his puppy dog eyes are LETHAL.

-he doesn't even know it either. every time he wants something, he just looks at you with those eyes and murmurs "please, ☆?" you fold so quick.

-(you've tried to learn to resist his eyes as they are what caused you to sprain your ankle in a hoverboarding accident since he begged you to race him. he just wanted to show off, too. he didn't stop apologizing for weeks.)

-he usually doesn't really like people touching his hair. he's fine with the kids doing it from time to time, but in general it's not his favorite thing in the world.

-you, however

-you get a pass because you get it. you know how it feels for your hair to just be like a petting zoo from time to time. you know exactly how to help him care for his hair, so much so that he's stopped doing his own retwists. (not like they stay in for very long, you immediately help him sweat it out 😊)

-he's made a lot of random little things for you, like a small chain necklace with an empty locket. he kind of sucks at wrapping gifts though, so he just handed it to you with a stupid smile while you two were perched at the top of the firelight tree.

-"ekko, this is so cute," you mutter, your bottom lip jutted out in adoration as you inspect the delicately crafted chain. small mistakes here and there, but you loved it.

-he also learned how to sew just so he could make you a bonnet/durag. he even sewed a crude little "e" in the corner of it, and made himself one with your initial in it as well.

-will randomly shadow box you out of no where. it's some form of cuteness aggression or something, because you'll be talking about your day while absent-mindedly twiddling with the hem of your shirt, and suddenly there are fists flying towards you that he knows to never let connect.

-"...ekko, the fuck are you doing?"

-he makes small noises that sound like "shoo" every time his fist flies, watching you stare at him with an unimpressed look.

-saw someone else say this but yeah ekko can't hoop. sorry

-he CANNOT hide his facial expressions. he may tell you one thing, but his face will never lie. if you're out eating and you feed him a bite of your food, you can watch his face contort into one of disgust, so much so that he almost looks offended. upon realizing that he doesn't want to yuck your yum, he'll fix his face into the fakest smile you've ever seen and nod.

-"...ekko, go spit it out."

-you've never seen him reach for a napkin any quicker.

-idk who the arcane universe's michael jackson is but, when he was younger he absolutely learned all the dances.

-probably the biggest softie the world has ever seen. he's very tough in public, but once he closes the door behind you two and climbs into bed with you, he's clinging onto you like a sloth.

-if you like painting your nails, he'll (hesitantly) allow you to paint his nails to match yours.

-(these next few ones are sliiightly for me 🤭)

-loves when you draw on his arms.

-until he can't get whatever marker you used off of his skin in the shower, so now he's walking around looking like a coloring book with little flowers, hearts, and signatures on his arms.

-he hangs up all the drawings you make of him up along his work space. sometimes he forgets one and leaves it on his desk, so it's a pleasant surprise to find a drawing of himself among scattered and disorganized papers while he was cleaning up.

-has gotten used to you randomly biting him. you'll come up behind him while he's working, and he already knows it's coming when you rest your chin on his exposed shoulder. 2 seconds later, your teeth are sinking into his skin. he just chuckles, but he does ask once.

-"why do you do that?"

-"oh, i dunno. i just like doing it. 's how you know i like you."

nsfw (very brief i'm sorry):

-praise kink. you couldn't tell me otherwise

-loves giving praise, loves receiving praise.

-when he's giving you head, he almost does it for his own pleasure. feeling your hand rub against his undercut while you whine and mutter "fuuuck, ekko, you're so good. don't stop please" is all he needs

-and i'm glad we've all agreed he's a thigh guy too 🙌🏾

-and IK we say this about every fictional man but HE WHIMPERS.

-he starts off with groans and grunts, but the closer he gets, the more his voice starts to shake and his words start to become whines.

-he looooves when you ride him holy shit

-looking up at you while your face contorts in pleasure is absolutely on his top 10.

-and if you stare into his eyes while you do it? his soul has left thanks!

-in general he loves eye contact. when you look up at him with his length between your lips, you can see his brain start to short-circuit.

-he's definitely the type to make sure you finish first before he even gets to think about his own pleasure.

-he's usually super sleepy afterwards too, but he refuses to lay down for a second until he makes sure you're all cleaned up and comfortable before he's out cold on your chest.

______________________________________________

[energ00n]

Ok, making this clear now, this isn't an ask, but a message to those who keep bothering energ00n here. Some of yall are tripping hard or just are being plain ignorant or just being hateful cause y'all can never be happy & never touch grass for some reason.

That last post about Jazz being black and accusing energ00n here for being...idk, stereotypical or racist, is just plain stupid. Was there any racists moments they did or made? No. Was there any stereotypes? No. Was there any indication that he's a black man in all this and not a giant fucking robot in any sort of context whatsoever??? No! If anything, they're just treating Jazz like Jazz and in character in their own way, just cause they don't know the entire expansion of Transformers does not mean they are painting Jazz or any of character in a bad light. Like, for God's sake, I'm black, you wanna come at them with that shit then you better be ready to deal with my ass.

Secondly, those who are being ignorant or being downright annoying by saying this is bad, this awful, repeatedly asking questions just cause your ass doesn't wanna scroll down and read, then you might as well leave. Energ00n has answered the questions someone else beat you to, it's not that hard to read and scroll down. Plus, if your upset over a fan creation then this isn't the space for you, and who the hell takes the time & day to diss on a fan creation where nothing legitimately bad has happened. There is no proshipping, no racism, no hateful content, no misinterpreting anyone, none of that. Just a person who loves Transformers and wanted to share a really amazing AU with the world.

So please, leave energ00n alone and let them do their thing. They have made it clear multiple times, they're not an asshole for having boundaries, they're not a bad person and haven't done anything wrong. Get a life and go join a different fandom if you feel the need to critize someone for doing something they enjoy. Seriously, go after people who are problematic instead of waisting your time trying to justify an argument that never existed to begin with.

(Again, I'm sorry, just had to get it off my chest)

You're too kind to me!!

I've have a few black folks saying that my portrayal of Jazz is fine and it really warms my heart. I feel troubled that you guys even had to defend me because this is the most nothing burger situation ever. My Jazz was largely inspired by his character in Transformers: Exodus the TFP prequel novel, quotes and all. If I put any trope into Jazz, it's the Kdrama, anime, cliche love triangle trope, I have noooo clue what anon was talking about.

I'd like to note that you guys don't have to worry for me!!! I'll still get hotheaded at repetitive or weird asks but it's still entertaining to me than legit anger. If I really get stressed from asks or hate, I'll just shut off anon asks. I know how to handle myself, just want you guys to join in on the laugh whenever we get some weird asks lol

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Can you do more Yandere Jax Headcanons?

If you dont mind

If your busy, Its okay

Yes I can! The amount of attention my amazing digital circus fanfiction has been getting is kind of crazy. At least to me 😅

Y'all are a bunch of simps for Jax and I don't blame you.

Here's part one!

Yandere Jax x Reader pt 2

★ Normally Jax wouldn't really care what you do but yandere Jax always needs know what you're doing. He likes to keep his eyes on you, for safety reasons, obviously.

★ A lot of bad things can happen if he's not around. What if something heavy falls directly on your body, trapping you and leaving you alone and afraid for hours? No, he doesn't have any idea of where it could have come from. Why are you looking at him like that?

★ If you ever piss him off enough he'll lock you in your room for a few hours until he feels like you've had enough. His room if you got him feeling particularly possessive.

★ How would you piss him off? Well there a few ways, obviously ignoring him is one but other ways include making him jealous, keeping secrets from him and taking something of his without asking.

★ That's just scratching the surface but if I try to list everything he doesn't like I'll be here all night. Just don't do those main four and you'll probably be fine.

★ If you ever write him any notes or letters he's keeping them under his bed in a cardboard box. For safe keeping obviously. Each note and doodle you make is being collected by him. Even if it wasn't meant for him.

★ NEVER FLIRT WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN HIM, NOT EVEN A NPC. IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOUR JUST JOKING. If you make the horrible decision I can't say it will end well for you. If your goal was to not see them outside of his room for a week you succeeded!

★ Just don't, he's not even going to ask you what's going on. Immediately picking you up and bringing you to an area more private. I feel bad for whoever you were talking to because they immediately become a target for Jax.

★ "what'd you think you were doing? Are you trying to tick me off?" Or "You really think I didn't know what you're doing? Because I do. And you're not getting away with it" will be heard through clenched teeth and a strained smile.

★ How do you get him to forgive you? A few days of compliments, attention and reassurance that you're not going to leave him.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER 

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!” 

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already. 

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie. 

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing.  If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon. 

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket. 

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet. 

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like. 

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

Oh. 

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs. 

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic. 

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality. 

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week.  She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot. 

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you. 

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?” 

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her. 

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips. 

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to. 

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment. 

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before. 

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back. 

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone. 

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?” 

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy. 

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips. 

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night. 

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.” 

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive. 

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.” 

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?” 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room. 

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him. 

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade. 

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why. 

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it. 

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike. 

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late. 

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.” 

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t. 

“We… are.” 

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.” 

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.” 

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.” 

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once. 

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.” 

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding. 

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you. 

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds. 

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning. 

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet. 

Yet. 

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM 

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you? 

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you. 

So why is that all you could feel right now? 

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he? 

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?” 

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time. 

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.” 

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening. 

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real. 

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened. 

I could never hate you. 

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past. 

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate. 

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.” 

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you. 

Almost. 

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” 

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now. 

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.” 

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does. 

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips. 

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.” 

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?” 

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.” 

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.” 

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about. 

I could never hate you. 

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?” 

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference. 

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face. 

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility. 

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.” 

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore. 

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.” 

You deserve my honesty. 

I could never hate you. 

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.” 

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night. 

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust. 

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop. 

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point. 

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest. 

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.” 

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated. 

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question. 

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?” 

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar. 

“That’s my question,” you confirm. 

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly. 

It’s not a good baseline question. 

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.” 

“Got kicked out? Why?” 

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you. 

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.” 

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly? 

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.” 

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.” 

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.” 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[microcosmicheart]

A Message from Your Secret Admirer

*rubs hands together evilly because I'm nosy*

1 2 3 4

Pile 1

- It’s taking Forever to get your cards! - This person could be methodical in their thought or way of speaking - They want this shit to stay a secret 😭 - I feel like once I get the message some of you may know exactly who it is.

Hey. I feel like some rest would do you good. Get enough and a lot of it. Need to see your pretty face again soon, happy and healthy. How’s that thing going? The one you didn't tell me about, but I heard second hand? I know you'll do great. Also, a bit of personal info: I’ve been a bit stunted when it comes to relationships, something I’m workin’ on. But I’m making a comeback, all thanks to you. I'll be asking you out sometime soon, I’ve just gotta talk to you first 😭. See ya later,

- This person thinks you are SO attractive literally all of you. The way you think, how you dress, your smile! They got it for you BAD

Pile 2

- Just turned on Candy Pop by TWICE 😭 Read the lyrics! - Keep hearing bubblegum? Like the word. Like they’re “gummy” or “chewy” - This is my LGBTQ+ pile - They are not shy at ALL

Hey! So you remember how you came to our group asking for advice on something? I say go against the grain! You’ve played it safe your whole life and quite frankly so have the people in our group. There’s nothing a little looking and leaping won't fix! I'm getting the sense that one of the things you admire about me is my courage to be me? Guess what, I see the same thing in you! I understand that this'll be a big step for you, and I’d like to tell you to take your sweet time! Also, if you ask me, I'll say yes ☺️. Love you,

- TWICE and ITZY (kpop groups) may be very important to this person  - They also may love bunnies/rabbits - You also could actually be interested in this person

Pile 3

- Lowkey by NIKI - This person drinks - This person WILL be asking you out soon 😭 - They aren’t even gonna ask for much but they’re willing to give you their all (be kind!)

You want it? I got it. You need me? I’m THERE. Honest to god I’m tryna love you the way you deserve. You know I can make it happen, whatever it is. I’m bein so forreal. You ma ONE. Like dis is it. I gotchu forreal just let me show you.

- They are ON IT. - Honestly I’m not even seeing this as a secret, but I don't think you're understanding the extent of this person's love, hence the message. - Y'all's cards are amazing 😭 Like they are real life in love with you I hear them going “I’m sayin corny shit like I feel COMPLETE 😭” - Your heart is safe with them fr, have fun 💕

Pile 4

Literally getting not a damn thing outta this person they probably don’t speak often let alone to you 😭

Hey Love. I see you're still doing your best recovering from that *curseword in another language*. I still find you quite beautiful. This isn't what I’ve come to say though. I ask simply that each day you grow more and more selfish. I’d love to see you obsessed with yourself. A compact in your hand and gloss on your lips, ignoring those you don't wish to speak to. I wish to see you shine authentically, should you choose to, of course. I know you’ve got it in you. Love,

- Awwww - Their energy is so gentle and calm  - You guys could work in healthcare - They’ve got a fatass crush on you and are 100% certain you aren't going to ever find out.

[star-anise]

So, Easy Beauty by Chloé Cooper-Jones is not by any means a straightforward tale of the specific traumas and experiences of being a disabled woman. In many ways, it's an examination of how holding onto those traumas too tightly can keep you not just from positive chances for connection and experience, but understanding when your choices and behaviours are hurting other people.

But. It does talk about the trauma. And specifically, this splinter I've spent months now slowly drawing out of my soul, because this never happened to me except for the version of it that did happen to me. In her case, it was a conversation with a friend in high school:

I approached him in the library of our school. He was studying for a geometry test. He saw me, closed his notebook, and smiled. “I feel like,” he said, teasing me, “there might be something you want to talk to me about.” I told him yes, there was, and I said that I wanted to go to the homecoming dance with him and would he take me. “Of course,” he said. Relief flooded through me so quickly it turned my stomach. “But,” he continued, “there’s something very important I need to talk to you about first.” He proceeded to tell me that our female friends had been pressuring him for weeks to ask me to the dance, not wanting me to feel left out. “They love you,” he said, “but they pity you and their pity won't help you in the world.” I can, to this day, recall the exact even tone in his voice, his smile. He reached across the table and took my hand. “I want to tell you something as your friend,” he said. “I want to protect you. When you ask a man like me on a date, you put us in a bad position.” He was still smiling; I was having a cute delusion and was in need of his loving, if uncomfortable, correction. “It’s just the truth,” Jim said. “No man will want to date you unless he, too, is desperate or ugly.”

What I've felt, since I was very young, was this sense not just that no one would ever love me, but that I was so pitiful, so unlovable, such a complete failure of femininity, that expressing interest in another person was tantamount to forcing them to pity-fuck me. And how could I do something that horrible to them?

Well, at least in the years since then, I've learned that actually people feel no compunction about rejecting me!

I have almost always felt like such a complete failure at femininity, to the point that discussions about the female experience feel hypnotically surreal, because these things never happen to me. Y'all get catcalled and hit on? I'm struggling to dredge up memories of experiencing that firsthand. I grew up with grownups always warning me about men who'd want me for sex but didn't actually love me, and now I'm like... being wanted for sex? What's that like? I have literally ten seconds of experience of my desire for someone else being something that excited and interested them.

This is my own personal neurosis, not a prescription for widespread behaviour. But I've always kind of hated when people talk about slowburn romances and stories with pining as "two idiots in love" because on a visceral level, it doesn't feel stupid to me to believe you're repulsive and nobody will ever want you. It has always felt like the natural and obvious conclusion to enter adulthood with.

Up until two weeks ago I've always been very careful to describe my feelings about my body as part of me being crazy--I hate the way I look, I don't like seeing or hearing recordings of myself, I think I'm not pretty. Because obviously that means I'm actively working to rid myself of those emotions and attitudes! I've got it handled! I've admitted that I have a problem!

And that's because I always had it locked away in my heart that if I tried to make a factual claim about being ugly, people would say "No you're not!" just to make me feel better, and then I would never ever know if anyone who found me attractive really meant it, or if they were just doing it out of pity.

That is crazy. That's holding onto the lesson of that fucking shitbag who found Chloé attractive and fuckable two months fucking later once he got over himself. That's sitting around waiting for someone to come climb up into my unfuckable tower and do all the work of establishing a relationship themselves. That's lesbian sheep behaviour.

It's only just begun to feel possible that I could begin to take steps to seek people out and express interest in them, instead of holding perfectly still and making someone else do all the heavy lifting to get to me, when I haven't even made it known I wanted them to.

But this doesn't get talked about as part of "the female experience". When men talk about women's experiences in the dating market, they absolutely never mean women like me. Why bother with the experiences of women they wouldn't want to fuck anyway? It's not like we're people or some shit like that.

[eccentricallygothic]

Dating Joel Miller

Pairing: Bf!Joel Miller | Reader.

Warning(s): Age gap (reader is in their 20's), allusions to mature activities, mild d/s dynamics, fluff, cg!Joel, Daddy kink, begging, making out. I'll be safe and say minors do not interact.  

Setting: TLOU 2.

He's definitely an experience. 

Single-handedly rocks your world in more ways than one. 

So, so laid-back it's fucking sexy. 

Definitely tames the brat out of you. 

What he says goes because he's older and knows better. 

Or?

You live to learn he was right. 

So smug when that happens.

Not very vocal about his feelings but cares for you so much. 

The littlest of things that can easily be missed, Joel makes a point of remembering.  

Won't ever openly admit it though. 

Tough love in an endearing way.

From your favorite snacks to your preferred clothing, to the kinds of flowers or things you like to collect to getting you food whenever he does for himself and picking out the condiments you dislike to being mindful of the drink you prefer with it, he's got it all covered. 

A total ass when it comes to training and you best believe he doesn't hold back on it. After everything that's happened, he wants you to be prepared for anything and everything. 

Only rolls his eyes and shakes his head when you're being the kid that you are with Ellie and Co. 

Simply snorts when you all tease him for being a geezer. 

Because he knows that all it takes him is one certain look if it goes too far. 

And you are whimpering into your place like a puppy yanked by their leash. 

Besides, you can act all high and mighty as you want, Joel knows that the one who will have you all whiny, grabby and mushy underneath them will be him.

Whenever he wants. 

You're down so bad for him, oh my God. 

He knows it, and that's exactly why he doesn't get riled up when foolish little boys try their luck on you. 

Well, that is, not usually.

Loves to tease you and make you beg after you've acted out all day. 

"Oh, but I thought I was an old man who 'just didn't get' y'all, huh baby?" And you're a quivering, panting mess with your limbs tangled in his. 

Great. Fucking. Kisser.

Hot, sloppy, wet, sense melting, passionate kisses while his calloused hands roam all over you, occasionally squeezing the parts that cause you to make such a huge mess in your pants that he tuts when he feels it through your clothes. 

"Noooo, Daddy…" You're literally aching. 

"Tell me what you want, baby. Say it for Daddy and he will give it to ya" you are a writhing mess as your hips grind against his and you hump yourself on one of his thighs. 

"Please, Daddy… Need you so bad, Daddy… Please use me~" it depends on his mood how he treats you in bed though. 

Some days he could be the most tender lover with gentle caresses, featherlight touches, cotton-soft pecks and passionate love making. 

Other days include him pressing your face down into the mattress as his huge cock hammers in and out of your leaking slit, rough bites littering your skin as you struggle to breathe through the animalistic fucking. 

Nothing gets you to cum harder than when he sometimes wraps his hand around your throat, features stern with all that's taking him not to just obliterate you. 

Some days though, he likes to combine the two styles. 

Eats you out like a starved wolf.

But can take his sweet time with that as well.

Lets out the deepest, most throaty grunts when you suck his dick.

Has a couple ways of reprimanding you if you're too clumsy and neglectful with yourself. 

No one else is allowed to give you any shit though. 

Isn't overbearingly domineering at all.

He knows you're young and dumb and will need to make some of your own mistakes to learn.

Always there for you with open arms to console you when you do.

Your silly little friend group definitely knows when to make themselves gone when Joel decides that he's had enough of sharing you for the day and wants you all for himself. 

It's always subtle; like a gentle caress on your shoulder or a soft nudge in your side. Sometimes it can be a claiming hand on your lap. And then everyone knows that it's time to scurry out. 

Doesn't always play voluntarily. 

But when he does, it's for you. 

Especially if there's a storm, or you're extra sensitive from playtime, or just emotional in general. Sometimes he's just feeling affectionate.

Will usually deny it like his life depends on it but there are certain songs, a specific range of lyrics and a peculiar sort of tunes that he plays only for you. 

Every now and then you crawl into his lap after an intimate session and ask him to teach you how to play a song or two. 

Then hours pass with you two just huddled into each other, strumming melodies to life as your naked back presses into his strong chest, your ass fitting perfectly in the crook of his abdomen as he rests his chin on your head and revels in your scent.

Sometimes he slowly cockwarms you in that position as well. 

Cannot sleep without you. 

He wasn't always like this.

But there's no going back now. 

Joel is sure to keep tossing and turning until you're locked up close in his arms. 

Your safety and well-being is his top priority.

Always. 

.

Playing TLOU again and boy am I needy for this grizzly bear. Also I haven't watched the show but I love Pedro so yeah. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated <3 

[aziraphales-library]

Hey y'all, first off, thanks for the great work you're doing!

I'm looking for Aziracrow fics with like,, one of them as an FBI agent and the other as art consultant or something like that. I already checked if there's anything in a possible art heist tag, I also looked for crossovers with White Collar, which has a similar premise, and I didn't really find anything. Maybe there's nothing, but I thought maybe you'd have an idea :) Thank you!!

Hello! So, the best I can do is fics in which one of them works in law enforcement of some kind, and the other works in either a different department or completely different job, and they work together in some way. Hope this was the kind of thing you're after!...

Containing Seeds of Destruction by feathereddino (T)

Lower Tadfield is a rural, sleepy little village that is trying to be a town. The crimes that Police Constable A.J. Crowley usually responds to are mundane but never evil. His husband, police psychologist Dr. A.Z. Fell appreciates that their combined caseload reflects that banality. That all changes in 2008 with a call about an abandoned baby. Adam Young's surrender will spark a series of events that will impact their village, their careers, and their personal lives.

What Will Destroy You by EveningStarcatcher (E)

London, 1888 Police Inspector Aziraphale Fell forms an unlikely alliance with Reporter Anthony Crowley to investigate the Whitechapel Murders. Can they solve the mystery and stop the so called Ripper before he strikes again?

Tadfield's Finest by angelsnuffbox (E)

The sleepy town of Tadfield is thoroughly shaken by the arrival of DI Crowley. Where barely anything ever happened before, there is now a bustle of low grade criminal activity, and everyone knows where to point the blame. Gabriel thinks he's a bad omen for the town, many others are quick to agree. Meanwhile, Aziraphale from SOCO just thinks he's hot. Ridiculously so.

and salt the Earth behind you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (E)

Detective (well, Profiler actually, not that anyone seems to care) Aziraphale Fell should have dropped his one and only Criminal Informant the moment he realized he was already falling in love with the man. Alas, he's never had good ideas regarding his self-preservation: when Anthony Crowley calls, he always comes. He will always come. If this wasn't already very bad, his feelings are apparently reciprocated and, in the meantime, his unit has to catch the worst serial killer Washington D.C. has probably ever seen. Crowley has no intention of leaving Aziraphale to deal with this on his own; Aziraphale has no intention of letting Crowley do something stupid just for his sake. Ah, if only love could ever be something easy. “Sometimes I wish I’d met you in a park.” Crowley’s hands move lower, down, down until he reaches Aziraphale’s palms and intertwines their fingers. There isn’t a single chance this gesture can fall under the umbrella of ‘plausible deniability’. Though nothing about this sort of impromptu confession could. “A park, uh? Nice.” A squeeze. “I always imagine something like a library. Or a bookshop or, not sure, whatever place is full of books.”

For His Eyes Only by AFrenchFanWriter (M)

Anthony J. Crowley has been an MI6 spy for 10 years, completing successful mission after successful mission under the guidance of his quartermaster, Aziraphale Fell. But this life is starting to take its toll on him as he is getting older; and when, one day, his past comes back to haunt him, Crowley realizes that it might be time for him to hang up his gun and face all the things he has left unaddressed… (Yep, it is basically a James Bond/Q AU!)

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

- Mod D

[jermys-silly-stuffz]

This might be a weird request but can you do one where you and the Mercenaries have been dating for awhile when suddenly y/n gets sick out of nowhere and eventually find out they're pregnant so they tell their Merc partner?

Yeah of course I'll do this!! This one will include scout ⚾,medic 💊, and sniper 🦘

Tw: talk of sex and other sexual things

MERCS WITH A PREGNANT READER!!!

🔞18+ dni if younger🔞

Scout ⚾ !!!

When you first start showing symptoms of sickness he's the first to assume your pregnant cause y'all be fucking like rabbits I swear 💀

But you try to assure him your not cause secretly you're kind of worried to

So when you do find out you're pregnant you're officially freaking the fuck out. You now scouts gonna be a good dad, but what if he doesn't want a kid?

Scout notices you're down and asks you what's wrong. When you fess up and tell him your pregnant well he initially freaks out wondering about every possibility ever.

But soon he calms down and thinks things through. Eventually he comes to the conclusion he wants to be a dad!

He'll hug and kiss you over and over again because of how happy he is. He wants to be the greatest dad ever especially since he never had one. He doesn't want that for his kids he is gonna literally defend him/her with his life.

Medic 💊 !!!

When you first start showing symptoms of illness both of you are mellow about it. Neither of you seem to believe there was any possibility you were pregnant. Unlike what most think I believe medic is one of those people who always wears protection during sex

Though there was one time a few days ago when he went without protection cause you both were trying out new kinks and stuff like that. And a breeding kink just so happened to be one of them.

When medic realizes this he's almost ecstatic about it. I personally think he's always wanted to be a father no matter how crazy he was. Just the thought of teaching his child about different subjects got him excited.

So when you bring him a positive test he's literally the happiest man alive no kidding. Like he's praising you kissing your stomach the whole ten miles.

Safe to say he's a proud dad

Sniper 🦘 !!!

Bro is frantic when you've been throwing up for the past few days. He's definitely the type to breed you to the brim but he never thought he'd actually get you pregnant!??

After you approach him with the positive test he's having a panic attack.

Like a bad on. What if he's not a good dad? What if something goes wrong during the pregnancy? What if, what if what if?

It's not like he doesn't want to be a dad he really does it's just hard for him.

He doesn't understand how to parent but that can be something you two can learn together 🩷

In conclusion he's a very scared yet happy new dad

[eva-of-the-sea]

Y'all ever notice that Fujiko receives a disproportionate amount of hate in the fandom? I'm sure it's something we've all seen, especially if you're a fan of her, but I don't really see it discussed.

I'm bringing it up now because for the past couple of months, I keep running into new fans that are very vocal about disliking her. And while I understand that everyone has their preferences, the reasons they give for why they hate her bother me the most:

"She's a bitch, she's so awful to the poor guys and especially to Lupin."

"She's a slut. She's constantly using her body to get what she wants."

"She betrays the gang so much it's annoying how she always does the same thing."

"It's the writers' fault for making her so unlikable."

While I partially understand one of these points, some of these other ones confuse me.

Fujiko is a character that looks out for herself. She goes into every heist with the thought of "what can I get out of this?" And despite this, she's been shown many times to care about all of the gang. Yes, even in part 2 where folks usually base their hatred of her off of. This is because she is a multifaceted character that isn't just driven by a single motivation.

"But Jigen and Goemon hate her!"

Do they? Because while they do get mad at her shenanigans, we also see them going out of their way to protect her and comfort her. Hell, Fujigoe is a common canon occurrence! Do you really think Goemon would be dating her if he didn't like her? Or that Jigen would be pushing her out of the way of bullets or shielding her with his body if he didn't care about her? Being mad or annoyed with someone's actions aren't the same as hatred. No one ever points out how they get mad at Lupin, and I'd argue that happens more often!

And on the point of her being a slut...where? I'm genuinely confused with this one. Fujiko does use her beauty and charms both to manipulate rich men into giving her treasure and to get out of dangerous situations. That's kind of the point of her being a femme fatale. But how often does she sleep with the people she manipulates? Most instances I can think of, she knocks them out when she gets that far. In fact, I would argue she doesn't seem to be that interested in having sex at all. Do they count her flirting as being slutty? If so, c'mon. And even if she did sleep with her targets, why would this be a bad thing? Are women characters not allowed to have sex? And again, how come Lupin doesn't get the third degree for HIS sluttiness. In fact, I see people joke about it and celebrate it if anything.

On the point of her betraying gang, yeah it is very one-note and does get old. You know what else is very one-note? Literally the actions of every other character in the show. I don't see people complaining about Zenigata chasing the gang getting old. Or about Lupin flirting with every woman he sees. Or about Jigen and Goemon using the same weapons in the same way to get out of every situation. Y'know, maybe this is just a repetitive show! And tbh, the writing lately has been shaken up. The modern series doesn't really have Fujiko betray the gang much anymore. She's either off doing her own thing or she's working with the gang as a member of the team. A lot of people complain about parts 4-6, but I think this is one of the elements it does right.

And finally, on the note of "poor Lupin", I think this one pisses me off the most lol. The fuck y'all mean "poor Lupin"?? I think fans either forget or don't realize that Lupin is a pretty smart guy. He knows Fujiko is most likely going to betray him if he does something for her, the bastard LIKES IT. This is foreplay for both of them. In case you haven't noticed yet, both of them are kind of freaks lol. There's a reason that most of the time, Jigen and Goemon are mad at HIM. Lupin is not a poor sweet baby that needs protection from Fujiko. He specifically loves the chase, the constant push and pull of their relationship. She's an exciting challenge for him, he's a stable home for her.

While I agree that Fujiko has not always been written great in the past, and I'm sure a lot of that was due to misogyny, I think fans need to reevaluate why they criticize her more harshly than the rest of the gang. There's a lot of things she's done that the fandom deems unforgivable, yet the boys have done some of the same stuff without so much as a slap on the wrist. Lupin constantly puts them all in unnecessary danger. Jigen has made some really unsavory comments about women. Goemon has betrayed the gang more than once. And I don't see nearly enough discussion about how Lupin really used to push himself on Fujiko, to the point of it being uncomfortable sometimes. Like damn I'd sell his ass out too😬.

I think it all boils down to Fujiko being a woman. And as a woman, she has to work harder to please the fans. If she's too nice, then she doesn't really have a personality or a reason for anyone to like her. If she's too selfish, she's a mean bitch and everyone should hate her. What if people saw her as a character first? Because no she's not a good person, but neither are the rest of the gang. Their morals are all on a sliding scale of what works best for the plot. But damn she's a great character. She stands out on her own and really makes you remember her. She's so much more than "the girl" character, and I'm so grateful for that. I hope more fans come to this conclusion too.

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

[goodnightmemes]

THE WALKING DEAD SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all. ❜

❛ Make sure you got a round in the chamber and your safety off. ❜

❛ Son of a bitch shot me. You believe that? ❜

❛ Look, I ask and you answer. It's common courtesy, right? ❜

❛ Get away from the windows. ❜

❛ Conserve your ammo. Goes faster than you think. Especially at target practice. ❜

❛ There are others. It's not just us. ❜

❛ Folks got no idea what they're getting into. ❜

❛ We are surviving here. We are day to day. ❜

❛ Listen, whoever you are, I don't mind telling you I'm a little concerned in here. ❜

❛ Have you been listening? You're running out of time. ❜

❛ Yeah, whatever. Yeehaw. You're still a dumbass. ❜

❛ You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving! You know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out, tiptoeing. Not shooting up the streets like it's the O.K. Corral. ❜

❛ You were chasing a hallucination, imagining things. It happens. ❜

❛ Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun! Only common sense. ❜

❛ We survive this by pulling together, not apart. ❜

❛ If bad ideas were an Olympic event, this would take the gold. ❜

❛ You can't leave me. You can't leave me here. Not like this. ❜

❛ At least somebody's having a good day. ❜

❛ Words can be meager things. Sometimes they fall short. ❜

❛ Nothing bit you? Nothing scratched you? ❜

❛ So that's it, huh? You're just gonna walk off? Just to hell with everybody else? ❜

❛ You're putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that. ❜

❛ The world ended. Didn't you get the memo? ❜

❛ Toughest asshole I ever met. Feed him a hammer, he'd crap out nails. ❜

❛ They're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. ❜

❛ Even I think it's a bad idea and I don't even like you much. ❜

❛ There ain't nothing gonna stop him from getting back here to you, I promise you that. ❜

❛ One wrong move, you get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know. ❜

❛ You come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood. ❜

❛ Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table. ❜

❛ What life I have I owe to him. ❜

❛ I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation. ❜

❛ You're the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met. We walked in there ready to kill every last one of you. ❜

❛ The people we've encountered since things fell apart, the worst kind… plunderers, the kind that take by force. ❜

❛ Guess the world changed. ❜

❛ The people here, they all look to me now. I don't even know why. ❜

❛ Hell with them people. Wouldn't piss on them if their heads were on fire. ❜

❛ Unless I've misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while. ❜

❛ Time…it's important to keep track, isn't it? The days at least. Don't you think? ❜

❛ Do not enter the city. It belongs to the dead now. ❜

❛ I know how the safety works. ❜

❛ We start down that road, where do we draw the line? ❜

❛ Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem! ❜

❛ We don't kill the living. ❜

❛ I'm sorry for not ever being there. I always thought there'd be more time. I'm here now. ❜

❛ These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are. ❜

❛ There are no rules. ❜

❛ We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do. ❜

❛ I won't leave again. I promise you that. Not for anything. ❜

❛ You save a grave for me? ❜

❛ It's not about what you want. That sound you hear, that's God laughing while you make plans. ❜

❛ We can't stay here. We both know that. ❜

❛ The most important thing here is we need to stay together. ❜

❛ You go on your own, you won't have anyone to watch your back. ❜

❛ Leave me here. I'm done. Just leave me. ❜

❛ The fever… You've been delirious more often than not. ❜

❛ We can't be here, this close to the city after dark. ❜

❛ You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed. ❜

❛ You know, it's over. There's nothing left. ❜

❛ You don't know what it's like out there. You may think you do, but you don't. ❜

❛ We don't have to be afraid anymore. We're safe here. ❜

❛ I lost somebody too. I know how devastating it is. ❜

❛ What's wrong with him? Seriously, is he nuts, medicated, what? ❜

❛ I did the best I could in the time that I had. I hope you'd be proud of that. ❜

❛ We always think there's gonna be more time. ❜

❛ You should've left well enough alone. It would've been so much easier. ❜

❛ I had to keep hope alive, didn't I? ❜

❛ There is no hope. There never was. ❜

❛ What part of "everything is gone" do you not understand? ❜

❛ There's your chance. Take it. ❜

[sunkissedscribbles]

Prejudiced - Chapter Two

this is only a part of the series, the previous and next chapters can be found here

a/n: i’m so excited for this one, it is mostly angst, mainly hermione and cassie beef

word count: 3742

tw: swearing i guess??

summary: cass doesn’t find her place, starting to drift apart with friends, a little bit of nostalgia. oh, and we meet enzo and theo xx

<previous chapter next chapter>

dividers by @chachachannah

"Cassie, he's no good!" Hermione claims as we head through the portrait hole back from the library where I helped her take back her books. "You know whose son he is and he's a Sly-"

"Oh shut up, Mione, will you?" I snap back at her, getting more and more upset with her stereotypes.

"I won't! You've always been too kind to realize the wrong!"

"Oh, we're going with personal attacks, aren't we?" I let out a frustrated laugh, turning around to face her. "You don't even know him, that's why you think he's bad, that's why you believe the rumours instead of your friend!"

"I'm just trying to get you out of trouble before you get involved too much!"

"And you're also saying not to befriend him only because he's not a Gryffindor!"

"No, I'm saying not to befriend him because he's a Slytherin!"

"I don't care if he's a Slytherin, a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff, Hermione!" I turn my head away with a lingering sense of frustration visible in my eyes for a moment before looking back at her. "My father was in Slytherin, almost all of my family have been. I can't base it on myths like all Slytherins and Slytherins only are cruel, evil, and bad! Funny enough, you aren't this concerned about Enzo, for example!"

"But he's not a..." She stops mid-sentence but it hits me just like it would if she said it out.

I look away for a moment with a mix of disgust and fury before looking back at her.

"Because he's not a Riddle," I finish instead of her and she looks away, embarrassedly sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. "When the fuck are we going to finally end this bloody caste system going around?! We are supposed to learn how to live together with other people but with y'all thinking Gryffindor's top tier it won't ever happen!"

When I get no response to what I've said, I storm out of the common room, deciding to take a walk around the castle, leaving Hermione standing in the middle of the common area with our other housemates who've witnessed our whole argument. I don't even care about them and what they think anymore; they are concerned about me being a spy in Gryffindor for the dark side already, alongside the rumour of me helping Sirius Black escape from Azkaban. Now it's only the icing on the cake: me defending Mattheo Riddle. They can all fuck it.

As if my body had its own will, my legs take me to the Dungeons. I do this quite often, stopping by the glass cabinet that exhibits trophies won by Slytherin students of the past. I stand in front of the cabinet, looking at a trophy won by Regulus Black for a potion. My gaze soon shifts to a picture of the Slytherin Quidditch team, my green eyes analyzing him in the image I've seen so many times; longer, curly black hair, pale skin, and ice-blue, more like grey eyes. I wonder if I look like him a little bit, or more like, if my personality is similar to his a little, at least as I know my brown hair and green eyes look nothing like his. Nor does my skin that's a little more warm-toned compared to the boy's in the picture. Probably the only thing about me that looks like him is the curl pattern of my hair and how defined my bones are under the skin of my face - I have to state again, for the hundredth time this school year, as my focus shifts to my reflection in the glass cabinet.

"Good afternoon, Ms Black," I hear a familiar voice from behind me that shakes me out of my thoughts.

"Professor Lupin," I turn around to face my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher — he's my favourite of all of the DADA teachers I've survived so far. He really does have a talent for teaching and a bonus point for communicating with his students so well.

"What are you doing in the Dungeons? Up to no good, I assume as I have passed by Mr and Mr Weasley just a few minutes ago?" He smiles warmly at me and I sense some mischievousness in his voice but when he sees my troubled face expression, he changes the topic but is smiling at me the same way. I haven't talked to Fred and George in days. "Care to join me on a walk? It's a rather beautiful day for spending it inside."

I offer him a thankful smile as we head towards the Clocktower Courtyard and onto the bridge where we stop, admiring the view around us; the bare trees and bushes that are about to come out in buds in just a short month, finally.

We lean on the wooden railing of the bridge and I can feel the light winter breeze in my hair and on my face.

"What's bothering you, Ms Black?" Lupin asks and I sigh, turning to face him.

"Everything just got... piled up, all my studies. I do all of my homework the day I get them but it got too much these days and I barely have time for what I want to do. And I've had an argument over a sensitive topic with one of my close friends today," I sigh.

"Conflicts can stand between friends easily but it's never too late to make up for them."

I just nod, continuing, "I know, but I'm just honestly getting really tired of everyone sticking to believe the stereotypes of each house. It's always the Gryffindor bravery, the Ravenclaw wit, the Hufflepuff kindness, and the Slytherin commission. No one talks about how prejudiced everyone is against each other. No one talks about how we all are different and how we are not our parents to make the same mistakes."

Professor Lupin doesn't say anything and seems to just digest my words. I bet he knows exactly who I'm talking about.

"This kind of thinking only shows your intelligence, Ms Black. I'm impressed, I must admit," he smiles at me and I reciprocate the gesture with a hint of gratefulness in it. "You remind me a lot of your father, you know."

He can see my eyes widen slightly and how my brows change their curve when I furrow them, to which he chuckles, continuing, "I knew him, yes. I can tell you've got a lot after him; your wit and intelligence are notable, indeed."

"Might I ask how you knew him?"

"He was a year below me at Hogwarts. We were friends. Well, sort of." I look at him, fascinated by his words, asking what he was like only with my eyes, nonverbally. "Unlike you, he was reserved but had always carried a book with himself, as I've noticed you do too. We switched recommendations every once in a while and often studied together in the library. He was really smart. He was also a part of the Quidditch team, just like you. I have also heard you inherited his talent in potions as well."

I smile at his words. I have never really heard anyone talk about dad like this other than mum; only heard words referring to him as a cowardly boy who couldn't bear his duties as a Death Eater. But I knew he wasn't like that. I knew he wouldn't have left mum and me if it hadn't been for the good.

"Did the Gryffindors think they were better than the rest back then, too, professor?" I ask curiously and the teacher seems to think about it for a moment, his face reflecting a nostalgic emotion.

"I think we did."

Coming from the walk with Professor Lupin, I make my way back to the Gryffindor Tower. It was really nice to talk to Lupin; seems like not everyone in this school is against me.

I'm walking up the stairs at a rather calm pace as my mind is racing, filled with everything all at once. Once I reach the common room, I enter and find myself being stared at by my fellow Gryffindors, hearing them all go quiet in a split second or lowering their voices to a slight whisper. I don't even bother to look at them but I of course see some familiar faces from the corner of my eye. Dean and Seamus from a year below me, the first one looking at me with a hint of sadness, the second with pure concern. I pass through the room toward the staircase to head to my dorm as I feel too tired of the judgments I face every day. The judgments I have said aren't bothering me, or at least I can cope with them.

"You heard 'bout her fight with Hermione? Think she got brainwashed by Riddle," I hear someone saying in a low voice as I disappear behind the wall of the stairs. My fists tighten as I hear this. I'm so fucking tired of all this shit!

I'm almost on top of the staircase when Harry passes me by. I mutter a hi and he turns around.

"Cass," he starts, to which I turn around, already standing on the top step and he comes back to face me from my level, "I've heard about your argument with Hermione."

"Oh, Merlin, don't even start," I sigh as I can already guess what he's thinking. "Look, I don't need any of your approval to have friends from the other houses and I've got really tired of having to listen to everybody's concerns about either Mattheo or me so if you're going to tell me off, don't expect me to either start an argument or bow at your words."

He smiles softly with a hint of confusion mixed in his expression, "I-I just wanted to reassure you that I'm still your friend. You know, even if everyone were against you."

I know why he says this; he got judged a lot too, last school year when people thought he opened the Chamber of Secrets after they found out he was Parseltongue but I stood up for him, that is what our friendship was based on. I think I attract people who get misjudged.

I reciprocate his smile, nodding, "Thank you."

But still, I can tell he's thinking 'But why him?' As neither of us says anything, he turns around to head down the stairs and I turn to the girls' dormitories. As I step into my room, the first thing I do is put on some music before lying down on my bed, thinking about what Professor Lupin has said about the conflicts between friends. I haven't talked to Fred and George in days and now I seem to have a fallout with Hermione as well; I can't help but wonder if this is all my fault — choosing to believe there can be friendships between people from different houses and trusting them. I wonder if my so-called friends talk about me behind my back like that too. At the end of the day, who even can I trust?

Days go by with things unchanged, more likely; getting worse. In the Great Hall, where I used to sit either with my Quidditch teammates, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, or (most of the time) with Fred, George, and Lee, now I'm sitting alone and can't help but feel betrayed. Betrayed by my friends who are too proud to apologize and betrayed by myself for turning inwards as if I were the victim. But I got issues, I can't help it; I feel like any of the arguments I have had with the others didn't happen directly because of me, I just... shot back and snapped back at them for starting the fights.

These days, I mostly spend in my room or in the library, studying or walking around the estate with Enzo. During lessons though, it hasn't changed; I'm sitting with Kiara, a Slytherin girl, one of my closest friends. I'd say, she's one of my best friends alongside Fred and George and she's head over heels for Professor Lupin for some reason. To my even bigger surprise, for Professor Snape as well. I know that she got daddy issues.

"You gotta talk to them, Cass," says Lorenzo as we are walking by the Black Lake on Friday. "Can't bear seeing you like this: sitting alone in the Great Hall with book in one hand and walkman in the other."

I have known Enzo since first year when we once got paired for a Herbology assignment. I've never really cared about herbs and plants; got all my flowers killed within a week whenever I got any. But he seemed to be rocking the subject. He talked a lot about Mandrakes when we had to work with them and during this assignment, he was extremely patient with me, explaining the steps as many times as I needed to hear them to understand stuff. In return, I helped him with Astronomy and sometimes Defense Against The Dark Arts. We instantly became friends thanks to his friendly nature and how much talking the both of us were capable of keeping up.

"Getting used to it at this point," I say, picking up a rock from the ground, about to throw it into the lake on my right.

"Bloody stubborn, you aware how much you are?" he laughs lightly.

"Like a Gryffindor, am I?" I reply sarcastically. "Fuck these bloody stereotypes, I'm tired of them all!" I grunt in a frustrated manner.

I step up onto the trunk of a fallen tree, walking over it while Enzo tries to enlighten the mood or at least calm me down a bit.

"Going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" he asks as he offers his hand to help me down from the tree.

"Nah, think I'll just stay at Hogwarts. Got a lot to study," shaking my head, I take his hand as I jump off the tree.

"Shall I stay with you?" he offers with a light smile.

"Don't you dare to spend your Hogsmeade Saturday in the castle just because of me. I'll be alright," I shake my head, chuckling. "I thought you had a date?"

He shakes his head. "Why would I?"

"I don't know. Might've heard Theo teasing you about a girl," I nudge him with my elbow. His face becomes red in a second.

"Oh, that... No, I'm going with Theo and Mattheo. No date."

I nod in understanding, picking up another rock from the ground and throwing it into the water. I wonder if you can swim in the Black Lake?

"Do you think..."

"I don't think we're allowed to. But we could," he shakes his head, cutting me off mid-sentence.

I smile in confusion.

"C'mon, I've known you since first year, I know the way your brain works; you look at something, stay silent for a moment, and ask a question, usually a dumb one. Like a child," he chuckles.

I place my hand dramatically over my heart, "Ow, Berkshire, you did not just call me a child, did you?"

"No, I said like a child," he laughs it off. "But I don't think we are allowed to swim in the Black Lake."

The next morning, I make my way to sit with Enzo, Mattheo, and Theo instead of sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. At this point, I'll stand by the opinion that everyone can suck it. I'm not going to pity myself for not being good enough for top-tier Gryffindor.

"Morning," I sit down next to Mattheo, across the two other boys. Enzo has a welcoming smile on his face, waving at me.

"Didn't know you've switched houses," Theo comments as I sit down. A grin forms on his lips, "Another hot chick for Slytherin, thank Merlin."

I kick his shin under the table with an innocent smile on my face. I slightly turn my head in Mattheo's direction but for some reason, I don't dare to look at him directly without a proper reason, so I ask him: "Could you pass me the butter?"

He nods his head, doing what I have asked for. I mutter a 'thanks'.

"I think Granger's about to snap," says Theo, looking over at the Gryffindor table. I pretend not to care as I sit up with a straighter back. "I guess you still didn't make up since?"

"No. But she started it, I'm not going to apologize for standing up for my friend," I answer bitterly.

I can see Mattheo frown from the corner of my eye but he doesn't say anything.

I'm spending my Saturday studying in the library to catch up with all the homework I didn't have time to complete during the week yet. I walk back to the Gryffindor common room after the others have come back from Hogsmeade. I planned to come back earlier but got too productive for once and forgot about the time.

I enter the common room where only the trio is present.

"There you are," Hermione exclaims bitterly as she looks at me. I feel my blood boil in my veins. "Thought I wouldn't see you step in here anymore."

"C'mon, Hermione... don't-" Ron starts but Hermione cuts him off.

"Not now, Ronald," she then turns to me, clearly waiting for an explanation or an apology. I laugh bitterly.

"What should I have done? Y'all are against me. You don't like my friends, I get it. But that's no reason to cut me off like that," I say calmly but hurt. I thought at least Harry would stand up for me after what he said the other day but I guess that won't happen. That won't happen as I'm the heiress to a pureblood-maniac family in which almost everyone is a Death Eater even after the Dark Lord's fall — and I'm clearly just like my family. And it won't happen when they're both afraid of an angry Hermione. "And I won't apologize," I continue, "for standing up for my own views. Not all Slytherins are bad and cruel!"

"But he is You-Know-Whose son!" claims Hermione.

"He didn't even raise him! They've had no contact," I snap back. "Are we really going to have a fight over him again? You're doing the same thing Malfoy does to you!"

I catch her off guard, she doesn't know how to reply to that statement, so I continue.

"You expect people to respect you but you are just as prejudiced as they are towards you!"

The boys are just watching, Hermione's about to shoot back.

"As if you were perfect! Coming from a family like yours you shouldn't be surprised what people think of you!" now this one stings. Even my friends are on this opinion.

"Coming from a family like that is why my job is to stand up for others like me," I slowly walk backward until I reach the door, tears already burning my eyes as I try to hold them back.

"You shouldn't have said that," I hear Harry's voice. "Cassie!" but I'm already on the outside of the portrait of the Fat Lady, temporarily replaced by Sir Cadogan. Oh yeah, I might have forgotten to mention; that I have helped Sirius Black into the castle. According to the latest rumour.

As I'm running through the corridors, I'm trying to hold back my sobs with my heart beating in my ears. I'm running without a destination; just trying to escape my thoughts, my feelings, and overall, people.

By the time I step out of the castle, my breath becomes heavy and shallow and I feel as if the world was spinning with me. The only thing that keeps me on my feet is the fresh air I feel in my hair and on my face as I'm trying to catch my breath. I start sweating but I'm getting colder by the second as if I have a fever and I feel like I'm losing my mind.

"Cassie?" I hear someone call my name behind me but the world starts spinning with me more as I turn around.

I'm getting weak, my legs can barely keep me up. I try to talk as I realize it's Mattheo but not a sound comes out of my mouth as I feel a suffocating feeling pull my throat together, not even able to breathe properly.

I don't even sense him getting closer, only feel his hands on my forearms, trying to keep me on my feet, leading me to a bench somewhere more hidden between a few bushes.

I'm still crying, sobbing against his chest, trembling in my whole body, wanting just to be dead as we are sat on the bench. It takes some time for me to calm down and although I have no idea what he's saying, I figure he's trying to comfort me verbally as he holds me tight and steady. It feels an eternity until I catch my breath and my heartbeat normalizes.

Finally being able to talk again, Mattheo asks what has happened that had this effect on me and I tell him about my argument with Hermione and how almost all of my friendships seem to fall apart; first, we don't talk with the twins, and now Mione, with Harry and Ron nonverbally telling me they take her side.

He stays quiet for a while and the only thing that can be heard besides the whistle of the wind is me, still trying to catch my breath.

"What you said at breakfast, did you mean it? I am your friend?" he asks after a short while.

"I meant it," I nod, slightly furrowing my brows. I'm feeling slightly embarrassed by how he saw what happened minutes ago, me losing my mind. However, at the same time, I'm thankful he helped me so willingly. "I consider you as a friend. Shouldn't I?"

He looks at me with a hint of surprise in his eyes. "I'm just not used to people calling me their friend this soon. Or, at all."

I just shrug with a light smile trying to shrug off being overwhelmed and still embarrassed. "Anyhow, you've just proved to be my friend. You helped me. Sorry for that, by the way, I don't know what happened," I apologize, shaking my head.

He looks at me with an expressionless face, "You've had a panic attack."

Thank you if you made it this far! comment to be on the tag list.

tag list: @reyys-letters @mqstermindswift

[fellamarsh]

another thing i've been trying to do recently is read more self-published stuff. "but fell," you say, "you're a self-published author. surely you've been reading self-published stuff all along" and then i laugh for so long in response we both become uncomfortable.

see, the fear (which has for a long time been killing my mind) that i'll read other self-published stuff and find out that it's so much better than mine that i might as well stop writing forever kept me from doing that basically ever. i have a hard time not unfavorably comparing my work to others and had convinced myself i was being smart by withholding an avenue of de-motivation (reader: i was not being smart). it also doesn't help that i'm pretty low income and have a hard time spending money on books i haven't already read, and that self-published stuff isn't always available at the library---but really a lot of it was just me being a coward. which i'm working on. i could talk about how this particular cowardice is Very Silly, but i think enough has been said about it on writeblr and in the Writing Space in general that i don't feel the need to (though i will if anyone wants me to).

instead, i wanna talk about the self-published things i have read in the past few months and ask about the self-published things you love!

so: what happened was i got real sick, and while i was real sick i (naturally) read over 200,000 words of ace attorney fan fiction in the span of a few days. eventually i got bored of it (and also maybe annoyed at how people were characterizing some of my guys), but i still wanted to read something gay and romantic and nice, something i knew was gonna end happily, which isn't my typical fare.

now you may be saying (having gotten over all the uncomfortable laughter from earlier) "fell, you write gay romance. what do you mean that's not your typical fare?" listen. until a couple months ago i hadn't read a cut and dry romance novel since before i finished college. for context: i graduated in 2015. i know it doesn't make sense. i'm a guy who doesn't make sense.

but in this case it worked to my advantage. not the not making sense thing, but the not having read Published Romance in 1000 years thing. I didn't know where to start. I was very skeptical of everything the library had Available Now in the Gay Fantasy Romance category. what if it was all bad and also not good?

and then i scrolled past the familiar cover of our very own @ashen-crest's A Rival Most Vial.

now this was comfortable territory! this was a novel by a very nice writeblr person whose posts i enjoy! i already loosely knew the plot, i was familiar with the characters, i knew the names of things like rosemond street and the griffin's claw and that ambrose had blue hair and that at the end of it all there would definitely be Boyfriends. i didn't have to worry that this would be bad! i only had to worry that it would be really good!

but i wasn't worried about that, because i was officially Not Writing at the time, and because why the hell hadn't i read this book yet Ash literally emailed me some very kind words last year when my cat died??

Y'all, I devoured ARMV. If you haven't read it yet---especially if cozy fantasy is more your thing than it is mine---you should check it out Immediately. It was fun! It was heartwarming! It was sweet and earnest and confident! I was delighted to find it was occasionally hot! Ambrose and Eli snuggled up into my sick exhausted heart and found a permanent little place there. (Especially Ambrose. I have such a thing for Stiff Guys who Kind of Suck for Tragic Backstory Reasons and are So So Lonely They Don't Even Realize It. gawd)

(And a very small part of my brain spent the whole time wondering why I had been so afraid to really engage with the work my community is doing. The community that I'm in. The one I'm a part of. Why?! Maybe more on that later.)

But from there the curse was broken! I immediately devoured @stjohnstarling's What Manner of Man in a similar sort of frenzy (and hooooly shit guys am I excited for the expanded, finalized version to come out at the end of next month!) and started digging into @lurinatftbn's The Flower that Bloomed Nowhere (which I can already tell is going to be an All Time Favorite).

And now I want to ask you what your favorite self-published books are so that I can read them, too, but I think I will in another post that doesn't dedicate so much space to talking about my various and sundry Issues and isn't Terminally Long